After my last post on milestones, I received a message from the always interesting Roger Hargreaves (see comments below the above article). Now, Roger is something of an expert in these matters, and has done some considerable research into the road system of the area through the ages – Roman to 19th Century in fact – and he helpfully offered some information, and some photographs, too.
So then, the milestones…
Following an act of parliament in 1770, the milestones were erected every mile (hence the name) along the 1730’s turnpike from Manchester to Saltersbrook by the surveyor James Brown jr. Later sections of turnpike were built from Saltersbrook to t’other side o’ Pennines – there’s a great website, with lots of pictures, dealing with that section, here. This road from Roe Cross follows broadly the route of what is now A628 / Woodhead Pass, itself a turnpike from the early 19th Century, and which overlays the original road.
However, in places, this 1730 turnpike is still visible where the 19th Century road deviates, perhaps taking an easier route, and so sections can be walked, and it is along these that milestones, where they survive, can be seen.
Here is a section of the original 1730’s turnpike. It leaves the Woodhead pass at the first circle, and rejoins past Crowden, at the second circle.The 1730’s turnpike as seen on Google Streetview. The road originally went up to the left – you can see the path, and can walk along it for a large portion.
Now, because milestones are placed exactly one mile from each other, it is possible to work out where they should be. Of course, in some places where we would expect to find them, however, the newer road has obliterated all traces of the older road, and presumably the milestones would have been broken up and used as hardcore, although not necessarily, and it might be worth a further investigation – they are perfect for gateposts, after all.
So, starting from Roe Cross, then
10 Miles from Manchester – this would have stood at the Toll House at Roe Cross
11 Miles (somewhere on Mottram Moor) and 12 Miles (far side of Hollingworth) are missing – the area has been built up, although they may well still be in a hedgeback somewhere.
13 Miles to Manchester – this would have originally stood somewhere in Tintwistle – annoyingly, the mileage doesn’t work with it being situated at the toll gate there, which stood at the far end of the village, west of Townhead Farm.
14 miles is missing, but would presumably have stood east of Townhead Farm – again, worth a look in hedgebacks and walls.
15 Miles to Manchester. Just by Rhodeswood Reservoir. Photograph by Roger Hargreaves. And a damn fine one it is too!
16 Miles would be just below Highstones, where the track still exists, and so would be a strong contender for a survival in the walls and hedgebacks.
17 Miles and 18 Miles are in places where the 19th Century road overlies the 18th Century, and thus are likely to be lost. Although, again, maybe worth a look.
19 Miles to Manchester – mutilated and forlorn in a wall at Higher Wooodhead. Photograph by Roger Hargreaves. I love this photograph.
20 and 21 Miles to Manchester are beyond this, and although there is a survival of the road in these areas, there are no walls in which the stones may be hiding. It is likely that they are simply buried in the peat in that area, waiting to be discovered. A walking trip with a steel pole, anyone?
This takes us to Saltersbrook, and the other side of the turnpike system there. Here is a map of the road from Saltersford into Yorkshire.
The Yorkshire side of the turnpike road, from Saltersford to Wortley. There are plenty of milestones and other interesting goodies along this route, but they are truly beyond the scope of this blog. Check them out in this really amazing website.
So after the journey, let’s end on a song – a particular favourite of mine, from a particularly good album, and whose title is very apt.
I also want to thank Roger Hargreaves for allowing me to use his photographs, and for the additional information.
As always, comments or questions are always welcome.
So, a while back I went looking for the White Stone of Roe Cross… and failed miserably in my mission.
As I said here, it is mentioned in Sharpe’s book “Crosses of the Peak District” as potentially marking the junction of the boundaries of Matley, Hollingworth, and Mottram, so I thought it would be worth a look, and maybe make a comment on what, where, and why.
I did some digging (pun fully intended), and came up with very little; it has almost zero presence online (other than this letter), and other than a modern book (about more, later), virtually nothing but an oblique reference. I began to despair… until I started to dig a little further – my ‘spidey sense’ began to tingle. Summat wants fettling, thought I.
What I did come across time and again was a reference to the legend of Sir Ralph de Staley, and his relation to Roe Cross, and the Roe Cross. Now, the story of Sir Ralph de Staley (Staveley or Stavelegh or Staveleigh – there are numerous spellings), is a variant of “The Disguised Knight”, a story trope that can be traced back to at least Homer’s ‘Odyssey’. Our story, culled from several sources, runs like this.
With Richard I, Sir Ralph sets sail on a crusade leaving behind his wife, Elizabeth, and estate. By and by, and following many great battles, he is captured by the Saracens, and held for many years in a dungeon. Eventually, he gains his freedom, takes on the appearance of a Palmer (a pilgrim), and pays a visit to the pilgrimage sites in the Holy Land. One night, in Jerusalem, he had a prophetic dream “boding ill to his wife and home far away”, and so, invoking the intercession of the Virgin, he prayed and presently fell asleep.
Upon awakening, he immediately knew something was different – “before him, shining fair in the summer sunlight, rich in fulsome melody of singing birds, was a fair English landscape, and beyond it his own ancestral hall of Staley”. He had been miraculously transported home.
He set off for his house, and came upon a faithful old servant and his favourite dog, who presently recognised him. He told Sir Ralph that his wife, who had finally given up all hope and now believed him dead, was to be married the following day. So off he jogs to his hall, and asks to see the lady of the house. He is refused, but begs a drink of Methyglin (a type of spiced mead, apparently), and after draining the cup, pops his ring into it, and begs the maid to take it to her lady. She does, his wife recognises the ring as belonging to her husband, and asks an important question “if it be Sir Ralph himself, he will know of a certain mole on me, which is known to none but to him” (racy stuff, this). Of course, all ends well and happily, and the bounder that is trying to get Sir Ralph’s lands and his missus, is ejected rapidly into the night. And quite right, too.
So ends the story.
The 15th Century timber-framed Staley Hall before being done up. That is truly one of the most depressing photographs I have ever seen. How we can let our history end up in this state…That’s better, although the wall at the front is a little off putting. The restoration work here is particularly good.
Now, here’s where it gets interesting. As a post script, most versions of the story (there are about 5, each with subtly different aspects) state that a cross was erected either where Sir Ralph meets the servant and dog, or where he wakes up following his miraculous movement. This is the Roe Cross – Ro, or Roe, apparently, being a shortened version of Ralph. Indeed, several sources mention a cross standing on the old road from Stalybridge to Mottram. But where is the cross? There is certainly not one there now, nor is there any evidence attesting to one. There is, however, the White Stone.
Ok, so here is what I think happened.
I don’t think there ever was a cross, not as such. None of the sources I consulted actually describes a cross, only that one was there (as told by the story and indicated by the name), or that there are the “remains of an ancient cross” on the road there (and thus presumably referring to the White Stone). It seems that the White Stone and the Roe Cross have become intertwined. Ralph Bernard Robinson, in his book ‘Longdendale: Historical and Descriptive Sketches‘ (1863) illustrates this perfectly by noting the existence of both cross and stone as separate monuments, but he only describes the stone, not the cross. I would argue that it doesn’t/didn’t exist.
