MARKEATON BRIDGE.MARKEATON BRIDGE.
MARKEATON BRIDGE.
ALLESTREE.ALLESTREE.
ALLESTREE.
The river now passes down a contracted valley, deeply wooded, to Whatstandwell. A prominent feature on the steep crags to the left is Lea Hurst, the Derbyshire home of Miss Florence Nightingale, and on the other the forest of Alderwasley, a surpassing example of sylvan scenery. Ambergate is the next point of interest, where the Derwent receives the Amber, which has watered the delightful Ashover Valley, and wound under the steep hill dominated by the ruined towers and gables of Wingfield Manor. Then our river flows under hanging woods to Belper, where all its energies are required to turn the ponderous wheels at Messrs. Strutt’scotton mills. Nowhere in all its course is it more picturesque than at Belper bridge. Above the weirs it is lake-like in its wide expanse, reflecting the green verdure at its side, the undulating uplands beyond, and the hillside cemetery that by its delectable situation seems to render Death beautiful. The weirs make the water a live thing. One of these is a merry sluice, with several gates liberating the flood above, which comes down like Southey’s torrent at Lodore. The large weir is of great width, and of crescent shape, with a wooded island at its foot. But the best view of this tumult of sunlit foam is obtained when we have for a moment turned to the river-path on the right; then, as we look up the stream, the graceful stone arches frame a picture of dancing water. Above, in the woodland park, is Bridge Hill, the residence of Mr. G. H. Strutt. The ivy-embroidered windows flash back the sunlight, as they look out over the valley of the Derwent. At Belper the river is forty-three miles from its birthplace. Milford comes next, with more of Strutt’s mills and more turbulent weirs; and at Duffield, a mile or two farther south, the river Ecclesbourne pours its cheerful waters into the Derwent. It has come from the Wirksworth country, where George Eliot found character and scenery for “Adam Bede.” Past pleasant pastoral scenes, farmsteads, and country houses, past Little Eaton and Breadsall, and Allestree Hall, with itsancestral woodlands, the seat of Sir William Thomas Evans; past Darley Abbey, where Evans’s cotton mills break up the river into miniature Niagaras, the Derwent pursues its course, until presently we are at Derby, fifty-one miles from where we first made the acquaintance of the stream. An accession of considerable importance, the Markeaton Brook, falls into the river at this point; but we must get into the meadows at the west end of the town to see it, for it follows a subterranean course through the principal streets, being arched over in the year 1845. The upper windings of the Brook afford the painter many pretty “bits,” and are held in high favour by lovers of Nature and other lovers.
About the ancient borough of Derby there is much that is historically interesting; and although the leading thoroughfares abound in pretentious examples of modern architecture, there still remain some of the old-world buildings that were in existence long before Prince Charlie in the winter of ’45 began his disastrous retreat from Derby market-place, the most southerly point to which his army penetrated. A pilot guard advanced, it is true, six miles farther, to Swarkestone Bridge, but the Rubicon, that is the Trent, was not crossed.
DERBY, FROM THE LONG BRIDGE. / DERBY, FROM ST. MARY’S BRIDGE.DERBY, FROM THE LONG BRIDGE. / DERBY, FROM ST. MARY’S BRIDGE.
DERBY, FROM THE LONG BRIDGE. / DERBY, FROM ST. MARY’S BRIDGE.
The Derwent was formerly navigable up to Derby, but the right of communication was sold to the proprietors of two canal companies, who, before the introduction of railways, monopolised the traffic. In this place one peculiarity of the Derwent should not escape notice. The late Dr. Spencer T. Hall observed a distinguishing characteristic of the river, and described it in the following happymanner:—“Of all the rivers of England there is perhaps not one so noted for the sudden rise and lapse of its waters, on the melting of the snows, or the occurrence of summer storms. Even no higher up the stream than Chatsworth, there is an annual average of thirteen inches more rain than at Derby, and farther up the country a higher average still. For this, and for all the ordinary supply, such rapid descent is afforded by the steep cloughs and gullies and mountain roads, that, whenever a sudden thaw or unusual downpour occurs, the normal channel of the river is very soon overfilled, and on rushes the swelling and boiling torrent till it becomes majestic—almost terrific—as it breaks at last from the confines of the mountain gorges into the plain. It is sometimes easy to tell as low down as Derby, by the colour of the water, over which of the tributaries an up-country storm has broken. If out on the heather-side, about the Yorkshire border or the Longshaw and Chatsworth moors, down comes the deluge somewhat the colour of good coffee; if from the limestone districts, almost the colour of cream to it; and in the proportion in which both colours happen to be blended you may calculate pretty nearly how far the storm has been partial or general. Some fine morning you may walk as far as Derwent Bank or Darley Abbey, and see the river winding quietly along with its wonted grace and its usual flow. At noon you look again, and on it comes with the force of a little Niagara through the open flood-gates and over the great weir of Darley Mills, and thence spreads out until the meadows, as far as the Trent, form a series of lakes, which, if that river be also full, soon extends as far or farther down than Nottingham.”
