History of Madeley / including Ironbridge, Coalbrookdale, and Coalport

APPENDIX.

“King Charles II. took refuge in the Boscobel Oak in September, 1651.  The tidings of his majesty’s restoration, and of his entry into London on the 29th of May, 1660, reached this county early in June.  ‘Hundreds of people’ now flocked to see the oak; and such was the destruction of ‘its young boughs’ during the summer that within six months after the mischief commenced the proprietor, Mr. Fitzherbert, judiciously pruned it ‘for its preservation’, and fenced it with a ‘high’ paling.  (Blount’s ‘Boscobel’, printed in 1660.)  Thirty years afterwards it is recorded by the Rev. G. Plaxton, rector of Donington, that the paling had been superseded—he does not say in what year—by a handsome brick wall, built also at the charge of Mr. Fitzherbert (Basil and Jane), which brings us to the year 1690.  Twenty-one years later, in 1711, Dr. Stukeley visited the oak; and again, thirteen years afterwards, Dr. Stukeley says—‘The tree is now inclosed with a brick wall,’ bringing the safe custody of the tree down to 1724.  Sixty-three years later we learn from the old inscription that Basil and Eliza Fitzherbert rebuilt the old wall of their ancestors, recording that ‘Felicissimam Arborem Muro cinctam posteris commendarunt Basilins et Jana Fitzherbert,’ bringing us to the year 1787.  This wall was eight or nine feet high, and injuriously close to the tree; and after thirty years, that is in the year 1817, the present palisades were erected, freely admitting light and air to the hole, and affording a clear view of the whole tree, with the holes in it carefully covered to keep out the wet.”

“As soon as I was disguised I took with me a country fellow, whose name was Richard Penderell, whom Mr. Giffard had undertaken to answer for to be an honest man.  He was a Roman Catholic, and I chose to trust them, because I knew they had hiding holes for priests, that I thought I might make use of in case of need.

“I was no sooner gone (being the next morning after the battle, and then broad day) out of the house with this country fellow, but being in a great wood, I set myself at the edge of the wood, near the highway that was there, the better to see who came after us, and whether they made any search after the runaways, and I immediately saw a troop of horse coming by, which I conceived to be the same troop that beat our three thousand horse; but it did not look like a troop of the army’s, but of the militia, for the fellow before it did not look at all like a soldier.

“In this wood I staid all day, without meat or drink; and by great good fortune it rained all the time, which hindered them, as I believe, from coming into the wood to search for men that might be fled thither.  And one thing is remarkable enough, that those with whom I have since spoken, of them that joined with the horse upon the heath, did say that it rained little or nothing with them all the day, but only in the wood where I was, this contributing to my safety.

“As I was in the wood I talked with the fellow about getting towards London: and asking him many questions about what gentlemen he knew, I did not find he knew any man of quality in the way towards London.  And the truth is, my mind changed as I lay in the wood, and I resolved of another way of making my escape; which was, to get over the Severn into Wales, and so to get either to Swansey, or some other of the sea-towns that I knew had commerce with France, to the end I might get over that way as being a way that I thought none would suspect my taking; besides that, I remembered several honest gentlemen that were of my acquaintance in Wales.

“So that night, as soon as it was dark, Richard Penderell and I took our journey on foot towards the Severn, intending to pass over a ferry, halfway between Bridgenorth and Shrewsbury.  But as we were going in the night, we came by a mill where I heard some people talking (memorandum, that I had got some bread and cheese the night before at one of the Penderell’s houses, I not going in), and as we conceived it was about twelve or one o’clock at night; and the country fellow desired me not to answer if any body should ask me any questions, because I had not the accent of the country.

“Just as we came to the mill, we could see the miller, as I believe, sitting at the mill door, he being in white clothes, it being a very dark night.  He called out, “Who goes there?”  Upon which Richard Penderell answered, “Neighbours going home,” or some such-like words.  Whereupon the miller cried out, “If you be neighbours, stand, or I will knock you down.”  Upon which, we believing there was company in the house, the fellow bade me follow him close, and he run to a gate that went up a dirty lane, up a hill, and opening the gate, the miller cried out, “Rogues! rogues!”  And thereupon some men came out of the mill after us, which I believe were soldiers; so we fell a-running, both of us up the lane, as long as we could run, it being very deep and very dirty, till at last I bade him leap over a hedge, and lie still to hear if anybody followed us; which we did, and continued lying down upon the ground about half an hour, when, hearing nobody come, we continued our way on to the village upon the Severn, where the fellow told me there was an honest gentleman, one Mr. Woolfe, that lived in that town, where I might be with great safety, for that he had hiding-holes for priests.  But I would not go in till I knew a little of his mind, whether he would receive so dangerous a guest as me, and therefore stayed in a field, under a hedge by a great tree, commanding him not to say it was I, but only to ask Mr. Woolfe whether he would receive an English gentleman, a person of quality, to hide him the next day, till we could travel again by night, for I durst not go but by night.

