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.

Leaving Lincolnshire, we notice a Bedfordshire example, that of Clapham. Here the church has a massive Saxon tower, which possesses an exterior door at a height of twenty feet from the ground. There is no window opening in the lower portion. It is not an insignificant fact that this tower overlooked a ford across the Ouse, which was approached by an ancient road[285]. The striking position of the door at Clapham has many parallels. The old tower of Swanage parish church, Dorset, had no door lower than the second story, and access was probably gained by ladders, which could be afterwards drawn up if required. At Norton, Derbyshire, the doorway of the tower, which is supposed to have been erected about A.D. 1300, is six feet from the ground, and was formerly reached by an external staircase of stone[286]. Occasionally, the external door was absent altogether. This was originally the case at Rugby church, the tower of which could be entered only through the nave[287]. This tower, which dates from the fourteenth century, is of square outline, and is devoid of buttresses. Its loftiness is conspicuous, for it reaches a height of 63 feet. The windows are narrow, and the lowest is twelve feet from the ground. Consider, again, the little church of Swindon, near Cheltenham, with which the writer was once very familiar. The tower is of hexagonal shape, and the walls are thick and substantial. The only windows, a quarter of a century ago, were mere loopholes, splayed without and within, and placed near the top of the structure. A doorway on the North-East gave access to the tower; were this entrance blocked, one could only gain admittance by an exterior staircase on the West side.

The defensive tower, however, is perhaps seen at its best in South Wales. In the district of Gower, in Glamorganshire, twelve out of sixteen towers are believed to have been erected as much for defence as for beauty; each is a stronghold as well as a campanile[288]. Generally these towers have no buttresses, and frequently, as at Oystermouth (Fig. 25), they “batter,” or slope a little from the base upwards. This battering is also met with in the castles of South Wales. Again, the towers have an overhanging embattled parapet, supported on corbels. Where exterior doors are now found, they are usually later insertions. The original doors, where they exist, resemble those of keeps in being situated some height from the ground. The tower, too, opens into the nave as often by a mere doorway as by a belfry arch. Instead of belfry windows, there are insignificant slits, and the rest of the wall is quite blank, and destitute of architectural or decorative features. In short, as Freeman expressed it, the essential military character of the towers is stamped on every stone[289].

The churches of South Pembrokeshire are not less remarkable. The study of these buildings is rendered more attractive because the area in which they are found corresponds roughly with the territory occupied by the non-Welsh folk of “Little England beyond Wales.” This fact may indicate a period of severe struggles between the English and Norman intruders and the earlier settlers, but not necessarily; since the Gower churches, at least, would have to be explained somewhat differently. The raids of the Norsemen upon the Pembrokeshire coast seem to have come to an end with the eleventh century; hence dread of inland foes seems to have caused the erection of these strong towers. Professor Freeman, who carefully investigated the Pembrokeshire towers, and who wrote a painstaking account of their architectural details, observed, “Every tower is a fortress, designed to hold out as long as Zaragoza or Sebastopol[290].” Anyone who has examined these churches, will, after making some deduction for the literary form of expression, be prepared to endorse this opinion. Take, for instance, the church of Gumfreston, near Tenby (Fig. 26), already known to the reader through its medicinal spring (p. 95 supra). This sequestered church is built on the inner slopes of that high ridge which, on the North, overhangs the lovely vale of St Florence. Almost enclosed by trees, with whose foliage the ivy-wreathed tower quietly harmonizes, the tall fabric is approached unwittingly, so that, when the visitor reaches the gate of the churchyard, the

picture calls forth a sudden exclamation of pleasure. A second and more critical glance reveals the chief features of the tower. Its height, 65 feet, is especially noticeable. Like other towers which we have met, it tapers a little, and it is crowned with a battlement. Each of its five stories was evidently devoted to a particular use. Freeman has noted them: a ringers’ chamber below, followed by stories which had windows looking towards the North and East, then a room fitted up as a dovecot, and lastly the belfry itself[291]. The date of the Gumfreston tower is fixed approximately at A.D. 1300. Of the Pembrokeshire series as a whole, Freeman says that they were all built within “castle times,” and that they belong to “all manner of centuries from the first to the last Harry[292].” He further considers that he could discern preparations for habitation in “some of the vaulted apartments.” The simple character of the Pembroke towers formerly led many writers to assign them to a pre-Norman period, but this opinion is now discredited. On the other hand, the evidence shows that they are not, as a class, late Tudor buildings, as extremists in the contrary direction have suggested.

