Tuesday, 25 April 2017

First Official Boy Scout Camp (NY883694)


© Copyright Phil Thirkell and licensed for 

A few miles NW of Hexham, on the north bank of the Tyne, can be found a dot on the map labelled Carr Edge Farm. It sits a little to the north of Fourstones, but south of Hadrian’s Wall, and is famous as the venue, in 1908, of the first ever Boy Scout Camp. Common assumption places the first scout gathering at Brownsea Island, Poole Harbour, in August 1907, but this was an experimental camp attended by boys who were not properly-invested scouts. So I am pleased to say the honour of the title of the first official camp goes to the North-East of England! (In fact, the land, though near to Carr Edge Farm, actually belonged to the slightly more distant Park Shields Farm to the east).

The spot was named ‘Look Wide Camp Site’ by the organisers, headed, of course, by the famous General Baden-Powell, founder of the scout movement. The event, which ran from 22nd August to 4th September 1908, came a year after the south coast ‘dry run’, and was the culmination of a frantic period of preparation and organisation as the scouting movement got off the ground. Baden-Powell himself led the team of supervisors, who took charge of 30 boys from all corners of the UK, each of whom had been nominated by friends and relatives in a voting system (although they were joined by another six in due course). The two-week jolly included all the usual scout-like activities, in addition to visits to local sites of interest.

The event is usually described as having taken place at Humshaugh, a village which is several miles to the NE – on account of it being, I think, the name of the parish at the time – but there is no doubt about the location of the true venue.

The site is now marked by a large stone cairn (erected 1929) adorned with several commemorative plaques. The pictured slab was set in place in 1950 and nicely sums up the story. A centenary event, ‘Jamboree 2008’, was held at the Carr Edge site in, er, 2008.

See here for much more info!

P.S. The weather during the 1908 inaugural camp was, by the way, rather wet.


Tuesday, 18 April 2017

Stagshaw Bank Fair (NY982679)


Known variously as ‘Stagey Bank’, ‘Stagsy Bank’ or just plain old Stagshaw Bank Fair, the regular social gatherings at this now lonely spot between Corbridge and the Roman Wall were once the largest of their kind in England. They were pretty wild, too, and were eventually banned in the early twentieth century due to the often riotous behaviour which blighted the occasions.

Though it seems an unlikely spot for a get-together today, the venue was ideally placed in days of yore. Yards from the crossroads of the Roman Wall and Dere Street, it was a natural focal point for folk to meet; and meet they did – in their thousands – for several market days over the calendar year. In early May there would be a cattle and sheep market; Whitsun would be a time for horses and cattle; there would a sheep-only fair in early August; followed by another cattle and sheep fair in late September; then yet another market in late November. But the main gathering by far would be the summer event on 4th July, which would be a true national gathering – not only for agricultural animals and produce but for, well, pretty much everything else, too! 

In view of the antiquity of the site in terms of social comings and goings it is very likely that the roots of the fair go way back – perhaps as far as the days of the Romans, when trade would probably have been conducted between visitors from both sides of the Wall. Little is known of the event’s distant history, but an account from c.1850 of the 4th July gathering amounts to a description of a free-for-all, with the morning being, generally, for business of all kinds (not just agricultural), and the rest of the day – and the evening, in fact – kept aside for social revelry. There would be entertainment, gambling and much drinking … with a considerable mess being left thereabouts afterwards.

A combination of Stagshaw Bank Fair’s rowdiness and general untidiness led to the whole sorry affair being outlawed in the 1920s. But such is the memory of the main Summer fair that the phrase ‘It’s like Stagey Bank Fair in here’ is often still used by the older generation to describe, say, a messy child’s bedroom or any generally pandemonious situation.  

As a nod to the tradition of the old fair the modern-day agricultural Northumberland County Show is often held in the fields near Corbridge.



