Northumberland Yesterday and To-day Part 1

Northumberland Yesterday and To-day.

by Jean F. Terry.

INTRODUCTORY.

The following book makes no pretensions to be a mine of deep historical research or antiquarian lore; its object will have been achieved, and its existence to some extent justified, if haply by its aid some of the dwellers in this northern county of ours, with its past so full of action, and its present so rich in the memorials of those actions, may pa.s.s a pleasant hour in becoming acquainted through its pages with the happenings which have taken place in their own particular fields, their own streets, or by their own riverside.

I am aware that many learned volumes on this subject, representing an enormous amount of patient labour and careful research in their compilation, are already in existence. To such this little book can in no sense be a rival; but there must be many people who have not a superabundance of time, to enable them to dig out the information for which they wish, from these various sources; nor can they always make these volumes their own, to be consulted at leisure.

Northumbrians have always been interested in the records of their own county, and are now-a-days not less so than when, some three-and-a-half centuries ago, Roger North found them "great antiquarians within their own bounds." If to such as these this little book may perhaps bring in a more convenient form the information they seek, and help them to become better acquainted with the county which inspired Swinburne to write in stirring phrases of "Northumberland," and to address the home of his people as

"Land beloved, where nought of legend's dream Outshines the truth"--

I shall be more than satisfied. I would take this opportunity of expressing my grateful thanks to the Rev. Canon Savage, of Hexham, for information relating to the tomb of Alfwald the Just, in the Abbey, given with courteous readiness; to the Rev. Canon Jeffery, of Bywell, for similar kindness regarding Bywell St. Peter's; to R.O. Heslop, Esq., whose profound store of learning on the subject of "Northumberland words" was in cases of uncertainty my final court of appeal; to E.T.

Nisbet, Esq., and J. Treble, Esq., to whom I am greatly indebted for their goodness in reading my ma.n.u.script, and for their generous encouragement following thereupon; to C.H. Abbey, Esq., for his kindness in executing the map which accompanies these pages; and to Mr. G.P.

Dunn, of Corbridge, for much helpful criticism, and many suggestions which only want of s.p.a.ce has prevented my adopting in their entirety.

J.F.T.

_31st May_, 1913.

NORTHUMBERLAND YESTERDAY AND TO-DAY

CHAPTER I.

THE COAST OF NORTHUMBERLAND.

"We'll see nae mair the sea banks fair, And the sweet grey gleaming sky, And the lordly strand of Northumberland, And the goodly towers thereby."

--_A.C. Swinburne_.

Wild and bleak it may be, hard and cruel at times it undoubtedly is, but, nevertheless, this north-east coast of ours is at all times inspiring, whether half-hidden by storm-clouds, its cliffs and hollows lashed by the "wild north-easter," or seen calmly brooding in the warm haze of a summer's day, its grey-blue water smiling beneath the grey-blue sky, and its stretches of sand and bents edging the sea with a border of gold and silver.

In keeping with either mood of nature, the ancient Priory of Tynemouth, standing on the sandstone cliffs on the northern bank of the Tyne, rearing its grey and roofless walls above the harbour mouth, strikes a note that is symbolic of the Northumbria of old and the Northumberland of to-day--the note, that is, of the intimate commingling of the romance of the warlike past and the romance of the industrial present. Here, above the mouth of the river on which so many of the most noteworthy advances in industrial science have been made, and out of which sail the vessels which are often the last word of the moment in marine engineering and construction, stand calmly looking down upon them all the fragments of a building which was a century old when John signed Magna Charta, and which stands upon the site of another that had already braved the storms of nearly five hundred years.

Looking upon the Priory of St. Mary and St. Oswin we are carried back to the days when Edwin, the first king of Northumbria to embrace Christianity, built a little church here, in which his daughter took the veil. King Oswald had the first wooden structure replaced by a stone one; and here, in 651, the body of another good king--Oswyn--was brought for burial from Gilling, near Richmond in Yorkshire, where, disbanding his army, he sacrificed his cause and his life to Oswy of Bernicia, with whom he had been about to fight.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE PRIORY, TYNEMOUTH.]

