Part 2

The picturesque Gate House, however, which figures in our sketch may very well have witnessed that memorable incident in Shrewsbury's corporate history, when the sturdy burgesses refused Charles the First's offer (while staying at the Council House in 1642) to create their town a city, an occasion that earned for them ever after the title of 'Proud Salopians.' This fine old Gate House has been but little altered, and bears upon its ancient timbers the date A.D. 1620. An old hall to the rear still retains its original oak panelling and chimney-piece, charged with fantastic devices, and dated 1634; while an upper chamber contains a massive oak tester-bedstead, whose richly carved top is supported by moulded pillars.

Pushing onward past Plimmer's, formerly Palin's, home of the famous cake-compounder whose praises have been sung by Thomas Ingoldsby Esq., we come to the trim façade of the Raven Hotel, a commodious hostelry whose fame goes back far into the old coaching days. Then, espying a lofty steeple peering over the nearer housetops, we cross the head of the lane by which Cromwell's men made their way into the town, and enter the little green close where stands St. Mary's Church.

Built of mellow-hued, weatherworn sandstone, St. Mary's proves to be a noble cruciform edifice, with an early south porch and parvise, and one of the finest spires in all England. The interior, too, presents a charming diversity, from the variety of architectural styles employed, and is spanned by a panelled oaken ceiling richly and beautifully wrought; while the spacious 'Jesse' window in the chancel, brought from old Grey Friars monastery, affords a combination of sweetness and light truly pleasant to behold. Indeed, the ancient glass in St. Mary's Church forms quite a feature of the building; and amidst its quaint imagery St. Bernard may be detected in the act of sweeping the excommunicated flies out of church, and a representation of the Last Judgment with Satan figuring as a blue boar!

Amongst other interesting monuments of greater or less antiquity, we notice a memorial to that skilled and daring seaman Admiral Benbow, a renowned Salopian hero, and 'true patterne of English courage,' who died at Jamaica from honourable wounds in 1702.

Beneath the shadow of St. Mary's Church nestles a group of lowly almshouses, a charity established some time prior to 1648. Yonder ancient half-timbered gable, overlooking the churchyard, is the erstwhile Hall of the Drapers' Guild, where, upon passing within, we find ourselves in a spacious, low-ceiled chamber, entirely wainscoted with oak, and having massive oak tables, benches and lockers, coeval with the room. Upon the wall hangs a dark old panel-picture, commonly supposed to be the portrait of Degory Watur, the founder, and his lady wife, who, it is recorded, used to attend with the ministers 'dailye in Our Ladye's Churche, and kneele with them in a long Pewe, in the guise made for them and himselfe.' And the old bedesman who does the honours also displays one or two ancient charters connected with the foundation, which are jealously preserved here under lock and key.

Passing on to Pride Hill--so named from a local family of that ilk who lived in a mansion hard by--we presently descry a narrow thoroughfare, looking for all the world like a bit of some mediæval city. This is Butcher Row, a quaint, old-time byway, whose ancient timbered houses lean this way or that, in sociable good-fellowship, above the little shops that flank the lane. A sketch of Butcher Row forms the frontispiece to this volume.

'There they stand, crowding together, with overhanging gables, queer dormer windows, and panelled fronts; a curious chequer-work, wherein the broad black lines are displayed upright, horizontal and diagonal, with varied artifice. And here and there a bracket catches the eye, or a pent-house roof and railed recesses, and breadths of ornament on fascia and cornice. The ground-floors recede, and shops are gloomy, and ceilings low; and upstairs you find the same want of height and breadth of window, by which the olden time contrived to favour at once the picturesque, and the plague.'

Far aloft soars the graceful spire of St. Alkmond's Church, ('Stalkmun's,' in the vernacular), the nave whereof was pulled down in a panic a century ago, after its neighbour St. Chad's had fallen, and rebuilt in the contemptible 'style' of that period.

