HERE AND THERE IN SALOP AND STAFFORDSHIRE

The important and ancient capital of Salop would indeed be insulted were it called a "nook" or "corner." Could it so be named, we might be allowed to let our enthusiasm run wild in this most delightful old town.

Shrewsbury and Tewkesbury are to our mind far more interesting than Chester, which has so many imitation old houses to spoil the general harmony. At Shrewsbury or Tewkesbury there are very few mock antiques, and at every turn and corner there are ancient buildings to carry our fancy back to the important historical events that have happened in these places. One cannot but be thankful to the local authorities for preserving the mediaeval aspect, and let us offer up a solemn prayer that the electric tramway fiend may never be permitted to enter.

Chirk Castle is so close upon the boundaries of Salop that we may include this corner of Denbighshire. It is the only border fortress of Wales still inhabited, and is remarkably situated on an eminence high above the grand old trees of the park, or rather forest, surrounding it.

It has stood many a siege, but its ma.s.sive external walls look little the worse for it. They are of immense thickness, and so wide that two people abreast can walk upon the battlements. The huge round towers, with deep-set windows and loopholes, have a very formidable appearance as you climb the steep ascent from the picturesque vale beneath. It was built by the powerful family of Mortimer early in the fourteenth century. From the Mortimers and Beauchamps it came into the possession of Henry VIII.'s natural son, the Duke of Richmond and Somerset, and to Lord Seymour, brother of the Protector Somerset. Then the Earl of Leicester owned it in Elizabeth's time, and eventually Sir Thomas Myddelton, Lord Mayor in James I.'s reign. His son, Sir Thomas, fought valiantly for the Parliamentary side, and in 1644 had to besiege his own fortress. A letter from the governor, Sir John Watts, to Prince Rupert, which still hangs in the great hall, describes how the owner "attempted to worke into the castle with iron crowes and pickers under great plancks and tables, which they had erected against the castle side for their shelter: but my stones beate them off." In the following year Charles I. slept there on two occasions; and it was here that he learned the defeat of the great Montrose. After the king's execution, Sir Thomas, like many others, began to show favour to the other side; and the year before the Restoration he was mixed up in Sir George Booth's Cheshire rising, and had to fortify his castle against General Lambert, to whom he eventually surrendered. But the general did not depart until he had disabled the fortress, and the damage done after the Restoration took 30,000 to repair. It was Sir Hugh, the younger brother of the first Sir Thomas Myddelton, who made the New River, which was opened on Michaelmas Day, 1613. A share in 1633 was valued at 3, 4s. 2d., and in 1899 one was sold for 125,000!

[Ill.u.s.tration: SERVANT'S HALL, CHIRK CASTLE.]

The various apartments are ranged round a large quadrangle, parts of which remind one somewhat of Haddon. On one side is the great hall, and opposite the servants' hall. The former, with its minstrels' gallery, heraldic gla.s.s, and ancient furniture, is full of interest. The walls are hung with various pieces of armour, and weapons, and a Cavalier drum, saddle, and hat, the latter with its leather travelling case, which is probably unique. There is a gorgeous coloured pedigree to the first Sir Thomas Myddelton, recording ancestors centuries before, though perhaps not quite so far back as the pedigree in the long gallery at Hatfield, which is said to go back to Adam.

[Ill.u.s.tration: SERVANTS' HALL, CHIRK CASTLE.]

The servants' hall is a delightful old room, with long black oak tables and settles, those against the wall being fixtures to the panelling.

There is a raised dais, and a seat of state to make distinction at the board. There are queer old portraits of ancient retainers, one the bellman who used to ring the great bell in the corner turret of the quadrangle, and another very jolly looking porter, who has his eye on an antique beer barrel perched on wheels in a corner of the room. This apparatus has done good service in its day, as have the great pewter dishes and copper jugs. Above the wide open fireplace are the Myddelton arms. The servants' hall was an orderly apartment:

"No noise nor strife nor swear at all, But all be decent in the Hall,"

is written up for everybody to see, with the following rules:--That every servant must take off his hat at entering; and sit in his proper place, and drink in his turn, and refrain from telling tales or speaking disrespectfully, and various other things, which misdeeds were to be punished in the first instance by the offender being deprived of his allowance of beer; for the second offence, three days' beer; and the third, a week.

