Uses for Chopwell Wood (NZ136580)

It may now be the area’s prime source of Christmas trees, but the famous Chopwell Wood overlooking the Derwent Valley has had a good few more uses over the years – and, dare I say it, rather more important ones, too. The little patch of green in question has been there for a very long time indeed, once forming part of the original Wild-Wood which blanketed most of Britain in ancient times. It has, however, not changed a great deal size-wise since the days of the Romans.

Most notably, timber taken from Chopwell Wood has been used to build several important ships over the centuries. The first recorded use of this type was in 1294 when wood was gathered for a galley ship being built at Newcastle for King Edward I’s navy. And then, in 1635, King Charles I tapped the wood for timber for the construction of his fanciful Sovereign of the Seas – his new flagship, which included more than 2,000 oak trees from Chopwell (as well as other woods, too). The tax levied by the monarch to build this showcase ship was one of the major causes of the English Civil War.

Castle builders have also made use of Chopwell Wood’s resources. In 1538, timber for Dunstanburgh Castle’s new roof and floor were sourced there – and soon afterwards Bamburgh’s roofers put out a similar call. In 1593, the constructors of Berwick’s new pier put in an order for 40 tons; and more than twice that was later sent to Norham Castle for general repairs. Berwick was back again in 1620 with a request for 250 tons of timber for bridge work. It is also known that Newcastle’s old Tyne Bridge, in need of urgent post-Civil War repairs, was patched up with Chopwell timber in 1647.

The Napoleonic Wars brought demand for timber to something of a crisis point, too – with Chopwell Wood being reduced to a few hundred specimens come 1820. After that, more careful management of the wood secured its future. In the 20^th century it was used for the training of foresters; and pine grown there was used for pit props down the mines. World War II saw demand for timber rise again, and the wood was heavily utilised. The Forestry Commission’s North-East base was stationed there from 1923 to 1947, and a District office replaced it in 1955. Since then it has been used increasingly for recreational purposes.

Quite apart from all of this, Chopwell Wood has been regularly plundered for the construction and repair of dwellings, bridges and the like by the locals. And Christmas trees, of course.

Robert Roddam of Roddam Hall (NU025205)

Roddam Hall is a modest country mansion a little to the north of the village of the same name in the eastern foothills of the Cheviots. Much of what can be seen today of the privately owned edifice was built during the eighteenth century. The man at the centre of our story, Robert Roddam, came into ownership of the property on the death of his brother in 1776.

By this time, Robert was in his mid-50s and was most probably in need of a rest – retirement, in fact – after a long and varied naval career. He spent pretty much his entire adult life chasing around the globe in the service of his country, a great deal of it with enormous success and with, certainly, a renowned reputation for ‘giving it a go’, no matter what the odds.

Our man was born at Roddam Hall in 1719, the second of three sons of Edward and Jane. He entered the navy in 1735, initially serving in the West Indies for several years, then working his way up through the ranks, notably during the War of the Austrian Succession of 1740-48. Gaining his first command in 1746, he impressed his superiors by many a daring raid on enemy lines – a feature of his long career at sea.

He spent much time in and around North America and the Caribbean during the Seven Years’ War of 1756-63 – a conflict which did much to bolster British interests abroad. He was acquitted during a court martial after his ship was captured by the French early on in the war, but soon returned to active service with his usual dash.

In 1770 he was called back to the fray during one of our periodic disputes over the Falklands, then found himself thrust into the American War of Independence of 1775-83. Much of this period, though, was spent as Commander-in-Chief at the Nore – a post giving him responsibility for the defence of the south-east corner of the UK. His final phase of service came as Commander-in-Chief at Portsmouth during 1789-92, which involved a brief crisis with the French that was averted thanks in no small measure to Roddam’s thorough preparations for the possible conflict.

During the Napoleonic Wars he was promoted as far as ‘admiral of the red’, but these were essentially symbolic appointments. He was, in effect, able to at last spend some time at Roddam Hall in Northumberland, to which he was able to make several important structural additions (as well as in the grounds) before his death in 1808, aged 88. He was buried in the family mausoleum in Roddam village churchyard. Despite three marriages he had no children.

