The city of York has lost many of its treasures, and the City Fathers seem to find it difficult to keep their hands off such relics of antiquity as are left to them. There are few cities in England more deeply marked with the impress of the storied past than York—the long and moving story of its gates and walls, of the historical associations of the city through century after century of English history. About eighty years ago the Corporation destroyed the picturesque old barbicans of the Bootham, Micklegate, and Monk Bars, and only one, Walmgate, was suffered to retain this interesting feature. It is a wonder they spared those curious stone half-length figures of men, sculptured in a menacing attitude in the act of hurling large stones downwards, which vaunt themselves on the summit of Monk Bar—probably intended to deceive invaders—or that interesting stone platform only twenty-two inches wide, which was the only foothold available for the martial burghers who guarded the city wall at Tower Place. A year or two ago the City Fathers decided, in order to provide work for the unemployed, to interfere with the city moats by laying them out as flower-beds and by planting shrubs and making playgrounds of the banks. The protest of the Yorks Archæological Society, we believe, stayed their hands.
The same story can be told of far too many towns and cities. A few years ago several old houses were demolished in the High Street of the city of Rochester to make room for electric tramways. Among these was the old White Hart Inn, built in 1396, the sign being a badge of Richard II, where Samuel Pepys stayed. He found that "the beds were corded, and we had no sheets to our beds, only linen to our mouths" (a narrow strip of linen to prevent the contact of the blanket with the face). With regard to the disappearance of old inns, we must wait until we arrive at another chapter.
We will now visit some old towns where we hope to discover some buildings that are ancient and where all is not distressingly new, hideous, and commonplace. First we will travel to the old-world town of Lynn—"Lynn Regis, vulgarly called King's Lynn," as the royal charter of Henry VIII terms it. On the land side the town was defended by a fosse, and there are still considerable remains of the old wall, including the fine Gothic South Gates. In the days of its ancient glory it was known as Bishop's Lynn, the town being in the hands of the Bishop of Norwich. Bishop Herbert de Losinga built the church of St. Margaret at the beginning of the twelfth century, and gave it with many privileges to the monks of Norwich, who held a priory at Lynn; and Bishop Turbus did a wonderfully good stroke of business, reclaimed a large tract of land about 1150 A.D., and amassed wealth for his see from his markets, fairs, and mills. Another bishop, Bishop Grey, induced or compelled King John to grant a free charter to the town, but astutely managed to keep all the power in his own hands. Lynn was always a very religious place, and most of the orders—Benedictines, Franciscans, Dominicans, Carmelite and Augustinian Friars, and the Sack Friars—were represented at Lynn, and there were numerous hospitals, a lazar-house, a college of secular canons, and other religious institutions, until they were all swept away by the greed of a rapacious king. There is not much left to-day of all these religious foundations. The latest authority on the history of Lynn, Mr. H.J. Hillen, well says: "Time's unpitying plough-share has spared few vestiges of their architectural grandeur." A cemetery cross in the museum, the name "Paradise" that keeps up the remembrance of the cool, verdant cloister-garth, a brick arch upon the east bank of the Nar, and a similar gateway in "Austin" Street are all the relics that remain of the old monastic life, save the slender hexagonal "Old Tower," the graceful lantern of the convent of the grey-robed Franciscans. The above writer also points out the beautifully carved door in Queen Street, sole relic of the College of Secular Canons, from which the chisel of the ruthless iconoclast has chipped off the obnoxious Orate pro anima.
The quiet, narrow, almost deserted streets of Lynn, its port and quays have another story to tell. They proclaim its former greatness as one of the chief ports in England and the centre of vast mercantile activity. A thirteenth-century historian, Friar William Newburg, described Lynn as "a noble city noted for its trade." It was the key of Norfolk. Through it flowed all the traffic to and from northern East Anglia, and from its harbour crowds of ships carried English produce, mainly wool, to the Netherlands, Norway, and the Rhine Provinces. Who would have thought that this decayed harbour ranked fourth among the ports of the kingdom? But its glories have departed. Decay set in. Its prosperity began to decline.
Railways have been the ruin of King's Lynn. The merchant princes who once abounded in the town exist here no longer. The last of the long race died quite recently. Some ancient ledgers still exist in the town, which exhibit for one firm alone a turnover of something like a million and a half sterling per annum. Although possessed of a similarly splendid waterway, unlike Ipswich, the trade of the town seems to have quite decayed. Few signs of commerce are visible, except where the advent of branch stations of enterprising "Cash" firms has resulted in the squaring up of odd projections and consequent overthrow of certain ancient buildings. There is one act of vandalism which the town has never ceased to regret and which should serve as a warning for the future. This is the demolition of the house of Walter Coney, merchant, an unequalled specimen of fifteenth-century domestic architecture, which formerly stood at the corner of the Saturday Market Place and High Street. So strongly was this edifice constructed that it was with the utmost difficulty that it was taken to pieces, in order to make room for the ugly range of white brick buildings which now stands upon its site. But Lynn had an era of much prosperity during the rise of the Townshends, when the agricultural improvements brought about by the second Viscount introduced much wealth to Norfolk. Such buildings as the Duke's Head Hotel belong to the second Viscount's time, and are indicative of the influx of visitors which the town enjoyed. In the present day this hotel, though still a good-sized establishment, occupies only half the building which it formerly did. An interesting oak staircase of fine proportions, though now much warped, may be seen here.
Half-timbered House with early Fifteenth-century Doorway, King's Lynn, Norfolk
In olden days the Hanseatic League had an office here. The Jews were plentiful and supplied capital—you can find their traces in the name of the "Jews' Lane Ward"—and then came the industrious Flemings, who brought with them the art of weaving cloth and peculiar modes of building houses, so that Lynn looks almost like a little Dutch town. The old guild life of Lynn was strong and vigorous, from its Merchant Guild to the humbler craft guilds, of which we are told that there have been no less than seventy-five. Part of the old Guildhall, erected in 1421, with its chequered flint and stone gable still stands facing the market of St. Margaret with its Renaissance porch, and a bit of the guild hall of St. George the Martyr remains in King Street. The custom-house, which was originally built as an exchange for the Lynn merchants, is a notable building, and has a statue of Charles II placed in a niche.
This was the earliest work of a local architect, Henry Bell, who is almost unknown. He was mayor of King's Lynn, and died in 1717, and his memory has been saved from oblivion by Mr. Beloe of that town, and is enshrined in Mr. Blomfield's History of Renaissance Architecture:—