Some Lost Mottram Wells

February 15, 2018February 18, 2018 Tim Campbell-Green4 Comments

I thought I’d venture a little farther afield this week. The blog is intended to explore Glossop’s heritage, but I feel that if I can see it from Glossop, I should be allowed to blog about it… even if it is in another county.

But don’t worry, we won’t be going to Yorkshire!

St Michael and All Angels church in Mottram dominates this end of Longdendale – it is visible from all sorts of angles, disappearing as you travel various roads and paths, only to pop up unexpectedly from behind buildings or between trees. Indeed, it’s presence keeps watch over the valley, almost as a reminder that the church watches over the people. In fact, I can see it from James’ window, on the distant brow.

Mottram Wells - Church — St Michael and All Angels, Mottram. Photograph by Stephen Burton.

It sits on a prominence called War Hill (from the Middle English Quarrelle, meaning quarry), and is a particularly bleak place, catching all the wind that roars down Longdendale from the moors. The church itself, though severely ‘improved’ during the Victorian period (read, monkeyed around with and partly rebuilt) is still at its heart essentially late medieval in date – mid 15th Century or so. Going further back, it may well have been the site of Saxon church prior to that. Travelling even further, there is evidence in the form of cropmarks that it might have been the site of a Roman signal station connected to Melandra – a perfect place with commanding views up and down Longdendale. Prior even to that, particularly given its prominent location in the landscape, it must surely have been attractive in prehistory, though there is no evidence at present.

As an interesting aside, during the late 17th Century a whole pile of my ancestors, the Williamsons, were ‘hatched, matched, and dispatched’ here (that is, they were baptised, married and buried). The Williamson family married into the Sidebottom family who were fairly big in this area, were important in the early Industrial period, and were consequently quite wealthy. Alas, my line gradually becomes poorer, and we end up in East Manchester working in a mill, rather than owning it.

Mottram Wells - Williamson — Signature of John Williamson, my great, great. great, great, great, great, great grandfather, born in 1678 in Mottram, and who married Elizabeth Sidebottom on 15th February 1703 in Mottram Church… exactly 315 years to the day, today, coincidentally, and rather spookily. I will raise a glass to them whilst looking at the church as soon as I have published this post!

Perusing the old OS maps of the area, as I am wont to do (here), I noticed three wells in the immediate vicinity. Now, nothing unusual there, the whole area is teeming with them as we live in an area with a high number of springs. However, what was unusual is that all three, very close together, were named. Normally, a well is simply marked ‘well‘ on an OS map, but the fact that these have names could indicate that there may be more to them. And what names they are – Daniel Well, Grave Well, and Boulder Well – names that conjured up wonderful images. Well, well, well, I thought, this must be worth an investigation.

Mottram Wells - Map — The three wells, Daniel, Grave, and Boulder, are outlined in Red. Mottram church is outlined in green in order to get your bearings. This is from the 1886 1:2500 OS map. Note also the Coal Shaft and Mottram Colliery marked – the area has a very low quality coal seam running through it that was sporadically mined in the 18th and 19th centuries.

And so it was.

Daniel Well is situated on the left, northern, side of a track that comes from War Hill along the side of the school, and downhill to a pond. Interestingly, the only artefactual evidence from this exploration came from this first part of the track, just behind the school playground.

Mottram Wells - Bottle — 1/3 pint of Co-Op school milk in a squat bottle. This really is a nostalgic trip!

I am just about old enough to remember free school milk, and these are the bottles they came in… It has been over 30 years since I touched one of these last, and the feeling was one of immediate nostalgia and a weird sense of happiness. Silver foil top and a blue plastic straw… I was back in Bradshaw Hall Infants School, just like it was yesterday! What I love about this artefact is that the only way it could have ended up on the track behind the playground is if some naughty child threw it over the fence… if you put it to your ear, I swear I can hear the “vip, vip, vip” sound of Parka coats rubbing together and the cries of “go on, I dare you… chuck it!”.

On to Daniel Well, then. The sunken path is muddy, but well constructed and was clearly used – I wondered if this was the main well for the area. My first sight of it seems to confirm that thought.

Mottram Wells - Daniel Well 1 — Daniel Well, overgrown and unloved. Beyond is the playing field of Mottram School, and beyond that, Longdendale.

The path widens out at this point, and the stone built well head structure stands well built still. The path is very boggy, and although the well is overgrown and possibly relatively dry in terms of water within it, the spring that created the well is still flowing freely downhill.

Mottram Wells - Daniel Well 2 — Close up of Daniel Well. Stone built arch, and side platforms upon which to put your buckets, bottles, etc.

The stone-built arch that is the front of the well goes back some three feet, although it is sadly now full of collapsed rubble. To me, this seems a sad end to what was one of the most vital aspects of the village – lives were, quite literally, saved with this water. Food, drink, laundry, baths, all came from this point. People who met drawing water here married in the church above, and had children. Gossip and community, focused on this place, and yet, no longer. I would love to see it restored, or just a little better cared for.

Following the path down, the water flows into this secluded and sheltered pond.

Mottram Wells - Pond — The pond from the end of the track. The water flowing into it from behind the camera comes from Daniel Well. It then flow out again through a channel to the left.

Clearly Daniel Well was an important well in the area – the path and the stone built well head attest to this. I have no idea about the name, though – possibly from a personal name of the person who owned the land? Something Biblical, maybe? Any thoughts, anyone? The 1954 1:10,00 sees the last mention of Daniel Well on an OS map, and clearly by that point it had ceased to be important as a water source. Sadly, I doubt anyone living nearby would know it was there now, or at least know that it had a name.

