Out of the Blue: Cockle Park Tower

© Neville Young and licensed for reuse

under this Creative Commons Licence.

Just when you begin to think of yourself as a bit of an 'expert' as regards the history of your particular patch of the country, up pops another little unknown nugget to knock you down a peg or two. Whilst casually exploring the back roads of our new home near Morpeth the other day, my wife and I drove past this beauty a couple of miles or so north of the town. I didn't have time to stop and get a photo, so nicked the above image from Wikipedia.

I'm sorry to say that I didn't even know Cockle Park Tower existed! And it must be, I reckon, the best-looking (and best-preserved) pele tower in the whole of the North-East. I mean, just look at it. Magnificent! It was one of those famous defensive creations of the sixteenth century, when the threat from the Scots to the north still dominated the thoughts and minds of well-to-do families with plenty to lose.

Those who lived in the border lands at this troubled time were always looking for ways to protect themselves and their possessions from bad-tempered Scotsmen, feuding border reivers and marauding mosstroopers. Fairly well-off families built bastles, and the ranks above them built pele towers. The Cockle Park affair was built by Sir William Ogle, the 4th lord of his line, and dates originally, we think, to around 1520 - ostensibly as a 'hunting lodge', but clearly also built for defence. As you can see, it has three stories (plus an attic), and is topped by what are described as "corbelled-out bartizans, with machicolation between" - a clear indication of the builders' defensive intentions.

It has been altered plenty over the centuries, of course; and after the Unification of the Crowns in 1603, it gradually softened its look and feel as the threat from the dark corners of the region began to subside. The female Ogle line married into the Cavendish family, who themselves became the Dukes of Portland. When the old Ogle property of Bothal Castle was being renovated in the 1800s many of the fitting of the tower were transferred there.

It survived for many years as a simple farmhouse, though it had its periods of decline and neglect. Interestingly, the farm as a whole (tower included) was utilised by the Duke of Portland as long ago as the 1820s as a ground-breaking experimental farm, which, coincidentally, it still operates as today, under the guidance of Newcastle University.

Anyway, that's the gist of it. More can be found at the Fabulous North website, and there is much interesting detail to be found in Issue 21 (2014) of Archaeology in Northumberland (in an article compiled during its recent renovation).

Newcastle's 'New' Cemeteries

(click on image to enlarge)

The Burial Act of 1853 finally brought an official end to the near blanket use of urban parish churchyards for regular burials. London had grasped the nettle a little earlier, but the Act of 1853 cast the net for the new way of life (or rather death) across the whole of England. An Order of Newcastle’s Council issued in 1854 took advantage of the governmental guidance, effectively forbidding the use of the town centre churchyards of St.Nicholas’, All Saints’, St.John’s and St.Andrew’s. They were rather full anyway, especially after the cholera epidemic of 1853.

The four ‘official’ churchyards weren’t the only burial spots in and around the town. A ‘commercial’ cemetery had been opened near the Big Lamp (Westgate Hill Cemetery) in 1829, and a similar affair popped up in Jesmond in 1836 (known initially as ‘Newcastle General Cemetery’, and latterly as ‘Jesmond Old Cemetery’). A few small Quaker and Jewish affairs had long been in existence, too. And, of course, there was the huge expanse of the Ballast Hills Cemetery on the east bank of the Ouseburn catering, in the main, for nonconformist burials.

And so four new cemeteries were “tastefully laid out and ornamentally planted” in the suburbs. To the north-west there popped up St.Nicholas’ Cemetery, on the southern edge of Nuns’ and Hunter’s Moors; St.Andrew’s Cemetery was laid out on the western edge of Jesmond, near the Great North Road; All Saints’ Cemetery was created off Jesmond Road; and St.John’s Cemetery was formed in the then empty expanses of rural Elswick. These were all speedily laid out during 1855-58, and proved to be a roaring success. Dead popular, you could say.

The massive change in direction for the disposal of the dead was supervised by the new ‘Burial Boards’, whose members were elected ratepayers - a democratic process which itself was overseen by the ancient parishes’ vestry committees.

The first of the four new ‘municipal’ burial grounds, that of the mother church of Newcastle, St.Nicholas’, amounted to a modest five acre site opened in 1857. Though it is now accessed from Studley Terrace to the north, when built entry was gained from the Newcastle-Carlisle turnpike down a minor road (now the back lane of Wingrove Avenue, known as Cemetery Lane). It was handily-placed (perhaps deliberately so) for the adjacent and recently constructed Newcastle Workhouse, latterly known as Newcastle General Hospital.