It is most likely the name Roe Cross is derived from ‘roads cross’; the area is, after all, the junction of seven roads – Harrop Edge Road, Matley Lane, Gallowsclough Road, Mottram Road (Old Road), Hobson Moor Road and Dewsnap Lane. Indeed, according to Dodgson’s Place Names of Cheshire (Vol.1, p.315), there seems to be no reference to Roe Cross prior to 1785 (although this may turn out to be incorrect, with further research).
Roads Cross = Roe Cross. You can see the coming together of all seven ancient tracks, converging on Roe Cross. Ignore the 18th Century Turnpike at the bottom.
So far, so good… now bear with me. The White Stone is a marker stone, marking tracks over the tops, and/or marking the boundaries of Matley, Stalybridge, and Hollingworth, and it has been there from the year dot. As a feature in the landscape, it was given a story, as all such features are – they accumulate stories, because people have an intrinsic need to have a relationship with their environment – and it takes on a personality, and gains a biography. As the archaeologist Richard Bradley says of monuments “they dominate the landscape of later generations so completely, that they impose themselves on their consciousness”. The story of Sir Ralph (whether ‘true’ or not) was given as a way of explaining both name – Roe Cross – and reason for the existence of the marker stone. In fact, in Ralph Bernard Robinson’s account of the legend, Sir Ralph wakes up “beside a large stone”, and later on notes that “tradition points out the stone under which he found himself laid: and a queer old stone it is.” Clearly he is describing this from his own personal experience, and surely there can be only one stone that is worth pointing out in the Roe Cross area… it has to be The White Stone.
As a postscript to the postscript, Sir Ralph and his wife, Lady Elizabeth Stayley, are supposedly buried in St Michael and All Angel’s church, Mottram. There are two 15th Century carved effigies that are to be found in the Stayley Chapel there, which almost certainly are meant to represent the good knight and his wife, and which were originally placed against the south wall of the chapel. As Aikin in his ‘Description of the Country Thirty to Forty Miles Round Manchester’ (1795) notes, “many fabulous stories concerning them are handed down by tradition among the inhabitants”.
This from Aikin’s Description of the Country Thirty to Forty Miles Round Manchester’Sir Ralph and Lady Elizabeth de Staley. This taken from the official guide to Mottram Church here.
So then, the White Stone. Well, I still haven’t found it! But I do know a bit more about it, and now – drum roll please – I have a photograph of the bloody thing, stolen shamelessly from Keith Warrender’s book ‘Manchester Oddities‘. I heartily recommend this book, as it’s chock full of just the sort of odd bits of history that this blog looks at. Buy it here. Or better yet, order and buy it from Bay Tree Books – buy local and keep independent shops afloat.
So here is the offending stone, in whose shade, Sir Ralph found himself transported from the holy land.
The White Stone of Roe Cross – it is indeed a “queer old stone”.
The reason for it being white is presumably to make it stand out, to ensure this important stone (boundary marker, track marker, or teleportation stone) is kept vividly different from any other in the area. Apparently it’s now on private property, which would explain why I couldn’t find it last time I went looking for it. I’m not sure of its exact location, but somewhere in the vicinity of White Stone Cottage would seem to make sense. Here is the drawing in Sharpe’s ‘Crosses of the Peak District‘.
Not very cross base shaped, but then I haven’t seen it close up. Yet.
I love it when a legend has a physical mark in the landscape, it makes it more real, and as I say, it is a natural instinct in humans to build stories around their places. I recently led a guided archaeological tour of Alderley Edge, which looked at the Legend of the Wizard through an archaeological lens, and this same element, on a smaller scale, was at play here. Place and story working together, informing and shaping each other.
Apologies for the slightly rambling nature of this blog post, but I hope you enjoyed it.
As always, comments and questions are most welcome.
So, I received a pair of emails recently, and both of them answered an outstanding question that has been bugging me for some time.
Answers people, we actually have answers! I asked, you listened, and by Great Zeus (or Arnomecta, perhaps) you answered.
So, drum roll please…
THE STONE IN ST JAMES’S CHURCHYARD, WHITFIELD.
I mused here on the possibility that a large, out of place, stone in the churchyard St James’s, Whitfield, might be part of the base of the Hollin Cross that almost certainly stood at the junction there, on Hollincross Lane.
Here is the stone in St James’s – not a cross base!
I was wrong. And how!
I got an email from Louise Seville which states:
“My father-in-law Neal Seville had some connection with the church (Sunday school??), I think in the 1970s. He was giving a talk based on the parable of the wise man and the foolish man. He and his friend Bert Taylor from Chunal, brought the stone from Bert’s own small quarry at the back of his house on Chunal. The stone was moved on a truck – Bert had a haulage company. The stone was used in church to illustrate the story and was abandoned in the churchyard afterwards as it proved to be too difficult to move. Neal said that in the future people would wonder how the stone got there and come to all sorts of conclusions! “
And how right he was!
So there we have it folks. I genuinely think that it was bonkers to use a stone that size to illustrate the parable, no matter how factually correct! But apparently that was about right for Neal, who got up to all sorts of capers. Here is the parable, for those of you that slept through Sunday School.
So my thanks to Louise and Eddie Seville for solving the mystery. And, of course, thanks to the late Neal Seville for providing one in the first place.
Now, the next one has bugged me for years, so I am truly grateful for its solution.
THE ODDLY SHAPED CERAMIC OBJECTS
I asked for ideas about these bits of pottery that Sandra T. and I had found. They were so oddly shaped, and so similar in production, that they must have had a single, very specialised, purpose. But what purpose, that was the question.
The puzzling pieces of pottery
Well, bam! An email from the wonderful Eddie Picton arrived in my inbox the other day.
May I suggest that they are “creel peg pivots” as used in textile machinery. A roving bobbin had sliver wound on it, this was then put upon a creel peg and then put in following machine creel. The lower end then would be free to rotate on the ceramic with minimal friction. I worked in the last spinning mill in Oldham, the last of this type of creel was scrapped in the early 1990s, the mill finally closing 2002.
The connection between the object and the place – both connected with weaving and spinning – made this very likely, and it is not an interpretation I had thought of before. I did a bit of research, and began to understand how they would have worked. Yes, it seemed to fit.
Last night, Eddie was at the Glossop and Longdendale Archaeological Society talk on ‘Melandra – Past and Future’ given by Mike Brown and Roger Hargreaves (and very good it was too). He gave me this drawing of how the creel peg pivot would have worked and where it sat in the machine.
Great drawing Eddie, thanks.
Our pottery pieces are those marked ‘Pot’ in the picture, with the bobbin/creel peg sitting in the hollow, glazed, part of the mystery object. They are tapered slightly so that they can fit into the holes in the frame.
