Here Lies (bits of) The Younger Despenser?

In the 1970s, the jumbled bones of a man, minus a skull, several vertebrae and a thigh bone, were unearthed at Hulton Abbey. That they had been buried in the chancel immediately suggested that the remains were those of either a wealthy member of the congregation, or one of the Audley family who had endowed the abbey. In 2004 the remains were transferred to the University of Reading, where a closer examination of the bones suggested that the body had been hung, drawn and quartered. This unusual and brutal form of execution was normally reserved for higher status individuals and inflicted for the most serious of state crimes such as treason. Radiocarbon analysis dated the remains to between 1050 and 1385, and further tests suggested they were those of a man over 34 years old.

Hugh Despenser the Younger in the Founders and Benefactors
Book of Tewkesbury Abbey, c. 1525.
Source: Wikimedia Commons.

Who the man was was unknown, though various candidates from the Audley clan were put forward, but each in turn was ruled out. Then, in an academic article published in 2008, Dr Mary Lewis of the University of Reading suggested that the remains could be those of  Hugh Despenser the Younger. Despenser was the son of Hugh Despenser the Elder, Earl of Winchester, and was related by marriage to the Audley family. He became a favourite, and possible lover, of Edward II and as a result held great influence at court. Despenser's greed, duplicity and politicking however, earned him numerous enemies, including many of his own relations and more dangerously Edward II’s estranged wife Queen Isabella. Despenser’s crimes finally caught up with him when, in 1326, Isabella and her ally, Roger Mortimer, 1st Earl of March, arrived in England at the head of an army of mercenaries, deposed the king and sentenced the Despensers, father and son to death as traitors. On Queen Isabella's orders, the Younger Despenser was hung, drawn and quartered.

‘On 24 November 1326…Despenser was roped to four horses…and dragged through the city to the walls of his own castle, where enormous gallows had been specially constructed…Despenser was raised a full 50 feet…and was lowered onto the ladder. A man climbed along side him sliced off his penis and testicles, flinging them into the fire below…he then plunged a knife into Despenser's abdomen and cut out his entrails and heart…the corpse was lowered to the ground and the head cut off. It was later sent to London, and Despenser's arms, torso and legs were sent to be displayed above the gates of Newcastle, York, Dover and Bristol.’

Dr Lewis based her identification on Despenser's relationship to the abbey's benefactors the Audleys (Hugh de Audley was his brother-in-law, but the family was not on the best of terms with Despenser, having been victims of his covetousness), the age of the remains, the age of the individual (Despenser was 39 at the time of his execution) and the cause of death, while the missing bones were cited as proof by their very absence. When in 1330, Hugh de Despenser's widow, Eleanor de Clare, petitioned the crown for the return of her husband's remains, she is said to have only received his head, a thigh bone and a number of vertebrae which were interred at Tewksbury; these match the parts missing from the Hulton skeleton.

The identification has yet to be proven conclusively by comparing the two sets of remains, but it is an interesting analysis and it is fun to speculate that the partial remains of one of English history’s bad boys somehow wound up being buried in a small, obscure abbey in North Staffordshire.

Reference: Mary E. Lewis,  'A traitor’s death? The identity of a drawn, hanged and quartered man from Hulton Abbey, Staffordshire', published in Antiquity. A quarterly review of archaeology vol. 82 (2008) p. 113-124.

Old News from the Potteries

Regular newspaper coverage of events in the Potteries only really started at the end of the 18th century with the advent in 1795 of the Staffordshire Advertiser paper, though as this was published in Stafford, it's coverage of the goings on in the north of the county was limited to the most noteworthy events. Another half century would pass before more local newspapers were being produced in Hanley, Stoke and Burslem. However, histories, travellers journals and some other national or regional papers occasionally carried tales from the Potteries from this early period giving us fleeting glimpses into life in the area.

