“In July, 1740, I observed upon Morfe the tumuli as above represented, where the soil is a strong gravel. Mountfaucon tells us that the old Cimbri, [the Danes,] were wont to throw up gravel on their graves, and the more remarkable the persons were, the larger the tumuli over them. I therefore imagined that this might possibly be the burying place of the Danes. For satisfaction, I caused the middle and largest of these tumuli to be dug from north to south, (a.a.) supposing that by that method I might cross the site of the body that may have been laid there. We dug about seven feet deep, even to the solid rock, without meeting anything remarkable but an iron shell, in the shape of an egg, with a round hole at one end; but so cankered and decayed, that it easily broke into small pieces. This we judged to be the boss of a sword. However, on viewing the trench that we had dug, we perceived on the west side of it a hollow in the gravel, which upon trial extended horizontally four or five feet; and under this hollow (b.b.) we found one of the large vertebræ of the loins, with its processes pretty perfect, but thoroughly petrified; and upon further search, several portions of bones, all alike petrified, but so disguised that we could not discover to what part of the body they belonged. We afterwards opened one of the lesser tumuli, (c.c.) and found what is thought to be the os sacrum, and many other small pieces of bone, in a petrified state. It was great odds that we found nothing at all, but nature favoured us by preserving some few tokens of antiquity.” Mr. Stackhouse seems to have been disturbed in his archeological researches; for he mentions that the people of Bridgnorth flocked in great numbers to the spot, expecting to see great wonders, and to prevent further concourse, he was glad to fill up the trenches, and to leave the other tumuli unexamined.
From local and historical evidence then, it would appear that the Danes took refuge amidst the forests[4] which then covered that extensive district, and continued to hold possession of them for some time. But this was the last scene of their struggle against the Saxons, during the reign of Alfred. They were compelled after a while to leave these fastnesses upon Morfe; and Shropshire, and soon after the whole of England, was delivered from their rule. Then it was that Ethelfleda, in concert with her brother Edward, in order to guard against any attempts the Danes might make to regain their footing in the country, built castles in those places which were most liable to be attacked. One of these, as has been already mentioned, was erected at Bridgnorth, or, as it was then called, “Brugge.” This establishes the fact, that our town, whatever may have been its exact size and situation, existed long before the Norman conquest, and that its foundation reaches back more than nine hundred years. But it is a higher honor to the town of Bridgnorth than even the great antiquity of its foundation, that it is thus associated in its early history with the name of this great princess—a name which poets and historians have justly made illustrious—and that amid the dangers which threatened the nation, she took such special means to provide for its defence.
But what was the site of the castle which she erected at Bridgnorth? This is a question of very great interest. Most of those who have enquired into the subject have supposed it to be the eminence now known by the name of The Castle Hill; but Mr. Eyton, (Antiquities of Shropshire, Vol. 1, part 4, pp. 131, 132) whose sagacity equals his learning on antiquarian subjects, has assigned to it a different site, and has most probably discovered its true locality. Every one has noticed, on looking westward from the Castle Walk, a very singular mound of earth, about two hundred yards distant, the regular shape of which plainly proves it to be artificial. It is now known by the name of “Pam-pudding Hill.” This Mr. Eyton considers to be the site of Ethelfleda’s castle, and supports his assertion on the following grounds. A document is extant, of the date of Edward I., in which the road beneath this hill is called the road underneath “the Old Castle.” Now the castle on what is at present called the Castle Hill, was in the time of Edward I. the existent and garrisoned castle of the town: so that the “Old Castle” must have been a term denoting some fortress of a more ancient date; and as we have no record of any earlier castle but that built by Ethelfleda, this, which bore in the reign of Edward I. the title of the “Old Castle,” must have been hers. It is to be observed also, that the hill, called “Pam-pudding Hill,” is situate in the parish of Oldbury, a word which plainly signifies “Old Borough;” and as Ethelfleda attached a borough to the castles which she built, there can be no doubt that the neighbouring village of Oldbury, however small its circumference at present, has the honor of being the original borough, having the site of the ancient castle erected by this Saxon princess within its borders; and that Bridgnorth at the time was little better than an appendage to it.[5]
But in less than two centuries after the erection of this fortress, Bridgnorth became a place of consequence; the commanding position on which it stood, and the strong natural defences of the place, marking it out to the eye of a very bold and ambitious nobleman of the day, as a situation eminently fitted for a fortified castle. This nobleman was Robert de Belesme, the son and eventual successor to the English titles and estates of Roger de Montgomery, first Earl of Shrewsbury. Roger was a kinsman of William the Conqueror, as well as a very faithful vassal; and when William became possessed by conquest of this fair realm of England, he liberally rewarded his services by the grant of a very large share of territory in the conquered kingdom. He conferred on him the Earldom of Shrewsbury, with a feoff of four hundred and six manors, in which Quatford is included.—(Blakeway’s History of Shrewsbury, Vol. 1, p. 37, note 3.) This he appears to have chosen as his favourite place of residence, perhaps on account of the opportunity it afforded him of indulging his Norman propensity for hunting; for the forest of Morfe was close adjacent to it. Here he not only built a castle,[6] but also built and endowed a Collegiate Church, and founded a borough. All these however, the privileges of the borough, the garrison of the castle, and the chief endowments of the church, his son Robert de Belesme transferred to Bridgnorth. But the foundation of Quatford Church is an historical event of so much interest, and is so intimately connected with the early history of Bridgnorth, that it deserves more than a passing reference.
