Field Work

July 8, 2023 Tim Campbell-Green2 Comments

What ho, dear and lovely people, what ho! I trust you are all enjoying the weather as it bounces, somewhat insanely, from parched desert in the midst of an African heatwave to “quick Mrs C-G, gather up two of every animal you can see, whilst I look up ‘How To Build an Ark‘ on YouTube” rainstorms. I mean, it keeps you on your toes, what!

So then, I have recently become obsessed with fields and their shapes, and what they can tell us about the history of Glossop. I know, I know, I really am quite the hit at parties! Indeed, I often hear the phrase “oh great, TCG has arrived!”… it’s nice to be appreciated. As an aside, 7-year-old Master C-G has recently taken to mocking me by asking a question about, for example, pottery, and then interrupting the answer with “wow dad, that’s soooo interesting…” and walking off, before falling down in fits of laughter. I mean to say, that’s a tad off, what? Where’s the blighter’s respect for dearest pater?

Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, field shapes and history. So, if you look at any OS map, you’ll see that it is criss-crossed with lines which mark out the boundaries of fields. On the ground and in real life these boundaries are made up of fences, hedges, or, in this part of the world, with drystone walling. It takes time and effort to build these walls, and more time and effort to take them down, which means it doesn’t happen very often. And unless the area has been significantly changed or has been built over completely, the field boundaries you see on the map and on the ground have been there since they were laid out. And here it gets interesting: the way fields were laid out changed over time – their shapes reflecting contemporary farming techniques – and it this which allows us to date them and their associated settlements.

Looking at local examples chronologically then, we start at the beginning. Quite literally. The first farmers – those neolithic & bronze age types who initially took the huge risk to cease the hunter-gatherer nomadic lifestyle, and instead adopt a sedentary one based around agriculture – created the first fields. Evidence from elsewhere suggests that these were not fields as such, more areas of land cleared of trees – a formidable task using only stone or at best bronze tools – and the area cleared of stones to enable to plough to pass. The larger stones are normally found rolled to the edges of the cleared areas, and there are often clearance cairns associated with them – piles of rocks, essentially. There are suggestions of bronze age systems in the area, but nothing even close to definite, and certainly nothing worth describing.

There is a similar situation with the Romano-British field systems, of which there is one possible example, in Whitfield, to the north and south of Kidd Road. These seem to comprise a series of lumps and bumps in the ground that might be the remains of field boundaries, or of terracing on which agriculture took place.

The potential field system is in yellow, the Roman road from Navio is in red. Image stolen and altered from the Derbyshire HER website.

As the Roman road from the fort at Brough (Navio) runs just by there, it would be a good place for a farmstead, and I’m sure more existed nearer Melandra. It’s not terribly inspiring, if I’m honest, but it is interesting, and if it is Romano-British in date (43AD – 410AD, perhaps a little later, too… or possibly a little earlier), then it is proof that people have lived and farmed in Whitfield for over 2000 years. You can read a bit more about it on the Derbyshire Historic Environment Record here, or, the Glossop & Longdendale Archaeological Society website, here.

However, our first definite and recognisable field systems occur in the medieval period.

By 1086, Longdendale and Glossop had been designated Royal Forest, a situation which brought with it all sorts of restrictions for the residents of the seven villages that made up the area at the time of the Domesday Survey: Chunal, Whitfield, Charlesworth, Hadfield, Padfield, Dinting, and Glossop (I’m convinced there was something at Simmondley and Gamesley at the time, but were overlooked or ignored as too small to tax). It was particularly particularly restrictive around land use; the existing villages were allowed to continue, but were not allowed to expand their size in anyway, as this would affect the king’s land, and take food from his deer. That didn’t stop them, though. What few records we have of medieval Glossop make mention of the crime of assarting, that is to cut down trees to enable the land to be used for growing crops or grazing – essentially increasing your land, illegally. For example, in 1285 we find the following:

“The wood of Shelf has been damaged in its underwood to a value of 15 shillings by the villagers of Gloshop, fined 4 shillings, they must answer for 60 oaks”.

The process would have been gradual, and probably done sneakily, perhaps by bribing the forester to look the other way. Or equally, it may have been worth the fine if you can increase your farming lands significantly – an investment of sorts. Given the nature of assarting – essentially picking away a few trees at a time – it often leaves a distinctive field shape: rounded, rather than straight or uneven lines. There is a perfect example of this at Ogden, above Tintwistle:

The two farmsteads of Ogden, both now in ruins. I need to explore up there sometime.

And if we look over at Hargate Hill, between Charlesworth and Simmondley, I think we can see a similar process happening here:

Rounded edges, rather than the more usual straight.

The circular, almost organic growth of the fields can be seen, and it may be this that is referred to in 1285: “The wood of Coumbes (Coombs) has been damaged by the people of Chasseworth (Charlesworth), fined 2 shillings, they must respond for 18 oaks.” This whole area is full of interesting detail. The first mention of Hargate Hill I’m aware of is 1623 (the record of the burial of ‘Widow Robinson’ of Hargate on 10th July, to be precise), but there must have been something there before this date. There is a suspicion that stone from the quarry here was used to build Melandra Roman fort, although how true this is, is not clear, but the settlement is just off the main road between Glossop (via Simmondley) and Charlesworth, which is significant. Importantly, between the road and settlement, there is evidence for Ridge and Furrow ploughing, which is normally medieval in date. You can see it in this LIDAR image:

The ridge & furrow is running roughly north-south from High Lane.

Ridge and furrow is created by ploughing up and down a strip of land using a team of 8 oxen. Now, as you can imagine, 8 oxen are a nightmare to turn, and their size alone means that you have to start the turn very early on in your plough furrow in order to maximize the land use. This creates a distinctive reverse ‘S’ shape to the thin fields – or ‘selions’ – that make up the medieval farm landscape – the result of only being able to turn the oxen to the left (as the medieval farmer used a fixed blade plough share that was positioned on the right). These selions are side by side, with a dip in between (you can just about make out the dips in the above LIDAR image), and made up of rows and rows of ridge and furrow running the length of the selion. A selion normally measured a furlong in length (a ‘furrow long’: some 220 yards) and between 5 and 22 yards wide.

In Whitfield there are many great examples of this classic, and instantly recognisable, early medieval field shape.

Clearly visible, running NW-SE, and on either side of Cliffe Road. There are dozens more in dotted about the area, too.

Hiding in plain sight, the medieval field systems of the 12th & 13th centuries. The fact that they run either side of Cliffe Road is significant: they ‘respect’ the road, which means that the road was there before the selions, as it is highly unlikely a road would be put through arable land. We know this anyway – it was the main road from Glossop to Chapel en le Frith – but it is good to have it confirmed.

What I find amazing me is the sense of continuity of use; the field marked with a red ring in the above map is exactly the field boundary of the Whitfield Allotments, and I wonder how many allotment holders realise their plot of land has been continuously farmed for nearly a millennium. It’s also fascinating to think that although the area has been largely built over, the boundaries of individual modern house plots have used these field boundaries as references, and so the field laid out by a medieval peasant farmer 800 or more years ago has a direct influence on life today. Looking at a tangible history in that way leaves one feeling quite dizzy.

Chunal, first mentioned in the Domesday Book, was an important medieval farmestead.

Chunal is even clearer in its agricultural history, and has evidence of both assarting and the use of Ridge and Furrow on both sides of the road, especially what is hidden beneath the surface now – compare the above map with the LIDAR survey of the same area… huge numbers of selions, all in the classic reverse ‘S’ shape.

The same area scanned with LIDAR. The selions not shown in the above map are very clear.

The quantity of field strips is testament to the relatively large-scale agriculture occurring in this area in the earlier medieval period. Simmondley, too, has a large number to the north and south of Old Lane, which was the original medieval track from Charlesworth via Simmondley to Glossop:

Notice the selions ‘respect’ the original track – Old Lane – they stop at the road, and don’t line up symmetrically on the other side. They are, however, overlain by the New Road which was built, I believe, in the 1860’s. Just as in Cliffe Road in Whitfield, Old Lane must have been there when the selions were laid out, or at the same time, giving us a date for the track.

During the 14th century, however, we see a shift in farming practice, and land use moves away from the ‘open field’ system of strips, and starts to become enclosed by walls. This is probably a result of two critical events. Firstly, the climate starts to get colder, which has a negative impact on the ability to grow crops, and which lead to a series of famines. The second was the emergence of the Black Death which killed off 1/3 of the population during 1348-49. And whilst the Peak District emerged seemingly relatively unscathed, no doubt there was a movement of the population to better arable land that had been abandoned, leading to a population decline. It had also become apparent by the mid century that sheep/wool farming was a lucrative market, and thus increasing amounts of land was blocked off to allow sheep to graze safely. These early enclosures are normally recognisable as non-symmetrical enclosures that have largely straight-ish lines, but aren’t a specific shape. We can see some probable examples to the north of Simmondley New Road, now covered by housing but preserved in the 1892 1:25 inch map:

Simmondley New Road running west-east(ish) replaced Old Lane… the clue is in the names!

If we look closely we can see these early enclosures are made by consolidating and expanding existing selions, as farming practice shifted from arable to livestock. The more you look, the more the medieval and early modern landscape comes to life.

We also encounter them at Gamesley, now also covered by housing, but perhaps originally associated with Lower Gamesley Farm which may have an early foundation date, even if the present building there dates from only the 17th century (only…!). The settlement is first mentioned in 1285, but actually Gamesley is a Saxon name meaning the ‘clearing (or assart) belonging to Gamall’.

Of course, people needed agricultural produce, and many strips continued to be farmed well into the post-medieval period. Indeed new fields were laid out, although later ridge and furrow is normally straight as, over time, smaller teams of larger oxen were used, and these were eventually replaced altogether by heavy horses.

Our final field type comes at the end of the 18th and early 19th centuries with the parliamentary enclosures. Briefly, open ‘common’ land – poor rough land, owned by the Lord of the Manor, but used by everyone to graze animals or to gather fuel – was parcelled off and sold in lots. On paper, this freed up lots of land and was a boon for farmers who could, with a little improvement, massively increase their lands. But it also meant that the common man lost access to land that his ancestors had legal rights to. Arguably, by the early 19th century there were very few people who would have used the land anyway; not many people had animals to graze, nor did many burn peat as a fuel. The rural way of life, especially in Glossop, was well and truly over and most people lived in stone terraces and worked in mills. But that really isn’t the point! The parcelling up of the land into lots was done drawing lines over maps using rulers… and it shows.

Moorfield is surrounded by fields that are the result of the 1813 Whitfield Enclosure Act.

And elsewhere:

Around Lanehead farm, toward Padfield there are clear examples of 19th century enclosure… in fact they are all over Glossopdale – have a look at any map. They often mask earlier field systems and tracks which can be on a different alignment, and a quick scan of the Lidar for the same area reveals all sorts of lumps and bumps:

Lanehead Farm is shown by the orange arrow.

