Edward I at Newcastle, 1296

On 1st March 1296, King Edward I of England arrived at Newcastle for his appointment with John Balliol, King of the Scots. Balliol had been appointed to his esteemed position by a committee headed by the English king, so he was very much playing second fiddle in the meeting of the monarchs - and most certainly expected to at least turn up to pay homage, and to thereafter pretty much do as he was told. He didn't show; so Edward advanced into Scotland with his 30,000+ army, and brought his troublesome neighbours to heel at the Battle of Dunbar on 27th April 1296. And so began the First War of Scottish Independence.

The following piece appeared in several nineteenth century historical collections, though the exact, original source is rather difficult to pin down. It paints a vivid picture of Edward Longshanks impatiently awaiting the arrival of Balliol in the castle keep, his vast army bristling with anticipation. It is entitled Edward the First at Newcastle, A.D. 1296 - A Fragment, which implies the verse was part of a greater whole. If anyone knows anything more about the piece, then do leave a comment.

 

Meantime within Newcastle walls, 

Crowding her squares, her streets and halls, 

Ready to march to hill or glen, 

Full more than thirty thousand men, 

All armed and wearing mail and plate, 

The orders of their king await. 

Himself, within his massive hold, 

Surrounded by his barons bold, 

Discoursed of Balliol's perfidy, 

And how due chastisement should be 

Dealt upon those who dared disown 

His right to Scotland's ancient crown. 

Tall he appeared, his frame was spare, 

Swarthy his hue, and dark his hair; 

Firm was his look, his deep black eyes, 

As thoughts of war or high emprise 

To rouse his spirit might conspire, 

Flamed in his head like coals of fire. 

So plain his garb that those who gazed 

Upon their monarch were amazed, 

He should appear, arrayed so mean, 

In midst of such a martial scene; 

For arms and pennons waving far 

On every side, showed pomp of war, 

And thronged around him, bold and free, 

The pride of England's chivalry, 

Whilst her broad standard to the sky 

Streamed on the castle turrets high.

END of fragment.

A Visit to St.Paul's Church, Jarrow

A short time ago I called in at St.Paul's Church, Jarrow, in what was my first visit for nigh on 30 years. And this is no ordinary parish church: for it is the site, too, of the monastic home of the Venerable Bede. So it looms large in our history. It was a fleeting visit, but is nonetheless worthy of mention as I should like to encourage you all to spare an hour or so of your own time in paying your own respects to a spot on the map that was once the scholastic capital of northern Europe.

If you do visit, then, like me, you'll probably find yourself all on your lonesome. For one thing, it's a bit out-of-the-way, hemmed in by the River Don to the east and south, and to the north and west by large tracts of industry and parkland. Also to the north, of course, you will find the tourist attraction that is 'Jarrow Hall: Anglo-Saxon Farm, Village & Bede Museum'.

The present church dates, in the main, to a period long after the 7th/8th century days of Bede, amounting to a hotch-potch of structures and additions from many different eras. Parts of the chancel, though, date from Bede's day; and a good deal of the remainder of the old monastic complex can be seen in ruinous form to the south of the church. The site (well, the monastic ruins, at least) are cared for by English Heritage, but can be freely roamed at any reasonable time during daylight hours.

The only individuals who were present on my visit were two members of staff who were hovering inside the entrance. They politely indicated the main points of interest, then left me to it.

Anglo-Saxon chancel

(click on image to enlarge)

Main point of interest is the chancel, which was essentially one of the two Anglo-Saxon churches that likely existed on the original site. The dedication stone which hovers over the chancel arch is dated 685AD, which makes it the oldest such stone in England. 

The original (sorry, out of focus)...

...and a replica

There is the tiny reconstructed stained glass window, too, containing ancient glass made in the old monastic workshops (and therefore making it, one could say, the oldest stained glass window in the world!). And then, of course, there is the so-called  Bede's Chair:

I should add, though, that the item does not date to the time of Bede. It's origins are not definitively known, but scientific tests indicate an origin some centuries after the days of the famous monk. Still, though, nice. 