The Derwent at Derby is spanned by several handsome bridges. The oldest and most picturesque of these structures is St. Mary’s. At the foot of the bridge is an ancient chapel where “the busy burgesses or men-at-arms turned aside for a brief silent prayer before crossing the Derwent and plunging into the forests that stretched out before them on the other side of the river.” This mediæval bridge-chapel of Our Lady is now used as a mission-room in connection with the church of St. Alkmund. Just below the bridge, on an island, stands the first silk-mill ever erected in England. It is a vast pile of time-toned brick, pierced with as many windows as there are days in the year, and surmounted by a curious bell-tower. The history of the silk trade in Derby dates back to the opening days of the last century. At that period the Italians held secret the art of silk-throwing, and monopolised the market. John Lombe, an ambitious young fellow, full of spirit, an excellent draughtsman, and a capable mechanic, determined to acquire the secret. He visited Italy, and brought to Derby from Piedmont models of the coveted machinery, together with two native craftsmen who had favoured his enterprise and secured his safety. The Derby Corporation leased to Lombe the island swamp in the Derwent, where he erected in 1718 the present immense mill on a foundation of oaken piles. It cost him £30,000, but his manufactures were a superlative success, and the Italian monopoly was driven out of the market. But Lombe did not live more than two years to reap the rich result of his labours.Treachery was at work, and he was poisoned at the hands of an Italian woman who was employed by the Piedmontese, and who contrived to escape the punishment due to her crime. Lombe, who was only twenty-nine when he thus tragically perished, was buried at All Saints’, a church whose tower is one of the glories of the midland counties. Here, too, rest several members of the Cavendish family, their virtues commemorated in monumental marble; and there is a magnificent monument to the famous Countess of Shrewsbury, the friend of Queen Elizabeth, but better known as “Building Bess of Hardwick.”
For many years Derby has been associated with the production of artistic porcelain. The making of china in the town has really never been discontinued since Duesbury commenced his labours here in the middle of the last century, amalgamating the historic works of Bow and Chelsea with his famous factory at Derby. There are now three china-works in the thriving town, which boasts of more than 100,000 inhabitants within the borough boundaries. The factory of the Derby Crown China Company, Limited, is a Palace of Porcelain where poems in pottery are produced. It is one of the sights of the neighbourhood, and is much visited by Americans and foreigners. Established in 1877, the works have been greatly developed, the business connections increased, and an advanced and higher tone given to most of the productions. All the usual services, such as dinner, tea, breakfast, trinket, anddéjeûner, are made both in porcelain and in semi-vitrified “crown” ware, as are also figures and perforated vases in Parian. The specialities of the Company are vases of every conceivable design and style of decoration, from the most sumptuous Oriental schemes, wrought in raised gold of various hues upon full and lusciously coloured grounds, to the dainty and refined shapes and ornaments of the classic and of the best periods of the Renaissance. Other productions of the Company are the egg-shell specimens of fictile ware, which demand the most artistic skill of the potter. They are of extraordinary thinness; and the beauty of the colouring and the dainty jewelling and enamelling of the ornamentation equal anything achieved at the old works visited by Dr. Johnson in 1777, when he observed:—“The china was beautiful, but it was too dear; for that he could have vessels of silver of the same size as cheap as what were made here of porcelain.” Derby, however, is largely dependent for its industrial prosperity upon the Midland Railway Company, who have their chief offices, locomotive, carriage and waggon, telegraph and signal works in the town. They employ in Derby alone a staff of 12,000 officials and workmen, and their estate covers 500 acres. It extends for some distance along the Derwent, which at this point receives the entire sewage of the town. This pollution of the beautiful river calls for legislative interference. What should be a source of delight becomes an object of disgust, and what was lovely is degraded with all that is loathsome. The South Sea Islanders pelt with filth the people they specially wish to honour: Derby treats the Derwent to a similar distinction.
But a truce to sanitation and economics. Let us follow the Derwent, unfragrantas it has become, past Spondon and the pretty mills at Borrowash, to Elvaston, the noble domain of the Earl of Harrington. The stream supplies with water a spacious ornamental lake, with four islands, concerning which the first Duke of Wellington, walking round it in company with Charles, the fourth Earl, stopped suddenly, and looking round, exclaimed, “Harrington, this is the only natural piece of artificial water I ever saw in my life.” The gardens and grounds themselves are a triumph of arboriculture and landscape gardening; and who is there that has not heard of their avenues of quaintly clipped trees? The church tower and castle rise above a forest of patrician trees, while umbrageous aisles of green give vistas of scenes “where Boccaccio might have wooed and Watteau painted.” These poetic perspectives look upon rockery and statuary, lawn and fountain, borders and beds of flowers. There is an avenue of elms a mile in length, framing at the extremity a view of the Gotham hills. The “golden” gates at the entrance-lodge belonged to the first Napoleon, and once occupied a position near the royal palace at Paris; they were erected here in 1819. The castle and church adjoin each other. The former is a Gothic mansion, which in 1643 was plundered by the Cromwellian troops. A costly monument in memory of Sir John Stanhope was demolished, and outrages were committed in the family vault. The church is a picturesque edifice, with a lofty perpendicular tower; in it are effigies of Sir John Stanhope and his wife, dated 1610, and other interesting family memorials.