These are those, in situ, in Styal Mill. The photo is Eddie’s.
So that’s that solved! Thanks for that, Eddie, you’re a star. And it seems I owe you a drink… I’m as good as my word. See you on the first Tuesday of November.
I have another blog almost ready to go, so fingers crossed you’ll get a bumper crop of posts by the weekend.
As always, comments and questions are very welcome.
What ho, what ho, what ho! So, I’m back from my summer holiday. Actually, I was only in France for two weeks (with lots of cheese and wine), and the rest of the time I have been busy with life… alas. I have loved the weather here for the last 10 weeks – a decent summer at long last, and the polar opposite of the spring we had. Bizarre.
So, missing out August completely, I’m back with a bang, and hopefully more than one post over the weekend, here we go.
I love milestones. There is something so definite and so grounding about them, and the way in which they locate with reference to other places – you are X miles from Y – you know exactly where you are in the world. They have a long history – the Romans used them all the time, and in reality, they haven’t changed since. This one was found in Buxton, and is inscribed with the following: “TRIB POT COS II P P A NAVIONE M P XI”.
Buxton Roman Milestone, found in 1862 (and shamelessly stolen by me from the wonderful ‘Wonders of the Peak‘ website). Honestly, it is well worth taking the time to look around the site.
Which translates as “With tribunician power, twice consul, father of this country, from Navio, 11 miles”. The Roman fort of Navio is at Brough, near Castleton (information here). This is a great little fortlet, right on the river there, and well worth a trip out to see it. There’s not a great deal to see as such – rather like Melandra, it is lumps on the ground, requiring a bit of imagination – but it produced some fascinating archaeology. My favourite being an altar to the goddess Arnomecta – a local goddess, about whom we know nothing at all. She may be the same as the Goddess Arnemetiae who gave her name to Roman Buxton – Aquae Arnemetiae, but then again possibly not. Something about that both fascinates and frightens me – a lost Goddess.
Altar dedicated to Arnomecta – stolen again from the wonderful Wonders of the Peak website (use the link in the text above it for more information on the stone).
But I digress… where were we?
Milestones. Mine are nothing like as old, but they are interesting. Honest.
The first is located on the Woodhead Road/B6105 by Allmans Heath Farm and B&B. It is carved into the side of a mounting block, used for getting onto horses, is/was painted white, and it simply states ‘Glossop 1 mile’ with an arrow pointing the direction.
The milestone is at the bottom, carved into a niche. The ring on the block would have held your horse in place whilst you climbed aboard.Close up of the milestone: “Glossop 1 Mile”
Now, the mounting block is clearly old. They don’t make them anymore, for one, and the fact that the ring has been set in place using lead would certainly age it to the Victorian period, and potentially earlier. The carving is another matter altogether. I had assumed that the words would have been carved in the Victorian period, but on the way to take the photograph, I got speaking to the owner of the house there who informed me that they were only 10 years or so old – her ex-husband, being a stonemason, carved them. Well, why not? The fact that the mounting block sits next to a very old stone gatepost (on the right in the upper picture) suggests that the owners had moved the stone to the front wall in order to create a feature, which it does.
So, this one might not be of any great age, but the next two certainly are, even if they are slightly out of the area.
I went looking for the fabled White Stone of Roe Cross the other day.
I say fabled as there is very little information about it, and I was hoping to see it to put in my two penn’orth about what it is, why it is, and where it is. It is mentioned in Sharpe’s “Crosses of the Peak District” as potentially marking the junction of the boundaries of Matley, Hollingworth, and Mottram, so I thought it would be worth a look. Alas, I failed utterly to locate it, although I did get as near as White Stone Cottage, so I could’t be too far away. It has almost no presence online, either, besides a letter that was written to protest against the proposed Mottram bypass which mentions it in passing, and references to White Stone Cottage.
If anyone knows the location of the stone, please let me know, as I’d love to see it – and you all know how much I love a good stone.
Now, that same letter, also mentions a carved milestone in that area, and thinking it might be worth a look, young Master Hamnett and I set off down Dewsnap Lane to find it. Which we did in record time – standing alone in a right hand turn into the riding stables there (the location is shown by the red circle on the map below).
The Lonely Milestone
The stone states it is “10 Miles From Manchester” and I have no reason to doubt that. It has clearly been used as a gatepost at some stage, and you can see the hole where the hinge was mounted.
Close up of the writing and hinge hole.
As I turned around to leave the stables area I noticed another milestone, this one placed against the wall.
Another milestone
This one proclaimed itself to be ’13 Miles From Manchester’.
“Hmmmmm”, thought I. “Ice cream” thought Master Hamnett.
Close up of the carving.
Now, I know what you are thinking… that Roe Cross is a geographical anomaly, being simultaneously both 10 and 13 miles from Manchester; a quantum place, if you will.
The two stones are obviously carved by the same hand and at the same time – the rounded top and squared shoulders are the same in both instances, and the stone is the same – a coarse sandstone. The writing is also the same, and with the ‘long S‘ in the word ‘Manchester’, we can roughly date it to not later than the first half of the 19th Century, and possibly a little before. After this time it falls out of use, and people used the ‘short S’.
So what are they doing there? I don’t know for certain, but I have a possible/probable answer.
The ‘Deep Cutting’ between Mottram and Matley/Roe Cross was opened in 1826 as part of the Manchester to Saltersford turnpike road. Essentially, it allowed easy access between Yorkshire and the east of the country, and Manchester and the west. Prior to this, the roads were in a terrible state of repair, and the heavily laden packhorses that made that journey really had to struggle. The turnpike roads were privately financed and built, and in order to recoup costs they operated as toll roads, charging for their use (think M6 Toll road for a modern comparison).
The toll gate at Roe Cross, the place you had to pay for passage, was situated here:
The Roe Cross Toll Gate is marked on the map (indicated by the arrow). The circle shows where the milestones are now situated. This from the 1875 1:2,500 OS map.
Now, obviously, the milestones are not in their original location, and I would like to suggest that they were originally situated near to, or at, the toll gate, showing the distance to Manchester along the road. However, if that was the case, then why the difference in distance? Well, perhaps the ’10 Mile’ sign was put next to the new road, whilst the ’13 Mile’ sign was by the original, old, road. With both signs showing, most people would want to shave 3 miles off their journey, and travel along a new well surfaced road, rather than along a muddy track, pitted with animal and cart ruts – after all look how many people use the M6 Toll Road. The tentative date of the stones, too, fits with the construction of the road – the first quarter of 19th Century.
Of course, once the toll gate ceased to exist, the stones lost their usefulness, and particularly once new, more clear, signs began to be used on the roads. However, instead of being broken up, their size and shape is perfect for a gatepost, and so they were hauled a few hundred yards up the hill and given a new function.
Well worth a look of you get chance, and there is lots of good walking to be had up there. I am going to have good explore myself sometime soon, particularly up Gallowsclough, which, as a placename, can have only one meaning – ‘the valley where they hanged people’. Blimey!