Glanton: Cheviot Legion HQ (NU071145)

The quiet village of Glanton is blessed with many a historical curiosity. One such fact is its prominent role in the defence of the region against the threat of French invasion during the Napoleonic Wars.

From the beginning of the French Revolutionary Wars in 1792, via Napoleon Bonaparte’s rise to power in 1799 and through to the man’s final defeat in 1815, there was constant fear around and about British shores of foreign invasion. Much of Europe buckled under France’s relentless military campaigning and many thought it only a matter of time before they had a nibble at old Blighty. It never happened of course – much like the anticipated Nazi land invasion failed to transpire more than a century later – but it didn’t prevent folk worrying a lot about it, nor from making elaborate preparations for its eventuality.

Across the whole of the nation – and especially those areas near to likely coastal invasion spots – local militias were raised and put on a state of almost permanent alert for a good two decades. Complex signalling systems were set up and chains of command established, all of which was designed to bring the locals to arms should the enemy arrive at our gates. It is a state of home affairs that is now largely missing from the histories of the era, but it all loomed very large indeed in the lives of the people of the time.

The ‘Cheviot Legion’ was one such collection of volunteers. Set up 1798, they became so prominent that they were expanded and ‘upgraded’ to the Royal Cheviot Legion in 1803 – by which time it comprised four troops of cavalry and ten troops of infantry (around 800 men). A couple of the legion’s officers were based in Glanton as well as several of its troopers, and the unit’s HQ (or, more accurately, muster point) was Glanton – sitting, as it does, on the edge of the Cheviot foothills.

The (Royal) Cheviot Legion was never called to arms in anger, of course. But there was one serious false alarm on the night of 31^st January 1804, when the glow from charcoal burners’ fires to the north was mistaken for a warning beacon and the force was called out in full. Better safe than sorry, I suppose, but it did cause quite a stir: alarm drums, bugles and what must have been an almighty flurry of nocturnal activity, not to say sheer panic.

The troopers stayed on at Glanton until the following morning, though, and everyone had a big party. Silver linings and all that…

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Monkey News (NZ528338)

With apologies to natives of Hartlepool, who must be heartily sick of the tale…

The Fishermen Hung the Monkey, Oh!

During the Napoleonic Wars the sole survivor of a wrecked French ship – an innocent monkey – was supposedly washed ashore at Hartlepool.  He was promptly hung by the local fishermen for fear of him being a spy.  The story was captured in song by Tyneside artist Ned Corvan in the 1860s.  Many versions of the song prevail – here is one.

In former times ‘mid war an’ strife,
When French invasion threaten’d life,
An’ all was arm’d up te the knife,
The fishermen hung the monkey, Oh!
The fishermen wi’ courage high,
They seiz’d the monkey for a spy,
Hang him, says yen; says another, he’ll die,
They did, an’ they hung the monkey, oh!

They tried ivery means to myek him speak,
They tortured the monkey tiv he loud did squeak,
Say yen that’s French, another it’s Greek,
For the fishermen they got drunkey, oh!
He’s all ower hair sum cheps did cry,
E’en up te summic cut and sly,
Wiv a cod’s head then they closed an eye,
Afore they hung the monkey, oh!

Some the monkey’s fate they did bewail,
For all the speechless pug had his tail (tale),
He’d be better off i’ Durham jail,
For the monkey wis tornin’ funkey, oh!
They said he myed sum curose mugs,
When they shaved his heed an’ cut off his lugs,
Sayin’ that’s the game for French humbugs,
Afore they hung the monkey, oh!

Hammer his ribs the thunnerin’ thief,
Pummel his pyet weel wi’ yor neef,
He’s landed there for nobbit grief,
He’s aud Napoleon’s unkey, oh!
Thus to the monkey all hands behaved,
Cut off his whiskers one chep raved,
Another bawled oot he’s niver been shaved,
So they commenc’d to scrape the monkey, oh!

They put him on a gridiron hot,
The monkey then quite lively got,
He rowl’d his eyes tiv a’ the lot,
For the monkey agyen turned funkey, oh!
Then a fisherman up te monkey goes,
Saying hang him at yence, an’ end his woes,
But the monkey flew at him and bit off his nose,
An’ that raised the poor man’s monkey, oh!