Elsewhere in the church can be found some archaeological foundations in the main aisle, and an exhibition of Anglo-Saxon sculpture - as well as plenty of information boards and a nice gift shop. It's all free, but do leave a donation.

Outside one can wander what remains of the old monastic complex, all of which date from various eras. The more substantial lumps of stone date from the 11th century, but the foundations of earlier buildings are clearly discernible.

As is so often the case with the materialistic elements of our heritage here in the North-East, the whole site of St.Paul's Church and Monastery in Jarrow is charmingly understated - and, indeed, shockingly underappreciated. So do the decent thing and call in for yourself and have a poke around.

Farthing Pants

In the October 1887 edition of The Monthly Chronicle of North-Country Lore & Legend, a short article by a “William Wallace, of Newcastle” was published, thus:

Farthing Pants

The Whittle Dene Water Company was first established in Newcastle in 1846. Previous to this, the most of the better sort of houses in the town had pumps or wells in the rear of their premises; but the poorer class of the inhabitants had to carry all the water they used from the various pants in the town. Besides the numerous public pants, which, of course, were free and open to all, there were, in the more populous districts of the town, sources of supply called "farthing pants”, each being under the management of an old woman, who sat in a sort of watch or sentry box, armed with an enormous key, with which she turned on the water, and which ponderous key she always carried away when she went off duty. The sum of one farthing was charged for a "skeel" full of water, a skeel being a sort of tub with one handle, which was always carried on the head, being placed upon a "weeze", or cushion, so as to keep off the pressure, and, as the vessel held six or eight gallons, the weight was no trifle.

People now-a-days can hardly conceive the trouble and labour spent in obtaining a few gallons of pure water at this time. When a little lad, I have often made one of a crowd of women and children, patiently sitting round one of the public pants, waiting their "turn", the spout meanwhile running like a thread, at the rate, perhaps, of a gallon in ten minutes. All sorts of cunning dodges used to be tried to get a supply out of turn. Appeals, too, were often made to the sympathy and good nature of the crowd, such as: — "Aa ha’e ma man's dinner te get reddy. It’s varry neer twelve o'clock. Aa divvent knaa whaat te de. Thor’ll be a bonny gam if he cums in and aa's oot." A more successful plaint was, "Aa've left the bairn iv th' creddle, and nebody iv th' hoose beside it." This seldom failed of effect. One woman after another expressing her willingness to give up her "torn”, the complainer would get her supply, and hurry off to the bairn. But there were many disputes, leading to much bad language, and not unfrequently to the waste of the water which so much time and trouble had been spent to get. Any impudent attempt to take advantage was promptly resisted by the crowd, and I have often seen a woman deluged with the water that it had taken twenty minutes to gather.

Before the Whittle Dene Water Company began business the town was supplied by the Newcastle Joint-Stock Water Company. Its sources of supply were: — Carr's Hill, Coxlodge, Town Moor, private wells, and the river Tyne. The company had 32 pants, which supplied water to the public at the rate of a farthing a "skeel." The Corporation had also twenty public pants, which were free and open to all comers. Now, in 1845 there were 15,000 houses in Newcastle, but out of this number only 1,350 had the water laid on to them, the rent being from 18s. to 30s. per house, exclusive of closets, &c. That now despised coin, the farthing, I believe, has almost dropped out of circulation, but forty years ago it was in general currency. The old ladies who attended to the pants sat in watch-boxes, and in cold weather were always dressed in long, thick, warm overcoats, reaching down to their heels. They were not easily induced to give credit, the old lady who attended the pant on the New Road [City Road], at all events, being very particular. When urged by some poor woman, who was literally without a farthing in the world, she would exclaim, "Aa durna, hinny. They're varry partiklor at the offis, varry partiklor." When a suspicious-looking coin was offered to her, she would often reject it with the same words, "They're varry partiklor at the offis. Aa dinna think it's a good yen." She seemed to hold the "office" in awe and dread, which was not without effect upon her customers.

