MEADOW LAND AT AXHOLME.MEADOW LAND AT AXHOLME.
MEADOW LAND AT AXHOLME.
The old chapel mentioned by Leland, the traditional burial-place of sundry Danish invaders, is gone; but the visitor who has traversed the rather long and, near the waterside, unlovely streets which intervene between the railway station and the central part of the town, will find, when he has reached the latter, something between it and the river to reward him for his pains. This is a remarkable specimen, in very fair preservation, of the older English domestic architecture. It is called the Old Hall, or Manor House, and John of Gaunt is popularly indicated as its builder; but it may perhaps be doubted whether the greater part, at least, does not belong to a rather later date. The house, which is of considerable size, stands at the end of a kind of open courtyard surrounded by cottages. Its general plan is that of a long central block from which two wings project at right angles. The former is chiefly—at any rate, in the upper portion—of timber-work; the latter are mainly built of brick. The mansion has suffered considerably from the effects of time and neglect, but it has been to some extent restored of late years, and portions of it are still either inhabited or in use. About a century and a half since it was the residence of one Sir Neville Hickman, but since his death it has served various purposes, one part for a time having been converted into a theatre.
The tidal river below Gainsborough passes on through scenery less and less interesting. After a time it ceases to divide the county of Nottingham from Lincoln, and is bordered on both banks by the latter. The district to the west is called the Island of Axholme. This, “though now containing some of therichest land perhaps in the kingdom, was formerly one continued fen, occasioned by the silt thrown up the Trent with the tides of the Humber. This, obstructing the free passage of the Dun and the Idle, forced back their waters over the circumjacent lands, so that the higher central parts formed an island, which appellation they still retain. From this circumstance it became a place so deplorable that Roger, Lord Mowbray, an eminent baron in the time of King Henry II., adhering to the interests of the younger Henry, who took up arms against his father, repaired with his retainers to this spot, fortified an old castle, and for some time set at defiance the king’s forces who were sent to reduce him to obedience.”[4]
The authority just quoted tells us that an attempt to regulate the drainage of Axholme was made so long since as the reign of Henry V. by one of the Abbots of Selby, who constructed “a long sluice of wood” upon the Trent “at the head of a certain sewer called the Maredyke,” and this he did “of his free goodwill and charity for the care of the country.” This was destroyed of malicious purpose in the days of his successor, who rebuilt the same of stone. But the chief reclamation of land, not only in the marshes of Axholme, but also in the adjacent fens called Dikes Mersh and Hatfield Chase, in the county of York, was undertaken in the earlier part of the reign of Charles I., when a contract bearing date May 24, 1646, was made with Cornelius Vermuden, which was successfully carried out during the next five years, so that many thousand acres of land were made available for agricultural purposes—“the waters which usually overflowed the whole level being conveyed into the river Trent, through Snow sewer and Althorpe river by a sluice, which opened out the drained water at every ebb, and kept back the tides upon all comings-in thereof.”
The confluence of the Trent with the Humber takes place near Alkborough, “where Dr. Stukeley places theAquisof Ravennas, having discovered a Romancastrumand a vicinal road. The Roman castle is square, 300 feet each side, the entrance north, the west side is objected to the steep cliff hanging over the Trent, which here falls into the Humber; for this castle is very conveniently placed in the north-west angle of Lincolnshire, as a watch-tower over all Nottingham and Yorkshire, which it surveys. I am told the camp is now calledCountess Close, and they say a Countess of Warwick lived there, perhaps owned the estate; but there are no marks of building, nor, I believe, ever were. The vallum and ditch were very perfect. Before the north entrance is a square plot, called the Green, where I suppose the Roman soldiers laypro castris. In it is a round walk, formed into a labyrinth, which they call ‘Julian’s Bower.’”
So, where Trent and Ouse unite to form the broad and “storming Humber,” that “keeps the Scythian’s name,” our survey ends; the rivers have now become an estuary, and that, as another writer will presently show, soon begins to open out towards the sea, along which the vessels come and go to “merchandising Hull” and other ports which during this century have risen into notice.
T. G. Bonney.
BOLTON BRIDGE.BOLTON BRIDGE.
BOLTON BRIDGE.
General Characteristics—The Skirfare—Langstrothdale—Kettlewell—Dowkabottom Cave—Coniston and its Neighbourhood—Rylstone and the Nortons—Burnsall—Appletreewick: an Eccentric Parson—Simon’s Seat—Barden Tower and the Cliffords—The “Strid”—Bolton Abbey and Bolton Hall—The Bridge—Ilkley—Denton and the Fairfaxes—Farnley Hall and Turner—Otley—Harewood—Towton Field—Kirkby Wharfe—Bolton Percy.