Below Elvaston the Derwent flows through a flat country, and at its estuary at Wilne, near Shardlow, has greatly contracted its banks, so that it presents a striking contrast to the broad and powerful Trent. The Derbyshire river, indeed, is not worth following for its own sake below the county town.
Edward Bradbury.
IN THE SOUTH GARDENS, ELVASTON.IN THE SOUTH GARDENS, ELVASTON.
IN THE SOUTH GARDENS, ELVASTON.
TRENT BRIDGE, NOTTINGHAM.TRENT BRIDGE, NOTTINGHAM.
TRENT BRIDGE, NOTTINGHAM.
The Soar—Trent Junction—The Erewash—Gotham and its Wise Men—Clifton Hall and Grove—Nottingham and its History—Colwich Hall and Mary Chaworth—Sherwood Forest—Newark—Gainsborough—Axholme—The Confluence with the Humber.
S
Shortlyafter it has received the Derwent and passed by the locks communicating with the Erewash canal, the Trent is joined by another affluent, on its opposite bank. This is the Soar, which, for the latter part of its course, bounds on the west a portion of the county of Nottingham. Rising in the Leicestershire uplands, some miles to the south of the county town, it passes—traversing a rather wide and open valley—by Leicester itself, skirting the precincts of the Abbey—now marked by but scanty ruins—where Cardinal Wolsey died in the “winter of his discontent,” disgraced by the king whom he had too well served. Then it flows northward by the lime-kilns of Barrow, and near the granite quarries of Mount Sorrel, wandering through water meadows, flat and at times flooded, but for several milesbounded on its western side by the rugged hills of Charnwood Forest, that insular outcrop of old-world rock which so strangely interrupts the monotonous opulence of the “red marl” scenery, and makes a little Wales in England. To the Soar come tributary streams from the pasture lands of Leicester, dear to the fox-hunter, which tributaries, like the river itself, glide past many a quiet village, of which the churches are often of no little interest, and the houses not seldom afford to us excellent specimens of the domestic architecture of our country from the sixteenth to the eighteenth century. The junction of the Soar is not far from another junction, which has given both an origin and a name to what is rapidly becoming a town. Here the main line of the Midland Railway receives one or two important tributaries, and as the result, Trent Junction has sprung up. As we approach, tall factories are seen to rise above lines of red-brick houses, and the College—a young but important school, which has helped to make the name of the place familiar—is conspicuous just on the outskirts of the town. The valley here is wide and level, and the scenery naturally becomes a little monotonous, but its right bank, near to which the river, for a time, is flowing, is sometimes rather steeply scarped. One of the prettiest spots is near to the place where the railway crosses the Trent, shortly after emerging from the cutting which conducts it from the valley of the Soar to that of the main river. The side of the valley is steep and broken, a pleasant combination of rough grassy slope and clustering trees. The uniform flow of the water is interrupted by a weir, and its surface is flecked with white bubbles, roughened and broken for a time with ripples, while above and below the bridge our eyes range up and down the level meadows broken but slightly with lines of green hedges and dots of trees.
Shortly below this place the Trent receives another tributary, the Erewash, a river which traverses the Nottinghamshire coalfield, and is now blackened in many places with collieries and ironworks. Attenborough Church, with its monuments, is of some note, and in the village was born Henry Ireton, son-in-law to Cromwell. Some two miles south of the river is a village known throughout the length and breadth of England, for its inhabitants in olden time have made it a household word. This is Gotham, where wisdom was once to be found; for are not its wise men proverbial? Thoroton, the county historian, thus relates the origin of the saying:—“King John, passing through the place towards Nottingham, and intending to go through the meadows, was prevented by the villagers, who apprehended that the ground over which a king had passed would for ever become a public road. The king, incensed at their proceedings, sent some of his servants to inquire of them the reason of their incivility, that he might punish them by way of fine, or any other way he thought proper. The villagers, hearing of the approach of the king’s servants, thought of an expedient to turn away His Majesty’s displeasure. When the messengers arrived, they found some of the inhabitants engaged in endeavouring to drown an eel; some were employed in dragging carts on to a barn to shade the wood from the sun; others were tumblingtheir cheeses down the hill to find their way to Nottingham; and some were engaged in hedging in a cuckoo which had perched upon a bush; in short, they were all employed in some foolish way or other, whence arose the old adage.” Obviously, when we remember the monarch with whom they had to deal, they were not quite such fools as they seemed.