To the north, in 1854 the Burial Board of Jesmond merged with that of Newcastle St.Andrew’s to form a joint board. The following year land was purchased from the ancient Hospital of St.Mary Magdalene in order to facilitate the creation of the brand new St.Andrew’s Cemetery.

Also in Jesmond there already existed the private Newcastle General Cemetery, laid out in the 1830s between Jesmond Road and Sandyford Road. This creation came, in time, to be termed ‘Jesmond Old Cemetery’ following the formation of the even newer All Saints’ Cemetery across the road (Jesmond Road) in the mid-1850s.

St.John’s Cemetery, also known simply as Elswick Cemetery, was at the same time laid out in the open fields to the west of the town centre. Here many thousands of the working class fodder of the Armstrong Works and neighbouring industries and manufactories would find their final resting places over the coming decades. St.John’s is Newcastle's largest cemetery at some 28 acres, following its extension in the early twentieth century. Over 100,000 folk are buried there.

[All OS maps reproduced with the permission of the National Library of Scotland. Surveyed 1858, published 1864]

[For further reading on the subject matter the reader can do little better than Alan Morgan’s Beyond the Grave: Exploring Newcastle’s Burial Grounds, published by Tyne Bridge Publishing (2004)]

Newcastle's Suburbs: Name Derivations, Pt.2

OK, then, time for Part 2 of our look at the names of our city's suburbs (and, yes, a little bit beyond, too!). This is my best stab at this tricky subject, so you might think differently!

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Jesmond – An interesting one, this. Seems to mean ‘Ouse mouth’ – the Ouse being the river that runs through the area and whose confluence with the Tyne is a little to the south (it is likely that the township’s southern boundary once reached down to the Tyne). Both elements (‘Ouse’ and ‘mouth’) have been corrupted to ‘Jes’ and ‘mond’ under French/Norman influence. See also Ouseburn.

Kenton – From OE cyne-tun, meaning ‘royal manor/farmstead’. The identity of the Anglo-Saxon royal or nobleman is unknown.

Killingworth – OE in origin, meaning ‘the enclosed farmstead of Cylla’s people’.

Kingston Park – A problematic place-name if ever there was one. Dreamt up at some point late in the development's planning process in the early 1970s, no-one seems to know why they plumped for this attractive-sounding name. The street names of the sprawling estate are similarly fancy, with a distinct leaning towards the names of nice villages in the south of England (especially Somerset, for some reason).

Lemington – From OE hleomoc-tun, which means the ‘farmstead/settlement where brook-lime grows’ (a type of herb, aka speedwell).

Newbiggin Hall – A Middle English name, derived originally from Old Norse, meaning ‘new dwelling’. The 1960s housing estate which now bears the name was once the site of the old Newbiggin Hall, which was built in the early nineteenth century (replacing an earlier house). The name hints at a possible twelfth century origin.

Newburn – The origin of the name ‘Newburn’ is disputed by historians. Some think it comes from OE, meaning ‘new burgh/fort’ – placing it at least as far back in history as the Anglo-Saxon era, when it was a royal burgh of the kings of Northumbria (it is believed that an Anglo-Saxon royal palace existed at nearby Walbottle). Others, though, think it is simply named after the New Burn which winds through the town.

Ouseburn – At least two possibilities, here, for a place name which describes the area down and around the valley of the Ouse. The first is that the name is derived from the OE word geose, which means ‘gushing’; or it could be from an older, celtic word meaning ‘surging’ or ‘bubbling’. There is also a school of thought that has the word ‘ouse’ being a corruption of ‘ewes’ – a nod to the vale’s early agricultural days. ‘Burn’ was added by the Vikings. The root of the place name Jesmond is almost certainly related.

St.Anthony’s – This area in the depths of Walker has a strong Catholic history, and was dedicated in the name of St.Anthony’s long, long ago – there being no trace in the records of any definitive ecclesiastical foundation, or, indeed, a chapel (if there ever was one). At the very least, it seems a picture of the saint was at one time placed in a tree near the Tyne for the comfort of seamen … so it is most likely to have been St.Anthony of Padua.

St.Lawrence – This stretch of riverside just east of the mouth of the Ouseburn bears the name of the former chapel which once graced these parts. It was established as a ‘free chapel’ by the ancestors of the Earls of Northumberland (with links to the Knights Hospitallers).