T
TheWharfe is typical of the broad shire. From beginning to end it is a Yorkshire stream. Having its origin on the slopes of the Cam mountain, in the north-west of the county, it traverses, in the sixty or seventy miles of its course to the Ouse, almost every description of the scenery for which this great division of England is famous. Over moorland and meadowland, rushing madly down precipitous rocks and flowing placidly along fertile plains, shut up in some parts within deep gorges and at other points spreading out to river-like dimensions, it has an ever-varying charm to all who trace its progress. And its physical characteristics are but a reflex of the incidents of the story to be gleaned along its banks. To make its acquaintance away up on the fells is to find it blending into manya choice bit of folklore and into old-world customs and superstitions. Here, in a favoured bend, it murmurs in sweet harmony with an idyll of country life; there it dashes wildly on its way, in keeping with the tragic tale of which at this particular spot it is the scene. Yonder it skirts, in a roofless monastery, a memorial of its treachery; here it has turned for generations the waterwheel of a mill that has never failed to find grist from a peaceful farming community. If in one place it sweeps round one of the great battlefields of our country, in another it flows in undisturbed seclusion between wooded slopes where the overhanging trees hide the sunlight from its waters, and dark rock-sheltered pools provide a safe retreat for the otter. Not anywhere, in fact, is the Wharfe devoid of interest or beauty. It retains throughout its freshness and its charm, and it is cheering to know that very watchful are the people who live on its banks to guard it from anything calculated to lessen its attractiveness.
A classic English river, tributes have been paid to the Wharfe from the days of the Romans. In our own time Wordsworth got from it the inspiration for some of his finest verse, and Turner found it yield subjects to him in generous abundance for his matchless drawings. Camden must have lingered by the Wharfe. He knew it better than any other early writer. There is evidence, in what he says about it, that he penetrated into those regions where its interest to the modern tourist too often ends, but where to the naturalist, the antiquary, and the artist, some of its choicest features begin to reveal themselves. In his quaint way, in his “Britannia,” he tells us that “if a man should think the name of the stream to be wrested from the word Guerf, which in British signifieth swift or violent, verily the nature of the river conspireth with that opinion.” Camden’s description of the Wharfe is proof that he saw it chiefly in its mountainous aspect. He speaks of it as “a swift and speedy streame, making a great noise as it goeth, as if it were froward, stubborn, and angry.” And he further speaks of it as being “verily a troublesome river, and dangerous even in summer time also,” which he himself had some experience of, “for it hath such slippery stones in it that our horse had no sure footing on them, or else the violence of the water carried them away from under his feet.”
The Wharfe is joined, at a point about fifteen miles from its source, by the Skirfare. Both rivers run on a parallel course from the direction of the Cam fells, and are close enough to each other to have a common interest. The Skirfare passes through what Wordsworth, in the “White Doe of Rylstone,” using the ancient name, calls “the deep fork of Amerdale.” “Amerdale” has for a long period, however, given place to “Littondale,” Litton being the name of a village on the banks of the stream. Running north of the Skirfare, and starting from a point a few miles further west, the Wharfe passes down Langstrothdale in the fell country, and then through Kettlewelldale to the point of junction with the Skirfare. The name Langstrothdale has a Celtic ring, and has not inappropriately been translated to mean the long valley. From here are supposed to have comethe two scholars of Soleres Hall at Cambridge, mentioned in Chaucer’s “Reve’s Tale”—
“Of oo towne were they borne that highte Strother,Efer in the North, I cannot tellen where.”
“Of oo towne were they borne that highte Strother,Efer in the North, I cannot tellen where.”
“Of oo towne were they borne that highte Strother,
Efer in the North, I cannot tellen where.”
The spot is, however, pretty clearly identified otherwise by Chaucer himself, the dialect he uses in this tale in connection with the scholars bearing a close resemblance to the Langstrothdale folk-speech. It is a speech deserving the attention of the philologist, agreeing as it does in many of its peculiarities with early English forms.
The head waters of the Wharfe lie far out of the beaten track, in a district so broken up into hilly grandeur, and commanding from its heights so many fine glimpses into the dales “where deep and low the hamlets lie,” as to form a fitting introduction to the river that in its course yields so much beauty and romance. At Beckermonds, “the mouths of the becks,” two small streams unite, and from here the Wharfe passes downwards into Kettlewelldale. Hubberholme, the first village on the river of any note, is supposed to be of Danish origin, and is one of the oldest cluster of houses in this part of the country, possessing a church, dedicated to St. Michael, the history of which is popularly supposed to go back to the time of Paulinus. A short distance below Hubberholme lies Buckden, in a delightful setting of scenery. Then comes Starbotton, a village taking its name from a stream that runs through it, and below is Kettlewell, the best starting point for Upper Wharfedale, and the town from which this section of the river’s course takes its name. Kettlewell figures in Domesday as Chetelwell, and is said by some authorities to be derived from “the weiler or dwelling of Chetel.” A Norman church of an exceedingly simple pattern remained here until the beginning of the present century, when the existing edifice took its place, only the old font remaining as a memorial of the ancient structure. The town stands at the foot of Great Whernside (2,310 feet) and close to it also is Buckden Pike (2,304 feet). Magnificent views may be obtained from both heights. But one need go no further than the centre of the bridge at Kettlewell to find delightful glimpses of the course of the Wharfe, both east and west. The river at this point comes down with a great rush, the descent from its source, a little over ten miles, exceeding six hundred feet. Two miles or so south of Kettlewell is the well-known, although not easily found, Dowkabottom Cave, perhaps the most interesting of the many openings into the limestone formation in North-West Yorkshire. The entrance to the cave is on a level terrace on the mountain slope, at a point 1,250 feet above the sea. Five chambers and several passage-ways make up the cave, in which are many curious natural formations caused by the percolation of the water through the limestone. The scene inside is singularly weird and fascinating. But the Dowkabottom Cave is more than a curiosity. It was one of the homes of primitive man, and it seems to have been a place of shelter also in the Brito-Roman period. Bones and skulls of animals were found on the surface when the cave wasdiscovered, and since then there have been scientific examinations of the interior, with the result that human skeletons have been unearthed, together with the bones of the wolf, the wild boar, the horse, the red deer, sheep, and other animals. Amongst the articles of domestic use found were bone pins and ornaments belonging to the primeval occupation, and bronze weapons, armlets, rings, coins, etc., of the Brito-Roman days. The theory as to the last-mentioned articles is that the inhabitants of the district found shelter here for a time after the departure of the Romans, when the Northern tribes, held no longer in check, came down into the Craven country. To account for the loose bones, it has been surmised that the wolf may have found a safe den in this cave long after it was driven out of other parts of England.