Now let us hope that iver at sea,
We’ll still maintain sovereignty,
May France and England lang agree,
An’ niver at each other git funkey, oh!
As regards poor Pug, aa’ve had me say,
His times they’ve past for mony a day,
But in Hartlepool noo, thoo’ll hear them say:
Whe hung the monkey, oh?

[Note:   Nobbit - nothing but;   funkey - in a passion]

The fame of the Hartlepool monkey was spread nationwide by Hartlepool Rovers’ rugby team who, during the 1890s, adopted a stuffed monkey as a mascot and hung it from the crossbar before each match.

Battles and Moving Villages (NZ270720)

Camperdown is a settlement squeezed between the little village of Burradon to the north and Killingworth to the south, in the upper reaches of what is now Tyne & Wear. It does not loom especially large in the history books, but its presence on the modern-day map is the result of a curious and pretty much undocumented series of events.

The place didn’t even exist until the 1820s. But with the sinking of Burradon pit in 1820 and the construction of the Seaton Burn waggonway in 1826 a few buildings began to appear, and the small collection of streets came to be known as Hazlerigge, after the name of the local landowning family. However – and no one seems to know quite why – the inhabitants of the little place soon began referring to their new village as Camperdown, with the first reference appearing in the local parish register in 1840. The new label almost certainly came from the famous battle of the same name fought between the British and Dutch in 1797. Camperdown was an important and decisive victory during the Napoleonic wars, and was probably the biggest battle we’d ever won at sea at the time. It was not uncommon for places to be named after such important events, and interest in the Battle of Camperdown continued for many, many years after 1797.

As for the name Hazlerigge, well, this continued to be used somewhat loosely in the area; but by 1872, the Newcastle Weekly Chronicle reported that the old name was no longer being used by the residents and that they preferred to use Camperdown. And so it eventually became official.

Now you’re probably looking at your map and thinking, hold on a minute, I know fine well that Hazlerigg (no ‘e’) still exists, so what exactly are you talking about? Well, yes, the name did indeed live on – well, after a brief gap, anyway. In the 1890s, when a new coal pit was sunk a couple of miles to the west of Camperdown near Wideopen, the name Hazlerigg was adopted by the new settlement which subsequently developed around the pit-head.

So now you know. For much, much more on the history of Burradon and Camperdown see http://www.burradon-camperdown.co.uk/ .

 

More Favourite Picnic Sites

The previous blog entry concerned a Northumbrian beauty spot which held a special place in the hearts of the 1st Duke and Duchess of Northumberland. As it happens, the environs of Alnwick are strewn with such eighteenth century ‘picnicking areas’, if the history books are to be believed.

Hulne Park, that splendid, sprawling (and, happily, open to the public) expanse of countryside to the north-west of the town, contains two of these haunts, with a third lying a little to the north of the estate boundary. Brizlee Tower lords it over them all, sitting, as it does, on a hilly prominence at NU158148. I mean, have a look: it’s magnificent…

Brizlee Tower
© Copyright Les Hull and licensed for reuse under this Creative Commons Licence

It was designed, like Ratcheugh Observatory, by Robert Adam, in 1777 for the 1st Duke – a year after the death of the Duchess to commemorate her life (he had, after all, inherited his title through her line in 1750, lucky chap). It stands 87 feet in height, and provides spectacular views of the surrounding parkland – itself laid out by ‘Capability’ Brown – but is nothing more than a folly. The tower has recently undergone repair after being placed on the English Heritage ‘at risk’ register. It is a Grade I listed building.

Hulne Priory (NU164158), though not an actual creation of the 1st Duke and Duchess (it was founded in c.1260), was most certainly added to by them both before and after the latter’s 1776 death. For once, the Duchess would at least have been able to enjoy her summer days in and around the old place, much as tourists do today. But to get there you’ll have to walk!

Hulne Priory: church in foreground, tower behind.

Finally, there is Heiferlaw Tower (NU183177), built in the late 15th century for the monks of Alnwick Abbey – most probably as a lookout and/or beacon to warn of Scottish raids. It is built in the style of a bastle: animals/storage at ground floor, accommodation above. After the Duke & Duchess had finished using the place for their leisure purposes, it came back into use, briefly, as a lookout point during the Napoleonic Wars.

There’s a nice pic of Heiferlaw Tower here , from where you can access plenty more information on all of the abovementioned sites.