Henlle—,, Hen, old, and Lle, Place.

Daywell—,, Fynnon du, or dydd. Day Spring (or well).

Fernhill—,, Fwrn and Oven, or Hole and Hill.

A tradition long prevailed in the village, that it was the birth-place of the renowned Sir Richard Whittington, “thrice Lord Mayor of London town.” It is now, however, generally understood that he was born in the township of Newnes, (not far from Whittington,) about one mile north-west of Ellesmere. Shropshire claims him for her own; and if Whittington really was “a proud Salopian,” the county has a right to be proud of the honour of enrolling among its worthies so distinguished a name. Another vague tradition prevailed, that the well-known metrical tale of “The Babes in the Wood” derives its origin from Babins’ wood, (commonly called Babbys’ wood,) near Whittington. The tradition adds, that the murder of the two children by their cruel uncle was perpetrated at this place. Gough, the historian of Middle, relates particulars of the murder of a child by its uncle, but his account is only from tradition, and therefore mixed up with much error.

The version we now give of this murder, derived from an authentic source, shews that the ballad of the Babes in the Wood could not have been founded upon it. The scene of the nursery rhyme is laid in Norfolk, and all the circumstances it details differ materially from those of the murder at Knockin heath. The version we have is as follows:—

“1590, 27th March.—A man and woman were executed at Knockin heath, for murdering a child of the age of five years, for his land, being an heir of £5 a-year, or thereabout, which fell after the said child’s death, if he died without issue, to his uncles, being three of them, which uncles procured and imagined the death of the said child ever since his birth. Two of the uncles were executed at Bridgenorth assizes, and the third pressed to death there. But the woman being grandmother to the child, and the man named Geffrey Elkes, being hired to do the deed, were executed at the said heath where the said deed was done.” “Elkes, at his execution, affirmed that he did not kill the child, but brought a pail of water to the heath, and left it there with the child and the uncle that was pressed to death, but he confessed that before the deed was done, and after, two ravens usually would meet him, follow him, and cry about him; and when he escaped and hid himself, the said ravens did cry, and flew about the place, and descried him out, and he was found in a cock of hay by their means.”

The parish register is a curious record of odds and ends, and from it we make a few quaint selections:—

“Died March 11th, 1767.—Thomas Evans, parish clerk, aged 72.

‘Old Sternhold’s lines, or Vicar of Bray,
Which he tun’d best is hard to say.’

I do make choice of William Evans, his son, to serve the office of parish clerk, being qualified according to the 91st canon, viz: above twenty years of age, and of an honest conversation, and very sufficient for his reading, writing, and also for his competent skill in singing, tho’ not so clever a piper as his father. This choice was signified to the parishioners in time of divine service, on Sunday, the 15th day of March, 1767.

(Signed) by me, W. Roberts, Rr.”

“1776.—Andrew Williams, in Whittington, aged 84, Decoy-man under the Aston family, at the Decoy, in this parish, above 60 years:—

“Here lies the Decoy-man, who liv’d like an otter,
Dividing his time between land and water:
His hide he oft soak’d in the waters of Perry,
Whilst Aston old beer his spirits kept cheery;
Amphibious his trim, Death was puzzl’d, they say,
How to dust to reduce such well-moisten’d clay.
So Death turn’d Decoy-man, and decoy’d him to land,
Where he fix’d his abode till quite dried to the hand;
He then found him fitting for crumbling to dust,
And here he lies mould’ring, as you and I must.”

“Samuel Peate, of Whittington Castle, died, aged 84.

“Here lies Governor Peate,
Whom no man did hate,
At the age of four-score,
And four years more,
He pretended to wrestle
With Death, for his castle,
But was soon out of breath,
And surrender’d to Death,
Who away did him take,
At the eve of our Wake,
One morn about seven,
To keep Wake in heaven.”