A subtle objection is made that the towers may be simply imitations of castellated architecture, and that the resemblance, being incidental and unintentional, has no recondite significance. There is some degree of force in the contention, because there must have been interaction of influence. Thus, not only in semi-secular buildings, like the abbot’s barn of Bradford-on-Avon (Figs. 43, 44, pp. 171, 173 infra), but also in castles and fortified mansions, like that of Nunney (Fig. 27), do we meet with architectural features which are usually associated with religious structures. Such details, as a rule, are best seen in doors and windows, and they are in harmony with the Gothic styles of their respective periods. Side by side with these ornamental features, primitive arrangements for defence are retained, even in the Tudor country mansions. In spite of this cross-influence it may be observed that the defensive steeples occur just in those places where defence

would be required. Often, as at Gumfreston, the church was the only building strong enough to give adequate security to human beings and to portable property. Castles do not exist everywhere, neither, indeed, do these sturdy towers; but the one group seems to be largely complementary to the other. Exception has also been taken to the evidential value of the narrow window openings. Mr Allcroft, while expressing agreement with the theory that ecclesiastical towers were frequently employed for protection, deprecates an appeal to these narrow slits as affording satisfactory testimony[293]. He contends that the openings were made strait and were provided with an inner splay to minimize draughts. That they would be moderately efficient for this purpose may be conceded. Not only the ordinary current of air, but the high gale, had to be foreseen and provided against. Glazing the apertures was out of the question, in the early times when glass was a costly article, especially in remote counties. But there is another mode of approaching the question. What was the purpose of the well-known “oillets” in buildings purely defensive? Even in primitive warfare no tower was impregnable if it presented wide openings to the foe. Arrows and slingstones would, under certain conditions, prove more swift and deadly agents than fire itself. We may grant that the round-headed twin aperture, with its single plain baluster-shaft in the middle, so familiar in the late Saxon towers of England, was not avowedly of a defensive character. That admission does not exclude a belief in the defensive value of the narrow window. During the Perpendicular period a tiny battlemented parapet was frequently used for the ornamentation of a capital or transom, but such a practice does not negative the original use of the battlement in fortification. Further it might be reasonably argued that the strait window-opening was copied from secular strongholds because it originally served one purpose in all cases. The point is not of prime importance, but it is worthy of note that the narrow loophole continued to prevail after glass had come into general use for church windows, and after bells had become common. The price of glass was, therefore, not the deterrent. Again, the bell-ringer would perhaps have actually welcomed a wider opening. Whatever may have been the motive, we find that, from the Early English period onward, the tiers of spire lights known as dormer window’s or lucarnes, though mainly decorative in character, continued to be made very narrow. On the other hand, these dormers were so arranged that one series was placed, with respect to the group above or below, on alternate sides of the spire. One fact remains; in towers which were designed to withstand attack, the retention, if not the initiation, of the narrow type of opening, suggests motives of strategy.

Before quitting the English towers it is well to note that the strength of many of them was tested during the Civil War. In Devonshire alone, a number of instances can be brought forward. The Parliamentary troopers turned the towers of Powderham and Ottery St Mary into temporary fortresses, while the Royalists annexed those of Tiverton, St Budeaux, and Townstall[294]. In Wiltshire and Yorkshire, again, several churches were used as shelter for men and horses. Thorold Rogers asserts that the Royalists garrisoned the parish church of a Hampshire town, the name of which, however, he does not give, and, thus protected, withstood a siege and cannonade[295]. The reader will doubtless recall many instances in which tradition tells of church walls battered by shot and shell. Making due allowance for exaggeration, it must be admitted that folk-memory has a sound basis in fact, and some, at least, of the damaged buildings may be genuine illustrations of the effects of assault by artillery.