St.Peter’s – A little to the east of St.Lawrence, this should more properly be known as Sir Peter’s, after local nobleman, Sir Peter Riddell, who once had land and a quay leased to him here by Newcastle Corporation.

Sandyford – Most probably simply ‘the sandy ford’. Likely to have been the crossing point of an Ouseburn tributary which ran through what used to be Sandyford Dene. The exact point in question is roughly where Portland Road/Terrace crosses Sandyford Road (near Benton House).

Scotswood – Richard Scot began enclosing the land west of Benwell at this spot in 1367 to create a semi-wooded deer park – hence ‘Scot’s Wood’.

Shieldfield – A field with shielings (huts) in it – the temporary sort, usually thrown up by shepherds. Or perhaps ‘the field on the road to Shields’. We’re not sure which.

Slatyford – This little suburb has shifted of late. It originally sat where Stamfordham Road crosses Pooley Road/Binswood Avenue – a point at which several roads and tracks converged and where there was a crossing of a ‘slaty’ stream. It now centres on the area either side of the thoroughfares leading up towards the old ford, i.e. Slatyford Lane/Pooley Road.

Spital Tongues – ‘Spital’ is short for hospital, so what we have here are tongues of dry land in a low-lying or marshy area belonging to a hospital/hostel (the contours hereabouts do suggest a slightly raised setting). The hospital in question – originally situated in Barras Bridge – was that of St. Mary Magdalene (for lepers), which was granted an extension of their land into the area of the modern day suburb by Edward I (1272-1307).

Sugley – OE in origin. In this case, ‘ley’ means ‘clearing/meadow, or fallow’. It has been suggested that ‘sug’ could mean ‘sparrow’, ‘female boar’ or ‘soggy land’. Take your pick.

Summerhill – More of a part of the city centre, really, but the name of this little enclave on the south side of Westgate Hill is derived from Summerhill House, which used to stand on the site of the present-day St.Matthew’s Church. The edifice was built and named by local bookseller, Joseph Barber, in the early 1700s, who hailed from Summerhill, near Dublin.

Throckley – OE place-name which may simply mean ‘Throca’s hill or clearing’. Though there is an OE word throc, which described a part of a plough, and later came to mean ‘trestle/table’ – to which there could be a connection.

Walbottle – OE botl (building) on the Roman Wall.

Walker – Old Norse in origin, from wal-kiarr = wall-marsh, i.e. the ‘marsh near the (Roman) wall’.

Walkergate – The ‘road to Walker’ (gata = ‘road’ in Old Norse). See Walker.

Walkerville – An early-twentieth century annex to Walker, situated to the north. Conceived and developed as a model housing exhibition scheme of mostly private builds. The ‘ville’ suffix was no doubt added to make it sound posh. See Walker.

Wallsend – Literally, the ‘wall’s end’ (i.e. the Roman Wall).

Westerhope – Etymologists have probably tried to be a little too clever with this one. Many experts look at this place name and speculate that it must be derived from the OE, meaning ‘whetstone valley’ (indicative of a quarry). However, it is now accepted that it is a relatively recent creation of the 1890s, being manufactured to describe the move ‘west’ from Newcastle of a migrating community with great ‘hope’ for their new garden-village future.

Whorlton – Though never anything more than a hamlet with accompanying hall to the north-west of Newcastle, this place name means ‘circle farm/settlement’ (from the OE hwerfel-tun = circle-farmstead). It probably referred to some rounded topographical feature in the landscape which has since been lost.

Wideopen – Simply ‘wide valley’ (from ‘wide’ + OE hoppen = ‘at the valley’)

Wingrove – We’re not sure about this one, but it may be OE in origin, meaning ‘the grove (group of trees) of wiga’s followers’ (or someone similar).

Woolsington – ‘Farmstead of Wulfsige’s people’ (from OE).

Newcastle's Suburbs: Name Derivations, Pt.1

Several years ago I posted an online article looking into how Newcastle's suburbs got their names. In 2023 I expanded on this piece in my book Newcastle-upon-Tyne: Tales From the Suburbs. I'm not sure I truly got to the bottom of them all, and some readers may have differing opinions, but I thought it a rather neat idea to reproduce the lengthy analysis here on my 'Newcastle History Blog'. 