Making my way back up, I decided to look for the other two wells. I had studied Google maps before exploring, and took a while to work out the locations by superimposing the old map field boundaries onto the modern satellite image of the area.

Mottram Wells - Overlay2 — 4 is Daniel Well, 3 is Grave Well, and 2 is Boulder Well. 1 becomes important in the discussion below. The black lines are the field boundaries shown in the 1886 map that are no longer there to help with orientation.

Alas, there is nothing left of Grave Well except a muddy patch in the field.

Mottram Well - Grave Well Site — The muddy area in the middle ground, in the slight dip, corresponds to the location of Grave Well. The ground was boggy and is clearly a spring of some sort. The view is looking south.

I am not sure what would have stood here originally – perhaps a structure like that at Daniel Well, but I feel this is unlikely: it is in the middle of the field, and with only a minor footpath to get to the well. No, I think it more likely that it was a simple affair that held some water where it bubbled from the spring underneath. I love the name, though – obviously derived from its proximity to the burial ground of the church, out of view to the right in the photograph. Either that, or it may recall the discovery of a burial in the immediate area. Either way, it does raise interesting questions about water tables and burials, though, and I’m not sure I would like to drink from Grave Well! Its last mention before it disappears into the veil of history is on the 1882 1:10,000 OS map. It clearly lost its importance, and was gradually forgotten about.

Pushing further on I looked for the Boulder Well and, when I found it, was similarly a little disappointed… at least at first, anyway. It was another muddy patch.

Mottram Wells - Boulder Well — The muddy patch in the left foreground corresponds to the location of Boulder Well on the map. The view from here, looking east, is incredible – Longdendale Valley at the left, Glossopdale at the right, and the hump of Mouselow just right of centre. Melandra is somewhere dead centre of the photograph. Despite it being dark, I am quite proud of this photograph.

As with Grave Well, I am not sure what would have stood here originally – probably nothing much. Also, in common with Grave Well, the last mention of it on the OS map is the 1882 1:10,000 map, after which it disappears, and is gone forever. The name intrigued me, though: Boulder Well is a very specific name, deriving from… well, one assumes… a boulder. The lack of boulder is, then, confusing, and a little disappointing.

I pushed on regardless, to see what I could see. And lo! In the next field north, at the edge, there stood a bloody big boulder!

Mottram Wells - Boulder Well2 — The boulder! Looking north. It is marked as point ‘1’ on the satellite map above.

Mottram Wells - Boulder Well3 — Close up of the boulder. It is a glacial erratic of some sort, rounded and left behind by the retreating ice.

Now, although it is in a different field, this must be the origin of the name Boulder Well. Indeed, it appears to have been moved ‘recently’ – it is sitting on top of the grass, rather than embedded in it. However, if it had been moved, this at least would explain why it is in a different field from the ‘well’, and why it now stands comfortably out of the way at the field boundary. I wonder when it was moved, and where it stood originally.

Mottram Wells - Boulder Well4 — The boulder, with the Longdendale Valley behind it.

The fate of these wells is interesting, and is obviously tied to the introduction of clean piped drinking water directly into your home. We – and I am very guilty of this – have a tendency to romanticise the past, and a wish to remove the trappings of modern day living, to peel back all the ‘progress’ we have made, and to revert to a simpler way of life. I love the idea of having to walk to a well to draw pure cold water, it would be so… earthy, grounding, basic. Free and simple.
But then I have never done it in the rain, sleet, or snow, wearing ill fitting wooden clogs, wrapped in a basic cloth shirt, slipping down a muddy unmetalled path, after having worked 15 hours in a mill.
I may yearn for a less commercial, more simple life… but I don’t yearn for pneumonia.

Hope you enjoyed the jaunt around Mottram. I have a few more posts I’d like to do about various wells – they intrigue me – so watch this space.

As always, comments of any kind are most welcome.

Graffiti – Update

February 13, 2018 Tim Campbell-GreenLeave a comment

There is still lots to do, and lots more to find – but I saw this the other day, up on Cliffe Road, on the exterior wall of a garden.

Who ‘T & J’ were, we may never know, but the stone has been re-used from elsewhere to build the wall – which means someone saw the graffiti and thought to keep it right side up and readable, which I think is nice.

Now, more seriously. I mentioned the book, Medieval Church Graffiti, in the last graffiti post (here). It is a really interesting read, and has resonance in the work I do at the Blackden Trust (link here), so I can’t recommend it highly enough. However, the rather incredible folk at Tameside Archaeological Society (website here) have begun their own project at Mottram St Michael and All Angels, looking at the graffiti there… and coming up spades (pun fully intended). Their brief report is here, but let’s hope for more soon. Actually, in a way, I’m annoyed, as as soon as I read the book, I thought “I know, Mottram church, that’ll have some graffiti, and I’ll be able to post it on the blog…”. But I have been beaten to the punch.

However… If anyone fancies spending an afternoon or two in Glossop’s All Saints Church looking for graffiti, give me an email. Although the building as it stands dates largely from 1831 onwards, it replaced the medieval church, and reused some stone in the rebuilding process, particularly in the nave. There may be something left behind… perhaps. Anyway, drop me a line – but at least glance at the book first (here).

The next post (Thursday… probably) will be based around Mottram church, so keep your eyes open. Oh, and more pottery is incoming.

