APPENDIX.
Reading edition
BACTON.
Bacton or Backton, termed in the Doomsday Book Baketuna, is situated about four miles and a half north-east by east of North Walsham. From bordering on the sea, it continually experiences its devastating effects, which is the more to be regretted, as the land, about 1600 acres, is extremely fertile.
The Church, dedicated to St. Andrew, is a neat edifice, situated on elevated ground, about a quarter of a mile distant from the sea; and the interior, though unadorned with costly monuments, contains several neat stones to record departed worth.
The venerable relic of Norman grandeur Broomholme Priory, generally termed Bacton Abbey, is situated in the centre of the village, and from its being in a better state of preservation than probably any other in this county, which possesses the astonishing number of one hundred and twenty-two, is ever a source of interest to the lovers of antiquity.
The architectural style of the Priory of Broomholme appears to be that of the Norman and the early or lancet gothic united.
The editor of the General History of the County of Norfolk says: “A part of its architecture is so entirely of the same style as Norwich Cathedral, that it can scarcely be doubted but they are of the same era.”
The north transept, with its triforium arches, many of which still remain, bears some resemblance to those of Norwich Cathedral and the Church of St. Nicholas, Yarmouth.
The churches generally were built in the form of the latin cross, terminating at the end in a semi-circular apsis. The internal elevations consisted of three divisions, the lower arches—the triforium, occupying the space between the vaulting and external roof of the side aisles—and the celestory.
The circular arched entrance north of the transept appears to be built of Caen stone, and though plain, attests the origin of at least this part of the building. To the east a very lofty arch presents itself of the early gothic.
The chapter-house has a very large window of the early pointed gothic, supposed to have been added in the reign of Henry the VII, but it appears of a much earlier date.
The arcades of the face of the interior walls are very plain and simple; and are intended to take off the effect of a large extent of plain surface as the windows are but small. This appears to have been general in all Norman architecture.
The chimney is very modern, as the builders of the middle ages gave the preference to warming their halls by a central hearth, leaving the smoke to blacken the roof and escape as it best might by an open lantern.
The niche in the north transept, which bears traces of the ornamental gothic, was probably added with other parts of the building, as the abbey increased in fame and opulence.
The following are the supposed dimensions of the various buildings, &c.:—
The church 112 feet
North transept 22 feet by 18 feet
Chancel 23 feet
Quadrangle 73 feet by 47 feet
Cloister 76 feet by 21 feet
Large hall 100 feet by 24 feet
This priory was founded in 1113, by William de Glanville, in the reign of Henry the First, for monks of the order of Cluni, as a cell to Castleacre priory. Here the monks of the latter sent their junior brethren, when too much crowded at home, or refractory monks, to do penance for non compliance with monastic rules. Subsequently, Bartholomew de Glanville, who was Sheriff of Norfolk and Suffolk, confirmed the priory of Castleacre to this priory.—The first prior was inducted to the abbey in the reign of Henry the First, and the last in the reign of Henry the Eighth.
The monks attached to this establishment appear, according to early historians, to have derived great profit from a cross, said to have been made out of that part of the Saviour’s cross to which the hands and feet were attached, particularly the part where it was most sprinkled with his blood; and Capgrave informs us, “that no fewer than thirty-nine were raised from the dead, and nineteen blind persons had their sight restored by it.”
In this priory were also preserved the “girdle for Zona, and milk of the blessed Virgin, and fragments of the crosses of St. Peter and St. Andrew.”
Such was the rage for relics in former times, that Mabillon, a Benedictine, complained that the altars were loaded with counterfeits; numerous spurious ones being every where offered to the piety and devotion of the faithful. He also observes, “that bones were often consecrated, which so far from belonging to the saints, probably never belonged to Christians!” To shew how far this fraud extended, the “girdle” of the Virgin Mary, said to have been possessed by the monastery of Broomholme, was shown to the visitors appointed by Henry the Eighth, in eleven different places.
