This is one of my periodic book reviews courtesy of NetGalley. Roman Empire in 100 Moments by Dr Philip Matyszak is an informative and very accessible introduction to the Roman world – which as those of you who follow the blog know is outside my usual time frame. Matyszak has chosen 100 key moments to tell the story of Rome, from its rise to power through its triumphs, conflicts and eventual decline, making what could be an overwhelming subject much easier to digest. It’s ideal for readers who have an interest in Roman history but who don’t necessarily know the relationships and events that shaped the empire.
I particularly liked the way the book demonstrates how individual events, decisions and people can have consequences far beyond the moment itself. The short chapters make it an easy book to dip into, but together they build up a fascinating picture of the Roman Empire and the people who shaped it.
Matyszak writes in a lively and approachable way rather than making the book feel like a textbook. There is plenty here for someone new to Roman history, while those who already know the period are likely to find plenty of interesting detail and reminders of just how complex this extraordinary civilisation was.
An enjoyable and informative way to explore the Roman Empire, one moment at a time. Now back to the Devil’s Causeway – which is on the OS map and even in the road atlas.
The church in the little hamlet of Edlingham dates from the 11th and 12th centuries. It stands on the site of a Saxon building dating to 740 AD or there about. The first stone building was erected in about 1050 – when Edward the Confessor was on the throne. The village had originally been given to St Cuthbert by King Coelwulf of Northumbria. The latter abdicated and became a monk on Lindisfarne in 737. He gifted St Cuthbert four villages of which Edlingham was one. Warkworth, Eglingham and Whittingham composed the other three. Little wonder that the Venerable Bede was something of a fan.
The rather impressive tower at Edlingham was a later addition and given its location on the Scottish border it is perhaps not surprising that it had a defensive role like many other church towers along the border. It is also thought that the church was used to imprison moss troopers during the middle of the seventeenth century – men who returned to a reviving lifestyle at the end of the Wars of the Three Kingdoms.
The nearby castle was started by Sir William de Felton at the end of the thirteenth century, who is buried in the church. The castle was built in place a Manor House built by John of Edlingham during the 12th century. The Felton family are associated with both Norfolk and Shropshire. During the fourteenth century William’s son, also named William, continued the building work and his grandson – yes that’s another William, would fight alongside the Black Prince.
Meanwhile the Edlingham Railway Viaduct beyond the castle dates from 1885. Inevitably I was more interested in the Roman road running to the west of the village. It turns out it’s known as the Devil’s Causeway. Apparently it’s very obvious straightness caused a degree of consternation in later times, hence the name – unexplained, straight across empty moors – I’m sure you get the gist.
Having written about Thomas Audley, who hailed from Earl’s Colne and became Colchester’s recorder before going on to become Henry VIII’s Lord Chancellor (remarkably dying in his own bed in 1544), I was keen to see his tomb. I was quietly surprised to find him tucked in a side chapel surrounded by filing cabinets!
Thomas had written clear instructions in his will about what he wanted – little in the way of pomp and ceremony. While he might not have wanted an expensive or public funeral the chest tomb he commissioned, complete with the family crest, was not cheap. It’s made from Belgian slate.
Thomas’s tomb was placed in the side chapel that was newly completed. However, there’s been a church in Saffron Walden since Saxon times and the building on the site has gone through several reincarnations until becoming, in the fifteenth century, the largest parish church in Essex – the nave is some 50 ft high. Inevitably the saffron crocus which gives the town its name features in the decorations.
Unfortunately the church’s medieval glass did not survive the Reformation or the attentions of the Roundheads – although there is no documentary evidence of soldiers under the command of Thomas Fairfax damaging the church in 1647 (and he was known to take a dim view of such behaviour). The only medieval stained glass to survive is thought to be a likeness of Margaret of Anjou – Henry VI’s unfortunate and oft reviled consort.
Which brings me to the Parliamentarians and the English Civil War. In May 1647 there were a week of debates held in the church about the future of England’s political and religious life. Men whose view did not coincide with the dominant Presbyterian view were regarded as increasingly dangerous. There were calls for religious independents and Levellers who wanted to extend voting rights to be rooted out of the army and punished. There were even calls for the New Model Army to be disbanded.