* * * * *

The King's Touch

It was widely believed in the past that the King's touch could heal certain ailments. To this end on 29 August 1687, the minister and churchwardens of Stoke-upon-Trent gave John Bell of Cobridge a sealed certificate whereby he could obtain the King's sacred touch for his son Samuel Bell, who suffered from 'the King's Evil' i.e. scrofula. 

(John Ward, The History of the Borough of Stoke-upon-Trent, p.281)

John Wesley is Pelted in the Potteries 

On 8 March 1760, the Reverend John Wesley, the founding father of Methodism, visited Burslem for the first of many visits to the region. He described Burslem as 'a scattered town, on the top of a hill, inhabited almost entirely by potters', a large crowd of whom had gathered to hear him at five in the evening. He noted that great attention sat on every face, but also great ignorance which he hoped he could banish. 

The next day Wesley preached a second sermon in Burslem to twice the number of the day before. 'Some of these seemed quite innocent of thought. Five or six were laughing and talking till I had near done; and one of them threw a clod of earth, which struck me on the side of the head. But it neither disturbed me nor the congregation.' 

(John Wesley, Journal, 8-9th March 1760)

The First Cut

After receiving the royal assent two months earlier for construction of a canal connecting the rivers Trent and Mersey, on the morning of 26 July 1766, at a site just below Brownhills, pottery manufacturer Josiah Wedgwood cut the first sod of what would in time become the Trent and Mersey canal. James Brindley, the engineer who would oversee the canal's construction, and numerous other dignitaries were present, many of whom would also cut a piece of turf, or wheel away a barrow of earth to mark the occasion. In the afternoon a sheep was roasted in Burslem market place for the benefit of the poorer potters in the town. A bonfire was also lit in front of Wedgwood's house and many other events took place around the Potteries by way of celebration. 

(Jean Lindsay, The Trent and Mersey Canal, pp.31-32)

News from the North

'As you often give me London News, I will give you some from this Country, which has of late made a Figure. This Neighbourhood has for many Years made Pots for Europe, and will still do so, though the King of Prussia has lately clapt 28 per Cent, upon them. Our Roads were so bad that nobody came to view the Place where the Flint Ware is made, but now we have Turnpikes upon Turnpikes, and our Potteries are as well worth seeing as the Stockport Silk-Mills, or the Bridgewater Navigation, which we intend to beat hollow by Lord Gower's, now begun in our Meadows, and advancing apace towards Harecastle, on the other Side of which Multitudes of Men are at work, and before Christmas we shall have cut through the Hill, and made another Wonder of the World. There are already 100 Men employed on our Side, and 100 more will be added as soon as Wheelbarrows can be procured for them. Saturday last we had brave Sport at Earl Gower's, where 100,000 Spectators were present at the Prison-Bars played in Trentham Park. Among them were the Dukes of Bedford and Bridgewater. The Prizes were Ten Carline Hats, with gold Loops and Buttons, given by the Earl. The Cheshire Men were active Fellows, but unluckily their Lot was to wear Plod Drawers, to distinguish them from their Antagonists, which made the Crowd oppose their getting the Honour of the Day. During this Game, my Friend Bucknall loft his Boy, about Eight Years of Age, who was suffocated by going aslant down a Sort of a Cave into an old Coalpit, the top of which was fallen in. The Man that ventured to fetch him out, found a Number of Birds, supposed to have dropped down there by the sulphurous Stench issuing from the Pit. We have much Hay, and Cheese is plenty, and Corn without Barn-room, nor do we want Money. 

P. S. I have just seen a Hen, which laid Twelve Eggs only, from which she has brought up Twelve Cock Chickens, which is looked upon as somewhat remarkable.' 

(Extract of a Letter from Burslem,14  August 1766, Derby Mercury, Friday 29 August 1766, p.2)

Tunnel Vision

On 1 July 1772, an anonymous correspondent writing from Burslem related what he had seen the day before when he and some companions paid a visit to the first incarnation of the Harecastle Tunnel, situated between Tunstall and Kidsgrove and then under construction as part of James Brindley's Trent and Mersey Canal. 