The following “Legendary Fragment,” written by an intimate friend of the Author’s, may not be deemed inappropriate:—
Broomholme, thy ruined grandeur tells A saddening tale of man’s decay, It speaks how all his glories pass, How all his relics droop away; How all his efforts fall a prey To Desolation’s ruthless reign, How all the records he would trace The hand of Time outblots again.
Thou hast looked forth for ages past, And seen the unwearying ebb and flow Of yonder calm and azure sea, Glittering in summer’s golden glow; And oh! how many a winter’s snow Hath wrapped thee in its spotless vest, How many a Spring with cheerful hand Thy fair domain in beauty drest.
How oft within thy ruined fane Has many a haughty zealot knelt, And muttered o’er some holy prayer His thankless heart had never felt: Thou’st heard the groans of souls that melt With anguish and repentance cleft, Who, though engulphed in blood and crime, Had yet the hope of mercy left.
Oh! could yon gloomy pile reveal The thousand tales its records bear, And rend the dark mysterious seal That Time has fixed for ever there, Perchance ’twould tell of pain and care, The same unvarying round of woe, The same dark chain of human ills That links us all to life below.
’Twould tell of horrors dark and dire, That well the sternest heart might thrill, How man with rapine, sword, and fire, Had wrought with zeal his brother’s ill. Strange that ungrateful man should fill The cup of woe, for pride or pelf, Yet madly, fondly, vainly hope, To taste the streams of bliss himself.
’Twould tell how bright, to Childhood’s eyes, The glory of existence seems, How swiftly life’s ensuing hours Lose one by one their golden gleams. How fondly Hope’s delusive dreams The hearts of men with smiles enslave, How those forlorn and weary here, May learn to look beyond the grave.
And Fancy often wanders back, Through Time on her enchanted wings, To snatch one legend from the gloom That age about thy ruin flings. And thus Imagination sings In fond conceit and varied lay, With all a Poet’s trembling pride, “A tale of Broomholme’s Abbey grey.”
The northern blast is sighing now, In every withered leafless bough, The dirge of the departed year; And the lone sea-bird’s dismal wail, That ever comes in storm and gale, Foretells the gathering tempest near.
The gloom of night is deepening fast, And on the wild and fitful blast The stormy clouds like shadows fly; And darkened by their rapid flight, The pale and placid orb of night Is shrouded from the seaman’s eye.
The vivid lightning’s transient flash, And then the deafening thunder crash, Proclaims the elemental war; And when the lightning leaves the skies, And when the rolling thunder dies, Hark, how the raging waters roar.
The wild waves that in wanton play Fling to the winds their feather’d spray, But seem to mock the angry sky; But seem to sport in maddening pride, When all is dread and dark beside, And ghastly Death is hovering nigh.
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Morn: oh! how many anxious eyes Have watched the live-long night for thee, That from the threshold of the skies, Now looks o’er a tempestuous sea; The ocean that so softly bright Hath mirror’d oft the Queen of Night, In lustrous lines of liquid light, And, oh! hath looked so calm and fair, As if no storm could gather there. Like to those living lights that shine So pure and placid from the eyes, When at Religion’s holy shrine The humble soul in rapture lies, And gloomy passions wake within, That lead away the heart to sin; Then all that looked so fair and bright, So pure in its own sportive glee, Becomes a torture and a blight, And wilder than the raging sea.
The gale now slowly dies away, With the approach of dawning day, And every wave that chafes the shore, Salutes the strand with sullen roar, And on the beach in sadness flings All that to Hope was once so sweet, Like trophies which a warrior brings, And lays them at his country’s feet. Records that blood and death had earned, When mercy from her shrine was spurned. Alas! when angry storms break forth, And wake the waters into wrath; Ah! then the treacherous heaving wave Rolls over many a wanderer’s grave, And striving winds and foaming surge Sing many a mournful funeral dirge.
* * * * * *
Oh, Heaven! that such a lovely form Could brave so dread and fierce a storm, That one so beautiful and frail Could bide the harsh and bitter gale; And she who angels might have kept In hallowed watches while she slept, Is pillowed on the sandy shore, Her lullaby the waters’ roar: And frowning skies in sorrow spread Their canopy around her head.