The castle is rich in portraits, especially by Lely and Kneller, many of which hang in the oak gallery, which extends the whole length of the eastern wing; and there are several fine oak cabinets, one of which, of ebony and tortoise-sh.e.l.l with silver chasings, was given to the third Sir Thomas Myddelton by the Merry Monarch.

The wrought-iron entrance gates of very elaborate workmanship were made in 1719 by the local blacksmith.

At the ancient seat of the Trevors, Brynkinalt, nearer to Chirk village, are some interesting portraits of the Stuart period, notably of Charles II.; James, Duke of York; Nell Gwyn, the d.u.c.h.ess of Portsmouth, and Barbara Villiers.

Chirk village is insignificant, but has a fine church in which are some interesting monuments, notably that of the gallant knight who besieged his own castle as before described. He and his second wife are represented in marble busts. It was their son Charles who married the famous beauty of Charles II.'s reign; she was the daughter of Sir Robert Needham, and her younger sister, Eleanor, became the Duke of Monmouth's mistress. There is an old brick mansion called Plas Baddy, near Ruabon, where "La Belle Myddelton" and her husband lived when the diversions of the Court proved tedious; but buried in these wilds, she must have felt sadly out of her element without the large following of admirers at her feet. She had more brains, though, than most Court beauties, and being a talented artist, was not entirely dependent upon flattery.

Near the entrance of the Ceiriog valley, to the west of Chirk, is a farm called Pontfaen, and beyond, across some meadows, there is a remarkable Druidical circle. Gigantic stones are riveted to the crosspieces of archways, having the appearance of balancing themselves in a most remarkable manner. The entrance to the circle has two pillars in which are holes through which was pa.s.sed a pole to act as wicket; and in front of the altar is a rock in which may be seen cavities for the feet, where the officiating priest is supposed to have stood. It is secluded, solemn, and ghostly, especially by moonlight when we saw it for the first time. The villages hereabouts, though picturesquely situated, are far from interesting: whitewashed and red-brick cottages of a very plain and ordinary type, and very few ancient buildings.

Some of the most picturesque old houses in England are to be found in the southern and central part of Salop. Take, for example, Stokesay Castle, which is quite unique. A battlemented Early English tower with lancet windows and the great hall are the princ.i.p.al remains. The latter, entered from above by a primitive wooden staircase, is a n.o.ble apartment with a fine open timber roof. The exterior has been altered and added to at a later period, making a very quaint group of gables, with a projecting storey of half-timber of the sixteenth century. This is lighted by lattice windows, and the bay or projection is held by timber supports from the earlier masonry. It has a deep roof, and the whole effect is odd and un-English. Not the least interesting feature is an Elizabethan timber gatehouse with carved barge-boards, entrance gate, and corner brackets, and the timbers shaped in diamonds and other devices. Then there is picturesque Pitchford Hall and Condover close by: the former a fine half-timber mansion, the latter a stately Elizabethan pile of stone. Pitchford we believe has been very much burnished up and considerably enlarged since we were there, but we should not like to see it with its new embellishments, for from our recollection of the old house, half its charm was owing to the fact that there was nothing modern-antique about it: a dear old black-and-white homestead, which looked too perfect a picture for the restorer to set to work upon it and spoil its poetry; but for all that it may be improved. The courtyard presents quite a dazzling arrangement of geometric patterns in the timber work, and over the central porch there is a quaint Elizabethan gable of wood quite unlike anything we have seen before. The side facing the north is, or was, quite a picture for the artist's brush. The stately lofty gables of Condover are in striking contrast with the more homely looking ones of Pitchford; and the builder was an important person in his day, as may be judged from his elaborate effigy in Westminster Abbey, namely, Judge Owen, who claimed descent from one of the ancient Welsh kings. Like most Elizabethan houses, Condover Hall is built in the form of a letter E, but the central compartment was probably added to later on by Inigo Jones. The doorway and bay-windows above are of fine proportions, and full of dignity.

At Eaton Constantine, to the east, is the quaint old timber house where Richard Baxter lived; and at Langley, to the south-east, a fine old timber gatehouse; as well as Plash Hall, famous for its elaborate twisted chimneys. Then there is Ludlow with its ruined castle, where poor young Edward V. was proclaimed king before he set out for London: and its famous "Feathers" hostelry with black-oak panelled rooms, its old town-gate, and the ancient bridge of Ludford to the south. The country between Ludlow and Shrewsbury is remarkably beautiful, especially in the vicinity of Church Stretton, which of recent years has grown rabidly as a health resort, meaning, of course, the springing up of modern dwellings to mar its old-world snugness.