THE COURSE OF THE WHARFE.THE COURSE OF THE WHARFE.
THE COURSE OF THE WHARFE.
Returning to the Wharfe, and following the river on its way from Kettlewell, Coniston is reached—a picturesque village, with a maypole, trim garden ground in front of most of the houses, and a church which, according to Whitaker, is the most ancient building in Craven. Since Whitaker’s time the church has been much improved, but it retains many of its ancient features. From Coniston it is a short walk across country to Kilnsey, where is a grand stretch of overhanging limestone, “a promontory,” says Phillips, “of the primeval sea loch, which is now the green valley of the Wharfe.” The crag is nearly half a mile in extent, and rises at its highest part, whence there is a fine view, to 165 feet. A beautifully wooded walk of three miles leads from Coniston to Grassington, where at one time a good deal of lead was obtained and smelted. Here is what is said to be the oldest bridge on the river. What became of some earlier bridges on the same stream is told in an entry in the church books of Otley, under date 1673. On the 11th of September in that year there was “a wonderful inundation of waters in the northern parts,” and on that occasion “this river of Wharfe, never known to be so big within the memory of man, overturned Kettlewell Bridge, Burnsey Bridge, Barden Bridge, Bolton Bridge, Ilkley Bridge, and Otley Bridge.” It also swept away certain fulling mills of wood, and “carried them down whole, like to a ship.” And when the flood had passed, “it left neither corn nor cattle on the coast thereof.”
SKIPTON CASTLE, FROM ONE OF THE TOWERS.SKIPTON CASTLE, FROM ONE OF THE TOWERS.
SKIPTON CASTLE, FROM ONE OF THE TOWERS.
Close to Grassington is Threshfield, where there are several old buildings, and the Grammar School in which Dr. Whitaker, the historian of Craven, received hisearly education. Then comes Linton, where in the old time every woman in the place “could spin flax from the distaff, or rock as it was called, and could card or spin wool from the piece.” Linton, in those days, was a veritable Arcadia in the hills, for here there was neither poor’s rate nor public-house, and almost every housekeeper had his “three acres and a cow,” or what was tantamount thereto. There has been a change in these conditions, but Linton has not lost its look of prosperity and comfort. Close to the village are what have been called the Falls of the Wharfe—a rocky break in the river, forming a fine study for the artist. Below Linton lies Hebden, a village whose character and position are well expressed in its name—heb, high; and dene, a valley; and across the river at this point lies Thorpe. At Thorpe we are on the road leading to Rylstone, the seat of the Nortons, who risked and lost so much in the “Rising of the North,” 1569—
“Thee, Norton, wi’ thine eight good sonnes,They doomed to die; alas! for ruth.Thy revered lockes thee could not save,Nor them their fair and blooming youth.”
“Thee, Norton, wi’ thine eight good sonnes,They doomed to die; alas! for ruth.Thy revered lockes thee could not save,Nor them their fair and blooming youth.”
“Thee, Norton, wi’ thine eight good sonnes,
They doomed to die; alas! for ruth.
Thy revered lockes thee could not save,
Nor them their fair and blooming youth.”
The ballad is an exaggeration, two only of the sons having suffered on the scaffold.The property, however, was cut off, and the “sequestered hall” mentioned in the “White Doe” fell into ruins. The name of the family clings to the district, and is perpetuated in what remains of the Norton Tower.
“It fronts all quarters, and looks round,O’er path and road, and plain and dell,Dark moor, and gleaming pool and stream,Upon a prospect without bound.”
“It fronts all quarters, and looks round,O’er path and road, and plain and dell,Dark moor, and gleaming pool and stream,Upon a prospect without bound.”
“It fronts all quarters, and looks round,
O’er path and road, and plain and dell,
Dark moor, and gleaming pool and stream,
Upon a prospect without bound.”
ILKLEY BRIDGE.ILKLEY BRIDGE.
ILKLEY BRIDGE.