Tuesday, 11 April 2017

St.John Lee Church: An Amazing Match! (NY933657)


St.John Lee is a parish church without an attached village, though the somewhat lonely house of worship serves a big enough geographical area, encompassing, as it does, the likes of Acomb, Anick, Wall, and much besides. Its delightful ‘hipped’ tower-cum-spire can be seen for miles around, poking through the trees across the Tyne valley from Hexham.

W.W.Tomlinson, in his Comprehensive Guide to the County of Northumberland (1888), gave an account of a curious marriage which took place there in 1765. The bridegroom was one Robert Scott, a famous Northumbrian piper, aged 90, and his bride was youngster Jean Middlemas, who was a mere 25. Robert had been using crutches to get around for a good quarter of a century, but on his wedding day he threw them away and walked from the village of Wall (some 3 miles to the north) to St.John Lee church.

After the service – full of life and with a renewed spring in his step – he walked back again among a group of fellow pipers, no doubt to great acclaim, and the happy couple were afterwards regaled with cakes and ale.



Tuesday, 4 April 2017

The Corbridge Lanx (c.NY982648)



One of the best Roman finds ever made in Britain, the Corbridge Lanx, was discovered on the banks of the Tyne by a nine-year-old girl nearly three centuries ago. Corbridge was a major Roman garrison town, of course, and there is an English Heritage archaeological site and museum there today. The item was, and still is, in remarkably good condition, and, despite the passage of time, still cannot be properly explained…

The extraordinary silver artefact was found in February 1735 by Isabel Cutter, the daughter of a local cobbler, who stumbled upon it whilst playing on the banks of the Tyne near the town. Eager to cash in, her father sold it on to a Newcastle silversmith – but the lord of the manor of Corbridge, the Duke of Somerset, recovered it soon afterwards as treasure trove. It then found its way to the Duke of Northumberland, and eventually, in 1993, into the care of the British Museum, where it remains today.  It measures 50cm by 38cm and comes in at a weighty 4.6kg. ‘Lanx’ is Latin for ‘dish’ or ‘tray’, so what we have here is a Roman serving platter.

Other than that, though, we know little else. For one thing, no one has been able to definitively explain its adornments. It is probably 4th century and is likely to have been imported from the Mediterranean … or Asia Minor … or North Africa. The figures upon it are mythological, showing the god Apollo (naked) at the entrance to a shrine. Artemis (Diana), his sister, is entering from the left, and she is being greeted by Athena (Minerva). The other two figures have not been properly identified, but could be Leto (sitting) and Ephesos. Or even Juno. Or perhaps Vesta.

There used to be (and I assume there still is) a replica of the lanx at Corbridge Roman Town Museum.



Tuesday, 28 March 2017

The Amazing Ned Coulson (NY844643)


Edward ‘Ned’ Coulson was born at Broadstone Cottages, near The Anchor Hotel, Haydon Bridge, in 1754. Ned was an eccentric character – and a supremely talented one at that. He was a superb athlete on the one hand … and as daft as a brush on the other.

Ned was marked out as odd from his earliest years. He didn’t utter a word until he was five and was skitted by his schoolfriends for this ‘backwardness’. He soon caught up, though, and followed his father into joinery and watchmaking; and on reaching maturity he was tall, wiry and very strong.

His most obvious talent was his running, for which he became famous. He competed successfully in races across the North-East, and kept in shape by running around the countryside from job to job pulling a cart behind him. He played the fiddle, too – and could do so behind his back whilst running. Another trick was overtaking horse and carriages, hiding to let them pass, then overtaking them again, to the astonishment of the travellers. On several occasions he ran up to Haydon Bridge old church at the dead of night, mounted the pulpit and read aloud to himself from the Bible.

His athletic ability would take him on extraordinary journeys. Once he was tasked with taking a message on a 50-mile return trip to Stanhope, which he achieved over the course of one winter’s night and the following morning – surprising his taskmaster by presenting him with his return message in an almost impossible timeframe. On another occasion, after walking 65 miles he reached home in time to take a successful part in some athletic sports. But his most famous feat was beating a horse and rider in a race from Brampton to Glenwhelt – a distance of more than ten miles.

