Byways in British Archaeology

by Walter Johnson

How shall we explain the superstitions attached to these churches? One fact is manifest—the selection of site was, in the majority of cases, freely made, in the sense that other spots were available. On a broader interpretation, based on retrospect, we perceive that there was little choice, since there existed an ever-present necessity for an asylum in times of stress and danger, not to mention minor reasons. We have seen that the traditions do not assign a cause for the persistence,—nay, obstinacy, of the church-builders. Perhaps we should except those churches which were erected in particular spots as the result of the vision of some saint, or of warning cries and mysterious voices heard by the masons. On the whole, however, we can interpret the stories only by the aid of folklore and anthropology. Modern research has shown that, in the earlier stages of human life in Britain, the communities dwelt mainly on the downlands and elevated moorlands[273]. Only when the historical period was well advanced, namely, during the late Roman and Saxon occupations, were the thickly wooded valleys and marshy plains settled and cultivated. The evidence, though largely inferential, is both good and abundant, and need not be recapitulated here. All that is essential, for the moment, is to remember that descendants of the earlier races probably lived on, isolated in sparse communities, wherever the conditions were favourable. This is the legitimate conclusion to be drawn, for example, from the classical excavations made by Pitt-Rivers in the chalk downlands of Cranborne Chase. Anthropological tests afford similar support in other regions, such as the Yorkshire Wolds and the Derbyshire Moors. The remnants of the older British races, modified somewhat by intermarriage, doubtless held aloof on their bleak hills and tablelands with considerable stubbornness. The Teutonic farmers of the vales would not at first greatly interfere with the hill-top folk. A time came, however, when fresh-comers began seriously to re-invade the more elevated spots, and to form settlements. This does not seem to have been done systematically until after the Norman period. But it is clear that any impinging of new races upon the older hill-top communities, however partial in its character, would give birth to exaggeration and myth. A fair corollary may be stated: the traditions which tell of the efforts of builders having been baulked or defeated by demons, witches, or evil spirits, are echoes of the time when older races still lingered sparingly on the hill-top settlements. On the other hand, the legends which speak of dreams and visions seem to represent a purely religious development belonging to the Christian period.

The erection of a church on soil hitherto relegated, by silent consent, to primitive tribal folk, or, failing these, to the wild beasts, was a novel and startling event. We need not assume that the primary purpose of the builders was to Christianize those remote peoples, though that may have been a subsidiary motive. It is more likely that the church was intended for the churchmen who built it. But to enter an area previously left intact would provoke keen opposition. Further, it is now a commonplace that our stories of witches and wizards, fairies and demons, are in part, at least, derived from folk of the Neolithic and Bronze periods, or from their near descendants. To the conquered people was imputed magical power, while to the victors, their weapons, and their appliances, the beaten folk paid the respect due to fear. Briefly, then, the superstitions which we are considering seem to speak of the projection of one race over territory long occupied by the survivors of much earlier races, and again, of the intrusion of social habits and religious customs among folk whose beliefs and modes of life were widely different from those of the invaders.

Still the question is unanswered, Why were hill-tops chosen as sites of churches? Primarily, of course, the churches were built for worship, but the answer to the question seems to be, that, in very many cases, the building was intended for temporary refuge and defence in those unsettled centuries which lasted down to the Wars of the Roses (cf. [p. 57] supra, concerning earthworks). To establish this theory, we must consider a moderate number of instances extracted from a lengthy list. And a clearer understanding will be promoted if our minds are chiefly fixed, for the present, upon church towers alone, because these are the portions of the buildings which best illustrate the theory.

As might be anticipated, the specimens of towers which furnish the most apposite illustrations are found in the Border Counties, and in the Welsh Marches, or, on the other hand, in those districts which have few natural defences. Beginning with Cumberland, we have the embattled tower of Great Salkeld church, guarded by a massive door, plated with iron, and fitted on the inside with stout iron bars. Under the aisle of the church are chambers, which are believed to have been used as dungeons[274]. The tower at Burgh-on-the-Sands, near Carlisle, seems to have served as a fortress or pele-tower[275]. (Etymologically pele or peel = the stockaded enclosure or fort.) Normally, the pele or “peel” towers were special structures, and were erected along the border irrespective of the position of churches, as at Corbridge, in Northumberland[276]. Nevertheless, there is little doubt that strong church towers were used as substitutes for peles in times of necessity. Thus, the twelfth century tower of Edlingham church, in Northumberland, is one of several that served this purpose; while Merrington church, with its tall steeple, crowning an eminence, actually stood a siege. The tower of Bedale church, near Richmond in Yorkshire, seems to have been constructed purposely for defence. The narrow staircase has, in fact, a portcullis groove, which was accidentally revealed after the steeple had been struck by lightning. The portcullis screened the tower from the body of the church[277]. Melsonby tower, also in Yorkshire, has been described as “a Norman keep in miniature[278].” The round steeple of the Early Decorated church of Roos, in Holderness, is supposed to have been a post for watch-and-ward. It stands on high ground, and contains, near the top, a chamber which is reached by a spiral staircase of stone[279]. We know that the surrounding district was terribly ravaged by the Danes, and it is interesting to note that, in 1836, there was discovered, in a ditch at Roos, a rude model of a boat with a warrior crew. This curious object is considered to be of Scandinavian origin, and to date back to the invasion of the Danes and vikings[280]. If it be urged that the church fabric belongs to a period long subsequent to the raids of the Northmen, the comment is both fair and relevant. Two replies might be made: first, analogy indicates that churches of this kind most likely had predecessors on the same site, and secondly, defensive structures continued to be built long after the events which called them into existence passed away.

