Chapter IV: Part 4

Although not shaped in the usual sense of the word, some of the stones at Arbor Low show indications of rough dressing, particularly at the base, which was, no doubt, for the purpose of stability when they were originally set upright. That once they were erect there can be no doubt, for it is essential to a stone circle that they should be so placed. As they lie, it will be noticed that, with very few exceptions, the top of every stone points to the centre of the plateau, whereas the natural fall of the stones would be towards the ditch, on the edge of which they were placed, for their foundations on that side would be the weaker. The obvious explanation must be that they were pulled down by ropes, and as the vallum would impede the process on the outside, it followed that the crowd of haulers necessarily required the full width of the plateau, and so caused the stones to fall inwards, like the radii of a circle. Similarly the central stones were hauled down in a straight line with the entrance to the circle, which thus gave the necessary leverage of length. When and by whom was this done? It is unlikely that the Romans would interfere with customs which in no way clashed with their own. When, however, the first waves of Christianity passed over the land, and Christian stone crosses were erected throughout our county, it is unlikely that the stone monuments of a pagan race would be tolerated amongst them; and in the seventh century an edict of the Church was passed in France exhorting the clergy to stamp out the idolatry of stone-worship. In Northumbria, which country then included the county of Derby, King Edwin, upon his conversion to Christianity in A.D. 627, authorised Paulinus to destroy “the altars and temples, _with the enclosures that were about them_,” at which he had previously worshipped.[31]

[31] _Bede_, chap. xiii.

We may, therefore, assume that the great circle of Arbor Low was too prominent a monument to be allowed to remain, but the lesser circles, no longer frequented by the people, would pass unnoticed by the Reformers; yet the circle on Harthill Moor, only four miles away, was left standing, although some of its stones were nine or ten feet high, and nine stones still stood a century ago, but now only four remain, varying in height from about four feet to eight or nine feet. Perhaps the late interment, discovered by Mr. St. George Gray during the excavations at Arbor Low in 1902, may have dated from the time of its destruction, for its selection as a place of sepulture would naturally offend the tenets of a Christian people, and call attention to the superstitions still associated with this mysterious monument. It was not the first interment there, for built upon the vallum adjoining the southern entrance are the remains of a large tumulus, which yielded to Mr. Bateman, its excavator, urns of coarse clay and other evidence of cremation, with relics of flint and bone. Again, the summit of the great mound of its satellite, Gib Hill, had been selected for a similar interment in the days before the shadow of mystery was cast over Arbor Low.

The Bull Ring almost adjoins the modern church at Dove Holes, three and a half miles north-north-west from Buxton. So far as the ground plan of the circle is concerned, it is identical with that of Arbor Low, save that the vallum is now, perhaps, not quite so high. No doubt it is the work of the same architects, and originally contained a similar arrangement of great stones. Unfortunately these were entirely removed nearly two centuries ago for building purposes, and its very existence is to-day threatened by approaching lime works. With the circle itself its similarity to Arbor Low ends, for instead of lying on a northern slope it faces south-east, hence as the natural conditions are varied, so are its adjuncts. Instead of a high mound a thousand feet away, its pointer is brought close to it, and, therefore, lower in height, although a mound of about the same circumference; but its direction is nearly the same, namely, to the south-west.

The Wet-Withens is on the northern slope of Eyam Moor, 1,002 feet above sea-level, and is the best example of the type in which the fosse is absent. To-day it is represented by a circular mound of earth, one hundred and twenty feet in diameter, and about ten feet broad by two feet six inches high, broken for the entrances in the usual positions, namely, due south and nearly north. Set in the inner margin of the mound remain ten stones of millstone grit, most of which are upright, and probably fifteen or sixteen originally completed the arrangement, and some may be hidden by the heather. They stand at nearly equal distances, but the largest only measures, as exposed above the turf, four feet three inches long, one foot nine inches broad, and nine inches deep. It has already been mentioned that a monolith once stood in the centre, and there is still a considerable depression in the ground whence it was excavated—for the hand of the quarryman has been ruthless amongst the prehistoric monuments of our county. Forty feet due north of the circle are the remains of a great cairn, or tumulus, with a base seventy feet by forty feet, composed entirely of stones averaging over a foot in length. This may have served the purpose of the pointer, or, like the tumulus on the vallum at Arbor Low, may merely have been a sepulchral mound, for it also yielded a half-baked urn containing cremated remains and a flint arrow-head. If Mr. Trustram’s theory be correct, the stone-marked avenue leads to the south-west, and thus conforms with the pointers of Arbor Low and the Bull Ring; also with the general direction of the avenue or causeway of the former.

The relative position of these three circles is certainly curious. They form an inverted isosceles triangle, of which the base line from the Wet-Withens to the Bull Ring is nearly due east and west; to be accurate, it is almost the true magnetic orientation, and the apex at Arbor Low is due south. The Ordnance map discloses the length of the base line to be nine miles, and that of each of the sides ten miles; in fact, the compasses pivoted in the centre of Arbor Low bisect both the circles of the Bull Ring and Wet-Withens. It is needless to remark that the megalithic builders had not the knowledge nor the appliances to measure distances otherwise than on the ground level; but as the valleys run north and south, and the line east to west is therefore much more broken and undulating, it is not impossible that there was a measured intention to construct these three circles as nearly as possible in the form of an equilateral triangle, of which the circle of Arbor Low was to be due south, according to the sun’s then apparent meridian. Indeed, it is an interesting question of fact whether, if measured on the ground level, these three circles would not prove to be equidistant one from another.