In 1646 the army was at Nottingham under the command of Sir Thomas Fairfax. He moved his men to Saffron Walden when the Levellers began to petition soldiers. There was an increasingly vocal demand for extended suffrage. The use of a system of printed petitions that were widely distributed was something else to add to Parliament’s list of concerns – before long men like Lilburne were demanding that there should be more frequent elections to avoid Parliament becoming tyrannical in much the same way as the monarchy before it.
In March, the following year Parliament decided to disband the army in England and to send another to Ireland to suppress the rebellion there. Even worse, arrears in pay were not to be fully honoured – after the years of war there wasn’t much spare cash in the coffers. Unsurprisingly the soldiers drafted a petition demanding their money in full as well as indemnity against anything they might have done during the war. They also wanted pensions for widows, orphans and those disabled by their soldiering. Soldiers who were prepared to go to Ireland only wanted to do so under the command of their own commanders. Parliament decided that men like Colonels Pride and Lilburne were traitors to the State for encouraging the petition – who’d have thought that what today seems largely reasonable would have been greeted with such alarm?
Most ordinary soldiers did not want to go to Ireland. And when a deputation from Parliament arrived tor recruit for the campaign rather than signing on for the new campaign as had been expected, representatives from each of the eight regiments in Saffron Walden formed a council of action and drafted a document which they presented to Fairfax and to Parliament reiterating their grievances.
Meetings followed in the town’s church on 6 and 7 May during which Parliamentary and army representatives tried to arrive at a compromise as well as to recruit for the Irish campaign.
On 18 May, Parliament decided to disband the army with the exception of men prepared to go to Ireland or for garrison duties. Fairfax was told to organise this and moved to Bury St Edmunds. The agitators, as they were known, refused to comply even when Fairfax order them to stop holding meetings. Instead a new petition was presented to him and the regiments, increasingly militant, refused to disband.
The Saffron Waldren debates reflected the widening void between those in power and the soldiers of the New Model Army. This difference would come to a head in November 1647 with the more famous Putney Debates. Ultimately, Fairfax would refuse, in 1649, to go to Ireland. The experiences of Saffron Walden had turned him into something of a political mediator as well as maintaining military unity. It was Fairfax who first chaired the Putney Debates but illness forced him to step down and it was Cromwell who suppressed the army’s radicals.
Quebec House is close to Chartwell. Colonel Wolfe rented the Tudor house in 1726. It was here that his and Henrietta’s son, James, was born and grew up until the age of 11-years. The property had been extended during the reign of James I and has evolved since – having a Georgian appearance.
James Wolfe became a soldier at just fourteen-years and found himself involved in the war of the Austrian Succession as well as the Jacobite Rebellion of 1745. In 1759, during the so-called Seven Years War, Wolfe led his men up the cliffs at Quebec and attacked the French. The general, whose death is captured on canvas at Ickworth House near Bury St Edmunds, won the battle but lost his life. Spiers, as his childhood home was known, was renamed Quebec House in his honour.
The Seven Years War was fought between 1756 to 1763 and was effectively world war – and so it was described by Churchill- since it involved all the European powers of the time and consequently their colonies. Britain was an ally of Prussia while France, Austria, Russia, Sweden and Spain lined up on the other side. One of the causes included a territorial dispute over Silesia fought between Austria and Prussia. The British and the French were more interested in control of North America. The French and Indian War had started in 1754. The Treaty of Paris signed in 1763 would see France relinquish most of its North American land to Britain.
One of the domino effects of the war, aside from Wolfe’s death, was the amount that it cost. Inevitably this led to more taxation of the American Colonies which in turn led to increasing discontent.
The house is full of General Wolfe memorabilia including the general’s canteen chest – with spaces for all the china he used while he was on campaign. That said the contents of the home are fairly spartan – a reminder that Wolfe’s family were not aristocratic.
However, you can even see Henrietta Wolfe’s cookbook or receipt book. As might be expected as well as recipes for cooking everything from fish to sponge cake there are also a number of household remedies. If you time your visit right, volunteers may be found in the kitchen preparing some dishes inspired by the Georgian recipes.
In 1962 Sir Winston Churchill received a ginger cat with four white socks for his birthday. Churchill named the cat after the man who gifted it to him – Sir John Colville. Jock became an important part of Churchill’s life.
When Chartwell became part of the National Trust Churchill’s family stipulated that a cat that looked like Jock must always have a home at Chartwell. Jock mark 7 arrived in 2020. It was a pleasant surprise to encounter him just after the property opened a couple of weeks ago. He clearly takes his duties very seriously.