From Yorkshire we pass into North-East Lincolnshire. Here we meet with a remarkable series of Saxon towers, and here the Danish question recurs. Popular tradition, vigorous even “yn tyme of mynde,” as Leland quaintly expresses it, declared that the present towers were built as refuges from the Danes. The idea was unhesitatingly accepted by the earlier school of antiquaries, and was supported by the older architects. We now know, as the result of comparative study of architectural styles, that the theory is barely tenable. The three best-known towers of the group under consideration are those of Waith, Scartho, and Holton-le-Clay, and they are all placed by Professor Baldwin Brown in his Saxon period C[3]. In other words they are believed to belong to the time of Edward the Confessor, when there was a revival of church-building[281]. As a further safeguard against ante-dating these churches, we may notice Mr Francis Bond’s dictum that we have no Anglo-Saxon tower which is earlier than the end of the ninth century[282]. Of course, neither of these verdicts affects the question of the existence of previous towers on the present foundations. For instance,

Fig. 24. Scartho church, Lincolnshire, from the South. The Saxon tower differs from the ordinary defensive type in having an original doorway at the base, seen at the West end. The doorway facing the spectator is a later insertion (Early English) and the parapet belongs to the Perpendicular period. There is a Saxon belfry window, divided by a mid-wall shaft. The walls separating the tower from the nave are three feet in thickness.

according to writers of the middle of the last century, and indeed, much later, the tower of Scartho church ([Fig. 24]) was said to rest on large blocks of stone which showed traces of fire, and these blocks were thought to be relics of an older fabric which was burnt by the Danes. I have visited this church several times, and, while believing that the present tower may not be the original, I am not convinced that there are any fire-marked boulders to be seen. True, the masses of stone referred to by the topographers may now be quite concealed under the raised turf, but it is more likely that red lumps of ferruginous grit, which are plainly visible, have misled the antiquaries. The tower walls certainly contain a miscellany of geological specimens,—limestones, flints, sandstones, and rusty-coloured grits—and superficially the stains suggest scars caused by fire. One must, however, take account of all the circumstances that influenced church-building in a locality which, like that under consideration, is destitute of building stone. Some two or three miles distant is the church of Clee, the tower of which, except in the uppermost stage, bears a close likeness to that of Scartho. (The parapet, in each church, is a later addition.) The materials employed in Clee tower are mainly large beach pebbles, and ice-worn “cobbles,” which had been washed out of the now-vanished cliff of Boulder Clay at Cleethorpes, and which must have been assiduously collected by the perplexed and needy masons.

Professor Brown declares that there is nothing about the Lincolnshire towers themselves to indicate a defensive character, though they are situated in a region which was exposed to Danish visitations. These eleventh century towers, however, he says, represent a style which was evolved at a somewhat earlier time, when the Danes were actually hostile. At most, he will admit only “a certain general likelihood” that these particular towers were used for defence[283], but he notes the general opinion that the occurrence of such towers in districts like Lincolnshire is “hardly fortuitous[284].” The palmary fact remains, that the Lincolnshire towers were, relatively to the exposed and unprotected tract of marshland on which they were built, real fortresses. There are no natural defences in the vicinity of the churches, and ordinary dwellings must have been of an insubstantial kind. Moreover, unless the idea of earlier buildings on the present sites be unreservedly abandoned, there still remains the great probability of continuity of general pattern. Long after the land ceased to be harried by pirates, the countryfolk would anticipate, and provide against, future onslaughts. It is no bar to this argument to oppose the fact that, as we later folk now know, those attacks were not made. We shall, indeed, find that defensive towers continued to be popular for several centuries after the Norman Conquest. We may say then, that the Lincolnshire type of Saxon tower was semi-defensive, though the existing specimens are of post-Danish age. Further than that we are not warranted in forming theories.