Yes, I know it's a bit lazy of me, but my research activity has been somewhat limited of late due to a number of personal factors - being the birth of my first grandchild last December, a prolonged house move (and related renovations), as well as doing up the house of a friend! I'm supposed to be retired, you know!!

Anyway, I'll spread the effort over two posts, so do tune in in a week or so's time for the second half.

(Note: OK, so one or two of these are technically outside of the city boundary, but I thought you might be interested nonetheless. Please excuse the absence of several modern day housing estates / areas, as most of these have been given random names that have no historical context)

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Arthur’s Hill – This area sits north of Westgate Road, a mile from the city centre. Until 1820 – and as there was nothing much there – it was simply considered a part of Westgate. Then along came property developer Isaac Cookson who built his housing estate hereabouts in the mid-1820s. He named his new creation after his first son, Arthur, hence Arthur’s Hill.

Battlefield – This area to the east of the city centre was so named because of its fame as a venue for dog fights in the early- to mid-nineteenth century.

Bell’s Close – Probably derived from Bell’s Farm which used to occupy the spot.

Benfield – See Benton/Longbenton for the ‘Ben’ part, + field.

Benton/Longbenton – Perhaps from the Old English (OE) beonet- or bean-tun, hence ‘bean-farm’; or, possibly, ‘course/bent grass farm’ (we’re not sure which). In time, two settlements grew – ‘Long-’ and ‘Little-’, with Longbenton stemming from the fact that the village developed along a main road.

Benwell – OE bionnan walle, meaning ‘place inside the (Roman) wall’. Nothing to do with wells, we think (although, confusingly, there used to be an actual well called ‘Ben Well’ in the grounds of Benwell Towers!).

Blakelaw – Old Norse, meaning ‘black hill’.

Blucher – Early-nineteenth century pit village, named (or possibly renamed) after Prussian Field Marshal Gebhard Leberecht von Blücher, an ally of the Duke of Wellington in the victory over Napoleon at the Battle of Waterloo in 1815.

Brandling Village – Now swallowed by the spread of Jesmond, this Victorian area north of the city was named after the Brandling family, who owned vast tracts of land in these parts.

Brunswick Village – Originally known as Dinnington Colliery until well into the twentieth century. The idea for the new name was probably contrived from the nearby settlements of Brunton (see Brunton), and literally means ‘the village around the farm near the burn’. The newer, south-east portion of the present-day ‘village’ (Brunswick Green) is technically in North Tyneside.

Brunton (Park, East, West, North, Bridge, etc) – Brunton means ‘farmstead by the burn’ (the river in question being the Ouse Burn). 

Byker – From Old Norse by-kiarr, which translates as ‘the village marsh’.

Callerton/Black Callerton – Callerton comes from OE calfra-dun, meaning ‘hill where the calves grazed’. ‘Black’ may refer to the colour of the local soil, or to outcrops of coal.

Chapel House & Chapel Park – These two adjoining housing estates, begun in the early 1960s (the former in 1963, followed by the latter a few years later), were named after the pre-existing Chapel House farmstead which used to sit on the north side of the A69 West Road a little beyond the main road’s junction with Hillhead Road/Union Hall Road.

Cowgate – The spelling has changed little since its first mention as ‘Cougate’ in 1290. The name probably comes from the gate or road (‘gate’ can also mean ‘road’) the local farmers would use from the outlying areas to the north-west of the town to bring their livestock to the Town Moor (Nuns’ Moor) and/or Newcastle Cattle Market. 

Coxlodge – The jury is out on this one. A possible explanation is that it comes from the OE cocc (‘cock’) or coc (‘cook’), both being personal names + Middle English loge (hut). Presumably, there was once a lodge of a person called ‘Cook/Cock/Cox’ in the vicinity (?).

Denton – From the OE dene-tun, which equates to ‘the enclosed farmstead or village near the dene’.

Dinnington – From OE, and means either ‘farmstead of Dunn’s people’ or ‘farmstead of the people on the hill’.

Dumpling Hall – The housing estate which now bears this name derives the label from the farm which used to occupy the spot. The word ‘dumpling’ may mean ‘small lump/bump’, indicating that the farm was situated on a low lying hill (which it did, on rising land overlooking the Tyne). A relict of the old farmhouse building still exists as a residential home in the ‘new’ estate.

Elswick – OE, meaning ‘Aelfsige’s (diary) farm’.

Fawdon – OE, from fag-dun, meaning ‘multicoloured hill’.

