One of the chief sights of Rothbury is the beautiful mansion of Cragside and the wonderful valley of Debdon and Crag Hill, as transformed by the first Lord Armstrong into a paradise of beauty, where art and nature are so blended as to make a romantically artistic whole. Another lovely spot on the banks of Coquet is at Brinkburn, where the famous Priory stands almost hidden at the foot of thickly wooded slopes. A very much larger portion of this fine Priory is still standing than is the case with many other religious houses of the same age, for it dates from the reign of Henry I. The story is told of Brinkburn as well as of Blanchland, that a party of marauding Scots on one of their forays passed by the Priory without discovering it in its leafy bower; and so overjoyed were the monks at their escape that they incautiously rang the bells by way of showing their delight. The Scots, who had passed out of sight but not out of hearing, immediately returned on their tracks, and, guided by the joyful peal, reached the Priory, sacked the buildings, and then set them on fire. It may well be that the tragedy occurred at both places, on different occasions.
Farther eastward down the Coquet are two places pre-eminently noted as centres for the sport for which the river is famed above all other Northumbrian streams, though some of them are worthy rivals. These two places are Weldon Bridge and Felton; the old Angler’s Inn at the first-named is a favourite rendezvous of the fraternity of rod and creel. Fishermen have long known the fascination of these two places, and I quote from the “Fisherman’s Garland” two stanzas written by two enthusiastic anglers in praise of them. The writers are Robert Roxby and Thomas Doubleday.
“But we’ll awa’ to Coquetside,
For Coquet bangs them a’;
Whose winding streams sae sweetly glide
By Brinkburn’s bonny Ha’!”
Written in 1821
“The Coquet for ever, the Coquet for aye!
The Woodhall and Weldon and Felton so gay,
And Brinkburn and Linden, wi’ a’ their sweet pride,
For they add to the beauty of dear Coquetside.”
Written in 1826
Felton, a charmingly placed little village, on the banks of the river where they are overhung by graceful woods, and diversified by cliff and grassy slope, stands just where the great North Road crosses the Coquet. By reason of this position it has been the scene of one or two events of historical interest, notably those connected with the “Fifteen” and the “Forty-five.” On the former occasion, the gallant young Earl of Derwentwater, with his followers, was joined here by a band of seventy gentlemen from the Borders, and they rode on to Morpeth to proclaim James III. And thirty years later, the soldiers of George II. passed over the bridge from the southward, led by the Duke of Cumberland, and pressed on towards the Scottish moor where they dealt the final blow to the Stuart cause at Culloden. The interesting old church at Felton, dating from the thirteenth century, is well worth a visit. After leaving Felton behind, the Coquet enters on the most marked windings of all its winding course, until, when it enters the sea at Warkworth Harbour, just opposite Coquet Island, it has contrived to lengthen out its journey to a distance of forty miles.
The bright clear stream of the Aln also begins its short journey across Northumberland from the heights of Cheviot, but in the narrower northern portion of the county. Alnham, with its pele-tower Vicarage, ancient church, and memories of a castle, stands just at the foot of the hills, near the source of the river. Some three or four miles eastward along its banks, a walk through leafy woods brings us to Whittingham—the final syllable of which, by the way, one pronounces as “jam,” as one does that of nearly all the other place-names ending in “ing-ham” in Northumberland, contrary though it be to etymological considerations—excepting, curiously enough, Chillingham, situated in the very midst of all the others. The “ing” and “ham” are in themselves a historical guide to the days in which the various villages received their names, these two syllables being a certain indication of a Saxon settlement, the “home of the sons, or descendants of” whatever person the first syllable indicates. Thus, Edlingham, only a few miles away, is the “home or settlement of the sons of Eadwulf”; Ellingham, the “home of the sons of Ella,” and so on. How the “Whitt” syllable was spelled we do not know; most probably Hwitta or Hwitha—for all our wh’s were hw originally—hwaet, hwa, hwaether and so forth.
This ancient village is in these days a charming and peaceful place, lying in the midst of rich meadow lands, and surrounded by magnificent trees. It had its romances, too, in the course of years; so long ago as the days of the early Danish invasions a certain widow in Whittingham, in the reign of King Alfred, had no less a person than a Danish prince among her slaves; he was ransomed, however, and made king of the Danes in the North, in consequence of a vision in which St. Cuthbert had directed the Abbot of Carlisle to see this done. Young Prince Guthred’s gratitude showed itself in a substantial grant of land to St. Cuthbert at Durham. Whittingham Church is supposed to have been founded by the Saxon king Ceolwulf, whose acquaintance we have already made at Holy Island, and he bestowed the lands of Whittingham on the church at Lindisfarne. It still shows some of the original Saxon work at the base of the tower, and much more was to be seen before the so-called “restoration” of the church in 1840. The pele-tower on the south side of the river, after its days of storm and stress are over, still serves as a shelter in time of need, for it is now used as an almshouse for the poor of the village, a former Lady Ravensworth having originated the quaint idea and seen it carried out.
Whittingham Fair, now Whittingham Sports, a well-known rendezvous of the whole countryside, has lost some of its former splendour, but is still looked forward to with great enjoyment in the surrounding district. The old coaching road from Newcastle to Edinburgh passed through the village, crossing the Aln by the stone bridge, from whence it went on through Glanton and Wooler to Cornhill.
In the vale of Whittingham, the little Aln flows placidly along, its waters murmuring a soothing refrain, a peaceful interlude between its busy bustling beginning and its ending. Before reaching Alnwick it flows past the ancient walls of Hulne Abbey, the monastery of Carmelite friars so romantically founded by the Northumbrian knight and monk after his visit to the monastery on Mount Carmel. A considerable portion of the ancient building is still standing, and few sites chosen by the old monks, who had an unerring eye for beauty as well as safety and convenience in their choice of abode, can surpass this one, surrounded by fair meadows, and standing on the green hill-side, with the rippling Aln flowing through the levels below. In Hulne Park is also the Brislee Tower, erected by the first Duke of Northumberland in 1781, on the top of Brislee Hill.
