Marking Time

October 15, 2025November 30, 2025 Tim Campbell-Green2 Comments

What ho, wonderful, and slightly odd, folk of the blog reading sort. I hope you are all as well as can be expected, and as we move into autumn, you get out an about as much as you can – always keeping an eye open for pottery and other interesting things.

Which sort of leads me to today’s offering. It’s a mixture, to be honest, some updates, some new stuff, but all interesting. I have said before that I always have multiple half-written articles on the go, all moving at different speeds – but for one reason or another, none leapt out at me asking to be finished. So here we are… Marking Time!

I’ve always been obsessed with the idea of humans marking their surroundings, and the notions of permanence, even immortality, that accompany this; from palaeolithic cave art to bronze age cup and ring markings, to 17th century building datestones, to Victorian carved graffiti, to modern tags – and I’m looking here at you, Boof, whose name is everywhere around Glossop at the moment – it all amounts to broadly the same thing: marking time.

Datestones update: As always, I am on the lookout for more datestones of a pre Victorian date (pre-1837). I recently bagged this:

Wonderful – ‘I.M. 1703’ – to the point, although I have no idea who I (or more likely J) M is. I have a whole article about Herod Farm and the surrounding area in progress, but wanted to share the datestone with you.

*UPDATE*

The always knowledgeable Roger Hargreaves emailed me a comment he tried to post on the site – technical issues prevented it, but here it is:

The “JM” on the Herod Farm datestone will be John Morton, who in 1692 succeeded his father, also John, as leaseholder of the adjacent Lees Hall. It’s likely that he then demolished the mediaeval hall which had been the main farming base of the Talbots and before them Basingwerk Abbey as Lords of the Manor. At the rear of Herod Farm is an elaborate window which has clearly come from somewhere else and is likely to be surviving fabric from the demolished hall, giving some idea of what it must have been like.

So there we have it – John Morton, and a teaser about the Lees Hall – a fascinating place, with a long history, and possibly a moat! Well worth an article and more. Thanks Roger, your input is always much appreciated.

Update to the Gatepost article: We recently bought a campervan, a mobile home with beds and a stove, and all that. It’s marvellous, and is unmissably yellow, or more truthfully YELLOW! (give a shout and wave if you see it around). Our first adventure camping was to Peak Forest, near Buxton, and coming home we decided to take an odd route for the sake of exploration – a vehicular Wander, if you will. Coming through Wheston, south-east of Chapel-en-le-Frith, we came across lots of gateposts, modern and made of concrete, but each marked with initials and dates:

I have no idea who CTH is – presumably the farmer who is replacing gateposts – but I salute your attention to detail – initials and date – and respect your devotion to tradition; earlier, 19th century, examples of dated gateposts can be found here. It might be concrete, but the idea is exactly the same, and I want to buy you, CTH, a glass of the stuff that cheers. Wonderful.

Next we have things seen on pavements… Glossop seems to have inherited the whole street paving slabs second-hand from somewhere. I seem to remember a whole hoo-ha about these stones, and others, occurring maybe 20 years ago – their origin and how much was paid for them… or something. Whatever, but what is certain is that they have some interesting markings on them, and all of these were seen between Costa Coffee and the Norfolk Arms – almost certainly more await discovery, so look down people:

A simple cross, formed of two chisel strokes.

‘1 – 7’ with the ‘1’ formed apparently by three chisel strokes, the ‘seven ‘7’ by three down and two across. No idea of the meaning.

A cross, and a hole filled with a lead plug. It’s difficult to imagine what this large flat stone would need a hole with a lead fixing for – it’s not like it was used for a gatepost or similar. I genuinely cant imagine what or why!

Finally we have this beauty:

So, we have a name in the bottom left, clumsily written – ‘Joseph’ something or other… D? B? Can anyone make out this? The second letter could be an ‘E’. Possibly. But then we have what might be a landscape – the top right looks like a fat sun, drawn by a child, to me. And in the centre, at the bottom, possibly a house (I think I can see the roof and walls, with perhaps a person in it). This is really an enigma – a name, and a piece of art, undatable, and probably from a place far from Glossop… but imagine if we could put a person to it. And all this, lying under our feet.

Other bits and pieces under our feet include markings on kerbs:

A simple ‘T’, probably referring to Telephone, and marking where the cable came into a property.

This is also sometimes marked by ‘GPO’ on kerbs, standing for General Post Office who were originally (from 1880’s until 1981) responsible for telephone communications. I once found an example on a kerb on Howard Street, but had not been able to find it since, until I came back from a blood test at the clinic there, and this was picked out of the dark by street lights:

Wonderfully carved, this was, I assume, where the telephones for the train station entered the buildings.

Another ‘T’, but this one in Old Glossop seems to have an errant exclamation mark after it!

Another slightly odd kerbside marking – an ‘E’, which is believe marks the place where electricity cables enter a property. It is quite common, although in this case it is accompanied by an ‘S’ and a ‘T’, the meaning of which I have no idea.

I also saw this on Princess Street – another marker showing where electricity enters a property – this is also quite a commonly found one.

A no frills, very clear and functional, EL!

Here’s another mark that is commonly seen: a simple arrow, but not like the Ordnance Survey benchmark arrow, this is normally crudely carved, thin, and without the horizontal line above it… thus:

This is another of those that points to a service – gas, possibly, or electricity – entering a building, although I truthfully don’t know… any help would be welcome.

However, here is a Benchmark, newly found by me, under the railway bridge on Arundel Street, and which marks 501ft 8″ above sea level:

Worn, and almost camouflaged, there it is.

Also on the bridge are these single holes, often found in the upper part of the stone:

And here…

These small, shallow, holes were made in order to use a pincer, or external, Lewis and frame in order to move the blocks. A genius invention, it’s a simple iron tool that, via a chain, uses the weight of the block itself to hold it fast whilst it is moved, and enables even a single person to shift a huge piece of stone. But it requires a shallow hole in order to provide a point that gives a good grip. I love these, as they allow us to view how the bridge was built.

Another example of us viewing the method by which these wonderful Victorian structures were built is this:

Often occurring in pairs, these are drill marks made by quarrymen, into the rock face, which allow them to insert a splitter to pry away the stone from the quarry face. Once seen, they are very recognisable, and are the scars that show how, with a little physics and a lot of brute force, rock can be shifted.

Howard Street, which meets the Arundel Street bridge, has a few, sporadic, mason’s marks along the stretch of railway walling here:

Low key, and not very common, these nonetheless represent the ‘signatures‘ of the men who shaped these stones. The cross is a common mark carved on stones – it is literally two strokes with a chisel – so it cannot be definitively linked to those masons who built Dinting Arches, but you never know.

Other mason’s marks can be found around…

This is found on a lump of masonry from Wood’s Mill, and now stands where Wood’s Mill once stood, now Glossop Brook View, and by the houses there. Post-1842 in date, although possibly early, the mark was hidden until the mill was demolished – the rough dressing of the block indicates that it was never meant to be seen. I wonder who ‘B’ was.

This last one is on the gatepost of the Crown Inn, Victoria Street (although the gates are on Hollincross Lane); very faint – and difficult to photograph – they are in the angular shape of a fish.

I also spotted this on Howard Street:

A dated piece of cement. This is either dated proof of work done – a modern form of mason’s mark – or possibly a dated repair that allows Network Rail to observe cracks forming and assess integrity. Either way, it’s kind of cool!

Finally, some bits of carved graffiti, a particular favourite of mine.

A single ‘J’ on the wall of Heath Barn, Heath.

Also on the north wall of Glossop churchyard, on Church Street – initials – R C J W P. The arrangement is odd, and I wonder if they were 4 members of a single family, with the surname ‘J’. That could surely be traced if it was the case!

These last two were from the bridge over the Longdendale Trail on Padfield Main Road. The whole bridge has a lot of graffiti carved on it, including this wonderful example:

Old and the new. I love this photograph, and am very proud of it!

Here we have Victorian carved graffiti – ‘J.H’, possibly, along with some more letters, undecipherable under the frost, over an early incarnation of the now famous (infamous) BOOF graffiti tag made with a spraycan. I find it interesting that we would condemn one, but praise the other as historical and interesting. When does vandalism become history and worthy of study? A bigger discussion, and one I find fascinating (akin to when does something become archaeology?). I know graffiti, as in modern graffiti – put it down to a misspent youth and a love (despite appearances to the contrary) of Hip Hop – and I have followed BOOF’s career with a certain interest.

So here I shall leave it. Making marks, and marking time – it’s all about trying to achieve immortality, to leave your mark long after you are gone, and making people remember you, even if they don’t know who you are. I think that’s all any of us, myself included, can hope for. There are so many examples of this phenomena in the Glossop area, and I have an idea to produce a book looking at precisely this sort of thing – watch this space.

Talking of books, please check out Where/When Number 7 – Forts and Crosses: A Mellor Wander.

This one is a truly awesome Wander around Mellor – just over yonder! It has medieval field systems and farms, Victorian noise, an Iron Age hill fort, medieval crosses, cracking views, a terrifying viaduct, bench marks, a trig point, wonderful gateposts, and it starts and finishes at a pub… what’s not to love? Here’s the cover to tempt you.

Available from the shop, link above, or from Dark Peak Books and Gifts, High Street West, Glossop. Or, you know, just track me down and throw money at me.

Talking of which… if you enjoyed this, and fancy buying me a glass of the stuff that cheers, then please do so via this link to my Ko-Fi page. I do what I do here because I love doing it, and I feel it’s important we explore our shared heritage… but I’ll never say no to a pint in thanks!

So much more news to share, and so many things planned. Watch this space, wonderful people, as big things are coming.

But on a serious level, how are you doing? Genuine question. Personally, I’m a little down at the mo… the devastating loss of my brother (cheers Stephen, I’ll miss you), coupled with a dose of Covid, and the general malaise that accompanies the move from summer into autumn and winter, has meant a lull in the festivities here at CG Towers. Still, the wheel turns, the seasons they change, and life will inevitably continue, and on we go. But as I always say, look after yourselves and each other, you really are important, and too often we say “I’m aright” when we actually mean “I’m not alright, please help” – it’s ok to not be ok.

So then, more coming, but until next time, I remain.

Your humble servant,

TCG

Archaeology · Mason's Marks · Pottery · Pottery Guide

A Fireplace Finds Frenzy

September 25, 2025September 26, 2025 Tim Campbell-Green3 Comments

What ho! Autumn is here… it was cold this morning, and leaves are already turning, and hopefully this article will be published on the Autumn Equinox. Probably. I mean to say… that’s what I’m aiming for*. It’s been a very weird and stressful week or two for a variety of reasons too complicated to go into here, but in the spirit of hopefully moving on, I present this short(ish) offering, which I hope satisfies at least the craving for pottery.

*Ok, so I failed… but only by two days.

So, I have a large inglenook style fireplace in my house, and the hearthstone in front of the wood burner in said fireplace has, much to the annoyance of Mrs CG, become something of a drying and sorting zone for the bits and pieces I have found along the course of my normal life! And precisely because the nights are getting colder, and the burner might need to be used soon, I am forced to clear up the archaeology. Well… hold my glass of stuff that cheers, as the saying goes, the challenge has been accepted.

It’s interesting in that it represents a sort of snapshot of the kinds of things I have found very recently, and actually from all over, too, not just Glossop. I’ve also tried to keep to my new rule of only keeping things that I find interesting, or that you might find interesting – so no more simple and plain Blue and White Transfer Printed Ware or similar. And in all honesty, I won’t keep some of this, and I’ll return it. Anyway – here we go.

First up, a Derbyshire Salt Glaze Stoneware bottle base, with a diameter of 8cm – you can see the ‘orange-peel’ effect of the salt glaze on the exterior. It probably contained some form of drink, perhaps alcoholic, and although they often contained ink, too, I think it would have been to nice for that, with the fancy groove running around the bottom. The interior is also glazed, and has wonderful grooves, evidence of how the bottle was hand made on a potter’s wheel.

The rising of the grooves on the inside, showing where the potter pulled the clay into the bottle shape.

Next up is this lovely teacup sherd in an unusual colour. Measuring 9cm in diameter, it seems to have straight sides, and is decorated with what might be a tree in front of stormy clouds, or perhaps just clouds, in a brown and yellow transfer. It’s probably 20th century in date, and it’s odd, but I quite like it.

Found in Alexandra Park, Oldham, having been dug out of a badger’s sett in the woods.

Next up, a chimney…

A tiny sherd of transfer printed ware, dating to the late Victorian period, and showing what was probably a cottage scene, of which the roof and chimney is the only bit to survive. I couldn’t leave that behind, could I? Found on the footpath by Pyegrove, Glossop.

Next we have a…

…copper roof nail. Found at the top end of Whitfield Cross, the result of someone having roof work done, with the old nail being pulled out and the slate replaced. Contrary to what I had thought, the nail is not bent accidentally, but rather it is driven into the wooden battens a short distance, and then bent over deliberately in order to secure the slate in place. Lovely stuff; I love the colour, but also the square shape in section of the shaft. I wrote a little about them and how they were made, here, and oddly they seem to seek me out – I’m always finding them in the street, and I have hundreds!