Archaeology · Crosses of Glossop · Whitfield Cross

Whitfield Cross – The Talk (of The Town)

February 9, 2018February 9, 2018 Tim Campbell-Green1 Comment

Greetings to you all.

Well, so far I have managed to fail utterly in my New Year’s resolution in posting at least once a week. So my apologies. A lot of my spare time has recently been taken up with writing and preparing for a talk I am going to give on the subject of Whitfield Cross. Interestingly, the Whitfield Cross post (here) is by far and away the most popular on this blog. I know this because behind the scenes here, there are a whole pile of statistics that can be accessed that tells me how many people visit each day, what they look at, and even from where they come – yesterday, for example, I even had a visitor from South Africa! Now, I have no idea why the Whitfield Cross post is so popular, but when I was asked to give a talk on any subject, I though I’d go with that!

The talk is titled: Whitfield Cross – Glossop’s Saxon Heritage

To be given to the excellent folk of the Glossop and Longdendale Archaeological Society (website here) on Tuesday 3rd April at the Bluebell Wood pub, Glossop Road, Gamesley. Talk starts at 7.30, so get there a little earlier, and it’ll cost £2 on the door (although for £5, you can join GLAS and reap the benefits for the year).

The talk will draw on the blog post, but will include new research into Glossop’s only Anglo Saxon feature, and include a discussion of other examples of Mercian Round Shafts.

Plus, this is your chance to find out who Robert Hamnett actually is… and buy him (well, me) a drink!

In all seriousness though, come along – if you are interested in the blog, or Whitfield Cross, you’ll be interested in this.

Right, despite having another cold (courtesy of the ever ill James), I shall try and bash out another blog entry

Stones of Glossop

Carr House Lane Stone

December 1, 2017December 11, 2017 Tim Campbell-Green3 Comments

With all the talk of Carr House Lane and the guide stoop there (or lack thereof) the Whitfield Cross post generated (see comments here), I thought I’d go back and walk down Carr House Lane and do a post about the ‘Stone Cross’ there. Incidentally, I have a post about Carr House Lane archaeology that I will get to after this (lots of lovely Victorian pottery), but I want to concentrate on the ‘cross’ for now. The stone is situated here:

Carr House Lane - Stone Location — For orientation, bottom left is the top end of Whitfield Cross where it joins Cliffe Road. the red cross marks the… well, cross. Or whatever it is.

The sunken road from Cliffe Road becomes increasingly boggy the further you go down, not helped, after you turn east, by the stone built spring fed well on the right (marked ‘W’ on the map). This is entirely appropriate – the word ‘Carr’ is derived from the Old Norse ‘Kjarr’ meaning a low lying boggy area… they’re not kidding.

Carr House Lane - Well — A terrible photograph of the stone trough of the well on the south side of Carr House Lane. I must wait for winter for better photographs.

The stone, when you come upon it, is very easily seen, despite being tucked away and in the shelter of an oak tree.

Carr House 5 — Nestled in an Oak tree, the stone sits at a jaunty angle on the left hand side as you come down the track from the Whitfield end.

What is immediately obvious, more so on the ground than on the map, is that the stone marks the point where a track branches from Carr House Lane down to Whitfield Barn. Whitfield Barn is at least 18th Century in date, and probably earlier in origin, though without closer inspection is impossible to tell. The main track continues down to Carr House, a farm building of similar date, and which lends its name to the pathway.

This is significant, as it is exactly the sort of place one would expect to find a cross, marking a track junction (see here and here, and the comments for both, for discussion).

Carr House 2 — The track down from the Whitfield end of Carr House Lane.

Carr House 1 — Carr House Lane as it continues down from Whitfield to Carr House itself.

Carr House 4 — The branch that comes off Carr House Lane down to Whitfield Barn. The cross lies just out of shot to the right.

And yet it is not a true cross, not in the general sense anyway – it is simply a stone with a cross carved into it. I think it likely that the stone was there long before the the cross, and that it was originally a waymarker making sure the track down to Whitfield Barn wasn’t lost, particularly in the dark.

Now, it is just possible that it is a standing stone, by which I mean a prehistoric standing stone – there are several in the area. However, this interpretation is problematic. Firstly, a prehistoric standing stone is just that… a standing stone, erected in prehistory. However, a standing stone erected yesterday will look exactly the same. Thus, without any associated datable features (a barrow, a stone circle, a burial), we cannot state that the stone is prehistoric. Could be, but might not be. Secondly, its situation, at the junction of the tracks, suggests a connection with, and thus a product of and post-dating, them. It could be argued that the tracks are situated to take into account an already existing stone – that is, the track to Whitfield Barn could have been made anywhere along Carr House Lane, but it made sense to split it at the stone – but again that is impossible to prove.

What I will say is that the stone certainly isn’t a disused gatepost, nor is it naturally occurring in that upright position. Which means it has been placed, with purpose and meaning, by someone. Neville Sharpe, in his book ‘Crosses of the Peak District‘, states that it has been shaped, which is certainly the case, so it seems some thought and care has gone into what it looks like.

The cross carved into it is interesting, also. It has been suggested that some roadside crosses were placed as a gift of thanks for the completion of a safe journey, effectively a votive offering in payment for an answered prayer (i.e. help me get home in this awful weather, and I’ll set up a cross to say thank you). They might also function as a spiritual fortifier, reminding the traveller of God’s watchful eye and protective power over the faithful. It is easy, in these days of surfaced roads, street lights, and large settlements, to forget just how dark and treacherous travelling in the pre-modern era would have been – making your way from A to B in total darkness, along a muddy track, and with no map as such, and knowing that if you took a wrong turn somewhere, you were lost. And I find it difficult enough to find the bathroom at night!