I knew that Churchill was an animal lover before I visited Chartwell. During the war, for instance, he was often accompanied by a poodle called Rufus. I read somewhere that he refused to keep animals that ended up on his plate, working on the theory that if you’ve said good morning to a creature of any kind- it really shouldn’t end up on your plate. What I didn’t know was that he built a butterfly house at Chartwell and had the borders planted with flowers to give them nectar.
Today the grounds are also home to black swans descended from those gifted to Churchill by the people of Australia. The ponds were built on the instruction of Churchill during the 1930s – and there was I thinking they just wanted somewhere quieter to live than Leeds Castle.
I thoroughly enjoyed my visit to Chartwell and I particularly liked one of the Churchill quotes he made about the delights of painting – ‘Every land, every parish has its own tale to tell.’ He was describing painting as a pastime but it seems to me to be an excellent quote for anyone interested in history. And inevitably I shall be using it at some point. There is an exhibition of Churchill’s work at Chartwell as well as an exhibition in London currently exhibiting at the Wallace Collection.
Churchill became a prolific artist when he discovered it at the age of 40. He used it as a way of keeping depression at bay. He believed that skill wasn’t important but that enjoyment was. A valuable lesson.
Thomas Cromwell’s sister had a son called Richard Williams. Williams entered Cromwell’s household and changed his name from Williams to Cromwell – it was a sound move at the time with Cromwell being Henry VIII’s chief minister. Miranda Malins’ book entitled The House of Cromwell explores the family from their earliest antecedents.
 The House of Cromwell is compelling in its extraordinary level of detail. Miranda Malins has clearly immersed herself in the world of the Cromwells, and that knowledge brings the people, places and politics of the period vividly to life. Rather than simply presenting history as a sequence of political events, she allows us to see the family behind the history —weaving together their ambitions, loyalties, rivalries and vulnerabilities – not to mention introducing us to the rather less successful members of the family…think an excess of drinking, gambling and entertaining.
What I found particularly fascinating was the book’s exploration of identity and power. The Cromwells’ rise raises such interesting questions about what happens when people from outside the traditional aristocracy suddenly find themselves at the centre of national power. Thomas and Oliver Cromwell may have been separated by generations, but Malins makes us think about the connections between them and about the different ways in which power can be acquired, exercised and ultimately lost.
I also loved the attention given to the wider family, particularly the women whose lives and influence can so easily disappear behind the better-known political story. It gives a much richer sense of how power actually worked: not simply through kings, parliaments and battles, but through marriage, family relationships, reputation, loyalty and personal influence…though I’m still not a huge fan of Oliver, although it turns out that he had something of an interest in family history and a sense of humour.
For me, the great strength of the book is the way Malins combines scholarship with a real feeling for the human story. And lets face it while Thomas Cromwell ended up losing control of his story Oliver ended up controlling his own history unlike Sir Thomas Fairfax who deliberately stepped away from power which meant that although it was Fairfax who was the commander-in-chief of the New Model Army that its Cromwell who everyone remembers.
Unlike Thomas, His two times great nephew Oliver received a state funeral but in 1661, orders were given by. the restored Crown to have the Lord Protector’s body dug up, hanged at Tyburn where it remained for several hours before being beheaded. Oliver’s body went into an unmarked grave near Tyburn. Thomas fared better. Having been beheaded, his remains were interred at St Peter ad Vinincula – and remained undisturbed even though the grave was eventually lost to history. Both men discovered that power can be rather a dangerous commodity.
Thomas, a canny administrator if ever there was one, had ensured that both his son Gregory and his nephew Richard were well provided for prior to his death. It helped that Gregory was married to Jane Seymour’s sister and that Cromwell made sure property deeds were watertight in terms of inheritance even if the Crown did take back property under attainder laws. Oliver’s family estates were little impacted by the Restoration – they hadn’t been that significant to start with. However, land he acquired in the aftermath of the civil war – particularly Irish estates – were removed from his heirs. For the younger Cromwells who had made good marriages there was life in the gentry.
The Cromwells didn’t disappear they simply retreated back to the life that Oliver emerged from. Perhaps the government didn’t feel the need to make martyrs of them. Richard Cromwell who spent some years abroad returned to England to live a quiet life and like his brother, Henry, was permitted to live undisturbed. It probably helped that Mary Cromwell, the third of Oliver’s daughters, was married to Thomas Belasyse, 1st Earl Fauconberg, an active supporter of the Crown.