Next up, a Victorian clay pipe stem:

Awful shot, but I think I am due to get a new phone soon…

The pipe stem and mouthpiece is to the left, and the bowl should have been to the right – the bit that sticks down is the spur of the pipe. This sort of thing.

Interestingly, the spur – designed to keep the pipe from rolling around and to keep the hot bowl from burning surfaces – has a circular (or annular) maker’s mark or decoration on it. I have no more information to offer, sadly, but I think it is quite a common marking. Love it!

I also love this:

A lovely sherd of Victorian Hand-Painted pottery. You can see (through the mud – apologies) the individual brush strokes that make up the delicate blue flower that once adorned a probable . I have the next Rough Guide to Pottery planned that, among other pottery types, looks at this Hand-Painted stuff; you lucky people, you! Anyway, enough of the shouting and cursing… this was also found on the Pyegrove path, as indeed was this next one:

I think this was well used and quite worn when it went into the ground.

It’s a sherd of Industrial Slipware, in a lovely pale grey colour, and, measuring a diameter of 14cm, it’s probably a rim to a Georgian/early 19th century Mocha Ware open bowl, perhaps like this:

Found on the internet and shamelessly stolen – you could have bought this lovely example from only $225, which is probably well worth it.

The next two were found on the track from Pyegrove to Old Glossop – along the track to Hall Fold:

and…

And a bit of a body sherd – tiny, really, but characteristic.

The first sherd is a rim sherd from a large open bowl or plate, and is in a 17th century Midlands Yellow Ware. It’s impossible to get a rim diameter – despite being a rim sherd – because it is such a small fragment (thus we see the limits of the Rim Chart). However, it is chunky and well made, so it is likely to be large, and as it is a relatively fine fabric, so it is likely to be later in date. Probably.

The second sherd is a fragment of a Manganese Glazed vessel. Honestly, I have no idea about the shape – most are open, rather than a closed shape, and this has glaze on the interior and exterior, which also suggests open shape. Date… 17th to very early 18th century.

Both of these are lovely bits, and really bring home the age of these trackways that I keep banging on about! I have a future blog post planned… don’t worry.

Next is this wonderful thing:

The low evening sunlight really brings out the features.

A single piece of lead came – window lead. This lead came held the small pieces of window glass together to make up a window, and is made by squeezing the lead through a former, whose cogs leave grooves in the lead. It seems that, as a rule of thumb, the smaller the gaps between these ‘reeds’, the newer the came, and vice versa. So it seems that this piece of came is quite early – 17th, or possibly 16th century? It was found on the banks of Erwood Reservoir, near Buxton, along with a whole pile of other 17th century material (the subject of a future article, especially as it very much mimics the same material found on the valley sides around here). This is the fabric of a long lost farm, and I wonder who last looked through the glass it once held.

And to finish this ramshackle wander around my hearthstone, I present the following: a mason’s mark from the railway bridge at the bottom of the Hayfield Road (A624) at Chinley.

Here’s what it looks like:

A rough sketch from my catalogue of mason’s marks in the area.

I realise that it’s not really a fireplace related thing, but I like this sort of thing, and so do most of you, and besides… I don’t know where else to put it! It’s one of several examples of this mark on the bridge, and has maddeningly resisted me taking a photograph for one reason or another. However, the other day we were travelling in our new camper van, and all the planets aligned, and I managed to get this snap! Whilst very similar, it’s not like any of the others in the area that I have documented, and whilst this is disappointing, it makes sense as there were hundreds of stonemasons working on building the rail network in the early to mid-Victorian period (the line here was opened in 1867). This whole area is interesting, and following the construction of the railway, the road system was monkeyed around with, with roads no longer connecting, or moved over and replaced by newer ones. I should explore it a little, who knows what might be uncovered.

In terms of mason’s marks, I’m still toying with the idea of a project that studies all the marks, to catalogue, photograph, and cross reference them. If anyone fancies coming with me on a few walks to make this happen – from Broadbottom to Longdendale, and then the Chinley Line, perhaps – give me a shout.

So, there you go, the Fireplace Finds Frenzy… I hope you enjoyed it.

More soon, honestly. But until then, I know I say this every month, but please do look after yourselves and each other; I have recently learned just how important this is, and in particular, you never know when your time is up.

And as always, I remain, your humble servant.

TCG

Archaeology · Bench Marks · Graffiti · Standing Stones

Gateposts

July 8, 2025July 8, 2025 Tim Campbell-GreenLeave a comment

What ho, lovely people of the blog world. I hope you are all well as we hurtle headlong into summer, each of us fearing what terrible weather will mar an otherwise splendid season. Nevermind, this too shall pass and all that, and indeed we must grasp the nettle by the horns, or something, and make H whilst the S shines…

Today’s post is one of those brought about by happy coincidence, where a series of events conspire, almost waving at you, until you finally notice and say, loudly, “what ho… a blog post!” Or, in this case, a Gate Post. The first event was posting a few photographs on Twitter and Instagram (@roberthamnett on Twitter, and @timcampbellgreen on Instagram, for those of you who might fancy checking it out). Turns out I’m not the only one who likes a good gatepost or two. And then the next event was my seeing a tiny piece of metal in the soil whilst doing a recce for a Where/When (No.7, to be precise… Of Forts and Crosses: A Mellor Wander). All will become clear, honestly.

For years now I have been obsessed with gateposts. Mundane, utilitarian, and always overlooked, a good gatepost can be as interesting as a prehistoric standing stone to me, and truthfully, there is often very little difference: both made of stone, both standing upright, both important in the past, and also in the present. And if anything, gateposts have more interesting features! I mean, obviously prehistoric is fascinating, but they don’t really give us much to go on, whereas the later gateposts… well, read on.

They can be decorated – often just roughly dressed.

A simple rough dressing, to shape it in a uniform manner.

But sometimes some thought has gone into them, to create a pleasant design – which for a utilitarian functional object seemingly goes beyond what is needed.

A simple cross, surrounded by a border. I say simple… it takes some doing.

I mean, the only time you see the gateposts is when you are opening a gate to let sheep or cattle in and out, and it’s probably not something you’d see everyday. And even if you did, it’s only for a moment or two, it frankly doesn’t matter if it looks good, and I doubt farmers are wandering around making snarky comments about the plain decoration of another farmer’s gateposts. So why? What is the purpose behind them? I don’t mean they had some sort of secret meaning behind the decoration, rather they simply represent someone’s choices, but why those choices I wonder? Possibly it’s probably more to do with pride in the work taken by the stonemason who shaped it, perhaps a form of identifier: we know it’s person X who shaped it, as he always decorated it with a cross. But then there are those that go beyond simple decoration, and instead turn it into a work of art.

This is wonderful! The way it shifts from the upper band with a circular motif, to the lower aspect with the herringbone pattern is amazing. A lot of effort went into this.

This too, is truly wonderful. The circular motif, with a border, is just amazing. This post seems to be in the reddish Cheshire sandstone, which makes sense given that it, and the last gatepost was found in the Mellor area, rather than Glossop.

Other times, we find words and dates on gateposts. Often these are faded and barely legible, the weather and environment are not kind to these solid sentinels, and they have no shelter.

‘1856’, on the track from Fieldhead Farm to Whitfield Cross.

I went all arty with this shot… I’m quite proud of it! ‘1874’ in a very similar hand to that of the above gatepost – I wonder if it was the same person? This is on Kidd Road, just before its junction with Derbyshire Level.

Multiple ‘B’, ‘D’, and ‘O’ – from a post just by Fieldhead Farm.

The Ordnance Survey often use them to carry benchmarks – after all they’re not likely to be moved, and so are a safe and permanent marker for heights above sea level.

The line above the arrow is 682 ft above sea level, precisely.

I love this photo… the grass almost mirrors the benchmark. Oddly, I don’t have a height for this mark – for some reason, no OS map I have come across shows its existence. Strange.

The fixtures and fittings of gateposts always fascinate me, too. Cast iron hoops and hooks, held in place by the tell tale grey/blue of lead. Sometimes you can only see the lead, the actual latch or pintle missing, it’s function no longer having purpose – it is just now a standing stone.

A now missing something or other, the metals eroding, staining the stone. It can get so bad that it actually kills the moss and lichen.

More something or other, now missing, but once important. The lead fixing is a tell-tale sign that the iron whatjamacallit is missing. I honestly love this, it really does show my theory of objects having a biography.

This is lovely… beautiful cast iron eyelet, twisted and shaped whilst red hot, and then held in place with lead. Although no longer needed to make the gatepost function – the modern steel gate does that (leaving it’s own scars on the stone) – it remains a part of its history.

Multiple phases of use, each leaving a mark.

Again, scars, but once meaning, purpose.

It was actually one of the lead fixings that I found that partly inspired this post. I saw what was obviously lead sticking out of the ground, and bending to remove it as I always do – it’s really not good for the environment – I realised it was bigger than I expected. I studied it for a moment trying to work out what it was, when suddenly: “aha” I thought “that’s a fixing“.

You can see rust on the inside, where the iron whatsit was held in place.

Looking at this lump, and using a small diagram, you can see what it is and how it worked. The long hollow through the middle once held the iron fixture – a pintle or latch, perhaps.

The iron whatsit was circular in section.

The shape of the lead piece is also a clue to how it actually held this in place. A hole is made into the side of the gatepost that needs the ironwork on it, with the lower part of the hole made deeper. The ironwork is placed in the hole, and the molten lead poured in using a funnel to hold it within the stone and around the iron whilst it cools.

When hardened, it forms a plug that is very difficult to move, keeping the iron work in place; clever, and elegantly simple. It’s also nice to see the ‘inside’ of the gatepost, or rather a cast of the inside, and one wonders why the lead has come away so intact from its original home – one can only imagine that the post itself was broken, freeing this fixing, which then found itself at my feet in the wilds of Derbyshire years later.

In terms of dates for these gateposts – well, it’s not clear. I think the more uniform stones, with a rounded head, are Georgian and Victorian – later 18th and 19th century. However, there are some that I think are significantly older – 17th, 16th, even 15th century, possibly. These are generally less formally worked, are shorter, and importantly are characterised by having a single straight hole through the stone a few feet above the ground.

Another arty shot, this one of the ancient gatepost on Hague Street.

Carrhouse Lane, Whitfield. And no, I didn’t stick my hand in the hole…

I was, until fairly recently, convinced that these were marker stones for trackways, the square hole perhaps taking a wooden pointer. However, I started to notice that this didn’t always fit the pattern, and despite multiple blog articles, twitter posts, and it even published in Where/When, I began to doubt this explanation. I then received an email that pretty much confirmed it for me (thank you PB, you amazing man!). In it, the author quoted a John Farey, whose 1815 book – General View of the Agriculture and Minerals of Derbyshire: With Observations on the Means of Their Improvement. Drawn Up for the Consideration of the Board of Agrigulture [sic] and Internal Improvement – gave the following quote:

Anciently, the Gates in the Peak Hundreds were formed and hung without any iron-work, even nails, as I have been told; and some yet remain in Birchover and other places, where no iron-work is used in the hanging: a large mortise-hole is made thro’ the hanging-post, perpendicular to the plane of the Gate, at about four feet and a half high, into which a stout piece of wood is firmly wedged, and projects about twelve inches before the Post; and in this piece of wood, two augur holes are made, to receive the two ends of a tough piece of green Ash or Sallow, which loosely embraces the top of the head of the Gate (formed to a round), in the bow so formed : the bottom of the head of the Gate is formed to a blunt point, which works in a hole made in a stone, set fast in the ground, close to the face of the Post. It is easy to see, by the mortise-holes in all old Gate-Stoops, that this mode of hanging Gates was once general.

Of course, it made sense, despite me banging on about them being marker stones. So, please accept my apologies for this; I am not always correct, and my knowledge is always growing. And thank you PB, who brought this to my attention – this is your discovery, not mine (you can read the book here – P.92 is the quote. There are about 20 of these gatepost types I know of, with many more awaiting discovery. And I actually think these are quite significant, as if we plot their location on a map, we might get a better grip on land use in the pre-industrial period. Marvellous.

I am obsessed with gateposts, and I want you to be, too. Everytime I pass one, I check it out, and often I am rewarded with some nugget of information, graffiti, decoration, or just a blast of the past. Let me know what you find via the contact page, and let’s keep an eye out for those holed ancient stones.

Right, I think that’s all for this month, and lucky you the next post will, I suspect, be a pottery post! Woohoo! I have found lots of cool stuff recently, and it all needs writing about. As always, I have about 30 projects ongoing, not all of which is coming to fruition anytime soon, but some will emerge relatively rapidly – watch this space. In the meantime, do please check out the Etsy store, or the Ko-Fi page – and feel free to buy me a ~~beer~~ coffee, or yourself a copy of Where/When, or even a t-shirt!

But until next time, please do look after yourselves and each other. I know I always say that, but you all matter, and we all need to take better care of each other… the world can be scary place at times, so lets band together and help each other.

And as always, I remain.

Your humble servant,

TCG

Archaeology · Longdendale · Pottery · Where / When

Torside Sherds & Walls

June 4, 2025June 14, 2025 Tim Campbell-GreenLeave a comment

What ho, what ho, what ho!

