Escomb Saxon Church (NZ189302)

[please note this article was originally written in 1994 so may be a little out of date – though, in view of the subject matter, probably not too much!]

It is distinctive of Escomb that it has no history. It is just a little, obscure church – probably preserved by its lack of importance.

[ a former Bishop of Durham ]

Well, maybe so.  Nevertheless, this “little, obscure church” of ours, nestling somewhat embarrassingly in the midst of a 1960s housing estate three miles west of Bishop Auckland, is arguably the finest example of its kind in Britain. Of the three surviving, intact Anglo-Saxon churches nationwide, our very own at Escomb is the pick of the bunch many say. Having been thus preserved by its “lack of importance”, it is now, ironically, perhaps our most treasured relic of Northumbria’s ‘Golden Age’.

The monument’s – and indeed the village’s – early history are shrouded in mystery. Scarcely mentioned in our early written histories, even the source of its name is disputed. Undoubtedly Old English in origin, it may mean Edi, Eda or Ida’s combe (combe meaning a hollow enclosed with hills, or a valley); or, alternatively, may be a derivative of the O.E. edisc (park), Ediscum therefore meaning ‘a place where there are parks’. It seems likely, however, that there has been almost continual habitation in the area since Anglo-Saxon times. The site is certainly typically Anglo-Saxon in nature.

Although similar to its more famous and near contemporaries at Jarrow and Monkwearmouth (built 675-84AD), Escomb Church does, however, exhibit features of an earlier generation. It is, if you like, more ‘Celtic-like’. Prior to the 664AD Synod of Whitby, Celtic Christianity very much held sway over the Roman version in the North.  Escomb, with its circular graveyard, pyramidal construction and Celtic artifacts, hints at a pre-664AD founding. It has unmistakable Celtic dimensions, too.  Its official date of construction of c.675 is probably therefore a little conservative. The locals, once converted in the 640s or 650s, would have soon set to work on their place of worship – it is fortunate indeed for us that they chose stone rather than wood. The choice, though, was an easy one – the crumbling nearby Roman station of Vinovia (Binchester) provided ample pickings.

Earliest documentary records dating from c.990-95AD concern the mortgaging or pledging of the estate (church included) to a Danish Earl, Northman, who, it seems, quickly sold it back to the See of Durham. It then fell under the administration of the parish of Auckland St.Andrew in the late thirteenth century, and its somewhat undefined role remained largely unchanged with its post-Reformation appointment as chapel-of-ease to its big brother.

Come the nineteenth century and Escomb itself was finally made into an ecclesiastical parish in its own right. A vicarage was built in 1848 (priests had previously been non-resident) and all looked rosy. The tiny churchyard soon filled, however, and a new church was built and burial ground created as early as 1863 half a mile away. The old church was thus abandoned and left to decay.

Thanks largely to the efforts of a certain Dr.Hoopell, however, the old building was rescued from imminent demise. Funds were raised throughout the late 1870s, local support rallied by the caring and much-loved incumbent, T.E.Lord, and tasteful refurbishment work carried out. Bishop Lightfoot did the honours on 4^th October 1880 as the chapel was re-opened to the public.

By all accounts Victorian village life was pleasant enough thereafter under the watchful guidance of the Revd Lord. The ‘new’ church remained the parish church; its ancient neighbour being used periodically when the fancy arose. Twentieth century life took its toll, however, and the village gradually declined until clearance work in the 1960s preceded the construction of the present housing estate.

During the 1960s, too, it was decided to demolish the Victorian church (due to upkeep problems) – an act finally carried out in 1971. In the meantime the old Saxon church was overhauled again (including the installation of heating and lighting) in preparation for its restoration, once again, to the status of parish church proper in 1970.

So, a “little, obscure church” with a fascinating story… and a happy ending!

***

Don’t miss the chance to visit the place today; for if you’re ever in the area a quick diversion to take in the ‘Church of St.John the Evangelist, Escomb’ is well worth the effort. By reading the notice on the gate you’ll find the key to the same hanging on the wall of a nearby house (just take it without knocking). The church is open 9.00am-8.00pm during the summer and 9.00am-4.00pm in the winter.

Mention should be made of some of its features. Internally, the building measures 43ft x 14ft (nave) – the chancel being some 10ft square. The walls are an impressive 2ft 5in thick, and the building stands some 34ft to the point of the roof.

The southern porch and bell-cot were added during the twelfth or thirteenth century and, originally, there was an additional building to the west (the chancel is on the east wall) – though only traces of the foundations of this remain. Many extra windows have been added over the years. The site was, incidentally, excavated in 1968.

Note the narrowing or pyramidal form of all the vertical features of the church, including the building itself. Curiously, the upper courses of stone are much smaller than the rest (though still the originals).

Inside, there are medieval grave-covers lining the porch, an odd-shaped font and some original Anglo-Saxon pebbled flooring to the west of the nave. But most interesting of all is the cross fragment behind the altar and the complete Roman arch which now frames the entrance to the chancel – undoubtedly from the Binchester ruins. The fading artwork on the underside of the arch is some 800 years old.