Ned was odd in all sorts of ways – far too many to mention here. He would collect strange things, including herbs which he kept in his bedroom, and hoarded bad (damaged) half-crowns. He also had an irrational dislike of pigs.

One source states that Coulson was of Kenyan descent, which would certainly explain his talent for long distance running. He died in 1807 after fording the Tyne when the bridge was out and catching a cold – after which he bizarrely removed himself to Bellingham where he soon died and was buried.

Tuesday, 21 March 2017

The Hermitage, Hexham (NY937651)



To the immediate SW of the Hexham roundabout of the A69, on the north bank of the River Tyne, stands a small mansion by the name of The Hermitage. Its size and the extent of its grounds belie its humble-sounding name, yet its recent placement on the market for sale revealed it as perhaps the biggest time capsule in the North-East.

Whilst thousands of us speed by in our cars on the busy A69, or ignore its presence whilst turning into Hexham town centre for a day’s shopping, The Hermitage has for decades slept on undisturbed in a sleepy time warp. When its last surviving tenant passed away in 2013 and the property reverted into the possession of its owners, investigations revealed an untouched world of inter-war Britain, unspoilt by the modern world.

The estate itself once belonged to the Priory of Hexham – the land being the reputed site of the 7th century hermitage of St. John of Beverley (a building called the ‘Armytage’ is recorded in 1496). The mansion itself – an 18th century creation with later alterations – belonged to John Hunter Esq., High Sheriff of Northumberland. He died in 1821 leaving two daughters, one of which, Elizabeth, married Robert Lancelot Allgood – the couple taking over the property. It has been in the Allgood family ever since, but in 1922 it was rented out to the Morant family, who remained in residence until 2013. Set in 18 acres with a River Tyne frontage, stable block and outbuildings, it has remained in splendid isolation for the past century.

When its original tenant, Brigadier General Hubert Horatio Morant, died, the property was left to his three children, the last of which, Doreen, died in 2013 – and with there being no succeeding generation the property passed back to the Allgoods. Only then, when the auctioneers moved in to sell the house’s contents, was the amazing ‘frozen world’ uncovered.

The little stately home hadn’t been modernised in decades. There were unopened bottles of wine and champagne from the First World War era, cosmetics and medication from the 1920s and magazines from the 1930s. Little had been thrown out in 90+ years of occupation – some seemingly mundane items being carefully wrapped in newspaper and stashed away in the house’s acres of cupboard and loft space. There were photographs, furniture, paintings, WWI diaries, toys, as well as the estate’s records and accounts. It was an inter-war ephemeral extravaganza – and the whole collection (around 1,500 lots) raised an astonishing £300,000 at auction.

As far as I am aware, though, the house itself remains unsold at a little shy of £2million.



Tuesday, 14 March 2017

St.Acca of Hexham (NY936641)


When it comes to early Christianity in the North-East – and Hexham in particular – most casual history enthusiasts look no further than the likes of Cuthbert, Aidan and Bede. The hard-nosed, super-industrious Wilfrid also comes into the frame, too, of course, being the chap who founded Hexham Abbey and a great many other religious houses in the late 7th century AD. But every great man needs his lieutenants, and Wilfrid’s was a man by the name of Acca.

Acca was born in the ancient kingdom of Northumbria around 660, and initially seems to have served in the household of Bosa, the future Bishop of York; but he soon found himself under Wilfrid, probably by the time he was 20. From the late 670s through to Wilfrid’s death in 709, Acca accompanied the great man on his continental travels and served as first his protégé, then his fully-fledged right-hand man during his many high-ranking incumbencies.