And now beside the maiden kneels A messenger of fond relief, One who with sweet religion heals The wounded spirit’s cankering grief; And raises from the chilly sand The form that cold and lifeless lay, Sustains it with a trembling hand, And wraps it in his mantle grey. And from that frontlet wipes away The wanton water’s brackish spray. And now her wild and anxious gaze Is fixed upon his swarthy cheek, And faint and feebly she essays Her wonder and despair to speak; And he who looked so calm before, Is moved to tears of sorrow now, That as he bends the maiden o’er, Those drops of pity damp her brow. He turns as though ashamed to own His heart has soft and yielding grown. And now is many an offer made Of home and hospitable aid, By those who throng around the maid, To them the monk his charge commends, With promises of bounteous pay, And with a heart of trouble wends His steps to Broomholme Abbey “grey.”
* * * * * *
What charm is there in Nature’s smile, When Hope be dead the weary while, Or what in all the world can please, When aching hearts are ill at ease. And, oh! what rapture could he feel, Who left the fair and beaten track Of sweet Religion’s holy zeal, And to the cold world wandered back; Whose only oriflamme should be The sanguine cross of Calvary. Yes, he whose life had aye been spent In self denial’s lowly creed, In turning sinners to repent, And share the Abbey’s thrifty meed. Yes, he who taught that heavenly love Should all absorb the anxious mind, That hearts should look to hopes above, And leave the thoughtless world behind: Yes, he whose years though few had been, In much of deep devotion past, Who joy’d the smiling summer scene, And braved the winter’s bitter blast; Yes, he who told how dear and sweet Was holy influence to the mind, Who walked the world with weary feet, To succour helpless human kind; Yes, he forgot for beauty’s smile, His oath to Heaven, his hopes above, He gave his heart to pleasures wile, And lost his soul for woman’s love. Yes, he forgot the lowly mien, The holy mass, the rosary, And all that he had ever been, For hopeless love and misery.
Alas! that grief should ever wear So pale a cheek with sorrow’s tear, That anguish and remorse should trace Their furrowed lines on Beauty’s face, And early troubles lead the way For dread disease and slow decay. There is a canker of the breast That pleasure cannot charm away, When the young heart becomes a prey To dread disquiet, and un-rest. Day after day—day after day, Along that smooth and sandy shore, Did Herbert with fair Edith stray, Oft listening to the angry roar Of the wild ocean’s troubled sound, Till the fair earth had wandered round The presence of the glorious sun; And when the winter had begun To shackle every limpid river, And silence every gurgling rill, And in the woodland on the hill The aspen leaves had ceased to quiver, And every minstrel in the wood Was silent in its solitude, Those lovely birds that gaily chanted Their songs of gladness from the grove; Ah! oft had Edith’s bosom panted With silent and supreme delight, When they have woke the lovely night With their melodious songs of love. Ah! many and many a lovely eve, Beneath the Heaven’s bespangled roof, Did her young heart delight to weave The future like a fairy woof: And with her Herbert by her side, In the sweet hush of eventide, When night-blown flowers of beauty rare With perfume filled the stilly air; Often in those delightful hours, When the young dreamy heart of youth Plucks many a wreath from Fancy’s bowers, And knits them on the brow of truth. And once she said, with tearful eye, With quivering lip, yet tender tone, As if her weak and trembling heart Were half afraid its fears to own— “Herbert forgive, I know thou wilt, Or else my heart the wish would rue, Ah! if it bears the taint of guilt, In mercy, Heaven, absolve me too. When death with chilling hand shall sever The souls that nought but death could part, Herbert, a slow consuming fever Is burning at my brain and heart: I feel that death is calmly stealing Over my senses, day by day, Immortal longings and a feeling Of rapture charms my pulse away. Herbert, dear Herbert, my request, My last sad dying wish would be, That in the last embrace of death, My rest may then be near to thee; And by the willows that o’ershade The streamlet on the woodland hill, Our dust may be in sadness laid, And, though in death, together still.” Down Herbert’s cheeks the drops of woe Coursed sad and slowly—whilst the maid Her last and earnest wishes prayed. It was a dread and bitter throe— Such as fond hearts, when doomed to sever, At once unheeded and for ever, Pure ardent souls alone could know. He clasped her to his aching heart— Her brow, alas! how pale and chill; An icy glaze is o’er her eye, And yet her lips are quivering still. Ah! what is all the world to him? A sleepless night, a cheerless day, Now those endearing eyes are dim, And his twin spirit passed away. Now what to him is hill or dale, The summer’s sun or winter’s gale? Alas! they only tell a tale That wakes a sorrow in his breast, Whispering o’er and o’er again, That he was blest, supremely blest. Autumn or winter, summer or spring, What are they now to him? He walks the earth like a withered thing, Whose lamp of life is dim.