When the pirate ships of the Danes swept down upon our coasts, the Priory of St. Oswin, conspicuous on its bold headland, could not hope to escape their ravages. It was destroyed by the fierce invaders; but King Ecgfrith[1] of Northumbria restored the shattered shrine. Again, in the year 865, it was sacked and burnt, and the poor nuns of St. Hilda, who had already fled from Hartlepool to Tynemouth hoping to find safety, were ruthlessly slain and earned the crown of martyrdom. It was again restored; but, five years later, the destroying hands of the invaders fell on the place once more, and for two hundred years the Priory stood roofless and tenantless. After the Norman Conquest, Waltheof, Earl of Northumberland bestowed it upon the monks of Jarrow. The rediscovery of the tomb of St. Oswyn in 1065, had gladdened the hearts of the monks, and forthwith the monastery was reared anew over the ashes of its former self.

[Footnote 1: p.r.o.nounced "Edge-frith."]

Mowbray, the next Earl of Northumberland, re-endowed the building. He had quarrelled with the Bishop of Durham, so in order to do him a displeasure, he made Tynemouth Priory subordinate to St. Albans instead of to Durham and brought monks from St. Albans to dwell there. The new buildings were finished in 1110, and the bones of St. Oswyn enshrined within them, the right of sanctuary being extended for a mile around his resting-place. This right, however, was already in existence, and had been appealed to in 1095 by Mowbray himself, who fled here pursued by the followers of William Rufus, against whom he had rebelled. The King's men disregarded the sanctuary right, captured Mowbray, and sent him prisoner to Durham[2]. [Footnote 2: See account of Bamburgh Castle.]

In later days the queens of Edward I. and Edward II. visited Tynemouth Priory; and it was from Tynemouth that the foolish King Edward II. and his worthless favourite Piers Gaveston fled from the angry barons to Scarborough. In the reign of Edward III., after the battle of Neville's Cross, David of Scotland was brought here by his captors on his way to Bamburgh, from whence he was sent to the Tower.

At the dissolution of the monasteries by Henry VIII. the Priory was inhabited by eighteen monks with their Prior. They bowed to the King's decree and left the monastery; but the church continued to be used as the parish church until the days of Charles II., when Christ Church was built.

The Priory has many times formed the subject of pictures by famous artists, the best known being that of no less a genius than J. M. W.

Turner; and its picturesque ruins are a well-known landmark to the hundreds of voyagers who pa.s.s it on their journeys, outward or homeward bound. Within the last few years the Priory has been in some measure repaired and restored.

There is but little left of Tynemouth Castle, which was built as a protection for the monastery against the attacks of the Danes. It stands in a commanding position on a neighbouring cliff, and is now used as barracks for garrison artillery corps. During the days when Scotland harried the English borders, the Priors of Tynemouth maintained a garrison here; and later, in Stuart days, Charles I. visited the North, and the fortress was strengthened just before the outbreak of the Civil War. It was captured, notwithstanding, by Leslie, Earl of Leven, after he had left Newcastle. Colonel Lilburn, left in charge as governor, shortly afterwards avowed himself on the side of King Charles; but he speedily paid for his change of allegiance, for the Castle was re-taken by a force from Newcastle under Sir Arthur Hazelrigg, and Lilburn lost his life in the fight. The Castle has long been used as a depot for the storage of arms and ammunition. Behind the Spanish Battery which commands the entrance to the Tyne stands a statue of the famous North-countryman, Admiral Collingwood.

Connected with Tynemouth, by the fact that a small chantry belonging to the Priory once stood there, is St. Mary's Island. One may walk unhindered at low tide across the rocks to this favourite place, but where the chantry stood there is now a lighthouse with a powerful lantern, flashing its welcome light to the seafarers nearing the mouth of the Tyne, and extending

"To each and all our equal lamp, at peril of the sea, The white wall-sided war-ships, or the whalers of Dundee."

Between Tynemouth and St. Mary's Island lie Cullercoats, Whitley Bay, and Monkseaton, and together these places make practically one extended seaside town, stretching for three or four miles along the sea-front, and joined by a fine parade which leads to open links at Monkseaton. Of these places Cullercoats is most noteworthy. This picturesque fishing village, with quaint old houses perched in every conceivable position on the curve of its rocky bay, is, needless to say, a favourite camping ground for artists. The Cullercoats fishwife, with her cheerful weather-bronzed face, her short jacket and ample skirts of blue flannel, and her heavily laden "creel" of fish is not only appreciated by the brotherhood of brush and pencil, but is one of the notable sights of the district. At Cullercoats is struck a note of the most modern of modern achievements--the Wireless Telegraphy Station (225 feet); and here, too, is situated the Dove Marine Laboratory, looked after by scientists on the staff of the Armstrong College at Newcastle.