There is, or was some twenty years ago, a narrow street of old houses, behind which, backed by beautiful woods, stood the manor-house, long since converted into an inn, and the church. Beyond the woods rise a range of lofty hills; and if we take the trouble to clamber up to the highest peak (which rises to upwards of 1600 feet), we are well rewarded for our pains. Two of the highest points are Caradoc and Lawley, famous landmarks for miles around. The "Raven," when we visited it, was a quaint old hostelry, and an ideal place to make headquarters for exploring the romantic scenery all around.

At the pretty little village of Winnington, close upon the county border, and fourteen miles as the crow flies to the north-west of Church Stretton, stands a tiny little cottage at the foot of the Briedden Hills. Here lived the famous old Parr, who was born there in the reign of Edward IV. and died in that of Charles I., having lived in the reigns of no less than ten monarchs. In his hundred and fifty-second year he went to London for change of air, which unfortunately proved fatal. His gravestone in Westminster Abbey will be remembered near Saint-Evremond's and Chiffinch's, near the Poets' Corner.

[Ill.u.s.tration: MARKET DRAYTON.]

[Ill.u.s.tration: MARKET DRAYTON.]

The quiet little town of Market Drayton, some eighteen miles to the north-east of Shrewsbury, contains many interesting timber houses. There is still an old-fashioned air about the place of which the footsore pedestrian stumbling over the cobble stones soon becomes conscious. The quaint overhanging gables in the narrow streets are rich with ornamental carvings. One long range of buildings at the corner of Shropshire and Cheshire Streets is a fine specimen of "magpie" architecture. Let us hope the row of antiquated shops on the bas.e.m.e.nt will remain content with their limited s.p.a.ce; for so far those imposing modern structures, which have a way of throwing everything out of harmony, are conspicuous by their absence. Nor has the demon electric tram come to destroy this quiet peaceful corner of Salop, as, alas! it has to so many of our old towns. One dreads to think what England will be like in another fifty years. Farther along Shropshire Street we find a little antiquated inn, the "Dun Cow," with great timber beams and thick thatch roof, and the "King's Arms" opposite bearing the date 1674 upon the gable ab.u.t.ting upon the roof, which does not say much for the sobriety of the person who set it up. Hard by is a good Queen Anne house standing a little back, as if it didn't like to a.s.sociate with such neighbours. It looked deserted, and was "To Let"; and we couldn't help thinking how this compact little house would be picked up were it only situated in Kensington or Hampstead.

The church, an imposing building finely situated, is disappointing, though there is some good Norman work about it. It has been reseated, and the only thing worth noting is an old tomb showing the quaint female costume of Elizabeth's day, and a tall-backed oak settle facing the communion table. The latter looks as if it ought to be facing an open fireplace in some manorial farm.

Many superst.i.tions linger hereabouts. The old people can recollect the dread in which a certain road was held at night for fear of a ghostly lady, who had an unpleasant way of jumping upon the backs of the farmers as they returned from market. Tradition does not record whether those who were thus favoured were total abstainers; possibly not, for the lady by all accounts had a grudge against those who occasionally took a gla.s.s; and in a certain inn cellar, when jugs had to be replenished, it was discomforting to find her seated on the particular barrel required, like the goblin seen by Gabriel Grub upon the tombstone.

There was a custom among the old Draytonites for some reason, not to permit their aged to die on a feather-bed. It was believed to make them die hard, and so _in extremis_ it was dragged from beneath the unfortunate person. The sovereign remedy they had for whooping-cough is worth remembering, as it is so simple. All you have to do is to cut some hair from the nape of the invalid child's neck, place it between a piece of bread and b.u.t.ter, and hand the sandwich to a dog. If he devours it the malady is cured; if he doesn't, well, the life of the dog at least is spared.

A few miles to the east of the town, in the adjoining county, is the famous battlefield of Bloreheath, where the Houses of Lancaster and York fought desperately in 1459. The latter under the Earl of Salisbury came off victorious, while the commander of Henry's forces was slain. A stone pedestal marks the spot, originally distinguished by a wooden cross, where Lord Audley fell.