In 692 Acca was appointed abbot of St.Andrew’s monastery, part of the Hexham Abbey/Priory set-up. Then in the later years of Wilfrid’s life he acted as the old man’s loyal and closest companion, eventually being named by Wilfrid himself as his successor as Bishop of Hexham in 709.

Acca threw himself into the running of the diocese with gusto, and completed the construction work begun by his mentor. He was a great theologian and rather keen on music, too, once bringing the great cantor, Maban, north for a visit. He was a great friend of Bede, who dedicated many of his works to him – such was his reputation as a cleric and all-round good egg. In short, he brought to completion all of Wilfrid’s Christian plans for both Hexham (including improving and ornamenting the church) and Northumbria (founding many churches, among other things), thus helping cement his predecessor’s legacy.

Acca presided as bishop for 23 years until, in 732, during a period of dynastic upheaval, he was forced to leave. It is not known for sure why he was obliged to flee, but it may have been due to his familial links with the exiting ruling family. Sources vary as to his destination – some say Whithorn or St.Andrew’s in Scotland, others say Ireland – but he eventually returned to Hexham when circumstances permitted, where he was warmly and reverently received. He died in the town at some point during 737-42, was interred near the abbey’s east wall and, in time, was raised to the sainthood. A remnant of one of the two crosses which marked his grave can be found inside the abbey today.



Tuesday, 7 March 2017

The Frith Stool, Hexham Abbey (NY936641)


© Copyright Mike Quinn and licensed for reuse
 under this Creative Commons Licence.

When we think in terms of historical relics, especially religious ones, we often look towards the big, the beautiful, the imposing or the imperial. Seldom do we thing of a slightly lop-sided lump of misshapen rock as anything more than quarry fodder. But not so Hexham’s enigmatic Frith Stool.

Unimpressive it may be, but the tiny throne that sits in the middle of the Choir of the town’s mighty abbey has captured the imaginations of visitors for generations. It is made of sandstone and is also known as St.Wilfrid’s Throne (after the 7th century founder of the abbey) and the ‘Chair of Peace’ (frith meaning ‘peace’, as in being a place of sanctuary). So, yes, this was the spot where, during the Middle Ages, wrongdoers made for as their little area of sanctuary when in flight from authority.

It is generally thought that originally the Frith Stool was made and used by Bishop Wilfrid himself, based, as it was, on similar items of furniture he had seen in cathedrals on his continental tours. It was, quite literally, a throne from which he and succeeding bishops would preside during religious ceremonies. Remember, Hexham Abbey was a cathedral from 678 to around 821, which would have made the Frith Stool an official cathedra and an item of supreme importance.

It’s likely the stool originally stood on legs and was set against a wall; but since its construction the original building in which it was housed has long since gone. The present-day Hexham Abbey is a Norman creation, but it is interesting that the stool has survived many centuries of upheaval – it was clearly a treasured relic.

In more recent centuries, though, the stool has been moved here and there around the abbey with a little less respect. It was during one of these moves that someone seems to have dropped it and it broke into several pieces. It was rather clumsily patched up, until, eventually, it rose once again to reverential status and was placed in its current location in 1910.


Tuesday, 28 February 2017

The Hexham Heads (NY940637)


Image from Archaeologia Aeliana 5th Series, Vol. 1, 1973

In the garden of 3 Rede Avenue, Hexham, in 1971, two small stone heads were dug up by brothers Colin and Leslie Robson. The boys and their two 6cm high artefacts were to cause quite a stir in the months and years ahead, and the whole kerfuffle has still not been adequately explained to this day.

The assumption was that the items were ancient and, after a series of mysterious happenings in the boys’ family home, quite possibly evil. The Robsons said that the heads would change position when left alone in a room, as well as experiencing other poltergeist-like activity. Even their neighbours, the Dodds, began seeing strange apparitions such as a half-man, half-sheep creature.