Incidentally, I love the Deep Cutting for the Mottram Frog Stone which is celebrated on the wall there, about half way down on the right (going from Mottram to Stalybridge). I couldn’t do this post and not mention it – I tweeted about it, but it is so good, that it needs to be celebrated on the blog, too.
The truth or plausibility of the story is much less important than the legend – no one criticises a fiction story for not being real, one just enjoys it!The stone itself, marked with a green frog.
There may be more this weekend, if I can manage it, but I will try to get back to my one a week post target, so stick around. Thanks for reading, and please, as always, comments and corrections are always welcome.
I love train journeys. Even the daily commute has something adventure-like about it. It’s also non-time, time spent sitting, waiting for the destination to arrive. My time to sit and think, read, and listen to music. And to write, of course. Gentle reader, I am writing this sitting on the 17.25 train from Piccadilly Station heading home to Glossop – the joys of having a new phone. We slow down as we approach Guide Bridge station, and there the post begins.
For the last umpteen years I have been commuting up and down this track, and I feel like I know every inch of it, in all seasons and in all weathers. But I have been utterly perplexed by two stones at the end of one of the platforms at Guide Bridge station (the one opposite the new ticket office, on which the train stops if you are going to Glossop from Manchester). These are the fellows:
Not my photo, alas. I had several nice close-ups, but I cannot find them in any of my files.
There they sit, painted and mysterious. I was so intrigued a few years ago, that I got off the train and had a closer look. They stand about a foot tall, and taper to a mushroom head. They are painted black and white, as you can see, and have the letters ‘I’ and ‘G’ carved into them. I am not certain what they are made from, either. It is is either concrete with very small pebbly bits added, or a coarse grained conglomerate stone. What I find intriguing is that the letters are done in a very old way – almost Georgian, or even earlier. Also, someone has taken the time to paint them with some degree of care – top, bottom, and letters are carefully marked out, and despite this being a busy, and recently modernised station. They must, in their present location, post-date the 1970’s updating of the station, but I feel certain they have been moved. The only mention of them I could find online is here, where the suggestion is that they represent “posts defining the area controlled by different District Engineers or suchlike”, with ‘G’ being Glossop, although the ‘I’ is still unexplained.
And there the matter ended… until last year. The train stopped just outside Guide Bridge to allow another train through, and I tiredly looked out of the window, blinked, and nearly yelled. Could it be? Yes, it was… another stone. Fumbling for my phone, all I could make out was the letter ‘G’, and then the train moved on before I could get a photograph. Bugger! Since then I have been trying to get the right set of circumstances to allow me that shot again. And a few months ago, I managed it!
A map of the area. The original posts on the platform are marked 1, the new post is marked 2.
And here is the new stone:
Difficult to spot, but it sits against the wall. And in close-up, the carved ‘G’ is visible.
It’s clearly the same thing – same shape, size, and even the antiquated way the letter have been carved is clear. And it too has been painted black and white, and in the same design, at some stage in the relatively recent past. It is no longer cared for in the same way, I suspect, as it is now overgrown and seemingly forgotten. I wonder too, if it was originally part of a pair, and the ‘I’ post has gone? Anyway, there the matter ended.
Or so I thought.
Pulling into Hatterseley station a few weeks ago, coming from Glossop, I was looking out of the right hand side of the train, and just after the big road bridge that carries the A560/Stockport Road, down, and tucked into a nook in the wall, I spotted two more of the things. They are situated where the end of the Hattersley Tunnel No.1 came out (long before Hattersley Station was built) – here on the map.
New posts marked 3
I have no photo, as the train is always in motion at this point, though I might try and get a shot off with my new phone (snazzy camera, apparently). Two of them, mossy and overgrown, but the same shape, if a little shorter. No paint that I can see, but they might have been originally. The letters are ‘I’ and ‘G’ again, but they run the opposite way to those at Guide Bridge (‘G’ and ‘I’ as opposed to ‘I’ and ‘G’).
I am now intrigued to the point of obsession! So then, the question is. What are they? There must be someone out there who knows. Surely!
I know they are technically not Glossop related, but I thought as so many of my gentle and wonderful readers commute, and that everyone loves a good mystery, you would forgive the misuse of the blog. Anyway, if nothing else, it will give you a chance to play i-spy on your next train journey, trying to spot the posts (the Hattersley ones are hard – blink and you will miss them).
There will be more posts this weekend too, real Glossop history ones. With pottery and other goodies!
I realised recently that I still have quite a few Whitfield bench marks that I have not yet found, and that despite me having a bench mark obsession, I haven’t posted any for a long while. So here we are…
1921 1:2,500 OS map. The bench marks circled in red and numbered are photographed. Those circled in green are no longer there.
No 1 was extremely difficult to find at first – the building still stands, so it stands to reason that the mark would still be there. It is, but like the mark on the edge of Flatt Farm (No. 10, Here), the ground level had risen over the years – squint, and you can just about see the horizontal part of the mark. It took a while…
The mark is just about visible dead centre of the photo, just above the tarmac and just below the mortar. 554.1 ft above sea level.
No 2 was fairly easy to spot:
On the corner of a building/house – 577.2 ft above sea level.
No. 3 is on the corner of the Surrey Arms on Charlestown Road. Bizarrely, this is a pub in which I have never actually set foot. I fully intend to rectify this outrageous omission at some stage in the near future – if anyone fancies joining me for a swift half or three, let me know. The Surrey Arms is an interesting place, and has strong local connections. According to the earlier incarnation of me, it was built just before 1846 by a James Robinson, who also owned the Naptha works near the Beehive pub. This same James Robinson also built the Whitfield Brewery in 1849, and which was built on and used the waters from Whitfield Well. Hamnett then relates all the subsequent owners – Thomas Hampson in 1867, Samuel Clarkson in 1876, then later it became Walton’s Brewery with Adam Slater as the brewer who…
“made a special brew of ale for the late Lord Howard of Glossop to be consumed when the present Lord came of age. It was buried, and I have been told that when it was opened, it was stingo; only one pint for each person was allowed, and even that proved too much for some – it was true barley wine.”
Stingo (here and here) sounds like my kind of drink! The brewery eventually became a laundry, and was opened as such by Alderman B. Furniss in October 1895. Now that is a sad end.
No. 3 – The Surrey Arms. 558.9 ft above sea level.
Comparing the 1921 map with the 1968 1:2.500 map reveals that the No. 1 bench mark above has moved – probably because of the shift in ground level. Thus we have No 4:
It is now situated on the wall of a domestic house, but which was once The Sparrows pub, and more recently Flanagan’s. It stopped being a pub in about 2011, but I can find no more information about this pub, so would appreciate any thoughts.
No.4 – the ex Sparrows pub, or more recently Flannagan’s Irish themed bar… begorrah. Anyway, it is 531.89 ft above Dublin… I mean, sea level.