* * * * * * *
The keenest pangs of mortal woes, And Sorrow’s agonizing throes, The briny drops of Misery That overflow the mourning eye, When Hope has lost its faintest gleam, Will make the sweetest Eden seem A barren and unkindly waste. Alas! how bitter to the taste Is that dark cup Remembrance fills With all the worst of human ills, And crowns with pleasures past away. As waters silently decay The flinty rocks they hourly fret, So does the wildness of Despair, And the slow canker of Regret, The weary human bosom wear.
In Broomholme’s cloistered turret now Herbert de Colville lowly lies, And withered is his burning brow, And haggard are his frenzied eyes; Those wandering orbs whose meteor light Shines wildly from their mortal spheres, When Fever like a deadly blight, The wavering sense with madness sears; It fills the eye and rends the heart, When Reason’s heavenly rays depart, And leave the mind so faint and dim. That it had ever been to him, To leave the Abbey’s holy wall, And from that sweet Religion fall, That should have been his hope—his all, When earthly scenes began to pall; That he should learn the bitter truth, When buoyant hours are all gone by, That the wild erring steps of youth Must be retraced, when health and prime Have left the frame, and when the eye Is dim with pain and misery; When the lone heart is worn and weak, And the untiring hand of Time Hath written Manhood on his cheek.
And round about him watchful stand The Brethren of that holy band, Whose pure devoted lives are given To work the glorious will of Heaven. And their’s is not a bigot’s zeal, Whose dear delight is but to heal The souls that pant for sweet repose, O’erwhelmed with sin and worldly woes, To succour in the hour of need The hearts that ache and inly bleed, Whose crown of glory is the meed, That Love upon the soul bestows; The sweet rejoicing of the heart, That well performs its mortal part; And not ingratitude nor slight, Nor the world’s cold and biting scorn, Contempt and scoffing hourly borne, Hath power to dim the holy light That Love around her votary flings, For she can wrap them in delight, And fan them with ambrosial wings, When death with calm approaches steep Their senses in eternal sleep.
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“Alas! ’tis not my lowly couch, Nor Misery’s unkindest touch, No, nor the world so long forgot, Although in grief remembered now, Nor yet my lone and humble lot, That made me what ye see me now. She was perchance an erring light, A beauteous wandering meteor flame, That on my waking vision came, To cross my pathway like a blight; Or else a Heavenly spirit sent From a diviner element, Who left some star-lit world that lies Far off in azure’s seas than this, To teach my spirit what sweet bliss, Were in her home beyond the skies. But yet she passed,—she drooped away, Like a fair rose untimely blighted, Like an Hymeneal altar lighted On a fond bridegroom’s dying day. There was a flush upon her cheek, That in my soul a sadness wrought, A warning voice that used to speak, The lesson of her life’s decay; There was a lustre in her eyes, Like a celestial glory caught, From some bright meteor of the skies. There was a music in her tone, Like the low wind of Autumn makes, Through the lone woods in sadness sighing, When the bright leaves and flowers are dying, As if it sighed for their sweet sakes. Although I know and feel she died, Her form and voice are with me now, These are the hands that from her brow Were wont so often to divide The tresses of her golden hair, When the night winds had wanton’d there. But when we wandered through the glade, And heard the night bird on the bough, Or side by side together prayed, Is but a fading vision now.”