Reduce the compasses to the equivalent to eight miles, and a series of coincidences follows. They exactly span Arbor Low and Stadon; Arbor Low and an unmarked circle near Park Gate on East Moor; the latter and the double circle on Abney Moor, and, again, the same circle and two others on Brassington Moor; the Nine Ladies on Stanton Moor and the circle on Froggatt Edge; that on the Bar Brook and the most northern of the two on Bamford Moor; the southern circle on Bamford Moor and the double circle on the Ford estate near Chapel-en-le-Frith; the latter and the circle on Abney Moor, and so on, until it would seem to be worth one’s while to follow the eight miles radius from any given circle in search of its colleague. If there is any variation in the distances quoted above, it is so slight as to be scarcely perceptible on the one-inch scale Ordnance map. This is, at the least, tentative evidence of that careful system of mensuration which seems to pervade the mystery of these interesting memorials.

The triangular arrangement of the three chief circles calls attention to that of Stadon, situate a mile and a quarter south-east from Buxton. Its stones, like those of its neighbour, the Bull Ring, have been confiscated, and for centuries, perhaps, it yielded to the plough; nevertheless, its mounds, though almost levelled, are quite distinct, and disclose a plan probably unique in its design. It comprises an annular vallum, forming three-quarters of a circle, the fourth quarter being straight-sided for one hundred feet, and from the corners of this side expand two straight causeways or mounds for a distance of about one hundred and, presumably, one hundred and twenty feet respectively, when they then turn at an acute angle and unite in a straight line, of probably one hundred and twenty feet, almost parallel to the side of the circle. Thus they form the base of an isosceles triangle, bisected horizontally by the straight side of the circle. Unfortunately, the south-west corner of the base line is now cut off by the London and North Western Railway line from Buxton to Ashbourne, and therefore its measurements can only be estimated. If continued, the apex of this triangle would correspond with the nearest quarter of the horizon, namely, on the ridge of Stadon Hill at a point nearly due east. On the inside of the mounds, both of the circle and of the triangular adjunct, are indications of a ditch, and the usual entrances are north by west and south-east respectively. The average width of the circle from the outside of the mounds is now two hundred feet, but owing to the straight side it is subjected to more than the usual elliptical variation; the width of the mounds and ditch are twelve and ten feet respectively. These latter dimensions probably indicate that originally it must have had a fosse and vallum of no mean importance. One hundred and twenty feet north-by-east from the circle seems to be the base of what was probably a large mound or “pointer,” about forty feet by twenty feet, but this also has been levelled.

Although lacking the grandeur of Arbor Low, the small circles have an interest only secondary to it in any attempt to determine cause from effect. Many of them, fortunately, have suffered from the hand of time alone, and are to-day as the race that is gone left them. No better examples could be desired than some in the Baslow district, particularly that near Park Gate; but those by the Bar Brook and on Froggatt Edge are nearly as well preserved, and the double circle at Ford is perfect.

Selecting the Nine Ladies on Stanton Moor as a typical example, its description will suffice for its class. A circular vallum ten feet wide and two feet high at the crest, with diameter varying from forty-five to fifty feet, measured from its outer edge, and broken for the usual entrances, which, however, in this instance are east-by-north and south-west. Within the inner margin of the mound are arranged nine stones, all, with one exception, still upright, and the largest measuring, above the heather, three feet high, two feet three inches broad, and nine inches deep. In 1848 there was a cone of stones in the centre, but this has been destroyed; the Park Gate circle, however, shows this in a complete form. Exactly at a distance of one hundred feet west by south of the circle stands a single stone as the pointer, measuring above the turf thirty inches high, twenty-two wide, and eleven deep. It is known as “The King Stone,” and the nine stones of the circle have given the name of “The Nine Ladies” to the monument as a whole. This is, of course, a complimentary variant of the general term “maidens” so often applied to the stones of circles in all parts of the country, and for which so many derivations have been offered.

A circle of this class which has hitherto escaped observation has an interesting deviation from the usual lines. It stands 1,050 feet above sea level on the hillside at Cadster, near Whaley Bridge, but in Chapel-en-le-Frith parish. Its vallum has an elliptical diameter, varying from thirty-five to forty feet, with entrances north-north-east and south-west. The stones are of the same arrangement and size as those of The Nine Ladies, and the diameter of their circle varies from thirty feet to thirty-three feet six inches. The centre is nearly level, but some large stones below the turf may have supported a monolith, which, perhaps, was a large pointed stone, measuring four feet long, two feet six inches wide, and one foot deep, now lying at the foot of the vallum. Ninety feet nearly south by west of the circle, almost prostrate, is the “pointer,” a block of millstone grit measuring three feet six inches high, two feet six inches broad, and two feet deep. In these particulars the monument closely resembles the last described, but it lies on a hillside with a declination to the west of one in ten, and to obtain the required plane for the western vallum and stones, the builders have lowered the height of the vallum on the east to about one foot high, and raised that on the west to four feet. Hence it is nearly, but not quite, level. Although there is a very extensive view to the north-west, the horizon is within two or three hundred yards on the north and east. A line of sight taken over the stones west and east within the circle exactly touches the eastern horizon, where there is a small artificial mound of stones, and this system of levelling the vallum and stones of a circle to the plane of the horizon seems to be general, and is especially in evidence at Ford.