'Yesterday we took a walk to the famous subterraneous canal at Harecastle, which is now opened for a mile on one side of the hill, and more than half a mile on the other, of course the whole must be compleated in a short time. As it is not yet filled with water, we entered into it, one of the party repeating the beautiful lines in Virgil, which describe the descent of Æneas into the Elysian fields. On a sudden our ears were struck with the most melodious sounds. - Lest you should imagine us to have heard the genius or goddess of the mountain singing the praises of engineer Brindly, it may be necessary to inform you, that one of the company had advanced some hundred paces before, and there favoured us with some excellent airs on the German flute. You can scarcely conceive the charming effect of this music echoed and re-echoed along a cavern near two thousand yards in length.' 

(Leeds Intelligencer, Tuesday 14 July 1772, p.3)

A Fungi to Be With

'A few days ago, a mushroom was got at Stoke-upon-Trent, in the county of Stafford, whose diameter was 5 inches, and 30 inches in circumference, it weighed 16 ounces. The above is very authentic.' 

(Leeds Intelligencer, 5 September 1775, p.3)

All in a Spin

'The following extraordinary phenomenon was lately observed here; at the latter end of last month, a field of hay belonging to Mr. J. Clark, near Burslem, was carried off by a whirlwind; the day when it happened was exceedingly calm, scarce a breath of air to be perceived. The people who were at work in the field observed, that in one part the hay began to be agitated in a small circle, at every wheel it increased in size and velocity, continually sucking more hay into its vortex; after a considerable time it began to ascend, taking along with it a silk handkerchief which hung rather loosely about the neck of one of the men who was at work; it continued ascending till entirely out sight, and in about an hour it began to descend, and continued to so for an hour's space, alighting at, or within a few hundred yards of the place from whence it had been carried up, so that the owner lost but a very trifling quantity of his hay.' 

(Hereford Journal, 23 August 1781, p.2)

A Tragic Accident

The following melancholy tale from the Potteries is related in a letter dated August 14 1785. 'As Ellen Hulme, a poor woman of Lane End, was returning to her habitation late last night, with her infant, six weeks old, in her arm, she unfortunately stepped into a coal-pit, which shamefully lay open close to the road, and even with the track which led to the poor creature's house. Her husband, whom she had been to fetch from an alehouse, immediately alarmed the neighbourhood, when her distressing cries were very distinctly heard from the bottom of the dreary pit every effort was attempted by the hardy colliers to fetch her up, but the damp prevailing very much, obliged them to use means to extract it, after which was found the mother with her infant upon her arms, both dead.' 

(Sussex Advertiser, 22 August 1785, p.3) 

A Hard Winter

During the harsh winter of 1794-1795, the better off inhabitants of Hanley and Shelton formed a committee which started a subscription list for the temporary relief the poor who were suffering great hardship during the cold weather. By February 1795 the committee had collected an impressive £150, enough to enable them  to supply nearly 500 local families with meat, potatoes, and cheese. The Wedgwood family gave a liberal amount and through them a Mrs Crewe kindly added a welcome donation of a quantity of flannel clothing. The Marquis of Stafford aided the relief fund by ordering 100 tons of coal to be at the distribution of the committee. 

A month later, in an issue of the Staffordshire Advertiser that noted that thermometers in Macclesfield had measured temperatures as low as -21° F (-29.4° C), the fearsome nature of the winter was highlighted dramatically by one small but rather macabre snippet of news. 'Through the inclemency of the night of Saturday last [i.e.,14 March] a poor man perished betwixt Hanley and Bucknall. He unfortunately lost himself in attempting to cross the fields, and was found on Sunday standing upright in a snow drift, with his hand only above the surface.' 

(Staffordshire Advertiser, 7 February 1795, p.3; 21 March 1795, p.3.)