* * * * * *
Broomholme’s Abbey is old and grey, And monks are kneeling the live-long day, From matin time till eve; Many and sweet are the Aves they say, And many the souls they shrieve. At midnight, censors were brightly swinging, And slowly and sad was the requiem singing, And masses are singing still, For him they laid in the willow’s shade, By the stream on the woodland hill.
CAISTER.
Caister or Caistor, a pleasant village situated upon the coast, about two miles and a half to the northward of Yarmouth, possesses the remains of a Roman station, and the ruins of Caister castle.—A lofty circular tower and a large portion of the north and west walls belonging to the latter are very prominent. This is supposed to be one of the oldest brick mansions in England. It was erected by Sir John Fastolf, who was born here, or at Yarmouth, in 1378. He entered early in life a brilliant military career, and signalized himself by many acts of bravery during a forty years’ campaign under the English Regency in France, and history records, in the course of this period, he was made in the field of battle a Knight Banneret, a Baron of France, Knight of the Garter, Marshal of the Regent’s Household, the King’s Lieutenant in Normandy, and progressively appointed to various public offices. He subsequently returned to Caistor, and his liberality, munificence, and acts of charity were not equalled in the period in which he lived. He became a founder of religious and other edifices, a generous patron of learning, an encourager of piety, and a benefactor to the poor.
A quibble on the name of this truly great and eminent man has been raised by some authors, who supposed him to be the Sir John Falstaff, whom our immortal bard Shakspeare delineated in the humorous but abandoned character as constantly lounging about the court of Prince Henry (afterwards Henry the Vth. of England).—The poetical Falstaff was nearly threescore years of age at the battle of Shrewsbury, A.D. 1403, when the Norfolk hero was not more than twenty-five. The former ended his career soon after Prince Henry ascended the throne—the latter survived Henry the Vth. thirty-seven years, and died at Caistor in 1459.
CROMER.
Cromer, formerly a small market town, is situated nine miles N.N.W. of North Walsham, and on the verge of the German Ocean. At the Doomsday survey Cromer formed part of the lordship and parish of Shipden, a considerable village, which, with its church, dedicated to St. Peter, appears to have been swallowed up by the sea about the time of Henry the 4th. A patent to collect certain dues for the erection of a pier was granted in the 14th of Richard II. At neap tides, in calm weather, are still to be seen, about half a mile distant from the shore, large masses of wall, which are supposed to have belonged to the church alluded to.
Many large portions of land were washed away in 1611, previous to which the inhabitants expended considerable sums of money and ingenuity in a fruitless attempt to maintain a small harbour. In the winter of 1799, the light-house cliffs, projecting from the beach three hundred and twenty feet, made several remarkably large shoots, one of which brought with it half an acre of ground, and extended into the sea beyond low water mark. On January 15th, 1825, another large mass of earth was detached from the light-house hills, and fell with great force on the beach, extending in breadth above three hundred yards from the cliffs, covering an area of twelve acres, and containing, it was supposed, not less than half a million of cubic yards of earth. The fall of this enormous body was sudden and unexpected. A large stream of water issued from the bank immediately after its fall, and discharged itself down upon the beach with great noise and violence. Early in the morning of August 19th, 1832, another large shoot of the cliffs occurred near the light-house, which threatened the destruction of that useful edifice. It was deemed expedient to erect another on the hill, two hundred and fifty yards inland; but the remains of the old one are still standing about three-quarters of a mile east of the town, where it was built of brick in 1719.
These immense landslips were almost entirely owing to the numerous fresh water springs abounding in this locality, but the damage the town of Cromer experienced, and referred to in Chapter III., was caused by the ocean, during a continuous gale of wind.
According to tradition, Cromer church, dedicated to St. Peter and St. Paul, is supposed to have been erected in the reign of Henry 4th, soon after the village of Shipden disappeared. It is a large and handsome edifice, built of flint and free-stone, in the Gothic style, with a fine tower 154 feet in height, and richly ornamented with sculpture. The west entrance, the north porch, and the chancel have been long in ruins, and very little of the latter now remains; and history informs us, that many of its ornaments were destroyed by Cromwell’s soldiers, who converted it into barracks.