That stated, there is something about the cross that suggests to me that it seems to have been more of an afterthought – the result of a sudden onset of piety perhaps, long after the stone was set in place.

Carr House 6 — Close up of the carved cross. I really need to go back and re-photograph it properly.

It is two simple chisel strokes, one vertical, one horizontal, and the job is done. Why go to the effort of raising and bedding a stone that weighs 1/4 tonne, perhaps more, and then just carve a simple cross into it? The cross is not particularly well executed, either – it is certainly not the effort of a stonemason or even someone familiar with stone. Sharpe (p.42) suggests that it was cut “a long time ago” as the cross would have been vertical when carved, and age has slumped the stone. Logically, this is a sound argument, but the fact that there is an Oak tree growing behind it and to the left (i.e. the direction from which it would push the stone) may suggest a more modern date. Whatever the case, I would suggest that the raising of the stone and the carving of the cross are two separate events that probably occurred many years apart.

What I do find intriguing is that the carved cross strongly resembles this mystery carved cross. Well, obviously… it’s a cross, one of the simplest and easiest designs you can carve onto a stone surface. But the cross design, two simple strokes, thin and unfussy, but seemingly not done by a professional, is similar. Moreover, it is something of a coincidence that two seemingly random stones, separated by roughly 700m, both have a very simple cross design carved into them, and probably as an afterthought. I wonder if someone in the area caught a little divine inspiration and went on a carving spree? And I wonder, if we keep our eyes open, will we find any more?

As always, thoughts, comments, and corrections are very welcome.

Archaeology · Crosses of Glossop

Hollincross Lane Cross

October 6, 2017October 6, 2017 Tim Campbell-Green3 Comments

In his book ‘Crosses of the Peak District’, Sharpe (2002) lists Hollincross Lane, by St James’ church, Whitfield, as being the site of one of Glossop’s long lost crosses (p.110, paraphrasing Hamnett). When I had previously thought about Hollincross Lane, I had assumed that the name refers to the Whitfield Cross, and thus the road that runs down into Hollincross Lane via Freetown. But actually, a cross here would make sense as it would mark the junction of three trackways: north to Woodhead and beyond, east to Whitfield and thence to (Old) Glossop or Chunal via Gnat Hole, and west to Dinting and Simmondley. The way south, Charlestown Road, only came into existence with the construction of the turnpike road in the early 19th century – before that, the only way to Chunal was via Gnat Hole.

Hollincross Map — 1969 1:2500 map showing routes north, east, and west. The hypothetical situation of the cross would probably have been at the church end of James Street

A cross marking this junction would have had its uses, then. Indeed, we can also play a speculation game (putting on my prehistorian’s hat for a moment) and suggest that the siting of St James’s Church (1840 or thereabouts – the foundation stone was laid on 27th September 1844, and it was consecrated almost 2 years later on 8 September 1846) was influenced by the existence (or memory) of a cross there indicating holy ground. Wild speculation, I know… but let’s pretend! Etymologically speaking ‘Hollincross’ may be understood as either ‘Holy Cross’, or ‘Holly Cross’ – a cross covered in or situated by some holly

Now obviously there is no cross there now, and Hamnett, writing in the late 19th century, could find no trace of a cross either – seemingly it’s location was lost to even the oldest residents of Whitfield. At some stage, then, our hypothetical cross has been removed. This could have happened for any number of reasons, ranging from pious iconoclasm (a stone cross is an object of adoration and thus ‘Popery’, or Roman Catholic veneration of things and people) to it simply being in the way of traffic. I know of one example, not local, of a 9th century Mercian Roundshaft that was rescued from a farmer who was in the process of rolling it down a hill and into a stream in order to plough his field. And this was in the 1960’s…

Crosses and bases were, then, broken up and re-used in walls, and as people don’t move stone further than they have to, especially in a stone rich area such as this, it sometimes pays to have a look around to see what you can see. With this in mind, and taking advantage of a lull in the rain, James and I went for a wander down to St James’ churchyard (via the park, obviously). He had a whale of time, helped no doubt by the drink of juice that the rector gave him! So, what did I find? Nothing definite, certainly, but just possibly, something.

Hollincross 1 — A stone amongst the stones. What is this lump?

Just opposite the main entrance to the church, by the path and amidst the gravestone sits a large lump of stone. It is roughly 2′ square and 1′ high, has been knocked about a fair bit, and is now fairy shapeless. However, one side has clearly been shaped and worked, and with the eye of faith one can see chisel marks.

Hollincross 2 — The side closest to the camera is flat and has been worked by tools. Is this the base of Hollin Cross?

Now, I am not sure what this is! It is not a glacial erratic as they are often rounded and smooth like a pebble, and I don’t think it is part of the church building, as it is the wrong type of stone. It might be the cross base, but there is no visible socket – the hole in which the cross shaft sits to make it secure. However, the socket may have been on the part that has been knocked off, or is perhaps underneath if the base had been up-ended. It is very uncertain, but we can be sure that the stone was not planned as such to be there – it makes no sense, and doesn’t even have an aesthetic value – rather it is a left-over from the land prior to the construction of the church.

I had a look around the walls for cross pieces, but could find nothing likely, and I think a winter trip around the churchyard is in order!