The grey arrows above show older field systems not shown on the map. In the middle of the arrows there is what might be ridge and furrow. A detailed study of the fields on the maps and on the ground, as well as a comparative reading of the lidar could give us huge amounts of information about the past use of the landscape, beyond the obvious parliamentary enclosures.

The lines of these fields are all very straight, and all the walls are of a standard form, and the whole parliamentary enclosure process was completed with characteristic Georgian and Victorian efficiency. But a part of me feels that it is almost an industrialisation of the landscape, a triumph of efficiency over nature. Prior to this, it was a difficult process to carve out a little patch of land to support your family, and it required blood, sweat, and tears. This human, organic, side is etched onto the land – assarting, the reverse ‘S’ shape, even the enclosures for sheep, they all have an element that is dictated to by the land, and all came with effort. To stand over a map with a pen and ruler dividing up the landscape is to have a complete disconnect from it, and is human imposing on it, rather than working within it, and that feels wrong somehow. Anyway, enough of the hippy!

It genuinely is amazing what you can see when you start to study maps, the unexpected can leap out at you. Keep looking, wonderful people, and please mail me with anything you find – I could even make you famous* by publishing it on the website.

*famous to all 11 people who read the website, that is.

Anyway, I hope you have enjoyed todays romp around the countryside. I’m planning a few more official Cabinet of Curiosities wanders over the summer, one of which is a jaunt down the medieval and early modern trackways of Whitfield and Glossop via 2 pubs and a pile of history and archaeology… what’s not to love? And all at a bargain price… a man has to eat, after all. Watch this space. Or Twitter. Or Instagram, if I can figure how to use it properly.

Until next time, keep looking down, but also look after yourselves and each other.

I remain, your humble servant,

TCG

Archaeology · Roads · Stones of Glossop

Ma(r)king Tracks

October 9, 2022October 12, 2022 Tim Campbell-Green2 Comments

What ho, wonderful people!

Nope, no pottery today. Instead we have tracks. And stones. And holes. Look, just read on… it’s simpler.

Now, I do love a good track. Ask anyone who knows me, and they’ll say “why yes, that ruggedly handsome, wonderously whiskered, and all-round splendid chap does indeed love a good track or two“. I also love a good stone. In fact, ask anyone who knows me, and they’ll say “why yes, that marvellous man, that genius gentleman, that… ” What’s that? What do you mean “get on with it!“? Honestly.

Ok, so several years ago I noticed that dotted around the Glossop area are a number of standing stones that have holes carved in them. I did wonder about them, but presumed they were a form of gatepost, even if they didn’t seem to be in a place one would expect a gatepost.

A holed stone on Hague Street. They remind a bit of Hattifatteners from the Moomin stories… they probably come to life at night.

More recently I have been looking at tracks:

TRACK (noun) A rough path or road, typically one beaten by use rather than constructed.

And more specifically, the old – medieval or post-medieval (10th – 17th centuries) – trackways that dotted the area. Glossop is a great example of what we call a medieval ‘dispersed settlement’ – essentially, whilst there is a central focus – Old Glossop, with the church and market – most people actually lived in the many surrounding ‘dispersed’ farmsteads – Heath, Dinting, Ashes, Jumble, etc. People came together every Sunday for Mass, as well as other feast days and holy-days, for market days, as well as socially – for a drink in the tavern, for example. But by and large, Glossop in the medieval and early modern periods was dispersed throughout the valley in farmsteads. In this instance, a farmstead may be understood as a farmhouse and associated buildings – barns, shippons, and various ‘farm-ey’ outbuildings – as well as houses for the farmworkers. In total, we’re looking at perhaps 20 people or so for a larger farmstead, maybe 5 for a smaller. Of course, people need to travel, and roads were made through the landscape, connecting these farmsteads, and it these I incredibly interesting.

This is the track that runs down from Ashes to Dinting – once the main thoroughfare, now a beautiful sunken trackway, or *holloway* as they are known, its age is shown by its depth, worn through use.

They were not just a means of physical movement through the landscape, but also a conduit for other aspects of life. As packhorse routes (no horse and carts here, just heavily laden beasts of burden) they connected everybody, and allowed goods and produce to move between places and markets. News of the wider world also moved along these tracks – a new king or a new religion, or news of battles and wonders in far off places. But so did disease and infection; the Black Death and Great Plague once walked these tracks. We also encounter the more local and personal aspects of life, too: newlyweds from church, newborns from baptisms, and the final journey from the farmstead to the church yard, as the deceased was carried for burial, often for miles, along the tracks, followed by mourning family and friends. All of life is contained in a track, worn deep by use, and all of history held there, if only we could access it.

However, the collision of stone and track didn’t connect until last year, when it occurred with an audible click at Pyegrove.

Pyegrove circled in red. For orientation, the Snake Pass runs horizontally across the bottom, with the Commercial Inn on Manor Park Road circled in blue on the right, and the Royal Oak, left. Note the green arrow. Map from the marvellous and incredibly useful National Library of Scotland map website – well worth an explore.

An afternoon playdate with Master Hamnett and his friend led us to Manor Park via Pyegrove. Now Pyegrove is an interesting corner of Glossop, with a long history; the name means the copse or thicket’ (grove or greve, as it is in older maps) of the magpie (the ‘Pie’ or ‘Pye’ element) which suits its location below Shire Hill perfectly. The house here has a datestone that reads “I.M.A. 1747” (no photographs, alas… it’s difficult to even see it without overtly trespassing), so that the house is at least that early. However, in the baptism record of a John Shepperd at Glossop on Christmas Day 1735, his father (Robert Shepperd the Younger) gives his address as Pyegreve, so we know something else was there at an earlier date. Pyegrove is, I suspect, another medieval farmstead… but all that (along with tales of Buffalo Bill) is for another time. Let’s return to tracks and stones.

The footpath at Pyegrove splits – right skirts Shire Hill down to Mossy Lea, left ploughs on over the playing fields to Glossop.

Tarmacked, unlike the original, choose your path wisely.

But just at the split I noticed this:

It was at that point it suddenly struck me, and as I stood there gasping like a stunned fish, ignoring the children, and mentally ran over all the holed stones I knew about (5 at that point). Of course, I thought, they all marked a junction in a footpath or track! And all of those tracks, I was fairly certain (and am now convinced) were the preservation of early (medieval or post-medieval) trackways between farmsteads. I have talked about this before – the fossilisation of early trackways, preserved as footpaths within modern settings, but in essence once the newer – and much better – roads were constructed for the mills (1790’s onwards), these old roads fell out of use, but as they often were more direct, and were known by locals who still used them, they gradually became public rights of way.

The stones, being big and heavy, are often not moved, so there they sit as testament to the tracks that were once the main roads between the dispersed settlements that made up Glossop. I know of 9 holed stones now (and two more that might be relevant), and looking closely at the stones, they all share similar aspects. Upright, and roughly shaped from millstone grit or similar gritstone, and they seem quite worn – usually an indicator of age. The hole, made through the stone, is broadly square in shape, measuring between 3 and 4 inches across, roughly carved, and placed in the top third of the stone. I am convinced they were shaped and set up by the same group of people to make using the notoriously bad road system around Glossop easier. Of the stones, the obvious question is why does it have a hole in it? My first thought was that it would mark the stone as different from others that might be in the area, making sure that a junction wouldn’t be missed in the dark or bad weather. This might be the case, but then I remembered reading that in 1693 a law was passed that trackways had to have a guide post showing destinations (the Whitfield Guide Stoop was a result of this law, but probably a later incarnation), and I wonder if the hole was there to allow a wooden sign to be placed in it with destination painted or carved on it? Or perhaps a simple stick pointing the way? Any thoughts on this, o’ wonderful readers? I also wonder how far this tradition continues – certainly I know of no others in surrounding areas – even Tintwistle or Hadfield, for example, seem to have no holed stones, although I’m happy to be proven wrong. .

But let’s have a virtual explore the Pyegrove to Glossop track here, starting at the stone that started it all.

Ignore the later drilled circular hole, and the rusty bolt through the hole – this is a classic junction marker, with its ‘square’ hole and rough shaping.

Ignoring the A57/Snake Pass (opened in 1821, although bits are older), behind us is what is now Derbyshire Level, with the farmsteads of The Hurst, Jumble, and Gnat Hole, and also the road to Whitfield and Chapel en le Frith. Going left, then, a track along the edge of some houses leads out into Pyegrove Playing Fields.

Looking back at Pyegrove, the overgrown track hides what was once a main thoroughfare into Glossop. O’ for an excavation of this track!

Along the northern edge of the playing fields the track is no longer used, but is visible as a ‘holloway’ – a track worn deep with use.

Here is the Holloway, Green Way, or sunken trackway, depending on how you call it. Do you known what, it’s oddly difficult to photograph a dip in the field, but it is there… honestly!

We join the track again at the corner of the playing field, where there is a lovely squared off standing stone.

A simple standing stone, if such a thing exists.

This seems to mark the junction of a track that originates at Cross Cliffe, here marked in blue:

The trackway is visible in the older maps, and although it fizzles out on the ground, it is preserved in field boundaries and fossilised in strangely preserved bits of pathway.

Whilst it is just about marked on older maps, it is no longer in use, although its memory is fossilised in this bit of unnecessary and unusually wide stretch of pedestrianised path leading from the Snake Pass to Pyegrove Park (marked with a red circle in the above map)

Oddly wide, and completely unnecessary, this is the fossilisation of an older track from Cross Cliffe.

These simple – unholed – standing stones sometimes mark junctions, but more normally simply mark the line of a path where is might not be obvious, particularly in the dark or rough environment (I know of about 12 of these, too).

We continue along our Pyegrove track beyond the stone and past the remains of the Royal Observer Corps station. Briefly, the station was meant to monitor potential enemy aircraft in the immediate post-WWII period, but it would also serve as a monitoring post, observing and recording the effects of any nuclear detonation on Manchester – wind speed, radiation levels, blast radius, etc. This is why it is built into the hillside, 15ft below ground level. A sobering thought, and one sadly now relevant once more. This will also be the subject of a future blog post, don’t worry!

An interesting slice of much more modern history, but one that is certainly worth a look at .

Back to the task in hand, and on to another standing stone. This one, looking for all the world like a gravestone, was originally one of a pair (its partner is embedded, horizontally now, in the wall.

One of a pair – the other can be seen lying horizontally built into the wall – same stone type, same width, same depth, and presumably the same length, accounting for a few feet underground.

These gravestone pairs are usually found mid track or at the start of junctions, and seem to be a later addition to the tracks (probably post-1790’s) and seem to be an attempt to force packhorses and traffic onto the newer roads (and presumably so they can pay the tolls) – and early form of traffic calming, if you will. I am fairly certain with the date of c.1800 as Whitfield Cross was used as a partner to one of these ‘gravestone’ pairings after it was moved in about 1800. There is some graffiti carved on the top of this stone – ‘G.B.’.