'In the yere 1533,' as an old chronicler tells, 'uppon Twelffe daye, in Shrowsburie, the Dyvyll appearyd in Saint Alkmond's churche there, when the preest was at High Masse, with great tempeste and Darknesse, soe that as he passyd through, he mountyd upp the Steeple in the sayd churche, tering the wyers of the clocke, and put the prynt of his Clawes uppon the 4th Bell, and tooke one of the pynnacles awaye with hym, and for the Tyme stayde all the Bells in the churches within the sayde Towne, that they could neyther toll nor ringe.'

The corner building at the farther end of Butcher Row is an excellent example of a mediæval town-house; and the beautiful though sadly defaced carvings about its door-jambs, windows and gables, are as good as they are rare of their kind. There is reason to suppose the Abbots of Lilleshall made this their city abode, and that the chantry priests of the Holy Cross found shelter in its ancient chambers.

Be that as it may, we now direct our steps towards a mere slit of a passage, aptly designated Grope Lane; getting a passing peep of Fish Street, and its quaint inn-sign the Three Fishes, the cognizance of the Abbots of Lilleshall, with St. Julian's Church-tower beyond. A queer nook indeed is this Grope Lane, just such an one as might have inspired the author of 'A Legend of the Dark Entry'; so narrow that one may easily touch both sides at once, and so closely overhung by the rafters of the adjacent premises that but a strip of sky is seen.

Having weathered the intricacies of Grope Lane we enter High Street, and turn right-about to look at the quaint old half-timbered buildings by which it is flanked--small but very characteristic specimens of old Salopian house-fronts, with their quatrefoil panels, twisted pilasters, and grotesquely carved heads. Close at hand is High Street Church, a chapel originally erected in the days of the Act of Uniformity, and noteworthy from the fact that for a brief space of time Samuel Coleridge, the celebrated author of the 'Ancient Mariner,' ministered therein.

Strolling along High Street, we soon pass the entrance to The Square, giving a passing glance at the old Market House that rises so picturesquely there--whereof more anon,--and pausing beneath Clive's statue to scan the determined features and stalwart bearing of that renowned Salopian. Then we turn our attention to a group of Fine old black-and-white gables that rise upon the opposite side of the street, the doorway of one handsome façade bearing the inscription, ERECTED BY RICHARD OWEN THE ELDER, GENTELMAN, ANO. DM. 1592.

Few towns in the kingdom can boast such stately survivals as these; yet a few yards away appears a still more striking specimen of the mediæval builder's art. Originally the town-house of the Irelands, this noble old fabric is still known by their name, and bears upon its ancient front the family cognizance. Four storeys high it rears its chequered walls, topped by tall, beetling gables, and broken into play of light and shade by ranges of oriel windows. Bits of quaint carving are seen here and there upon bargeboard, lintel and bracket, for the old place has happily suffered but little from modern innovations. The nicely restored black-and-white front of Lloyd's Bank hard by keeps its venerable neighbour well in countenance.

Finding ourselves once more on Pride Hill, we step across that busy thoroughfare, and, passing to the rear of Mother Noblett's Toffee Shop, with its huge, comical signboard, we see before us the pretty Gothic doorway that figures in our sketch. Though much the worse for neglect, and fallen sadly into disrepair, this ancient sandstone structure is clearly the work of at least two periods. The shaft and capital on the left, with the broken archway above it, are of the style known as Early English; while the graceful pointed arch, with its floreated cusps and traces of ball-flower ornamentation, are evidently a later insertion, and probably date from the latter part of the thirteenth century. A wide stone arch, part of which may be noticed above the passage-way, supports the floor of the room within; and a small arched recess, near the head of the steps, appears to have been used as a holy-water stoup.

From these indications it is considered probable the little building before us was at one time the private chapel of Bennett's Hall, the city residence of the Abbot of Haughmond, who, according to the custom of those days, had a town-house in the capital of the county.

Portions of ancient domestic buildings may be traced at the back of the chapel, including the stonework of a good-sized hall, and some indications of a large window. There is a tradition that these buildings were at one time used as a mint; and the fact that a kind of oven, or hearth, formerly existed here gives colour to the story.