For the purpose of these notes, and to ascertain that the vallum had not been raised by an interment, a partial excavation has been made. A narrow trench cut from east to west disclosed that the entire monument is composed of loose stones, seemingly hand-laid, upon the natural soil. On the west side the raising of the vallum was an example of careful and permanent work. Commencing from the outside there was a foundation of large stones sloping inwards, and acting as a retaining wall for the stones above, and a similar foundation marked the inside margin. In the centre of the vallum was a core of stones about two feet high leaning towards each other, and filled in with horizontal stones, thus forming the base of a solid triangle. Above this the loose stones were built up to the required height and form. An examination of some of the principal stones of the circle disclosed that they were supported by or resting upon others of large size. As it was not desirable to disturb more than was necessary to disclose the general construction, and to remove turf which had overgrown some of the pillars, a very small proportion of the whole was searched, and this did not yield a single relic of the work of man.

So far, we have dealt with the effect of circles as we see them; let us look to the cause. Imagine an agricultural people without any knowledge of the seasons or months of the year, save from the gradual changes from cold to warm weather, and from long to short days; without the means of estimating the length of the latter, and without even the power of numbering the years or knowing whether they themselves were young or old, for except, perhaps, in the calm pools of water, their very appearance would be strange to them. A few treacherously warm days in December, and they would sow their corn to the winds. Preparation for winter needs or summer work would be impossible, and all would end in famine and waste—all would be confusion. No wonder that, like nature, they turned to the sun—the almanac of all time. No wonder their chief astronomer became the chief priest of the tribe. So is it to-day with uncivilized races of mankind. So, also, is the superstition of astrology in civilized races but a survival of the days when the seer alone cast his horoscope and foretold to the people the coming of the seasons, the time for preparation and all that was necessary for their continued existence. Sun worship followed, and religion and astronomy were blended for ages to come.

Sir Norman Lockyer and the late Mr. Penrose have scientifically demonstrated the relation of Stonehenge with the rising of the sun over the Friar’s Heel at the summer solstice, where tradition still gathers people together on the morn of Midsummer day; but it is with the more primitive and varied circles of our hilly county that we are concerned, and these may be treated, as indeed they probably were by their designers, in a more primitive method.

We read a sundial from the outside, and therefore the gnomon is in the centre and the numerals are on the outside. If, however, we stood in the centre of a vast dial, a series of gnomons would be required to replace the numerals. This is the stone circle. As a primitive example, the Cadster circle will suffice for its class. When the circle was constructed, the “pointer,” instead of being a point to the west of south as it is now, a variation owing to the obliquity of the earth’s axis, stood exactly due south; therefore the seer, sighting from the point of the central monolith, knew that when the sun was directly over it the time was mid-day—the greater distance assisting the accuracy. Similarly the east stone is now a point to the southward, so when the sun rose over the horizon in line with it and the central monolith, it was the May festival, and so on for every phase of the sun. Obviously, the northern stones would be useless for this purpose; but the object of the vallum was to enable the line of sight to be also taken across the circle from the outside, and over _any_ stone and the central dial, or over any two stones, thus subdividing the then equivalent to the hours and the months. The slope of the vallum lent itself to any level required by the observer whilst taking his observations, and the entrances enabled the people to pass through the circle to make their obeisance, whilst the arch-astrologer stood by the central monolith giving his instructions and advice. To them his simple predictions would seem to be the greatest of miracles. As the “pointer” is not always in a southerly or northerly position, for the latter would serve the same purpose if the point of observation were transposed, it follows that various monuments were dedicated to or were specially required for various seasons or times; the winter or summer solstice and the spring or autumn equinox being the most popular. The points of the stones would be accurately notched or, perhaps, surmounted with a wooden stile or pierced disc.

In the larger circles the same system would be carried out with greater accuracy. The ditch and vallum enabled the sights to be taken from either the foot or the top of the stones, and the mound would, if required, itself form the horizon. The ditch was certainly not for any processional ceremony, for that at Arbor Low was found to be broken across by faces of natural rock three or four feet in height; but the curved causeway leading towards the great pointer, Gib Hill, may have served that purpose when the seer left the circle to take his observations, and probably to invoke the rising sun from the mound. The central dolmen would be the inner temple of the priest, and the greater distance of the circle of stones would increase the accuracy of his observations.

Let those who question this simple origin for these circles study any one of them with as many or as few scientific instruments as they wish; then, after allowing for the variation of the obliquity, nature’s almanac is there to be read within the oldest astronomical observatory known to man.

A word as to the age of the circles. Sir Norman Lockyer deduced from the variation of the obliquity in relation to the avenue and the Friar’s Heel at Stonehenge, that the temple must have been erected about the year 1680 B.C., or within a margin of 200 years of that date. Professor Gowland, as the result of the excavations conducted by him in 1901, arrived at practically the same period, when he inferred that it was constructed by “the men of the Neolithic or, it may be, of the early Bronze Age.”