Fenham – A slightly tricky one. Certainly OE, and could mean ‘place at the fens’ or ‘(water-) meadow by the fen’.

Forest Hall – This area is named after the almost palatial residence of the same name which was demolished in 1962. The old hall incorporated a medieval tower, which may have been the original home of the estate’s forester, who looked after the wooded areas of the Lord of the Manor’s land. 

Gosforth – OE meaning, literally, ‘goose-ford’, i.e. the ford where there are geese.

Hazlerigg – Former pit village, named after the Hazlerigg family who used to own the land in these parts.

Heaton – OE for ‘high farm/settlement’ (above the Ouseburn).

Pt.2 to follow soon....

Kieran Carter's 'North East Heritage Library'

I know I've mentioned Kieran Carter's adventures in local history before (and will, no doubt, do so again), but if you're interested in any aspect of the history of the top right-hand corner of England you really should be a regular visitor to the young man's excellent 'North East Heritage Library' (NEHL). There are two ways in: with the homepage proper being here, and the Patreon gateway here.

Kieran is a lovely chap and his endeavours remind me of my own efforts to popularise the subject matter through my old mail order magazine, The North-Easterner, during 1994-2004. That all seems like a very long time ago now, and I know there are still a few of you out there who subscribed to the journal (you know who you are!). Unlike me and my old-school launch in the mid-1990s, Mr Carter is having to deal with the intricacies of the digital age. I started with a typewriter with no wordprocessing capabilities - and I didn't even have access to the burgeoning Internet until a year into my venture!

OK, then, enough of the bad old good old days. 

I was prompted to mention the NEHL again on account of a couple of Newcastle-related articles I have recently spotted there. The first is a sideways look at the town's famous (infamous?) siege of 1644 by Miriam Bibby - a fellow Novocastrian and far better qualified than me when it comes to the study of history. Then there was a more recent look at outsiders' views on Novocastrians through history by Sue Hope, who herself has a long history of writing in the field.*

Anyway, I just thought I'd point out the existence of the NEHL on the off chance that you may not have yet come across it. And do try to offer Kieran your support by joining his band of Patreon followers. There are several levels of financial support you can offer - and being once myself in desperate pursuit of such support during my publishing days I can fully appreciate what a struggle it can be at times. Kieran is young, keen and remarkably knowledgeable - so let's reward him with a bit of support.

* Readers may be interested in my own published booklet on the subject - see left-hand column for further info.

The Morpeth Olympic Games

 

As you know, my wife and I have recently moved to Morpeth, and, not knowing a great deal about the town's history, I am keen to find out as much as I can about the topic in double-quick time. I don't want to overload you with Morpeth stuff in the coming weeks and months, but I was particularly taken with the tale of the Morpeth Olympic Games. 

Unbelievably, this was a professional sporting gathering that took place in the market town from the 1870s through to the 1950s, with big money prizes up for grabs. It wasn't always known as the 'Olympics', but the term was adopted by the event organisers in the 1880s to add a layer of lustre to proceedings. And this was before the modern-day Olympics were revived in 1896. Once again, then, the Great North-East was ahead of the game!

In my search for information on the athletic shenanigans upon the banks of the Wansbeck I came across an excellent article by Jack Brodie in the Inside Morpeth Magazine of Aug/Sept 2024. It's on pages 14-15 and can be found here. Further detail can also be found in Tony Henderson's piece on the ChronicleLive website; and there is even a YouTube video to enjoy.

It all sounds rather splendid. Isn't the history of the North-East just full of surprises?

Charlton Heston's Geordie Roots

Overhearing a conversation the other day between my wife and a friend, I heard Angie re-iterate (for the umpteenth time) that her favourite film was Ben-Hur, the 1959 effort starring Charlton Heston. My better half loves this movie, and, I think, fancied the lead actor no end. Her friend then recalled that she'd seen the American star perform at Newcastle's Theatre Royal back in 1988 as Thomas More in A Man for All Seasons. Angie was suddenly overcome with barely-concealed envy.

Her jealousy soon, though, turned to anguish as her friend checked the fine detail on the internet, only to find that the great man had actually called into St.Thomas More School in her home town of Blaydon during the same visit. She had no idea that she'd come so close to her idol!

Heston, it turns out, was in the North East to appear in the famous play on the theatre's opening night following the building's 20-month closure and refurb. The grand occasion took place on 11th January 1988. He is understood to have had a bit of a soft spot for the Toon, claiming that he loved the place due to it having 'so much history'. I am starting to warm to the man myself now.