Laying a course towards the tall clock-tower of the new Market Hall, we now descend Pride Hill and turn to the right into Mardol, a steep, oldfashioned street, boasting several half-timbered house-fronts dating as far back as the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. About half-way down we strike into a byway called Hill's Lane, at the corner whereof rises an ancient frontage whose oaken beams display the date 1440. This narrow lane, zig-zagging through one of the oldest quarters of the town, is frequented on market-days by country folk, when the mother-tongue of old Salopia may be heard in all its pristine purity.

After passing one or two oldfashioned inns of the humbler sort, we stumble unexpectedly upon a lordly dwelling, standing somewhat aloof from its dingy neighbours, and presenting an air of dilapidated gentility, like an out-at-elbows aristocrat making shift to maintain his dignity amidst a crowd of tatterdemalions.

Built of dark-red brick, with stone mullions, quoins and copings, this fine old Tudor mansion is believed to have been erected by one William Rowley, draper, and sometime alderman of Shrewsbury, about the beginning of the seventeenth century, and is still called Rowley's Mansion. Sad it is to see the woful plight into which the stately old fabric has fallen, the beautiful porch that once adorned its entrance torn away and destroyed, its mullioned windows yawning wide to wind and rain, and each delicately-traceried ceiling thrown down, or utterly defaced. By strolling into the yard of the old Ship Inn, we get another glimpse of Rowley's mansion; its soaring gables and chimney stacks grouping picturesquely, from this point, with the meaner outhouses and dwellings by which it is surrounded.

We next thread our way through several rather intricate lanes, until, crossing Mardol Head, we soon find ourselves once more in The Square, the very heart of this ancient city. Here the old Market House at once claims our attention; a venerable sandstone structure supported, as our sketch will show, upon a series of semicircular arches, and buttressed at the angles. Overhead its time-stained walls are pierced with mullioned windows, and relieved against the skyline by quaint, fantastic battlements. That clock aloft in the gable is _said_ to occupy the place of the one Falstaff referred to when declaring that, against tremendous odds, he had 'fought a long hour by Shrewsbury clock.' Be that as it may, we are on surer ground when considering the figure in the canopied niche below; for an inscribed panel alongside announces that 'This statue was removed by order of the Mayor from the tower on the Welsh Bridge in the year 1791.' The effigy, that of a knight in full armour, has a stiff, archaic appearance, and is usually supposed to represent Edward IV., father of Richard, Duke of York. Below this figure, in antiquated characters, are the words: THE XV DAY OF IUNE WAS THIS BUYLDING BEGONN, WM JONES AND THOS. CHARLTON GENT. THEN BAYLIFFES, AND WAS ERECTED AND COVERED IN THEIR TIME. The opposite gable has a similar niche, with the figure of an angel bearing a shield charged with the Arms of England and France, and a half-obliterated sundial. A richly carved canopy upon the western front encloses the arms of Queen Elizabeth, and the date of the erection of the building, 1596.

Over against the old Market House, on the eastern side of The Square, rises an ancient timbered dwelling which goes by the name of Lloyd's House. Its rugged beams are curiously carved; grotesque faces leer upon the passer-by from finial and bracket; and the builder's initials are ingeniously interwoven amidst the ornamentation of the weatherworn bargeboard. Glancing backwards from the adjacent lane, we notice how the nodding gables and chimneys of Lloyd's mansion, one end of the old Market House, and a good eighteenth-century building beyond, combine to form a characteristic street scene. Then we push onwards again in search of other quarry.

Traversing a disused cemetery, we come to the Lady Chapel, and only relic, of old St. Chad's, a venerable church which collapsed suddenly in 1788, after surviving the changes and chances of time, it is said, for over a thousand years.

An odd little alley now beguiles our footsteps, where an oldfashioned inn, its prominent signboard overtopped by St. Julian's church-tower, appears as set in a frame beneath an ancient archway. Thence we turn to the right, and pass a handsome new building on the site of Shearmen's Hall, an ancient foundation that in its time had played many parts, as a theatre, a chapel, a warehouse and a shop!

Thus we enter Wyle Cop,--how runs the verse?

'They hew, and they hack, and they chop; And, to finish the whole, they stick up a pole, In the place that's still called the Wylde Coppe, And they pop Your grim, gory head on the top!'