The items were given to Hexham Priory, then Newcastle’s Museum of Antiquities, and eventually found their way to Celtic expert Dr Anne Ross, who herself reported strange goings-on. She said she saw a half-man, half-animal figure stalking around her Southampton home (among other incidents), whilst her daughter allegedly saw a werewolf-like creature on the stairs. Anyway, she soon got rid of the heads and the paranormal activity ceased.

A few years later, though, a Hexham man by the name of Des Craigie claimed he had fashioned the heads in his lunchbreak for the amusement of his daughter back in the mid-1950s. The Craigies had been previous occupants of the Robson’s house and the chap in question went to the trouble of making another replica head to prove his point.

In the meantime, the original heads were examined by various experts who didn’t quite know what to make of them – though the assumption was, originally at least, that they were ancient.

The mysterious heads were passed from pillar to post during the late 1970s, until, in around 1978, they were lost. And that was the end of that.



Tuesday, 21 February 2017

Bob Stokoe of Mickley (c.NZ075621)



Mickley, Northumberland, is not a very large village. It is known, historically, as the birthplace of the famous engraver, Thomas Bewick (at nearby Cherryburn Farm); but should, perhaps, be even better known for spawning one of the most celebrated football figures the region has ever produced: Bob Stokoe.

The man is a Sunderland legend, of course, having managed the Wearsiders to that most unexpected FA Cup Final victory over the then mighty Leeds United in 1973. But he is closely linked with Newcastle United, too, having won the cup with the black ‘n’ whites as a player in 1955. In between these two momentous occasions he managed a string of lower league clubs with a varying degree of success.

Robert Stokoe was born at Mickley on 21st September 1930 into a typical North-East mining community – in fact he was the son of a miner. He joined Newcastle United in 1947 as an apprentice, scored on his debut in 1950, and went on to play 288 matches for the club – mainly at centre-half, and punctuated by that 3-1 Cup Final win over Man City in 1955. He left for Bury in 1960, joining initially as player-manager, then concentrating on management.

He remained at Bury for five years – famously refusing a bribe, he claimed, from Leeds manager Don Revie to ‘throw’ a match. He then managed Charlton, Rochdale, Carlisle and Blackpool, before quietly taking charge at Sunderland in 1972. Then a second tier club, they shocked the football world by beating the imperious Leeds United 1-0 in the ’73 Cup Final – and a stunned nation watched Stokoe dash across the Wembley turf on the final whistle adorned in raincoat and trilby to embrace match hero, ‘keeper Jim Montgomery.

After he left Sunderland in 1976, he moved in and out of various posts over the following decade – and, astonishingly, was never sacked at any of the twelve clubs he managed. He retired in 1987 – ironically overseeing Sunderland’s only ever relegation to the third tier of English football.

He died in Hartlepool in 2004, aged 73.


Tuesday, 14 February 2017

Stories of Bywell (NZ047614 & thereabouts)


Situated in a loop on the north bank of the River Tyne, the settlement of Bywell is an odd little place. Now strangely vacant, yet still possessing two parish churches (don’t ask, look it up), it remains one of the North-East’s most pleasant spots. It has some peculiar tales to tell of its sporadic existence, of which we shall examine two…

The first explains to a certain extent why there is nothing much to see on the ground these days – for it was not always thus. During most of its history Bywell was a busy place, famed for its skilled metalworkers who produced horse equipment and fittings. However, come 1852 and the then owner of Bywell Hall, Wentworth Blackett Beaumont, decided to clear the village in order to improve the view from his mansion. And though the two churches survived, the respective vicarages were very much in the firing line. One of them (that of St.Andrew’s) went the way of the rest of the village, though St.Peter’s vicarage survived – but only just…

The incumbent, Rev Dwarris, who was a very influential man, simply refused to accept the sale of his home to Messr Blackett Beaumont and, well, just stayed put. The lord of the manor, keen to press on with his landscaping project regardless, was forced to build a large wall to both block out his view of the vicarage and to prevent the reverend poking his nose in. The ‘spite wall’ can still be seen today.