Wild Fire

In late March or early April 1799, a dreadful accident happened in a pit at Lane End, the property of John Smith, Esq. Four men were blown up, and two them terribly burnt by what the colliers of the time described as 'the wild fire'. The explosion was loud, and the concussion so great that nearby houses shook violently. Two of the men were not expected to recover, while the other two were thrown to a considerable distance, and left badly bruised. The reporter noted that their hats were blown to the distance of 70 yards from the mouth of the pit. 

(Staffordshire Advertiser, Saturday, 6 April 1799, p.4)

Up, Up and Away

Balloonist Charles Green later in life.

Charles Green was quite a celebrity when he arrived in the Potteries in early October 1826. A pioneer balloonist, five years earlier, Green had become famous almost overnight when he made a special ascent into the air in his coal gas filled balloon at George IV's coronation. Since then he had become a professional balloonist, touring the country giving displays and allowing a lucky few to take a ride up with him. Now that thrill was open to the people in North Staffordshire and to one lucky passenger would fall the chance to make local history by joining Green in the first ever flight over the district.

The first ascent was to take place from Shelton late in the afternoon of Tuesday, 3rd October 1826. 'A vast concourse of persons' had assembled according to a reporter for the Staffordshire Advertiser. A carnival atmosphere prevailed, a band had been arranged to keep the onlookers entertained and enclosures had been set up for paying guests. The most exclusive of these for 'the most respectable inhabitants' was rather thinly populated at first, but started to fill up after 3 p.m., allaying fears that Green would not be fully compensated for his visit to the area. Another cheaper enclosure was also pretty well filled. Most of the locals, though, opted for a free view, an immense number of whom were camped out in surrounding fields, streets and yards, perched on roofs or leaning out of windows.

The weather was cloudy but favourable despite a brief shower which dampened those waiting for the launch. Half an hour or so before the main event a small pilot balloon was released to check on the wind direction, Green then got to work preparing the large crimson and gold striped main balloon for its trip over the Potteries. There was at this point some anxiety as to who, if anyone, would accompany Green on his historic flight. Some days earlier a suitable companion had been selected, but who this was is a mystery as the man backed out shortly before the launch and it seemed very likely that Green may have to go up alone. Indeed, the celebrated balloonist had clambered into the basket or 'car' as it was then called and was making his final adjustments prior to lift off, when the band suddenly struck up the popular Irish melody 'Fly not yet' to get his attention. A last-minute replacement had been found, the Reverend Benjamin Vale, perpetual curate of Stoke-upon-Trent had volunteered to go.

Vale was not a local having been born in London in 1787 and despite his religious credentials he seems to have been a rather prickly and erratic character, who was prone to rubbing people up the wrong way. Years earlier he had gone to Australia in hopes of setting up a ministry, but had left under a cloud when in a fit of misplaced patriotism he had illegally seized an American ship in Sydney Harbour, much to the annoyance of the local governor who had cleared the ship and who promptly sent Vale packing back to Britain. The rebuked clergyman had then served in his native London for a time before securing his position in Stoke. Years later he would become the Rector of St James Church, Longton, but his flock never seemed to have warmed to him and in 1842 his home fell prey to an angry mob during the Pottery Riots. Yet, whatever his other faults, Vale does not seem to have lacked in physical courage and after briefly justifying his decision with his anxious friends, to the applause of the onlookers he eagerly stepped forward to join Mr Green for this first historic trip.

Vale's friends crowded around the car when the clergyman had taken his seat and expressed their wishes for a safe journey. The balloon was allowed to rise into the air to a considerable height above the gathered crowd, ropes still holding it secure while it did so. Here, Mr Green released some ballast and dropped a parachute over the side attached to a basket that carried a cat, which floated safely back down to earth. After a short while suspended thus probably to give the crowd a good view of the 'buoyant and splendid machine', it was drawn back down to earth, two flags were handed over which were fixed at either end of the car, the ropes were released and with the band playing and crowd applauding the balloon rose gracefully into the air. To those on the ground the balloon remained in sight for about twenty minutes before vanishing into a cloud for ten minutes, then reappearing briefly in the distance as a dark-coloured ball. The rest of the journey was instead charted by Reverend Vale who subsequently wrote an account of the historic flight, which was printed in the Staffordshire Advertiser several days later. Shorn of its evangelical asides, it makes for an interesting first aerial view of the Potteries.