The assumption in these pages is that Stonehenge was the first and not the last of its series. If that be correct, it follows that the design must have been introduced by the new race, that of the Bronze Age, when they invaded this country from the south. The Neolithic tribes had been here for thousands of years before B.C. 1500, and it is unlikely that they, to whom metal was unknown, attained the architectural skill to erect a colossal and uniform temple. It is true that with one possible exception no trace of metal was found during the recent excavations at either Stonehenge or Arbor Low; but on the other hand, all the interments (with again one exception, and that of late date) found in circles are of the Bronze Age. These interments, of which one instance was in a small circle on Stanton Moor, do not necessarily indicate any sepulchral purpose for these monuments, but rather suggest that sometimes the priest himself would be laid to rest in the shrine of his order. Again, the general character of the numerous tumuli usually surrounding the momuments is of the Bronze period, and there seems to be some affinity between the “cup and ring” designs of the rock carvings and the plan of these circles. One fact is certain—that as a class they are not of any later times, for upon the vallum of Arbor Low stands the great “low” which yielded clear evidence of a burial of one who worked with bronze, and similar proof was furnished by the discovery of a like interment in the summit of Gib Hill.

It does not, however, follow that our Derbyshire circles date from the commencement of the Bronze Age; it is more probable that some of them are hundreds of years later than Stonehenge, and there is every likelihood that their use was continued through the Roman even to early Christian times, only to be stamped out when their original purpose had been forgotten in their mystic pagan rites. There is evidence that the great circles of the country were centres of native population at the time of the coming of the Romans, for the roads of the invaders were driven straight for them, as the maps of Avebury and Stonehenge in the south, and of Arbor Low and the Bull Ring in our county, clearly indicate. In the Anglo-Saxon language the phrase for astrology was _circol-crœft_, and to-day the horoscope of the fortune-teller is but a survival of our subject.

We who look upon these temples of a bye-gone people are still the slaves of Time, and though we measure it with the science of to-day, it is but a question of degree, for the cause and effect is still the same. True, we no longer worship in the Temple of Time, but we can ill afford to sneer at those who knew no better religion than the praise of the heavenly bodies and the admiration of nature’s handiwork as viewed over the distant scene. Nor can we pride ourselves in our science, which for centuries has failed to read the story of these mystic signs, which the rude workers in bronze could yet devise and set up, to—

“Observe days, and months, and times, and years.”

SWARKESTON BRIDGE

By William Smithard

The deservedly famous old bridge of Swarkeston situated a few miles south of Derby, where in a beautiful verdant and fertile vale the noble Trent sweeps towards the sea in a series of majestic curves.

The river, than which there are but two longer in the country, was of old a convenient rough-and-ready dividing-line across the middle of England; and the frequency with which the phrases “north of Trent” and “south of Trent” were used, shows that the stream was a recognised and familiar boundary to the monarchs and nobles who parcelled out shires and counties for themselves or friends in the Middle Ages.

Its general direction is from west to east, but its course is made up of large bends composed of small ones. In the first part of _King Henry IV._, Act III., Scene I., Shakespeare makes Hotspur complain of the windings of the Trent, thus:—

“Methinks my moiety, north from Burton here,
In quantity equals not one of yours:
See how the river comes me cranking in,
And cuts me from the best of all my land
A huge half-moon, a monstrous cantle out.
I’ll have the current in this place damm’d up;
And here the smug and silver Trent shall run
In a new channel, fair and evenly.”

It is not known where or how, if at all, the Romans permanently bridged the Trent hereabouts; probably they were content with fords and ferries. In the Middle Ages, however, several fine stone bridges were erected over the river; there was a very long one of thirty-six arches at Burton in the twelfth century, and most likely there would then be no other between that town and Nottingham, some twenty miles distant. At any rate, the first record we have of Swarkeston Bridge is in the year 1276, and the oldest parts of it remaining—which appear to be the original work—appertain to the thirteenth century.

Swarkeston is about eight miles below Burton, and the bridge, which is nearly a mile in length, lies north and south. It takes its name from the village of Swarkeston at its northern end, though most of the bridge, being south of the Trent, is in the parish of Stanton, which latter place is indebted to the bridge for the title that distinguishes it from the multitude of Stantons elsewhere.

The portion of the structure which actually spans the Trent is a shapely, well-designed and very substantial modern bridge on five round arches, put up at the close of the eighteenth century; but the special feature about Swarkeston Bridge is that, after crossing the river proper, it is continued as a raised causeway right across the low-lying meadows of the Trent valley. It is in this long causeway that all interest centres, for there—although the bridge has been widened, and at different times repaired and renewed incongruously—we have the true route-line of the causeway, and much original work still remaining.

The necessity for this extension is very obvious to anyone who has seen, as I have several times, the river in flood, when Hotspur’s “smug and silver Trent” becomes a turbid, surging sea, many miles in extent, completely covering all the meadows within range of vision. The causeway is provided with culverts and archways to let the roaring waters pass through at such periods.

