Raby’s Greek Slave (NZ129218)

Image from www.rabycastle.com
Thanks to rightclickstudios.com

If you’re not a very arty person you may not have heard of a marble statue by the name of The Greek Slave. In fact, it is one of the most important sculptures of the nineteenth century – it being especially highly rated in the USA, as it is the work of their very own Hiram Powers. And I am pleased to report that it sits here in the North-East, amidst the artistic treasures of Raby Castle.

It was created by Mr Powers in 1844, was exhibited at the Great Exhibition of 1851 in London and then bought by the 2^nd Duke of Cleveland of Raby Castle in 1859 for £1,800. At nearly 40 stone in weight, it can’t have been an easy delivery to make, via train and truck from the capital to its new home in Co.Durham.

In case you’re wondering, the statue represents a life-size Greek Slave girl standing, chained and fully naked, at a Turkish slave market. During Victorian times, as you can imagine, it was a very controversial piece – so much so, in fact, that at many exhibitions men and women were obliged to view it separately. The young lady’s innocence is illustrated by the presence of a small Christian cross hanging near her right hand.

That at Raby Castle is one of  six marble copies that were created – with ours being the first (primary) copy, created from first a clay, then a plaster, ‘original’. Powers worked out of Florence, and the primary marble copy was purchased by an Englishman in 1845. It appeared in several exhibitions – including the famous Great Exhibition – before its move north.

In Power’s own words:

The Slave has been taken from one of the Greek Islands by the Turks, in the time of the Greek revolution, the history of which is familiar to all. Her father and mother, and perhaps all her kindred, have been destroyed by her foes, and she alone preserved as a treasure too valuable to be thrown away. She is now among barbarian strangers, under the pressure of a full recollection of the calamitous events which have brought her to her present state; and she stands exposed to the gaze of the people she abhors, and awaits her fate with intense anxiety, tempered indeed by the support of her reliance upon the goodness of God. Gather all these afflictions together, and add to them the fortitude and resignation of a Christian, and no room will be left for shame.

All the other full-size versions are to be found in the USA, though a smaller-scale affair is held by the V&A, London.

Thomas Wright & Westerton Tower (NZ223341 & NZ240310)

© Copyright Hugh Mortimer and licensed for reuse 

under this Creative Commons Licence.

Thomas Wright was born in the little village of Byers Green, near Spennymoor, in 1711. He disappeared for the duration of his working, adult life, before returning to the area in his retirement, where he set about building the still-existing Westerton Tower. He died before it was completed, meaning that his planned observatory became little more than a folly adorning the Durham landscape.

Wright had his fingers in a lot of pies. He was schooled in Bishop Auckland, before being apprenticed to a clockmaker in the town. In his working life he began as a teacher of mathematics and navigation at his own school in Sunderland in the 1730s, before moving to London to work for several wealthy patrons. He dabbled in garden design, was a bit of an architect and designed scientific instruments – famously building a huge working model of the solar system (an orrery) for one of his clients. Indeed, Wright is best remembered as an astronomer.

Despite what you may have read elsewhere, it was Thomas Wright who first speculated that the Milky Way was most likely a flat disc of stars, and that the blurry blobs of light we see in the night sky (nebulae) are actually distant galaxies. These ideas are often attributed to the brilliant German philosopher, Immanuel Kant, but they first appeared in Wright’s An Original Theory or New Hypothesis of the Universe in 1750. He also helpfully (and correctly) postulated Earth and humankind’s relative insignificance in the ‘grand scheme of things’, and was the first man to coin the phrase ‘galaxy’ to describe a large group of stars.

Retirement sent him back to his homeland in Co.Durham, where he set about work on his pretty little observatory (though construction may have begun earlier in his lifetime). His death in 1786 preceded the tower’s completion, so his planned observatory rather unfairly became a mere folly. It has been used, periodically, as a reading room and more recently as council offices. A commemorative plaque was placed there by Durham University in 1950 to celebrate the 200^th anniversary of the publication of his famous treatise.

Thomas Tredgold, Civil Engineer (NZ233401)

Born in Brandon, Co.Durham, in 1788, Thomas Tredgold was to become an unlikely hero of American history. Though he spent his early years as an apprentice cabinet-maker, by his death in 1829 he had established himself as a leading thinker and exponent in the field of civil engineering; and, thanks to his writings, his ideas and principles influenced many like-minded individuals for decades after his demise. Most notably, his theories held great sway in the early days of railroad construction across North America – which in itself is quite a legacy.

His road to the top was somewhat circuitous. He went from his apprenticeship days to journeyman carpenter in Scotland. Eventually, he found himself working in London for his uncle, William Atkinson the architect, during which time he studied architecture (of course), mathematics and engineering – much of it in his spare time. But from around 1820 he began writing in earnest – and on the topics he knew and loved so well: the principles of carpentry, the properties of materials and, essentially, the science of building.