THE TRENT, FROM THE DERWENT TO THE HUMBER.THE TRENT, FROM THE DERWENT TO THE HUMBER.
THE TRENT, FROM THE DERWENT TO THE HUMBER.
The Trent now begins to draw near to Nottingham, and the villages show signs of the approach to a great centre of manufacture. On a cliff above the river is Clifton Hall. According to the county historian, the house stands on a rock of alabaster, “curiously inlaid in many places with beautiful spars.” It is approached by “an avenue of trees, a mile in length, upon gentle swells of the earth, which happily destroy the formal line which would have been shown upon a level surface. Below, the silvery Trent meanders.” Tradition links a grim story of a murder to the pleasant groves of Clifton, for here, as we are told, “the Clifton Beauty, who was debauched and murdered by her sweetheart, was hurled down the precipice into her watery grave. The place is shown you, and it has been long held in veneration by lovers. Agreeable must be the shady walks above or below on the water’s brink. Here the blackbird and the thrush whistle through the day, and the little redbreast in the evening sings the creation to calm repose in plaintive song. Here commerce is wafted from shore to shore, and industry flows for the reciprocal benefit of the human race.” Since these words were written, industry has gone on flowing to an extent which would have astonished the historian, and would perhaps have rather deranged the measured progress of his periods. But, even now, the barges not seldom form groups—as they did when Turner sketched—tempting to the artist, and the natural beauty of the approach to Nottingham has not been wholly destroyed by tall mills and lofty chimneys. The Cliftons, from whom the Hall and Grove take their name, are an old and important Nottinghamshire family. Thoroton dulyrecords the items of a feast given at the marriage of one of its members in the year 1530, which are so curious as to be worth repeating as an indication of the state of England some three and a half centuries since. For the more solid comestibles were provided two oxen, six calves, six wethers, seven lambs, and ten pigs. Among the lighter were “sixty couple conys,” four dozen chickens, twelve swans, eight cranes, sixteen “hearonsews” (herons), and ten bitterns. To quench the thirst of the guests, there were three hogsheads of wine, “one white, one red, and one claret.” The prices were very different from those of Nottingham market at the present time. A pig cost fivepence, a wether two shillings and fourpence, and a calf fourpence more. A chicken could be purchased for a penny, and a couple of rabbits for fivepence. A swan was priced at sixpence, and a crane at fivepence; for the sixteen herons and the ten bitterns the same sum was paid, viz., fourteenpence. One might visit Nottingham market now for a long time before getting a chance of buying any one of these four birds, and would then have to pay a fancy price for it. Cygnet, as everyone knows who has tasted it, is an excellent dish, but we should have thought that the other wild birds would have needed a hunter’s appetite.
Clifton Grove is also inseparable from the memory of Henry Kirke White, the young poet who died at Cambridge, from overwork, in his twenty-first year. The following quotation from his poem on the place may serve as a specimen of his verses, which we think, in the present day, would not have greatly pleased “reviewers, men, or bookstalls,” and may give an idea of the Grove at the beginning of the present century:—
“And oh, how sweet this walk o’erhung with woodThat winds the margin of the solemn flood!What rural objects steal upon the sight!What rising views prolong the calm delight!“The brooklet branching from the silver Trent,The whispering birch by every zephyr bent,The woody islands and the naked mead,The lowly hut half hid in groves of reed,The rural wicket and the rural stile,And frequent interspersed the woodman’s pile.“Above, below, where’er I turn my eyes,Rocks, waters, woods in grand succession rise.High up the cliff the varied groves ascend,And mournful larches o’er the wave impend.”
“And oh, how sweet this walk o’erhung with woodThat winds the margin of the solemn flood!What rural objects steal upon the sight!What rising views prolong the calm delight!“The brooklet branching from the silver Trent,The whispering birch by every zephyr bent,The woody islands and the naked mead,The lowly hut half hid in groves of reed,The rural wicket and the rural stile,And frequent interspersed the woodman’s pile.“Above, below, where’er I turn my eyes,Rocks, waters, woods in grand succession rise.High up the cliff the varied groves ascend,And mournful larches o’er the wave impend.”
“And oh, how sweet this walk o’erhung with woodThat winds the margin of the solemn flood!What rural objects steal upon the sight!What rising views prolong the calm delight!
“And oh, how sweet this walk o’erhung with wood
That winds the margin of the solemn flood!
What rural objects steal upon the sight!
What rising views prolong the calm delight!
“The brooklet branching from the silver Trent,The whispering birch by every zephyr bent,The woody islands and the naked mead,The lowly hut half hid in groves of reed,The rural wicket and the rural stile,And frequent interspersed the woodman’s pile.