Well, this last month or so has been splendid in terms of weather, what? And indeed much has been done outside – archaeology and Where/When stuff.

Anyway… pottery as promised!

So… Master CG has taken up Windsurfing, which is to be applauded. Like a fish to water you might say, and he’s quite good, apparently (the instructors seem to be very pleased). This means that for a few hours at a weekend, myself and Mrs CG get to relax at the wonderful Glossop Sailing Club (who I cannot recommend highly enough – they are simply amazing), and in the neighbourhood of the wonderful Torside Reservoir in the Longdendale Valley, surrounded by the glacial formed hills; it’s truly a wonderful landscape.

Torside Reservoir is the fourth, and largest, in the Longdendale Chain of reservoirs which flooded this part of the valley in 1864. It is named after Torside Farm, first mentioned in the baptism of Alycia Hadfield in All Saint’s, Glossop, on 16th July 1621. Now whilst this may be the first mention, for two reasons I had a feeling the farm would be older: firstly, Alycia clearly had parents who didn’t just pop into existence in 1621. And secondly, if a place is good for farming in the 17th century, it would have been good in the 13th, 14th, and 15th centuries.

Torside Farm on 1882 OS map, borrowed from the National Library of Scotland website

Interestingly, this first mention in the parish register was actually written as “Thorsett” which, like many others in those pages, is a remarkable fixed record of the local dialect and pronunciation of the 17th century; the clerk asks “where do you live” and the answer from the parent is “Thorsett”, which is then written precisely as said, in clipped northern tones. Even as late as the 19th century, spellings of names and places is not fixed, and confusingly there is often quite a range of spellings for a single farm. Alas, the farm seems to have been demolished by the 1960’s, probably by the water board, and where it stood is now the carpark and public toilets.

Now, knowing this, and whilst young CG was floundering in the somewhat chilly waters, I went for a wander with the hope of finding something interesting and ceramic with which to entertain you wonderful people. Along the edge of the water, and up to the road I walked; I didn’t know what I was looking for as such, more a vague sense that something would be there, this close to an early 17th century farmhouse. And lo! What wonders did appear…

Firstly, I noticed two long walls amidst the general stony foreshore. Made from large boulders that would have, at one time, been plentiful in the fields; they were a convenient source of stone, as well as clearing the fields allowing them to be ploughed effectively.

A 30cm ruler in the foreground as a scale: I am professional… just on a budget!

Torside Reservoir, Longdendale: valley, pylons, windsurfing Master CG (and others) in full view… along with a mysterious wall running into the distance.

They would originally have stood higher, with this being the foundation course, and the size of the stones, combined with the lack of any map evidence, suggests an early, possibly medieval, date. There is a rough guide to dating walls in this area and hereabouts:

Taken from John Barnatt and Ken Smith’s highly recommended The Peak District: Landscapes Through Time. It’s based on data from Roystone Grange, and whilst it might be over simplistic, it does illustrate how walls changed over time.

It is a rough guide, and isn’t probably applicable everywhere, but it does serve to show differences in how walls were built. I honestly don’t know what these are, but I’m presuming field boundaries for a long lost field system. There are medieval field walls in Tintwistle, and they do look like this, but equally I have seen field clearance walls that date to the Bronze Age that look similar. The following is a rough map and rough measurements – maybe I should go back and really survey the walls properly… anyone fancy helping me?

But enough about the walls, “show us the good stuff… the pottery!” you shout (all except Mr Shouty-Outy, who shouted that he would apparently rather see my bottom…). Well here it is. The pottery that is, not my bottom.

All this was found on the surface, and it tells a very interesting story, but there are some genuinely important bits here. First up, we have a sherd of Manganese Glazed pottery.

Early 18th century in date – it stops being made around 1750 – this stuff is fairly commonly found on sites of this date, and probably come from a jug or mug. I explored this stuff here.

Other bits of Manganese Glazed include these 4 rim sherds from cups and mugs.

Clockwise from top left: an open bowl measuring 16cm, a cup of 10cm, another cup of 10cm, and another measuring 12cm. Lovely stuff.

Next up, some slipware.

On the left, a chunky sherd probably from a large jug or similar. On the right we have the rim from a large platter (it has a rim diameter of 30cm); the piecrust edge is hugely characteristic and immediately recognisable (again, I explore it in this article):

The glazed interior didn’t quite make it to the rim, and would have created a striking image: this would have been an impressive vessel when it was whole.

The middle sherd is Staffordshire Slipware, with a Dark on Light decoration. The reddish slip laid over the light background turns much darker when covered in the lead-based glaze. In this case it seems to be giving some form of geometric design – you can see the grooves where the slip was laid, but which has fallen away – the pottery is not particularly hardwearing, and the slip is often found to have delaminated from the body.

Wonderful stuff… you can just make out the linear design in the clay in this awful photo.

This is from the base of the vessel – probably a large platter used for presenting food on the table, and from which all the family would have taken their own share. Turning it over, you can see lots of interesting marks made during the manufacturing process.

When made, the pots are pressed into a mould until they are ‘leather’ hard – that is, hard enough to retain their shape, but not quite fully dry. What we can see on the base are the scars of manufacturing. There are numerous lines scraped into the clay, suggestive of tools used to remove the pot from the mould, or even string. There is also a small ball of clay lodged within the base – this would have been dry and sitting in the mould when the wet clay was placed in it, and when removed it became part of the base. The small holes around it suggest that there were others that didn’t become attached. I love this… it’s almost the secret side of pottery – whilst most people look at the decoration and say “oooh”, let’s instead flip it over and see what else it can tell us.

Next up, we have some Nottingham Stoneware:

I explored this wonderful stuff back in the first instalment of the Rough Guide to Pottery so I won’t discuss it here, but it dates to the 18th century, which is a good date for us. You can see the ‘orange peel’ surface made by using a salt glaze in this sherd:

And on this sherd interior, you can see the horizontal smoothing lines.

I think 2 of the sherds come from jugs or bowls, whilst the base sherd on the left has a diameter of 7cm, so it might have come from a squat round-bellied tankard.

Slightly later than all this is a beautiful sherd of Industrial Slipware:

It’s a lovely fragment of a sugar bowl type thing, with a wide mouth and straight sides. I like how the decoration gently mirrors the environment it was found in – very suggestive of water and sky.

For me, though, the absolute gem of a find was this fragment of a large Cistercian Ware jug.

Dating to the earlier 16th century (1550, perhaps), this is quite special in that it not only pushes back the date of Torside Farm, it is also not something that is commonly encountered. The surface is wonderful in a deep black glaze, and the fabric is textbook purple and hard, with the classic ‘salt and pepper’ inclusions.

The purple colour is on the bottom, the darker grey colour in the fabric is on the inside of the jug, and is caused by the pot being fired in a reduced oxygen environment – essentially, a lack of oxygen during the firing as air couldn’t get into the jug interior properly.

It would have originaly looked something like this:

Image is lovingly stolen from the University of Leicester Archaeological Service’s Facebook page – here

Genuinely, this sherd is, I think, something significant and had me all of a quiver when I found it. I had to have a bracer or two, and thankfully I was soon back to my normal stiff upper lipped-ness.

I also found some clay pipe stems here and there amongst the stones; all fairly standard and Victorian with the remarkable exception of this wonderful fragment.

The longer I look at it, the more it looks like it has two eyes, a nose… is singing to me!

It is chunky, being some 10mm thick, but crucially it is a large bore – the hole through the middle is 4mm – which is unusually large, and twice (or more) the width of a Victorian bore (sigh… yes thankyou Mr Shouty-Outy, calling me an ‘unusually large bore‘ says more about you than it does me). All of this means that the stem is early; early 17th century early… probably the same date as the earliest reference to the farm in 1621. It’s wonderful to imagine Alycia’s father sitting and smoking a nervous pipe in front of the fire, listening to the cries of his newborn daughter upstairs, and who knows… this could be the pipe. I love this, genuinely… it makes it real.

I also found a fragment of stone roof tile with the peg hole intact…

A nice shot, that! This must have come from the house or outbuilding, possibly as part of its demolition or perhaps during the course of its natural life.

Slightly older… glacial erratics – bits of stone that are not part of the local geology, which in out case is Millstone Grit and coarse sandstone:

Another awful photo – I will get a proper camera soon, honestly.

I talked a little about glacial erratics here, but essentially they are bits of stone that have been picked up from all points north of here by glaciers moving south during the last ice age (granite, and large bits of quartzite, for example). The movement of these huge structures made of ice, mud, and stone, actually carved out the Longdendale Valley, and when they began to melt roughly 25,000 years ago, they dropped all this odd material. Glacial sand and clay can be found all over the Glossop area (my own house sits on glacial clay), but it is very prevalent in Longdendale. The types of stone, and indeed origin of these, I haven’t gone into; I am not a geologist, but perhaps I should write an article on them?

In addition to all that, I found a rather nice segment of hand forged, very worn, iron chain.

I have no idea of the age of it, but it’s certainly at least Victorian… and is very cool!

As I say, the first mention we have of the farmhouse at Torside is 1621, but I am fairly confident that the Cistercian Ware jug is earlier, and perhaps by as much as 150 years – which is very interesting and may point to an earlier incarnation of the farm in the area… which makes sense. The past is indeed all around us, and often at our feet… and it is always well worth having a look.

So then, in other news (and also having a look at), the new edition of Where/When has just come from the printers: No.6 – Old Lanes to Old Glossop.

This one is a Wander along the medieval main route between Simmondley and (Old) Glossop, now fossilised into footpaths and odd tracks between buildings. Filled with all manner of archaeological goodness and the usual nerdiness, with a pinch of psychedelia and a heavy hit of psychogeography. Put simply it’s a bloody good walk that goes between The Hare and Hounds and The Wheatsheaf, so what’s not to love?

Contact me here, buy it in the website store, buy it from my Etsy store, the Ko-Fi store, stop me in the street and say “what ho!”, or pop into Dark Peak Books on High Street West, Glossop and grab a copy. It is selling fast… worryingly fast, to be honest!

Right, I think that’s all for the archaeology this month… more soon, obviously. Perhaps more pottery; I’d like to finally wrap up the Rough Guide to Pottery – its unfinished status is frankly bothering my diverse and somewhat spicy mind, and I’d like to be able to wake up not screaming once in a while! Watch this space.

In the meantime, as always – and I do honestly mean it – look after yourselves and each other. This world is not always kind, so let’s – even you Mr Shouty-Outy – try and be kind instead. Until then, I remain, your humble servant.

TCG

History · Placenames · Pubs · Towns of Glossop

Glossop – A Town of, well… Towns

March 8, 2025 Tim Campbell-Green1 Comment

What ho, delightful historical types (hysterical types?)! Welcome to a new article… don’t worry too much, it’s not pottery (I’m saving that for next time). Nope. This one looks at an interesting feature of Glossop’s personality. Buckle up!

So, some posts I can polish off in an evening (glass of stuff that cheers in hand, obviously). Others takes weeks to brew, and the process can be painfully slow. This one, though, is very different. I started writing it in August 2017… and it’s taken just under 8 years to publish it! No reason as such, it’s just I paused writing it, and moved onto something else, then I went back to it, and then did the same, and so on, and never quite finishing it. In fact, it’s so old, that it was written using an older version of WordPress (the platform I use for my website) which wasn’t really useable any more, and I had to paste the entire thing onto the newer version. Well, here we go.

It’s often said that Glossop is a town of different areas, and with different character. When I first moved here, I realised that a lot of these areas were named ‘town’ – Howard Town, for example. On a simple level, ‘town‘ here refers to a collection of houses in an area rather than the traditional meaning of a large urban conurbation. I wonder of this is a local dialect, or perhaps more likely, Howard Town was named as such, and then the others followed suit, possibly ironically (Roughtown), or perhaps as a way of keeping in fashion (Milltown? Anway, this and is a which got me thinking… how many of these towns are there? And where are they all?

Well, in answer to these questions, may I present…

MILLTOWN

Despite its location, and seemingly obvious derivation, Milltown as an area has nothing to do with the Victorian mills, but instead it is so named because of its proximity to the medieval corn mill. Situated on what is now Corn Street, the mill was owned by the Lord of the Manor, and the people of the area paid to have their corn ground there – and nowhere else. It was, to all intents and purposes, a bit of a racket, but one that was universal throughout the land at the time. As you can see from the map below (and from photographs), there was a flour mill here in 1898, an 18th century building replacing an earlier one. It was demolished in the 1920’s, but you can still see the mill leat running alongside Corn Street. Also, the bridge over Shelf Brook as called Cornmill Bridge, which I did not know until just before I wrote these words… I love that!

LEAN TOWN

Lean Town is the name given to a group of four houses at the bottom of an apparently unnamed lane that runs from Hague Road to Gnat Hole. I can’t believe it is unnamed, but there you go… no map or document has so far given me a name! As you come from The Beehive toward Derbyshire Level, you pass a right hand downward track – follow this and eventually you hit Lean town. I wrote about Lean Town, here.

The origin of the name ‘Lean Town’ is unclear; it might mean lean, as in not very rich, or poor for growing crops, or might be derived from ‘ling’, meaning the plant ‘heather‘ that grows around here.