G.B. step forward and take a bow – I do like a bit of carved graffiti.

From here we continue, round the corner, to the farmstead of Hall Fold.

Converted barn and outbuildings of the farmstead of Hall Fold

A datestone here records ‘J.S.J. 1806’, but this was apparently found when the owner was digging a foundation, and clearly Hall Fold Farm is older that that.

Not my photo – stolen shamelessly from the Old Glossop website, which has a bit of history and a series of very interesting photographs of Hall Fold Farm – here.

The name itself may refer to a long demolished, possibly medieval, original Glossop Hall (Manor Park Road was once known as Hall Street). This is also the location of a junction – our track is joined from one that comes from Whitfield (an extension of this one).

Our track from Pyegrove is on the left hand, but the one from Whitfield comes via Old Glossop Cricket Club, and would have come through the gates ahead. Though no longer in use, its presence is preserved in field boundaries and the fact that these houses (c.1830’s) respect the track, which is why they are built at that strange angle. It’s also visible in LIDAR under the cricket pitch.

Sadly, no marker stone remains at Hall Fold Farm (although I didn’t start poking around people’s gardens, and it may well be lurking somewhere – large stones are hard to completely lose). From here, the medieval centre of Glossop is a hop, skip and a jump… if you are feeling so inclined.

I have to say, though, walking into Glossop this way is a much more interesting – and authentic – experience, and one that is very different from walking along Manor Park Road! We take our modern roads for granted, and I’m not going to lie – the idea of moving along these tracks in bad weather and in darkness fills me with fear.

This is a small part of a much larger project I’m working on, tracing these tracks all over Glossopdale. Each of the settlements that make up ‘Glossop’ – from Wooley Bridge in the west, to Pyegrove in the east, Tintwistle at the north, to Chunal in the south – have multiple tracks linking them, and for the large part they are still there, often hidden, occasionally ‘fossilised’ as footpaths, or even still in use. This is truly an overlooked, and indeed largely undiscovered, aspect of Glossop’s pre-Victorian/pre-Industrial history, but one that was vital to its development. And I have to say it is great fun being able to walk these ways, and pondering the history they hold – if anyone fancies joining me, give me a shout. Also, and this is a serious request, if anyone knows of any holed stones (or any standing stones, for that matter) that I might not know about, please do get in touch – often half hidden in hedgerows, they will lurk where two or more tracks join.

Right, that’s all for now. More pottery next time (did anyone else hear that high-pitched screaming sound?), but until then look after yourselves and each other, and I remain,

Your humble servant,

RH.

Archaeology · Oddities · Whitfield

What If…? Of Stone Heads and Stories.

June 9, 2021June 9, 2021 Tim Campbell-GreenLeave a comment

What ho, you wonderful people, you.

So, despite having half a dozen half-written posts, piles of interesting objects and sherds to talk about, and a few adventures to recount, I want to try something a little different today. “Oh no!” I hear you cry. But fret ye not, gentle reader, for it is still archaeology, it is still Glossop based, and it is still interesting. But it is a little… quirky. You’ll see what I mean.

I have a friend who is a writer, and quite a good one at that. He has often mentioned that stories usually start with what he terms a “What If?” moment, where something – often an object – presents itself, and the question is posed “what if…?” From there the story grows, based on and around that one question. The answer that comes doesn’t have to be ‘real’, it is fiction after all, but it has to be possible. What if a house was haunted? And what if the house fell down? And what if a brick from the house was haunted too? And what if a dashing archaeologist took the brick home to write about it on his extremely popular and incredibly interesting blog? What if…?

Archaeology, I think, uses a similar technique. An object is excavated, and the interpretation – the story – begins. However, where we differ from writers is that we base our ‘what ifs…?’ on evidence and supposition grounded in data. The interpretation, in this sense, has to be ‘real‘, although it is only ‘real’ for as long as the data supports it. Sometimes though, It’s fun to play “what if…?” – and here we join today’s post.

A stone head displaying all the characteristic features, including almond eyes. This one was allegedly found on Mouselow, and now lives on a wall in Buxton Museum

Stone heads. A lot has been written about them. They are cursed and evil. Or they are warm and friendly. They are ‘Celtic’ (i.e. Iron Age or Romano-British) in date. Or they are medieval or early modern in date. Or a combination of both. They represent an unbroken pre-Christian tradition, and an aspect of the whispered ‘Old Ways‘. Or they are simply folk art, and just decorative. Or they are magically protective (that wonderful word, apotropaic, again). Or both. Or neither. A brief trawl of the internet gives a lot of different sites and opinions, ranging from the scholarly and the more open minded, to what can only be termed outright nonsense.

Whatever they are, carved stone heads are a feature of this part of the Pennines – from Longdendale, over the hills to West Yorkshire, and up to the Calder Valley. I actually have a serious project that is looking at them; cataloguing known examples from Glossop and Longdendale, and trying to place them geographically, as well as giving some sort of date to them. There are at least 23 examples from the Glossop area, with more doubtless waiting to be uncovered. But it’s an ongoing project, and not really ready to publish – here, or anywhere else for that matter – and I just keep chipping away at it. It was during the course of trying to map where they were found, that I noticed something very interesting.

Stone head in Old Glossop. Image stolen shamelessly from the Old Glossop website (follow this link – the website is very good)

Before we go any further, I should state that my personal belief is that most of the stone heads are medieval or post-medieval in date (indeed, there is a record of them being carved in the 19th Century). That’s not to say that Iron Age ‘Celtic’ examples don’t exist (one was found at Binchester Roman Fort, in County Durham in 2013), it’s just that it is very difficult to date them as they usually don’t come from any secure archaeological context, and basing a date on ‘style’ or method of carving, as has happened in the past, is notoriously dodgy. That stated, there is the possibility that I might be wrong. And this led to my ‘what if…?‘ moment.

Back to the find location, sadly the majority of the heads are simply “found in Glossop area“, and thus have no exact place. But from various sources, I was able to identify where some of the heads were found. The distribution map is below:

1:10,000 map of Glossop. The Find spots – where the heads were found – are marked in red.

They seem to be dotted all around the area: Mouselow, Manor Park Road, several in Old Glossop, etc. However, looking at the above map, I noticed there was a distinct grouping in Whitfield – four of them centred around Slatelands Road and Hollin Cross Lane. Hmmmmm… let’s have a closer look, then.

Here is the Whitfield group on the 1:2500 map.

Duke Street, Pikes Lane, St Mary’s Road, and Slatelands Road. Geographically, they are in the same tangle of roads in that area. But the heads more than likely pre-date the Victorian roads, so we need to strip them back. What was there then? Well fields, mainly, though the medieval track from Simmondley to Glossop ran through here (that blog post is coming, I promise!). And before that, the Roman road also ran through here, along Pikes Lane, before kinking over Long Clough Brook and onto the fort and settlement at Melandra.

And then, the “what if…?” hit me.

For the sake of a good story, what if these heads actually were Iron Age or Roman in date? What could this cluster mean?

Looking again at the area stripped of the Victorian houses, it’s very clearly a promontory, a high plateau that runs between two brooks – Glossop Brook to the north, and Long Clough Brook to the south. In the Iron Age, they liked their elevated places – Mouselow, which dominates the area, is a classic Iron Age hillfort, and others exist nearby, at Mellor and Mam Tor. One only has to look at St Mary’s Road from Harehills Park to see how steep those slopes are (try doing it pushing Master Hamnett in a pram with a load of shopping from Aldi). And on the other side, who hasn’t cursed Slatelands Road halfway up, gasping for breath. This is a very real landscape feature, completely masked by later development, but one which would have been very visible back then. This would have been particularly true where the peninsular narrows at the west, leading down to the junction of the two brooks. This too, is significant.

Throughout prehistory water was a sacred thing, and was considered ritually important. A spit of land, elevated, defined by water and ending in the confluence of two bodies of water, would have been hugely significant. Actually, a perfect place for an Iron Age temple or shrine, perhaps one devoted to the ‘Celtic head cult’ as suggested by scholars such as Dr Ann Ross (in her Pagan Celtic Britain)? Indeed, the North Derbyshire Archaeological Survey notes that the number of heads in the Glossop area “might suggest a cult centre” based in the town in the Romano-British period (Hart 1984:105). It has been suggested that the heads are sometimes associated with liminality and boundaries, and were protective. What if they were they placed facing down the peninsular, to mark out the sacred space, and to defend it?

The Roman road moves through this promontory, sticking to the high ground away from the valley floors and marshy terrain, as the Romans preferred (see map below). But what if the location of the possible shrine or temple influenced the choice of road location, ploughing through the sacred enclosure, perhaps to make a point about Roman dominance?

The location of the heads in relation to the landscape. The blue is the waters of Glossop Brook (north) and Long Clough Brook (south), forming the spit of land. The yellow line is the medieval trackway, and the green line is the course of the Roman road.

What if…?

Now, I’m not suggesting for a moment that that the above is absolutely true; this is a wild flight of fantasy, and pure fiction – a story. Indeed, doubts are being raised about the reality of the ‘Celtic head cult’ theory in general. But it is a possibility, at least: an archaeological what if…? However, if that isn’t the answer, there still remains the issue of why four stone heads were found in a cluster in this area. What is going on?

If we return to my original thought, that the heads are medieval or post-medieval in date, might they be related to the Simmondley – (Old) Glossop trackway in someway? If we look at the map above, we can see this track (marked in yellow) runs broadly along the line of Princess Street. And just to the east of the three of the heads run along the same alignment. Is this significant? What if people somehow, and for some reason, deposited these heads to the east of the track? But why? Well, I came across a possible reference to just such a practice in this area – Clarke states that “Oral tradition in the High Peak of Derbyshire suggests heads were buried as charms beneath newly-built roads, presumably to keep permanent watch over them” (1999:286). He cites no sources for this “oral tradition”, but this type of apotropaic function – preventing witchcraft and promoting good fortune – is associated with carved heads all over the United Kingdom (Billingsley 2016). Perhaps, then, we are seeing the ritual deposition of carved heads as part of the road building tradition.

What if…?

No, it is a mystery, and ultimately we are left with questions for which there are no obvious answers. Three of the heads are in Manchester Museum, and the fourth presumably in the hands of the owner/finder. I will have to go and see them, as that might help in dating. As I say the project is ongoing, and any comments or help in the area would be greatly appreciated. Do you know of any stone heads? Do you have photographs of any? Or stories – they seem to attract folklore and superstition like nothing else! Please contact me in the usual way – email me, or through twitter ( @roberthamnett ). Or just come and find me in the street, as people are increasingly doing… so much for pseudonyms and anonymity!

I do hope you enjoyed the little flight of fantasy, but we’ll be back to business as usual next time – the sherds are mounting up! Until then, look after yourselves and each other.