As a watering place Cromer richly deserves the celebrity it has attained; and the encomiums conferred by those who have visited it during the summer months, are certainly not exaggerated. Nature indeed, appears to have bestowed her favours with no sparing hand to render it a delightful retreat for the invalid—or those who require a relaxation from the noise and bustle of a city life—and for those who are desirous to prosecute their studies with ease and comfort, almost amounting to enchantment. The most fastidious could but be pleased with the beauty of the surrounding scenery—with the accommodation provided by enterprising individuals—with the civility and courteous demeanour of its inhabitants, who from the highest to the lowest grade, take every possible pains to deserve lasting esteem and friendship. The fishermen too are exceedingly well behaved, and their looks pourtray a contentment approaching to happiness, that indicates the labour attending their perilous vocation is rewarded.
The village of Shipden, with its church dedicated to St. Peter, which lay between Cromer and the sea, has wholly disappeared.
ECCLES.
Eccles by the Sea, nine miles east by south of North Walsham, was a hamlet of the great lordship of Hasborough or Happisburgh, from whence it is about two miles distant. It not only appears fast sinking into oblivion itself, but also holds a fearful destiny over a large tract of valuable marsh land in the eastern division of the county, by reason of the inlet it may sooner or later afford to an irruption of the sea.
In the reign of Edward the Confessor it was held by Edric, a Dane of noble extraction, afterwards by Ralph, Earl of Norfolk, through whom it became forfeited to the Crown. William the Conqueror bestowed it upon Roger Bigot, whence it passed successively into the hands of William de Albini, ancestor of the Earls of Arundale, William le Parker, and several other noblemen of renown in the annals of chivalry.
Many curious privileges and customs the lords of the manor derived in those days—for we find in 33rd of Edward the 1st, 1305, William le Parker was entituled to receive wreck of sea, lagan, and resting geld, customs, and other profits upon the sea and land, and of every crew of a ship or boat washing their nets in the said village after Michaelmas to Martlemas, an hundred herrings, and also a fee for goods, chattels, &c., coming to land by sea, without the help of the said William or his servant, or resting upon the land one day and one night; and if the said William or his men, &c., immediately after imminent danger, or after shipwreck, shall do their endeavour to save such things, then the said William shall have a third part of all such things, or the value of them, unless of his good will he will omit something, but must not be asked.—Among the land customs was the bed gild, and at every wedding, noble or ignoble, the lords of the manor had the privilege of consummating the nuptials of the bride, or receiving a fee instead. This indecorous system prevailed in some parts of Scotland not many years since.
These arbitrary laws, enacted in the earlier period of England’s history, when ignorance prevailed, and barbarism allowed the honoured and the wealthy to impose exactions cruel and oppressive, on those beneath them, may possibly have in many instances, from humanity, been omitted. At all events, as knowledge advanced, we find that not only have those which pressed so heavily upon the poor industrious fishermen been cancelled, but that others have been reduced to an extent compatible with the necessary protection to property exposed to the pilferer, from lamentable accidents on the coast. And it is highly gratifying to observe, that until recently no murmur or complaint has been raised against the lords of the manor, and this is confined to two or three districts, and arose from the following circumstance:—From time immemorial, it appears, persons have been allowed to take whatever sea-beach materials they required for domestic or other purposes, without molestation or the exaction of any fee. But the increasing demand induced individuals who were deputed by the lords of the manor to officiate in their stead, to apply for permission to charge so much per freight or load; which being granted, a pretty income has been realized from the hundreds of loads of sand, stones, &c., removed annually.—A curious coincidence, however, is connected with it. One of these deputy lords, a few years since, observed that the removal of sea-beach materials, within a given distance of the road or gangway to the beach, afforded an inlet for the ocean to under mine and remove the foot of the gangway to such an extent, that an expence was necessarily incurred, from time to time, in repairing it, besides the loss of land on either side of it. He therefore applied for permission to fix up a board in the vicinity, on which was printed—
“By order of the Magistrates.
“Notice is hereby given—Should any person or persons take away or remove any sand near the gangway and foot of the cliffs, he or they shall be prosecuted, and upon conviction, shall suffer the extreme penalty of the law.”