CHARLESTOWN

Once an area in its own right, it is now largely remembered in the name of Charlestown Road (and Charlestown Motors who I can heartily recommend, as it happens).

ROUGHTOWN

Hope Street in Old Glossop was known as Roughtown, seemingly referring to the uncouth behaviour of its inhabitants, largely quarrymen from the nearby Glossop Low Quarries just up the road.

Apparently Roughtown was used as a semi-official name, with it appearing on census returns and trade directories of the time. Sticking with Old Glossop, we have…

TOP O’ TH’ TOWN

The area between Thorp Street and Church Street in Old Glossop. It is, I suppose, quite literally the top of the town.

And the area at the end of Top o’ th’ Town is known as ‘Town End‘, which make sense. Over in Whitfield, however, we have…

FREETOWN

Stretches from the bottom of Whitfield Cross to the junction with Charlestown Road.

Technically, and originally, Freetown was the name given to this area of Whitfield, with the name being derived from the fact that the land in this area, and subsequent houses built here, were freehold, as indeed it is still the case (my own house here included).

HOWARD TOWN

Essentially, what we understand as Glossop – the railway, Norfolk Square, the crossroads, and the whole area around the market and Wetherspoons.

Named after Bernard Edward Howard, 12th Duke of Norfolk (1765-1842) who invested heavily in Glossop – money and time. He built roads, the town hall, remodelled the whole area, and changed the focus of Glossop from what we now know as Old Glossop to what we now know as Glossop, but was originally Howard Town. This may have been the start of the ‘town’ naming process, as others followed suit, whether by flattery or through satire.

JERRYTOWN

A bit of an obscure one this – it’s mentioned by Hamnett as stretching along High Street West, from roughly The Grapes inn to the former Junction Inn and around.

1 – The Grapes, 2 – The former Junction Inn (now Simple Lettings), 3 – Primrose Lane.

Apparently named after a Jerry Sykes (1779 – 1856) who built a number of houses in this area in the 1820’s.

And there we have it! The many towns of Glossop town. I can already feel several of you desperate to tell me that I’ve got something wrong, or that I’ve missed a ‘town’ out. Please feel free to do so. Honestly, please let me know if I’ve messed up – I’d rather the information was correct.

I do have pottery for next time, and I owe you a new Rough Guide To Pottery – Part 11 unless I’m mistaken, you lucky people, you.

In other news, I’m doing a guided walk at the end of the month… which should be amazing.

You can get tickets here – follow the link

Now that spring is coming I’m going to be walking the route of the Where/Whens so far published, and trying out some other new routes. Tickets for these will be available after the above walk has been done, and will be at the weekend, so everyone can take part – come and join us! Watch this space.

Talking of Where/When, No.5 has just been released.

An exploration of the history and archaeology of the Longdendale Trail, from the start at Hadfield to the tunnel entrances. Honestly, there is so much to see.

It’s available to buy from the usual places – Dark Peak Books, 96 High Street West, Glossop; the website’s store; or you can track me down and buy one.

I’m busy! Too busy, but it’s happening! I’ll post again soon, but until then, please look after yourselves, and each other, and I remain.

Your humble servant,

TCG

Pubs · Simmondley · Stones of Glossop

Datestones – Part 2

November 17, 2024November 17, 2024 Tim Campbell-Green3 Comments

What ho, you wonderful and slightly strange bunch, you.

A quick one today… I have had almost no spare time to do much more. I have just finished the new edition of Where/When (No.4, The Melandra Meander) – which has taken all my time – and I’ve just started a new job! Busy busy busy! But the Cabinet of Curiosities is a priority, and you, kind and gentle readers, are very important. Plus, if I don’t publish something on the website, angry crowds start to gather outside my house, chanting and making threats – I mean to say, one has to think of the neighbours.

So here we are – a second part to the Datestone post I wrote 3 years ago (three years? Where has the time gone?). I’ll spare the introduction as the original covers that, and just dive in to say that all of the datestones are pre-Victorian (before 1837) – I’d like to do a survey of the datestones of the Victorian and later periods, but there are so many that it would be a big task. If anyone fancies giving me a hand, though, give me a shout.

So then, first up is a correction. Hurstnook Farm has a stone that I drew through a pair of binoculars, as I couldn’t get close enough to photograph it. Well, they’ve been doing some work there recently, and me being me, I wandered over and asked if I could take a snap, and Lo! The result is below.

F.S.M.W, and the date of 1772. Lovely detailing, too – this is an expensive looking stone.

And a wonderful datestone it is, too. Different from my interpretation of it, and I still have no idea of the names; W is probably the family name – possibly a Wagstaff? I’m sure looking through some deeds would produce a name, though. Any thoughts, anyone? There is another datestone on the extension next door that reads 2010, but is designed to copy the original one, to fit in with the building.

Next up is #13 Padfield Main Road, Hadfield.

A simple datestone, but I honestly love this one. And the colouring is effective.

Next up, Hadfield Hall – a truly wonderful building. I could study this place for hours, and often find myself marvelling at the structure, and all the phases of construction. Now is not the time for a detailed look at the hall – a future post, perhaps. Still, it has a cracking datestone above the door.

Lovely stuff. Hadfield family? I’d love to know more – any thoughts?

Just opposite Hadfield Hall is 7 Old Hall Square:

A simple date, rather than a chance at immortality.

Next we have 2 from Shaw, the farmstead that is first mentioned in 1285. It forms one of a number of such places dotted around Mouselow, and is a fascinating place. I suspect there is a lot of history here, and would love to have a poke around some of the properties there. If anyone reading this in Shaw fancies letting a slightly odd bloke have a rummage, so to speak, shout out!

First is Shaw Farm Barn

Not a great photo, but the inscription is correct. It’s on a whacking great lintel, which is very suggestive of an earlier, perhaps Tudor, door lintel that’s been re-used. Makes you think… And then, next door, is Shaw Farm:

I (or more properly J).P. 1751, in a rather fetching shield motif.

The names here again escape me – J.P. (the ‘J’ is rendered as an ‘I’ as was the custom).

Next up, the Hare and Hounds, Simmondley.

I actually know the meaning of those initials – George and Peggy Booth. Also in Simmondley, we have Dingle Cottage which sits on the old trackway from the farms over Whitley Nab way.

A truly fascinating building, and again, one in which I wish I could have a poke around!

Next is Hall Fold Farm, Old Glossop.

The datestone was apparently found buried whilst the farmhouse was being renovated. The image is not mine, but was taken from the always interesting (and essential if you like Glossop’s history) Old Glossop History Trail website. I want to take one of my own, but oddly people view Herberts taking photographs of their houses with a bit of suspicion!

Another Old Glossop datestone is unusual – this is built into the side of Hillside Cottage, down by Laneside Farm:

A few things to say about this one. Firstly, it is the second oldest datestone in the Glossop area, pushing Hob Hill Cottage in Whitfield into third place. Secondly, the decorative saltire might also function as a protective motif, as the shape is a fairly commonly found apotropaic mark. But the important thing is that it is not in its original position, above a doorway, and in fact the house it is built into is late Georgian or early Victorian. I can only assume that it replaced an earlier building, and rather than throw the lintel away, the builders thought they might as well build it into the fabric of the house as decoration. As for the initials – I have no idea.

Next up, and finally: Flax Cottage, Wesley Street, Old Glossop.

The flower motif in Flax Cottage is very similar to that at Hurstnook Farm – possibly the same stonemason carved it 11 years later?

Ok, so that’s it for datestones. There are others in the area – a few in Charlesworth, Herod Farm, Hobroyd Farm, etc. – but I don’t have photographs yet. If anyone does, or if anyone knows of any others that I don’t know about, then please give me a shout.

In other news. As I say, Where/When No.4 is about to be printed – I sent it yesterday, so it will be here next week, fingers crossed. I’m super excited about this one, and it might be the best yet. I’ll post more soon, and with other news too. But until then, look after yourselves, and each other, and I remain.

Your humble servant,

TCG

Archaeology · Pottery · Where / When

Updates: Cheese Town and Other Matters!

September 10, 2024September 11, 2024 Tim Campbell-Green4 Comments

What ho, you wonderful – and slightly odd – folk who are reading this. You are here either because you have an interest in Glossop/Pottery/Old Things/The Ramblings of a Sherd-Nerd… or you’re lost. Either way, you might need some help. And either way, pour yourself a glass of the stuff that cheers, sit back and relax.

So then, we have a mixed bag today – some updates and some new stuff, and first up we have placenames.

WHITFIELD: THE PLACENAME

I originally published this post listing all the places in the Glossop area with their first appearance. Whitfield first appears in the Domesday Book of 1086 under the name Witfelt, which is normally understood to mean “White Field”, meaning an open (figuratively ‘white’) land or field, presumably to differentiate it from the surrounding moorland. However, I recently read an interesting article in Nomina: the journal of the Society for Name Studies in Britain and Ireland… as one does. The article is titled “Onomastic Uses of the Term “White“” by Carole Hough (read it here). Briefly, it suggests that amongst all the other possible meanings for the word ‘hwit‘ (White), one that is often overlooked is that relating to dairy foods and milk – literally ‘White Meat‘ – for which there is a lot of evidence, particularly when used in conjunction with a farm or land place name element. If we consider this in relation to Whitfield, we might understand it as the field where diary produce is made, and hence the Cheese Town of the title. We can’t say for certain, but it’s certainly a possibility that should be considered, for as we know cheesemaking was taking place here in the 18th century and earlier… so why not? Whitfield, land of cheese! Marvellous!

MASONS MARKS ON LONGDENDALE TRAIL

Back when I was a younger man (April 24th 2018, according to my records… 6 1/2 years ago!) I published an article on Mason’s Marks and Apotropaia on the stone infrastructure on the Longdendale Trail (read it here). Master CG was only just 2 years old then… and a lot can change in 6 1/2 years! Having recently got into riding his bike (!), off we went to the Longdendale Trail, giving me the opportunity to look for more marks… and Lo!

Here are the marks so far identified, to add to the corpus of mason’s marks along the line. The first are from Platt Street, the road bridge at the very start of the Longdendale Trail (What3Words is fortified.bracing.wage).

Photographed from my notebook… I just realised I should have rubbed out the pencil!

The second lot are from under a bridge that carries an apparently unnamed road leading from Padfield Main Road to Valehouse Farm (What3Words is leader.operated.courts).

V8 is also shown in the Platt Street marks. Some of these show up at other places along the line. Ooooh, I can’t wait to collate and analyse… I’m such a geek!

As you can see, some of these marks show up elsewhere on the track, suggesting that the same workers were shaping stone all the way from Broadbottom to Woodhead, which makes sense. Truly though, I need to survey the line properly, collecting the forms and locations, etc. I know I’ve said it before, but I honestly think a wonderful project could be made from these marks; recording and comparing them all along the line, researching who they might belong to, raising the profile of the men who physically built the line (not just those who financed it), as well as approaching it from an arts perspective. There’s lots to pick away at here, in fact… if anyone fancies joining me (or indeed, if anyone fancies funding/sponsoring me).

MYSTERY STONES ON THE GLOSSOP – MANCHESTER LINE

Talking of stones, a few years ago I published an article that looked at some odd stones I had noticed during the commute between Glossop and Manchester. Please read the article for more in-depth information, but essentially, 2 pairs of stones and a single example, all exactly the same shape and design, and all with the same single letter designs – ‘I’ and ‘G’. One pair on the platform at Guide Bridge station, and the single example just beyond the station, against a wall, and both of which I had photographs. And another pair just before one pulls into Hattersley station (coming from Glossop, on the right), which was in a ‘blink and you miss it’ position, and consequently of which I had no photograph.

The single post (possibly originally one of a pair) a little further on from Guide Bridge

And there the matter lay until the other day! Heading into Manchester, I noticed we seemed to be slowing down earlier than usual on the approach to Hattersley station, and having my phone in my hand, I tried to get a shot of the stones… and succeeded. Well, sort of… in a cruel twist of fate, young Master CG decided it would be an ‘hilarious’ jape to put sellotape over the cameral lens, and as a consequence the photograph looks like it was taken using a potato. Still, the jokes on him… I subsequently enrolled him in a special after-school long-distance running and extreme maths challenge club. That’ll teach him to mess with old TCG! Anyway, here’s the photograph:

Apologies for the poor quality, but the general area can be discerned.

The ‘G’ and ‘I’ can just be made out through the sellotape haze. I will keep trying to get a decent photograph.

So now we have photographic evidence of all of these mystery stones, which is great… but we still don’t know what they are! So, please, if anyone can suggest a meaning or purpose behind these “monogrammed mushrooms” as I have named them (patent pending), then in the name of great Jove, please let me know.

OOOOH… FLINT!