And I remain, your humble servant

References:

John Billingsley – Instances and Contexts of the Head Motif in Britain

David Clarke – The Head Cult: Tradition and Folklore Surrounding the Symbol of the Severed Human Head in the British Isles. (Unpublished PhD Thesis, accessed here)

Anne Ross – Pagan Celtic Britain: Studies in Iconography and Tradition

Placenames · Simmondley · Waterways of Glossop

Bridgefield

May 23, 2021October 21, 2021 Tim Campbell-Green1 Comment

Good evening.

(well, it is here and now, but I suppose it depends on when you are reading this… in which case, feel free to substitute “evening” for whatever part of the day you happen to be reading this.)

Perhaps I should start again.

What ho!

A short one today – I realise that I haven’t been as active as I’d like, so rather than labour over a larger post, and as a sort of proof that I’m still alive, I present today’s smaller offering – the area of Glossop known as Bridgefield. This is a place you drive through without ever noticing it is there – blink and you miss it as you go from Charlestown to Dinting along Primrose Lane. It is also a great example of why maps are so useful as a record of places – without it being drawn on the map, it is likely that Bridgefield would have ceased to be remembered as a place at all.

I have commented elsewhere that older names for places are usually based on reality, and reflect a different set of priorities – largely truthfulness in description: Gnat Hole was not named ironically, and so it is with Bridgefield, it was – and is – the field with the bridge. Well, actually bridges, plural – there are two. The first is where Primrose Lane crosses Long Clough Brook, circled in blue on the map below. But it is the second one – a small footbridge over the Long Clough Brook – that I think is the more interesting of the pair, and is indeed the older. Moreover, it actually is in the ‘Bridge Field’, rather than two fields over. And so, this humble little bridge is the target of today’s fevered ramblings. The bridge, or to be precise an earlier incarnation, is circled in green in the map below.

A rather colourful rendering. The bridge of Bridgefield is marked in green.

It crosses Long Clough Brook at the bottom of Slatelands Road, and now forms the bottom end of a footpath from Pikes Lane, emerging into Primrose Lane. This track – marked in red in the map above – wends its way between houses and land, and is known locally as the Chicken Run; indeed it still has chickens at the bottom. It was also known as the ‘Giggle Gaggle’, apparently, which recalls strongly the ‘Gibble Gabble’ in Broadbottom – another track that wends its way between houses and land. Indeed, it is suggested that Gibble Gabble (and thus Giggle Gaggle) is a localised (Mottram, Broadbottom, Glossop) dialect name for what is known elsewhere as a ‘ginnel’ (a track that wends its way between houses and land), which makes sense (here is a little more on the subject). According to A Journey Through Glossop by Kate Best and Owen Russell this same trackway was also known as Burneen by the nuns of the convent on Shaw Street, who used it to get to Hobroyd. Burneen is a version of the Irish term, Boreen, which means… anyone? Anyone? That’s right – a track, usually one that wends its way between houses, etc. There is a theme here… if only I could spot it. David Frith in his Pathwise in Glossop and Longdendale (p.60, Path 40) notes that this path went through allotments, and was known as the ‘Flagged Fields’, again strongly suggestive of a maintained trackway or road.

Joking aside this track is very important; I am convinced it forms part of the medieval road (such as it was) between Charlesworth, via Simmondley, to (Old) Glossop. The track goes along Old Lane in Simmondley (the name is a clue), down a sunken trackway that might indicate both age and heavy use, and emerges along another ‘fossilised’ footpath, preserving the original trackway ‘in stone’ – here, at the bottom of Simmondley New Road and Moorside Close:

The tail end of the track that comes from Charlesworth via Simmondley (Old Lane).

It continues along the footpath until it meets Pike’s Lane. This track will be the subject of a future blog post as it is a vital part of the history of the area, and well worth an explore, but for now let’s return to the bridge. Here it is, then, the current bridge of Bridgefield.

This bridge is quite modern, being made from rolled steel ‘I Beams‘, and it is clearly the latest in a long line of bridges of various sorts.

It works as a bridge, but it’s certainly not romantic.

We may assume that the earlier bridges were made from stone in one form or another, but looking into the brook, I noticed some large flat stones – much bigger and more substantial than paving slabs – that look out of place.

They’re not easy to make out, but the slabs are dotted along this stretch of Long Clough Brook, directly below the bridge. Incidentally, the Brook marks the border between Whitfield and Simmondley – as we look at the photo above, Simmmondley is on the right, Whitfield left.

Am I wrong to imagine that these once might have made up the medieval and early modern bridge in the form of a Clapper Bridge? The stones having fallen, but not moved very far by man or water.

A Clapper Bridge. This example is at Postbridge in Dartmoor, but they are a common way of forming a river crossing, especially where the banks are high – as they are at Bridgefield.

If I’m honest, I probably am wrong; the whole area has been extensively messed around with by the building of mills and mill ponds, as well as work on the brook itself with the building of weirs and shaping the banks. It’s difficult to get an idea what the area would have looked like, and it’s unlikely that any vestiges of the original bridge remain. But still, let’s imagine.

EDIT

Actually, further evidence to support the Clapper Bridge idea might be suggested by the fact that Slatelands Road, which runs down to the bridge, was once known as ‘Stoney Causey‘, the Stoney Causeway. The word ’causeway’ normally indicates a raised roadway across wet ground, as opposed to a bridge per se. which would fit quite nicely.

However, the importance that was once given to Bridgefield is underlined by the fact that the Reverend John Wesley, the founder of Methodism, preached here. Now, that Wesley preached in Glossop is not in itself big news – he preached all over, favouring the open air, and had a fondness for this part of England, returning time and again to spread the word of his particular brand of Christianity. But the fact that he chose Bridgefield as the location for the crowds of people that would have gathered – some jeering and making mock, others listening intently and converting – is significant. It indicates that this was an important place, and vital in communicating between towns – Glossop and Charlesworth/Simmondley, but also one that was well known enough that people all over Glossop would come and hear him. In his diary, Wesley records the following entry:

Friday, 27th March 1761
“I rode to Bridgefield, in the midst of the Derbyshire mountains, and cried to a large congregation, “If any man thirst, let him come unto me and drink.” And they did indeed drink in the word, as the thirsty earth the showers.”

Well there you go. Who knew that this often overlooked corner of Glossop had an interesting history. As I say, I’m going to blog about the Charlesworth to Glossop track in a future post as it’s a hugely important thing, and part of a larger project that is trying to identify all such trackways in the immediate area. I also recently did some mudlarking in Long Clough Brook, so should probably post the results.

Right, until next time, please take care of yourselves and each other.

I remain, your humble servant.

RH.

Archaeology · Pottery · Whitfield

A Possible Pair of Post-Medieval Paths, a Potential Pub, and Plenty of Pottery.

July 12, 2020July 26, 2020 Tim Campbell-Green1 Comment

As I have said many times before, I do love alliteration. What ho! and all that. I trust you are all keeping well in these odd times? Well, now this is a monumental post – it is precisely three years to the day that I made the first post on this blog (you can read it here if you want). When I first started it I had no idea what it was going to be, other than I had some interesting bits and pieces that I wanted to share, and which I thought other people living in Glossop moght be interested in. The blog is still pretty much that in aim – bits and pieces – and I was right… there are lots of you out there who seem to enjoy the ramblings of a man who gets excited by bits of old rubbish. So thank you, you wonderful people, for reading, and here’s to many more blog posts. Now, on with the show. RH

During the lockdown, Master Hamnett and I have been taking a daily constitutional up and around what has become known as the “secret passageways”. Overgrown and wild in places, even for a man of modest size such as myself it is a mysterious place, but to a 4 year old it is indeed another world. Naturally, I have been keeping an eye open for bits and pieces of history, and I think I have a story to tell. Possibly. Well, I certainly have some pottery to show, so there’s that!

The route we walk is essentially along Hague Street, down one track to Charlestown Road, along, and then up another back to Hague Street. We often continue on and round if it’s not raining, but always walk these paths, which I have helpfully marked Tracks 1 and 2 on the map below:

Tracks 1 & 2 at the top. Ignore the arrow and a circle for now… all will become clear!

The tracks and immediate area are more clearly shown on the 1968 1:2500 map

m10 — It’s a nice and short circular walk, if anyone fancies it.

The tracks are interesting in themselves in that they are once again an example of what I call the fossilisation of trackways – they are older tracks that no longer perform a function as such, but are preserved as footpaths. Certainly in this case as it makes no sense to have two tracks mere metres apart going between the same places. Instead, I think they are preserving the memory of a single older track, which I suggest below is Track 2, potentially the more interesting of the two. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

Track 1 runs down the side of this house, which was originally a pub called the Seven Stars (hence the sign on the door frame, although the sign above the door is a mystery… if you are reading this and own the house, could you tell us?).

The one-time Seven Stars pub – I always feel a bit weird photographing people’s houses, but this is visible from the road, so it’s not as though I’m sneaking around gardens.

I know nothing about this establishment, but it was probably a beer house. As a reaction to the widespread and dangerous consumption of cheap gin – the so-called ‘Gin Craze’ of the late 18^th century – the government encouraged more beer drinking (beer being considered relatively healthy) by allowing householders to open up their houses to brew and sell ale. These private houses became known as beer houses, and the individual paid a small fee to the local magistrates in return for an annual license allowing them to sell beer, but not the wines or spirits that the normal pub or inn could. If anyone has any information about the Seven Stars, please do get in contact.

Just here is a series of upright stones presumably placed to stop horse riding or cycling. The gap between them is very thin; I might have put on a little weight during lockdown, but even I had to squeeze through.

Carved onto one of these uprights are the intials ‘M.D.’ – I must have walked through these 100 times and never noticed the letters before, but the light and the rain were just right this time.

M23 — And as you all know by now, I can’t resist carved graffiti.

Further down the footpath I noticed a reused quern or grind stone – possibly Victorian, but I suspect earlier – being used as a coping stone for the wall. And why not? It’s the perfect shape, and may well have been hanging around for centuries after being used to grind wheat into flour.

The worn central hole is visible, and it’s possible the other half is around here somewhere.

About halfway down, you come face to face with more of those upright stones, although in this case I can only assume they were put there to stop a headless horseman! Honestly, they are quite unnerving.

M19 — Not at all creepy and gravestone looking. Nope. Absolutely not.

The path continues:

M18 — Master Hamnett on the final stretch down to Charlestown Road. At the end of the path, in spring, there is a truly spectacular spread of wild garlic.

Until we arrive at Charlestown House, and the Charlestown Works that were – now demolished and awaiting houses.

M30 — The site awaiting re-generation. The hairpin bend where Charlestown Road meets Turnlee Road is visible. Whitley Nab in the background right, Casa d’Italia left (very nice pizza, highly recommended). Dead ahead is Lees Hall, which is important… stick around!

So, here’s the pottery:

A small assemblage of fairly typical Victorian bits, with a potentially earlier piece.