From 1823, Tredgold became a full-time writer; and during 1825-27 came three important works on the mechanics of that brand new mode of transport: the railways. His final book, The Steam Engine published two years before his death in 1827, was perhaps his most famous, and was reprinted several times in the ensuing decades. Both this and his Practical Treatise on Railroads & Carriages (1825), were pounced upon by American railroad developers of the era as North American pioneers swept into the open spaces of the New World. Many of his recommendations were adopted on an industrial scale, propelling the Brandon boy to an unlikely form of celebrity.

Tredgold’s definition of civil engineering contained the memorable phrase “[civil engineering is] the art of directing the great sources of power in Nature for the use and convenience of man…”. Needless to say, he was an early member of the Institution of Civil Engineers, and was its president for a time.

  

Tragically, he died in London in 1829 aged only 40. It was said that his early demise was due to his general ill health following his years of dedicated study, during which he denied himself proper rest and sleep.

Inkerman, Tow Law (NZ113398)

Prior to the 1840s there was next-to-nothing at the spot now known as Tow Law. Then, in 1844-45, an enterprising chap by the name of Charles Attwood decided to take advantage of the local reserves of iron ore and coal to set up an ironworks. And, though the ironworks only lasted 30-odd years, the related industrial activity continued unabated – well, until recent times, of course.

One of the village’s strangest claims to fame is the fact that the cannonballs used in the Crimean War of 1853-56 were made from Tow Law Iron (as well as, in fact, girders for the London Underground). This direct link between the conflict of the time and the village was reinforced when, in 1862, a new pit was sunk to the north of Tow Law and named ‘Inkerman Colliery’ – the Battle of Inkerman being one of the key clashes of the war and still very fresh in everyone’s minds. The OS map of 1861 shows that there was also an existing ‘Inkerman Inn’ at the site – having probably been renamed immediately after the 1854 battle. So, strictly speaking, the pit was named after the pub!

So, again, where once there had been pretty much nothing, a little community sprung up – with a rather odd-sounding name. At its height, more than 300 men were employed at the new colliery, so there would have been quite a throng at Inkerman at its peak. The railway fed into the location, and there were great banks of coke ovens to the north and east of the site. At one point, Tow Law’s Salvation Army was based there, albeit briefly.

In time, though, the demise of, firstly, the main iron works, then eventually coalmining in and around Tow Law took its toll. The fall from grace was spread across several decades: from the early exit of the former to the closure of the last deep mine – that of Inkerman, in fact – in 1969.

Whilst Tow Law remains very much on the map, there is nothing of note to be found at the settlement once known as Inkerman – though some of the old coke ovens were repaired for display recently.

World’s First Salvation Army Brass Band (NZ109509)

The Salvation Army began life in the 1860s as the ‘East London Christian Mission’ under the guidance of William and Catherine Booth. In 1878, the organisation was restructured and renamed – becoming ‘The Salvation Army’ proper. The set-up went nationwide and eventually, of course, worldwide.

Part of the Sally Ann’s thrust from day one was music – both singing and band-playing. In the very early days, when the organisation’s open air meetings would often attract hostility, the tactic of musical diversion was a common trick. Early Salvationists, the Fry family, were the first to pick up their instruments to this effect in Salisbury.

However, after the 1878 restructure, individual Salvation Army corps groups were officially established across the UK. One of the first was that at Consett – originally called the ‘Consett Station’ – which was founded in 1878 in Puddlers Row. A year or so later, in December 1879, the local converts formed their own little brass band – officially the first Salvation Army Corps Band in the world. The bandmaster was one Ned Lennox, and he was joined by George Storey, James Simpson and Robert Greenwood – all of them workers at the nearby iron works. Their first gigs were playing on the streets of the town during Christmas 1879.

The happy little quartet were soon in demand, playing at many meetings in the area – and even William Booth himself employed their services on several of his northern campaigns. More corps bands followed elsewhere across the country, but that of Consett’s was undoubtedly the first – research into the organisation’s history during a 1906 inquiry established this as fact (the early Salisbury Fry family, being attached to the Salvation Army’s HQ, were not considered a ‘corps’ band).

And Consett’s Salvation Army Brass Band is still going strong today, the very first example of its kind – and a part of which is now a huge worldwide phenomenon.

The Wallington Dragons (NZ030842)

Sitting by the roadside in the grounds of the stately home from which they take their name lie one of the region’s most unusual little landmarks: the Wallington Dragons. In a site filled with interest, both inside the hall and without, the dismembered heads are perhaps the biggest oddity of them all.

They sit by the B6342 at the end of a long lawn which rides up to the east face of the hall, but are invariably missed by those unaware of their presence; which is a shame, as they are a delightful ‘find’ for youngsters, whilst leaving us adults flummoxed. 

