Highways and Byways in Cambridge and Ely

by John William Edward Conybeare

They may have found Isleham too sequestered. It stands, like Soham, on the verge of the Isle of Ely, and also on the verge of Suffolk, to which county it seems actually to have belonged throughout great part of the Middle Ages. But it was in the Bishopric neither of Ely nor of Norwich, but of far away Rochester, to which it had been annexed, as tradition went, by Alfred the Great. The Church, dedicated to St. Andrew, has an exceptionally fine hammer-beam roof, bearing the inscription:

CRYSTOFER PEYTON DID MAK THYS ROFE
IN THE YERE OF OURE LORD MCCCCLXXXXV
BEING THE X YERE OF KINGE HENRY THE VII.

A splendid brass records the memory of this benefactor's father, Thomas, who brought the Isleham estates into the family by his marriage with Margaret Bernard, the heiress of the former possessors. She as well as her successor, Margaret Francis, are on either side of him, in low-necked and high-waisted robes with ample skirts. That of Margaret Bernard bears a large flower and scroll pattern, and on her head-gear is inscribed the prayer "Jesu, mercy! Lady, help!" That of Margaret Francis is plain, trimmed with fur. Both wear an identical necklace, presumably the very same. Thomas himself (who was High Sheriff of Cambridge and Huntingdonshire in 1442 and 1452) is in plate armour of the most highly developed kind, with quaint and enormous elbow-guards. The figures, which are some thirty inches in height, are surmounted by an elaborate triple canopy.

Another brass, much more worn, shows somewhat smaller figures of the last of the Bernards, Sir John, and his wife, Dame Elizabeth Sakevyle. He is also in plate armour of a simpler type,[136] and she in a close-fitting kirtle and long gown, fastened by a cord across the breast, with a horned head-dress from which a veil depends over her shoulders. The dog at her feet implies that she was a lady in her own right. And yet a third brass gives us Sir Richard Peyton (1574), who was a Reader at Gray's Inn. Over his doublet he wears a gown, long, loose, and lined with fur. In his left hand he holds a book, whilst he lays the right upon his heart. His wife, Mary Hyde, beside him, is in a plain dress, falling open below the waist to show a richly brocaded petticoat.[137]

Besides these brasses, there is the fine tomb, in the north transept, of the first Bernard to be Lord of Isleham, a Crusader, as is shown by the crossed legs of his recumbent effigy. The tailed surcoat over his coat of mail fixes his date at about 1275. He was, in fact, one of those who accompanied Edward the First (not yet King) to Palestine. The moulding of the canopy above the tomb also connects him with that monarch, for it is the same as that of the Coronation Chair in Westminster Abbey, placed by Edward over the Holy Stone of Scone, which he had carried off from Scotland in token of his claim to be indeed the rightful King of that stubborn realm.

Yet another point of interest in this church is the eagle lectern, an exquisite piece of mediæval brasswork, so good, indeed, that it has been copied in the lectern of Ely Cathedral. It is apparently fifteenth century work, and was found buried in the fen, some half century ago, between Isleham and Soham, so nearly half way that both parishes laid claim to it, and even now Soham folk are not reconciled to its loss. Whoever were the original possessors, it was probably concealed in the fen to save it from the Puritan iconoclasts of the seventeenth century, who, during the Civil War, habitually destroyed lecterns of this type as "abominable idols."

Eastward from Newmarket radiate most fascinating roads, leading through heather and pine woods to Mildenhall, with its splendid church and ancient market hall; and to Brandon, where men still make (as they have made for 5000 years) palæolithic flint implements by the very same methods used in those prehistoric days; and to Bury St. Edmunds, with its wonderful ruins and great historical associations. But these are all out of our beat. To the southward, however, we are in Cambridgeshire, and a fine avenue, two miles in length, known as "the Duchess's Drive," leads up to the ridge of the East Anglian heights. It is noteworthy that almost along the whole length of that ridge, and particularly hereabouts, villages cluster thick, whereas the slopes below can show scarcely any, but form an unoccupied belt, two miles wide, between the upland and the lowland populated area. A very out-of-the-way district is this watershed between the broad basin of the Ouse and those of the little rivers running into the North Sea, for the nearest railways are miles away, and an old time peace broods over everything.

The first village we come to is Cheveley. The church here is cruciform, with a piscina of rare beauty in its Early English chancel, which is closed in by a fourteenth century rood screen of Decorated work. To the same period belongs the church chest, which has the unique feature of being made of cypress wood, and the tower, also with the unique feature of an external bartizan or watch-turret, apparently for a beacon fire. The dedication of the church is no less unique, "St. Mary and the Sacred Host."

The name of Cheveley is associated with what Professor Maitland calls "the curious if disgraceful story of the decline and fall" of the ancient Corporation of Cambridge.[138] When the Revolution of 1688 had put a final end to the old Royal prerogatives over local administration, "the Corporation stood free from national supervision"; and Parliament, as time went on, appointed Commissioners to undertake the duties of police and hygiene, which had formerly been entrusted to it. With the cessation of recognised responsibilities the Corporation also ceased to have a conscience, and shamelessly squandered the corporate property on the personal greediness of its members. The Duke of Rutland, from his great seat at Cheveley, became, till the flood of nineteenth century reforms cleansed the Augean stable, its absolute master, and his nominees only were chosen into it, and thus, after a thousand years of strenuous, and mostly beneficent life, "first as a knot of heathen hidesmen,[139] then as a township of early English burg-men, then as a corporation of mediæval burgesses," it finally dwindled to a small dining club, "with good wine, and plenty of it," absolutely dominated by one great Tory magnate, and claiming "the right to expend their income on themselves and their friends, without being bound to apply any part of it to the good of the Town." Reform came none too soon.

Cheveley is some three miles from Newmarket, and, as much further on, we reach another interesting little village, Kirtling. The local pronunciation of the name is "Catlage," which is unhappily becoming obsolete, like so many other local pronunciations throughout England, under the orthographical dead level of elementary scholasticism. The most striking edifice here is the great red-brick gate tower, with its four octagonal turrets, which is all that remains of a mansion, in its day one of the most famous in England. It was built in the reign of Queen Mary by the first Lord North, whose family still hold "Kirtling Tower," and whose son here magnificently entertained Queen Elizabeth.[140]