Top row, from the left: a base of a saucer or small plate; a huge chunky handle belonging to a large jug; a base of a glass jar or jug, or possibly from a tankard – it’s nice and decorative, but not expensive. Next is a fragment of a pedestal footed drinking cup, which is again fancy, but not especially expensive, it being just glazed earthernware. Then there is a rim to a large plate of some sort, being about 30cm in diameter.

The lower row from the left: a fragment of a stoneware bottle, a chunk of a pancheon, and a fragment of a manganese glazed jug or similar thick walled vessel. Then we have two pieces of blue and white earthernware, and a base of a tea cup. There is nothing massively interesting, and it all seems to be Victorian in date, as we might expect… except for the manganese glazed jug! This is, I think, earlier – perhaps early 18th century. It’s quite characteristic, and although there was a revival of manganese glazed pottery in the Victorian period, this glaze is of relatively poor quality, and the fabric (the actual clay of the pot) is quite rough, both of which suggest an earlier date. Then there is this lovely bit of pot; it’s a china dove, shaped to fit onto what would have been a tasteless Victorian jug or bowl – you can see the flat bit where it was joined to the vessel it flew away from.

Then there was this:

A screw bottle top, probably from a beer bottle or similar, and dating to the early 20th century. I love these things, and have blogged about them previously – here, for example. Unusually, this one doesn’t have the drink makers name or logo on the top, just the name of the bottler – R. Green of Leigh.

Moving on to Track 2, there is a noticeable difference between the two. This one is more of an actual track; it is certainly wide enough to drive a horse and cart down it, and it seems to have had a surface at some stage. It is also deeply worn in places, which can be suggestive of an older trackway.

M26 — Possibly worn by traffic, the track is quite deep in places.

M27 — It’s not much to look at, but this is the surface of the track.

I’d love to put a trench across this track to see how it was made up.

Further on, it has what seems to be a late 19th or probably early 20th century cast-iron streetlight, which is interesting and spookily out of place now, but suggests strongly that it was used as a ‘proper’ track until fairly recently.

m24 — It has seen better days, but there it is, slowly being overtaken by nature.

m25 — I can’t work out if it is gas or electric… further research is needed.

Right next to the streetlight is a gateway into a seemingly random field, and a benchmark on the gatepost – it’s been a while! This one – 616.77 above sea level – is a late addition as it is only marked on the 1968 1:2500 map. There was another benchmark marked on the opposite side of the track – 622.6ft above sea level – but it’s long gone (you can see it in the map above).

m13 — The bench mark. This is what 616.77ft above sea level looks like.

The track continues until daylight is reached.

m32 — I love this shot… artful (courtesy of the iphone filters, not talent on my part). Mrs and Master Hamnett providing the scale.

The top of the track, where it joins Hague Street again, is the site of the original Whitfield Methodist chapel – it is visible on the 1880 1:500 OS map:

Built in 1813, it had seating for 200 worshippers, and at one time was the home of the pulpit from which John Wesley had preached in New Mills (as discussed in this post). There are more details about the chapel on the Glossop Heritage webpage.

It was demolished in 1885, and the site is now occupied by a private house, but there are some interesting re-used stones on the trackway which almost certainly came from the chapel. The one indicated by the arrow in particular seems to have been a window frame – originally it would have laid upright, and you can see where the wooden frame was bedded in, and possibly a cross bar set into the stone.

A closer look reveals what might be a mason’s mark. Possibly… but then I really rather badly need glasses.

m31 — Squinting, after two glasses of wine, and with the eye of faith…

So then, the pottery:

m14 — Fairly standard stuff, but still nice.

Top row, left to right: a fragment of a large stoneware vessel with a cream glaze. I have photographed it showing the interior – it is roughly finished, and you can see wiping marks, and it probably came from a large cider flagon.

Next is an annular ware bowl or similar type, with the characteristic horizontal linear bands around the rim and below. Abrim from probably the same vessel is above it. Despite it looking 1950’s, this stuff ranges in date from the mid-18th century to the late Victorian; this is, I think, early 19th century. Next is a sherd of a cream ware jug, this being a part of the spout – you can tell by the twisted curve of the rim – again, early 19th century. Next is a stoneware flaring rim to a large jar, Victorian in date. Next we have a sherd of black glazed pottery which, I think, might be 18th century in date – the glaze seems to be lead based, which it isn’t in the Victorian period, and the fabric is very red, which is also common in Black Ware of the 18th century. I’ll post some more about this in the future – I’m actually trying to put together a crib sheet for pottery identification for this part of the country which some of you might be interested in (I know, I know, stop groaning… you don’t have to read this blog, you know. And I did say ‘some of you‘!). Beyond that is a fairly uninspiring selection of Victorian sherds at which even I pale!

Track 2 is odd – there’s summat rum about it. It has the air of a deserted roadway that was once of some importance, certainly important enough to have a substantial gateway and a streetlight on it. Looking at it, and thinking about the fossilisation I talked about above, I wonder if this was the line of an earlier track, perhaps even the medieval road that led from Whitfield to Lees Hall (which is circled in green in the first above – see, I told you it would all become apparent!). The hall, though 18th century in date now, stands on the site of a medieval manor house, possibly even the original manor house of Whitfield mentioned in the Domesday Book. It was certainly important in the medieval and early modern periods as the seat of the Manor of Glossop, where tax and tithe from Glossop and Whitfield was taken – first to the Earls of Shrewsbury, and then, from 1606 onwards, the Howards. The road from (Old) Glossop came through Cross Cliffe (discussed here), along what is now Cliffe Road through Whitfield, and from there down this track to Lees Hall. One less obvious part of it may be the footpath indicated by the orange arrow in the map above; I don’t think that it is the exact route the track would have taken, but it again ‘preserves’ the way in the landscape. I would suggest, then, that Track 2 is either this hugely important road fossilised into the landscape, or it broadly follows the line of that road which no longer exists. A point that may also support this is that on the 1968 OS map, also above, the track is marked by a series of ‘Boundary Mereing Symbols” (they look like lolipops – circles on sticks) which apparently indicates that it is the boundary of a parish or parish council (here, for an explanation). Boundaries, or meres, often use ancient and established objects or features to lay out the area that is bounded – an old track is a very common and perfect example of this type of feature.

This part of Glossop – I suppose technically Whitfield – is very interesting.

Right, that’s your lot for today. As always, please feel free to comment – even if it’s simply to tell me I’m talking out of my hat. I have more that I am picking away at, but until then stay safe and look after each other. Oh, and happy anniversary.

And as always I remain, your humble servant,

Cross Cliffe · Whitfield

Crossroad Blues: A Cross Cliffe Followup

May 25, 2020May 25, 2020 Tim Campbell-Green3 Comments

Right… a sequel!

So, hopefully you all read the last post. And even more hopefully, it made sense to some of you. Ignoring the fact that the main point of writing it has been proven to be wrong, I mentioned in the post that I think there was once a crossroads at the bottom of Cliffe Road. Well, let’s concentrate on that! It’s just a t-junction now, where Cliffe Road joins Cross Cliffe (the road to the right), and continues down to Volcrepe and Bank Street (left)

Cross Cliffe 5 — The site of the possible crossroads, and of Cross Cliffe Cross.

But originally, I suspect, it would have gone straight on, right up to the bridge that crosses Hurst Clough – like this:

Cross Cliffe - Map — The photo above shows the area circled in red, the proposed road is shown in green. The footbridge is noted on the map as FB.

However, the whole area has been monkeyed around with pretty seriously, with the main culprit being the building of a Cross Cliffe Mill on Hurst Clough there, as you can see very clearly in this map:

Cross Cliffe 8 — The 1880 1:500 map shows both the mill and the projected route of the track. Interestingly, there is a gas lamp post marked at the junction.

So then, Cliffe Road is at the bottom, and Cross Cliffe runs to the right. My contention is that Cliffe Road once also continued on to the footbridge at the top of the map, and from there on to (Old) Glossop. Let me walk you through it.

Cliffe Road is the original medieval (and probably earlier) track that led from Hayfield down to Old Glossop (discussed HERE), and on which, at the junction of Whitfield Cross, stood the Anglo Saxon stone cross of Whitfield. Beyond this, it continues to what was originally a crossroads.

Cross Cliffe 3 — The crossroads circled in green, with the arms shown roughly in red.

This crossroads was the junction of Bank Street (The Bank, coming ultimately from the Simmondley area), Cross Cliffe (the road leading to… well, I’m not certain, yet.), Cliffe Road (from Hayfield), and the track to Old Glossop heading north. But with the building of the mill in the early 1820’s, and specifically the mill pond, the old track was destroyed, pushing traffic further back toward Bank Street, and then along what became Volcrepe and Milltown, and giving us the kink in the road.

Cross Cliffe - Crossroad — Clockwise from bottom left: road down to Bank Street and now Milltown; Cliffe Road; Cross Cliffe; er… a hedge! The now blocked northern arm of the road.

Although the northern arm of the crossroads is no longer there, there is a path way preserving the route running to the right of the houses and leading down to the bridge.

Cross Cliffe - Path — The path beside the houses, preserving the memory of the trackway down to the bridge.

The original track lead down to a crossing over the brook there. It is now a modern concrete modern footbridge, but is clearly shown in older maps, and is thus presumably an older brook crossing – whether by bridge or as a ford.

Cross Cliffe 9 — The bridge over Hurst Clough, standing in Whitfield and looking into Glossop… bandit country!

After crossing the brook, the track continued along what is now a curiously wide and unusually placed unnamed footpath between Shirebrook Drive and Silk Street.

Cross Cliffe - Path2 — The track looking from Silk Street toward the footbridge.

I would suggest that this footpath is the memory of the original medieval and early modern trackway preserved (perhaps fossilised is a better word), as these things often are, in the Victorian architecture. Glossop is full of these odd footpaths that lead from A to B for seemingly no reason, and often for no gain; they just exist. I have suggested that Whitfield Avenue preserves the memory of a track, which in itself preserved the memory of the Roman road, and I wonder how many others also preserve a memory of a track or road (watch this space for more explorations). From Silk Street, the track would have gone up what is now Manor Park Road to [Old] Glossop, and the church and market there.

So there we have it – a lost crossroads, and the rediscovery of the medieval way into Glossop from Whitfield.

Comments, even to tell me I’m wrong, are always welcome.

In the meantime, stay safe, look after yourselves and each other, and there is more coming soon… honestly!

Until then, I remain, your humble servant,

Towns of Glossop · Whitfield

Lean Town Part 1

January 11, 2020 Tim Campbell-Green1 Comment

Glossop is a town made up of towns, you may have noticed.

I have a blog post about 30% written that describes each of them, but briefly they are: Milltown, Jerry Town, Charlestown, Rough Town, Howard Town, Freetown, Top o’ th’ Town, and Lean Town, the subject of today’s blogpost.

Lean Town is Glossop’s lesser known ‘town’, but is the most easily defined – it is simply a row of terraced houses in Whitfield, at the end of an unnamed track that comes south off Hague Street.