“The brooklet branching from the silver Trent,
The whispering birch by every zephyr bent,
The woody islands and the naked mead,
The lowly hut half hid in groves of reed,
The rural wicket and the rural stile,
And frequent interspersed the woodman’s pile.
“Above, below, where’er I turn my eyes,Rocks, waters, woods in grand succession rise.High up the cliff the varied groves ascend,And mournful larches o’er the wave impend.”
“Above, below, where’er I turn my eyes,
Rocks, waters, woods in grand succession rise.
High up the cliff the varied groves ascend,
And mournful larches o’er the wave impend.”
Not many towns in the Midland counties of England have a finer natural situation than Nottingham. The upland district on the western bank of the Trent terminates in an abrupt craggy scarp above the wide and level valley. The river, just opposite to the town, has swung away into the plain to a distance of more than half a mile from its ancient course, and a tributary stream called the Leen, which has cut deep into the plateau, intervenes between it and the ancient town. This, no doubt, was once limited to the scarped headland which risesbetween the two valleys, though probably it straggled down into the plain, and gradually extended along the road leading to the old bridge over the Trent. But during the present century Nottingham has gained enormously in size, and lost correspondingly in beauty. It has become less picturesque, though probably more healthy, and certainly more convenient; but now it is not wholly guiltless of smoke; it bristles in parts with chimneys, the utilitarian substitute for spires, and it would require very subjective treatment at the hands of an artist who was desirous of depicting the beautiful. Still, there are some views of the town, from the side of the Leen, which are not even now without a certain beauty. Scarped cliffs of grey sandstone support the gardens and terraces of the castle, in the rear of which the town rises from the valley in alternating lines of trees and houses, broken here and there by the steeple or tower of a church. But in olden times, when the valley plain was free from railways, factories, and chimneys, Nottingham must have been a singularly picturesque town. Then the view from the valley of the Trent, especially from near the influx of the Leen, must have been a worthy subject for an artist. The southern wall of the town crowned the grey cliff; above it rose the noble tower of the principal church, and near the extremity of the headland, above the steepest crags, stood the keep and bastionsof the castle. The church remains, but of the rest, as a glance shows, little is left to recall the Nottingham of the days of the Plantagenets.
NOTTINGHAM, FROM THE CASTLE.NOTTINGHAM, FROM THE CASTLE.
NOTTINGHAM, FROM THE CASTLE.
A better site for a town could not readily have been found in the days when the “good old rule” in regard to taking and keeping prevailed. Thus there was a settlement on the headland at an early epoch, though the exact date of the foundation of Nottingham and its more ancient history are equally obscure. As this is not the place for an antiquarian discussion of the value of legends, we will pass over them in silence. As the Trent appears to have been bridged opposite to the town so long since as the tenth century, it is probable that even then a settlement of some importance was already in existence. Its subsequent history was for a time not altogether peaceful or prosperous. It was sorely harried by the Danes; it was taken and spoiled by the troops of Robert Earl of Gloucester in the days of King Stephen, when numbers of the townspeople were slain and no small part of the town was burnt; it was again besieged and captured by Duke Henry, afterwards the second king of that name. Since this time, though more than once the noise of war has been heard in its gates, the town has been, on the whole, much more fortunate. On two occasions only it occupies a prominent place in the history of England. At Nottingham Castle the young King Edward III. was residing with his mother Isabella and her notorious favourite, Roger Mortimer, when what would now be called acoup d’étatwas planned and successfully carried out. The insolence of this man had stirred the anger of the English nobles, and they rallied to the aid of the young king. He was lodged outside the castle; within its walls his so-called guardians appeared to be in safety. But one night Edward and his friends were admitted through a long underground passage, which is still shown under the name of “Mortimer’s Hole,” into the very interior of the castle; the Queen and Mortimer were arrested in their chambers, and the latter was hurried off to London, where the Parliament pronounced his doom, and he was instantly put to an ignominious death, meeting with a fate worse than that of Haman. This great act of justice done, the king, as Froissart says, “took new counsellors, the wisest and best beloved by his people.”
The other episode occurred after a lapse of more than three centuries. At Nottingham was enacted the first scene of the long drama of the civil war termed by Royalist historians “the Great Rebellion.” From York Charles I. had issued a proclamation requiring “all men who could bear arms to repair to him at Nottingham by the 25th of August following, on which day he would set up his royal standard there.” On the morning of the day named he reached Nottingham, and took up his lodging at a house in the town, as the buildings of the castle had even then fallen into a dilapidated condition. The day was wild and stormy; but about six o’clock in the evening “the king himself, with a small train, rode to the top of the castle hill, Varney, the Knight Marshal, who was standard-bearer, carrying the standard, which was then erected in that place, with little other ceremony than the sound of drums and trumpets. The standard was blown down the same nightit had been set up, by a very strong and unruly wind, and could not be fixed in a day or two, till the tempest was allayed.” It was an evil omen, as many observed—not the first in that ill-fated career—and seemed a fitting beginning to the long series of calamities which was closed on the scaffold before the windows of the banqueting house of Whitehall.