Lindisfarne Wander

A couple of Sundays ago my wife and I decided to visit the Holy Island of Lindisfarne for the first time in years. If you are a regular reader of this blog you will recall that we had, over the course of several years, finally completed our coastal walk of the North-East from the Scottish border down to Staithes. We've since added a bit more onto that to the south, but I was always bothered about the fact that we'd never actually walked the Holy Island Causeway. So we finally decided to have a go. 

First of all here's a rough map of ours travels:

(click on image to enlarge)

In all, about 10 miles in 4 hours. Quite easy, really.

As you can probably make out, we began at The Snook Car Park in (roughly) the middle of the picture. That way we avoided any car parking charges, and it was a nice central spot for our planned route.

First up was a short walk to the NW to see Snook Tower and Snook House:

Snook House is, of course, the fictional home of TV's Vera. 

Then we angled over the dunes to hit the expansive beach to the north, and then curved around to meet the island end of the causeway. Then it was a walk along the causeway to the mainland, followed by a prompt about-turn across the sand, eastwards, towards Lindisfarne village some three miles distant. We, of course, followed the line of posts which marks the so-called "Pilgrims' Way":

We should really have removed our boots for this part of the walk, but once you get to certain stage of wetness, well, there seems little point! So on we plodded...

We had a scare about three-quarters of the way over when my wife, Angie, sunk up to her knees in the mud. Naturally, she blamed me instantly, and I was then lambasted for not immediately rushing to her aid. Well, there wasn't much point in us BOTH getting mucky, was there?

Anyway, we finally made it to the village ... and it was rammed with visitors. We did a cursory tour of the usual touristy spots - the priory, St.Mary's Church, and the famous 'Petting Stone' (over which newly-wed brides are obliged to clamber after their wedding ceremony!):

After a quick visit to the viewing tower at the SW extremity of the island, we moved on to the remains of another very early chapel on the southern shore ...

... Before about-turning and heading for the castle:

And you've just GOT to get that classic shot of the castle fronted by those wonderful lime kilns:

And, on the eastern shore, this seems to be a thing nowadays. Nice:

We then followed the circular path around the eastern and northern sides of the island, before cutting once more over the dunes and onto that HUGE beach on the northern side of the island. Wow!:

And so back to the car. What a day! And I didn't forget to pick up a couple of obligatory bottles:

And that was, at last, the whole of the North-East coast done properly, then!

The Victoria Tunnel: the Northern Section

Whilst investigating various rabbit-holes on YouTube recently, I came across an interesting video of a trip down the Victoria Tunnel which runs from Spital Tongues down to Ouse Street near the Tyne. But it wasn't about the southern section (which is, of course, open to the public), but instead concerned the northern section - a several hundred metre stretch that is not open to the public. How interesting!

Anyway, as far as I can make out, the chap in question begins the filming at the northern-most part of the tunnel near to Spital Tongues (and where there used to be a manholed entrance - now sealed). He then walks down under Claremont Road to the Hancock Museum entrance (and a little beyond). Fascinating stuff.

The link to the half-hour video can be found here. 

... And if you would like to go to the source of the chap's blog post, then visit here. You will also find a link to his tour of the southern section here, though it is essentially a ghost-hunting exercise (but still really interesting).

As for that northern section, there is also a short Newcastle Evening Chronicle piece, too, on the topic, which can be found here.

What a strange old piece of hidden Newcastle.

I Went to Allenheads ... and it was Closed

Let me explain....

A few days ago I arrived in the Pennine village of Allenheads, after having caught the 688 bus from Hexham. It was a pleasant journey over hill and dale (via such outposts as Sinderhope, Sparty Lea and the much larger Allendale), and I wondered en route whether I'd remember the old place. It must have been many, many years since I'd last been - if I had been at all, that is.