'At four o'clock the flags were presented to us, and we left the earth; the wind blowing rather to the north and east, and the barometer standing at 29.4. I continued to answer the salutations from below as long as I could distinguish particular objects, and afterwards occupied myself in general observations with Mr. Green without feeling a particular sensation of any kind. By degrees, the objects on earth became so small, that the most extensive manufactories appeared like so many mole hills,and the people appeared like so many black and white specks. I could not but think how truly ridiculous it was for men of immortal minds to weary themselves unnecessarily, and strive with each other for the possession of such mud-heaps as the establishments on earth now appeared to be; and I looked about with great anxiety to observe that humble church preferment which I was so anxious to obtain, and which many were so anxious to confer on me. I looked, however, in vain – it had already mingled in the obscurity of distance, and nothing remained but a huge dark sod, with a mud-heap where Hanley stood, and another where Lane-End might be supposed to stand.

One of Charles Green's balloons in 1836

At five minutes past four, the barometer standing at 26.2, we entered a very thick cloud of a yellowish white colour; we were then little more than half a mile high, i.e. 58; the cloud had a  peculiarity of taste which I am not now able to describe, and the feel of it was somewhat soapy. Having now lost sight of the earth, we adjusted the ballast, put out the grappling iron, and properly fastened it; Mr. Green then untied the mouth of the balloon, and I looked up into it, which from the pureness of the gas appeared to be empty. Mr. Green left the mouth of the balloon open, that as the gas might expand, it might find itself a passage downward through the mouth. When Mr. Green observed the balloon to become fully distended, he opened the valve and let out some of the gas; and as this led to me making some remarks about the valve, he permitted me at proper times to open the valve myself. The first time I opened the valve I think I did it with some hesitation, but opportunities multiplied and I went about it at last as if it had been my business.

At ten minutes past four, we were as near over Blithe Marsh Bridge, beyond Lane End, and then gliding into another current of air, we drifted towards Cellar Head. We now had a good view of the clouds beneath us, layer on layer, the last layer appearing to rest in sullen silence upon the earth, while all the rest appeared to move, each layer seeming to be directed by a peculiar current of air.

At fifteen minutes past four, we approached Werrington windmill, which we saw directly, and at the same time we heard the halloo and greetings of persons who were too much diminished by distance to be observed by us. The barometer then stood at 24.2, and our distance was nearly a mile, i.e. 98.

At twenty minutes past four, we passed over Consol Woods, and heard several guns fired, and had a good view of the bleak and hilly country over which we were about to pass.

At thirty minutes past four, we threw out ballast to check the descent of the balloon, which Mr. Green considered too rapid. We now held out the flags, and it was evident that we were going downwards, as the flags were blown upwards. I looked earnestly towards the earth to discover the first appearances again. What appeared narrow straight lines hardly distinguishable, turned out the be the King's highways; what appeared to be a mushroom, turned out to be a hay-stack; and what appeared to be a solitary bush, turned out to be a plantation or a wood. We again heard voices, and a curious humming sound, which Mr. Green explained as being produced by a shower of very small rain falling on the balloon; a sound which in his earlier experience, had very much alarmed him. We then crossed Churnet River, and the Canal in the neighbourhood of Belmont House, and saw the reflection of the balloon in the water. The rain had now condensed the gas, and the lower part of the balloon collapsed.

At thirty-five minutes past four, we found ourselves descending over a woody district, and threw out ballast in order to pass over it. As we ascended, we got into another current of air, which drove us rather southerly, between Ipstones and Kingsley. Here it was somewhat cold. A voice was now heard distinctly crying out “Come down, come down.” Mr. Green answered “Not yet.” and I vociferated “Silence.”  and I have since learned that a good hostess understanding Mr. Green to say “yes, yes,” and supposing me to say “mistress,” little thinking that she did not appear to us bigger than a pin's head, went in and fetched out some brandy to regale us. The barometer now stood at 23.1 and our distance was about a mile i.e. 1.2.