Several attractive-looking old structures confront us as we descend the steep pavement, prominent amongst them the ancient abode that figures upon page 15. This picturesque façade, with its blackened timbers and pretty traceried window adorned by coats of arms, has an added interest from the fact that it is 'Ye auncient house in which King Henry the VII loged, when he went to Bosworth Field, Augst 1485.' So at least the panel beneath the window has it, though Henry, of course, was but Harry of Richmond until that fateful battle had won for him the crown.

While exploring the vicinity of Wyle Cop, many another bit of old Shrewsbury is brought to light, notably the nicely restored frontage of the Unicorn Hotel; and, hidden away amidst some poor cottages by Severn side, a few scanty relics of Grey Friars' monastery, in its time one of the stateliest religious houses in Shrewsbury. Thenceforward we hug the river brink until, coming to the English Bridge, we traverse it, and find ourselves in the broad thoroughfare called Abbey Foregate--

'A long greate streate, well buildid, large and faire, In as good Ayre as may be wisht with wit; Where Abbey stands, and is such ringe of Belles, As is not found from London unto Welles.'

These lines by Churchyard, the old Shropshire poet, still hold good in the main, though railway encroachments have much to answer for. But the pièce de résistance is happily still there, and the ruddy, timeworn tower of the Abbey Church now rises before us, while its mellow-toned bells speak for themselves, pealing out a quaint, merry chime upon the springlike air as we draw near.

Originally amongst the noblest and wealthiest Abbeys of the Benedictine order in England, this venerable edifice remains to this day one of the few ancient religious houses in everyday use as a parish church. It was founded by no less a personage than Roger de Montgomery, William the Conqueror's kinsman and vicegerent in the Welsh March-lands; who, life's fitful fever ended, lies buried here in his own Abbey Church of St. Peter and St. Paul.

Earl Roger's foundation was probably cruciform in shape, and the central portion of the church is part of the original fabric, displaying the thick, massive pillars and rounded arches, characteristic of the Norman period. In pleasant contrast with their rude simplicity rises a group of gracefully proportioned, pointed arches of a later date; while the tall, slender traceries of the Perpendicular windows, lend a certain air of lightness to the whole. A flat oaken ceiling spans the lofty interior, which cannot fail to impress every beholder by its air of spacious and reposeful dignity.

In the south aisle we notice a recumbent and much defaced stone effigy, which, according to a brass plate upon the adjacent wall, represents 'Sir Roger de Montgomery, Second in command of the army of his kinsman, William the Conqueror, at the Battle of Hastings, the First of the Family of Montgomery in England. He was advanced to high honour as the Over-lord of many counties, and created Earl of Shrewsbury. He founded this church and abbey, wherein he, as a Brother of the Benedictine Order, died the 1st of August, MXCV.' The monuments in the Abbey Church will reward a close examination.

In the course of a walk around the outside of the church, we remark the noble proportions of the great west window, surmounted by a canopied niche, with its mailed figure reputed to represent King Edward III., a picturesque two-storied north porch, and the lofty walls of Mr. Pearson's new chancel. Thence we pass across the street, where, a pathetic object amidst such grimy environments, stands the ancient stone pulpit shown in our sketch, in the midst of a railway coal-yard!

This graceful structure dates from the early part of the fourteenth century, and its cusped and richly moulded arches are charming examples of Decorated work. The panels below are adorned with delicately sculptured figures representing St. Peter, St. Paul, and other saints; while the groined ceiling inside the arches is crowned by a large carved boss, or keystone, emblematical of the Crucifixion.

Very picturesque looks this gem of Gothic art, its grey old stones scored and wrinkled by the tooth of Time, whose ravages are but partially concealed by a mantle of fresh green ivy. At one time the Abbey precincts appear to have extended far and wide in this direction, but the exigencies of modern travel and traffic have played sad havoc with the old, monkish habitation.

This beautiful pulpit is the last remnant of the old monastic buildings, that once nestled beneath the adjacent Abbey Church. It was attached to the refectory, and was doubtless intended for the use of the monk whose duty it was to read to the brethren at meal-times. Its other side gave upon the courtyard of the monastery, and we may suppose that open-air sermons were occasionally delivered from it.