Another major event in the village’s history was, of course, the Great Flood of November 1771. With Bywell still very much a working concern at the time, the watery influx had a calamitous effect on the lives of a great many people. Somewhat alarmingly, in the mayhem caused by the flood-waters ‘dead bodies and coffins were torn out of churchyards and the living and the dead promiscuously clashed in the torrent’ – and poor Bywell suffered more than most. The water rose eight feet up the walls of the recently built hall, and St.Peter’s Church was greatly damaged (and the parish records destroyed). At least ten houses were swept away, six folk drowned and farmers lost their cattle, corn and hay.

Amidst the chaos, the lord’s valuable stud horses were safely got into St.Peter’s Church, before the building was itself overcome. In what must have been a bizarre scene, the poor beasts only managed to save themselves by hanging onto the tops of the pews with their teeth. It is said that the father-in-law of the great Thomas Bewick was present in the village at the time – and his horse ended up atop the altar table of the same church.

Though much was lost or damaged during the 1771 disaster it is interesting to note that the then vicar of Bywell St.Peter’s, Rev Robert Simon, made a claim on the hardship fund for “lost communion wine and brandy” that had been stored in the cellars of his vicarage …



Tuesday, 7 February 2017

Riding Mill Witch-Hunt (NZ019614)


One of Riding Mill’s most prominent landmarks these days is The Wellington Hotel public house, sitting, as it does, on the north side of the main thoroughfare of the village. It is a popular stopping off point for travellers, but few will be aware of the establishment’s grisly past.

The building began life as a private residence in the mid 17th century, and was known originally as Riding House. Not long after its construction, though, it became embroiled in an extraordinary tale of alleged witchcraft and an unfortunate suicide.

The story goes that in 1672 a young servant girl called Anne Armstrong had several of those episodes all too common at the time and began randomly accusing various individuals of dabbling in witchcraft. Anne lived at Birches Nook, Stocksfield, and after a minor argument with an old woman over some eggs she descended into a series of hysterical trances. Among her many rantings she accused three local women – Ann Forster of Stocksfield, Anne Dryden of Prudhoe and Lucy Thompson of Mickley – of dancing with the Devil and other shenanigans (including shape-shifting into various beasts) at Riding House.

The case rumbled on until it was finally heard at Morpeth Quarter Sessions in 1673, whereupon the magistrates considered young Anne’s account far too fanciful and dismissed it. The three defendants were therefore acquitted, and the matter was considered to be at an end.

However, Anne Armstrong, the deluded accuser, was to have the last, horrid word. For, shortly after the case was concluded, she was found hanged in the Riding House scullery. And (of course) her ghost is said to haunt the pub to this day…

Note: The case of the Riding Mill witch-hunt is considered to be unique in English witch trials, the various witchly goings-on having a distinctly ‘continental’ feel to them. Quite how a young North-East servant girl came to recount such stories has, however, never been properly explained.


Tuesday, 31 January 2017

Quaker Activity at Wheelbirks (NZ052586 & thereabouts)


When a Quaker eccentric named David Richardson purchased the farmhouse known as Wheelbirks a couple of miles SW of Stocksfield in the 1880s, he set about stamping his mark on the landscape around his new home with some verve. He died in 1913, and managed to leave several points of interest for us to enjoy today.

The proud new owner of a small estate, he first of all carried out significant improvements to his new pad – and followed that up by building six new estate cottages. Then came the slightly strange stuff…

Richardson’s newly-purchased domain sat astride Dere Street, the ancient Roman thoroughfare which angled through the North-East from York in the south to Corbridge (and beyond) in the north. The stretch which crossed the Wheelbirks estate dipped rather clumsily over the valley cut by the Stocksfield Burn, so Richardson decided to oversee the construction of a new bridge there in 1890 – and marked it thus:

© Copyright Clive Nicholson and licensed for reuse 

And on the other side of the bridge can be found…

© Copyright Clive Nicholson and licensed for reuse 

The latter, I think, is a metaphor for life, in typically Quaker-ish style you may say. But Richardson left loads of these little inscriptions all over the place – in his estate cottages, on roadside walls and on seats in the woods. I have no idea how many more, if any, of these can still be found today, but a decent list of those which once existed can be found here (and scroll down a bit).