Right, that’s almost it. There are one or two more in this area that need checking out (when I get time…), so watch this space. And anytime anyone fancies a quick walk to find these things, give me a yell.
So, once again, I am forced to apologise for the lack of activity here of late – I expressly didn’t want the blog to be like the diary you start on New Year’s Day, full of good intentions, only for the next entry to be Auntie Mabel’s birthday sometime in July. The same can be said for those of you who I have not yet replied to their emails. So by way of an apology to you all, have a series of posts, starting with this one on the Guide Stoop.
Following on from the revelation here that one of the destinations on the stoop is probably Hayfield, I came across another example of a triangular guide stoop – this one is in the care of Saddleworth Museum and is kept in their outside/garden area.
The triangular guide stoop at Saddleworth Museum, similar in shape and style to our own.
It originally stood where the Standedge Road meets the A62 Huddersfield Road, and shows 6 destinations, two on each face, including Oldham, Manchester, and Huddersfield. Here’s how it would have originally looked:
From Huddersfield Highways Down The Ages by W.B. Crump
So this is similar to how the Glossop guide stoop would have looked… which got me thinking! If its original location was the top of Whitfield Cross, I wonder if the stoop would once have stood on top of the cross shaft. I find it unlikely that the guide stoop makers and installers would have made a new shaft if there was one standing in the right place already. Especially, as we must remember, by this time (early 18th Century) it had already lost its cross head, and due to puritan and Methodist views of the local people, would have lost all of its symbolism as a ‘Christian’ thing. In fact, so much so had it fallen from grace, that less than 100 years later it would be nicked and moved as a prank. So why not bung it on top of this convenient shaft?
Now, there is no evidence for this, and certainly there is no indication that anything was fixed to the remaining portion of the shaft as it is now, but we don’t know what was removed, or has worn away in its intervening 200 years standing as a stile. Just a thought.
I went for a walk with some friends a few weeks ago, from Old Glossop to the New Lamp pub in Hadfield, via Valehouse Reservoir and the Longdendale Trail. It runs along the old Woodhead Line train track there from Hadfield Station to the Woodhead Tunnel entrance. All the way along it you can see evidence of its former existence – signal cable carriers, track equipment, assorted bits and pieces, and bridges.
As I passed under one bridge (the Padfield Main Road) I glanced up and saw this.
Fantastic Victorian stonework on the Padfield Main Road bridge – 1840ish in date.
well, more specifically, this bit.
Close-up, but rather awful quality… I need a decent camera with a zoom lens.
High up and hidden amongst the stonework were a number of mason’s marks. Awesome, thought I.
It’s here on the map.
Bottom red circle is Hadfield Station, the top red circle is where the mason’s marks are. This is from the 1968 1:2500 OS map, via old-maps.co.uk. Thanks, again!
Mason’s marks are a really fascinating aspect of stone masonry. Essentially, the stone masons were paid by the piece – the more they carved, the more they got paid, and in order to make sure they they got paid for the correct number of stones worked on, each mason signed their piece with their individual mark. It also acted as a form of quality control – if a piece of stone was not up to scratch, the master mason could see at a glance who carved it. This concept of signing your work had been going on since the Medieval period, and continues to this day. It’s not often you get to see them, as more often than not they are on the reverse of the stone, hidden within the fabric of the building. But here, for some reason, a group of masons (I count three different marks, but with perhaps another three possibles) decided to display their signs. Still, nice to see these out in the open.
Imagine my surprise, then, when we decided to go through an underpass, underneath the old track bed, and head down to the reservoir at this location, here:
Bottom red circle is the bridge with the mason’s marks, the top red circle is the underpass. This is the same map as above, just further down the track/footpath.
Wow… just wow. A grotto of mason’s marks. Quite literally, every stone was covered in mason’s marks, all of them. Outside and inside… amazing.
This is the roof… honestly, every stone is marked.
It is wonderful!
Now, I’m not sure why there is this cluster of marks on this specific underpass. Perhaps they were allowed to go wild and leave their marks in the open in this one place. Or perhaps, there was a competition between two rival gangs of stonemasons, each working to complete the stones fastest. I simply don’t know.
I have made a list of the mason’s marks.
These are the mason’s marks on the wall of the underpass.
The mark bottom right is probably a square and compass symbol – both tools are used by stone masons. It is also a symbol used in Freemasonry, which takes a lot of its signs and symbols from stonemasonry.
It would be interesting to compare them with others on the Longdendale line, to see where else these men were working here. Also, as they would be itinerant stone masons, travelling where the work is, we could compare them with others further afield. After all they are a signature, and whilst we may not know their names as such, they left their mark on our landscape. They don’t seem to match those on the bridge, though it’s difficult to make out. There have been attempts to create a database of masons marks, particularly those from the medieval period in the catherdrals. However, whilst at first glance this seems a great idea, there is flaw in the plan: there are a finite number of marks you can make with a chisel and using only straight lines. It was found that many marks were reused by different masons, sometimes separated by centuries. There is something deeply interesting about mason’s marks, though, and some are more interesting than others… Looking back at the bridge mark, I was struck immediately by the ‘M’ mark.
Apotropaia. From the Greek, apotropos, meaning literally ‘to turn away’, and more specifically in this case, to turn away or prevent evil.
People have always used signs and symbols to act as magic charms to stop bad things, and bad people, from affecting them. Apotropaic marks became very common in the 16th-18th centuries, and any domestic dwelling of the period would have had these marks carved literally into the frame of the house. At this time, the reality of evil was not questioned, and people intent on causing you damage and sickness – witches – were a real threat and believed in utterly. Indeed, the marks are sometimes referred to as “witch marks”, and have only recently begun to be researched. I can almost guarantee that any timber framed house from the period will contain at least a few. Often they are placed by windows, doors, and fireplaces – essentially, any opening, anywhere that a witch, ghost, devil, or other evil thing might gain access to the house. The marks take many different forms, but two of the most common are the ‘daisy wheel‘ mark – usually carved into stone or wood with a compass…
The Daisy Wheel or Hexafoil mark – the idea is the evil/witch would get stuck in the wheel, and be trapped for eternity.
…and the ‘double V’ sign. This latter is very interesting; it is largely understood as standing for ‘Virgo Virginum’ – the Virgin of Virgins, or the Virgin Mary, and may be seen as a plea for her help.
The double V mark, or Virgo Virginum. Photo taken from here. Thanks to another really interesting blog.
Now, given that the marks are occurring at a time when it was illegal and/or extremely dangerous to be a Catholic, it is unclear what is happening here. Either we are seeing an underground following of Roman Catholicism amongst the population, which is very unlikely. Or more probably, it represents a popular belief or superstition that, whilst nodding to the Virgin Mary, is just understood as a protective symbol, without the trappings of Catholicism that would mean you were burnt at the stake. Essentially, by the 1600’s, people no longer understood the more religious meaning of the symbol, but carried on the use of it as a form of protection.