I’d like to thank Harper Collins and Net Galley for giving me the opportunity to read Miranda Malins’ The House of Cromwell prior to its publication.
I know it’s not the most cheery topic for a post! However, by the beginning of the seventeenth century in England funeral practices and mourning had undergone a change thanks to the Protestant reformation. Purgatory no longer existed so it wasn’t necessary to make provision for prayer and masses to expedite the process. It led to a simplification of the process although society still had its own requirements.
When Lady Mary Vere was unexpectedly widowed in May 1635 she would have had to dressed in black as would her daughters. They weren’t permitted to wear anything bright or even shiny. Gradually they could have moved to half mourning which involved greys and mauves. Lady Mary was also expected to provide cloths with the chief mourners at her husband’s funeral as well as for the servants. This could have been anything from gowns and cloaks to gloves, scarves and armbands – although there would have been nothing elaborate or ostentatious. The key for Lady Mary, a Presbyterian, was that she would not have used any practices or rituals that had links to Catholicism. The clothing was more about showing proper respect. The funeral itself, which took place at Westminster Abbey, is likely to have been a quiet affair without even the tolling of a bell to mark the baron’s passing. Unlike his brother he has no effigy or marker.
Lord Horace Vere’s funeral was plain and relatively brief. Lady Mary’s restraint would have been a reminder of the virtue of simplicity and an external illustration of her pious submission to God’s will – no space for wailing and gnashing of teeth. It was the duty of her friends and family to provide practial support and quiet sorrow…all in all very solemn. Horace, a godly man, was seen as having made his final journey to Heaven. It is possible that a costly effigy would have smacked of vanity – the family would have wanted to focus on Horace’s soul.
By the time news travelled across the country, the funeral would have already taken place. Support in that case would take the form of a letter of condolence focusing on theological support for the widow and while they might wear sober clothing, or even be in receipt of a mourning ring left to them in the will of the person who died, the whole e process would be navigated with restraint.
Inevitably it is through memoirs that much of this information comes to light. Some of you will recall the work of Alice Thornton who lived in Yorkshire during the 17th century – her life was not without drama including a marriage after the English Civil War to a Parliamentarian to protect the family and its land – however her writing also reflects the need for quiet acceptance of God’s will.
John Evleyn’s journal reflected the writer’s piety and his own grief at the loss of his children. He also recorded court funerals as did Samuel Pepys whose diary reflects the writers interest in fashion! The sobriety of the Commonwealth Period would have met with Lady Mary Vere’s approval rather better than the grand displays that followed the Restoration.
Getting a decent picture of the Earl of Derbys motte and Bailey castle is proving difficult- this is the result of the second attempt via Sheen!
It was built to protect, it is thought, the salt route from Cheshire into Derbyshire and so that the earl could levy taxes as the pack ponies carrying the salt entered the manor of Hartington. It also meant that any boundary disputes with the neighbours could be dealt with. Today though the place was deserted and I’m using an app on my phone to see if I can become more efficient at posting!
So much for posting every week – once again it’s been something of a summer! However, I’ve submitted the Dark History of Colchester to Amberley Press; discovered that collecting postcards is called deltiology; and nearly completed a Dark History of the Peak District. I’m collating images at the moment. And this is what led to today’s topic – a short round trip to gather photographs. And for those of you of a delicate disposition you may wish to turn away now.
The Magpie Mine near Sheldon first began mining for lead in 1740. Today it defines itself as the best preserved 19th century lead mine in the country. However, what its really famous for is the deaths of 1833. Rival groups of miners followed the Great Redsoil Vein of lead ore and rather unfortunately came to blows over who held the rights to it. Each group lit fires underground to force their rivals out. Three miners from the Maypitt Mine suffocated underground.
In all twenty-four Magpie Miners were arrested but when the case came before the judge at Derby it was decided that the Maypitt Miners should not have gone below ground in the circumstances nor did any one miner admit to having lit the fatal fire. Locally the legend of the ‘widows’ curse’ suggests that justice was served by other means.
The Magpie Mine’s Cornish engine house dates to 1869 – it was built at a time when the main shaft was deepened to 208 metres.