More stone… this a little older, though. Over the course of a number of years, I have picked up a few odds and ends of prehistoric flint from the Glossop area. The hills all around are full of these tiny fragments of a distant past – largely Mesolithic (Middle Stone Age, roughly 8000 – 4000 BC), with some that might be Bronze Age (roughly 2500 – 750 BC). But these three examples I have found much closer to Glossop itself, and always quite by accident. It is worth remembering that Glossop, the Peak District, and indeed most of the North West is not a flint area, and any flint found hereabouts has arrived either by glacial action, or it has been brought here by a human; so any flint you see pick it up! Honestly, flint and chert (a local, poorer quality, flint-like quartz) are both very distinctive against the local gritstone, and once you get your eye in, they stand out from some distance. I’m not a stone man, and whilst I can usually recognise flint that has been shaped deliberately, the finer points of dating I leave to people who know what they’re talking about. Here are the bits I have found:

This first came from a path just below Shire Hill, so might be Bronze Age.

Lovely stuff – a blade made from a chip of flint. You can see the ‘bulb of percussion’ – the bulbous bit at the top – where the blow was struck to break this chip off. When hit, flint acts as though it was liquid, and you can see the ‘waves’ made by the strike. You can also see the nibbling at the edges that suggest this blade was ‘retouched’, or sharpened after being used. Flint is very sharp (I have literal scars to prove it), but it is a fragile edge that needs work to maintain it.

The back side of the above flint piece – you can see where other pieces have been struck from this one, each creating a scar as the force travels along the core. It’s a fascinating subject flint knapping, and one that is not easily put into words… it has to be seen, and especially felt.

The next flake came from where the allotments are now at Dinting, sitting on a mole hill.

A chip off the old nodule! It’s been worked, but I’m not sure it was ever a tool.

Again, a crappy photo of a lovely flint tool. This time, a fragment of a thumbnail scraper – also here. Honestly, flint is better touched and seen in person, that’s why we archaeological types use drawing to illustrate flint… a photograph does not show what we want to see.

Whilst we know people were here in prehistory, its always nice to see the things they used in their everyday lives. I actually need to report these to the Find Liaison Officer (FLO) as this is prehistoric, and any information from this period, no matter how small, can potentially change our whole understanding of the history of the area. The FLO is the person to report anything interesting and potentially important you find (feel free to tell me as well, but honestly they are more important) – very helpful and genuinely the font of much knowledge.

POTTERY: SOME BITS AND PIECES

Never missing an opportunity to spread a little ceramic-based joy, I present to you a small selection of recently found pottery. Following my own newly introduced rules, I am only taking sherds that interest me, or which are good examples of the ware type. This means that there is more left for you wonderful folk to find, and more space in chez CG… much to the relief of Mrs CG.

First up, two very similar sherds.

Left has heavily crazed glaze, and I suspect it was burnt at some stage… that’s not normal ‘wear and tear’, even after being in the ground for 200 years or so.

Left is from High Lea Park in New Mills, and is the base to a mug or tankard some 8cm in diameter. The right was found on the track below Lean Town, and is the same in shape and dimension, although this is from the body somewhere, not the base. I got very excited both times I found these – they look like Scratch Blue stoneware, which would be very exciting. Alas, on closer inspection it’s clearly earthernware, and thus less exciting. Having said that, they are both from Industrial Slipware vessels, and both early 19th century in date – which is a bit rarer than the usual Late Victorian – and come from something like this:

Stolen, as always, without shame, from this website. Honestly, it’s a fascinating website filled with all sorts of historical pottery information from a collector’s perspective. I genuinely enjoy this site… which might be warning to some of you!

Sometimes, coming back from school with Master CG, we like to shake up what is in essence a somewhat linear journey from A to B by taking different routes; exploring, Wandering, and just seeing what we encounter along the way; blackberries, elastic bands, the occasional copper nail, a penny, holes in the ground to peer into, and if we are lucky a skip. There’s always something in either of those two latter.

Plain, but is still quite cool. I know, I know… but I can’t resist!

This was from a skip on Hadfield Place. Always, and I mean ALWAYS, look in a skip that has soil piled in it: Glossop’s history almost guarantees that there will be at least some Victorian sherds in that soil. Here we have a rim sherd from a late Victorian/early 20th century marmalade pot – something like this:

Stolen from this website… and you can buy it for £55.

The groove running around the pot, just below the rim, is to enable a piece of string to be tied around to keep the cloth lid in place… very characteristic.

Skips and holes… always have a look in both. This next sherd was from a utilities pipe trench on St Mary’s Road:

Lovely stuff. I think this might be fairly early

A lovely sherd of Industrial Slipware, again, this time of a Banded or Annular Ware type. It looks very modern as it is still made, particularly as Cornishware, but it is genuinely early to mid-Victorian in date, and probably from a large bowl or jug. Looking and feeling it again again, I think jug.

This last sherd is another Industrial Slipware – a tiny fragment of Variegated Ware, this one being in the ‘earthworm’ design:

Truly awful photograph. I know a bad workman blames his whassnames, but my new phone has no macro setting, so my up close photos are not great.

Probably from a jug or bowl, similar to the one in the above article, and dates to about 1800-1820. Interestingly, this one was found in a quarry that was used during the construction of Bottoms Reservoir, and was later used as a tip. Bottoms Reservoir was opened in 1877, and thus the tip can only have been used from, say, 1880 onwards, and actually, judging from what is found there, I think perhaps from 1900 onwards. This means that this sherd – and the pot it came from – was as much as 100 years old when it was broken and thrown away. This makes sense – I still have my great grandmother’s 1920’s salt-glazed stoneware pie dish (I use it to make a really nice tomato and white bean bake with a feta topping, if anyone fancies…) – and is a cautionary tale about using pottery to precisely date certain contexts. People in the past also had heirlooms, and all objects have a biography.

AND FINALLY… WHERE/WHEN 3

Well, Where/When no.3 is now on sale… and selling well. You good folk seem to like a walk, some history, and a pint… who knew? Well, I think we all did to be honest. You can get it in Dark Peak Books (93 High Street West in Glossop), or via the Cabinet of Curiosities shop (here). Or you could track me down and snag a copy.

For those of you who are unaware, Where/When is a quarterly journal of Archaeological Wanderings. Essentially, a walk in the Glossop area, with yours truly chiming in about the archaeology and history of where you are wandering; think a pinch of pottery, a hint of psychogeography, some groovy photographs, a dash of discovery, a toe stub of psychedelia, and a splash of the usual Glossop Curiosities shenanigans. No.3 Takes us on a walk from The Beehive in Whitfield to The Bulls Head in Old Glossop via medieval trackways, a Saxon stone cross, 18th century buildings, and a 10,000 year old glacial erratic boulder. Marvellous stuff!

A sneak preview of Where/When 4 – The Melandra Meander.

And Where/When No. 4 is in preparation; titled “The Melandra Meander“, it will detail a circular walk from Melandra Roman Fort to Mottram Church on the hill above – via Hague and medieval trackways – and then back again, and is full to the brim with the kinds of historical and archaeological goodies that you have come to expect. It’ll be in stores in December, just in time for Christmas.

I have a whole pile of ideas for Where/When, and the Cabinet of Curiosities in general… all kinds of stuff: t-shirts, anyone? Art prints? The Rough Guide to Pottery in booklet form? And in particular I’d like to start a series of monthly guided Wanders – where you and me can Wander together. Let me know what you think about this. Or indeed anything about the website, or what I have written. It’s nice to know I’m not just shouting into the void!

Right then, apologies for the late post of this article, and for generally being behind in most things – there’s often a lot less of old TCG to go around than I believe, so I end up dropping some of the things I’m juggling. More soon, I promise.

Until then, though, please do look after yourselves and each other, and remember – a person might look ok on the outside, but can be struggling inside. We all matter.

I remain, your humble servant,

History · Pubs

George Booth’s Trousers*

May 27, 2024 Tim Campbell-Green1 Comment

*Not to mention Miss Harriet Hough’s Umbrella.

Yes, you did read that correctly.

What ho, you wonderful people, you! Well, here we all are. Make yourselves at home. Canape? Glass of something cheering? I can heartily recommend the red… cheeky, but hexagonal in the correct places, if you know what I mean. Right, take a seat and I’ll begin.

Today’s offering concerns a subject very dear to my heart. No, not pottery… I’m not completely one dimensional, you know. Nope, this article concerns pubs. And alcohol. And in particular the effects derived from the consumption of the latter. “What’s this?” I hear you cry… “a post about drunkenness? By a man with the sober reputation of good old TCG?” Hmmm… let’s move on.

So, I was reading through the diary of George Booth (discussed further here) the other day, and came across this absolute gem:

Thursday July 25th (1833) Last sunday afternoon [21st July] I went with Harriet Hough, our Mary, James & George Booth to Glossop Church. After service we went to Joshua Shepley’s at the Royal Oak and then returned by way of Bridge End Juncksion, Simondly and we did not forget to call at each place and to my own shame I was quite drunk. fell and broke Miss Hough`s Umbrella and tore my Trowsers.

I say!

So, what are we to make of that startling confession? We could judge Mr Booth harshly, but let’s face it, we’ve all been there (though I don’t recall ever having broken someone’s umbrella). Two things leap out of this entry. Firstly, there are the post-church snifters – seemingly many of them – in what was, for all intents and purposes, a pub crawl of Glossop that starts in the Royal Oak and ends at Bridge End (appropriately enough, where Wetherspoons is now). The amusement here is, I think, the result of a sincere and honest Georgian/Victorian gentleman, getting sozzled after church, staggering home, breaking an umbrella, and ripping his trousers. Quite how this happened I’d love to know (the ripping, not the drunkenness… I’m very aware of how that happens!), but the diary entry is somewhat lacking in details.

Secondly, there is the comment that they returned via “Bridge End Juncksion [junction]”, implying the meeting of a number of roads. My sherdy-sense tingled, and the question was asked: “is there a blog post here?” Well… here we are!

Ok then, let’s examine the route our man and his party took, firstly from the church to the Royal Oak. There are two ways he could have walked. Firstly, down Manor Park Road (then called Hall Street) and left down what was then Cowbrook Lane, but is now the A57/Sheffield Road, and along to the Royal Oak. This would have had a decent road surface on it now – the turnpike road – the Snake Pass – had been open for some 12 years at this point. But this would mean they would have to double back on themselves to get home. No, I think it would make sense to take the more direct, and almost certainly original, route, along the track from Hall Fold (passing the Glacial Erratic) and via Pyegrove, finally popping out at the pub on the road there. This was an established track, rather than the simple footpath it is now, and for many hundreds of years was used by man and beast to get from (Old) Glossop to Hurst, Jumble, and ultimately Whitfield – a not insignificant trackway to be honest. There was also a spur from this track to Mossy Lea farm, and joining Doctor’s Gate.

All Saint’s Church, Glossop circled in green at the top. The Royal Oak is circled in blue at the bottom. Hall Street (now Manor Park Road) is in orange, The Pyegrove track is in red, and continues beyond the Royal Oak to Hurst, etc. In pink, we see the spur – Woodcock Road – that goes to Mossy Lea and Doctor’s Gate.

The Royal Oak was constructed in or just before 1818 as a purpose built alehouse by the Joshua Shepley mentioned in the diary. It sits on the then new Snake Pass, and had stables and a blacksmith, as well as water trough. Shepley clearly knew he had a captive market – the first watering hole you come to after the Snake Pass, and the last as you leave Glossop for the road, meaning a last chance to water or shoe a horse, as well as a pint, too. As a building, it’s a wonderful example of the neo-classical late Georgia/Early Victorian ‘symmetrical with a central doorway’ style that was very common amongst purpose built pubs of the time. Actually, it’s a little off perfect symmetry, as indeed they all are, presumably to accommodate a larger room and a smaller one – here the larger is on the right – but let’s call them symmetrical. The porch covering the front door is a later addition.

I love this view – it really shows the looming presence of Shire Hill in the background. And honestly, Shire Hill looms… I actually find it quite an intimidating place.

Another view, the track from (Old) Glossop via Pyegrove comes out on the left

The trough at the front… full! The last time I saw this, it was bone dry. I always find it odd, and perhaps a little mystifying how the water table fills up, and how quickly following a decent amount of rain.

I feel that if Booth purposefully went there to see the place, and the man, he would certainly had more than a single drink; at least two is my guess, although potentially more. We’ll say two to be on the safe side.

DRINKS CONSUMED: 2

So then, from here they would have wandered down Cowbrook Lane, and come across what would become the Commercial Inn on the corner there. But whilst the building – or an earlier incarnation – was standing there (a lease for the building was granted in 1828), it didn’t have an alehouse license at this point (that only came about in 1839). However, it might have had a simpler beerhouse license, as almost anyone could obtain a license to sell beer brewed on the premises if they paid a 2 guinea fee. One can imagine the sort of clientele this sort of establishment could attract – cheap and cheerful beer a plenty. I’m not 100% convinced our man Booth would have frequented a beer house, but I could be wrong – especially if he’s on the razz! So, benefit of the doubt, he bent his elbow at the Commercial, or what was there at the time.

The Sheffield Road side of The Commercial Inn, blocked up doorway visible front and centre. This is the door that George Booth and party would have entered on that fateful evening.

A dark and rainy view of the Manor Park Road side of the pub, now the only way to get into the building. Again, the symmetry is obvious.

I’m not certain, but these two houses share all the same features – windows and doors, and symmetrical shape – as the pub they are joined to… they have to have been built at the same time, or at least soon after (actually, the stone size and shape is slightly different – look left where the join in the roof is. I wish I’d taken a closer photo now. But I’d still bet money that they were built by the same person, and within a year or two.