Though they seem utterly out-of-place, their presence is actually very easily explained. Among Wallington Hall’s many esteemed owners was the Blackett family (late 17^th – late 18^th centuries), during which time Sir Walter Blackett (there were a few of these, but this was the one who lived 1707-77) substantially restructured the hall. The Blacketts were big players in the coal trade and it is said that the stone heads were brought north from London in 1760 as ballast in one of Sir Walter’s coal ships. Sources vary slightly as to their exact place of origin, with Bishopsgate or nearby Aldersgate being the likeliest spots, and they probably date to the 16^th century.

Quite what the dragon heads’ original purpose was down in London we can only guess. They look suspiciously like gargoyles, of course, but who knows? However, as dragons adorn the City of London’s coat of arms it is, perhaps, no surprise that oddments of this type were to be found lying around the streets when ballast was being sought out in days of old.

Anyway, after their journey north to Wallington a use was eventually found for them. More than a century after their arrival, the slightly oriental-looking affairs were dug out of storage and placed in their present location in 1928, and are now Grade II* Listed.

Flodden: What Happened to James IV? (NT890371)

Most history fans will know all about the Battle of Flodden of 1513. Big English victory, crushing Scottish defeat … and the Scots lost their king on the battlefield, too, of course. However, in the blood, mayhem and general confusion that followed, no one seems to quite know for sure what became of James IV’s body. If he died at all, that is.

Accounts of almost all aspects of the story vary – sometimes wildly. What is known for sure is that his army lost heavily and his reign very much ended on that fateful autumn day a little over 500 years ago. He was almost certainly slain in the field, possibly after having stripped himself of his royal regalia to prove he could and would fight as fiercely as any ordinary soldier. He was known to be fearless in the fray and such a demise would not have been out of character.

In the mess that was left after the battle it could not have been easy identifying the ex-monarch, especially if he’d removed his royal garb. Lord Dacre was supposed to have found the corpse, probably on the small hill on Branxton Ridge overlooking Branxton Church. Dacre then had the body taken to Berwick, where it was identified by two Scottish courtiers, before it was embalmed and taken, firstly, to Newcastle, then York, and afterwards onto London (Sheen Priory in Surrey). In the meantime, what was left of the late king’s royal gear found its way to Durham Cathedral.

There was a suggestion that the body be forwarded to English King Henry VIII, but this seemingly never happened. Then rumours of James’ survival began circulating. In Lucan-esque fashion, he was spotted abroad on several occasions, having slipped away at the height of the battle and thence into exile in far off lands; and there were counter-rumours that he had escaped the battlefield and was caught and killed during the Scottish retreat. Some claimed that the recovered corpse was actually that of a ‘Lord Bonhard’.

The ‘official’ body lay at Sheen Priory, London, for a good while. Henry VIII wanted to show some respect and have it interred at St.Paul’s, but as James had been excommunicated this proved difficult and it seems to have just kicked around the priory for years. After the Reformation it seems to have gone missing, though another story has it that the head was secreted away and hurriedly buried in the charnel pit of St.Michael’s Wood Street in the centre of London. This church has long since disappeared, and the site is now occupied by a pub (ironically called The Red Herring). Sheen Priory, on the other hand, is now a golf course.

But check out these, too:-

• Two Scottish castles claim (without any evidence) to be the true burial site of James;
• In the 18^th century, the owners of Hume Castle in Berwickshire found a skeleton with an identifying chain belt down its well – which then either went missing or was whisked off for burial at Holyrood Abbey;
• … Roxburgh Castle has made a similar claim;
• And then there was the story of the ‘royal body’ pulled out of the ground somewhere near Kelso;
• Oh, and there is also a tall tale involving spectral riders snatching the body from the battlefield to prevent the English getting their hands on it.

Deary me.

At last, though, a fact: if King James IV of Scotland was slain in the mud and blood of Flodden Field, which is very likely, then he achieved the notable feat of being the last Scottish – or, indeed, British – monarch to be killed in battle. But can we have such a fact without a body?

William Shield Memorial, Whickham (NZ210613)

In memory of

WILLIAM SHIELD

Musician and composer

Born at Swalwell,

March 5^th 1748.

Died in London,

January 25^th 1829.

Buried in Westminster Abbey.

Erected

by public subscription

1891.

The above memorial – a stone cross atop an engraved base – sits at the west end of Whickham churchyard. William Shield, the son of a local boat-builder, began his musical career by fiddling on his fiddle whilst apprenticed at his father’s trade. Losing his parents whilst still a child, he went on to study music with Charles Avison in Newcastle. Throughout his youth he appeared at local gigs until his reputation gained for him the chance to opt for a full-time musical career.