But in days previous to those of the Stuarts, Nottingham Castle was a not unfrequent residence of the Kings of England. It was sometimes a prison for men of high estate, for here Owen Glendower and David II. of Scotland were immured, the latter for twelve years, after the battle of Neville’s Cross. King Charles, after he had set up his standard, was not long able to retain possession of the town, and it fell into the hands of his opponents, who repaired the fortifications, and placed Colonel Hutchinson in command. Several attempts were made by the Royalists to regain possession of so important a centre; but though a metal more valuable than lead was also tried, all were unsuccessful, and the King was never again able to set foot within the walls. The castle was “slighted” at the conclusion of the war, and became ultimately the property of the Duke of Newcastle. He cleared away the ruins, and upon the site built a mansion, the design of which some ascribe to Sir Christopher Wren. If so, it is far from being among the happiest efforts of that great man. How ugly it is those who do not know it may see from Turner’s early sketch of Nottingham, which gives an excellent notion of the leading features of the town before its later development. What an offence it had become to the feelings of his maturity may be seen in Turner’s latest sketch of the town, engraved on the next plate of “Modern Painters” (vol. IV.), where the castle is almost thrust aside out of the picture, and is treated rather freely, in order to alleviate slightly the hardness of its rectangular walls and windows.
It was not, however, for long a favourite residence, and by the earlier part of the present century the ducal owner seldom passed any time under its roof. At last, on the rejection of the Reform Bill by the House of Lords in 1831, the Nottingham “lambs,” as the town roughs are called—seemingly because that is about the last animal to which they present any resemblance—“determined to make the castle a burnt-offering to the shade of the outcast Bill.” With the usual British negligence, no precautions had been taken against a riot, so they had for a season full opportunity to disport themselves. After a little preliminary diversion in the country they swarmed up the castle hill, forced the gates, piled up combustibles in the rooms, kindled them, and in a short time the whole building was in flames. Thus the duke got rid of a useless house, and as he recovered damages from the Hundred, he probably did not bear much malice against the rabble of Nottingham. For some forty years it stood a mere roofless, floorless, windowless shell, an unpicturesque ruin. The walls, however, were still in good condition, and were ultimately acquired by the municipal authorities, at whose expense the structure was thoroughly restored for use as a museum; this was opened in 1878, theadjoining grounds being laid out as an ornamental garden. The terrace commands a fine view over the valley of the Trent. “Striking at all times, it is never so remarkable as when that river is in flood. Formerly this was a common event, but the inundations were mitigated by the removal, in the year 1871, of the old Trent Bridge, with its narrow arches, and the erection in its stead of the present handsome structure, which gives a more ready passage to the swollen waters. Still, it is not a rare occurrence to see the whole valley, as far as the eye can reach, converted into one huge lake. The roads in many places are submerged; the railway embankments barely overtop the waters; hedges almost disappear, and the trees rise forlornly from the flood; whole groups of houses are converted into a bad imitation of Venice, and the water disports itself on the ground-floors of warehouses, and among the chattels of store-yards, greatly to the detriment of their owners.”
NEWARK CASTLE.NEWARK CASTLE.
NEWARK CASTLE.
The stately tower of St. Mary’s Church is still conspicuous in the views of the town from the neighbourhood of the Trent, and the whole structure is well worth a visit, for there are few finer churches in the county. It is a noble specimen of Perpendicular architecture, especially remarkable for the number and size of its windows—which, as Leland says, are so many “that no artificer can imagine to set more.” The market-place also—a triangular area some four and a half acres in extent—is an interesting spectacle on Saturdays, when it is covered with booths for the salenot only of fish, flesh, and fowl, but of all sorts of wares; for Nottingham market still maintains its ancient repute in the town; and there, on its stony pastures, the Nottingham lambs were formerly wont to disport themselves at election times, and probably will do it again, whenever political feeling is running high. Of this spectacle one might say that distance would certainly lend enchantment to the view.
CARLTON.CARLTON.
CARLTON.
On University College—a fine new structure, and a lasting monument to the public spirit of the municipality—on the modern churches and public buildings, the arboretum and the town gardens, want of space forbids us to dwell. But the sandstone cliffs so prominent in every view from the river call for the mention of one peculiarity, which is exhibited not only by Nottingham but also by some of the neighbouring villages. In these may be seen dwellings hewn in the rocks, for which some persons claim a remote antiquity, and see in them indeed a survival, if not an actual remnant, of the days when, as the Greek tragedian relates—
Houses of wood or brick they could not frame,But underneath the ground, like swarming ants,In sunless caves they found a hidden home.
Houses of wood or brick they could not frame,But underneath the ground, like swarming ants,In sunless caves they found a hidden home.