He was well aware of his ancestral links to the city, too. Heston said during a Press conference at the Theatre Royal: “My grandfather [John Carter] came from the Newcastle area. He worked in the mines as a boy of eight or nine around 1890 to 1895. He emigrated to America soon after with his mother. I believe Carter is not an uncommon name in Newcastle, although I don’t know of any relatives who might still be living here.”

And it wasn't the first time he'd called in to the region. As detailed in this revealing ChronicleLive article, he had a holiday here in the late 1970s, during which time he hiked along Hadrian's Wall and did a little family history research in Jesmond! He also popped into Newcastle for a stage appointment in 1952 ... and yet another visit, in 1968, included this televised interview.

Well, who'd have thought it? Not my wife, Angie, for one.

The Mystery of the Grey Horse Fortune

Grey Horse Inn, 1828

The Grey Horse Inn was a famous hostelry that once sat in a prominent location facing out onto Newcastle Quayside, where roughly now stand the footings of the Tyne Bridge. It fell victim to the Great Fire of 1854.

However, during one of its many renovations, in June 1815, its cellar was cleared of many decades’-worth of accumulated rubbish and dumped in a brick-yard near Shieldfield. Almost immediately local children pounced on their new playground attraction and began ferreting around to see what they could find. And they started picking up guineas, here, there and everywhere. As word spread, more and more folk arrived to join the scramble, and the money just kept turning up.

The cartman who had dumped the rubbish, hearing of the good fortune of so many, recollected that he had taken some of the material to another brick-yard near New Bridge Street. So off he snuck, and was soon richly rewarded. But then this site, too, became overrun with people, young and old. One girl was said to have found 22 of the gold coins – but they all dated from the 1750s to the 1770s. So how exactly did they get there, among the years’-old debris in the cellar of the Grey Horse Inn?

Some of the older folk half-remembered a story from the 1770s that a traveller was robbed in the Grey Horse, and that the thief, a servant, had hid the plunder in the cellar and not been able to ever retrieve it. Others reported that a landlord of the pub had said on his death-bed that he was worth a considerable fortune – but which afterwards could not be found….

[Source: Richardson’s Local Historian’s Table Book, vol.3, 1843]

Article taken from Newcastle-upon-Tyne: Fragments of the Past, vol.3.

A Wander Around Killingworth Village

I am not overly familiar with Killingworth. My experiences of the North Tyneside new town, or indeed the old village, are few and far between. As a green-as-grass teenager I was bussed out there to an industrial park for a six-week 'office skills' programme to (ostensibly at least) improve my chances of escaping the dole. This was during the Christmas and New Year period of 1983-84, when my thoughts were otherwise engaged in Newcastle United's promising promotion push. I saw nothing of the town/village itself during my brief incumbency, other than the inside of the local pub during our Friday afternoon sessions - more of which later.

Other than that there were my occasional childhood visits to Woolco, the giant big brother of Woolworth's - a huge superstore situated amidst the concrete jungle of the strikingly bleak 'new' town. And a really rather exciting prospect it was, too, given the store's immense toy section! Even then, though, I thought of Killingworth as a strange and unloved corner of the region. Those bleak blocks of grey masonry have since been bulldozed, to be replaced by more amenable new-builds, accompanied, too, by a cleaner and attractive shopping centre. Not perfect, but better.

I was always aware that there must have been, somewhere, an 'old' Killingworth village, but don't ever remember passing through it. So I thought I'd have a little look a few days ago. What follows is a sketchy 'once-over', aimed at putting similarly-ignorant folk in the picture - at least a little bit, anyway.

After exiting the bus station, I headed a short distance to the south to St.John's parish church:

The parish was founded in 1865 (out of the parish of Longbenton) and the church itself consecrated in 1869. An informative narrative of both the church's and the area's history can be found here. A nice touch is the re-erection of the 'Communicare Cross' nearby, and the helpful information panels (click on images to enlarge):

And thence down the old 'High Street' (or rather West Lane, as it is known). A random selection of excellent stone buildings:

Tigger Cottage!

Killingworth Hall

I really must get my house crenellated.