The “White Doe” was the pet of “the exalted Emily, maid of the blasted family.” It was presented to her by her brother, Francis Norton, of Rylstone. Francis was one of those who perished in the rising of the North. He was buried in Bolton Abbey, and, according to the legend, the sister was a frequent visitor to his grave—
“But most to Bolton’s sacred pile,On favouring nights she longed to go;There ranged through cloister, court, and aisle,Attended by the soft-paced doe.Nor did she fear in the soft moonshineTo look upon St. Mary’s shrine,Nor on the lonely turf that showedWhere Francis slept in his last abode.”
“But most to Bolton’s sacred pile,On favouring nights she longed to go;There ranged through cloister, court, and aisle,Attended by the soft-paced doe.Nor did she fear in the soft moonshineTo look upon St. Mary’s shrine,Nor on the lonely turf that showedWhere Francis slept in his last abode.”
“But most to Bolton’s sacred pile,
On favouring nights she longed to go;
There ranged through cloister, court, and aisle,
Attended by the soft-paced doe.
Nor did she fear in the soft moonshine
To look upon St. Mary’s shrine,
Nor on the lonely turf that showed
Where Francis slept in his last abode.”
Lying below Thorpe and Hebden is Burnsall, and here the scenery, especially along the banks of the river, is rich in picturesque beauty. Burnsall is Brinshalein Domesday. It is a place where well-worship must have prevailed from a remote time, as is evidenced in its “Thorsill” or Thor’s well, and in its other wells dedicated to St. Margaret and St. Helena. Owing to a peculiarity in the division of the manor, the parish at one time rejoiced in two rectors and two rectories, with two pulpits and two stalls in the church. Originally Norman, the church has undergone repair at different times. The latest restoration was in 1859. An inscription on a tablet inside the tower speaks of an earlier work in the same direction, describing how in 1012 the fabric was repaired and beautified at the “onlie coste and charges of Sir William Craven, Knight and Alderman of the Citie of London, and late Lord Mayor of the same.” Sir William was a native of Appletreewick close by. His career recalls that of Whittington. He went up to London under the care of a carrier, got employment in the family of a mercer, and eventually excelled his master in business. He was Lord Mayor in 1611. His eldest son distinguished himself in the service of Gustavus Adolphus and the Prince of Orange, and married the Queen of Bohemia. “Thus,” says Whitaker, with a touch of pride, “the son of the Wharfedale peasant matched with the sister of Charles I.”
Sir William Craven also erected and endowed the Grammar School of the village. At this school Eugene Aram is said to have been an usher. A more interesting character than Aram was the Rev. John Alcock, master of the school in Aram’s time, and rector of a moiety of the parish. It is said of him that on one occasion, when preaching on behalf of some benevolent object, he noticed his congregation becoming restless. “Oh yes,” he said, “I see how it is. You want your dinners; so do I. Very well, there’s sermon enough left for another spell, and so we’ll postpone the remainder till next anniversary.” On another occasion he had no sermon to deliver at all; he had either mislaid or lost his MS. “It’s no matter,” he said to the clerk, loud enough for all to hear; “hand me up that Bible, and I’ll read a chapter in Job worth two of it.” Nor is this the only instance showing how coolly this eccentric clergyman could meet an emergency. There is a story to the effect that the pages of a sermon he had were stitched together in such a way as to confuse the argument. He did not discover this until about to announce the text, when he quietly explained what had happened, adding “I’ve no time to put the leaves right. I shall read them as I find them. You can put everything straight yourselves when you get home.” “That’s an awkward word,” he said to a lady when she came to the “obey” in the marriage service; “you can skip on to the next!”
Leaving Burnsall, the Wharfe skirts Hartlington, and flows past Appletreewick. Both of these places trace their history back to Saxon times. There is much to see here, amongst other things caverns worth exploring, and a great collection of boulders known as “the Apronful of Stones.” The legend of the stones is that the devil was carrying them, for some purpose best known to himself, when he stumbled over a knoll, causing the apron to give way with the weight that wasin it, and the stones to assume their present position. On the river to the south lies Howgill, and we are now close to Simon’s Seat (1,593 feet), from whose summit fine views of Upper and Lower Wharfedale and neighbouring valleys are obtained. The name Simon in this connection has been traced to the northern hero Sigmund; but the legend among the dalesmen is that a shepherd once found a male child on the top of the mountain, and adopted the infant, whom he named Simon. As the boy grew up the burden of keeping him was shared by different shepherds. The little fellow was cared for, in fact, “amang ’em;” and “Amanghem” became his surname—a name, whatever is to be said for the story, that is borne by some families in this part of the country.