I knew there was a visitor/heritage centre there, so I tried to phone ahead to check that it was open. No luck. I tried another number, which came up on my phone as being the local cafe. Again, no luck. So I just crossed my fingers and hoped for the best.

After alighting at the heart of the village, I didn't recognise a thing. It was very quiet. There, to my right, was the Allenheads Inn, To my left the community centre/library. And straight ahead was what I'd came to see, really: the Armstrong Engine, housed in its very own display centre/building. So I walked in to have a look:

Without spoiling it for you (as I'm sure you'll soon be winging your way there yourself), this contraption was built by the famous industrialist, William Armstrong, for his pal Thomas Sopwith, to provide the necessary hydraulically-powered oomph for his various activities in and around his lead mines. Installed in the 1840s, it was used in Sopwith's saw-milling and ore-crushing tasks, being fed by reservoirs around and about the little town. It is believed to be the last remaining engine of its type in the world.

Well, that's the main thing I came for, but what about the 'Heritage Centre'. I had a poke around the 'community centre/library' without success (the former was empty, and the latter was closed), then realised that I'd be best served following the signs up the road and round the corner. And there it was:

There was no one about, so I gingerly tried the latch. Turns out you just go in, switch on the lights and wander about unaccompanied. Here are a couple of shots of the downstairs smithy's workshop:

And upstairs can be found several cracking displays:

And there are plenty of information boards to fill you in on the village's leadmining past:

Near to the Heritage Centre can be found (down a driveway), the old church (now converted into a private residence):

Then there's the aforementioned Allenheads Inn:

... which was actually closed when I was there. In fact, the local cafe was closed, too, much to the frustration of both myself and several wandering visitors. There was no one around, actually ... which must have been quite a contrast to the leadmining heyday of the village. But as I had another hour to kill before my one-and-only return bus, I had a little wander around and about, thus:

Old mine shaft

The Horse Track entrance to the mine

Sopwith's old mine office building

Allenheads Mineyard

If you decide to call in for yourself, then you can park near to the Armstrong Engine building (just in front of where, below, it says 'No Parking', if you get my meaning). This is pretty much where the bus stops, too:

There's a handy guidebook on the history of the village and its industrial activities in the Heritage Centre. It's free - but do make a donation in the little pot in the smithy's workshop.

All-in-all, a nice trip out. When you visit, hopefully the cafe and/or pub will be open. Better take a bait just in case, though.

Iris Brickfield Park: A Brief History

The casual visitor to this little green oasis in Heaton may well think that the public park is named after a local notable called, well, Iris Brickfield. Well, it is (we think) named after a lady called Iris, but her surname wasn’t Brickfield!

Prior to 1900, the area in question lay unused, being rather soggy and having formerly formed a part of East Heaton Farm. Nearby Middle Pit was worked for some time a little to the west, and it is likely that waste from these workings indicated that the clay lying hereabouts was suitable for brickmaking. So, in 1903, a clay pit with an associated brick- and tile-making operation began, located precisely over the site of the future park. The bricks were used in the construction of many of the surrounding streets in the following decade or so.

The original firm, Standard Brick Company, who had other sites in the area, went into receivership in 1908. The site was taken over by James Frazer, who renamed the operation the Iris Brick Works. Manager John Moorhead ran both the Heaton works and its sister site at Pelaw for 30 years, though operations at Heaton were relatively small-scale – and it was wound down during the Second World War.

In 1945, the site was purchased by the city council and used as a rubbish tip for a few years (handily filling up the clay quarry); after which it was used as a rough recreational ground, until it was properly landscaped in the 1990s. It is now used by locals and nature in equal measure, including an area given over to allotments.

But why ‘Iris’? Occasional references on the internet suggest it was the name of the wife (or daughter) of the owner of the brick works; and there is the odd mention of an ‘Iris Ogilvie’ being involved in the ownership of the Pelaw branch of the works. But searches of genealogical records for the era do not support either claim. Can anyone enlighten me? 

[article taken from my book Newcastle-upon-Tyne: Tales From the Suburbs - see left-hand column for further details]