At forty minutes past four, the barometer stood at 20.1, so that our elevation then, (which was our highest elevation) was a little above two miles, i.e. 2,047. Mr. Green thought it proper here to tie the mouth of the balloon to keep out the atmospheric air; and he mounted on the very edge of the car to accomplish it; as it was not possible for him even so to reach it, I hung upon a cord my whole weight to bring the mouth of the balloon low enough, and in this manner it was effected. I now heard the sound of a horn, and Mr. Green heard the sound of carriage wheels, so that we concluded some public coach was passing, and we stooped a little from our elevation to examine the ground for a descent.

At fifty minutes past four, a heavy storm came on, and we were obliged to hasten our descent. Nothing but stone walls appeared to greet us in this moorland country, and we both prepared for the worst that could happen to us. Having come down low enough for the grapple to touch the earth, we called to the first object we saw to come and render us assistance. Two men that appeared were unable to overtake us. The grapple caught on a wall and dragged an immense part of it to the ground. Again we swept the distance of a long field, and again the grapple caught on another wall which it served as it did the first. In this manner our velocity was checked, and other persons coming up, we made a safe landing, after having been in the air, as near as possible, an hour, and having passed over at least 25 miles.'         


Reference: Staffordshire Advertiser 7 October 1826, p.4 ; J H Y Briggs, ' A Staffordshire Clergyman: The Reverend Dr Benjamin Vale,  L.L.D. (1787-1863)' in Staffordshire Studies (Keele, 1987) pp. 141-153.                                

Mow Cop Castle

Mow Cop Castle from the Staffordshire side.

To the north of Stoke-on-Trent and standing smack on the Staffordshire-Cheshire Border, the hill of Mow Cop dominates the respective skylines of both counties and is also very much a natural demarcation point. To the south, the low rolling hills of North Staffordshire leading up to the hill seem to suddenly give way to the vast flat expanse of the Cheshire plain on its northern side. Nowhere is this better appreciated than from the highest point on the hill, where a circular stone tower, low wall and archway sit perched on a great prow of millstone grit rock, part of a jagged ridge of stones that appears to erupt from the surrounding greenery.

In truth the ruggedness of the hill owes as much to centuries of quarrying as to the vagaries of nature, while the apparently ancient ruin, known to one and all as Mow Cop Castle, is in fact South Cheshire's and North Staffordshire's most famous folly, dating back at best to the late 1740s. Though solid documentary evidence relating to the 'castle's' construction seems to have vanished over time, it's most likely that it was actually built as Medieval-style summerhouse paid for by the wealthy Wilbraham family of Rode Hall, Cheshire, who were perhaps keen to mark the edge of their lands and make use of the spot from which to admire the spectacular views of the two counties. Construction of the tower, archway and wall seems to have been carried out by a family named Harding whose descendants then became keyholders for the tower under the Wilbrahams. However,  either the Wilbrahams or the Hardings had slipped up in constructing the tower where they did, as by straddling the border it infringed upon the Staffordshire estate of the Sneyd family of Keele Hall. There are confused scraps of folklore suggesting that this fact was know from the earliest times and that the Wilbrahams and Sneyds held joint ownership and access to the site, but again there is no conclusive evidence of this and arguments as to which family actually owned Mow Cop Castle would blight its early history and lead to litigation in the mid 19th century.

The tower today is nothing more than an empty stone shell, with bars on the windows and a grill over the doorway stopping anyone from getting inside, but when it was first constructed it was much more useful, comprising a lower and upper storey with a staircase, wooden floors, a roof, windows and a stout wooden door at its entrance. Keys to the door could be obtained at times from Rode Hall itself or - for the convenience of visitors - from a cottage near to the summer-house. Indeed, it appears that from very early in its history, the Wilbrahams were quite happy to let members of the public make use of the tower for their own recreations. As a result, the castle became a favourite picnic spot and playground for the locals and despite the competing claims over the years of families and landowners as to who owned what, the castle came to belong very much to the people of Mow Cop itself and their voices would be loud in determining its fate.