And a few other bits and bobs:

A surprise find was the region's lowest trig point, at an impressive 0m above sea-level!:

Towards the eastern end of the old village - and on the southern side of the road - can be found the site of Killingworth Colliery. Now nicely landscaped and accompanied by several marker stones (suitably graffitied of course):

As you probably know, this was where a young George Stephenson cut his engineering teeth - and indeed conducted his dangerous underground experiments with his Stephenson safety lamp. This truly is one of the region's most evocative spots, where one is acutely aware of treading in the footsteps of one of the nation's biggest historical heroes.

I followed the track southwards towards Great Lime Road, imagining, perhaps, of accompanying the ghost of old George:

And then westwards to Dial Cottage, the actual home of George Stephenson and his young family during his early working years. A remarkable survival:

This place was only recently sold by North Tyneside Council back onto the private market. As far as I could tell it was undergoing refurbishment when I passed by.

Not too far away can be found a rather large representation of the Stephenson's 'Geordie Lamp':

And before winging my way back round to the bus station, I called in to visit an old friend: The Station public house, last visited by me as a 19-year-old more than 42 years ago. Crikey!:

Doesn't time fly? Must remember to call back again in 2068!

The Magpie

The magpie is a bird that has become entwined in the culture of Tyneside, and Newcastle in particular. Well, at least it has been since the blossoming of Newcastle United in the early twentieth century! It has gained a sort of cult status among Novocastrians, with sayings, little ditties and even full-blown songs being dedicated to the noisy and persistent creatures. And they are everywhere these days … but it was not always so. The following article, taken from the June 1889 edition of The Monthly Chronicle of North-Country Lore & Legend outlined the perilous position of the magpie in the late Victorian era. Other late nineteenth century texts proffer a similar story of woe and expected demise. Quite a recovery, then!

The magpie (Garrulus picus, Bewick; Picus eaudatus, Yarrell) has almost as many scientific as popular names. In some parts of the country (as in Scotland) it is best known as the pyot, or pyet; in Lancashire as the pynot ; and in the Midland and South-Eastern Counties as the chatterpie. In other districts it is best known by the abbreviated title of "mag" — short for magpie. It is one of the most handsomely-plumaged of our native birds, and is brisk and nimble in all its movements. Unfortunately it is so hotly persecuted by game-preservers and their keepers, and also by farmers, that it is fast becoming scarce in most parts of the country — in fact, is threatened with speedy extinction, especially in cultivated districts.

These forays on the eggs and young of domestic fowls and game birds are chiefly confined to the breeding season, when the magpies are rearing their young broods; but at other periods of the year their chief food is the insects and vermin which prey on the produce of the farm. Though by no means so harmless as the barn owl — another much persecuted and useful bird — the magpie is almost as nimble a mouser as the former, and it will also kill and devour rats. Popular folk-lore is inimical to the magpie, as the bird, under certain natural conditions referable to certain times of the year, is looked upon as ominous of sorrow, and is consequently persecuted from stupid superstitious motives. As Mr. John Hancock remarks, “this beautiful resident species, once so abundant in the district (Northumberland and Durham) has now almost disappeared from the neighbourhood of Newcastle, and has everywhere become rare.”

The magpie is found in Europe, Asia, and Africa, while in the Northern States of America it is represented by a very similar bird. It seldom visits mountains, open plains, or dense forests, but visually inhabits lightly wooded parts of the country.

In some of the Northern European countries magpies are treated with great consideration, especially in the Baltic provinces, where they may be seen feeding in the streets of populous towns like pigeons and jackdaws. There they are so familiar and trusting that they will even enter houses in search of food, the sagacious birds well knowing that they will not be molested. How different their treatment in this country!

The flight of the bird, owing to its short and rounded wings and long tail, appears somewhat heavy, and is made with quick vibrations, as if laboured, and in a high wind it does not seem to make much progress. Occasionally, however, the bird may be seen flying very rapidly and at a great height, though, as a rule, it does not seem partial to long flights. On the ground the bird is very nimble, and it can progress quickly either by hopping or walking, while the long and handsome tail is perpetually jerked up and down. The peculiar chatter of the bird can be heard for considerable distances.

The nest is mostly placed at the top of a tall tree, but sometimes in hedges and thorn bushes. It is a domed structure, composed of thorns and sticks, with a hole at the side. The inside is lined with roots and grass. The eggs run from five to seven, rarely more. The male weighs from eight to nine ounces; length, one foot and a half; bill, black; iris, dark brown; head, crown, neck, and nape, jet black; chin and throat black, the shafts of some of the feathers being greyish white; breast above, black; below, pure white; back, dull black. The wings are short and rounded, and the white feathers from the shoulder form a distinct patch of white along them; greater wing coverts, fine, glancing blue; lesser wing coverts, black; primaries, black, with an elongated patch of white on the inner web of each of the first ten feathers; secondaries and tertiaries, fine blue. The handsome tail is graduated and rounded, the outer feathers being only five inches long, and the middle ones nearly eleven inches.

