Taken altogether, in the tilting ground, with its raised terraces for spectators—the court, which formed the arena for quarter-staff, wrestling, and similar games of strength—and the lakes or ponds, used for water jousts and other aquatic sports—we have one of the most remarkable, as well as one of the most complete, memorials to be found in the North of England illustrative of the manners and customs of our forefathers—of the military pomp and pageantry, and those displays of prowess, skill, daring, and strength, which in the reigns of the Plantagenet and Tudor Kings the English gentry so much encouraged, and the common people so greatly delighted in—the relic of an age the most chivalrous and the most picturesque in our country’s history, when there was no lack of heroism and brave hearts and noble minds, when men ruled by the stern will and strong arm, and through successive ages fought the battle of England’s liberties, and laid the foundations of the freedom we enjoy. The place seems to belong so entirely to a bygone age that imagination wings her airy flight to those remote days, and in fancy’s eye we re-people the Old Hall, when
Every room
Blazed with lights, and brayed with minstrelsy;
and call up in each deserted nook and shady grove the figures of those who have long ago returned to dust. We can picture in imagination the time when these grass-grown terraces were thronged with a gay company of gallant youths and fair maidens, of stern warriors and sober matrons, assembled to witness the princely entertainments provided by the proud owners of Gawsworth. We see the barriers set up, and hear the braying of the trumpets, and the proclamations of the heralds; we see the knights, with their attendant esquires, mounted upon their well-trained steeds, with their rich panoply of arms and plumed and crested casques, and note the stately courtesy with which each, as he enters the arena, salutes the high-bred queen of the tournament; we hear the prancing of horses, the clang of arms, the shock of combat, and the loud clarions which proclaim to the assembled throng the names of the gallant victors. But the days of tilt and tournament have passed away, the age of feudalism has gone by, and in the long centuries of change and progress that have intervened, time has mellowed and widened our social institutions, and raised the lower stratum of society to a nearer level with the higher. Yet, while we boast ourselves of the present, let us not be unmindful of what we owe to the past, for those times were instinct with noble and true ideas, and with Carlyle we may say that, “in prizing justly the indispensable blessings of the new, let us not be unjust to the old. The old was true, if it no longer is.” The glories of Gawsworth are of the past. The old mansion is still to be seen, and the silent pools, the deserted terraces, the forlorn garden grounds, and the stately trees still remain as representatives of the once goodly park and pleasaunce, but those who here maintained a princely hospitality, and bore their part in those splendid pageantries, are sleeping their last sleep. We may not lift the veil which hides their secret history, or reveal much of the story of their hopes and fears, their perils by flood and field, and their deep feuds and still deeper vengeances. Their graven effigies and gaudily-painted tombs are preserved to us, but
The knights’ bones are dust,
And their good swords rust,
Their souls are with the just
We trust.
In this quiet, out-of-the-way nook, amid these old landmarks, an afternoon will be neither unpleasantly nor unprofitably spent. We may learn something of English history, and of the historic figures which played their parts in our “rough island story.” Our thoughts and fancies will be stirred anew, and our sense of patriotism will be nothing lessened by the contemplation of the relics of that past on which our present is securely built
Any notice of Gawsworth would be incomplete that did not make mention of the remarkable series of fresco paintings that were discovered during the work of restoring the church in the autumn of 1851. At that time the fabric underwent a thorough repair, and the remains of coloured ornamentation in the timber-work of the roof led to the belief that the same method of decoration had been applied to the surface of the walls. Accordingly a careful examination was made, and on the removal of the whitewash and plaster some curious and interesting examples of mediæval art were discovered; but, unfortunately, no effort was made at the time to preserve them. Happily, however, before their destruction careful copies were made by a local artist, Mr. Lynch, which have since been published as illustrations to a work he has written. The three principal frescoes represented St. Christopher and the Infant Saviour; St. George slaying the Dragon; and the Doom, or Last Judgment. From the details they would appear to have been executed in the early part of the fifteenth century—probably about the time the tower was built and some important additions made to the main structure, which, as previously stated, would be between the years 1420 and 1430.