Lean Town 2 — Hague Street runs NW-SE, and an unnamed road runs due south from Hague Street, to Lean Town (circled in red).

LT1 — Lean Town from the south east. the path down to Bray Clough is behind the camera.

The name origins are obscure, and even the usually reliable Robert Hamnett states “why it is called Lean Town, I have never been able to find out” (and he normally knows what he is talking about, does that chap). A number of possibilities present themselves. The ‘Town‘ element is easy and obvious “a township, or community“, in this case used loosely to describe the small group of houses. ‘Lean‘, however, is a bit more difficult. I have always thought it refers either to the land hereabouts – lean in the sense of not very good for growing crops – or the people living in the houses i.e. they were poor. Another possibility is that it refers to the houses ‘leaning’, that is perched on the edge of a steep hill, which they are.

LT2 — You can get a feel for just how perched or ‘leaning’ they are from this shot, taken from what is essentially the floodplain for Bray Clough, behind me.

Annoyingly, it doesn’t feature in the 3 volume set of The Place-Names of Derbyshire at all, but then that is not surprising, as the book is woeful in its shortcomings, leaving out dozens of local place and brook names that I know of – there must be thousands more. However, looking in the much more comprehensive The Place-Names of Cheshire for similar sounding possibilities gives the following:

Lyng (Old Norse), ling, heather.

Given its location on the edge of the common land that was, and still is, covered in gorse and heather, I am now starting to lean* towards that as an explanation. Over time, Lyng, the name descriptive of the area, becomes Lean, and is then attached to Town – Lyng Town/Lean Town. Perhaps. Maybe. *Pun fully intended.

LT3 — Is this the origin of Lean? Heather and gorse just by Lean Town.

Anyway, let’s move on!

According to Hamnett, the houses here were built in 1806 by Elizabeth Hampson, a member of a well known local family, who were responsible for building large numbers of the houses in the Whitfield area. Originally there were four terraced houses of a typical late Georgian/early Victorian design, stone built, with stone mullioned windows, and a stone roof. I’m not sure how many houses are there now, or whether any have been knocked through – there are still four chimneys, though.

The date of construction fits nicely with what we know of the area, which was radically changed at the end of the 18th and early 19th centuries, when the area was enclosed. The process of enclosure saw what was previously ‘common’ land, available to all, was closed off and sold to private individuals. These landowners built walls around the fields, creating the landscape that we know so well; prior to this, the whole area was just open moorland and fields. Indeed, the gate to the moor here was situated at Lane End Farm – as the name suggests, here the lane, or Hague Street as we now know it, ended, and beyond it was just common moorland. With the sale came certain stipulations laid down in law, particularly the creation of roads, and many of the roads in this area were created at this time: Kidd Road (originally called Whitfield Green Road), Derbyshire Level (originally called Hurst Road), Hague Street, and even Gladstone Street. All were declared public carriageway, and were ordered to be 30ft wide (go get a tape measure and have a look!). The unnamed track, at the end of which sits Lean Town, was created in c.1813, it was declared a bridleway, and ordered to be 10ft wide. Presumably it replaced an earlier path down to the houses, unless the dates are slightly off. What is interesting is that the path marks the limit of the ‘ancient enclosure’ (that is, the medieval or early modern enclosures) – if you stand at the top looking down to Lean Town, all that is to the right of you is ancient, and to the left of you all was common land until the early 19th Century.

LT4 — The walled space at Lane Ends Farm dedicated to Norman and Irene Greenhalgh of Lane Ends Farm. To the left is Kidd Road, to the right the unnamed path down to Lean Town.

LT5 — Behold, the unnamed path down to Lean Town. A bridal path built in 1813 or thereabouts, and by law to a width of 10ft. It probably replaced an earlier path to the houses from Lane Ends.

Like I say, a huge upheaval – people lost their right to graze livestock, and even the right to cut peat for fuel for their stoves . The peat fields were moved much farther away, but I believe that residents of Whitfield still have the right to cut peat – don’t quote me, of course, and I’m not sure a multi-fuel burner could handle peat to be honest. There is an interesting account of the process of enclosure in Whitfield here.

If you look at the map above, you can clearly see marked ‘well’ at the end of a path from Lean Town. Now, having a thing for wells, I obviously set forth to see if anything remained. No, was the short answer. Here is the location, and the area is wet, but there was nothing that might be termed ‘well’. Ho hum.

LT6 — The location of the Lean Town well. I’m not sure what was here originally – perhaps just a trough, or spring head, but there is nothing there now, alas.

Right ho, that’s the end of Part 1. Part 2 contains all kinds of goodies in the form of finds, (lots of) pottery, and bench marks… what’s not to love? Oh, and a witch! You can hardly contain your excitement, I know, and I feel the same. It’ll be up soon, honestly – it’s almost done.

Until then, I remain,

Your humble servant.

Wells · Whitfield

A Furtive Furtle Around Freetown

November 4, 2019November 4, 2019 Tim Campbell-Green2 Comments

I do love a good bit of alliteration.

What ho! What ho! What ho! Here is another post, as promised. This one is something of a hash, with multiple elements sharing the theme of Freetown (the road in Whitfield, not the capital of Sierra Leone, just in case you are here by mistake), and all presented in the style of a thriller novel. Enjoy.

The House(s) of Horror

I was perusing my namesake’s History of Glossop the other day, and came across this:

Freetown is really part of Hollincross Road (now Lane); it was called Freetown on account of the land being mostly freehold. The oldest house is no 28 built in 1809 and long owned and occupied by Robert Bennett. The chief rent was sold 29th June 1891 to Mrs. Wood for £52 who also bought the chief rents of the Unity Street property. No 28 was sold 16th January 1893 to Ald B. Furniss for £445, it has an outdoor licence attached to it.
The late Mrs. Sarah Hargreaves of Hadfield Street, remembered Freetown when this house was the only house in the road. On each side were hedges right down to Pikes Farm. The next houses to be built were Nos. 36 and 36a, in 1830 by Peter Handford, better known as “Peter before the Shower.” Many houses were built in 1835 and 1836 but the majority now existing were built during the last 60 years.

I live just by Freetown, and as I walk up and down it at least 8 times a week dropping off and picking up Master Hamnett from school, I have become very familiar with it.

Fr9 — Freetown, looking west toward St James’s church.

It really is quite an interesting place; 1860’s housing cheek by jowl with 1960’s housing, and where widespread ‘remodelling’ in the 1960’s destroyed the homogeneity of the Victorian stone built heart of Whitfield. A shame really. I have mentioned bits around Freetown before (here, for example), and I’d really like to do a longer piece, particularly on Whitfield recreation ground (the park), but for now, I’ll keep this brief(ish)!

Anyway, the article got me wondering… and wandering. Are these old houses still in existence, and what else is interesting here in the Freetown area.

Well, the first part of the question was easily answered.

No.

The council pulled them down in the 1960’s. With no thought to heritage or the past in any form. I am constantly amazed and appalled at the shortsightedness of councils in the 1960’s – no effort was made to preserve, only to destroy and rebuild in a ‘better’ way. This thinking has had so many effects in the present day, not least of which is the destruction of close-knit multi-generational communities in Manchester in the name of ‘slum clearances’. I can angrily rant and rave about this all day, so I’ll move on.

Number 28 is marked in red, 36 and 36a is marked in green. Ignore the blue arrow for now… we shall return to it.

Fr1 — This is the 1968 1:2500 map, just before they were demolished.

What is interesting is that the roads Wood Street and Kershaw Street seem to have been aimed at them, almost as though the town planners were using these early buildings as reference points – which they almost certainly were. Kershaw Street (begun in 1834) runs from Bank Street to Number 28, and Wood Street (in 1913 was still under construction, though there as a track prior to that) runs from the opening toward St Mary’s School (and the allotments) off Gladstone Street to Number 36 and 36a. Here are the buildings in 1880, in much better focus.

Fr2 — The 1880 1:500 scale… much clearer. And once again ignore the blue arrow… nothing to see here.

28 (red circle) seems to have been a large, oddly shaped, affair, and probably quite Georgian looking, with a central doorway and large windows. Actually, I’m amazed no photographs exist of 28 prior to its demolition – I should peruse the Glossop Heritage Trust archive for some – you never know what might be lurking. Here is what it looks like now:

Fr4 — The location of 28 Freetown, the oldest building in the area.

Number 28 would have occupied some of the same space as the building there now, and to the right, but would also have come up to the edge of the path, where the grass is. It’s nice to know that at least some of the footings and foundations will be preserved below ground, and it makes you wonder at the sort of pottery and bits that lurk in the garden there… Given how busy Freetown and area is, and how many houses are here, it’s hard to picture what it would have been like as Sarah Hargreaves remembered it, with this being the only house from here to Pikes Farm – amazing.

Numbers 36 and 36a (in green) were semi-detached (well, terraced) stone built affairs, probably very similar in design and style to many of the other houses built around the same time in the area. I love the nickname given to the builder, Peter Handford – ‘Peter Before The Shower’ – what on earth could it mean? Any thoughts, anyone?

Anyway, here is what is there now:

Fr5 — The modern view, Whitley Nab in the background.

Numbers 36 and 36a stood broadly where the right side of the current building is, the shed, and out into the road – in a sense, the centre of the photograph.

So there we have it… a loss of history, sadly. I wonder if the people who live there now know what they are living on (if you are reading this, can I have a poke around your garden?).

The next three parts of this post are all based around this small area, so we’ll skip to an aerial photograph of the place, with each area marked in coloured circles. All will become clear in a moment, don’t worry!

Fr7 — It’s all getting a bit ‘Olympic-y’ around here now.

The Blue Arrow

So, that blue arrow! whilst I was sorting that lot out, and doing some map work, I came across mention of a well (check out the blue arrows in the above maps, you can see it). A well would have been important to the people of Whitfield, as they always had issues with the water supply in the area (this is a whole other blog post, we’ll save it for another day). The word ‘well’ implies a reliable water source, and importantly, some form of structure associated with it – even if only a trough. Indeed the 1880 1:500 map (above) shows just such a structure, with the well placed against what seems to be a wall. I had high hopes of finding something.

Alas, ’twas not to be. There is quite literally nothing even remotely old about any of the area where the well once stood – it has all been remodelled. Here is the location of the well as marked on the map:

fr13 — This place is circled in green in the aerial photograph above.

I would think it would be difficult to destroy a well completely – it is flowing water after all, and if you stop it up, it will just bubble elsewhere. This, coupled with the fact that it is not marked on any map past 1880 suggests that it might have simply dried up. Oh well.

