The Irish Problem

I was recently reminded of a little-known issue that seventeenth century Newcastle (and the North-East in general) had with Irish pirates operating in the North Sea. It's an unlikely story, the fine detail of which must have left old Novocastrians somewhat nonplussed. I covered it briefly in Volume 2 of my book Newcastle-upon-Tyne: Fragments of the Past, which I reproduce below in the hope of tempting you to buy a copy of the same from Amazon! ...

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Ever since the ‘Plantation of Ulster’ in the 1610s, England and Ireland had been consistently at each other’s throats. The Irish Rebellion of 1641 raised the stakes somewhat; and, by the time of the Commonwealth, Oliver Cromwell was itching to get at the Celtic foe. During this time the Irish retaliated in a variety of ways, including, somewhat surprisingly, occasional pirate-like activity off the coast of North-East England.

During 1648, heavily-armed Irish frigates wandered the east coast of England in considerable numbers. The following year was no better, with twenty ships, including many colliers, lost to Irish privateers in the vicinity of Newcastle, as the pirates were to be found “lurking up and down in [the] seas ... [doing] great mischief.” Soon after Cromwell landed at Dublin in August 1649, the problems escalated. Historian Eneas Mackenzie stated in his 1827 history of Newcastle that “at the latter end of the year 1649, mention occurs of several pirates lurking in the northern seas, and committing great depredations in the vicinity of Newcastle.” Then, the following year, there is a report of an Irish frigate attacking a Newcastle ship near Hartlepool, which was successfully repelled by the swift action of the said town’s governor.

As the early 1650s progressed, and Cromwell’s grip on Ireland tightened, the Irish pirate threat to the waters off the North-East coast finally eased.

French Invasion of Northumberland, 1691

A few days ago I related the tale of my wee trip to Low Chibburn Preceptory near Druridge Bay, together with a potted history of the curious little site. Whilst conducting my research for the article I came across reference to a supposed French invasion of 1691 which, among other things, seems to have brought an end to the active history of the former Knights Hospitaller farmstead. This threw me a bit, so I set about trying to find out more about the mysterious incident.

The short-lived incursion by England’s perennial enemy received scant mention in the history books. Macaulay’s famous History of England of 1848 touches lightly on the event, yet gets the date wrong. Fortunately, that great historian of the North-East, William Weaver Tomlinson, put matters straight in his 1899 paper Jean Bart’s Descent on the Coast of Northumberland in 1691.

The story begins with the adventures of two remarkable French naval commanders, Jean Bart, and his side-kick, Claude de Forbin. During the Nine Years War (where France faced off against most of the rest of Europe during 1688-97), this pair managed to get themselves captured by the English in 1689, then effected a dramatic escape from jail, before rowing back across the Channel to rejoin hostilities. Then, when the English and Dutch were trying to blockade Dunkirk to prevent French ships entering the fray a little later in the war, the two commanders skilfully slipped through the net, and began a short campaign of harassment of the English coast and of general nuisance-making in the North Sea.

Bart eventually decided to have a pop at Newcastle and its fleet of colliers (he often chose modest targets for his ‘kills’, including fishing boats). It just so happened, though, that there were none to be found, and he instead “found himself, on Tuesday 21st July [1691], off the Northumberland coast, with a stately castle and some small villages in sight.”

The stretch of coast in question was Druridge Bay, with the castle being that of Widdrington. Forbin advised his boss, mistakenly, that they were most likely off the coast of Scotland. But, whatever: they decided to land some men, cause some havoc, and make a headline or two. With the help of an English renegade named Chetworth (or Thetford, sources vary), the French fleet of eight ships was guided ashore - and it is likely that there were also present a number of privateers - with Forbin in charge of the operation.

The party of a few dozen men moved carefully across Druridge Links, falling first upon the village of Widdrington, which they duly pillaged and set ablaze. Then nearby Widdrington Castle was broken into and burgled, and the outbuildings set alight. Nearby cottages were similarly destroyed; after which the old preceptory at Low Chibburn (by then used as a farmhouse) was burnt to the ground, and the tiny hamlet of Druridge was also wasted. By this time a small body of poorly equipped cavalry and infantry had arrived to meet the threat, forcing the French to retire to their ships with their plunder. One invader was caught and killed, weighed down by his personal cache of booty.

The French thus escaped with their takings, boasting that they had caused far more damage and destruction than they actually had - and on their way back to Dunkirk they bravely attacked several more fishing boats. News of the mini invasion did, however, make the headlines, and collections were made for the benefit of the victims of the attack. Attempts were repeatedly made in the ensuing years to bring the miscreants to book, but only two individuals were ever punished - one being the Chetworth/Thetford chap who had piloted the French ships into the bay. Some sources say he was executed at Newcastle, others that he escaped capital punishment altogether.

And that explains the rather strange end-of-days at Low Chibburn Preceptory ….

Note: Tomlinson’s paper was published in Archaeological Aeliana, Series 2, vol.XXII (1900), pp.12-19, which is available in full online here.