It is all but impossible to bid farewell to defensive steeples without some reference to the famous round towers of Ireland. The disinclination to ignore the subject is increased by the knowledge that these structures afford collateral proof of the defence theory. For the best instructed modern opinion pronounces them to be fortresses as well as belfries. These towers, which have been the cause of an abiding controversy, are typically tall and slender, and are surmounted by conical caps. Their height ranges roughly from about 60 to 125 feet. The number of examples still remaining is given as 76, and they are found exclusively in association with some early church, or with some ecclesiastical settlement. The usual position is near the North-West door of the church[296]. This fact alone indicates their connection with early Christianity. A typical round tower, somewhat restored, is that of Devenish, situated on an islet of the same name in Lower Lough Erne, county Fermanagh (Fig. 28). In the vicinity is the ruined priory of St Molaise, as well as several other ecclesiastical remains.

A gradual advance can be traced in the architectural style of the round towers. The stages of their development were parallel to, and probably contemporaneous with, those of the churches and oratories[297]. Three periods of building have been distinguished. It is not until the beginning of the tenth century, says Miss Eleanor Hull, that we find the towers mentioned, and none can be dated earlier with certainty. They are later in date than the churches built by St Columba at Raphoe, Kells, and elsewhere, and they belong essentially to the period when the Northmen made their attacks on Ireland. Nevertheless, they continued to be built until the middle of the thirteenth century[298]. All these facts are of vast interest when we recollect those Lincolnshire churches which, folk-memory tells us, once served as refuges from the Danes.

Normally, the round tower contained three stories, and, like many of the English towers before described, had the outside door placed high up in the wall, so that it was accessible only by means of a ladder. Similarly, the oratory of Kells has three small chambers, or attics, between its round barrel vault and the outer pointed roof of stone; these chambers could be reached only by the aid of a long ladder, and entered through a hole in the inside roof. Viewed in comparison with the other buildings of the period, the oratory represents a lofty structure. It has a highly pitched roof, and receives no light save what is afforded by two small windows. This building is assigned by Miss M. Stokes to the year A.D. 807[299].

In passing, we note that the round tower was probably developed from the beehive hut, and became specialized for a definite purpose, which we shall discuss in a moment or two. The beehive house, in its turn, was most likely evolved from the wattled dwellings of the ruder aborigines of Ireland. Professor A. C. Haddon cited authorities to show that the round towers structurally betray their pagan design, by their retention of string-courses which serve no useful object. The towers, he considers, are, in reality, derived from primitive wicker huts, circular in plan, and of a somewhat tall type[300].

We now inquire what purpose the towers were intended to serve. The answer, though given with a fair degree of decisiveness to-day, has been long in coming, and there still exists a minority of writers who dissent from the orthodox view, and who favour other theories, some of which are of the fantastic kind.

The earliest name given to the round tower, so far as is yet recorded, is cloictech, or belfry (A.D. 948). Naturally, therefore, one is led to associate the towers with bells; yet, seeing that only small hand-bells are believed to have been in existence at that date, a large tower of masonry would not be needed for their reception. Nor, again, would these small bells have been well heard, when rung from the top of the tower, even by folk standing at the base[301]. The insignificant windows of the earlier towers are, for some unknown reason, usually near the floor. The later structures, it is true, have windows near the top, facing different points of the compass. These examples may have been used as belfries proper. Speaking generally, the towers were, nevertheless, not belfries. Even could it be proved that, co-eval with the towers, there existed a knowledge of bell-casting, that would not settle the question, because there are no structural signs that bells were ever hung, or rung, within the buildings. We may conclude, then, that the towers were, in part, depositories for bells, though not themselves actually bell-towers.

Dismissing a number of unsupported speculations, one by one, we are finally shut in to the conclusion that the towers were originally defensive. They were refuges for men, and storehouses for valuable property. This is the verdict delivered by those who, like Miss M. Stokes and Miss E. Hull, know the round towers best[302]. Mr G. T. Clark, in his early study of the subject, thought that the towers were principally intended to receive bells, and that their uses for refuge and storage were later adaptations. In after years, he changed his opinion, and declared that what he had formerly deemed the secondary purpose, was in reality the sole one[303]. A more recent authority, Mr Francis Bond, has compared the round tower with the Italian campanile, of which he considered it to be a local variety. But he draws this great distinction: the Italian structure was built to receive bells, and may afterwards have served for defence; with the builders of the Irish towers, refuge was the primary idea, though, at a subsequent period, bells were hung in the fortress. There remains an authority whose voice must be heard with great respect. Mr J. Romilly Allen, while agreeing that the bells of the early Celtic church were portable, and that they were rung by hand, contends that the towers were erected to accommodate bells of a heavier kind. Nevertheless, he admits that the Viking invasion gave an impetus to the building of the towers[304]. This divergence from the modern view is noteworthy, though if Mr Allen’s statement were restricted to the later buildings, the theories would harmonize fairly well.