The current building is also of the ‘symmetrical’ style, although this example has the central doorway on both the turnpike road and on Manor Park Road (then Hall Street), which make good commercial sense, although the Sheffield Road doorway has been bricked up. I’ve said it before: objects (in this case a building) acquire a biography, and throughout their ‘lives’, like ours, they constantly change, and often carry the scars of their history. A bricked up doorway prompts so many questions, some of which are easily answered, others not so much. Was this an entrance to a separate room? The Smoking Room? Taproom? Lounge? Vault? Or was it an entrance to the private quarters?

DRINKS CONSUMED: 3

Onwards and upwards. From here, the next establishment he might have come across is the Mechanic’s Arms at 99 High Street East. Built in 1831 by Jordan Hampson, who is listed as a beer seller in the 1841 census, and who would have been the landlord in 1833. The building ceased to be a pub in 1933 because of its “structural unsuitability”, and the building was demolished in 1971. Regency Court now stands in its place.

Not a lot to say here! Somewhere in the middle of this photo stood the Mechanic’s Arms.

So we might assume an eyeball straightener here, then.

DRINKS CONSUMED: 4

Next up and a little further down we have The Peartree Inn. Built in 1818, it was originally known as the Kings Arms.

Once you notice it, you can clearly see it was once a pub – symmetrical windows with a central door. Although, there is another bricked up door on the left, again perhaps the entrance to a separate room.

What was originally – I presume – the main entrance to the pub, and through George Booth and his party would have passed.

And, o’ happy day, a bench mark! For those of you who don’t know, these were carved onto buildings to mark a specific measure height above sea level in the 1840’s and onwards. I love these things – the horizontal line marks the exact point, and the arrow below shows you where. This is exactly 504ft 7″ above sea level. Man, I love a bench mark! Check out this blog article, and many more like it in the archive.

It was here that in 1830 that the officers of a detachment of the 10th Hussars and 4th Regiment of Foot were stationed, being given the task of putting down a potential riot of spinners who were demonstrating in favour of a standard rate of pay. In 1832 it would have been owned by a John Woolley, himself an old soldier. We might safely assume they took one drink in the Peartree, although the chance of a chat with an old soldier… let’s say 2. It is a Grade ii listed building, with the official listing thus:

House, now offices and attached wall. Early C19 with late C19 and C20 additions. Coursed millstone grit with tooled dressings and stone slate roof. 2 stone end stacks. EXTERIOR: 2 storey and attic. Street front rendered. Almost symmetrical 2 window range. Off-centre doorway with C20 door in flush ashlar surround flanked by single plain sashes, above 2 plain sashes, all in flush ashlar surrounds. Left return has blocked tall opening at first floor level and above single plain sash. Right return has ground floor with elongated C20 window opening. Rear has C19 parallel extension with end stack. INTERIOR: not inspected. SUBSIDIARY FEATURES: adjoining wall to left has doorway in flush ashlar surround with plank door.

The Peartree ceased being a pub in 1926, and is now the offices of Glossop Tyres – make sure you check out the building the next time you are getting new tyres.

DRINKS CONSUMED: 6

Swaying slightly (we’ve all been there) they would have set off – it’s thirsty work, all this walking… Next up, the Howard Arms, for at least one.

Howard Arms, Ellison Street in the foreground. Again, like the Peartree, it was originally symmetrical, with the door central between the two ground floor windows. It was bricked up when the pub expanded into the building next door sometime after the 1930’s. That is the one George Booth and party would have used.

A view of the Howard Arms in 1904, central door still *in situ*. The person in the doorway is likely to be the wife of John Green Hudson, landlord at that time. Image from the always excellent Glossop Victorian Architectural History site – HERE. Well worth a browse as it is full of old images, and catalogues our extensive and important Victorian heritage…. it really is an important website.

As it is now, and after the windows were widened – still 3 light, only wider.

Named after the Howard family, the Dukes of Norfolk, it was built in 1800. It is superbly situated for passing trade, being at the crossroads of the old Woodhead Road (now Ellison Street) and the turnpike road running east-west, later expanded into the Snake Pass. Indeed, the trustees of this road building committee held their first planning meeting here, on 4 June 1818, and celebrated its opening four years later with a slap-up meal in the pub. A very nice establishment (possibly), I feel certain that more than one was consumed here. For one, he was already 6 drinks into this adventure, and at this point, the genie is hard to push back into the bottle, and trouser-ripping and umbrella-breaking are all but inevitable. But I also get the impression that he is having a good time, despite the shame he felt the next day, and the diary makes it very clear “we did not forget to call at each place“.

DRINKS CONSUMED: 8

From here, the party would have headed further down, and into the Norfolk Arms. Built in 1823, there is quite a bit that can be said about the pub, but I feel here is not the place – this is Mr Booth’s time to shine – so I’ll keep it brief. Built in 1823 as part of the monumental shakeup of this area, and the creation of Howard Town, The Norfolk Arms has been much altered and expanded over the years, especially in the late 19th century, but at its core it is another example of that neo-classical ‘symmetrical with a central door’ that define so many purpose built pubs of the late Georgian/Early Victorian period (the front porch is a later addition).

Apologies – this shot is taken from Google Maps’ Streetview. I took several photos of the building, from several different angles… but for some reason, none of them came out ok. Odd, but there you go. I’ll update the photos later, but for now I just want to get the article out there! You can see the central, ‘symmetrical’ building, with the later wings added.

Oddly, this is the only photograph that worked properly! The bench mark on the south-eastern corner of the building marking 497ft, 1″ above sea level.

It is also slightly grander than many of the other examples – larger and more formal, it was also used as the town’s post office in the 19th century, as well as the coaching inn, where stage coaches between Sheffield and Manchester would stop. The Norfolk Arms is a Grade ii listed building, with the official listing reading thus:

Coaching Inn, now public house. 1823, altered late C19 and C20. Coursed millstone grit with ashlar dressings and hipped Welsh slate roofs. 4 ridge stacks and 3 wall stone stacks plus 2 louvred vents to left.
PLAN: double-depth.
EXTERIOR: 2 storey. High Street front has 7 windows arranged 2:3:2. Slightly projecting 3 window centre has central stone, flat roofed single storey porch with blocking course, plain square columns and C20 margin light glazing. Flanked by single plain horned sashes, above 3 similar windows. Wings have 2 similar sashes to each floor. All windows have painted ashlar lintels and sills. Left return has doorway in flush ashlar surround with overlight and to left single small then 2 large casement windows, above 3 plain horned sashes. Right return to Norfolk Street has central doorway under single storey flat roof porch with dentilled cornice supported on square Tuscan Doric columns, moulded round arches with moulded imposts and stressed keystones. To left single plain horned sash and to right large former shop window with former doorway to left and 3 round headed lights to right within plain pilaster surround with moulded fascia board. Above 3 plain horned sashes and small inserted casement window.

And it’s difficult to argue with that! The landlord in 1833 was a Joseph Oates, and I think they had single drink in here, as they decide to call it a night and head home.

DRINKS CONSUMED: 9

The diary states that they went via “Bridge End“, which means they would have crossed what was then a new bridge, but not yet Victoria Bridge. This whole area was in flux at that time, with new road layouts and buildings going up, and it may well have resembled a building site. However, there was one shining beacon on this dark and lonely road out of Glossop, one place of refuge and light. And beer; The Albion Hotel (also known as The Trap, The Last Orders, and now The Brook Tavern), which in 1833 was brand new, being built the previous year. Maybe just one more…

The Brook Tavern as it is now, originally The Albion. The porch is a later addition, but would have originally been like our other pubs so far, symmetrical with a central door.

Set back from the modern road now because it sat on the original line of the road and bridge (and lines up with Smithy Fold and Ellison Street), it would have been a magnet for the party – to celebrate crossing the bridge, and one for the road. The last. No more… “Ah, go on then, let’s have another…” The landlord at the time would have been a Charles Calvert, who by this point would probably have been glad to see them go!

The original line of the road can be seen by looking along the shop fronts here – they pinpoint the site of the original bridge, and Ellison Street beyond. The new road curves more to the west, over Victoria Bridge.

TOTAL DRINKS CONSUMED: 11

And so, singing hymns – and other, less saintly songs – our party staggers into the night, and into infamy. Blimey… 11 drinks! Not bad for a Sunday session, and certainly more than I could do anymore. The ‘pub crawl’ is a brilliant piece of social history, a glimpse into the personal life of a person whose public life was probably very different, possibly very austere and proper – so the idea of him getting squiffy on a Sunday is amazing if, as he notes, shameful, as the sobering up starts, and he fits back into his public persona.

Now, here is also something of a question mark. His diary records that they went via “Bridge End Juncksion, Simondly“, but that is an odd way of putting it. Bridge End is Victoria Bridge, but it is not in Simmondley. Whitfield or Glossop, depending on which side you are standing (I get the feeling Bridge End proper is on the Glossop side of the brook), certainly, but not Simmondley – that’s over the water of Long Clough Brook. There is Bridge Field, which is just in Simmondley, but it is much further away. No, I suspect he may simply be confused: a bridge over water from Glossop… that’s Simmondley. Plus, he’s a Chisworth/Charlesworth man out of his territory, he may not have understood the finer points of local geography. And let’s not forget he was also somewhat impaired, mentally, by the time he arrived there!

So then, the ‘Juncksion’? A junction, or a meeting of roads. But from where? This is where Glossop’s history gets murky… and interesting. It is a dispersed settlement, with farmsteads all over, all of which feed into the centre – Old Glossop. Because of this, trackways spread spiderweb-like all over, connecting all of these places and people. A crossing point like Victoria Bridge – or rather the bridges that were there before – were naturally targets, focal points attracting all the tracks, as ways to cross Glossop Brook, would not have been common. Here on the map is shown the tracks. It should be stated that not all would have been in use simultaneously, they would have been introduced as needed; a new farmhouse built, perhaps means new tracks are made – but all heading for the single focus of the crossing point, the bridge.

The tracks that meet at Victoria Bridge. Pink: Victoria Bridge, Red: from Ashes, Green: from Simmondley (the main Simmondley to Glossop track, and which becomes Bank Street [The Bonk], Blue: from Whitfield, Yellow: the track to (Old) Glossop, Dark Green: the track to The Heath, and on to Padfield, but also Woodhead, and ultimately Yorkshire. A *Juncksion* indeed.

This article owes a huge debt to the book History in a Pint pot by David Field – a brilliantly detailed look at all of Glossop’s pubs, past and present, now sadly out of print and ridiculously difficult to get hold of. The library has a copy, so go there and read it. I’d also like to thank George Booth, especially as this is the second article inspired by his diary. I also feel slightly bad about lampooning him, however good natured it might be; after all, the shame he felt at being drunk was real enough to write about it in his personal diary. By way of an apology, I might raise a glass of the stuff that cheers his way tonight… although I’m not sure he’d approve.

However, I’m genuinely half tempted to recreate this monumental pub crawl – starting at the Royal Oak, and finishing in the Brook Tavern… and celebrate the end by tearing a pair of trousers and breaking an umbrella? Who’s with me? 21st of July this year is, coincidentally, a Sunday, but I feel that we live in less civilised times, and those of us who work will not appreciate waking up Monday morning. We could do it the day before – Saturday 20th. Just a thought… let me know what you think.

In other news, Where / When issue 2 is selling like hot cakes, which is great as it means that I can publish Where / When 3 relatively quickly. I also have some archaeological/historical walks planned for the summer – essentially me doing a Where / When live, with a bunch of you, if you fancy. And perhaps incorporating the inaugural George Booth Historical Stagger? But honestly, watch this space as lots is being planned…

Until the next time then, good people of Glossop – and beyond – please look after yourselves and each other.

And I remain, your humble servant.

TCG

Archaeology · Pottery Guide

The Rough Guide to Pottery Pt.8 – Tin Glazed & White Stonewares.

October 1, 2023 Tim Campbell-Green2 Comments

What Ho! What Ho! And if I may be so bold… What Ho!

How are we all? Bearing up under the circumstances? Summer, such as it was, has gone, and Autumn is upon us. A time of harvesting, of blackberrying, of apples… and pottery, obviously. And just like that, without further ado (and ignoring the groaning and wailing and gnashing of teeth), we tiptoe into Part 8 of the fabled (and seemingly never-ending) Rough Guide to Pottery; let’s have a look at some rather splendid sherds.

So then, today we are looking at some rarer types of pottery – well, perhaps not rare as such, just not as commonly encountered as some of the other stuff I’ve previously talked about.

TIN-GLAZED EARTHENWARE (aka Delft)
DATE: 1650-1770
DESCRIPTION: Hand painted glazed blued decoration on a whitish/blueish background
SHAPES: Cups, saucers, bowls, plates, small jugs, tankards, chargers with prominent ring foot. fine and delicate, with thin walls. Decorative tiles were also common in wealthy houses.

Originally tin-glazed pottery was imported from Italy, Spain and the Low Countries, but UK production began in Norwich in late 16^th Century. Its heyday was roughly 1700 to say 1800… roughly. It remained popular until it was gradually replaced by White Salt-Glazed Stoneware by the mid 18^th Century, which was more robust and much lighter, and cheaper to make. Tin-glazed pottery was another attempt at reproducing porcelain type pottery, and part of the quest to find a pure white background that seems to have dominated pottery making in the 17th and 18th centuries.