It has been conjectured, with some degree of probability, that the Trent was first spanned by a bridge at Swarkeston to accommodate the advance of King John’s army to the north towards the end of the year 1215. If this was the case, it must have been one of wooden piles, provided it was erected in a hurry. A temporary erection of this kind, in the place of a treacherous ford, would prove so useful that it would soon be followed by one of stone. At all events, records show that a bridge had been established here a long time before the accession of Edward I. In 1276, when inquiries were made throughout the kingdom as to exactions and irregularities during the much-troubled latter years of Henry III., it is entered on the _Hundred Rolls_ that the merchants of the soke of Melbourne had not for some three years paid toll for passage over Swarkeston Bridge, which toll had been assigned by the King to the borough of Derby.

Now and again, during the next century, apparently whenever the bridge needed serious repair, the Crown diverted the toll from the town of Derby and assigned it to local commissioners, as entered from time to time on the _Patent Rolls_. On 12th January, 1325, when Edward II. was at Melbourne, he granted, under privy seal to the bailiffs and good men of the town of Swarkeston pontage (bridge toll) for three years for the repair of the bridge across the Trent; the toll was to be taken by the hands of William Grave, of Swarkeston, Richard de Swarkeston, Thomas Davy, of Stanton, or their deputy, and the whole proceedings were to be under the supervision of the Prior of Repton.

Before this time of three years had expired, namely, in December, 1327, Edward III., at the request of Robert de Stanton, granted to the bailiffs and men of Stanton and Swarkeston pontage towards the repair of the bridge between the two towns—it must have been considerably damaged, possibly of set purpose during the baronial disturbances towards the end of Edward II.’s reign—local commissioners being nominated to receive the toll, and the Prior of Repton being again appointed as supervisor.

In 1338 pontage for four years was again assigned for repair purposes to the good men of Swarkeston. Eight years later the pontage was granted for three years to the bailiffs and good men of the town of Derby, to be taken by the hands of John, son of Adam de Melbourne the elder, and John, son of Adam de Melbourne the younger, on things for sale passing over Swarkeston Bridge, for the repair of the said bridge.

There is little more written history of the bridge than that here cited, but it would not be right to omit the romantic legend as to its origin, which is so widely current and so generally believed that it is perhaps worthy of a qualified acceptance until some historical fact is found to take its place. The legend bears the stamp of probability, and it seems too good to be entirely an invention—at any rate, of modern times.

Once upon a time, then, according to this dateless tradition, a large and gay party was celebrating at Swarkeston Hall the betrothal of the two daughters of the lord of the manor. Tilting, hunting, hawking, and other mediæval sports had been enjoyed freely for several days, when the festivities were abruptly disturbed by an urgent summons for the lord of the manor and the two knightly lovers forthwith to join an assembly of the barons who were engaged in a hot dispute with a tyrannical King. Never, perhaps, did public spirit clash more disagreeably with personal preference; but the call of national duty was promptly answered.

At that time there was no Swarkeston Bridge, but in fair weather the Trent could be forded quite easily, as it can now. I have, in a recent summer, seen a foal walk across without wetting its knees; but the route is devious, and the river at Swarkeston notoriously treacherous; bright weedy shallows give way precipitately to great dark pools difficult to fathom, and eddying whirlpools alternate with powerful headlong currents of surprising swiftness.

Their task accomplished, runs the tale, the two knights set off for Swarkeston at full speed, leaving the earl to return more leisurely with his esquires and pages. In the meantime heavy rains had fallen, and on reaching the Trent valley after sunset, the knights found the green sward covered by surging muddy waters, through which, with true lover-like ardour, they spurred their tired horses in the growing darkness, unwilling, now so near, to let even such alarming floods prevent their reunion with the fair ladies of their choice.

The level meadows were crossed safely, but in the gloom the gallant knights either missed the ford across the river itself or were swept off it by the raging torrent; by the cruellest of mischances they were washed away and drowned within sight of the lighted windows of the hall, where all their hopes lay, and which they had striven so heroically to reach.

This tragic event was indeed a crushing blow for the earl and his family, but out of private grief came public joy. The bereaved ladies, so says the legend, looked on themselves as widows, and, in keeping with the spirit of the times, devoted the rest of their lives to the memory of their deceased lovers. Neither was their devotion mere sentiment, but it took a thoroughly practical form; determined that no one in future should suffer owing to the circumstances in which their own keen sorrow had arisen, they devoted all their substance to the building of the now historic bridge, and died in a cottage as poor as the humblest peasant.

On the bridge there was formerly a chantry chapel. From an inquisition held at Newark, October 26th, 1503, we learn that a parcel of meadow land, valued at six marks a year, lying between the bridge and Ingleby, had been given in early days to the priory of Repton, on the tenure of supplying a priest to sing mass in the chapel on Swarkeston Bridge; but that there was then no such priest nor had one been appointed for the space of twenty years. (Add. MSS. 6,705, f. 65.)

The Church Goods Commissioners of 1552 say under Stanton:—

“We have a chappell edified and buylded upon Trent in ye mydest of the streme anexed to Swerston bregge, the whiche had certayne stuffe belongyng to it, ij desks to knele in, a table of wode, and certayne barres of yron and glasse in the wyndos, whiche Mr. Edward Beamont of Arleston hath taken away to his owne use, and we say that if the Chappell dekeye the brydge wyll not Stonde.”

The report of the Commissioners shows that the chapel was evidently an integral portion of one of the bridge piers, as was often the case, and was probably coeval with its first building.

