As we look down the stream, the view before long appears to be closed by a wooded ridge, which seems at first to prohibit further progress. This is Benthall Edge, which may be said to begin at Lincoln Hill, on the left bank of the Severn, and on the opposite side to join on to Wenlock Edge, to the south-west. It is formed of the Wenlock limestone, belonging to the Silurian system, and so called from the townlet of Much Wenlock. This owes its origin and part of its name—for “Much” is a corruption of monasterium, like moutier in French—to its priory, once famed as “the oldest and most privileged—perhaps the wealthiest and most magnificent—of the religious houses of Shropshire.” Now it is only a ruin, except that the priory-house is still inhabited, and is a remarkably good instance of a domestic building of the fifteenth century. The ruins, however, are very extensive, and in parts most picturesque. But as they are a league away from the riverside, and are hid by the wooded slopes of Wenlock Edge, we must turn to another ruin, which stands on the level strath, almost by the waterside, just before the hills close in upon the Severn. This is Buildwas Abbey, formerly an abode of the Cistercians, which bears traces of that strict order in the simplicity of its architecture. Still, its ruins are admirable in their noble simplicity. “They impress us with the power of its designer, who ventured to trust simply to the strength of his composition and the grace of his outlines, so as to dispense with almost all ornamentation whatever. It thus gives it a sense of calmness and repose, for which we seek in vain in works of more modern date.”[3] The style indicates the passage from Norman to Early English; the influence of the latter, on the whole, predominating. The church and chapter-house are still in fair preservation. The abbot’s house—mainly thirteenth-century work—has been restored, and is inhabited. The date of the foundation is a little uncertain; but it is believed to have been about the middle of the twelfth century. Buildwas was a wealthy abbey in its day, but made no figure in history.
Through the ridge of Benthall Edge the Severn has sawn its way, so that the river-valley now becomes almost a gorge, along which, on the abrupt southern side, the Severn Valley railway has been conducted, and this not without considerable engineering difficulties. Wooded steeps and grey crags on either side of the strong stream flowing at their feet form a series of exquisite pictures, though unhappily not for long, for a change comes where the dirty hand of man has smirched the face of Nature. To the north and to the east of the limestone hills lies the most noted of the Shropshire coalfields, that of Coalbrook Dale, which is rich also in iron, though its mineral wealth is becoming exhausted. Dismantled engine-houses and great piles of dark rubbish are only one shade less unpicturesque than tall chimneys vomiting black fumes, smelting furnaces, the apparatus of the pit-mouth, and smouldering spoil-banks. But before the days of “smoke, and wealth, and noise,” this part of the ravine of the Severn, and even Coalbrook Dale itself, must have been very beautiful.
Ironbridge is a dingy-looking town, built on the steep hillside, which gets its name from the metal arch—120 feet in span—by which the Severn was bridged in the year 1779. On the opposite side of the river, hardly more than a mile away, is Broseley, noted for pottery and clay pipes; and another mile west of that, Benthall, equally noted for encaustic tiles. The neighbourhood of the Severn, as far as Coalport, has fallen off in beauty as it has increased in wealth. But soon, in a geological sense, “the old order changeth, yielding place to new”: the Severn quits the coal-measures to enter once more upon the red rocks, which belong to a more recent period. Smoking chimneys and spoil-banks are left behind, the valley widens, though the scenery continues to be far from tame, and we pass on by Linley and by Apley Park; the river sometimes gliding beneath sandstone crags and steeply sloping woods, till in about four miles we reach Bridgnorth.
The situation is a striking one: the Severn has carved out a deep and rather narrow valley in the sandstone rock, and a tributary stream has fashioned another after a like pattern. Between these the upland forms a wedge-like promontory, defended on either side by a steep, almost precipitous, scarp. On this, not very much less than a couple of hundred feet above the river, the upper town, the church, and the castle were built. The town has gradually climbed down the eastern slope towards the Severn, it has spread out along its margin, it has crossed the stream and has occupied the tract of level meadow on the opposite side, the two portions being connected by a bridge which is in part far from modern. From the lower town here to the upper one on the plateau is a steep ascent, even though the principal road winds up. The church stands near the edge of the scarp, on which the wall of its graveyard is built. Needless to say, it commands a very striking view—sandstone crags, and steeply shelving woods and green fields beyond, with the river and the lower town in the glen beneath. The most interesting part of Bridgnorth is its broad High Street, bounded at one end by a gateway, with the old market hall—a black and white structure, of the date 1652, which is supported on brick arches. This street also contains one or two fine houses of about the same era. Others, again, will be found in or near to the churchyard, and yet another near the end of the street, which descends so steeply as the main way to the lower town. This, which bears the date 1580, is a particularly good specimen of the black-timbered houses so abundant in the valley of the Severn. Here, in the year 1729, Percy was born, the collector and editor of the “Reliques of Ancient English Poetry.” Bridgnorth Castle also must not be forgotten; occupying the extremity of the promontory already mentioned, it was a place of great strength in olden days, and stood more than one siege. It was destroyed after holding out for a month for King Charles. The most conspicuous remnant is a massive wall, a portion of the keep, which has heeled over to one side, at so great an angle—about 17 degrees—that it looks actually unsafe. The adjacent church was designed by Telford, the eminent engineer, to whom we are more indebted for the suspension bridge over the Menai Straits than for this rather ugly Renaissance building.
IRONBRIDGE (p. [99]).