Primitive Methodism

A memorial stone commemorating the first camp
meeting held at Mow Cop in 1807.

The hill and castle also hold a special place in the religious history of the region as Mow Cop was very much the spiritual home to the Primitive Methodist movement that originated in North Staffordshire in the early part of the 19th century and the castle its unofficial symbol. The movement's founders, two Potteries-born Wesleyan preachers, Hugh Bourne and William Clowes, were hoping to restore a spirit of revivalism to mainstream Methodism. Inspired by tales of American camp meetings which they felt mirrored the  outdoor preaching of John Wesley and the early Methodists, the men organised the first in a series of camp meetings at Mow Cop on May 31, 1807. This drew a sizeable crowd and resulted in many converts, but despite its success the Wesleyan Church frowned on the fervent brand of evangelism employed and refused to recognise these converts, while Bourne and Clowes were reprimanded for their actions. There was probably an element of snobbishness in the censure too, as both Bourne and Clowes were uneducated working men and their brand of Methodism was decidedly working class in its following, many of Bourne's and Clowes's early converts being some of the roughest of working class men and women from in and around Mow Cop and the Potteries.

As Bourne and Clowes refused to stop holding further open-air meetings, both men were dismissed from the church and after failing to gain re-admittance in 1810 they took the step of founding Primitive Methodism, and in February 1812 in a meeting held at Tunstall, they took the name The Society of the Primitive Methodists. From these humble beginnings the Primitive Methodists would grow into a considerable faction of the Methodist church with a wide following across Britain and branches in the United States and around the British Empire and maintained their independence until the Methodist Union of 1932.

Kings of the Castle
The Wilbrahams left Rode Hall for Lancashire in 1800 and though some repairs were made to the castle over the years, it suffered the ravages of time, neglect and petty vandalism. The floors and wooden fittings were pilfered or destroyed, the door was taken down and put into storage, while the Wilbrahams and Sneyds still debated their claims to the site. Matters came to a head in 1847 when the Wilbrahams refitted the old door to the tower and locked it, which effectively restricted access to the Sneyds and the public at large who had previously had free access to the structure. The next year the Sneyd family's men broke into the tower which act resulted in a court case in 1850 that sought to establish who actually owned the castle. However, faced with a baffling array of contradictory evidence, the jury in the case returned the verdict that the Wilbrahams owned the castle but the Sneyds owned the land, which left them back at square one. The judge refused to accept this fudged verdict and instead pronounced a joint ownership and that henceforth both families should hold keys to the castle, joint responsibilities for its upkeep and with a few provisos both families had to maintain public access to the hill and castle.

However, probably as a result of this apportioning of responsibility the castle gradually fell into a state of complete neglect over the next half a century and by the beginning of the 20th century had effectively been reduced to the bare stone shell seen today. Only the locals seem to have continued to appreciate the castle and as was seen when the castle passed to its last private owner they rallied to its cause.

By the late 19th century most of the quarries that had dotted Mow Cop had closed down, however, in 1918 and 1922, a local businessman, Joseph Lovatt, bought up the competing land rights from the Wilbraham and Sneyd trustees and having cleared the debris from some of the old quarries near to the castle, he began fresh diggings for building material. Though he was himself a Methodist with an interest in preserving Mow Cop Castle (which he now owned) Lovatt's actions raised fears amongst the locals that his quarrying might undermine or damage its foundations. Moreover, Lovatt fenced off the castle, which increased local ire at being excluded from their local beauty spot and they protested and eventually broke down the walls and fencing. This prompted a second court case to determine the future of the castle, the villagers arguing that they had common rights to use the castle and its environs. The case dragged on for three years and when it finally concluded the judge pronounced that the castle was not built on common land and that the rights of the locals were more a matter of accepted custom than a matter of law. Though the old custom carried some weight, the problem was that no one was sure exactly what their right of access to the castle entailed and the local authorities on either side of the county border had made no efforts to clarify these.