“Mr. Woolfe, when the country fellow told him that it was one that had escaped from the battle of Worcester, said that, for his part, it was so dangerous a thing to harbour any body that was known, that he would not venture his neck for any man, unless it were the king himself.  Upon which, Richard Penderell, very indiscreetly, and without any leave, told him that it was I.  Upon which Mr. Woolfe replied, that he should be very ready to venture all he had in the world to secure me.  Upon which Richard Penderell came and told me what he had done, at which I was a little troubled; but then there was no remedy, the day being just coming on, and I must either venture that or run some greater danger.

“So I came into the house a back way, where I found Mr. Woolfe, an old gentleman, who told me he was very sorry to see me there, because there was two companies of the militia foot at that time in arms in the town, and kept a guard at the ferry, to examine every body that came that way, in expectation of catching some that might be making their escape that way; and that he durst not put me into any of the hiding-holes of his house, because they had been discovered, and consequently, if any search should be made, they would certainly repair to these holes; and that therefore I had no other way of security but to go into his barn, and there lie behind his corn and hay.  So after he had given us some cold meat that was ready, we, without making any bustle in the house, went and lay in the barn all the next day; when, towards evening, his son, who had been prisoner at Shrewsbury, an honest man, was released, and came home to his father’s house.  And as soon as ever it began to be a little darkish, Mr. Woolfe and his son brought us meat into the barn; and there we discoursed with them whether we might safely get over the Severn into Wales, which they advised me by no means to adventure upon, because of the strict guards that were kept all along the Severn, where any passage could be found, for preventing any body’s escaping that way into Wales.”

“The stone stood on the north side of the chancel of the chapel, on the left as you entered the chancel door.  When, however, I became curate of Donnington, in the year 1811, it had disappeared.  I made frequent inquiries, afterwards, at intervals, of the cottagers and others, as to the disappearance of the monument, but without obtaining any satisfactory information.”

[35]  Did this designation—arising, we presume, from making frequent attestations—give rise to “Attenbrooke,” “Addenbrook,” and similar surnames?

[37]  On another page we have spoken of a later member of this family, who, by indenture, dated 29th of May, 1706, bequeathed a sum of money to the poor of Madeley, and of Comerford Brooks, who, in consideration of the said sum, £40, and a further sum of £30 paid him by Audley Bowdler and others, granted three several cottages in Madeley Wood, the rent and profits of which were to be devoted to the use of the poor of the parish of Madeley, in such manner as the grantees, with the consent of the vicar and parish officers, should think lit.  This is the latest notice we have obtained.  The Basil Brooke here spoken of is the one also previously referred to in our introduction, as fourth in descent from a gallant knight in the reign of King Charles, and who is said to have secreted his Majesty in a square hole behind the wainscoating of the chapel, which the inmates of the Court-house describe as “King Charles’s Hole.”  Of the charity we shall speak under the head of “Benefactions,” later on.

[40]  It was from a subsequent sale of this property that the old Poor-House was built.

[54]  For further particulars relating to King Charles’s Visit, see Appendix.

[121]  We have before us an octavo book, of a hundred pages, written as late as 1820, by James Heaton, entitled “The Demon Expelled.”  In his introduction he laments that Christians have of late years “lightly ridiculed the existence of apparitions, witches, and demoniacs.”  In the days of our fathers, venerable divines and “learned men, ornaments of the church and the state,” he tells us, believed in these things, and he quotes Wesley, Samuel Clarke, and others in support of his views.  He commences by gravely telling us that the boy “had been frightened by being shut up by himself in a school, that he had been blistered all over the head, bled repeatedly, and was taking medicines, and that these produced fainting, profuse perspiration, and sickness.  They prayed and sang around him for four or five hours at a stretch, twenty or thirty of them at a time, the boy being tied down to prevent him running away, till at last the lad refused to hold a testament in his hands, and the sight of a hymn-book put him into convulsions.  Although seven preachers and thirty other people were present, praying and singing did not avail till they adjured the evil spirit, mentally, telling him to depart, and after arguing and talking to them for some time through the lad’s nose the demon finally took his departure.”