Of course, whilst I was there, I took the opportunity to photograph the bench mark on the church itself – how could I resist!

BM - St James, Whitfield — 548.9 ft above sea level, to be precise. That’s a roughly 120 ft difference between here and the top end of Whitfield Cross.

Any thoughts or comments are always welcome.

Archaeology

More Shelf Brook Sherds

September 30, 2017September 30, 2017 Tim Campbell-GreenLeave a comment

So, James and I went back to Manor Park last week and had a paddle round to see what we could see. He threw rocks, I had a poke around some sherds and and found a number of interesting bits and pieces. Behold, the haul:

More Shelf Brook Sherds — The haul of pottery!

Most of it is the usual type of white glazed stuff, the majority of which I left in situ… Mrs Hamnett can only cope with so many of these “valuable historical artefacts”/”bits of old pot” (delete as appropriate) stored in the house! The following are interesting (again, interesting is an objective term!) sherds:

Middle row, centre, is a clay pipe stem. These are quite literally the cigarette butt of the Victorian period, smoked and disposed of with gay abandon. I’m surprised there aren’t more of them in the brook, but then they are quite light and so are easily carried by the water. Date… from the stem alone, impossible to say – 16th to 20th Century! On balance though, almost certainly 19th Century, when tobacco had become an affordable luxury, and clay pipe smoking was normal for even the common man.

On either side of the pipe are pieces of glass. Rounded by being bashed against rocks, they resemble sea glass, and both come from bottles. The piece on the right is thin walled, and probably from a sauce bottle or similar.

Bottom row, from left to right is the rim of a thin and delicate shallow bowl of about 12cm in diameter. Thinking about it, it is probably a saucer, but from that fragment it is difficult to say, as is the date – 19th to 20th Century. Middle is a transfer printed handle from a tall upright vessel – possibly a tureen or similar. Date, as above! And on the right, the badly damaged base to a plate or bowl or similar large open vessel. The brown stripe across the middle is what remains of the ring base, which has come away. Date is almost certainly the same as above.

The best sherd I have saved for last, though. I thought it was an interesting rock when I pulled it out, and was quite excited when I recognised it for what it is.

It would appear to be a sherd from a manganese glazed vessel. “Wow!” I hear you cry collectively…

Well, wow indeed! I suspect that this sherd is 18th Century in date, and could be quite easily be 17th Century, considerably earlier than the majority of the material I’ve found so far.

The blue-ish purple colour of the glaze is very characteristic, and the fabric of the pot is early – a low firing temperature has produced a relatively soft body quite unlike the hard fired later vessels, and it is a coarse earthenware, not a china. It is a thick walled vessel, again quite common in earlier pots, particularly utilitarian vessels such as storage and serving pots, and is markedly different from the mass produced Victorian vessels. I can’t tell the type of vessel from which it comes – it is an open vessel (i.e. not a bottle or similar closed vessel), and has an internal diameter of c.14cm. – so perhaps a jug, or deep bowl?

The move toward finer pottery in the late 18th/early 19th centuries as ‘tableware’ is a response to fashion – the finer the vessel, the more expensive it is – with fine bone china was reserved for the wealthy only. Of course, as a result, everyone wanted some in order to keep up with their ‘betters’, and so the demand for fine pottery trickled down the social ranks, and new ways were found to mass produce finer pottery, though obviously of poorer quality.

That this early pottery is here is not surprising – it dates from a period before Glossop as we know it existed – before the mass explosion of the mills in the early 19th Century, and the subsequent expansion of housing to cope with the need for mill workers. At this time, the main settlement area was Old Glossop, clustered around the church, and with a few mills on the water there. And of course, Shelf Brook flows through Old Glossop. I may take a walk up there sometime this weekend!

Oddities · Stones of Glossop

A Little Mystery Stone

September 21, 2017September 22, 2017 Tim Campbell-Green3 Comments

Here’s a strange one, and one that may have a perfectly reasonable explanation, but it is a bit of a mystery.

First some context. I have always been intrigued by free-standing stones, and the multiple uses to which people put them. From glacial erratics to carved crosses, and from prehistoric standing stones marking a ritual space to boundary stones marking a modern urban district boundary, we rely on the natural material as a marker, as we have since we first found a need to mark place. There is something very human about a stone marker. A lot of my work in archaeology has been involved exploring space, and how we mark it, how we make it different from other space (specifically, in my case cemeteries and ritual places). I won’t get too bogged down in the detail here – I have a bigger post planned that explores some of these themes (you’ve been warned… and there will be questions afterwards), but for now, I present the first entry in a series entitled “The Stones of Glossop” that will explore the multitude of free-standing stones that populate the area.

And it is a bit of an odd one.

Walking on Hague Street, heading toward Derbyshire Level, and just past King Charles Court, the road bends to the left and passes very close to the 17th Century House there. Just on the corner of the house, and placed on the kerb, is a small stone.

Less than a foot high, rectangular, and dirty, it was once painted white, making it very visible, one assumes, in darkness. What makes this stone particularly interesting is the neat cross carved on the front.

White Stone 1 — The stones of the 17th Century house are clearly visible behind, with what, I have just noticed, looks like a face carved into the uppermost stone in the photograph. Coincidence, obviously, but spooky nonetheless!