Simon’s Seat rises gradually from the Wharfe, and it is an easy descent from its slopes to Barden Tower, whose grey ruins look grandly over a wild and beautiful scene. Barden Tower was the home of Henry Clifford, “the Shepherd Lord,” and may be taken as a landmark dividing Upper from Lower Wharfedale. The story of the Shepherd Lord, although some four centuries old, is known by oral transmission all over the countryside here. Unlike a good many of the other tales common among the dalesmen, it has the merit of truth. Its hero was the eldest son of John, “the Black Clifford,” who was struck down on the eve of the battle of Towton, and whose estates were forfeited by the issue of that day. The Clifford heir, then a boy of five years, was sent for protection, after the battle, into Cumberland, where he was brought up as a shepherd. He pursued this life for about twenty-five years, and when, on the accession of Henry VII., he secured the inheritance of his ancestors, his desire for a quiet and simple life was shown in the selection he made of Barden Tower for his residence. He found the tower a small keep or lodge, and enlarged it sufficiently to provide accommodation for a few of his friends. Here he spent his time studying astronomy and alchemy, and enjoying the company of such of the monks of Bolton as had similar tastes. The Shepherd Lord could fight valiantly when the need arose, and the dalesmen rallied around his standard when, in his sixtieth year, he went onwards to Flodden:—
“From Penigent to Pendle Hill,From Linton to Long Addingham,And all that Craven coasts did till,They with the lusty Clifford came.”
“From Penigent to Pendle Hill,From Linton to Long Addingham,And all that Craven coasts did till,They with the lusty Clifford came.”
“From Penigent to Pendle Hill,
From Linton to Long Addingham,
And all that Craven coasts did till,
They with the lusty Clifford came.”
The Shepherd Lord survived Flodden about ten years. After his death, Barden Tower was only occasionally used by the Cliffords, and was allowed to fall into decay. An inscription over the gateway states that it was repaired by Lady Anne Clifford, Countess of Pembroke, Dorset, and Montgomery, “and High Sheriffesse by inheritance of the county of Westmorland.” This was in the years 1658-9, “after it had layne ruinous ever since about 1589, when her mother then lay in it, and was greate with childe with her, till now that it was repayred by the sayd lady.” “The said lady” did a great deal for the houses of her family; hence a citation at the close of the Barden inscription (Isaiah lviii. 12)—“Thou shalt build up thefoundations of many generations, and thou shalt be called the repairer of the breach, the restorer of paths to dwell in.” A small chapel adjoins the ruin, and a part of the tower adjoining the chapel is used as a farmhouse. The property, like the Bolton estate below, now belongs to the Duke of Devonshire.
THE BRIDGE, OTLEY.THE BRIDGE, OTLEY.
THE BRIDGE, OTLEY.
From Barden Tower the Wharfe falls rapidly over a rocky course, densely wooded on both sides, towards the famous “Strid,” a narrow gorge in the rocky bed, through which the water rushes at a furious speed. The name “Strid” has two derivations given to it. One, in common acceptance, is that it is so called because it is possible at this point to stride over the chasm. The more likely derivation is the Anglo-Saxon “stryth,” or turmoil. The common meaning, however, suggests the tradition that gives romantic interest to the spot. It was here over seven centuries ago, as the story goes, that “the Boy of Egremond,” the heir to the Romillys, perished in the flood while out hunting.
“He sprang in glee, for what cared heThat the river was strong and the rocks were steep?But the greyhound in the leash hung back,And checked him in his leap.The Boy is in the arms of Wharfe,And strangled by a merciless force;For never more was young Romilly seenTill he rose a lifeless corse.”
“He sprang in glee, for what cared heThat the river was strong and the rocks were steep?But the greyhound in the leash hung back,And checked him in his leap.The Boy is in the arms of Wharfe,And strangled by a merciless force;For never more was young Romilly seenTill he rose a lifeless corse.”
“He sprang in glee, for what cared he
That the river was strong and the rocks were steep?
But the greyhound in the leash hung back,
And checked him in his leap.
The Boy is in the arms of Wharfe,
And strangled by a merciless force;
For never more was young Romilly seen
Till he rose a lifeless corse.”
Connected with this legend is the founding of Bolton Abbey, situated in the meadow land close to the river some distance below. It is said that the falconer hastened back to the Lady Alice, the mother of the boy, and broke the sad news with the significant question, “What is good for a bootless bene?” Wordsworth scarcely varies from the story as it is still told in the locality:—
“‘What is good for a bootless bene?’The Falconer to the Lady said;And she made answer, ‘Endless sorrow!’For she knew that her son was dead;She knew it by the Falconer’s words,And from the look of the Falconer’s eye,And from the love that was in her soulFor her youthful Romilly.”
“‘What is good for a bootless bene?’The Falconer to the Lady said;And she made answer, ‘Endless sorrow!’For she knew that her son was dead;She knew it by the Falconer’s words,And from the look of the Falconer’s eye,And from the love that was in her soulFor her youthful Romilly.”
“‘What is good for a bootless bene?’
The Falconer to the Lady said;
And she made answer, ‘Endless sorrow!’
For she knew that her son was dead;
She knew it by the Falconer’s words,
And from the look of the Falconer’s eye,
And from the love that was in her soul
For her youthful Romilly.”