As further evidence of this, it is often found inverted, as an ‘M’, not a ‘W’. The letters are not important, the shape of the lines is.
W or M, the meaning is the same.
Which brings us back to the bridge mason’s mark
Is the mason: a) A catholic, proclaiming his faith, and marking his work thus? b) Aware of the ‘good luck’ aspect of the sign, but has no idea of its origins? c) A mason who is using it solely as his mark, with no understanding of the meaning beyond its shape?
Personally, I’m going with b, but with a small dash of c.
There is so much more to be said about this subject, it is really a genuinely remarkable field of research (and one in which I am involved), and as it is just emerging as worth studying, I urge all of you to keep an eye out for any marks on buildings, especially internally, and particularly if they are built before 1850.
Right, I have a glass of wine waiting for me, so cheers. And next time, I think some more pottery is in order. Oh, and apologies for the long post, again.
I gave a talk to the wonderful folk at the Glossop and Longdendale Archaeological Society on Tuesday night, on the subject of Whitfield Cross. I was honestly really quite nervous. Like most people, I am genuinely scared of speaking in public, and it’s not a thing that comes naturally to me. Indeed, research seems to show that people are more frightened of public speaking than they are of death – that is, they would rather be in the grave and dead, than standing over the grave and delivering the eulogy. However, I went ahead and did it – feel the fear, and do it anyway… as the rather cliched saying goes.
I think it went rather well, thankfully. Hopefully.
Anyway, here is the edited-for-blog transcript of the talk. It builds on the original Whitfield Cross post, but has lots of new information and photographs… so please read on, even if you have read the original.
I live in Whitfield.
For those of you who don’t know, Whitfield is a distinct area within Glossop, and was mentioned in the Domesday Book as a separate settlement from Glossop (as Witfeld), and remains a parish in its own right.
Now, my local pub is The Beehive, on Hague Street at the top – highly recommended, by the way – but in order to get to it, I had to walk up the steep hill of Whitfield Cross.
And every time I did, I pondered the name. Whitfield Cross is an odd name for a road that has no cross on it. I vaguely thought to myself, there must have been a cross here or somewhere nearby at some stage, but after a cursory scan on the internet, and a rifle through the local history section of the library, I drew a blank regarding the history of the cross. I must state that I hadn’t yet come across Neville Sharpe’s excellent book ‘Crosses of the Peak District’ which does have an entry for it, albeit a very short one.
However, sometime later whilst delving into the history of the area, I came across an article by our old friend Mr Hamnett entitled “Botanical Ramble to Moorfield”, dated to about 1890.
Newspaper cutting stolen from the New Mills History Society – Visit the original via link here. With thanks.
There is not much botany, but it is an absolute goldmine of local history. And as I read the article my jaw dropped. I’m going to read you the relevant part here, as it captures perfectly what makes Hamnett so good. Plus the language is great!
“In the latter part of the last century the Cross Cliffe lads planned and partially carried out what was to them a most daring and audacious deed. One ”Mischief Night” the eve of the first of May, it was resolved to steal the Whitfield Cross. In the depth of night, when all was quiet, and the Whitfield lads were slumbering or dreaming of their “May birch”, the Cross Cliffe invaders came and detached a portion of the cross. With secrecy, care, and much labour, it was conveyed away nearly to its projected destination, but the exertions required for the nefarious deed had been under estimated, their previous work in removing all articles left carelessly in the yards or at the back doors of the good people of Cross Cliffe and neighbourhood, such as clothes lines, props, buckets, etc., etc., to their “May birch” had already taken much of their energy out of them, and, coupled with the steepness of the ascent to the “Top o’ th’ Cross,” distance and roughness of the road to Cross Cliffe, and the weight of the stone, they were reluctantly obliged to abandon their “loot” in the last field near to the pre-arranged destination. What the feelings were of the Whitfield lads on discovering the desecration and loss of a portion of their cross can be better imagined than described. The stolen portion remained in the field for some years. Mr Joseph Hague, of Park Hall, was solicited to restore the cross to its original form and position, but being imbued with a little Puritanism, he refused, and the other portions gradually disappeared until there is nothing left of the Whitfield Cross, except the stolen portion, which is now part and parcel of a stile in a field at Cross Cliffe, where the then tenant of the field placed it, over a century ago.”
“Blimey!”, I thought!
Date wise then, the removal of the cross would have been 1790 or so, and the cross would have originally stood at the junction of the road Whitfield Cross and Hague Street/Cliffe Road but we shall return to that in a minute. Cross Cliffe is at the top, along Cliffe Road, and it extends further off screen.
The cross would have originally stood dead centre of the above picture, inappropriately marked 666!
Upon reading this passage I quite literally pulled on my boots and headed up to Cliffe Road and went exploring. Alas, not knowing exactly where the cross was – and it is not marked on any OS Map that I have seen – I failed to find it. Weeks later, however, and walking for pleasure rather than exploring, I by chance took the correct path… and this was the sight that greeted me.
The cross is the right of the two stones. Note Mouselow Iron Age hillfort in the background.
Now, I know what you’re thinking… what exactly is it?
Well, it’s a 9th, or more likely 10th , century Anglo Saxon stone cross of a type known as a Mercian Round Shaft or Mercian Pillar Cross. There are roughly 30 known examples, with doubtless quite a few more waiting to be discovered. Originally though… who knows. Hundreds? Thousands?
Most stone cross shafts are square or rectangular in section. The Mercian variety is defined by its round or slightly oval shaped shaft. It’s difficult to understand exactly what the crosses would have looked like from the Whitfield example alone – it is particularly worn and has been defaced. However, although no complete examples survive, by studying the better preserved examples we can begin to build up a picture of how they would have looked.
So then. There is the defining characteristic shaft.
The round shafts are very obvious in this picture of the three crosses in West Park, Macclesfield. Photo and information here.
Round or slightly oval in section, and usually under 5ft in height, although some, such as that at Cleulow in Cheshire, reach as high as 7ft.
Cleulow (or Clulow) near Wincle, Cheshire.
The shaft is normally plain and undecorated, although examples exist where this is not the case – Leek and Blackden for example.
Leek cross, in the churchyard of St Edwards.The cross shaft at Blackden, Cheshire. You can just make out the very worn decoration on the side of the shaft.
A notable example is at Brailsford, where we can see a seated solder holding a sword.
The seated soldier with sword on the shaft of Brailsford cross. Photo and much more info here courtesy of the Mellor Archaeological Trust.
The shaft tapers to a single, or more commonly, double band or collar that runs around the shaft.
A single band on the cross at Blackden.
A double band on the Shall Cross on Elnor Lane, south of Whaley Bridge (thank you David Dunford)
This band is not normally decorated, although at Leek, and elsewhere, it is (see above photograph for detail)
Above the band is a rectangular neck that is more often than not missing. Where the neck is present, it is normally decorated – often simply, but sometimes with complex knotwork and rope motifs such as these examples from Disley.