The chapel was demolished altogether when the spans over the river were rebuilt in the eighteenth century, and there is now no trace of it remaining, nor does there appear to be any drawing of the sacred place; though, of course, anyone familiar with other such Gothic buildings can easily picture for himself what this chapel would be like.

For six centuries has the bridge been a popular highway for all classes of the community, and it is linked closely with at least two important epochs in English history.

In the great Civil War of 1642–1646, the bridges at Nottingham, Swarkeston, and Burton were regarded as the keys to the North. In the winter of 1642–3, Col. Sir John Gell, the able commander of the Derbyshire regiment, heard that the Royalists were fortifying Swarkeston Bridge, so he marched thither, stormed the works and dismantled the same, after driving away the enemy with a loss of seven or eight killed and many wounded. The date of the “Battle of Swarsen bridge” is given in the register of All Saints’, Derby, as 5th January, 1642–3. The towns of Nottingham and Burton, along with their bridges, were taken and retaken several times during the war; but Derby was never in the hands of the Royalists, and this immunity Sir John Gell attributed to his having in his holding Swarkeston Bridge during the whole of the troublous period.

At this bridge occurred also the climax of the latest invasion of England, _i.e._, that by the “Young Pretender” in 1745. By the time Charles Edward Stuart had reached Derby, he realised that his project was hopeless. His army had increased scarcely at all since he left Scotland, and his mountain warriors, who had marched all the way from their native Grampians, found, when they got to the end of the Pennine Chain, their way barred by the great plain of England. They never crossed the Trent, and although their advance guard reached Swarkeston Bridge, that was only a movement to kill time while the courageous Highlanders braced themselves to endure the humiliation of a retreat.

The Prince had traversed half the length of England, only to find the people were too prosperous and contented to wish to disturb the ruling dynasty; and the King’s two armies, more powerful than his own, were rapidly approaching the invader’s troops. So the 7,000 clansmen, with their tartans and pipes, did not march over the bridge, and the people of Swarkeston were thus deprived of a fine spectacle, doubtless much to their relief. Since then the repose of the bridge has never been disturbed by wars or rumours of wars.

The viaduct over the meadows is delightfully irregular, and its course varies sympathetically with the neighbouring river. The general direction is north and south, but the whole length may be said to form a gentle arc. The surface rises and falls, and the parapet walls are full of unexpected nooks—first a corner and next a curve, now an angle and then a bend; here a concavity and there an inward bulge. In and out and up and down the bridge winds gently, and at intervals, near the arches, are dark, glistening pools, fringed with the sword-like leaves and heavy-scented yellow blooms of the iris, while on the glossy surface of the water are spread the delicate palette-like leaves and golden ball flowers of the water-lily.

There are still remaining in the bridge fifteen old arches; two very beautiful ones are near the northern end, and at the other extremity is a fine group of six. In places, too, are stretches of very old and weathered masonry, pathetically irregular, with parts of a bold string course showing at intervals. The soffits of the old arches are lined with ribs, which increase both their beauty and strength, and there are some very interesting buttresses. It is a matter for regret that the Derbyshire County Council found it necessary in 1899 to make this romantic old bridge strong enough to carry steam-rollers. By the lavish use of blue bricks to underpin a number of the old arches, the utilitarian purpose was achieved, but much of the bridge’s peculiar beauty has been sacrificed thereby; yet in spite of this mischance, there is still enough charm left to make a visit to Swarkeston always a pleasure.

DERBYSHIRE MONUMENTS TO THE FAMILY OF FOLJAMBE[32]

[32] Owing to the lamented death of the late Earl of Liverpool, the importance that would otherwise have attached to this article has been seriously diminished (see preface). The chief printed authorities for the history of the Foljambes are Nichols’ _Collectanea Topographica et Genealogica_ (1834), i. 91–111, 333–361, ii. 68–90; _Monumenta Foljambeana_, by Lord Liverpool, in vols. xiv. and xv. of the _Reliquary_, and Jeayes’ _Derbyshire Charters_ (1906), wherein there are abstracts of 230 Foljambe deeds at Osberton. See also numerous references in Cox’s _Derbyshire Churches_ (4 vols.) and _Three Centuries of Derbyshire Annals_ (2 vols.).

By Rev. J. Charles Cox, LL.D., F.S.A.

All that can be attempted in this article is to give an outline account of the succession of the family of Foljambe during the six centuries that they were numbered among the chief landowners of Derbyshire, with more particular reference to their burial and tombs in the three churches of Tideswell, Bakewell and Chesterfield.

The Foljambe family were connected with Tideswell and Wormhill from very early times. One of them was enfeoffed as a forester of fee (that is an hereditary forester) by William Peverel in the days of the Conqueror. William Foljambe, who was probably his grandson, died in 1172. Thomas Foljambe, of Tideswell, is mentioned in 1208, and again in 1214, when he was a knight. He had three sons, whose names appear as witnesses to various charters between 1224 and 1244; John and Roger are described as being of Tideswell, and Thomas of Little Hucklow. John died in 1249.