Houses of wood or brick they could not frame,
But underneath the ground, like swarming ants,
In sunless caves they found a hidden home.
Be this as it may, houses partly excavated in the rock are still not very uncommon, and there are some singular caves in the cemetery which are now being utilised for vaults, so that “at the present day in the town of Nottingham, wefind a return not only to primitive dwellings as at Petra, but to primitive sepulchres as at Jerusalem.”
The secret of the rapid development of Nottingham during the present century, the cause, direct or indirect, of the great blocks of buildings that rise high above the level of the houses on the hill, and have spread so widely over the meadows of the Trent and Leen, is the manufacture of hosiery and lace. In early days Nottingham was noted for making malt and tanning leather, but the latter trade, happily for the noses of the inhabitants, is not now among the leading industries of the town. It became distinguished for hand-knit stockings not very long after this method of making them was adopted, and one of the first attempts at a weaving machine was set up in a Nottinghamshire village. It is needless to say that the inventor experienced the common fate of those wiser than their generation, and that others reaped the fruits of what he had sown in poverty and sorrow. The machine, after the death of the inventor, was adapted for use in London, and was brought back again into Nottinghamshire, where during the seventeenth century it became firmly established. Great improvements in the methods of weaving were made in the following century, and these during the present one have been carried to a high pitch of perfection. The machinery in the factories produces almost everything that can be woven, from the most ordinary articles of hosiery to the most delicate lacework.
From Nottingham to Newark the Trent continues to flow and to wind along a wide open valley, bounded here and there, as at the former town, by sandstone crags, which with their pleasant combinations of rock, wood, and water occasionally relieve the general monotony of the scenery. On the left bank runs the railway. Colwich Hall, which is in the valley not far from Nottingham, is noted for its memories of Mary Chaworth, who first awakened the youthful susceptibilities of Byron, and is commemorated in more than one of his earlier poems. She married the owner of Colwich Hall, and her fate was a sad one. At the time of the riots already mentioned, the house was attacked and plundered by the Nottingham mob; she escaped from the tender mercies of the playful “lambs” into a neighbouring plantation, but the fright and the exposure to the rain caused an illness which proved fatal.
West of the Trent lies Sherwood Forest, with its memories of Robin Hood, who more than once played his pranks in the town of Nottingham, and made its officials his victims. On this side also lies the group of ample estates and lordly mansions called the “Dukery”; but on the river itself there is no place of any note—though some of the village churches are of interest—till we reach the old ferry at Fiskerton, near to which is East Stoke, where the misguided followers of Lambert Simnel were crushed and scattered by the troops of Henry VII. Before the Trent reaches Newark it divides into two streams, the larger keeping to the western side of the valley, while the smaller flows nearerto the undulating plateau by which it is bounded on the east. Between the base of this plateau and the water is a broad strip of level land, on which the town is built. It was, in former days, a military post of some importance, for it guarded the line of the Great North Road, which is now carried across the island plain on a raised causeway, constructed by Smeaton. According to tradition, the first fortress by the riverside was erected by Egbert, but this was rebuilt by Leofric, the great Earl of Mercia, when it was called the New Work, and thus gave a name to the town. But of this fortress not a fragment is now visible, the oldest part of the present castle dating from about the year 1123, when it was rebuilt from the ground by one of the Bishops of Lincoln. He had a liking for castle-building, but as he doubted how far such work was episcopal, in order to keep his conscience easy, he always founded a monastery when he built a new fortress. Since this date also very much has been changed, and the ruin as it stands is for the most part distinctly less ancient. Within the walls of Newark Castle, King John, of evil fame, ended his unquiet life; and not long after it was occupied by the nobles who were in arms against him, and was defended for a few days against the Earl of Pembroke, guardian of the young king, his successor.
But the most stirring episodes in the history of Newark Castle occurred during the Civil War. After the troubles began, the town, which was exceptionally loyal, was held by a strong Royalist garrison, which for a time formed a serious obstacle to the progress of the other party. So it was beleaguered by three separate bands of the Parliamentary troops. This division of forces proved to be a disastrous policy. The band which had occupied Beacon Hill, to the north-east of the town, was attacked suddenly on one side by Prince Rupert, on the other by a sally of the besieged, and was crushed and captured, whereupon the others retreated hurriedly. Newark was again besieged after Marston Moor, and again relieved by Prince Rupert. But at last, after the fatal field of Naseby, the town was blockaded by the Scotch army. Yet even then it held out till the king had surrendered at Southwell, when, in accordance with his orders, it capitulated. Among the “siege pieces” which remain as memorials of the great struggle, those of Newark are familiar to the collector. The castle, of course, was duly “slighted,” and for two centuries the ruins were abandoned to the ravages of the weather and of the local vandals. Now, however, they are carefully preserved. The river front, which consists of a lofty curtain-wall with three towers, is still fairly perfect, but the latter do not project sufficiently to produce an effective outline or a picturesque view.