Ornately carved, these two were possibly once attached to the cross shafts discussed below
On top of this neck the cross itself would have sat. Fragments, such as those from Disley, allow us to reconstruct the cross head – it would have been a ‘wheel’ type with four arms and a central boss, perforated, and probably heavily decorated with rope and knot motifs.
A reconstructed cross head would look something like this – this is from Neville Sharpe’s book.
So, with this in mind, let’s look more closely at Whitfield Cross.
Note the perfectly carved Bench Mark – the surveyors had no respect for heritage! Incidentally, this one is at 682 ft above sea level.
We can see immediately it is very worn. The shaft, made from the local millstone grit, is a lightly flattened round shape in section, and tapers slightly up to the collar. The collar is, at first glance, a single band. But, with the eye of faith, I think I can detect a groove running around its centre, meaning it would be a double.
A close up of the double band – you can make out the detail quite clearly here.
It is worn, but I think would have originally been something like this.
This is one of the Macclesfield crosses – we can see it’s a shallow groove, rather than a properly carved double collar.
Back to Whitfield Cross, we see the neck is worn almost beyond recognition, surviving only 6inches above the collar. However, and again with the eye of faith, I think I can detect the remains of knotwork or similar decoration.
The relief work is perhaps visible – just about.
The depressions you can see on the neck are possibly the remains of the hollow parts, the relief, of the knotwork decoration. Look again at the photographs above, and then compare with the Macclesfield example above – you can clearly see the relief work and how it would look if it was worn.
As for the cross head… we have no clue. Instead, we must rely on Sharpe’s reconstruction for guidance.
So then, and apologies in advance for the rather bad penmanship on my part – I am a good technical drawer, but an awful artist – here is my reconstruction of how the cross might have originally looked, assuming all the ‘eye of faiths’ are correct!
Reconstruction of Whitfield Cross – it now only survives a few inches above the collar.
So then, further questions are raised – the first of which is, well… what is it?
It’s a cross… obviously, but what is the meaning of it, why was it carved, and why is it here?
The urge to leave a mark in the landscape is undoubtedly a universal feeling, and one that has been with us since we humans first started ‘thinking’. Stones have often been used to leave this mark, to somehow own the land, and to act as a focus, I’m thinking prehistoric standing stones, here. Stone crosses are very much a continuation of this act of permanently stamping yourself into the landscape.
But they can convey much more information.
They were often placed as boundary markers, showing where parish, territory, hunting rights, farmland and such begin and ended. Indeed, there are many stone crosses in the area that do just that. They act as a reminder of the adoption of Christianity in the area, a symbol stating loudly that “we are Christians”. It may also have been used as a gentle reminder that “you are Christians, now” as certainly in the early Saxon periods, and with the later Scandinavian incursions, the old pagan Gods were never far away, and it was far from certain that Christianity would prevail.
However, if we look again at where the Cross originally stood, we can see another, more practical, purpose for the cross – that of marking an important junction in the contemporary roads.
So, we have the old pack horse route that comes from the south – Peak Forest, Buxton, and Chesterfield – to Old Glossop, and on to Woodhead and Yorkshire, beyond, and now called Hague Street/Cliffe Road. The cross would have marked the junction of the track that went along Whitfield Cross and Hollincross Lane, and onto Simmondley and beyond. There was another spur coming out along what is now Gladstone Street, leading to that area of what is now the town, and again onto Woodhead.
The Junction at the top of Whitfield Cross in real life.
It has been suggested that some roadside crosses were placed as a gift of thanks for the completion of a safe journey, effectively a votive offering in payment for an answered prayer (i.e. help me get home in this awful weather, and I’ll set up a cross to say thank you). They might also function as a spiritual fortifier, reminding the traveller of God’s watchful eye and his protective power over the faithful. It is easy, I think, in these days of surfaced roads, street lights, and large settlements, to forget just how dark and treacherous travelling in the pre-modern era was – making your way from A to B in total darkness, along a muddy track, and with no map as such, and knowing that if you took a wrong turn somewhere, you were lost.
There is also a further, more subtle, reason, too for the cross being here. Actually, one that perhaps wouldn’t have been that subtle when it was first carved and erected, and this reason is tied in with another important question: Who made it?
It is known as a Mercian round shaft because it occurs only in the Anglo Saxon kingdom of Mercia. However, that is to massively oversimplify the answer, and it is more complex and more interesting than that.
The Kingdom of Mercia in early 10th Century. The Peak District is the top right section.
Mercia was for a time, the dominant kingdom in Britain, but by the 9th & 10th centuries it had lost that dominance to Wessex. Even so, we can see that the kingdom is still a massive area. The occurrence of these particular cross types is confined almost completely to the northern part of the kingdom, and specifically where we are now – north west Derbyshire, east Cheshire, and northern Staffordshire: in short, the Peak District.
One of the smaller kingdoms absorbed by the Mercians was that of the Pecsaetan, literally the people of the peak, and who probably gave their name to the Peak District. They seem to have been a distinct tribal grouping, relatively autonomous, but owing tribute and allegiance to the King of Mercia. Interestingly, the land upon which the Pecsaetan farmed and lived, coincides precisely with that in which the crosses occur – Northern Mercia.
I am speculating, obviously, but it is possible that this specific cross type is a product of the people of Pecsaetan kingdom, or at least what remained of it. Moreover, this was at a time – the 9th and 10th centuries – when the Mercian dominance was on the wane – just the time that a little national pride would be in order. And thus, we may speculate that the cross – a region or people specific type – might even have become a symbol, or totem perhaps, for the Pecsaetan kingdom.
There are other examples of Mercian Round Shafts in the area. As I say, there are about 30 known crosses, give or take – there seems to be no definite number recorded, and doubtless there are more waiting to be uncovered. I note that the Derbyshire section of the book series the ‘Corpus of Anglo Saxon Stone Sculpture’ is due to be published, but without having a spare £100, I’ll have to wait until the library gets a copy to check what it says about the crosses.
Our nearest examples are Robin Hood’s Picking Rods in Ludworth, roughly 3 miles south west of Glossop.
Robin Hood’s Picking Rods.
Originally known as the Maiden Stones, these are an example of a double cross, that is, two crosses set up side by side. This seems to have been a feature peculiar to the Mercian Round Shaft, but it is unclear what the purpose or meaning of this was. The Picking Rods sit on the parish boundaries of Mellor, Ludworth, Thornsett, and almost that of Chisworth. Perhaps then, the fact there are two of them may be related to their importance in marking this out – with two different parishes choosing to erect a cross each. Another possibility is that they were originally two separate crosses, but were brought together at some stage in the past – with perhaps one of them originally marking the parish boundary for Chisworth.
There is another pairing of crosses to be found in Disley, some 10miles or so south west of Glossop.
it is possible that the cross necks illustrated above may have once sat upon these shafts.
These too have no obvious reason behind their pairing, and although they have been moved from their original site, the old, double, cross base is still there marking the place.