Sir Thomas Foljambe, son of the above-mentioned John, was of Tideswell and Wormhill; he was living throughout the reign of Henry III., and for the first ten years of Edward I. He was also of some position in Yorkshire, for in 1253–4 he was seized of a knight’s fee in the Wapentake of Osgoldown; in 1282 he had the manor of Tideswell from Richard Daniel. He died on the Saturday next after the feast of St. Hilary in 1283. One of his brothers, Henry Foljambe, was bailiff of Tideswell in 1288.

It matters but little what class of old records connected with North Derbyshire is studied, the name of Foljambe is certain to occur in important matters, and usually with some frequency. Some serious attention has lately, for the first time, been given to the history of the Peak Forest (_Victoria County History of Derby_, i., 397–425), though the mass of documents relative to its administration yet awaits thorough study. In these records members of the family are continuously mentioned. Thus, at the Forest Pleas of 1251, the heaviest vert or “greenhue” fine (damage to or illicit appropriation of timber) was that of twenty marks imposed on Roger Foljambe for a variety of transgressions; and his two pledges for future observance of the forest assize were John Foljambe and Walter Coterell. At these Pleas, too, Thomas Foljambe was returned by the jury as one of the foresters of fee for the Campana division of the Peak Forest. The next Forest Pleas were not held until 1285. The rolls of the successive bailiffs or stewards of the forest since the last session were produced, from which it appeared that Thomas Foljambe had been bailiff for the year 1277, and again in 1281. In the latter year he was also constable of Peak Castle; his total official receipts for that twelvemonth amounted to the then great sum of £260.

Sir Thomas Foljambe was succeeded by his eldest son, another Sir Thomas Foljambe, of Tideswell, who was a knight of the shire for the county of Derby in 1297, and died in the following year. He was succeeded by his son, yet another Sir Thomas Foljambe, of Tideswell; he represented his county in Parliament in 1302, 1304–5, 1309, and from 1311 to 1314. He was one of those Derbyshire knights who in 1301 were summoned to the muster at Berwick-on-Tweed to do military service against the Scots. He died in 1323, and was succeeded by a fourth Sir Thomas Foljambe, who married the heiress of the family of Darley in the Dale, and so acquired considerable estates in that neighbourhood, which passed to his younger son, Sir Godfrey.

There is interesting information with regard to the Foljambes in the rolls of the Forest Pleas of 1285, from which it appears that the family at that date held two of the hereditary foresterships of the Peak.

The Campana foresters of fee of that period were John Daniel; Thomas le Archer; Thomas, son of Thomas Foljambe, a minor in the custody of Thomas de Gretton; Nicholas Foljambe, who had been a minor in the custody of Henry de Medue, but was then of full age; and Adam Gomfrey. Of these foresters, Adam Gomfrey and Thomas Foljambe held jointly the same bovate, which had formerly been divided between two brothers. Also Thomas Foljambe and John le Wolfhunte held another bovate in the same way, John holding his half by hereditary descent, whilst Thomas Foljambe, senr., had acquired his half by marriage with Katherine, daughter of Hugh de Mirhand. This sub-division of serjeanties became burdensome to the district, as each forester of fee endeavoured to have a servant maintained at the expense of the tenants; but the jurors confirmed a decision of the Hundred Court of 1275 to the effect that there could be only four such servants or officers, according to ancient custom, for the Campana bailiwick.

The bovate of land held by Wolfhunte and Foljambe was a serjeanty assigned for taking of wolves in the forest. On the jurors being asked what were the duties pertaining to that service, the following was the highly interesting reply:—

“Each year, in March and September, they ought to go through the midst of the forest to set traps to take the wolves in the places where they had been found by the hounds: and if the scent was not good because of the upturned earth, then they should go at other times in the summer (as on S^t. Barnabas Day, 11 June,) when the wolves had whelps (catulos), to take and destroy them, but at no other times; and they might take with them a sworn servant to carry the traps (_ingenia_); they were to carry a bill-hook and spear, and hunting-knife at their belt, but neither bows nor arrows: and they were to have with them an unlawed mastiff trained to the work. All this they were to do at their own charges, but they had no other duties to discharge in the forest.”

Wolves abounded in Derbyshire to the end of the thirteenth century. They were troublesome in Duffield Forest as well as in the Peak. There are two highly significant entries on the _Pipe Rolls_ of Henry II. as to the devastation then caused by wolves in this county. In 1160–1 25s. was paid to the forest wolf-hunters as an extra fee. So great was the value set on the skill and experience of the Peak wolf-trappers, that Henry II. in 1167–8 paid 10s. for the travelling expenses of two of them to cross the seas to take wolves in Normandy. The accounts of Gervase de Bernake, bailiff of the Peak for 1255–6, make mention of a colt strangled by a wolf in Edale, and of two sheep killed by wolves in another part of the district.

Reverting to the descent of the eldest line of the Foljambes of Tideswell, John Foljambe succeeded his father, the last named Sir Thomas Foljambe, in 1323. This John Foljambe had a younger brother, Thomas, who had two sons, John and Thomas, of Elton, both of whom appear to have died childless. John Foljambe entailed the family estates in 1350, and a second entail was made in 1372, whereby on the extinction of the male descendants of the elder line, the estates of Tideswell and Wormhill passed to the younger branch of the family.