Newark, though now a busy place, for it is the centre of an important agricultural district, and has a noted corn market, besides gypsum and farming implement works and malthouses, still retains several remnants of bygone times, particularly in its ample market-place, where one or two interesting old houses may yet be seen, as well as a curious though much-restored cross, called the Beaumont Cross, at the junction of two of its streets. In former days, as a halting-placeon the Great North Road, it was noted for its inns, and two of those which now remain claim to have existed from very early times. The “Saracen’s Head” (where Jeanie Deans is lodged by the author of the “Heart of Midlothian”) traces back its history to the reign of Edward III., and the “White Hart” to that of Henry IV. But its chief attraction to the antiquarian is the church, the lofty spire of which rises conspicuously above the houses in every view of the town. It yields to few parish churches in England either in size or beauty; and, now that Southwell is a cathedral, may claim to be, on the whole, the finest in the county of Nottingham. It incorporates a few remnants of a Norman building, but the lower part of the tower is Early English—the building as a whole, together with the spire, being Perpendicular. The steeple is at the western end, and the plan is cruciform, but the transepts do not project beyond the outer wall of the aisles. The stalls and woodwork of the choir and the roof are very fine, and some of the brasses are interesting. There is also some good modern stained glass, and an excellent organ. The large churchyard allows the church to be well seen from near at hand, and for many a mile along the broad and level valley of the Trent its steeple rises like a landmark, which in olden times served to guide the traveller to the shelter of the walls of the “New work.”
ON THE TRENT AT GAINSBOROUGH.ON THE TRENT AT GAINSBOROUGH.
ON THE TRENT AT GAINSBOROUGH.
The general course of the Trent is now almost due north to beyond Gainsborough, though the river sweeps through the broad valley in great sinuous curves.The scenery loses its interest, for the slopes which rise from the plain are, as a rule, rather low, and comparatively distant from the waterside. Level meadows have, no doubt, a certain beauty of their own, particularly in the early summer, when the grass is dappled with flowers and the scythe has not yet laid low their beauty. There is a charm in the beds of rustling reeds, in the grey willows overhanging the water, in the clusters of meadow-sweet, willow-herb, and loosestrife, fringing the bank and brightening the ditches; in the swan that “floats double” on the still stream, and the kingfisher that glances over it like a flying emerald; but these after a time become a little monotonous; and neither the river itself, nor the villages near its bank, afford much opportunity for illustration or for description.
Old Sluice Gate. AT AXHOLME.AT AXHOLME.
AT AXHOLME.
West of Lincoln, roughly speaking, the Trent ceases to traverse Nottinghamshire, and becomes the boundary between it and the adjoining shire of Lincoln. The only place of importance on the latter portion is Gainsborough, a town of considerable antiquity, for here the fleet of Sweyn was moored, and here he himself, on returning from his foray, “was stabbed by an unknown hand”; but it retains little of interest and is less picturesque than is the wont of riverside towns. The influence of the tide extends some miles above the town, and bare banks of slimy mud are exposed at low water on either side of the stream. The Trent is said to exhibit at spring tides the phenomenon called the “bore” or “eagre,” when, at the first rise after low, the tidal wave, forcing its way up the contracted channel of the river from the broad expanse of the estuary, advances as a rolling mass of water, causing no little disturbance to the smaller craft which it meets in its course. A handsome stone bridge of three arches, with a balustraded parapet, spans the river at Gainsborough, and affords a good view both of it and of the town. The latter occupies a strip of level land between the water-brink and the well-defined slope which forms the eastern boundary of the valley. Mills old and new are its most conspicuous features. Not a few have their bases washed by the tide; but at intervals gardens, defended as usual by retaining-walls, come down to the Trent. Chimneys are more prominent than spires, and the principal church—at some distance from the bridge—has a tower inconspicuous either for height or for beauty. On the left bank houses are not numerous; flat meadows and hedgerow trees generally border the stream, and extend for a mile or more, till the ground gradually rises to the opposite slope of the valley. It must be confessed that neither the scenery nor the town itself isparticularly attractive; but the former is improved by regarding it from the higher ground on the east, from which also views are obtained across another expanse of comparatively level ground to a line of low hills forming the northern prolongation of the plateau on which stands the Cathedral of Lincoln. The parish church of Gainsborough is said to have been built early in the thirteenth century; but the greater part of the tower must be considerably later in its date, and the body of the church is a heavy stone structure in what its architects would probably have called the Italian style. It has, however, a churchyard, pleasantly—it might be said, thickly—planted with trees; and, to judge by its size, one would infer that Gainsborough at any rate was deemed a good place to die in, whatever it might be for the purpose of living. The town, however, possesses easy communication, by way of the Trent, with the Humber, and is thus an inland port of some rank.