[175]  Mr. Brown is an innkeeper; the sign is the “Turner’s Arms,” and over a glass of his home-brewed the following conversation with the author ensued.  He said, “I turned all the wood-work which required turning for the Anstice Memorial, both when it was first built and when it was restored.”  Author: “Well, and you tried another art Mr. Brown,”—this with a look at Mrs. Brown, who sat on the opposite side of the fire—“You tried the art of match-making; and really Mrs. B. must have been a courageous woman to allow you to succeed.”

This remark brought out Mrs. B., who now joined in the conversation, and under a little gentle pressure, gave us some particulars as to how the marriage came about, and how after sundry visits of her armless suitor, to Birmingham, she was wooed and won.

“But how did you manage to put the ring on, Mr. Brown?”

“Oh,” said Brown laughing, “I could have managed that if they had given me time, but the clergyman, mind you, was a good sort of man, and he said, ‘Allow me to help you,’ and he slipped on the ring.”

Mrs. Brown, who is a comely-looking woman, proceeded to tell how the parson called upon her former mistress, and related the circumstance with great glee.

[235]  Mr. Dyas had previously had a seat at the Board.

[242]  Among the papers met with in the old building was one dated April 29th, 1805, entitled, an assessment of fivepence in the pound for the purpose of raising part of the sum of £100 levied on this parish of Madeley for deficiency of the Army of Reserve, and Regiments of the Militia, 5th of February, 1805.  The following names and sums occur:—

[253]  A still greater fright was experienced by the driver of a hearse from the Tontine.  A man named Holyoake, a sort of half-witted fellow, who had a fancy for attending funerals on both sides the Severn, got into the hearse after the coffin had been removed, and it being a hot day went to sleep.  Poor “Billy” did not wake till the hearse had been put in the coach-house, when one of the establishment going in, Billy called out from his retreat “How go mon,” and the man rushed from the place in a fright that is said to have turned his hair white.

[277]  Sometimes called Culbrok.

[292]  Barnabas Spruce had been Cashier at the Bedlam Works under William Reynolds; he kept a public house near the old water engine in the Lloyds, which was known and patronised for miles round for old beer.  William Reynolds, Benjamin Edge, and others of that class were accustomed to meet there.  The sign was “the Newhill Pit.”  Barnabus died Jan. 1833.  At the funeral on the 24th, as a last and fitting tribute to so worthy a brewer of good beer, a large number assembled.  There were 37 horsemen, who had hatbands and gloves; and 40 gallons of ale were drank before starting to Madeley Church.

[300]  It would be impossible for those not then old enough to take cognizance of what was passing around them to conceive the bitterness of the controversy, or the unfair advantage some of the sects sought to take of the educational-movement.  Among others, the Rev. Mr. Tilley, Baptist Minister of Bridgnorth, made it his business to make the circuit of this district to publicly warn the people against what he described as a Jesuitical scheme on the part of Government to entrap and enslave the people, by subsidising the teachers.  His statements being challenged by the present writer, at a meeting in the Wesleyan Chapel, Coalbrookdale, a public discussion was held in the Boys School-room, Mr. Crookes in the chair.

[306]  These, with their associated fossils, were sold to the Government: some were exchanged with the representative of a French Museum; others are still to be seen in the National Museum, Jermyn Street.

[318]  When W. Anstice, Esq., father of the present W. R. Anstice, Esq., was adding to his collection, one of the men brought him one of these fossils, remarking, “well measter, I’ve brought something at last.”  Mr. A.—“Well Baugh, what is it?”  Baugh, drawing it slowly from his flannel; “well I dunno know, but I’ll tell you my opinion.  My opinion is that it is a piece of the seat of Noah’s breeches; or else Noah must of sat down on a soft piece of rock after the Flood and left the impression of his corduroys!”  We need scarcely say that the story excited a roar at the time, or that its repetition when well told has raised many a broad grin since.

[325]   It was a lay too in another sense; for some forty years ago the share of a plough, held by a man named Palmer, drove through the end of a leaden pipe, which had been closed at each end and which on being opened was found to contain a number of gold coins piled closely together; the larger ones, the size of half-crowns, in the centre; others the size of shillings at each end of them; and others the size of sixpences at each end of these.  Singularly enough there was neither date nor inscription on either; so that who laid them by is uncertain.

[333]  A chest was found in this house a few years ago with an ancient date, and is now in possession of Mrs. Beckett, Nee Edge, of Sheffield.

[340]  See appendix.