'The Man-Stealer Baffled': White Slavery?

A couple of years ago I purchased the complete 8 volume set of The Local Historian's Table Book by M.A.Richardson. It is an original 1840s affair, and is, well, quite literally falling apart at the seams (but it was cheap). The set is divided into two parts: 5 volumes of 'Historical' bits and bobs, and 3 volumes of 'Legendary' stuff. The former is full of interesting snippets, but I'd never bothered very much with the latter, until a few days ago...

In order to justify my impulsive purchase, I thought it about time that I cast my eyes over the first of the 'Legendary' volumes. I didn't expect to find much in the way of actual factual stuff, but was surprised to discover a good deal of interest. The most surprising was one of the first tales entitled The Man-Stealer Baffled: An Incident of Tynedale, which tells the story of the habitual "seizing by force [of] able bodied young men and sending them as slaves to the sugar plantations in the West India Islands." An example is given, being dated to a point in the early 1700s, which took place a little to the north of Corbridge. The 'man-stealer' was thankfully stopped in his tracks, I am pleased to say.

Here are images of the three pages in question. Click on the same to enlarge - hope you can make them out. The texts can also be found at Google Books and archive.org 

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.

Low Chibburn Preceptory

First of all, a preceptory is/was the special name given to a monastery of the Knights Templar or the Knights Hospitaller*. And, secondly, Low Chibburn is a few yards inland from the huge expanse of Druridge Bay in Northumberland. So what we have here is a pretty rare thing: a remnant of a building known to have Templar/Hospitaller connections situated right here in the North-East of England.

And it's not easy to get to, either. At least, not if you're expecting to roll up to the ruins in your car. No! For you have two rather awkward ways of getting in: apparently your can settle yourself into one of the quite-difficult-to-reach Druridge Bay car parks and walk inland (the site is behind Druridge Pools); or, as in my case, you can pull into a farm track access road from the village of Widdrington, then leave your vehicle when the road gets too rough and walk the last few hundred yards in an easterly direction.

Anyway, once you get there, this is what you'll find:

To get this close you have to be a bit spritely. As well as the access road (semi-blocked with fallen trees when I visited), there are a couple of farmer's fields to negotiate, plus a series of stiles, then an overgrown plot with bits of decaying ruin strewn around and about. Even the information boards are past their best.

Never mind, though, 'cos this is, after all, a pretty special place due to its rarity value. It's not even listed on most Templar/Hospitaller online lists. Its lifespan covered a mere couple of centuries or so, c.1313-1540, until it was claimed by the Crown, then passed to the Widdrington family in 1553. Of the Templar/Hospitaller stuff, only bits of the chapel remain; with most of the ruins actually being the house added on by the Widdringtons in the sixteenth century.

Originally, the site was given to the Knights in order that they could raise revenue for their various noble activities (crusades, etc.), and operated as a small farm, with a chapel and accommodation block - possibly offering facilities to those on pilgrimage to Holy Island. There would have been a moat in the site's heyday, but this has disappeared due to land movement caused by coal mining activity.

Interestingly, the chapel served as a pillbox during World War II:

Finally, Low Chibburn's active history was cut short in dramatic and unusual fashion when, in 1691, a small party of Frenchmen came ashore and plundered Widdrington, robbed it's castle and had a go at the old preceptory. Now there's an interesting little story. Think I'll look into it and tell you about it next time....

* I think the Hospitaller link far more likely, as the Templars were disbanded in 1312.