When the Northmen swooped down upon a district, priests and people would hasten to the nearest tower. Thither the fugitives carried their most precious possessions: manuscripts, relics, sacred vessels, and vestments. Some objects of this kind may have been housed in the tower permanently. Once gathered within their asylum, the inhabitants were comparatively secure. They could hurl stones and other projectiles from the narrow loopholes, while they themselves were safe from danger, at least, until relief arrived. On the other hand, missiles thrown by the besiegers, either from the hand or a catapult, would rarely hit the defenders inside. A successful battery could not be made in a few minutes, and even firing the stone tower was not a speedy mode of overpowering the refugees.

After the Danish incursions came to an end, the towers would still serve as spy-places against native enemies, as “strongrooms” for protection against thieves, and, probably, as we have seen, as bell-towers for raising alarms. The pattern of the tower, moreover, would long survive its original necessity. Summing up, we may say that the round towers were defensive buildings, the use of which was mainly secular, but to some extent ecclesiastical also. Perhaps we ought rather to say that the religious and the secular uses were so blended that no demarcation could be made.

The round towers suggest to us parallel usages in England. The first similarity is that of the detached church tower, which is not a rare feature in our Gothic architecture. Selecting a few examples from a numerous list, we notice the isolated tower of Walton, Norfolk; Berkeley, Gloucestershire; Evesham, Worcestershire; and Ledbury, Herefordshire. The last-named county supplies several instances, a fact not without interest, in view of the geographical position. Bosbury tower, Hereford, is situated 60 yards from the South side of the church; while that of Pembridge, which stands on an eminence, is 25 yards distant from the main body of the building. As with the hill-top churches, the peasantry generally have a tradition to explain the anomaly. Thus, at Warmsworth, Yorkshire, two sisters, charitable, but obstinate, are said to have made a bequest for the building of a church. Each lady had chosen a site for the church; neither would give way. The fabric was in consequence built in detached portions. The bells call the folk to church in one direction, the congregation walks away to service in another. Obviously, the ordinary folk-tales, as told nowadays, do not fully explain the facts. In several cases, as at Wickes and Wrabness, in Essex, and at Brookland in Romney Marsh, it is evident, from the size and construction of the tower, that it was built, not for hanging bells, but for defence and refuge. The English detached towers, it will be remarked, are usually square, not circular. The round detached tower of Bramfield, in Suffolk, is an exception, and there may be others.

The circular towers of East Anglia (Fig. 29) are only partially analogous to those of Ireland. They belong to various styles from the Norman period onwards, but they are, as just mentioned, attached, not free. Again, while the Irish towers are round because of their development from primitive structures of that shape, the English towers had their form determined by the nature of the building materials available, flint and coarse rubble. Yet there are points of resemblance also. The towers of Norfolk and Suffolk are usually devoid of ornament or individuality. The windows, too, are commonly found in the upper stories, and they face the Cardinal Points[305]. Many of the towers overlook the North Sea, and they were doubtless used for posts of observation, if not as receptacles for treasure. The custom of building defensive towers, whether square or round, in connection with the church, was, as before indicated, probably a legacy from Danish times. But danger did not cease with the piratical raids of the sea-kings. No one who has not lived on the sea-coast, especially on the East or South coast of England, can rightly appreciate the fears which beset maritime folk with respect to invasion. We see the alarm translated into action at the time of the Armada, during the Dutch Wars, and at the period of the Napoleonic struggle, when the martello towers were built, nay, we witness its influence in our own day.