But strange to relate, no sooner did the deputy lord receive permission to dispose of the sea-beach materials, than the board was taken down, and individuals are permitted to take them away, if not in the immediate vicinity of the gangway, at least at the foot or base of the cliffs.
Every remaining vestige of Eccles denotes antiquity. Ancient stone walls have been exposed within the last three years by the action of the sea, removing lofty sand hills, and the peasantry have picked up silver and copper coins of great antiquity. But a still stronger evidence of a remote period may be traced in the wells constructed with large unburned bricks, formed in a mould wider at one end than at the other, to adapt them to the true circumference of the well itself. It is quite clear the wells had been filled up with earth, and ceased to be used before the abandonment of the place, since near to every one of them is a stone well, built with mortar, similar to the churches, which possibly denotes the first step towards civilization in this country. It formerly contained two thousand acres of land, but so wasted by the incursion of the German Ocean, that the inhabitants, in their petition for a reduction of taxes, in the reign of James the 1st, complained they had then only fourteen houses and three hundred acres of land. The whole now comprises a few cottages, with the church tower, and one hundred and fifty acres of land. The church was dedicated to St. Mary.
History informs us, that the parish of Whimpnell, formerly situated between Hasborough and Eccles, has been entirely removed by the sea.
HASBOROUGH.
Hasborough, denominated also Happisburgh, situated seven miles south-east of North Walsham, is a considerable village, containing a church dedicated to St. Mary. Its steeple, 110½ feet in height, stands on an elevated point of land, and is extremely useful to the mariner as a land-mark. In former days a large wooden cross presented itself a considerable height above and from the centre of the steeple, which rendered it still more conspicuous, and prior to 1818 it became so decayed, that it was blown down. The inhabitants erected another in its stead, which, during a heavy tempest in 1822, unfortunately served as a conductor for the electric fluid, which demolished it, and also a large portion of the south-east buttress; the latter fell upon and passed through the roof of the church, on to the aile beneath. On this occasion the electric fluid set fire to the church, and had not the promptest measures been resorted to, it must have been destroyed.
Here also was erected, in 1791, two light-houses, the one a hundred and the other eighty feet high. The upper part of each terminates in a dome; immediately beneath is the lantern, and on the outside a platform, surrounded with iron palisading, whose verge consists of a flat piece of the same material. Some years since, an unfortunate individual, subject to mental aberration, while in an extremely excited state, walked on the top or rim of the palisading, round one of the lights. This feat he safely accomplished, and extraordinary to relate, it had the desirable effect to render him calm and collected for several years.
A lover of the picturesque would be amply repaid for the trouble taken to reach the platform, which, as before observed, describes a circle, the one half presenting, on a clear day, a beautiful marine view, the other a splendid landscape.
In the former, the ocean, as far as the eye can reach, exhibits a vast expanse of troubled water, imparting sound which murmurs discontent. Its bosom too, after northerly and north-easterly winds, is frequently bedecked with vessels bound to some distant port, and from their being so numerous, so variable in size and form, and gliding so near the shore, they produce a beautiful panorama, not surpassed on any other part of the coast.
From the latter is seen in the distance, the spire of Norwich Cathedral, Cromer and Winterton light-houses. The intermediate space presenting pretty scenery of hill and dale, with here and there a mansion surrounded with plantations. The spires of the village churches too are numerous and conspicuous, and the ruins of antiquated buildings, especially the Priory of Broomholme, at Bacton, is a picture in itself inviting our thoughts to roam to by-gone times.—The lands divided with fences, neat and trim, and the fields, exhibit, during the summer months, the various colours of the ripening corn. Farm-houses located at uncertain distances, and the humble cottages of the industrious poor, present at once a coup-d’œil of the blessings conferred on industry and enterprize.
To the Geologist and the Antiquarian a fine field for research, and a glorious treat, is afforded them. Within a short distance to the northward are lofty cliffs, containing in the different strata, relics of animals; some similar to those in the present day; others that never existed in the memory of the oldest historian; and those which now exist only in the torrid zone. The shells of fish that only inhabit rivers whose waters have departed to other channels, whose beds have been covered up probably for ages, while the trunks of trees, and stumps, with their strong roots extended, are frequently exposed after strong gales of wind.