The cross is of the Christian variety, with an elongated vertical piece, and is very clearly intentional, with the grime of the road and many winters highlighting the effect. There may be other marks on the front surface, but it is difficult to tell if they are intentional or the result of wear and tear. It is worn, especially on the right hand side, but not as much as I would expect if it were particularly old, especially situated by a roadside, and the stone has largely maintained its rectangular shape. It has also been painted fairly recently; this may be the continuation of a tradition of painting roadside stones, or it might have been done for the first time two years ago.

White Stone 2 — Close up of the stone and the cross.

It may be modern – although that would be perhaps surprising – or it may be older – in which case, why does no one mention it in any of the texts? It could be a road marker, but there is a massive building behind it that marks the road in a much more clear way! And what is the purpose of the cross? I suppose in some way it should be considered a roadside cross, but if that is the case, I’m not sure how to interpret it. I quite literally know nothing about this oddity.

Any thoughts, anyone?

Archaeology · Crosses of Glossop

Whitfield Cross

September 7, 2017January 14, 2020 Tim Campbell-Green15 Comments

Whitfield Cross. An odd name for a road that doesn’t have a cross on it.
Leading from Gladstone Street up to Hague Street/Cliffe Road, the road takes you past Whitfield Wells, and into the heart of the Whitfield Conservation Area. I lived on King Street for a number of years, and regularly walked up and down the street, without really noticing the name beyond “hmmm, I bet there was cross here at some stage”.

However, whilst delving into the history of the area, I came across an article by the marvellous Robert Hamnett (my namesake) entitled “Botanical Ramble to Moorfield”, dated to about 1890. There is not much botany, but it is a goldmine of local history. You can read the article in PDF form here via the scanned scrapbooks of the New Mills History Society – they have a whole bunch of them to ready to read, all from the late 19th and early 20th century, and all history local to New Mills and surrounding areas, including Glossop. But I digress…

As I read the article my jaw dropped. I repeat the relevant chapter here in full as it is full of great language, some of which might need explaining.

“In the latter part of the last century the Cross Cliffe lads planned and partially carried out what was to them a most daring and audacious deed. One ” Mischief Night,” the eve of the first of May, it was resolved to steal the Whitfield cross. In the depth of night, when all was quiet, and the Whitfield lads were slumbering or dreaming of their “May birch”, the Cross Cliffe invaders came and detached a portion of the cross. With secrecy, care, and much labour, it was conveyed away nearly to its projected destination, but the exertions required for the nefarious deed had been under estimated, their previous work in removing all articles left carelessly in the yards or at the back doors of the good people of Cross Cliffe and neighbourhood, such as clothes lines, props, buckets, etc., etc., to their “May birch” had already taken much of their energy out of them, and, coupled with the steepness of the ascent to the “Top o’ th’ Cross,” distance and roughness of the road to Cross Cliffe, and the weight of the stone, they were reluctantly obliged to abandon their “loot” in the last field near to the pre-arranged destination. What the feelings were of the Whitfield lads on discovering the desecration and loss of a portion of their cross can be better imagined than described. The stolen portion remained in the field for some years. Mr Joseph Hague, of Park Hall, was solicited to restore the cross to its original form and position, but being imbued with a little Puritanism, he refused, and the other portions gradually disappeared until there is nothing left of the Whitfield Cross, except the stolen portion, which is now part and parcel of a stile in a field at Cross Cliffe, where the then tenant of the field placed it, over a century ago.”

“Blimey!”, thought I!

Date wise, the removal of the cross would have been 1790 or so. I find it interesting that the boys of Crosse Cliffe carried half a metric ton of stone for a prank… no wonder they left it a short distance from where it originally stood. An interesting bit of trivia here, though; in the northern counties of Yorkshire, Lancashire, Derbyshire, and Cheshire, Mischief Night was on May Eve rather than November 4th as it is now. How and why it switched, no one knows, but I can remember my father telling me about it (born in 1942 in Macclesfield), as well as my grandfather (born in 1909 in Blackley). A little research on the internet repays a lot of information about this, though curiously not the origin of the phrase “May birch”, meaning a prank, which I can find no reference to anywhere else.

So there the cross sits still, passed each day by dozens of dog walkers and hikers.

Upon reading this passage I quite literally ran out and had a look around, but, not knowing exactly where it was (and it is not marked on any OS Map that I have seen), I drew a blank. Weeks later, walking for pleasure rather than exploring, I walked along the right path, and the cross hoved into view.

Cross Map — The location of the cross on a footpath. To get your bearings, Cliffe Road is on the left, and just above the houses there are the allotments.

And it really is unmistakable.

The Whitfield Cross, now permanently marked by a Bench Mark.

Technically, it is a 9th Century Mercian Round Shaft. That is, it is Anglo-Saxon in origin, carved and placed sometime between 800 and 900AD, and is of a type that is only found in this relatively small geographical area, the kingdon of Mercia. I say ‘this’ area, but technically we are living in the land of the Pecsaetan – the peak dewllers – an independent tribe until they merged with the Mercians prior to the invasion of 1066. Crosses normally have square or rectangular shafts, but the Round Shaft are characterised by an almost pot-bellied round shape, and the very characteristic band around the neck below the cross itself. Sometimes the shafts are decorated, but more often they are plain, as is our cross. Originally, it would have had a simple cross form on the top, just above the collar, and this as well as the neck, could sometimes decorated in panels. There are a few other examples of the round shaft in the area, but the closest are Robin Hood’s Picking Rods (which will be the subject of a future post).