Of the three attached round towers still existing in the county of Sussex, that of Piddinghoe (Fig. 30) deserves notice. The immediate explanation of the form adopted by the builders is that the necessity of having stone quoins was thus obviated. But if this be the sole reason, why are not such towers more common in Sussex? Consider the facts. The church at Piddinghoe stands on a natural platform, at a slight, but effective, elevation above the adjacent river Ouse. The tower, built c. A.D. 1120, has the narrow, round-headed windows of the period. One of these, facing West, is six feet from the ground. There is no external doorway. At the time the church was erected there seems to have been no other defensive building. One may fairly suppose that the tower was used as a refuge against pirates and invaders, who would have only a few miles to sail from the mouth of the Ouse in order to reach the village. Another Sussex tower, a square structure in this instance, that of East Dean (Fig. 31), probably served as a partial defence of the rising ground above Birling Gap.

In tracing the parallel which has been proposed, let us not lose sight of the fact that the church of Mediaeval England was, as such writers as Canon Jessopp have fully demonstrated, almost incredibly rich in priceless relics and portable treasure. Chalices and basins and thuribles; jewelled crosses, and candlesticks wrought out of precious metals; lanterns and bells; vestments and girdles, brooches and buckles, these and many other valuables, needed to be protected from theft. Large and important churches, which possessed hoards of treasure, not uncommonly had a watchman who spent the night in the sacred building. Sometimes he was provided with a special chamber which was situated over the porch, sacristy or vestry[306]. The Cathedral church of St Albans, for instance, had a celebrated watching-loft which was erected about the year A.D. 1400[307]. At Lincoln it was considered sufficient for watchmen to patrol the Minster after nightfall. It may be added that down to the sixteenth century, in such German cities as Ulm and Frankfort-on-the-Main, watchmen lived in rooms constructed in the church steeples. On the approach of strangers, or in times of alarm, the watchman rang a bell, blew a horn, or fired a musket.

Another detail which is germane to the question of resemblances and contrasts, is concerned with the word “belfry.” We have seen that, from the earliest time of which we have documentary evidence, the Irish towers were called by a name which is equivalent to “belfry,” but that, notwithstanding, the structures were not originally bell-towers. The English term “belfry,” now, indeed, denotes a building for hanging bells, yet, contrary to popular belief, the word has no etymological connection with the word “bell.” Sir James Murray and Professor Skeat have collected irrefragable testimony proving that the Middle English berfrey, and the Old French berfrei, in all their various spellings, denoted a wooden tower, or pent-house, generally movable, employed in besieging and defending fortresses. In due time the word came to signify a watch-or beacon-tower, then an alarm tower, and, finally, a bell-tower. The English form belfray, which seems to have misled the earlier philologists, did not appear before the fifteenth century[308]. Hence we have this curious case of opposites: the Irish towers, at an early date, possess a name which erroneously implies that they were merely bell-houses, while the English steeples contained bells long before the bell-chamber got the designation “belfry,” a word which became spuriously connected with “bell.”

This review of the Irish towers and their possible analogues in England must not further detain us, for we must hasten to consider another secular use of the tower. Many English steeples were set up largely to serve as beacons and landmarks, and, in fact, this purpose was doubtless kept in mind even when the primary intention was defensive. Sometimes, the entire building, rather than the steeple alone, was a landmark. Whitby Abbey church, as is well known, is reached by ascending 199 steps from the old town lying below in the valley of the Esk. The church is believed, with good reason, to owe its prominent position to a desire, on the part of its founders, to provide a lighthouse for storm-tossed mariners. Much the same may be said of the parish church (St Mary’s) which stands on the cliffs hard by. Again, comparing the small with the great, and choosing, for the sake of emphasis, a towerless structure, let us take the tiny square chapel of St Aldhelm (Fig. 32), which is perched on the summit of St Alban’s Head, in Dorsetshire. This quaint chapel, with its vaulted roof, and its interesting Norman doorway, has unfortunately been greatly restored. The buttresses shown in the illustration are modern additions; they are not seen in old engravings of the chapel. The building looks down on the waves, 440 feet below, but, so fierce are the storms now and then, that the chapel is drenched with spray and bombarded with small pebbles. Within, says tradition, chantry priests were wont to offer prayers for the sailors in the Channel, while a beacon light was burnt on the roof. And, truly, no other explanation sufficiently accounts for the presence of the chapel in such a remote position[309]. Perhaps a similar reason will apply to the conspicuously placed church of Cheriton, near Folkestone (Fig. 33).