The process of manufacture was as follows. The vessel was turned by hand and using a former, and then biscuit fired (that is, it was fired undecorated and without a glaze). The pot is then dipped in the glaze and allowed to air dry. Once dry, the pot is then decorated by hand – quickly as the glaze is very absorbent. It is then once again fired, which fuses the glaze and fixes the decoration.

In terms of fabric, it’s an earthenware, a pale colour – white-ish or cream colour, with later examples being almost pure white. It has occasional tiny pink, reddish or darker inclusions, and is a soft to medium hardness.

Fabric. It is stained slightly to a creamy colour, but you can see the paler white where there is a new break. You can also make out some reddish inclusions in the fresh break… if you squint hard enough.

It uses a lead oxide glaze mixed with tin, which gives it a blueish white or pale cream colour, but is more blue where it pools – in particular around the ring base, where the pot was dried upside down.

The pooled glaze is very blue here. There is also a maker’s mark on the bottom – alas, that’s all I have of this pot, otherewise we might have been able to identify the potter.

The glaze has an almost luminescent quality and has a consistent smooth, dense feel to it – the product of the lead – but can occasionally have tiny imperfections or dimples in it. The glaze can also be thickish in places, but it is fragile and can flake off in patches, exposing the fabric below – most obviously at the edges of sherds. The surface occasionally shows the marks of the trivets that separated the vessels in the kiln.

Flaky! This was what was in my bag after I emptied it… bits. You can also clearly see the glaze has crazed and flaked off in patches.

It’s the decoration that really makes this stuff special, though. It’s all hand-painted, and because the dried but unfired glaze is super absorbent, it has to be done with speed: the brush strokes are wide or thin, and it’s done in a fluid and moving motion, quick and rough, impressionistic, and almost living, and certainly not fixed like transfer-printed wares.

There’s no mistaking this is hand drawn – each line is human made. A beautiful if naive image of a house, surrounded by trees that seem to have been made with sponges.

Simple but wonderfully effective decoration – a single line hand drawn around the vessel – probably a tea bowl or similar shape. You can also see the flaked glaze surface.

There is no way to erase the decoration once applied, which accounts for occasional errors, and which I think only adds to the attraction. The colour is almost universally a wonderful cobalt blue, but occasionally purple or orange is found. The subjects are largely naturalistic – foliage in particular – but there are also scenes with animals, people, and buildings. As well as actual pots, tin-glazed pottery was very much favoured for tiles among the wealthy, and some stunning examples exist.

Stunning dragonfly tile dating to 1670ish – from this website, and only £216!

Tile fragment found by me – the colour on this tile are simply stunning. Showing a stylised flower (thanks Julian)… I wish I could find the rest of it.

I honestly love this stuff, there is something wonderful about it – the colours in particular – and although I don’t have a lot of it, it’s always a joy to find.

The next lot of pottery type occupies a similar space in time – broadly the 18th century – and indeed, overtook Tin-Glazed pottery in terms of popularity…

WHITE SALT-GLAZED STONEWARE (aka Fine White Stoneware)
DATE: c.1720-1770
DESCRIPTION: Thin walled, white glazed, impressed decoration, hard stoneware.
SHAPES: All sorts of tablewares (i.e. not cooking or storage), common are cups and bowls, but plates, platters, jugs, salt shakers, sugar bowls, etc.

A selection of sherds, all mid 1700’s in date.

A later development than Tin-Glazed, it was first made in the later 17th century, but only began to be produced commercially from the 1720’s onwards.

The fabric is a typical stoneware, in this instance with added calcined (burnt) flint to produce a pale cream, almost white colour. It is then fired at a very high temperature and salt glazed, to produce a fine, strong, pottery that I find really quite beautiful.

Close up of the fabric. Very pale grey-ish to white, with visible voids created by gases formed by the high temperature it is fired at. There are also occasional brown and dark grey inclusions visible both in the break and the surface.

Vessels are formed one of two ways: either by being turned on a lathe when leather dry but before firing, which produces very sharp edges and fine horizontal banding; or by pressing thin sheets of clay into a mould, which allows the fine relief decoration to be made.

In this latter case, often the inside of the clay is wiped with a cloth to ensure the clay presses into every corner of the mould, which leaves very clear wiping marks, especially on closed vessels (jugs, for example) where the inside wouldn’t be seen.

Wiping marks on the interior of a jug. The black writing is an excavation code – BGW (upside down in this photo) – which stands for Back Garden Wall… I found these sherds underneath my garden wall!

External decoration, beginning c.1730, includes basket work patterns, leaves and other foliate designs, although simple incised horizontal lines are commonly encountered on earlier pieces.

Close up of that beautiful foliate decoration – the result of being formed in a mould.

Occasionally, the walls are pierced, though this seems largely confined to high-end expensive dinner services.

Alas, not found beneath my garden wall! Lovely plate with pierced decoration and impressed motifs. Image is stolen without shame from this website here. A snip at £450! Do check out the website, though, as there are more examples of White Stoneware.

There are also rare examples of transfer-printing on stoneware:

A truly terrible photograph, but you get the idea! This is dated from the period where potters are experimenting with transfer-printing – later 1700’s.

The exterior is salt-glazed, meaning that at a point during the firing process salt is added to the kiln, which vaporises and coats the vessels in a clear glaze. Although solid and even, it often leaves an orange-peel, slightly melted roughened type effect on the surface, as it does on the Brown Salt-Glazed Stonewares discussed here.

The ‘orange peel’ salt-glaze is very obvious on this sherd. The horizontal band is very neat and tight, carved using a tool on a lathe. You can also see some sort of damage underneath the glaze (above the chip).

Wonderful coffee pot of c.1760-ish, and a snip at £1250! It is lovely, though. Same website.

White Stoneware gradually overtook Tin-Glazed pottery in popularity, and began to dominate the fineware market from the 1740’s onwards – it is a lot lighter than the earthenware, and crucially it is much more hardwearing, with the surface unlikely to flake off or crack. It also appealed to the middle classes; its fine white background mimicking the desirable but very expensive imported Chinese porcelain, a crucial part of the tea and coffee drinking craze that had gripped Britain at this point. It remained popular until eventually overtaken by the development of Creamware and other earthenware types in the late 18th century.

SCRATCH BLUE
DATE: c.1740-1780
DESCRIPTION: Pale stoneware, incised decoration highlighted in messy cobalt blue
SHAPES: Mugs, Tankards, Jugs, Chamber Pots.

Broadly speaking, Scratch Blue is decorated Pale/Grey/White Salt-Glazed Stoneware – it has the same fabric and glaze. Essentially, this was a UK answer to the lovely looking Westerwald stoneware pottery being made in Germany (see below) and imported in large quantities – the English potters wanted a piece of the action, and produced a cut price version. It reproduces the essentials of Westerwald – incised decoration and stunning cobalt blue highlights on a pale stoneware (white-ish or pale creamy grey) background, but overall it tends to be more sloppy. The incised decoration is less careful, often looking as though it was done quickly, and the cobalt slip often overruns and splashes.

Wonderful chamber pot, with a King George medallion (probably George II)

Actually, I think this ‘messiness’ was deliberate, a way of ‘jazzing up’ the decoration, and it’s certainly effective. That’s not to say that there aren’t some very careful and precise examples, though, and in fact American archaeology seems to divide Scratch Blue into two types – Scratch Blue, which is very finely decorated, and ‘Debased’ Scratch Blue, which is the messier variety. I’m not sure that the distinction is particularly useful, or indeed ‘real’ as such, but there you go – my twopenn’orth.

In terms of decoration, there are incised flowers and leaves and multiple horizontal turned bands at the top and bottom, all highlighted in cobalt blue and occasionally manganese brown. Also, there are applied medallions, sometimes containing the royal arms and cipher of King George II/III.

A tea bowl with a lovely flower incised on it. All these images are stolen from the hugely invaluable Colonial Ceramics website of Maryland – well worth checking out their huge database of pottery.

I have a single, very small, sherd of Scratch Blue pottery, and this stuff is by no means common, especially up North.

That’s it, a single 2cm sherd of Scratch Blue is all I have. There must be more out there…

It seems to be from the base or top of a tankard, something like this:

Possibly something like this, from roughly 1780. From Colonial Williamsburg’s website.

This seems appropriate as it was found on the footpath outside an 18th century one-time pub, the Seven Stars off Hague Street, Whitfield.

WESTERWALD (aka Rhenish Ware)
DATE: c.1650-1780
DESCRIPTION: Pale or grey Stoneware, incised decoration highlighted in cobalt blue
SHAPES: Mugs, Tankards, Jugs.

Unusually, I don’t actually have a sherd of this to show you! It wasn’t particularly common up in the North – London being the big importer and consumer of this ware type. As I said above, Scratch Blue is the indigenous British potter’s response to this German imported pottery, and as you can see it is very similar:

Lovely jug of Westerwald from this website – it sold at auction for a surprisingly cheap £150

Incised decoration, cobalt blue highlights, applied medallions and other decoration, it is often difficult to tell apart. However, Westerwald seems to be bigger somehow, less delicate… and at the risk of offending our German cousins, more Teutonic. There also seems to be a greater use of cobalt decoration, and the background stoneware is darker in many circumstances.

And there the matter shall have to rest until I can find some Westerwald sherds to discuss at greater length (I might have to get a mudlarks license and head down to London and poke about on the Thames foreshore).

Right, I think that’s enough pottery for now – next time we’ll look at some fine earthernwares… you lucky folk.

Now, someone recently asked me if I could put links to all the previous Pottery Guides at the bottom of the post, so they can use it quickly to find out what they have… well here you are:

Part 1 – Marmalade Jars and Brown Stoneware (Nottingham and Derbyshire)

Part 2 – Spongeware

Part 3 – Industrial Slipwares

Part 4 – Creamware, Pearlware, and Whiteware

Part 5 – Blue and White Transfer-Printed, Flow Blue, and Shell-Edged

Part 6 – Porcelain, Bone China, Black Basalt Ware

Part 7 – 17th Century Slipwares, Manganese Glazed, and Yellow Ware

Enjoy, or not, as you wish.

Right, that’s all for now.

In other news, the Glossop Big Dig results are forthcoming… slowly. If any of you have any bags that need handing in, please do so, and I’ll get the results up asap.

Other other news is the ‘zine – Where/When – The Journal of Archaeological Wanderings – which is just about ready to go off to the printers. You will soon be able to buy a physical copy of a guided walk I did a while back, filled with historical musings and observations (and a sprinkling of pottery, obviously). It’s an experiment of sorts – we’ll see how it sells and whether I can make my costs back, but I’ve got about 6 more walks ready to go, and I’d like each one to be in the ‘zine. It will be full colour, 40 pages, fully illustrated, and should be retailing for £6, but watch this space.

The front cover of the first edition – hopefully ready within a week or two, and available to order via the Where / When button at the top.

If any of you out there have either suggestions for walks, or would like to publish one yourself, do get in contact. More news on this soon.

Until then, look after yourselves and each other, and I remain.

Your humble servant,

TCG

Dinting · History · Nicholas Garlick

The Blessed Nicholas Garlick – Glossop’s Almost Saint

July 24, 2021July 24, 2021 Tim Campbell-Green2 Comments

What ho, gentle readers! I trust you are all well in these trying times?

I’ve been wanting to make this post for a while, but I’ve only recently got round to doing the research. And my, it is a fascinating story of a turbulent period of history, and of a person who is much less well known than he ought to be – Glossop’s own almost saint, the Blessed Nicholas Garlick. Why I say ‘almost saint‘ will become apparent, but here is a man who died a martyr, is venerated as such within the Roman Catholic Church, and yet – outside of St Mary’s Roman Catholic church here – he is little known about in Glossop. So, exactly 433 years to the day after his brutal death, read on.

The Blessed Nicholas Garlick. This stained glass window is in the Lady Chapel of St Mary’s RC Church, in Derby.

Nicholas Garlick was born in about 1555 in Dinting, specifically in the hamlet now known as Higher Dinting, here:

The hamlet of Dinting as it was, one of the original settlements that made up Glossop.

Dinting is one of the oldest parts of Glossop. It is mentioned in the Domesday Book (I discussed it in a previous post – here), and I find it fascinating that somebody has lived on this very spot for at least 1000 years. The original Robert Hamnett notes that the Garlicks are an old family in the area, and the isolated hamlet was their home until relatively recently. Indeed, it is still quite a common surname in the Glossop area, and would seem to be chiefly associated with this part of the world.

The hamlet of Dinting, nestled into Mouselow.

Dinting closer up. Surviving 17th and 18th century buildings cluster round this distinct place, far removed from what think of as Dinting – essentially the arches and the railway station.