Strangest of all, though, was the sanatorium he built – a most curious affair (see here). It was intended for use by TB sufferers from his Elswick leatherworks factory on Tyneside, but remained unfinished on his death and was probably never put to use. Well, other than as a farm storage depot, that is…



Tuesday, 24 January 2017

Who or What was Stobb? (NY861541 & NY869588)


High on the moors to the east of Allendale Town can be found not one, but two little landmarks by the name of Stobs or Stobb Cross. The most northerly of the two seems to be the oldest of the pair, represented, as it is, on OS maps in ‘Old English’ style text, and the other appears to be a more modern creation. So who, or what, exactly was the mysterious ‘Stobb’?

Stobs Cross at NY869588… (though I think it’s collapsed a bit more lately)
© Copyright Mike Quinn and licensed for reuse under this Creative Commons Licence.

… and Stobb Cross 3 miles to the south.
© Copyright Oliver Dixon and licensed for reuse under this Creative Commons Licence.

One would at first assume it was the name of a historical person, but it seems not. For one thing, there is no apostrophe in “Stobs” and, well, if you think about it, the name ‘Stob(s)/Stobb(s)’ does seem to pop up quite a lot in placenames – mainly out-of-the-way, lofty spots, to be precise. ‘Stob’ is, in fact, a Middle English word meaning ‘stub’, ‘post’ or ‘stump’. This could mean that as an originally substantial stone cross or column deteriorated over time it came to resemble a stump, and was labelled thus by the locals – hence ‘Stobb’ Cross. Just to confuse matters, though, in Gaelic, ‘Stob’ means a small peak – so there’s another possibility for you.

The northerly effort (top picture) – being, we think, the oldest – is no more than a medieval waymarker for wandering folk, possibly starting life as a boundary stone. The fact that it seems to have traces of two cup-and-ring marks in the stubby shaft probably means that it was harvested from some other prehistoric monument. As for the other more substantial structure, there is no evidence that it was once a prehistoric burial cairn, as has been suggested, and is probably just another wayside marker. For the record, both are shown on the 1865 Ordnance Survey map, with exactly the same spellings.

Tuesday, 17 January 2017

Muggleswick Grange (NZ044500)


© Copyright Oliver Dixon and licensed for reuse 

A surprisingly substantial ruin lies in the grounds of the present-day Priory Farm on the northern edge of the hamlet of Muggleswick, Co.Durham, very near to the Northumberland border. It is in one very real sense a bit of a rarity, yet in another quite frustrating way an almost complete mystery.

It has come to be known as Muggleswick Grange, though that in itself is a bit of a guess – and, hey, we have to call it something. But the fact is that this feature in the landscape has been called many things over the years: a monastery, a grange, a hunting lodge and the curiously named ‘prior’s camera’. Now, I suppose, it is a farmyard folly.

Unlike its modest status today, Muggleswick was clearly once a very important place indeed. Its place-name suggests an ancient founding, certainly; and it is mentioned in the 1183 Boldon Book. It had been owned by the Bishop of Durham, but by 1183 was the property of the Prior of Durham – though the Bishop still retained local hunting rights, as well as much of the surrounding countryside.

Brother William of the priory built a ‘large house’ (possibly of timber) sometime before 1229; then Prior Hugh de Derlington erected what was described as a ‘camera’ (a large vaulted stone building) either next to or on the site of William’s house in the1250s/60s. It is the remains of this construction that we see today. The prior’s influence seems to have grown over the years, and the burgeoning estate would have been managed from this building – essentially amounting to a sprawling animal ranch to support the Prior of Durham, as well as providing a hunting ground, of course, for various high-ranking officials.