The Electrifying Edifice

So, right next to the well location (and circled in red) is this:

Fr6

A vaguely classical temple looking electricity substation, sitting seemingly on its own in the wilderness of this part of Kershaw Street – it’s all a bit spooky, and I have the sneaking suspicion that the ‘Danger of Death’ notices refer not to the electricity, but something that lives inside it. It’s probably 1920’s or 1930’s in date, and clearly supplied power to the area, and indeed still does, quite remarkably surviving the 1960’s demolition. Above the doorway is a lintel with the letters ‘SHMD’ carved into it – a sure sign of its age, as it would just be a plastic sign now.

fr11 — The Stalybridge, Hyde, Mossley and Dukinfield Tramway and Electricity Board

A brief search on the internet reveals that it refers to the “Stalybridge, Hyde, Mossley & Dukinfield Tramways & Electricity Board”. They have an interesting history in this area (which you can read about here and here), but briefly they were founded in 1901, supplied electricity to the named places (and Glossop), as well as running bus services and trams, and eventually became part of Norweb in 1948. So there you go.

The Mystery of The Disappearing Gatepost

As I was navigating the streets via Google maps, trying to work out where the well was, I spotted something interesting at the very bottom of the continuation of Kershaw Street, at the left hand (easterly) turn along a pedestrianised track (circled in blue in the above aerial photograph).

Fr3 — Carved, and covered in paint, it stands guard.

It looked to me like a very out of place gatepost, reused as a bollard to prevent ne’er-do-wells riding motorbikes and cars along the pedestrianised bit. You can even make out the carved shoulders, making it reminiscent of a milestone (and here). It is certainly jarring against the 1960’s concrete that is used in this area. Interesting, thought I.

So off I popped to have a look.

Nope. Nothing. Just a tarmacked hole in the ground where once it stood.

Fr10 — A patch of tarmac is all that remains.

I had a look around in hedgebacks and ditches, but found nothing. Something has happened to it since May 2009 when the Google streetview image was taken… but what? Now, nobody has stolen it, clearly – it would weigh a serious amount. And if the council took it away, then why? It’s all a bit of a mystery; if anyone knows anything, then please drop me a line.

The Nailbiting Conclusion

And to end with, some archaeology. As I’m sure you know, I like to pick up interesting things that I find (I can hear Mrs Hamnett sighing in agreement). Now, within the space of a single week, I picked up two copper nails from Freetown; one at the upper end, and another at the lower, nearest St James’ church. I love these things – such history in a tiny object – and I’ve blogged about them before, here. And have also come across them elsewhere in Glossop.

I always have my eyes on the ground (to the point I am worried about developing a stoop!), but to find two in a week seems oddly lucky… perhaps I should play the lottery. Or has my luck been ‘used up’ on worthless copper nails? Anyway, keep looking people, and get in contact with anything you find.

Right-ho, that’s about all I have at the moment. A bit of a hotch-potch, to be honest, but I hope entertaining, or at least diverting. If you have any comments about the blog post, or just in general about Glossop’s past, please feel free to email me. I have a lot more bits and pieces to blog about, and am trying to better manage my time, so hopefully I’ll have something more to you in the next week or so. Until then, I remain.

Your humble servant,

Archaeology · Bench Marks · Pottery

Whitfield Avenue

August 21, 2019August 21, 2019 Tim Campbell-Green2 Comments

A brief one today. Taking advantage of the lull in the rain coupled with a bit of a breeze, Master Hamnett and I went to fly a kite in the fields off Hague Street. On the way back, I found some bits of pottery which spurred me into doing the blog post that I have been thinking of doing for some time.

WA2 — Just in case you get lost. Actually, it’s a nice touch, and I wonder where else the impressed concrete road names were placed.

Whitfield Avenue runs downhill in a broadly NW – SE bearing from Hague Street to meet with Charlestown Road, and is parallel to Whitfield Cross.

WA4 — Whitfield Avenue runs north-west – south-east. For orientation, The Beehive pub is indicated by the arrow. (1974 OS map)

At first glance, it is not a particularly interesting road. The product of the 1960’s demolition and rebuild of the Whitfield area, the road didn’t exist prior to this, as you can see from the map below.

WA5 — This is the 1921 OS map, and again, The Beehive is indicated.

What is there is a footpath, walled for most of its length, along the long thin fields that characterise the fields of Whitfield – possibly a survival of the medieval ‘croft and toft‘ field system, or more likely a result of the enclosure of the land there in the early 19th Century. This is interesting, as we shall see, but it also probably explains why the council chose there as the location of the road – using an already existing path.

wa22 — Whitfield Avenue from Hague Street looking down to St James’s Church and Charlestown Road. On the ridge line in the distance, on either side of the left hand tree, is All Saints Mottram (left) and the Deep Cutting at Roe Cross (right).

Historically, then, it is interesting, but not exactly earth-shattering. That is, until you peel back the modern, and take a closer look.

Hague Street was the original packhorse road from Chapel en le Frith to Glossop (now, Old Glossop) – there is some discussion about the road, here, and there is the Glossop Guide Stoop, too (and more here). It was an important route, and the village of Whitfield grew around it – this is the oldest part of the area. Dating for this road is tricky – we know it was there in the 10th Century, as the Whitfield Cross was placed at the junction of Hague Street and Whitfield Cross (the road), and presumably some form of settlement – perhaps just a farmhouse – was there at the time. Beyond this, however, we have no evidence. However…

In the early 1970’s a series of excavations were carried out by two archaeologists – Peter Wroe and Peter Mellor – in order to establish the line of the Roman roads to and from Melandra Fort. Although this thorny and difficult subject has been much debated (and only recently – possibly – put to rest), they made great leaps. One of the roads, that coming from Navio Fort (Brough, near Castleton) passes through Brownhill, and comes through Hob Hill Meadows, and continues down the line of what is now Whitfield Avenue. From there it travels down the road that are now known as Hollincross Lane and Pikes Lane, and over into the fort.

Yes, you read that correctly, Hollincross Lane/Pikes Lane, especially its latter part toward Pikes Farm, is a Roman road.

WA6 — The line of the Roman road is shown in green, leading down what will become Whitfield Avenue and onto Hollincross Lane and Pikes Lane, and then to Melandra Fort.

The excavations not only revealed the broad line of the road, but also how the road was built. The next picture shows what is called an archaeological section drawing – essentially a slice of the road was taken out, and the side of the slice was drawn showing the layers that made up the road. And all this is just 1ft below the ground, which is quite remarkable.

WA7 — The upper section shows what is marked ‘Brownhill’ on the above map, the lower shows ‘Hobhill’. The road is very clear, and very large, too.

Interestingly, and as an aside, Hob Hill as a placename means ‘Devil’s Hill’ – I have said it before, I love it when folklore and history meet.

The ‘original’ footpath on the first map pretty much follows the line of the Roman Road. This is interesting, and suggests that the path used the surface of the Roman road, or a later incarnation of it; there is no point in making a new path if you can use an existing one, especially if that one has a good surface. What I like about this is that a road built 2000 years ago, directly dictated to the council the course of a road built in the 1960’s. History affects us in the present in many ways.

At the top of the road stands this wonderful, forlorn, and if I’m a little honest, slightly terrifying, building – the former Chapel/Sunday School.

WA9 — I can’t be the only one who gets weird Amityville vibes from this building, can I? It is the ‘house on the hill’ after all.

I have always been intrigued by this building, and so taking advantage of the open gate, I had a look around.

WA13 — Master Hamnett having a look around.

It’s really quite a lovely, if very Victorian, building, full of nice touches.

WA17 — The quoins give it a rather grand air, with some nice masonry.

WA16 — Ornamental ironwork, sadly in disrepair, and in need of painting. An artful shot looking down Whitfield Avenue – very unlike me!

There is also a datestone, helpfully recording the dates of the original construction, the rebuild, and what its function was.

WA11 — I do love the Victorian literal approach to recording things – it really helps us historical types.

Actually, it was also altered a third time in 1931 to incorporate the chapel further up Hague Street which by then had fallen into disuse. This Methodist chapel (itself rebuilt from the original 1813 version), had once contained the pulpit from which John Wesley had preached, and which in 2010 was returned to its rightful home in New Mills (see here for information and photograph).

The 1885 rebuild had four cornerstones embedded into it, recording the local worthies who attended the ceremony, and which allow us a peek into Late Victorian Glossop life. Here they are:

WA18 — “This stone was laid by Captain Partington. June 6th 1885”

WA19 — “This stone was laid by Mr Alfred Leech. June 6th 1885”

WA20 — “This stone was laid by Mr John Sellars. June 6th 1885”

WA21 — “This stone was laid by W.S. Rhodes esq. J.P. June 6th 1885”

So these are the stones, but who are these people?

Captain Edward Partington: Partington was a very important person in Glossop’s Victorian history – his biography is impressive, but in summary he was born in 1836, and moved to Glossop in 1873, buying up all sorts of mill concerns, and ending up Rt. Hon. Edward Baron Doverdale Rt. Hon. Edward Baron Doverdale, dying in 1925. He did a huge amount of philanthropic work around the town (funding the library, for example), and served as Captain in the 3rd Derbyshire (Volunteers) Rifle Corps. Oh, and was a mean rugby player, by all accounts.

Alfred Leech: There is very little information about Mr Leech that I can find. He crops up in a number of interesting places associated with Glossop society, and he is mentioned in the London Gazette as being elected as a land tax commissioner. His address is given as Cowbrook Cottage, Sheffield Road, Glossop. More research is clearly needed!

John Sellars: He is even harder to pin down. He might be the Methodist lay preacher mentioned in “Echoes in Glossop Dale: The Rise and Spread of Methodism in the Glossop Circuit” by Samuel Taylor of Tintwistle (1873). Or then again, he might not.

W. S. Rhodes: William Shepley Rhodes was a councillor, alderman and mayor for varying amounts of time. The Rhodes family were involved in various mill concerns in the aream and are well known. William was also known as a strong athlete and a good sportsman, being the president of the Glossop Cricket Club for a while.

So there you are – the more you know… or less, in some cases.

The chapel/Sunday school continued in use until Easter Sunday 1968 when it had its last service. It is now known as the Spencer Masonic Hall, and is where, from 1973 onward, the Freemasons Lodge of Hadfield 3584 have met on the first Thursday of each month. And at some stage it was up for sale – the sales brochure can be seen here (complete with interior view!). It’s a lovely building, but very neglected and tatty on the outside, and it’s a bit of shame that something more isn’t made of it.

The pottery, then. Obviously it would be nice to find something Roman, but sadly no such luck. Instead, we have a selection of Victorian material, which might be the remains of household rubbish from the houses that once stood there (see above map), but equally might result from the process of nightsoiling. On balance, it is probably the former – there is no arable land in the area where I found the pottery, and the edges of the sherds are still sharp in some examples, and when pottery sherds are ploughed, the edges become rounded. There is nothing too exciting, but nice to see.

WA14 — A modest selection of Victorian bits.

Top row, left to right: A shallow dish or saucer, transfer printed, and probably late Victorian, but difficult to date. Next to that are two sherds of a large Victorian cooking pot, very characteristic with thick walls, a black glazed interior, and a plain glazed reddish-orange exterior. They are made that way so that the heat can transfer through the unglazed side easily, but the glazed interior means that it is waterproof, and so holds the liquid well; quite clever really! Next is a willow pattern plate – very boring, but is patterned on both sides, so is from an open bowl type of vessel. Next, a glazed earthernware pot with grooved exterior – it’s probably a storage jar or something similar.