Garlick was clearly an intelligent man and went to Oxford University, entering Gloucester Hall (now Worcester College) in January 1575. However, he lasted only 6 months at Oxford, and never graduated. Given what we know of his later actions, it is likely that he refused to take the Oath of Supremacy – something as a student he would be required to do – and was therefore dismissed. The Oath of Supremacy meant swearing acknowledgment that the monarch (Elizabeth I at the time) was Supreme Governor of the Church of England – something that a devout Roman Catholic simply couldn’t do, as he would have recognised only the Pope as the head of the Church. And here is the rub; Nicholas was a Roman Catholic in a time when Roman Catholics were mercilessly persecuted.

From 1533 onwards, Henry VIII’s ministers, led by the king himself, systematically dismantled the Roman Catholic faith in Britain, and replaced it with Protestant Christianity in the form of Anglicanism, and the Church of England. This was forced on the people, often against their will and under great duress, and much of what they had believed in prior to this was now declared ‘wrong’. I think it is difficult to overstate the effect that this would have on people, as the fundamentals of their religious world, that shaped their lives and structured their year, were upturned. Even simple things such as Mass now being celebrated in English, not Latin, or that praying for souls in purgatory, often loved ones, was pointless because there was no longer a purgatory. What was the simple man or woman to make of that? By the time Nicholas was born it was theoretically possible to be a practicing Roman Catholic, although you were known as a ‘recusant’ (somebody who refuses, in this case refuses to attend Anglican services), and were subject to heavy fines and social stigmatisation. However, the celebration of Mass in Roman Catholicism requires a priest, and both were expressly forbidden under pain of death.

After leaving Oxford he moved to Tideswell, near Buxton, and became a school master at the Bishop Robert Pursglove’s Grammar School for a number of years (the school was founded in 1560, and the later 18th century incarnation of the building still stands).

Tideswell Grammar School as it is now – a later 18th century building replacing the 1560 Elizabethan one.

His Catholic faith was clearly strong at this time, as three of his pupils later became priests, and one, Christopher Buxton, was himself executed for his faith.

This is odd, though. Teaching of even a hint of Roman Catholic doctrine was expressly illegal, and could have landed Garlick a death sentence. So what’s going on? I dug around a bit, and it seems that Bishop Robert Pursglove who founded the school, and who employed Garlick, was an interesting character. A native of Tideswell, he was born in 1504, and later became a priest, then prior, then bishop. He seems to have swayed with the to-ing and fro-ing of the Reformation from Catholic to Protestant, and back again… and again. But, a little further research shows that he too refused to take the Oath of Supremacy on multiple occasions (something noted as highly suspect at the time), and an official Queen’s Council report of him records that he is “stiff in Papistry”, essentially he was clinging to the old religion, rather than embracing the new. He also enthusiastically embraced Queen Mary’s reintroduction of Roman Catholicism, becoming prebend of Southwell Minster, Nottinghamshire, during her reign. In addition, his memorial brass in Tideswell Church shows him in Roman Catholic Bishop’s dress, something that was also expressly forbidden by Elizabeth I.

Bishop Pursglove as a Roman Catholic bishop. The image is stolen from Distant Thoughts blog – written by a chap called Pursglove, and is an interesting read. Check out his mystery plate post, too. I’m dying to know more…

Pursglove also had strong connection with many recusant families in the area, some of whom were friends and relatives. North Derbyshire was known at the time as an area of strong recusancy, in particular in the area around Tideswell, and focussed on several local families – the Pegges, the Eyres, the Hunlokes, the Poles, and perhaps most important of all, the FitzHerberts. It seems, then, that the good Bishop played a significant role in that, even allowing distinctly Catholic teaching in his school. All this is speculative, of course, but the evidence does add up – Pursglove was probably a recusant Catholic. The fact that he was never investigated, arrested, or even publicly chastised, despite playing fast and lose with the rules, suggests he enjoyed a measure of protection, but I really don’t understand how. This too might explain Garlick’s next move. Bishop Pursglove died in May 1580, and on 22nd June 1581, Garlick enters the English College at Rheims in France. We might speculate that the death of Pursglove, and the loss of the protection he gave, forced Garlick to leave Tideswell, and probably hastily.

The English College was founded by exiled English Roman Catholic priests with the purpose of allowing English priests in training to continue their studies. But it also produced missionary priests who were to enter England covertly, minister to existing Catholics and attempt re-conversion of the country. This was what Nicholas trained to do, and he was ordained as a priest in March 1582, leaving for England as a missionary on 25th January 1583.

We know very little of his whereabouts until 1585 when he is caught, arrested, and banished, with the knowledge that if he is caught again he will be executed, as ministering as a priest was at the time a treasonable offence. The reason for this was simple – priests swear an oath of fealty to the Pope as head of the Church, and the papacy was at the time actively supporting France and Spain in their aggressions against England, and was actively seeking the conversion of the country back to Catholicism (indeed, Pope Sixtus V gave his blessing to the Spanish Armada as a crusade against the English). Garlick arrived back in Rheims on 17th October 1585, and two days later he headed back to England.

Once again his whereabouts are unclear, but a spy’s report of 16th September 1586 notes that he “laboureth with diligence in Hampshire and Dorsetshire”, and he crops up in Derbyshire in a government list of recusants in March 1588. He is clearly doing his duty, and is ministering to the needs of recusant Catholics in the area, and it this that is his undoing.

We have to remember that this is the time of Priest’s Holes: priests come to the houses of recusant Catholics and stay for periods of time, acting as a priest to the family and others nearby. However, there are significant networks of spies on the lookout for just such activity, so it all has to be done in secret, and if the officials come knocking, the priest has to be hidden in a Priest’s Hole. If they are caught the whole family would suffer, and the priest would be executed. Horrifically.

On the 12th July 1588 Garlick, and another priest was staying with the Catholic FitzHerbert family in Padley Hall, Padley, about 8 miles from Tideswell. The FitzHerberts were a well known and powerful recusant Catholic family, and whilst they carefully towed the legal line, they steadfastly refused to give up their faith, and this made them a huge target on the hit list of the authorities.

And the worst happened.

Garlick saying mass at the private chapel in Padley Hall. From the stained glass of Padley Chapel.

The sequence of events was actually set in motion by two individuals: Richard Topcliffe, and Thomas FitzHerbert, the son of John FitzHerbert of Padley Hall. Topcliffe was a Catholic catcher par excellence, who liked nothing more than to arrest, torture, and brutalise recusant Catholics and priests – he was, quite simply, a psychopath who enjoyed his work, and was allowed to do so by the authorities. He also had a personal vendetta against the FitzHerbert family. Thomas FitzHerbert on the other hand was seemingly an ambitious, cold-blooded, and immature moron who could think of nothing more than his inheritance. Between them, they came up with a plan that FitzHerbert would pay Topcliffe £3000 if he prosecuted to death his father (John), uncle (Sir Thomas), and cousin (William Basset) in order that Thomas would inherit the estate of Sir Thomas.

It was Thomas’s tip off that sent George Talbot, Earl of Shrewsbury, to arrest his father, and it was Nicholas Garlick’s bad luck to be at Padley Hall when he arrived. The priests, along with John FitzHerbert, his son Anthony, three of his daughters – Jane, Maud, and Mary – and ten servants were all arrested, and the whole party was transferred to jail in Derby. Another Glossop connection here is that George Talbot, Earl of Shrewsbury, was also the lord of Glossop – hence Talbot Road, Talbot Street, and Shrewsbury Street.

The arrest of Nicholas Garlick – from the stained glass of Padley Chapel.

On the 23rd July 1588, the priests were tried for High Treason, and for coming into the kingdom and “seducing” the Queen’s subjects. Garlick’s response was “I have not come to seduce, but to induce men to the Catholic faith. For this end have I come to the country, and for this will I work as long as I live“. Not the best defence, and he was inevitably found guilty. Garlick, along with Ludlam, and another priest, Richard Simpson, was sentenced to be hanged, drawn and quartered:

“That you and each of you be carried to the place from whence you came, and from thence be drawn on a hurdle to the place of execution, and be there severally hanged, but cut down while you are alive; that your privy members be cut off; that your bowels be taken out and burnt before your faces; that your heads be severed from your bodies; that your bodies be divided into four-quarters, and that your quarters be at the Queen’s disposal; and the Lord have mercy on your souls.”.

The sentence was carried out the next day, 24th July 1588. The three priests were taken to St Mary’s Bridge in Derby, with Garlick joking and making merry as they went, even reminiscing with a passer-by about the days they went shooting together, remarking that he was about to “shoot off such a shot as I never shot in all my life“. However, it seems that the local authorities were not well versed in this sort of execution, and the cauldron to be used for the burning of the condemned’s entrails was not hot enough, so there was a delay. Garlick, ever the priest, used this delay to deliver a final sermon, ending by throwing into the crowd religious texts extolling the virtue of the Roman Catholic faith; tradition states that everyone who read the texts were converted. At last, the time came. Simpson was to be executed first, but Garlick moved to the ladder ahead of him, and kissing it, calmly went to that most brutal of deaths. A further calamity occurred – he was hanged for a short time, but as he was taken down from the gallows to be disemboweled, it was noticed that he was still wearing his doublet, and by the time it was removed he was fully conscious and awake, alert to what was happening to him.

Garlick kissing the ladders to the execution platform. Again, from the stained glass of Padley Chapel.

The sentence duly carried out, the heads and quartered body parts of the three priests were put on spikes and displayed on the bridge and elsewhere around Derby, and then tarred and distributed.

Chapel of St Mary on the Bridge, Derby – here he was executed, and his head spiked on the bridge, the remains of which can be seen underneath and attached to the chapel. From here.

It is entirely likely that, given his birth and familial connection with Glossop, one part or another of his worldly remains would have been displayed here, and probably at the market cross in Old Glossop. A sobering thought. Another local legend records that the body parts were removed, and that Garlick’s head was buried at Tideswell church.

An anonymous poem written probably by someone who was a witness to the horrific scene runs thus:

When Garlick did the ladder kiss,
And Sympson after hie,
Methought that there St. Andrew was
Desirous for to die.

When Ludlam lookèd smilingly,
And joyful did remain,
It seemed St. Stephen was standing by,
For to be stoned again.

And what if Sympson seemed to yield,
For doubt and dread to die;
He rose again, and won the field
And died most constantly.

His watching, fasting, shirt of hair;
His speech, his death, and all,
Do record give, do witness bear,
He wailed his former fall.

In 1888, the two Padley Martyrs, as they became known, were given the title ‘Venerable’ by the church – this means they have been declared a ‘servant of God‘, and that they had ‘heroic virtue‘ – essentially the recognition of one’s life work, as well as one’s death. This led to the creation of an annual pilgrimage to Padley Chapel – the converted former gatehouse of the now ruined Padley Hall.

Commemorative card and medal printed and minted following the 1888 declaration of the title ‘Venerable’.

There would have been a private chapel in the hall, and it is suggested that this was in the upper part of the gatehouse. In 1934 the original 16th century altar stone was discovered buried in the garden where it had been hidden by the FitzHerberts prior to their arrest, and would have been the original one that Nichols would have used to celebrate Mass; it now forms the altar in the chapel there.

The altar at Padley Chapel, complete with original stone.

Then, on 22nd November 1987, Nicholas Garlick was Beatified by Pope John Paul II. This is a significant event, and is one of the necessary steps on the road to being declared a saint; if the Church confirms a miracle through his intercession, then he will officially be declared Saint Nicholas of Dinting. Whatever your personal beliefs, it is quite a journey from Dinting to the right hand of God.

Family Hamnett recently visited the chapel and ruined hall – it’s remarkable what is still standing and can be seen, and it’s a wonderful romantic ruin, set in lovely walking country, and with an astonishing, if grim, history:

Padley Chapel, originally the gatehouse to Padley Hall. And a standing stone, too – probably a track marker rather than a prehistoric stone.

The north western range, containing the great hall. There are three doors in front of us – left into the great hall with the huge fireplace behind, right into an ante-room, and middle up a spiral staircase, the base of which can be seen. Look how worn the door steps are.

Close up of the spiral staircase base. Fanstastic!

Master Hamnett exploring the ruined fireplace. It’s huge!

There are lots of medieval tracery and carved bits lying around – some have been incorporated into a wall, but others can be seen.

I also found a Victorian John Smith’s of Tadcaster beer bottle in a wall, which was a nice bonus!

A photograph of a reconstruction of Padley Hall, shamelessly taken from the Time Travellers’ website – they seem to be a good bunch of archaeological types, so go check them out, especially if you live near Sheffield.

The whole place is amazing, and well worth a visit.

If you are interested in this period of history, I cannot recommend highly enough The Stripping Of The Altars by Eamon Duffy – it studies both the state of Catholic religion in England prior to the Reformation, as well as the sweeping and catastrophic changes that occur during and after. Have a look on Amazon, but please make sure you buy it at Bay Tree Books on High Street West in Glossop. An added bonus is that it might be me that sells it to you.

Another view of Nicholas Garlick. Here he is pictured holding a knife in the traditional style of portraying saints holding the method of their martyrdom. This one from the Lady Chapel of St Mary’s Church, Derby (via this website)

I hope you enjoyed this slightly longer than usual post, and unusual subject matter. More pottery next time. What do you mean, “no, please no, spare us the pottery“? I can hear you, you know. Honestly, the nerve of some people. More soon, but until then look after yourselves and each other, and as always, I remain.

Your humble servant,