Our sketch completed, we now turn aside from Abbey 'Forrit,' to visit the large red sandstone mansion, paradoxically dubbed 'Whitehall.' It is recorded that Richard Prince, its builder, commenced the erection of his house in the year of grace 1578, but that it was not completed until 1582, 'soe was it iiij yeares in buyldinge, to hys greate chardge, with fame to hym and hys posteritie for ever.' Prince's 'fame' in the matter is somewhat discounted, however, by the fact that he built his dwelling with stones torn from the fabric of the ancient Abbey, then but lately disestablished; and, in order to disguise them, caused the walls to be whitewashed, which gave rise to its name of Whitehall.

The building is a very fine specimen of an Elizabethan mansion, with mullioned windows, high-peaked gables, and the tall, detached chimney-stacks one knows so well. The gatehouse and dovecot are interesting features, and the lawn at the rear of the mansion is overshadowed by a magnificent walnut tree, as old, we should suppose, as Whitehall itself.

We now push on to St. Giles's Church, turning aside to climb to the summit of Lord Hill's Column, and enjoy the wide and varied prospect over hill and dale, town and river, that its balcony affords.

St. Giles's is considered to be one of the oldest churches in Shrewsbury; yet, owing to repeated restoration--'a name that,' as has been well said, 'covers more sins than charity itself,'--a casual observer might easily mistake it for a brand-new edifice. The church owes its foundation, we believe, to King Henry I., who established here a hospital or asylum for lepers, of whom St. Giles was regarded as the special patron. A Norman doorway admits us to the interior, which, though rigorously swept and garnished, still retains one or two of its original windows filled with scraps of ancient stained glass, and a richly moulded archway of rather later date.

Out in the churchyard stands a curious octagonal stone, with a good-sized square recess, several inches deep, in its upper side. It is known as the Pest Basin, and dates from the days when the plague was raging in Shrewsbury, during the seventeenth century. The custom was for the townsfolk to cast their money into the water in this basin, whence it was taken out by the country people in payment for the 'loaves and fishes' they supplied, thus avoiding in some sort the risk of actual contagion.

One of the tombstones here is inscribed with the following laconic legend:

'Here Charles Rathbon hee doth lie And by misfortun hee did dye On the 17th of July--1751.'

Through the quiet of the gloaming we now wend our way townwards again, the roofs and steeples of old Shrewsbury showing darkly silhouetted against the golden west as we cross the English Bridge. Thereafter, over a pipe in the chimney-nook of our hostelry, we fall to 'babbling o' green fields' and poring over Ordnance maps, intending on the morrow's morn to quit these scenes of our 'daily walks and ancient neighbourhood,' and fare forth into the open country.

FROM SHREWSBURY TO PITCHFORD, ACTON BURNELL, AND CHURCH STRETTON.

A silvery mackerel sky, serene and calm, gives promise of a bright Spring day, as, drawn by the iron horse, we spin along betwixt fields and hedgerows en route for Dorrington Station.

Half-way out we skirt the wooded slopes of Lythwood, once upon a time a royal forest, whence Henry the Third permitted the Hospitallers of St. Giles's to draw wood for their firing. Presently the gently-flowing river Cound is seen, travelling Severn-wards through a pleasant, agricultural country; and then, detraining at the next station, we shoulder our knapsacks and trudge away in the direction of Stapleton.

Old hawthorn hedges fling their scented sprays athwart the dusty highway, and the verdant wheat-fields beyond them are fringed with feathery cow's-parsley, looking for all the world like green carpets edged with white lace. The oaks are beating the ash trees this Spring in their race for precedence, and in yonder grounds a copper beech rears its magnificent purple dome against the deep blue of the sky--a sight for sair e'en!

Arrived at Stapleton church, we notice that it appears to consist of two separate and distinct churches, the one superposed upon the other; the two having been at some past time united by removing the floor of the upper one, giving to the interior somewhat the appearance of a college chapel.