The oldest known burial-place of the Derbyshire Foljambes was in the chancel of the church of Tideswell. To be buried in such a place is a sure proof of the importance of the family in that district, for such a privilege would not have been granted by the Dean and Chapter of Lichfield, as rectors, except to those of considerable distinction. This privilege must have been granted at an early date, long before the present beautiful fourteenth century chancel was erected. The family settled in this parish soon after the Conquest, and John Foljambe, who died in 1249, aged seventy-one, desired to be buried in the chancel of the church at Tideswell with _his forefathers_. This burial-place was used by the senior branch of the Foljambes until the time of its extinction in the male line by the death of Roger Foljambe in 1448. In the early part of the fourteenth century there were three Foljambe brasses with effigies extant in this chancel, but they have long since disappeared. They respectively commemorated (1) Sir Thomas Foljambe, who died in 1283, aged seventy-six, and Margaret, his wife, daughter of William de Gernon; (2) Sir Thomas Foljambe, who died in 1298, aged sixty-eight, and Catherine, his wife, daughter of William Eyre; and (3) Sir Thomas Foljambe, who died in 1323, aged sixty-seven, and Alice, his wife, daughter and heiress of Gerard de Furnival.

Thomas Foljambe, son of Sir Thomas Foljambe III., married twice. By Aveline, his first wife, he had a son, John, from whom the elder branch at Tideswell were descended. By Alice, daughter and heiress of Darley, of Darley, he had a son Godfrey, the founder of the Bakewell chantry. This John Foljambe, who married Joan, daughter of Anker Frechville, died on August 4th, 1358, and was buried at Tideswell. John, like his half-brother Godfrey, was a chantry founder on a munificent scale. He assigned two hundred acres in Tideswell, Wormhill and Litton for the support of two chaplains, who were to say divine service at the altar of Our Lady in the church of Tideswell. In conjunction with this chantry a flourishing gild of brothers and sisters was established. The chantry was refounded on an extensive scale in the reign of Richard II.[33]

[33] For full particulars of this chantry see Cox’s _Churches of Derbyshire_, ii., 286–291.

On the north side of the chancel, a floor-slab, bearing the matrix of the despoiled brass of the effigy of a man in armour with an inscription above his head, and another round the edge of the slab, long remained. One of the younger branch of the Foljambes, about 1675, desirous that the memory of this benefactor should not be forgotten, placed a small brass tablet across the breast of the former figure, which bore, in addition to a shield of the arms of Foljambe, the following inscription:—

“Tumulus Johanis filii Domini
Thomæ Foljambe qui obiit quarto
die Augusti Ano Domini millesimo
Trecentessimo quinquegesimo octavo
Qui multa bona fecit circa
fabricationem hujus ecclesiæ.”

In 1875, the late Earl of Liverpool caused this brass effigy of his ancestor to be restored. The inscription round the margin is simply a more classical rendering of that given above, with the addition of the date of its restoration. The old inscription has been transferred to another stone at the head of the brass. The fine east window of this chancel is due to the Earl’s munificence.

This is the only remaining assured instance of the once numerous memorials to the great Foljambe family with which this church must have at one time abounded. It was, however, Lord Liverpool’s opinion that the two stone effigies, both of ladies, in the north transept of the church—the one dating from the end of the thirteenth, and the other from the latter half of the fourteenth century—represented members of his family. In this he is supported by local tradition, but the question can probably never be settled. In the south transept are two effigies of later date to a knight and his lady on a table tomb. These have been claimed to represent Sir Thurston de Bower and his wife Margaret, who died about the close of the fourteenth century. This monument was considerably restored and renovated in 1873, and a marginal inscription added naming the effigies. It is, however, quite possible that Lord Liverpool’s conjecture as to these effigies also representing members of the Foljambe family is correct.[34]

[34] Lord Liverpool put these conjectures in print in a preface to the fourth edition of Rev. J. M. J. Fletcher’s _Tideswell Church_, published in 1906. He had intended elaborating his reasons in this volume.

Thomas, the elder of the two sons of John Foljambe, the benefactor to the church, died without issue in his father’s lifetime; John was succeeded by his younger son, Roger, who is mentioned in various charters of the reign of Richard II. His son and heir, James, died in Roger’s lifetime, but left a son, Edward Foljambe, who was at Tideswell, Wormhill, and Elton in 1416. He took part in the Battle of Agincourt, and was knighted, and dying about 1446–7, left two sons. These sons were: Roger, who succeeded him and died in 1448, leaving three daughters; and Thomas, who died shortly before his brother, without issue. Thereupon, the entailed estates of Tideswell, Wormhill, etc., came to Thomas, son and heir of Thomas, younger son of Sir Godfrey Foljambe, of Darley.

The Darley estates passed, as has been already mentioned, in the time of Edward III. to Sir Godfrey Foljambe, the younger son of Sir Thomas, of Tideswell. Sir Godfrey was a man of considerable repute; he acted as seneschal to John of Gaunt, and was for some years Constable of the Peak; he also represented Derbyshire in the Parliaments of 1339–40, 1363–4, and 1369–71. Sir Godfrey Foljambe, who held the old Gernon manor in Bakewell parish and much other property, died in 1376, at the age of 59. A remarkable monument of beautiful finish is to be seen in Bakewell Church, against one of the nave piers, to his memory, and that of his second wife, the co-founders of a chantry in this church.