Lovatt may have won the case, but it had not done his reputation any favours and he soon determined to get this troublesome parcel of land off his hands as soon as possible. To this end in 1927, he offered it to the Bourne Trust, the successors to the Primitive Methodist movement, these being an obvious choice to pass the site on to. After careful consideration, though, the Trust determined that its upkeep was beyond their means and refused to take up Lovatt's offer. So, in 1935, Lovatt offered the castle and six acres of land including the famous local stone pillar Old Man of Mow, to the National Trust. This was accepted and on 30 May 1937, the deeds were formally handed over at a grand ceremony attended by ten thousand people.

Since then the National Trust has maintained the structure pretty much in the state that they received it. Matters of ownership and public access are a thing of the past and though the castle itself is now closed for safety's sake and to dissuade potential vandals, people can still visit and walk around the structure, while its hilltop vantage point with its impressive views across two counties is open to all.

Looking out over Staffordshire from Mow Cop

Reference: Philip R. Leese, Mow Cop: A Working Village (2010); Mow Cop: Living on the Hill (2011)

Visiting Burslem's Houses of Ill Fame.

Burslem town centre in the early 19th century.

The oldest profession in the world had its place in soft underbelly of the Regency Potteries. Prostitutes plied a regular trade usually around the local inns where there were rich pickings when the potters and miners rolled in what their wages. A brief memoir of the period reveals that then as now many of the local working girls were ordinary women driven to extremes by circumstances, the probable cause being abject poverty. A Short Memoir of Ann Sheldon, published in 1821, tells the story of the short life of a dedicated Burslem Sunday School teacher. Constructed around entries in Ann's diary, it reveals her to have been a noble spirited young woman, who saw it as her Christian duty to visit the sick and try to save the fallen.

In April 1813 following a class, one of her class members asked Ann if she would visit a woman who was very ill. Accompanied by a fellow teacher 'Miss B', she went to see the woman whom she soon discovered to be a local prostitute. They found her to be, 'a little better and very penitent.' Ann continued : 'she had been a very wicked woman for years, and is now little more than 30 years of age. Her parents died when she and her sister were young. As they advanced in years they got into bad company and lost their character. Masters would not employ them and they became common prostitutes.' The woman, exhausted and frightened by her illness, told the two teachers that if she lived she was determined to leave her 'wicked course of life.'  

After praying together they left her. The two young teachers had obviously been shocked by the interview and though the nature of the woman's illness is never stated, the impression we are left with is that it was contracted as a result of her calling. Both came away from the house burning with a desire to save others from such a dangerous and degrading career.

The next day, Ann and Miss B set out once more and found a woman to direct them to the 'houses of ill fame'. They visited two buildings, but met with a mixed reception, made all the more galling no doubt, by the fact that at least two of the girls they encountered were old Sunday school scholars.

In the first house 'we found a young woman about seventeen years of age, who lived by herself, and was three years ago a Sunday scholar.' The girl was unmoved by the teachers entreaties, Ann went back many times to invite her back to the school, but to no avail.

There were two women in the other house: 'we found a woman about twenty-seven years of age; who met in class about two years ago: we both spoke as close as possible for an hour and a half; they shed many tears and confessed they had a hell upon earth. There was another woman present, a companion in sin, who appeared to take no notice: - I said to her come down on your knees, and cry to the Lord, to have mercy upon your soul, before it is too late: we all bowed the knee before God, and found much liberty in prayer.'

It is unknown whether Ann and Miss B efforts were successful. The biography remains silent on the matter. Ann herself died at a young age in 1819.

Reference: John Tregortha (publisher)  A Short Memoir of Ann Sheldon, Burslem 1821