Roman markings adorn the building inside and out. Indeed, many of the stones have clearly been fashioned by Roman masons. High on the exterior of the north wall is the legionary inscription “LEG VI”, though another legend on the inside of the same wall was not spotted until 1969 by an eagle-eyed schoolboy!

Evidence of an earlier age comes in the form of the Celtic cross over the porch entrance. What is probably the oldest Saxon sundial in the country sits high on the south wall, whilst a seventeenth century version adorns the porch.

Today the church is whitewashed within, but most probably would have also been brightly plastered without, too, in the Middle Ages. Those twelfth century paintings would also have adorned a good deal of the interior. By sitting alone on the back pew in complete and utter silence it is easy, even today, to picture the ancient scene of yesteryear. Simple, austere, reverent beauty.

And most moving.

[ This article has appeared in various publications over the years, including in my Aspects of North-East History, Vol.1 – see here ]

Grinkle Tunnel and Station (c.NZ740177)

The railway connection between Middlesbrough and Whitby along the Cleveland coast has long since been abandoned. It is, perhaps, a project which should have never left the drawing board if the truth be known. Victorian verve and ambition took the thin black line winding around natural obstacles and, at times, perilously close to the sea – but it can now only be traced as far south as the Boulby Potash Mines. The remainder to the east and south was dismantled around 1960 and given over to a coastal footpath.

The easternmost stretch of the surviving line, from Skinningrove to Boulby, was closed, too, at this time, but was revived in the mid 1970s when Boulby Potash mine opened. It is used solely for freight, the passenger stations remaining closed (many having been demolished). One such stopping-off point was Grinkle Station, to the south-west of present-day Easington where the tracks emerge from Grinkle Tunnel. Track and tunnel alike first saw light of day in the early 1880s after almost two decades of confused planning and awkward construction. Originally known as Easington Station and Tunnel, they were renamed ‘Grinkle’ in 1904.

The station was the first on the line to be closed in 1939, the line was lifted in the early 1960s … then relaid a decade later in 1974 to enable minerals to be transported from Boulby Mine to Skinningrove and onwards. It is still in use today.

More info and pics available here.

Honest, it was THIS Big! (c.NZ713203)

On 17^th February 2003, 40 year-old angler Val Fletcher was casting for little fishes from the beach at Skinningrove. She baited her line with squid and hoped for a nibble – perhaps from a mackerel or something equally as undramatic.

She got a bite all right, but it was no tiddler; for it was a 11½ft, 140lb oarfish (aka the King of Herrings) – and it took her a good 40 minutes to reel it in, aided by her partner, the appropriately named Robert Herrings.  Though the size of the fish was on the large side, it was a minnow by oarfish standards: they can reach 50ft+. Anyway, the 5ft 4in, eight stone woman beached the monster, dragged it home and left it outside for a couple of days for the locals to gawp at. No one was able to identify the specimen for some time.

Oarfish are incredibly rare – especially live specimens. They are the oceans’ longest bony fish, and prefer warmer climes and deeper seas.  One hadn’t been caught anywhere in the world since 1996 (off the US coast) – with previous UK finds including two at Whitby in 1759 & 1981 and one off Northumberland in 1794. Val is thought to have been the first person to have landed one with a rod and line.

When word finally got round, marine biologists were keen to examine the creature. By then, though, it had already been sliced up into steaks and shoved in Ms Fletcher’s deep freeze.

Name Changes and Funny Names (c.NZ360720)

The town now known as Whitley Bay seems as embedded in the popular culture of the North-East as any other place you care to name. It is as utterly distinctive to us locals for what it is and what is once was as anything else in the region’s rich history. And the splendidly named and beautifully formed landmark that is the Spanish City dome is unmistakable.

But the town’s name hasn’t always been as instantly recognisable. The name ‘Whitley’ goes way back, coming from the Old English wyt-leah, meaning ‘white meadow or pasture’; but it was for many centuries known simply as Whitley, and was a tiny place by today’s standards. In the Victorian era, however, it seems to have been known as Whitley-by-the-Sea, so as to distinguish it from Whitley Chapel and Whitley Castle in Northumberland. Then, in around 1902, the seldom used ‘by-the-Sea’ bit was dropped and replaced with ‘Bay’, allegedly to avoid confusion with Whitby in Yorkshire.

But wherever did the ‘Spanish City’ come from?

The answer is remarkably simple. In 1904, a merry band of entertainers known as the Toreadors Concert Party entertained visitors in an open-air theatre in Whitley Park. They had been brought there not from Spain, but from a few miles down the road by Mr Charles Elderton, who ran Hebburn’s Theatre Royal. For the occasion, the area was decorated in the Spanish style, and it became known as ‘the Spanish City’. It grew to be so popular that within a few years The Whitley Pleasure Gardens Company Ltd. was formed and a large fairground was established on the site. By 1910 the famous Dome was complete – in the Moorish style – and a legend was born.