Of less historical moment but more romantic interest, is the fact that here close upon a couple of centuries later the diamond George of Charles II. was concealed, while its royal wearer by right was lurking fifteen miles away at Boscobel. The gallant Colonel Blague, who had had the charge of this tell-tale treasure, was captured and thrown into the Tower, where no less a celebrity than peaceful Isaak Walton managed to smuggle it. Blague eventually escaped, and so the George found its way to the king in France. At Blore also Buckingham remained concealed, disguised as a labourer, before he got away into Leicestershire and thence to London and the coast. "Buckingham's hole," the cave where his grace was hidden, is still pointed out; and a very aged man who lived in the neighbourhood a few years ago prided himself that he could show the exact place where the duke fell and broke his arm; and he ought to have known, as his great-grandfather was personally acquainted with "old Elias Bradshaw," who was present when the accident happened.

Broughton Hall, a fine old Jacobean mansion, stands to the east of Blore. It is a gloomy house, and has some ghostly traditions. We are reminded of the rather startling fact that upon developing a negative of the fine oak staircase there, the transparent figure of an old woman in a mob-cap stood in the foreground! Here was proof positive for the Psychological Society. But, alas! careful investigation upset the mystery. The shadowy outline proved to be painfully like the ancient housekeeper. The subject had required a long exposure, and the lady must have wished to be immortalised, for she certainly must have stood in front of the lens for at least a minute or so. It is strange this desire to be pictured. Any amateur photographer must have experienced the difficulties to be encountered in a village street. The hours of twelve and four are fatal. School children in thousands will crop up to fill up the foreground. In such a predicament a friend of ours was inspired with an ingenious remedy. Having covered his head with the black cloth, he was horrified to see a myriad of faces instead of the subject he wished to take. However, he got his focus adjusted somehow, and having placed his dark slide in position ready for exposure, he placed the cloth over the lens-end of the camera as if focussing in the opposite direction.

Immediately there was a stampede for the other side, with considerable struggling as to who should be foremost. The cherished little bit of village architecture was now free, the cloth whipped away, and the exposure given. "Are we all taken in, mister?" asked one of the boys a little suspiciously. "Yes, my lads," was the response given, "you've all been taken in." And so they had, but went home rejoicing.

Beside the staircase, there is little of interest inside Broughton.

There was a hiding-place once in one of the rooms which was screened by an old oil painting, but it is now merged into tradition. The road from Newport pa.s.ses through wild and romantic scenery. At Croxton, farther to the east, there is, or was, a Maypole, one of those old-world villages where ancient customs die hard. Swinnerton Hall, a fine Queen Anne house to the north-east, and nearer to Stone, is the seat of the ancient family of Fitzherbert, the beautiful widow of one of whose members was in 1785 married to the Prince Regent, afterwards George IV.

The palatial Hall of Trentham, farther to the north, is rather beyond our province, being in the main modern. One grieves that the fine old house represented in Dr. Plot's quaint history of the county has pa.s.sed away; one grieves, indeed, that so many of these fine Staffordshire houses are no more. The irreparable loss of Ingestre Hall, Wrothesley Hall, Enville Hall, and of Severn End in the adjoining county, makes one shudder at the dangers of fire in these ancestral mansions. Coombe Abbey in Warwickshire was only quite recently saved from a like fate by Lord Craven's activity and presence of mind.

But the old gatehouse of Tixall to the east of Stafford, and Wootton Lodge to the north of Uttoxeter, fortunately still remain intact. The former presents much the same appearance as in Plot's drawing of 1686, but the curious gabled timber mansion beyond has long since disappeared, and the cla.s.sic building that occupies its site looks hardly in keeping with so perfect an example of Elizabethan architecture. The romantic situation of Wootton Lodge is well described by Howitt. The majestic early-Jacobean mansion (the work of Inigo Jones) has a compactness and dignity quite its own, and there is nothing like it anywhere in England, though more cla.s.sic, perhaps, than the majority of houses of its period.

It has a battlemented roof surmounted by an array of ma.s.sive chimneys, mullioned windows innumerable, and a graceful flight of steps leading to the ornamental porch. It was not at this stately house that the eccentric Jean Jacques came to bury himself for over a year, but at the Hall, a far less picturesque building. The philosopher and his companion Theresa le Va.s.seur were looked at askance by the country folk; and "old Ross Hall," as they called him, botanising in the secluded lanes in his strange striped robe and grotesque velvet cap with gold ta.s.sels and pendant, was a holy terror to the children. It was supposed he was in search of "lost spirits," as indeed was the case, for his melancholia at length led to his departure under the suspicion that there was a plot to poison him.