In fine weather the crowds which pa.s.s and repa.s.s along the top of the bold cliffs which overlook the fine stretch of sands between Cullercoats and Monkseaton show how many hundreds of Northumbria's busy workers enjoy the fresh breezes from the sea on this pleasant and bracing coast.

Out at sea, opposite the Parade, vessels built in the busy shipyards on the Tyne may be seen doing their speed trials over the measured mile.

The Peace of St. Oswyn may, in fact, be said to brood over Tynemouth, even in these days, for it is an increasing custom for those who can do so to remain in Newcastle and other busy centres of toil only during business hours, and to leave workshop and office every evening for their home by the sea: while the tide of noisy, happy, boisterous excursionists has rolled on to Whitley Bay, leaving Tynemouth to its old-time sleepy content. Northward to Hartley and Seaton Sluice the cliffs are very fine. Hartley, with its bright-looking red-tiled houses, once belonged to Adam of Gesemuth (Jesmond) who lived in the reign of King John. Coming down to modern times, about thirty years ago a gallant Hartley man, Thomas Langley, rescued two successive shipwrecked crews on the same day, in one case allowing himself to be lowered over the cliffs at a terrible risk in the furious storm.

Seaton Sluice belongs to the ancient family of the Delavals, whose house, Delaval Hall, may be seen not far away, peeping from amongst the trees which surround it. Seaton Sluice owes its name to the Delaval who placed the large sluice gates upon the burn, in order to have a strong current which, in rushing down to the sea, would be able to wash the mouth of the stream clear from the silt and mud brought in by the incoming tide. A later baronet, Sir John Hussey Delaval, made the cutting through the solid rock which is so striking a feature of the harbour. It was ready for the entrance of vessels in March, 1763.

Delaval Hall is now owned by Lord Hastings, the present representative of the Delavals, which family became extinct in the male line early in the nineteenth century. The last Delaval, a very learned man, was buried in Westminster Abbey in 1814. The Hall was built for Admiral Delaval in 1707 to the design of Sir J. Vanbrugh, who also designed Blenheim Palace, given by the nation to the great Duke of Marlborough about the same time.

Hartley Colliery, about half a mile away, has a sad interest as being the scene of the terrible accident in 1862, when a number of men and boys were imprisoned in the workings owing to the blocking up of the only shaft by a ma.s.s of debris, caused by the fall of an iron beam belonging to the pumping engine at the pit-head. Before the shaft could be cleared and a way opened to the workings, all the poor fellows had died, overcome by the deadly "choke-damp." Joseph Skipsey, the pitman poet, in a simple ballad, tells the pathetic story.

"Oh, father! till the shaft is rid, Close, close beside me keep; My eyelids are together glued, And I,--and I,--must sleep."

"Sleep, darling, sleep, and I will keep Close by--heigh ho."--To keep Himself awake the father strives.

But he--he, too--must sleep.

"Oh mother dear! wert, wert thou near Whilst--sleep!" The orphan slept; And all night long, by the black pit-heap The mother a dumb watch kept.

From here, northward, the coast is rather dull and uninteresting, although the sands are fine, until we reach Blyth, at the mouth of the little river of the same name. This town is growing rapidly in size and importance; the export of coal has greatly increased since the harbour was so much improved by Sir Matthew White Ridley, and now totals some millions of tones a year. The river Wansbeck not far north of the mouth of the Blyth, in the latter part of its course flows through a district begrimed by all the necessary accompaniments of the traffic in "black diamonds," and reaches the sea between the colliery villages of Cambois and North Seaton.

On the point at the northern curve of Newbiggin Bay stands Newbiggin Church, and ancient building, whose steeple, "leaning all awry," is a well-known landmark for sailors. The site of this church is in danger of being undermined by the waves, and, indeed, part of the churchyard crumbled away many years ago; but such defences as are possible have been built up around it,--and the danger averted for a time. Newbiggin itself is a large fishing village and an increasingly popular holiday resort, for it possesses not only good sands but a wide moor near at hand which provides one of the best of golf courses; and, also, a short distance along the coast, are the attractive Fairy Rocks.