Middle row: Victorian glass fragment (the greenish/bluish tinge gives away its date), with a raised letter ‘T’ – clearly a company name or similar. Next, a plain sherd from a flaring rim from a soup bowl or similar; possibly early Victorian, as it has a slightly creamy opalescent glaze. Next, a handle from something – cup or bowl. Next, an early Victorian sponge ware sherd – the blue pattern actually printed, potato-like, on a sea sponge. This is the base to a bowl of some sort (base diameter is 12cm, so not huge), and judging from the wear on the ring foot, was a much used and loved bowl before it was broken. Next, a sherd from a large cup or similar (c.15cm diameter), with transfer printed decoration. After that is a blue and white striped fragment, probably from a cup or similar. Next is a stoneware fragment from a storage jar or similar, fairly bog standard (there is some discussion of the type and the method here). End, is a clay pipe stem (from toward the bowl), and has a some nice paring marks on the body, but is fairly boring stuff (although I do love them).

Bottom row: All featureless white body sherds.

As I said, overall a fairly standard, if uninspiring, collection of Victorian pottery, and almost exactly as one would expect to find (although I do like the spongeware!). The best find, however, was found by Master Hamnett amongst the rubble and rubbish outside the Masonic Hall.

WA12hgfdjklgg — C.1980 vintage plastic soldier, courtesy of eagle-eyed Master Hamnett.

This was pretty much my childhood – plastic soldiers at a 1:32 scale. Whilst this one is not Airfix, it is still a good quality World War 2 figure – possibly Polish or Russian to judge from the helmet and gun. He’s lost his foot, and his stand, but to his credit he’s still fighting. Interestingly, he was also painted at some stage, too, and not professionally, so I think he was a much loved toy (if anyone recognises it, I’ll happily post it to them… I still mourn the loss of some of my soldiers!).

Of course, it wouldn’t be a decent post without a benchmark. On the original path there are three on the line of the track – from the top, a third of the way down (640.7 ft above sea level), one half way down (609.1), and one at the bottom (568.6).

The 1969 map (post Whitfield Avenue construction) has three benchmarks, but are of different heights (641.5, 601.5, & 564.9), and with this last on a now no longer existing ‘public convenience’ at the bottom of the road. Presumably they were re-surveyed and marked when the road was built, as the evidence of the carving seems to indicate. The only one that is still extant is the middle of the three, the others seem to have disappeared, alas.

WA10 — An old stone block, rebuilt into the 1960’s wall, and with a new benchmark carved into it. 195.5 metres above sea level (641.4 ft in old money)

So, a lot of history and archaeology of a single road were explored on a single afternoon

WA15 — Master Hamnett looking like he owns the place.

And, of course, we flew a kite, which was the best bit!

WA1 — A successful day for Master Hamnett, too.

Well, that turned into a much larger post than I anticipated… who knew a 1960’s built street could be so interesting? Comments, as always, very welcome.

More soon, but until then, I remain.

Your humble servant,

Archaeology · Folk Tales · Oddities

Gallowsclough

March 20, 2019March 20, 2019 Tim Campbell-Green3 Comments

There’s no mistaking some etymologies.

Placenames in the past were given because of what was there, not aspirational or deliberately flowery. They were practical. Descriptive. Truthful. There was no Laurel View if there was no view of laurels. Gnat Hole was not named ironically. And Shittern Clough was… well, you get the picture.

For me, Gallowsclough has always stood out in the map of the area – the clough, or narrow valley, where the gallows were. There is something of the macabre about the name, and I was also aware of a folktale from the area which really made an impression on me (more of that in a bit). So I decided to do some exploring, to see if I could add to the placename, and see if I could work out where the gallows were… as Mrs Hamnett put it “lucky me, you take me to the loveliest places”.

I’ve blogged about this area before (White Stone of Roe Cross), but the area is effectively the Deep Cutting between Mottram and Stalybridge. Gallowsclough is highlighted (the clough itself, or small deep valley, running towards the Dog and Partridge).

Gallows 1b — Gallowsclough and area. This from the 1898 1:2500 OS map (via the awesome oldmaps.co.uk). The main road to Stalybridge from Mottram runs diagonally through the map, with the deep cutting starting at the Wagon and horses.

So then, the gallows.

The last person to be hanged in public was in 1868, after which time, and until capital punishment was abolished in 1965, executions took place within the prison, away from the public eye. But before 1868 it was a public spectacle, to the point that the hangings at Tyburn were turned into a public holiday. Often associated with the public hangings of the 17th and 18th centuries was the punishment of gibbeting, in which the hanged criminal was enclosed in a tight fitting cage or chains, and effectively left to rot. The body was covered in tar in order to protect it against the elements, and hung there as a warning to others until it finally fell to pieces.

Each area, feudal estate, or manor had a gallows/gibbet, and certainly until the later Tudor period or even the early modern period, capital punishment was the responsibility of the lord or equivalent. It seems that the victims were buried underneath, or nearby, the gallows, but certainly not on consecrated ground. To be executed was to be condemned to eternal restlessness, to never know peace, and to wander the Earth an unhappy spirit.

In order to achieve maximum visual impact, the gallows were normally set up at prominent places – central open spaces, or more normally, crossroads. And so it was here, in Roe Cross. The body swinging, both at execution, and in a gibbet, could be seen easily by both locals, and by travellers moving along the various roads – a physical reminder to obey the laws, or suffer the consequence. Interestingly, this tradition of both execution and burial at a crossroads has given rise to the concept that a crossroads is an odd, supernatural, place. If you want to sell your soul to the devil, where do you do it? Where do you bury witches? Or suicides? Or criminals? At the crossroads, that’s where.

So where were the gallows at Gallowsclough? It is very doubtful that they would have placed them further up the clough – difficult to get to, in arable land, and there are no crossroads. No, I think they erected the gallows at the point Gallowsclough – the clough, or deep valley, upon which the gallows are placed – crosses the road. At almost exactly the point seven – count them – seven tracks join. This is no crossroads… this is a crossroads and a half. Here is a map showing the tracks (numbered).

Gallows 1 — The seven tracks shown on the map existed before both the turnpike road and the ‘Deep Cutting’ were made. Walking them, you can see why the turnpike was created. It is still perfectly possible to travel to and from places on these tracks, but perhaps don’t if you don’t have a 4×4.

This is the area close up – you can see the tracks meeting.

Gallows 1 - closeup — Right by the Wagon and Horses… enjoy your pint!

Crossroad Blues — This is the site. You can see the roads meeting, and here at the bottom of Gallowsclough Road, you can see the setts of the original track, laid to give horses some traction at the start of the hill.

The roads are as follows (the numbers are faint in blue in the map above):

Gallowsclough Road – From Saddleworth, via Millbrook (avoiding Stalybridge). This is the Roman Road between Castleshaw Roman fort and Melandra (thanks Paul B.)
From… well, the middle of nowhere – local traffic from farms
From Hollingworth.
From Mottram via the old road.
From Hattersley, via Harrop Edge.
From Newton.
From Stalybridge, via the old road.

A perfect situation for an execution and gibbet. It was said that it was to these gallows that Ralph de Ashton (1421 – 1486) sent the unfortunate tenant farmers who couldn’t pay the fines for allowing Corn Marigold to grow amongst their crops. The death of the hated Ralph is the origin of the Riding the Black Lad custom and the Black Knight Pageant in Ashton Under Lyne, a tradition sadly no longer undertaken. Naturally, the area is said to be haunted, with the locals avoiding the place, even in daytime. Although, as is so often the case, there are no references, only suggestions.

This is the clough

The brook flows under Gallowsclough Farm.

Gallowsclough in the background, behind Gallows Clough Farm. The electricity pylons completely ruin the area, unfortunately.

Of course, whilst I was stomping around, I happened upon a bunch of mole hills…

RC1

Evidence of nightsoiling (as I’m sure you all know, having read previous posts about this). The top row right: a medium bone china plate (c.18cm in diameter), hand painted flowers and abstract floral designs in pastel colours. This is quite nice, and is probably early Victorian in date. Middle is a plain white glazed plate, thin, and again about 18cm in base diameter (you can see the ring of the base in the photo), which makes it perhaps 24cm or more in ‘real’ diameter. Left is more difficult – it has an undulating rim, with a curled decorative motif – which means that I can’t tell you how big it is. Over 25cm in diameter, I suspect. It is a shallow dish, or deep plate, and is deocrated with abstract floral designs. Date wise? Late Victorian? Looks more modern than that, though… Edwardian? The bottom four are fairly boring body sherds, though the sherd on the left is a blurred willow pattern, so potentially quite early?

The ubiquitous lump of coal/coke to the right, and the ubiquitous clay pipe to the left. The lower of the pipes is nice as it still has the spur that juts out and forms the base of the bowl, which you can see just emerging. It’s probably early to mid-Victorian in date. -Check out this wonderful website for more information.

And finally, to end on, this lovely thing.

RC3 — Ding dong, the Mesolithic calling.

A flake of quartzite that has been struck in prehistory, during the course of making a tool. Flint doesn’t occur naturally in this area, so all sorts of stones were used in the making of stone tools in prehistory. Quartz, though a poor cousin of flint, still keeps enough of an edge to be useful, and this piece carries all of the hallmarks of a bit chipped off a larger tool or weapon – the striking platform (top), and the bulb of percussion (facing, half way down). I suspect that this is Mesolithic in date, so c.6000 – 4000 bc, or thereabouts. I’ll post some more flint/chert/quartzite when I get a chance, as it’s fascinating stuff, and the area is not exactly lacking in it.

Interestingly, there is a brewery marked on the map (top left, numbered 8). This is the Matley Spring Brewery, which brewed beer here, using the local spring for water, and presumably selling it in the Dog and Partridge, at the end of the wonderfuly named Blundering Lane. I was going to write a little about it, but came across this site with some information and photographs. Actually, the whole blog is a good read, filled with fascinating titbits relating to the area, so go forth and explore.

And finally, as promised, I’ll end with the folk story of Gallowsclough. This is taken from Thomas Middleton’s Legends of Longdendale (the book is a mine of local legends and folktales, as well as some good photographs, and is well worth seeking out – or reading in the pdf format at the link below)

Follow this link for The Legend of Gallow’s Clough.

It’s very Victorian in its telling, but the story is as black and evil as any I have read; there is something about it that disturbs and lingers in the mind – the imagery, and particularly the witch walking away at the end. No, I like a good dark folktale, but this is just on the border of being a little too dark for my tastes. Enjoy at night, and you have been warned…

So there you go. There’s plenty more in the pipeline, so watch this space. As always, comments are very welcome, and all will be published.

And I remain, your humble servant,