The story goes that when the Lady Alice fully realised what had happened she vowed, now all hope was gone from her, that many a poor man’s son should be her heir. According to the legend, she selected a site for a priory, as near to the scene of the accident as she could find one, and when “the pious structure fair to see” rose up, she transferred it to the Monks of Embsay, in the bleak hilly region beyond. The charter and the romance do not, however, agree. The conveyance of the ground at Bolton to the monks appears to have been made before the accident at the Strid, as the son is named in the document as a party to the transaction, and the reading indicates that the land had been given over in a prosaic fashion by way of exchange. It has been surmised by believers in the story thatafter the drowning the monks came to the bereaved lady and induced her to build a priory on what was now their property on the Wharfe, as a memorial to her son. Her mother, Cecily, the wife of William de Meschines, and heiress of William de Romilly, had joined with her husband in 1120 in founding the Embsay Priory for Augustinian Canons, the site being two miles east of Skipton. The Embsay endowment, handsome enough to begin with, was increased by the gift of the village and mill at Kildwick and lands at Stratton, the deed setting forth that this was done by the heiress of the Romillys “for the health of her soul and that of her parents.” It is stated in the charter that the conveyance in this instance was made by the Lady Cecily, mother of Alice, and William, her son-in-law, placing a knife on the altar of the conventual church. This William, a nephew of David, King of Scotland, was married to Alice, who in her turn became heiress of the estates, and adopted her mother’s name. She bore her husband two sons and three daughters. The younger son, “the Boy of Egremond”—so named after one of the baronies of the family—survived his brother until, according to the legend, the sad incident at the Strid put an end to the bright promise of his life, and left his mother in “endless sorrow.”
FARNLEY HALL.FARNLEY HALL.
FARNLEY HALL.
Situated on a bend of the Wharfe, with a mountainous background, and an open sylvan expanse of country in front, through which the river moves in a clear, uninterrupted course, the Abbey rises in a scene of great sweetness and beauty. The building, like most other works of its kind, shows traces of the workmanship of different periods; but, unlike similar structures in the same county, it is not wholly a ruin. The nave, roofed over, and partly restored, forms the parish church of Bolton. It is entered through the gateway of what was intended for a western tower, and retains fortunately the original west front, finely detailed, with much arcading, in the Early English style. The entrance, forming the first stage of the contemplated tower, shows excellent Perpendicular work. On the spandrels of the recessed doorway are the arms of the Priory and the Cliffords, and above is a lofty five-light window. The tower was begun by the last of the priors, Richard Moone, as set forth on an inscription (the name symbolised) on the cornice below the window, “In the yer of owr LordMDCXX, R.Moonbegaun thes fondachon on qwho sowl God haue marce. Amen.” The Dissolution put a stop to Prior Moone’s work, but it is said that long after this the crane that was used to raise the stones remained fixed, and there was a belief among the dalespeople that the canons would return and complete the building. The nave, which is without a south aisle, is Early English on that side, and Decorated on the north. At the end of the aisle on the north is a chantry founded by the Mauleverers of Beamsley, and beneath is the vault in which members of the family are said to have been buried upright—
“Pass, pass who will, yon chantry door,And through the chink in the fractured floor,Look down, and see a grisly sight—A vault where the bodies are buried upright!”
“Pass, pass who will, yon chantry door,And through the chink in the fractured floor,Look down, and see a grisly sight—A vault where the bodies are buried upright!”
“Pass, pass who will, yon chantry door,
And through the chink in the fractured floor,
Look down, and see a grisly sight—
A vault where the bodies are buried upright!”
The ruined portions of the structure include the piers of a central tower, north and south transepts, and a long but aisleless choir, with the remains of chapels on the south side. With the exception of the lower walls, the work here is of the Decorated period, and shows many interesting features. There are monumental fragments, and in the south transept may be seen a tomb-slab with an incised figure representing Christopher Wood, the eighteenth prior, who resigned in 1483. Scant remains of the conventual buildings may be traced to the south of the Priory ruins. To the north is the churchyard. The Priory barn remains in good condition. It is still in use, and has some fine timber work.
A short distance west is Bolton Hall, a seat of the Duke of Devonshire. This mansion makes a framework to the gatehouse of the old Priory, the entrance-chamber being formed out of the ancient gateway. The chamber is represented in Landseer’s picture of “Bolton Priory in the Olden Time,” now at Chatsworth. There are other matters that recall the past conditions of the place even more vividly, as in the case of a Commission sent hither so early as 1274, in which certain irregularities are set forth in these blunt words:—“The whole convent conspired against the predecessors of the present Prior, William de Danfield. Nicholas de Broe, the present sub-prior, is old and useless. Silence is not observed, and there is much chattering and noise. John de Pontefract, the present cellarer, and the sub-cellarer, are often absent from service and refections, and have their meals by themselves, when the canons have left the refectory. The house is in debt,” etc. But Dr. Robert Collyer of New York, a Wharfedale worthy, who has gone into the records, tells also how “the merry old rogues” had a certain rough humour, which came out in the names they gave their humbler brethren. “One poor fellow,” he says, “has stood on their books these six hundred years as Adam Blunder, a sort of primitive Handy Andy, I suppose. Another, with ‘a fair round belly,’ no doubt, they dub Simon Paunch. A third is Drunken Dick. A fourth, the cooper, as I guess, and a great hand to spoil his work, is Botch Bucket. The carter is laughingly baptized The Whirl, perhaps because his wheels never do whirl by any accident. One is Rado the Sad; and the blackest sheep of the flock is Tom Nowt—‘nowt’ in the Dales as applied to a man being still a term of the utmost contempt.”