Meanwhile, back in twenty-first century Newcastle, the magpie’s rehabilitation now seems complete with its recent inclusion in a mural in Newcastle’s Morden Street!

Ramblings from Hazlerigg (part 2 of 2)

One thing that has been bugging me about Hazlerigg and its environs these past few weeks is some of the street names. I often wonder about things like this: you know, exactly where do the names of our countless thoroughfares come from? Who decides on the names of the streets of our settlements, old and new? I don’t think I shall ever get to the bottom of such mysteries, but it doesn’t stop me trying.

Sometimes developers just get lazy, and use the names of regional villages, or whatever (the great expanses of water in Lakeland often feature heavily). We can see a bit of this is some of the streets in Hazlerigg (Heddon, Belsay, Matfen, etc), and on other occasions Christian names are deployed, often named after the children of local landowners or developers - and, again, Hazlerigg has a few of these. Others remain an unsolvable mystery - and in Hazlerigg we have several such examples.

I was, however, especially intrigued by a few of closely grouped thoroughfares at the village’s western extremity. These are Windt Street, Lieven Street, Lola Street, Enid Street and Charles Street. The latter three are likely just named after offspring or other family members of some prominent local family; but Windt and Lieven sounded most peculiar to my North-Eastern brain.

Turns out that Windt Street was named after a prominent local landowning family in the area of the nineteenth century. These folk owned many of the fields and farmsteads around and about (the exact extent of which I know not), and were often to be found striving to improve the lots of their tenants. Prior to the opening of Hazlerigg Colliery in 1892, though, the village itself didn’t exist. But then, as domestic dwellings began to pop up, well, streets began to form, and these needed to be named. And the first set of streets were those named above.

Windt, being the family name of the local landowners, was an obvious choice. The family’s main man at this point in time was one Harry de Windt, who was actually a rather famous explorer, who travelled, quite literally, all over the place, and wrote about it rather a lot, too. He’s even got his own Wikipedia page.

Harry de Windt, preparing for another hard winter in Hazlerigg

As for that other name, Lieven, well, the de Windt family had quite a heritage going back to the Netherlands and/or Flanders. They were especially prominent in early Dutch explorations in the New World (in what is now the British Virgin Isles in the Caribbean and in New Amsterdam in America - now New York). Their most prominent father figure in these very early days - their patriarch, if you like - was one Lieven de Windt; and his memory seems to have permeated through the centuries, to the extent of having a street named after him in Hazlerigg. I have no direct evidence of this, but that’s my ‘circumstantial-evidence’ stab at it.

And then there’s the new estate upon which I presently find myself residing. The street names here are rather easier to work out:

Winder Drive - A mine worker who operates heavy machinery to raise or lower cages via cables; 

Corver Crescent - Those who made corves, being the baskets in which coal was carried from the hewer to the bank;

Collier Gardens - A catch-all term for a coal miner (also means a ship that carries coal);

Stoneman Court - A person who makes excavation in stone (i.e. hard strata) other than coal;

Dataller Drive - A ‘dataller’, or ‘dataler’ was an underground workman paid by the day (from ‘day-toller’ maybe?).

The last one threw me a bit, but I got there in the end.

P.S. You may be wondering about the name ‘Hazlerigg’, and why the new colliery and subsequent settlement wasn’t named something else - like, say, ‘De Windt’, or whatever. Well, Hazlerigg was a family name, whose ancient base was in the area a couple of miles or so to the east of the present-day village of this name - essentially around Camperdown/Weetslade/Burradon. Camperdown was, until the mid-nineteenth century, actually known as Hazlerigge (note extra ‘e’), after which it adopted its new moniker. Hazlerigg then reappeared as the name of the new colliery sunk a little to the west in the 1890s, for no other reason, I suppose, than the authorities thought it right to revive the name of a long-standing local bigwig. It is worth pointing out that the new colliery was owned  by the Coxlodge and Burradon Coal Company, which provided a handy link to the Hazleriggs’ old stamping ground. So ‘Hazlerigg’ it was then … and the de Windts had to make do with a couple of minor street names.