Hamnett suggests that the original location for our cross was at the Whitfield Wells, and the early maps show an area set back from the road that would work. However, it would make more sense for the cross to have stood at the top of Whitfield Cross (the road) as crosses of this sort usually mark road junctions. Here, there is the meeting of three (then) important roads.

Cross Location — The location of the cross would have been where, coincidentally, the cross is at the centre of the map. That cross represents a ‘spot height’ above sea level, but the fact that figure is 666ft is deliciously ironic.

The old pack horse route comes from the south (Peak Forest, Buxton, and Chesterfield) through Gnat Hole, along Hague Street, through to the appropriately named Cross Cliffe, down to Old Glossop (for local traffic – the market and the parish church on Sundays), and on to Woodhead (and Yorkshire beyond, for commercial traffic). The stone would have marked the junction of the track that went along Whitfield Cross, Freetown, Hollincross Lane (Holy Cross? A cross standing by, or covered in, Holly?), Slatelands, and onto Simmondley and beyond. There was another spur coming out along what is now Gladstone Street, leading to that area of the town, and again onto Woodhead.

As we can see in the top photograph, the height of the land on either side of Whitfield Cross (the road) is surely testament to the age of the trackway, it being worn down to its present depth by millennia of use.

Neville Sharpe in his masterful study Stone Crosses of the Peak District notes that there are several large pieces of large built into the wall at the junction that could have formed the cross base. Closer inspection reveals numerous stones that have been re-used in the wall, several of which could be related to the cross, but without dismantling it in search of sockets, we can’t be certain.

Re-Use - c — A section of walling – note the reused stone, any one of which could be part of the cross base.

Candidate 2 — Another candidate? Ignore the arrow, that was carved to indicate an electricity supply is buried there.

Mystery Stone — Whilst looking at the wall, I spotted this dressed stone. It seems to have been a capstone to an arch – the curved line at the bottom gives it that impression, as does the diagonal sides. A doorway? A bridge? The rectangular panel has been deliberately pecked, perhaps to remove a date or name, or even a carving. I would suggest that it is early in date judging by its dressing – medieval perhaps? It’s amazing what you see in walls!

According to Sharpe, John Nelson, an assistant to John Wesley, preached at the cross in the mid 1700’s. This is very typical of the Wesleyan way – preaching outside and using a local landmark – and I’m surprised that Wesley himself didn’t preach here, given his activities in and love for the area. Alas, there is no mention of this is his diaries. There is a very interesting piece about the history of Methodism in the area, including a biography of Nelson, here.

I wonder how many of those dog walkers and hikers are aware of what it is they are passing by when they use that stile? Seriously though, I urge you to go and see it – it is truly a remarkable piece of history, and one that deserves a better fate than is currently befalling it.

I have a big idea about the cross! I would love to see it restored to its original site, or better yet, outside the Whitfield Wells, with a little placard explaining the history of both. The setting is perfect, and it would surely be a fantastic companion to the wells, particularly when dressed. Although in the infant stages, I am exploring possibilities… watch this space.

Whitfield Well 1 — The cross would look perfect here, especially if the wells were decorated.

Archaeology · Oddities

A Philosophy of a Fireplace

September 2, 2017September 3, 2017 Tim Campbell-Green1 Comment

As you walk down Freetown toward St James’s church, just before you get to Charlestown Road there is, on the right-hand side, a small thin passageway that ends in a gate, probably leading to someone’s back garden or something. Now, I’m not sure if this private land as such, but I don’t think so. It is, rather, one of the anomalous bits of land left over after the extensive demolition and remodelling that this part of Whitfield underwent in the late 1960’s. A sort of architectural no-man’s land, the result of imposing a rigid housing plan onto an already existing street system, and one that had grown somewhat organically, and in a ramshackle and piecemeal way throughout the 19th Century. It doesn’t quite fit, so there are these angles and nooks left over which I like to explore. I never can resist a good nook!

Fireplace - 1968 - 1-2500

This one contains a bit of a surprise. A fireplace. A large inglenook fireplace made up of three stone – two uprights and a lintel – carved, dressed, and sitting proudly in the wall, exactly as it should be.

Except it’s not… it’s outside.

What you see is the front of the fireplace – as you face it, you would have had your back into the room. But there is no room.

Fireplace 2 — Given the size of the fireplace, and the cramped location, it is difficult to get a good photograph, so my apologies.

Fireplace 3 — The dressed surface and delicate lines are clearly visible. The walls around it would originally have been plastered and flat, once you get that, you can begin to reconstruct the house around the fireplace structure.

Now, putting my anthropologist head on for a moment (as we archaeologists do fairly often), we may note that humans almost universally, and throughout all periods of history, have placed great importance between the ‘outside’ and ‘inside’. This binary concept is prevalent throughout our lives, and is just about hard-wired into our brains. The inside of a house represents the safety of the domestic and the social, the known familar world, one with distinct limits (the walls), and one that is warm and safe and light. The exterior is the opposite of that – it is dark, wild, cold, dangerous, full of unknowns and without limits. Out there, we are helpless, alone, and out there, man is no longer the hunter, but is the hunted, pursued by predators. Consider too the garden; technically outside, it can be seen as symbolically taming the wild. It is outside, but is not – it is bounded by walls and fences, and the grass is cut, unwanted plants are weeded out, the trees are nurtured and the flowers are fed and watered – it is controlled by us, and is carefully and jealously guarded against incursion from the wild.