The Priory was surrendered in 1540, and the estate was given, two years afterwards, by Henry VIII. to Henry Clifford, first Earl of Cumberland. The property next passed to the Earl of Cork, and thence by descent to the Cavendish family.
The grounds over the wide stretch from Barden Tower to Bolton Bridge are open daily (except Sundays) to visitors. Their natural attractions, with their relics and associations, make them one of the most interesting of the show places of Yorkshire. There are two memorials on the estate to Lord Frederick Cavendish, Chief Secretary for Ireland, assassinated in the Phœnix Park, Dublin, May 6, 1882. One, in the churchyard, in the form of an interlaced cross, rising seventeen feet,was erected by the tenantry. The other—a hexagonal fountain, rising into pinnacles with a small lantern crown—is in the Park, and was erected by the electors of the West Riding, of which division of Yorkshire Lord Frederick was for many years a representative.
RUINS OF HAREWOOD CASTLE.RUINS OF HAREWOOD CASTLE.
RUINS OF HAREWOOD CASTLE.
It is a pleasant walk from the Priory to the bridge, across the field on which Prince Rupert encamped on the way to Marston Moor. At Bolton Bridge we get to what is now the nearest railway-station for Upper Wharfedale, a connecting line between Ilkley and Skipton having been opened in 1888. From the bridge the river flows past Beamsley, behind which is Beamsley Beacon (1,314 feet). In the village is a hospital founded in the time of Elizabeth, and endowed for thirteen poor widows. Beamsley Hall, near by, retains some old features, including armorial bearings of the Claphams and Morleys, its early possessors. The road here follows the Wharfe through diversified scenery, and leads to Addingham, where is a church which was originally served from Bolton. Here also on the bank of the Wharfe is Farfield Hall, a fine mansion, from whose site commanding views are obtained.
Ilkley, three miles further down the stream, is a town of great interest and attractiveness in the modern sense, with a far reaching history. As seen to-day it is almost wholly new; half a century ago it was made up of a few old cottages and its ancient church. Its value as a health resort, and its delightful situation, have since then been fully recognised, and it is now a fashionable inland watering-place with well laid-out streets, and some fine buildings. The records of the town go back to the time of the Romans, and its existing name is supposed tobe a corruption of the designation given to it by the Western conquerors. The Romans had here a strong fortress, the foundations of which may be traced. Some interesting Roman relics are preserved in the neighbourhood. On the grounds at Middleton Hall, on the opposite side of the river, is an altar dedicated to the Wharfe, the river figuring in the inscription as “Verbeia.” In the churchyard at Ilkley are the shafts of crosses, very rudely sculptured, and undoubtedly very ancient. The church, dedicated to All Saints, is an old foundation, and has some curious features. Its earliest monument is a cross-legged effigy of Sir Adam de Middleton, who died in 1315. The ground rises steeply to the south behind Ilkley, and at a height of 1,300 feet spreads out into a magnificent heathery expanse known as Rombald’s Moor. “Rombald” is said to be a corruption of “Romilly,” the first Norman lord of the manor; but there is a tradition which speaks of the moor as a promenade of a certain giant Rombald, a mighty figure that is said to have made a stride one day across the valley from Almescliffe Crag far beyond in the north-east, and to have come down with such force as to leave the impression of his foot on the larger of the two rocks above Ilkley, known as the Cow and Calf. The impression is there, of course. The story may have had its origin in the manner in which the valley at this point was absorbed in the interest of the Romillys. From the high land at the Cow and Calf, and from many other points east and west, fine views are obtained of the valley, now opening out to a grand pastoral sweep. On the slopes are several hydropathic establishments of a public and private character. Nearly all are noted for picturesque architectural treatment. This is especially the case with Ilkley Wells, where there is an observation tower, and the still earlier house in the Scotch baronial style, a mile and a half east, at Ben Rhydding, opened in 1844.
Across the river from Ben Rhydding lies Denton, the home of the Fairfaxes; and from this point onwards to the Ouse incidents and houses connected with this great family present themselves. In Denton Church many of the name lie buried. The present Denton Hall occupies the site of the old mansion in which Sir Thomas Fairfax, the Parliamentary General, was born. At Burley, on the south bank of the Wharfe, a short distance from Ben Rhydding, is the Yorkshire house of the late W. E. Forster. Here, too, at the river side, are the worsted mills of which Mr. Forster was a part owner, and in the cemetery beyond is his grave, with an inscribed slab to his memory. On the other side of the river is Weston Hall, the property of the Vavasours through a long succession. Family papers at Weston date back to Henry III., and amongst other treasures is an original portrait of Cromwell. Farther east on the same side is Farnley Hall, where are relics of the Commonwealth, including the hat worn by Cromwell at Marston Moor, and the watch and sword of the Protector. Farnley Hall used to be notable also for a unique collection of about fifty drawings by Turner, which were sold in 1890. Turner was a frequent visitor at Farnley Hall, Mr. Walter Fawkes, uncle of the present owner, being one of his earliest patrons and friends. A curious gateway on the property was brought from Menston Hall, a Fairfax seat on the south bank of the river.