A bee-line drawn across Staffordshire, say from Bridgnorth in Salop to Haddon in Derbyshire, would intersect some of the most interesting spots. In addition to Wootton and Ingestre, we have Throwley Hall, Croxden and Calwich Abbeys, and Tissington (in Derbyshire) to the north-east (not to mention Alton and Ham), and Boscobel, Whiteladies, Tong, etc., to the south-east.

Of Boscobel and Whiteladies we have dealt with elsewhere too particularly to call for any fresh description here; but not so with the picturesque village of Tong, whose church is certainly the most interesting example of early-Perpendicular architecture in the county.

Would that the interiors of our old churches were as carefully preserved as is the case here. There is nothing modern and out of harmony. The rich oak carvings of the screens and choir stalls; the monumental effigies of the Pembrugges, Pierrepoints, Vernons, and Stanleys; the Golden Chapel, or Vernon chantry--all recall nooks and corners in Westminster Abbey. It was Sir Edward Stanley, whose rec.u.mbent effigy in plate armour is conspicuous, who married Margaret Vernon, the sister of the runaway heiress of Haddon, and thus inherited Tong Castle, as his brother-in-law did the famous Derbyshire estate.

The early-Tudor castle was demolished in the eighteenth century, when the present Strawberry-Hill Gothic fortress of reddish-coloured stone was erected by a descendant of the Richard Durant whose initials may still be seen on the old house in the Corn Market at Worcester, where Charles II. lodged before the disastrous battle.[28] Unromantic as were Georgian squires, as a rule, the Eastern Gothic architecture of their houses and the fantastic and unnatural grottoes in their grounds show signs of sentimental hankering. At Tong they went one better, for there are traditions of aeolian harps set in the masonry of the farmyard of the castle. The mystic music must indeed have been thrown unto the winds!

But the Moorish-looking mansion, if architecturally somewhat a monstrosity, is nevertheless picturesque, with its domed roofs and pinnacles. A fine collection of pictures was dispersed in 1870, including an interesting portrait of Nell Gwyn, and of Charles I., which has been engraved.

In the older building (which somewhat resembled old Hendlip Hall) was born the famous seventeenth-century beauty, Lady Venetia Digby, _nee_ Stanley, of whom Vandyck has left us many portraits, notably the one at Windsor Castle,--an allegorical picture representing the triumph of innocence over calumny, for she certainly was a lady with "a past." The learned and eccentric Sir Kenelm Digby, her husband, endeavoured to preserve her charms by administering curious mixtures, such as viper wine; and this, though it was very well meant, probably ended her career before she was thirty-three. One can scarcely be surprised that at the post-mortem examination they discovered but very little brains; but this her husband attributed to his viper wine getting into her head!

Not far from Tong, in a secluded lane, is a tiny cottage called Hobbal Grange, which is a.s.sociated with the wanderings of Charles II. when a fugitive from Worcester. Here lived the mother of the loyal Penderel brothers, who risked their lives in harbouring their ill.u.s.trious guest.

We mention Hobbal more particularly as since the _Flight of the King_ was written we have had it pointed out pretty conclusively that "the Grange" of to-day is only a small portion of the original "Grange Farm"

converted into a labourer's dwelling. The greater part of the original house was pulled down in the eighteenth century. In an old plan, dated 1739, of which we have a tracing before us, there are no less than seven buildings comprising the farm, which was the largest on the Tong estate.

In 1855 it was reduced to eighty-six acres. In 1716, Richard Penderel's grandson, John Rogers, was still in residence at Hobbal.

[Ill.u.s.tration: BLACKLADIES.]

Near Whiteladies is the rival establishment Blackladies, a picturesque red-brick house with step-gables and mullioned bays. As the name implies, this also was a nunnery, but there are but scanty remains of the original building. There is a stone cross, and some other fragments are built into the masonry; and in the stables may be seen the chapel, where services were held until sixty years ago. Part of the moat also remains. A lane near at hand is still known as "Spirit Lane," because the Black Nuns of centuries ago have been seen to walk there.

FOOTNOTES:

[28] See _Flight of the King_.

IN NORTHERN DERBYSHIRE