He was a violinist, violist and, most famously, a composer – rising to lead the Spa Orchestra at Scarborough. One of his most notable early efforts as a music writer was to pen a piece for the consecration of St.John’s Church, Sunderland, in 1769 at the specific request of the Bishop of Durham.

For 18 years Shield was first viola at the Italian Opera in London, and also found time to play with, and be composer to, Covent Garden Theatre (now the Royal Opera House). He became acquainted with Joseph Haydn during the great man’s London visit of 1791, which further inspired him to write many operas and other stage works. In 1817 he became Master of the King’s Musick.

Like many of his type of the time, Shield plundered local folk music for his own purposes – in his case, that of Northumberland and Durham. Many of his pieces were light and popularist in nature – more or less forerunners of what we now know as ‘musicals’. He has been strongly linked with the New Year ditty, Auld Lang Syne (the tune’s composer, that is, set to Robert Burns’ words), but no conclusive evidence has been unearthed to back this theory (it appears briefly near the end of his opera Rosina). It is far more likely that the roots of the famous old tune lie buried in English/Scottish/Border folklore – a rich pool of material into which Shield (and indeed Burns) regularly dipped their talented toes.

He died in London on 25^th January 1829 (coincidentally, Burns Night) and was interred in Westminster Abbey at the specific request of King George IV.

Sir Anthony Carlisle (NZ364227)

Old Stillington – the original village, not the nineteenth century creation which jumps out at you from the map of today – lies a mile to the south-west of the modern affair on a quiet back road. Its simple layout has scarcely changed since the time of Anthony Carlisle’s birth there way back in 1768 – a young lad who would move onto the world stage during the course of his lifetime, yet is barely remembered today.

The son of Thomas Carlisle by his first wife (identity unknown), Anthony was apprenticed to medical practitioners in York and Durham, before completing his studies in London and being appointed Surgeon at Westminster Hospital in 1793. He remained there until his death in 1840.

But in the days when men of science dabbled in several disciplines, Carlisle’s mind often wandered. During one such ‘distraction’ he made the not insignificant discovery of the process of electrolysis with chemist William Nicholson in 1800 – this being the process of driving chemical reactions by passing electricity through a liquid substance*. In this case, it was the passing of a current through water, thus decomposing it into its basic elements of oxygen and hydrogen. Just as importantly (for him, at least) he got himself married in 1800, too, to one Martha Symmons.

Though he never followed through with his newly-created science, many others did to stunning effect. Carlisle’s contribution was acknowledged, though, when he was elected a Fellow of the Royal Society in 1804 (and served as Professor of Anatomy of the Society during 1808-1824).

From 1815 he began a long association with the (Royal) College of Surgeons, serving as president in 1828 and 1839. He lectured widely and prominently**, and was appointed Surgeon Extraordinary to King George IV(1820–1830) – and must therefore have known, quite intimately, the sufferings of the monarch’s father, ‘Mad’ King George III, prior to the man’s death in 1820.

Carlisle was knighted in 1821, and died, after a long and successful career, in London in 1840. He is buried in Kensal Green Cemetery.

* & ** Because of his association with electrochemistry, Carlisle has been labelled ‘The Real Mr Frankenstein’ (see here, and see also here – and scroll down), and his lectures were often especially graphic – and very popular! He may even be the author behind the 1797 gothic horror classic The Horrors of Oakendale Abbey, which tells of resurrected men and body-snatchers.

Sir William Turner (NZ593216)

Everyone who has the slightest interest in the history of Cleveland is well aware of the Sir William Turner Almshouses, Kirkleatham. But who exactly was this most generous of men?

William was born in Guisborough, a little to the south of Kirkleatham, in 1615, to an already well-to-do family.  In the early 1620s, his father bought the Kirkleatham estate and began developing the site as the family home. But William was more than capable of making pots of money of his own, proving this following his move to London as a young man where he excelled in the fabrics wholesaling business.

After a long and successful career, during which time he amassed a huge fortune, he was knighted by King Charles II in recognition of his public works – and even found himself serving as Lord Mayor of London in the late 1660s, shortly after the infamous fire, during which time he worked closely with the likes of Christopher Wren in the rebuilding of the capital.

In the mid-1670s, Sir William, perhaps mindful that he had never married nor had children, surrendered most of his wealth to build the now famous almshouses in Kirkleatham – an institution founded in 1676 as the Sir William Turner Hospital. He determined that the hospital be established for the care of 40 people: ten old men, ten old women, ten boys and ten girls.

After his death in 1692 aged 77, control of the almshouses passed first to his nephew, then his great-nephew, Cholmley Turner. The great man’s will also made provision for the founding of a Free School in the village – a task completed by Cholmley in 1709, and which survives today as Kirkleatham Old Hall Museum.

Interested in Family History? Try this lot...