It is a pleasant descent from Farnley Hall to the Wharfe, on whose south bank at this point is Otley, one of the first towns in Yorkshire to engage in the manufacture of cloth. Otley was long the site of a palace of the Archbishops of York, who were lords of the manor, and is now the headquarters of the Parliamentary division bearing its name. Several of the Fairfaxes are buried in the church. Sloping from the town to the south is the hill familiarly known as “The Chevin” (probably from the Saxon “chevn,” a back or ridge). The hill rises to a height of 921 feet, and commands fine views. Near the town is Caley Hall, famous at one time for a park in which many varieties of deer, wild hogs, zebras, and other animals were kept. At Pool, just below Otley, the river expands, and flows pleasantly through the open valley to Arthington (where was once a house for Cluniac or Benedictine nuns), and onwards to the Harewood estates. Here we are still on part of the wide domain held by the ancient Romillys, who are credited with the building of the first Harewood Castle. From the Romillys the Harewood lands passed to the Fitzgeralds, the Lisles, and others, and then to the Gascoignes, from whom they went to the Lascelles (Earls of Harewood), the present possessors. The ruins of a castle built in the fourteenth century rise boldly on a pre-Norman mound near the river. The church at Harewood has some interesting details, and a number of historic monuments—one to Sir William Gascoigne (the Chief Justice who is said to have committed the heir of Henry IV. to prison) and his wife. Harewood House, built in 1760, is seen to advantage from the church. It is a porticoed building, and was erected by the first Lord Harewood, to replace Gawthorpe Hall, the seat of the Gascoignes, and the birthplace of the Chief Justice. To Gawthorpe Hall came at times the great Lord Strafford in search of repose. “With what quietness,” he wrote, “could I live here in comparison with the noise and labour I meet with elsewhere; and, I protest, put up more crownes in my purse at the year’s end too.” In the same parish is the village of Weeton, above which, on the summit of a hill, is a peculiarly shaped rock, known as “the Great Almescliffe.” From the rock a fine view is obtained of Wharfedale on the one side, and of Harrogate and the district leading into Nidderdale on the other.
From Harewood the Wharfe sweeps placidly onwards to Netherby, and to Collingham and Linton, where there is fine farming country. Then Wetherby is reached on a bend of the river, hence the old Saxon name, Wederbi, “the turn.” There is a bridge here of six arches, affording a good view of the stream. Boston Spa—a secluded inland watering place—is the next village. Then comes Newton Kyme, with a fine old church, and the remains of a castle that was held by the Barons de Kyme, the last of whom died as far back as 1358. We are now again on ground over which Roman legions passed, and from which relics of the Roman occupation have been unearthed. The church, dedicated to St. Andrew, is old and interesting, with an ivy-covered embattled western tower. Close to the church is Newton Hall, an old Fairfax seat, with portraits of members of that family.
A mile and a half further down is Tadcaster, the Calcaria of the Romans, and the “Langborough” of later times. The Roman name is supposed to have been given on account of the abundance of calx or limestone in the district. Tadcaster was an important outpost of York. Through it ran the road of Agricola—still known as the Roman ridge—from London to Edinburgh, and it was also on the ancient road between York and Manchester. Near the town, at a place called St. Helen’s Ford, are traces of a Roman encampment. Of more interest, however, than what Tadcaster reveals of that remote period of its history are the associations that cluster round it in connection with the civil wars. Three miles distant, near to the village of Saxton, is the site of the battle of Towton, “the bloodiest and most fatal engagement fought on English soil since Hastings.” Sore fought Towton was, “for hope of life was set on every part,” and each side had its awful orders neither to give nor seek quarter. A force of 100,000 men in all mustered for the struggle—40,000 Yorkists with Edward IV. and the Earl of Warwick at their head on the one side; on the other, 60,000 Lancastrians, with whom were Queen Margaret and the Duke of Somerset. About a third of this force perished on the field, the greater number being Lancastrians. The date of the battle is memorable. All the villagers round about tell to this day how it was fought on a Palm Sunday in the long ago. The conflict really began on the Saturday (March 29th, 1461), was suspended during the night, and renewed with vigour in the morning. The issue was decided about noon on the Sunday, the Duke of Norfolk, with reinforcements for Edward, giving the Yorkists an advantage at the critical moment which was at once followed up. Twenty-eight thousand Lancastrians were left dead upon the field, and vast numbers perished in the rout that took place. A field near Towton Dale Quarry, half a mile south of Towton village, and known as “the Bloody Meadow,” is pointed out as the scene of the thickest of the fight; but the conflict extended over a wide area, and Towton battlefield may be said to cover the whole ground between Saxton and Towton villages. The Cock, a tributary of the Wharfe, winds round the site. In the swollen waters of this stream many of the Lancastrians perished when they broke rank and fled. On the outskirts of Grimston Park (the seat of Lord Londesborough) near by, is a field called Battle Acre, where the Lancastrians are said to have made their last stand; and here there is annually a prolific growth of white roses—