Other, single, examples of Mercian Round Shafts are to be found at Macclesfield, Fernilee, Bakewell, Alstonfield, and notably Leek. Importantly, at Bakewell and Alstonfield, there are large numbers of cross shafts and heads, which, suggests Neville Sharp, may be where some were made and distributed.
What then, does the cross tell us of Glossop in the so-called Dark Ages?
Sadly, not very much. The post-Romano-British period is massively under-represented in the area, to a point where it is virtually non-existent – there is the possible glass bead from Mouselow, and that is about it. And yet we know something was here as Whitfield, Glossop, Chunal, Hadfield and Padfield are all mentioned in the Domesday book – they are clearly important enough to be counted. There is also the possibility that All Saint’s church in Old Glossop has a Saxon origin, but that is currently unproven. Neville Sharpe in his book Glossop Remembered suggests that the lack of a Saxon presence in Glossopdale may be due to a lack of interest and funding by local landowners prior to the area being industrialised. This may be the case to a point, but we do see Roman material coming to light from that point in Glossop’s history, so where is the Saxon?
No, seemingly all we are left with is the monuments – Robin Hood’s Picking Rods… and Whitfield Cross.
Our single link to our Saxon past.
What the cross can tell us, though, is that Whitfield, and by extension Glossopdale as a whole, was clearly in contact with other areas of Mercia. There was no mass media, and so the particular style of cross – the Round Shaft – could only have been communicated and spread through contact and travel. Even in this insular and provincial northern part of the kingdom of Mercia, it seems that the Glossop area was very much a part of the greater Anglo Saxon world with access to all that that brought.
And there it sits, a single monument to the late Saxon inhabitants of Glossop – the most tangible connection we have with the residents of the area at that time.
And sadly one of the most overlooked.
I would love to see the cross moved from its present location and placed somewhere where it can be seen and understood by everyone, as a vital part of the heritage of the area. I have suggested before that the wells on Whitfield Cross, the road, would be ideal, but that is a project for the future.
Thanks for reading, and apologies for the lengthy post. As always, any comments, questions, or corrections are very welcome.
James, Mrs Hamnett, and myself went for a walk yesterday, taking advantage of the beautiful weather in the afternoon. Not a long hike – 2 year olds really don’t have a lot of stamina, and walk at a glacial pace, stopping to inspect stones, sticks, grass, puddles, clouds, etc. As we passed down the start of Carr House Lane, I looked to the left to see if I could see the guide stoop that I had been looking for since I first read ‘Glossop Remembered‘ by Neville Sharpe (highly recommended, by the way). A guide stoop is an early form of carved stone signpost, situated at road junctions, that tells you where each road goes; to use them, simply face the name of the location you want, and take the road to the right. They became common in the late 17th Century after a 1697 act of parliament, intended to improve road conditions, suggested that guide stoops were erected at junctions (There is a brilliant website about Derbyshire guide stoops here). In the book, there is a photo of a flat stone with the words ‘To Glossop’ inscribed rather ornately on the facing side. Stylistically, the date of the carving would be, I would suggest, sometime in the early 18th century.
Now, despite Sharpe telling us where it is, I have so far been unable to find it, despite trying dozens of times and in different seasons. I had begun to think that either it was firmly and permanently buried behind thick bramble and dog rose, or worse, that it had been removed and was now lost to us forever.
That is, until yesterday! Someone had attacked the bramble with secateurs, and lo and behold – the guide stoop was there!
On the left hand side, just as you enter Carr House Lane from Cliffe Road. Originally, it would have stood on a stone plinth.
This was great news as it meant that we might have a chance to work out what the other three sides say, and thus where it was originally placed. There was some debate about location elsewhere on this site (in the comments, at the bottom here), but I was excited to be able to try and solve the problem. In short, we have a 4-sided guide stoop, with ‘To Glossop’ on one side, and, according to Sharpe, ‘To Dinting’ on another. It’s possible that Dinting is on the opposite side, but there is nowhere near that Dinting is in the opposite direction to Glossop. Plus, if we place Dinting somewhere else on the four sides, where are the other two locations mentioned? Chapel (en le Frith)? Sheffield? No, it is a bit of a mystery… until now!
I felt along the right hand side, and with my fingers I traced an upper case ‘T’. Obviously, the start of ‘To’, but without dismantling the wall, there is no way of knowing to where. Tentatively, I removed some loose stones on the left hand side, hoping to push my hand in and be able to find the last letters of whatever place was written on that side of the square… and was shocked. It went back squarely for a few inches, and then turned abrubtly at 45 degrees. the stone was a triangle! Only three sides, and only three locations. I scrabbled my fingers along and traced a lower case ‘L’, but no more… The stone was too jammed in, and I couldn’t wriggle past it.
You can see the side turning 45 degrees to form a right-angled triangle.
I might try again at a later date, but in any case, I think we now have enough to hazard a guess as to where the places are, and to where it was originally placed.
Glossop is obvious. Dinting is likely – we have no reason to doubt Sharpe, although I don’t know how he knew that. The last… well, we know it ends in an ‘L’, so it is probably Chapel (en le Frith) – although Mrs Hamnett suggests, not unreasonably, Chunal.
This is my reconstruction of the guide stoop’s inscriptions and shape.
A right-angled triangle, in this configuration. Probably!
So where, if this is the configuration, did it stand? Well, simply and almost certainly, at the top end of Whitfield Cross, where it meets Hague Street/Cliffe Road.
The three-way junction at the top of Whitfield Cross works perfectly in the above configuration. Incidentally, the red blob marks the location of the guide stoop, on the left hand side going up Carr House Lane.
If this is the case, the ‘Glossop’ side would be facing south east, indicating Glossop is down Cliffe Road. Dinting is north east, accessed via Whitfield Cross, Freetown, and then Hollin Cross Lane (the old Roman road). Chapel (or Chunal) is facing south west, and accessed via the road down to Gnat Hole and then onto Chunal, Hayfield, and beyond.
The only way we would know for certain is to demolish the wall… and that would be a massive undertaking.
Just as with the Whitfield Cross, I would love to see the guide stoop restored to its place of origin – I think it would look amazing at the junction, perhaps on the pavement at the left. We really could turn Whitfield into a heritage hotspot.
As an amazing bonus, on the way back, and just by Whitfield Cross, I found this.
A marble. A literal marble.
Just peeking out of the soil, I thought it was a stone at first – it’s perfectly spherical and very tactile; a child’s toy marble. It’s stone – marble or alabaster I think, but certainly not clay as most of the Victorian marbles are, and because of this, it clearly belonged to a well off child. I wonder if it was lost on the path, or if it was lost in the city and ended up in the field as part of the process of night soiling?
Either way, it’s a hell of a find. It’s so personal and intimate – and this is why I love doing what I do.
Please feel free to comment, correct, or just chat. All is welcome.
The Glossop Cabinet of Curiosities 