From there it was a hop and a skip to Ashford in the Water where you would have thought I’d have photographed the sheep wash bridge in the sunshine. I didn’t – I had a very lovely breakfast at the Ashford Arms before journeying via Monsal Head to the northern end of Cressbrook Dale and Peter’s Stone – or Gibbet Rock. In 1815 the toll house keeper at nearby Wardlow Mires was killed for her red leather shoes. Her murderer, Anthony Lingard from Tideswell was found guilty of the crime and executed at Derby. His body was transported back to the Peak District and suspended in the gibbet at Peter’s Stone as a warning to others – apparently it was the last gibbeting in Derbyshire. The view is rather cheerier these days.
From there it was a short journey to Tideswell, a quick look at the church and a hunt for the house of correction on Commercial Street – sadly it wasn’t very photographic because of the number of cars parked out front but I did have a look in the wool shop! Inevitably as we began the leg of the journey back to Buxton we paused at Litton Mill where poor apprentices died in their droves. Robert Blincoe, who was sent there from the St Pancras Workhouse, recounted his experiences and became the inspiration for Charles Dickens when he wrote Oliver Twist. Blincoe was initially apprenticed to a cotton mill in Nottinghamshire – without any payment until he reached adulthood – when the mill closed in 1802, Blincoe was sent to Litton. He detailed the horrors of a fourteen hour working day, savage beatings, starvation and abuse. Children who died at the mill were buried at Tideswell and Taddington.
From there it was on to Buxton and a nice cup of coffee in the Poole’s Cavern cafe. I had hoped to find some old postcards of the Peak District in town but there was no luck. It’s perhaps not surprising as deltiology is the third most popular hobby in the country after stamp and coin collecting.
Now I’m conscious that if I was currently receiving a mark for the frequency of my posts I’d receive something like ‘could do better.’ Fingers crossed!
It was said that the coming of the London and North Western Railway in 1863 from Stockport to Buxton was impacted by a supernatural skull, known as Dicky, when during the building work a railway embankment near Tunstead Farm when the line crossed the Coombs valley to Chapel-en-le-Frith slipped and the foundations of a bridge sank on several occasions.  Eventually the company had to relocate the bridge.  Local writers blamed Dicky for the expense and embellished the story with details of buried tools rather than consider that geology might have had its part to play.
The skull and the beleaguered inhabitants of Tunstead Farm was one of the most famous of the Peak District’s folk tales. In 1809, when John Hutchinson’s tour through the High Peak of Derbyshire was first published. Hutchinson met the owner of the farmhouse, Adam Fox, who claimed that the skull had been a feature of the property for the previous 200 years. There are several stories about the skull that used to be found at Tunstead Farm, near Chapel-en-le-Frith before its removal during the twentieth century to St James’ Church, Taxal, including the version that Ned Dixon was murdered by his cousin when he returned home after lengthy service as a soldier in Europe during the sixteenth century.  Dixon’s murderous cousin was troubled by the appearance of the skull which remained at the farm despite attempts to remove it.  By 1895, another story had sprouted: the skull belonged to a woman who was killed by her own sister during a quarrel over a man they both loved. Â
In reality, how the farm came to be home to the skull is a matter for conjecture.  William Bunting, a historian writing in 1940, claimed that it was an archaeological find dating from the Iron Age.
Railway owners who developed lines and opened stations inside the Peak District discovered that passenger traffic was larger than they anticipated. By the 1840s it accounted for two thirds of their revenue. The Midland Railway opened at station at Buxton on 1 June 1863 from Derby while the London and North Western Railway opened its own, identical, station a fortnight later. Affordable travel drew day trippers from the middle and working classes who lived in the industrial towns that surrounded the Peak District. The new arrivals wanted more than hills and dry-stone walls. Dicky’s skull became part of the Peak District’s lore offering entertainment that appealed to the visitors and a method of boosting the local economy. It was even possible to buy postcards featuring the farm and the skull.
Inevitably, Dicky is not the UK’s only haunted skull. There are several purportedly screaming skulls. At Burton Agnes, in the East Riding of Yorkshire, Anne Griffiths was attacked and died soon afterwards having extracted a promise that her head would remain in the hall. Unsurprisingly her family did not comply with the request but soon wished that they had. To avoid continued disturbance Anne’s head was buried somewhere in the walls of the newly built house.
While history relies on recorded evidence – folk lore fills the gaps and there’s nothing like a spot of embellishment to improve a story in its telling!