Fireplace 4

Arguably, the whole of humanity’s struggles and the evolution of society is based around this concept – making the distinction between outside and inside, developing the domestic, and keeping the ‘other’ at bay. Certainly the ‘Neolithic Revolution’ is as much about this as it is about farming, and the two go hand in hand.

Fireplace 5 — The bricked up central part seals its fate as merely part of a wall.

Now what, I hear you cry, has this got to do with a fireplace? Well, the fireplace or hearth is the embodiment of the domestic, the heart and soul of a house. Warmth, light, food, and safety all come from this one point, and it physically and metaphorically represents the concept described above; beyond the light of the fire is darkness, and we don’t know what lies in the darkness. To see it outside, the exact opposite of where it should be, is, anthropologically speaking, wrong – it is an inversion of the norm, it is unsettling and disturbing, and it is somehow dangerous.

Taking off my anthropological head, it is also a very nice piece of carved stone, and so it’s a shame to see it wasted like this. Indeed, I have a fireplace exactly like this one in my own house.

So, how did it end up here? Taking a look at various historical maps, there are a number of buildings marked here over time. The earliest, 1880, seems to have been a small outhouse, possibly a privy. The others are a bit more substantial, particularly that shown on the 1898 map, which may well be our source.

Fireplace 1880 - 1-500 — 1880 1:500 map. A small outhouse or privy?

Fireplace 1898 1-2500 — 1898 1:2500. A more substantial building.

Fireplace - 1921 — 1921 1:2500. The building is now on an east-west axis.

The remodelling, probably largely uneccesary, of Whitfield has thrown up some interesting anomalies (not to mention the re-use of some of the original housing stone – see photos), but I think this is the oddest.

Re-use 2 — Re-use of the original building stone of the 1860’s houses of Whitfield and Freetown. These form the front garden wall of some of the 1960’s built ‘new’ houses.

Re-use 1 — Doorway lintels, foundation stones, and window sills make up part of this planter on Freetown.

As always, comments and corrections are very welcome.

Archaeology

Shelf Brook Sherds

August 29, 2017August 30, 2017 Tim Campbell-Green1 Comment

During the sunny weather we had a few weeks ago, James (my son), myself, and some mummy friends decamped to Manor Park for the swings, slides and climbing frames. Now, James is 18 months old and desperate to explore the world around him, so when we decided to plonk our children into Shelf Brook for a spot of paddling and water-based hi-jinx, he took to it like a duck to… well, you get the idea. The brook at that point is shallow and slow moving, perfect for picking up stones and throwing them, something he loved doing.

But it is, I have noticed, also a great place to find bits of pottery and other interesting bits lying in the brook. This was our hoard for the day:

Shelf Brook Sherds — They don’t look like much, but I like them!

I found the piece on the left, immediately recognising it as part of a marmalade jar – it is a gray glazed stoneware, with characteristic vertical ridges on the exterior. I say marmalade, but actually they contained all sorts of preserved fruit, with a paper label pasted onto the exterior to say what is within. Date wise, they are long-lived… so anywhere between 1870 and 1920, or thereabouts. You can still buy them, sometimes with the labels intact, quite easily – on ebay for example. Here’s what they look like when whole: Marmalade

I actually have a whole one that I managed to piece together from a dozen sherds I found on a Victorian tip, and it now holds pens and pencils. Sherds of this type are quite a common find, and as they are so recognisable you start to see them everywhere, as future blog posts will show.

The sherd on the right was actually found by James – a proud father/son moment… his first piece of pottery! Of course, being 18 months old, he simply threw it back into the brook where it made an audible ‘plop!’. It’s a sherd of roughly painted, almost sponge ware, pottery, and quite a lovely one too, with a sort of floral leafy design in a beautiful blue colour. It is difficult to see what the original form of the sherd was – probably a bowl or plate. The date is difficult, too. I would guess Victorian, and potentially early Victorian.

Both of these sherds have been rolling around the Shelf Brook for 100+ years, and the wear pattern on each tells that story. Both are discoloured by the peat brown water coming down from the moors – the marmalade jar particularly so – and both show signs of worn edges. The longer a piece of pottery has spent being tossed about by the water and banging into stones, the more worn it gets, and eventually the edges will become so rounded that it resembles a pebble. The marmalade jar has comparatively sharp edges, but this is probably due to the fact that, as a stone-ware, it has been fired at a higher temperature and is very hard wearing. The decorated sherd is less fortunate, and has already become rounded at the edges. Interestingly, the glaze on this sherd is crazed – that is, it is covered in tiny cracks. Heat is the usual cause of this, and as it is not a cooking pot, we may assume that the vessel was at some stage placed in an oven either to heat up, or to keep food warm, and probably many times before the vessel was broken.

As we were pulling the sherds out of the brook and looking at them (there were plenty of them, but these were the two that caught my eye), my friend asked “how did they get here?”. Actually, a very good question.

There are potentially two ways. The first is that there is a Victorian tip upstream somewhere, and the material is washing out of the bank. Possible, but I don’t know of any tip upstream (not that that is a guarantee of anything). The second, more probably route, is that at some stage along the course of Shelf Brook, someone threw the pottery into the water. Humans are essentially lazy, and it is almost an archaeological law that people will only move rubbish as far as they have to in order to no longer be able to see or smell it. And no further. The brook offers a perfect place to dump waste and rubbish, and as pottery is virtually indestructible, it washed up here in the calm and shallow area before the sluice. For all the good they did us, the Victorians were some serious litter louts.

Anyway, as usual, keep your eyes open, and any comments, please let me know.