A 1464 document lists a hall, chapel, grange and dairy at Muggleswick, though they seem to have been in a state of decay. And so the decline, we assume, continued until the Dissolution, and thereafter through the reuse of much of the masonry for nearby stone buildings. There is little in the way of documentary evidence to enable us to accurately chart its long and gradual decline into what we see today – but it remains a very rare example of its kind: a substantial ruin of a monastic grange from the medieval period. It is Grade I Listed.


Tuesday, 10 January 2017

Edmundbyers’ Troughs (NZ016501)


© Copyright Mike Quinn and licensed for 

On the edge of Edmundbyers’ village green at the very heart of the old settlement can be found a curious fragment of our past: a neat little set of water troughs and milk-stands.

They sit, protected by a stone wall, facing the main thoroughfare, and hark back to the simpler times of our distant, pre-motorised past. The troughs – possibly fed by pipe –were, I suppose, the ‘petrol stations’ of their day for passing horse traffic; and the milk-stands enabled the local dairy farmers to place their churns out for collection.



Tuesday, 3 January 2017

Lord Crewe Arms, Blanchland (NY966503)


The Lord Crewe Arms, taken by the
 author in 1991. Other than the cars, 
not a great deal has changed.

One of the North-East’s most picturesque villages, Blanchland sits quietly in a fold in the moorland landscape near the head of the Derwent Reservoir. It is situated on the Northumberland side of the nearby border with County Durham and gets its name from the order of ‘White Canons’ – the Premonstratensians – who settled there in the twelfth century.

The religious order obviously had its abbey, and, though there isn’t a great deal of this left today, a sizeable chunk of the complex forms the present-day Lord Crewe Arms, one of the most famous inns in the region. Essentially, the former abbot’s guest house is understood to have occupied the building utilised by the paying public today; and the pub’s garden was once the abbey’s cloisters.

The abbey was dissolved in 1539, and the old buildings found themselves in the hands of, firstly, the Radcliffe and then the Forster families – it essentially becoming a manor house, used regularly to host upper class hunting parties. When the Forsters fell from grace thanks to their Jacobite tendencies, Lord Crewe, Bishop of Durham, took over the reins. And this is, of course, where the establishment’s name comes from. And though he died within a few years of his takeover (1721), he left the estate to the Lord Crewe Trustees – in essence, leaving it to charity.

Then came the leadminers, and the general growth and prosperity of the village. The old manor house then became a pub, pretty much out of necessity, and, in time, the site developed into the impressive inn we see today.

And though it doesn’t openly boast about it, the Lord Crewe Arms has quite an interesting history – much of it surprisingly recent. Quite apart from being able to hark back to the days of the White Canons and their abbey, ex-owners the Forsters brought infamy upon the place when ‘General’ Tom Forster hid in the establishment’s giant fireplace during the Jacobite rising of 1715. The Blanchland days of this infamous family are also recalled in Walter Besant’s historical novel, Dorothy Forster.

Then there is the rather well-known W. H. Auden, who stayed at the Lord Crewe Arms at Easter 1930, remarking that “no place held sweeter memories.” Auden and Christopher Isherwood’s play The Dog Beneath the Skin (1935) may have been partially set in the village, too.

Poet Philip Larkin is also known to have dined at the Lord Crewe Arms; and in 1969 Benjamin Britten and tenor Peter Pears stayed at the inn.

Needless to say, that due to its timeless beauty, TV and film cameras have made regular use of Blanchland’s byways – from Catherine Cookson dramas to recent children’s fantasy effort Wolfblood – so you may well have seen the old pub pop up on the small or silver screen from time to time.

And to add to all of this, the inn is, of course, haunted – by not one but three ghosts (at the last count, that is). See here for a full account of the spooky goings-on at this fantastic old place.