Newbiggin was a town of some importance in Plantagenet days, with a busy harbour, and a pier; and in the reign of Edward II. it was required to contribute a vessel towards the naval defence of the Kingdom.

Northward from Newbiggin Point is the magnificent sweep of Druridge Bay, stretching in a fine curve of ten miles or more to Hauxley Haven. Here, the sands of a warm golden colour, the wind-swept bents of silvery-grey, and the vivid green of the gra.s.sy cliff tops edge the curve of the bay with a line of bright and delicate colour, only thrown into greater relief by the brown reefs and ridges which stretch out from the rocky sh.o.r.es, and by the deep blue-green of the waves rolling insh.o.r.e in long majestic lines, to break into hissing foam on the sharp reefs, or slide smoothly up the yellow sands in the centre of the bay. Above, beyond the gra.s.sy tops of the cliffs, stretch deep woods, with the old pele-tower of Cresswell looking out from amongst the trees, fields many-coloured with their burden of varying crops, and wide lonely moors, where one may walk for half a day without hearing any sound save the wild screaming of sea-birds, or the whistle of the wind, with the low boom of the waves below sounding a deep-toned accompaniment. The bay is not always so peaceful, however, and many wild scenes and terrible shipwrecks have taken place here, as everywhere along our wild north-east coast. The Bondicar rocks, by Hauxley, and the cruel spikes of the reef at Snab Point, near Cresswell, have betrayed many a gallant little vessel to her doom. Not, however, without bringing on many an occasion proof of the courage which is shown as a matter of course by the fisher folk on our coasts. At Newbiggin, and Cresswell, for instance, deeds have been done, which, in their simple una.s.suming heroism, may be taken as typical of the hardy race which could count Grace Darling among its daughters.

About thirty years ago, a ship drove ash.o.r.e off Cresswell one bitter night in January, and the fisher folk crowded down to the sh.o.r.e, watching with sorrowful eyes the hapless crew clinging to their unfortunate vessel, which was slowly being broken up by the waves. There was no lifeboat at Cresswell then, and all the men of the village, except the old men who were past work, had gone northward, when the oncoming storm prevented their return. The women and girls heard the cries of the schooner's crew, and mourned to each other their inability to help. But one gallant-hearted girl, named Peggy Brown, cried out, "If I thowt she could hing on a bit, I wad be away for the lifeboat." But between them and Newbiggin, the nearest lifeboat station, the Lyne Burn runs into the sea, and spreads widely out over the sands; and the older people told Peggy she could never cross the burn in the dark. She set off, however, the thought of the drowning men hastening her on. For four miles she made her way in the storm and darkness, partly along the sh.o.r.e, scrambling over rock's, and wading waist-deep through the Lyne Burn and one or two other places where the waves had driven far up the sands, and partly across Newbiggin Moor, where the icy wind tore at her in her drenched clothing. She pressed on, however, and managed to reach the c.o.xswain's house and give her message. The lifeboat was immediately run out, and the men reached the wreck in time to save all the crew except one, who had been washed overboard.

On another occasion one of the fishermen, named Tom Brown, was preparing to go out, with the help of his two sons, in his own fishing coble to the aid of a ship in distress on the reef. A carter had come down to the beach, the better to watch the progress of events, and, terrified by the thundering waves, his horse took fright, and in its plunging drove the cart against the little boat, making a hole clear through one side. "Big Tom," as he was generally called, merely took off his coat, rolled it into a bundle and stuffed it against the hole. Then he beckoned to another fisherman, saying to him "Sit on that." The man clambered in, and without the loss of another minute these four heroes set off to save their fellow creatures' lives, with a broken and leaking boat in a heavy sea. And they did it, reaching the brig only just in time, for it went to pieces a few minutes after the shivering crew had been safely landed.

Incidents like these, which could be multiplied indefinitely, bring a glow of pride to the heart, and a rea.s.suring sense that the degeneration of the race is not proceeding in such wholesale fashion--in the country districts, at any rate--as the pessimists would have us believe.