A curious legend is told of St Botolph’s church, at Northfleet, in Kent. The tower, originally set up, it seems, to guide ships coming up the Thames estuary, proved too serviceable, for pirates found it an excellent beacon. It was therefore thought fit, so the story runs, to make the tower look like a fortress, and it was accordingly rebuilt by the villagers[310]. We notice that there are steps leading from the churchyard to the first floor, so that one is inclined to believe a portion of the story, at least. Whether, however, this was a feature of the original design is uncertain.

On Brent Tor, Devon, at a height of 1130 feet, there stands a little church which overlooks the very edge of a precipice. The diminutive graveyard contains a few mouldering tombstones. The building, which was probably first set up during the Early English period, is, like so many others found on eminences, dedicated to St Michael, the tutelary saint of churches so placed. (Cf. St Michael’s Mount, Cornwall, with its former chapel and shrine (Fig. 34); Mont St Michel in Normandy, with its Benedictine Abbey; Mont St Michel at Carnac, with its chapel, calvary, prehistoric tumulus, and pagan legends.) The church was evidently intended as much for a landmark as for a house of prayer. To explain its exalted position, local tradition relates that a grateful merchant had a struggle with the Evil One concerning the site, and that mastery remained with the trader. To ask why the merchant desired to build in such an unfavourable situation is to supply at once the missing link of the chain.

One may recall how, in the days when roads were execrably muddy, and pathways across the boggy moorlands were intricate and difficult to follow, it was customary to erect pillars, towers, and other guide-marks at suitable spots. For instance, Dunston pillar, in Lincolnshire, was reared (A.D. 1751) as a lighthouse to assist travellers in crossing the desolate, thief-ridden expanse of Lincoln Heath. The practice of building such towers continued until the nineteenth century, as is amply proved by the famous monuments and towers of the Isle of Wight and Somersetshire. Often the first intention has been lost, and the buildings are considered as mere prospect towers. It must not, however, be inferred that the beacon towers were never used for this last purpose, though the need of protection, and not pleasure, gave the impulse. A conspicuous church tower would serve the same object as a toot-hill. At Royston, near Barnsley, may be seen, below the belfry, on the West side of the tower, an oriel window, supported by a long corbel. The recess thus formed was locally called the “lantern” or “look-out,” and tradition says that a light was formerly burnt within it[311]. The case of the tower of St Nicholas, Newcastle, is especially instructive. It was furnished with a “lantern,” and was valued as an inland lighthouse by wayfarers over the moors. But the remarkable fact about the tower is that, from time immemorial, it has been repaired by the Corporation of the city. Legal opinion, to this very day, upholds the view of the liability of the Corporation[312].

St Michael’s church, poised on the summit of an outlier of Inferior Oolite at Glastonbury Tor (cf. p. 16 supra), in Somersetshire, was doubtless, like so many other churches of that county, a day-mark for travellers. This section may conclude with a notice of a building which is usually considered solely as a “pilgrims’ church,” but which, I feel convinced, at one time served also as an important beacon. The church referred to is that of St Martha, Chilworth, near Guildford (Fig. 35). It stands on the top of a Greensand hill (720 feet), and is, for many miles around, an outstanding object, whether viewed from the distant heights or from the pleasant valleys below. Common belief ascribes the foundation to the Mediaeval folk who traversed the Pilgrims’ Way to Becket’s shrine at Canterbury. There can be no question that pilgrims of those days would welcome such a church, both as a landmark and as a temporary resting-place. The name of the church, St Martha’s-on-the-Hill, is believed to be a perversion of “Martyr’s Church,” the martyr being St Thomas of Canterbury. But the structure, though rebuilt and modernized, has a foundation which dates somewhat earlier than the year of Becket’s death. For this reason, and because of contributory local tradition of a massacre of Christians, a high authority on church dedications urges that the name should be “Martyrs’ Church,” and that the spot is consecrated, not to one person, but to early Christians who suffered there[313]. It should be noted, in passing, that St Martha’s is technically called a chapel, but that it is really a church, as described above. It possesses all the customary parochial rights, and is used for the usual functions. Legally, the building is what is termed a “donative,” and is independent of episcopal jurisdiction[314].