The old Inn at Congleton is a fine specimen of a black-and-white gabled hostelry. The great porch, with a room over, rests on two stone pillars, and the interior of the Inn quite corresponds in character with the exterior. This is just the kind of Inn so dear to novelists, and so seldom well described. Perhaps the country Inn in Barnaby Rudge is as well-drawn a picture of one of the old houses of accommodation as any; and if Dickens’ works are ever to be picturesquely illustrated, the Lion Inn at Congleton might serve the artist for a model. All it wants to complete its ancient character is the signboard across the road.
Cheshire abounds with material for such a work as this; and many old towns—Sandbach, Malpas, Nantwich, or Knutsford, for example—are well worthy of a visit. A curious old house at Nantwich is here given; the bow window consists of a heavy octagonal bow overhanging another of similar shape and smaller dimensions in a kind of telescope fashion. The noble octagonal church tower is rising above. Nantwich church is seen to great advantage from many parts of the town, and is of Cathedral dimensions. It is remarkably beautiful in details, and is in a fine state of preservation.
There are many houses in Nantwich with dates of the sixteenth century carved on them, and there is a curious history belonging to them. In 1583 a great fire swept away nearly the whole of Nantwich, and immediately after a collection was instituted to reimburse the inhabitants for their heavy losses. The parish register says, “A most terrible and vehement fire, beginning at the water-lode, about six of the clocke by night, in a kitchen, by brewinge. The winde being very boisterouse increased the said fire, which more vehementlie burned, and consumed in the space of 15 hours, 600 bayes of buildings, and could not be stayed neither by labour nor pollice, which I thought good to commend unto posteritie, as a favourable interposition of the Almightie, in destroying the buildings and goods only, but sparing the lives of many people, which, considering the time, space, and perill, were in great jopardie.”
The term “600 bayes” is a suggestive expression, and it probably has a similar meaning to bay of modern times. This is generally understood to denote the space between the principals of a roof, the sections as it were into which the front to the street was cut. The building here illustrated would thus have five bays; but the expression seems to have been customary in Queen Elizabeth’s time to define the size of a house. The clown says in “Measure for Measure,” “If this law hold in Vienna ten years, I’ll rent the fairest house in it after threepence a bay.”
The collection was ordered by the Queen in 1585, and perhaps partook rather of the character of a rate. The estimated damage was £30,000, an enormous sum in those days.
Ellesmere is situated in the northern extremity of Shropshire, nearly at its contact with Cheshire. It is on a fine sheet of water, from which it takes its name. The streets are remarkably picturesque. There are many substantial residences in it, which are finely shaded with forest trees and evergreens, and at one end of the town is a large ancient cruciform church overlooking the lake. The woods and lawns of Oakley Park stretch along the opposite shore, and it would be difficult to imagine a more delightful scene. Long low comfortable hotels with bow windows prevail in Ellesmere, and they have ample accommodation for coaches and post-horses, though now grass grows in many of the roomy quadrangles round which their stables are built, as most of their occupation is gone.
I noticed a pleasing device on the front of one of the houses which faced the south: a large grape vine grew at one end of the house, and it was bent horizontally after reaching a certain height across the whole front of the building; over it was an open verandah roofed with thick glass, which enabled the grapes to ripen, and formed a charming summer shade; indeed, on the bleakest winter day, Ellesmere has a sunny cheerful look. The road from Ellesmere to Oswestry lies through a beautiful country, and is about eight miles long. The Green Man, so called from the sign of a forester in hunting green, is another example of an old-fashioned roadside Inn. The walls are panelled in oak, and the ancient benches and tables with carved legs still remain. The fireplace in the hall is 12 feet wide, and ornamented with a great store of antique pewter platters. Halston Park, a little farther along the Oswestry road, was the seat of the celebrated Captain Mytton, whose random exploits are the subject of a rather uncommon biography.