The following is the substance of the narrative of the event given by John Brompton, an ancient chronicler, who lived in the reign of King John:—In the year 1082 Roger de Montgomery married his second wife, Adelissa, daughter of Ebrard de Pusey, one of the chief nobles of France. As she was sailing into England to join her husband, she was overtaken by a dreadful tempest, from which the mariners thought there could be no escape. In the midst of this furious storm one of the ecclesiastics, who accompanied her, wearied with watching, fell asleep; and in his sleep he dreamed that a female appeared to him, and thus addressed him:—“If thy lady would wish to save herself, and her attendants from the present danger of the sea, let her make a vow to God, and faithfully promise to build a church in honour of the blessed Mary Magdalene, on the spot where she may first happen to meet her husband, the Earl, in England; especially where groweth a hollow oak, and the wild swine have shelter.” The story goes on to state, that, when he awoke from sleep, he communicated to his lady the particulars of this singular dream, and that she at once made the prescribed vow. The tempest soon calmed, and she and her attendants landed safely in some port in England, from whence she immediately made her journey to her husband’s estates in Shropshire; and just on the top of Quatford hill, which was at that time in the outskirts of the Earl’s hunting ground, and near a spot where an oak tree was growing, she met him, engaged in his favorite pastime: and there at her request, in fulfilment of her vow, he built a church and richly endowed it.[7]
There are now on the high ground just above the church at Quatford, several oaks whose gnarled and knotted trunks seem to have borne the brunt of many centuries. They are evidently of a very ancient date. No one can attentively observe them, without seeing that they must have outlived several generations of men; and there can be but little doubt that they are right in their conjecture, who suppose them to belong to the original forest of Morfe. The supposition, that trees which flourished in the time of William Rufus may be still standing, need not be considered extravagant; for the history of the oak and yew tree[8] in England furnishes many instances of equal longevity. “Among the most remarkable of such trees,” says Mr. Wright, in his History of Ludlow, p. 181, “in the neighbourhood of Ludlow, may be mentioned the aged oak on the brow of the hill of Nonupton, or Nuns’ Upton, near the village of Little Hereford, which was probably standing there previous to the Conquest.... The tree is hollowed by decay, and its branches mutilated by the effects of time.” An oak is at present growing in Chepstowe Park, called the Parliamentary Oak, from the fact that Edward I. convened his Parliament under it in 1290. Mr. Gilpin mentions a more remarkable instance: “Close by the gate of the water walk at Magdalene College, in Oxford, grew an oak, which perhaps stood a sapling when Alfred founded the University. That period only includes nine hundred years, no great age,” writes Mr. Gilpin, “for an oak. This oak could almost produce historical evidence for its age. About five hundred years after Alfred’s time, William of Wainfleet expressly ordered his College to be founded near the great oak; and an oak could not well be less than five hundred years old, to merit that title. In the summer of 1788 it fell.” (Gilpin’s Forest Scenery, Vol. 1, p. 141.) But a much more ancient oak than even this a short time since was standing in Stirling, one which there is reason to believe existed in the time of the Druids, and which was so much decayed in the thirteenth century, that William Wallace and several of his officers used to take shelter at night in its hollow trunk. (Forest Trees of Britain, by Rev. C.A. Johns, pp. 80, 81.)
These facts are sufficient to show that it is by no means improbable, that the oaks now standing in Quatford were originally trees in the Forest of Morfe; if so, one of them may be the very tree which marked out to the Countess Adelissa the spot, adjacent to which she was to build the Church. Now among these oaks, one is of a very remarkable character. Time has so completely decayed the middle part of the tree, that the two portions of the trunk which remain have fallen asunder one from the other, and thus appear at first sight as two separate and distinct trees[9]—indeed, they are generally supposed to be so—but a closer examination will disprove this. It will be noticed that the bark is very much curled up, and if this could be unrolled, it would be found to belong to a trunk, the circumference of which would include the two parts now remaining.