To the southward is old Eccles steeple, ready to be snatched into the briny ocean; at its foot, towards the sea, is the remaining portion of the sacred edifice, with other foundations, indicating where once had existed the humming noise of human beings, exercising their vocation for individual and collective benefit. On either side of the old steeple are capacious banks, where the marram grows spontaneously, whose long tufts conceal the wily rabbit and the timid hare. Here the weary may rest; the contemplative picture to himself scenes that are past, present, and to come. Here pic-nic parties, merry meetings, the young and old, may partake of a delightful recreation, which a wonderful yet beautiful world presents; containing the fountain from whence all Philosophy springs and ends, and embracing the evidence of an Infinite Being, in the grandeur and magnificence of Creation.
HORSEY.
Horsey next the Sea must have been formerly one of the most uninviting hamlets ever beheld. It lies between Waxham and Winterton, and is eleven miles north by west of Yarmouth. Its lonely situation, its containing a large lake, called Horsey mere, and intersected with ditches of stagnant water, cannot render it even now prepossessing. And were it not for its complete exposure to wind from every quarter, it probably would be very unhealthy.—Such a singular aspect did it assume some years since, that an early historian, alluding to Horsey, recommended it to the notice of government, as being peculiarly adapted for prisoners of war, especially the French; observing they could be retained there readily, as there was only one road to it; and its growing roots in abundance, besides an innumerable quantity of frogs, the expense for maintaining them would be inconsiderable.
The present proprietor’s highly respected ancestor, about fifty years since, purchased the manor, when it was of little value, being generally flooded, and having expended a considerable sum of money in draining the marshes, repairing the sea-bank, and making a road to Somerton, an adjoining village leading to Yarmouth, has rendered it one of the most fertile estates in the county.
On the sea-bank within the bounds of this parish is Little Waxham, a manor of 160 acres; but the village, and its church dedicated to St. Margaret, were swept away by the ocean many years ago.
KESWIC.
Keswic or Casewic, situated to the east of Bacton, appears to have been part of the manor, and extended to this place and Broomholme. In 1382, the church, dedicated to St. Clement, was standing, and when it became deserted cannot be determined.
Extensive ruins remained for several years, which were taken down on the day of the coronation of George the Third and Queen Charlotte, with the exception of a small portion, now forming walls to two or three cottages.
A considerable part of the village is now in the sea from the falling of the cliffs.
MUNDESLEY.
Mundesley is a pleasant village, situated about five miles north by east of North Walsham, and has considerably improved during the last few years, but, similarly to Bacton, to which it is annexed, is continually wasting by the sea. A villa erected by F. Wheatley, Esq., commands a beautiful marine view, but to preserve it from the rapacity of the ocean, upwards of three thousand pounds have been expended.
PALLING.
Palling next the Sea lies between Eccles and Waxham, and is about twenty miles north-east of Norwich. It is celebrated in ancient records as being the residence of Godwin, Earl of Kent, in the reign of Edward the Confessor. William the Conqueror afterwards seized on it, and at the grand survey, Godric was bailiff or steward of it for that king.
Within the last few months, the sea has removed the beach at low water mark, and exposed the strata beneath its surface. In it are the remains of the trunks and roots of trees; the former broken off from three to four feet above the strata, while around lie the remaining portions consisting of the branches, leaves, &c., but very much compressed. The bark of the beech is very distinct, but the oak, and especially the red fir, are in the best state of preservation. The wood of the latter has evidently undergone considerable chemical change, for the ligneous or fibrous part is very perfect, but its resinous properties are absent, consequently the wood when dried, is much lighter, and smells strongly of sulphur. It is impossible to ascertain how long the trees have been covered up, but probably some centuries.
TRIMINGHAM.
Trimingham is situated on the tall cliffs between Mundesley and Cromer, and five miles north by east of North Walsham. Like the former, it has been subject to the encroachments of the ocean for a series of years, and is now reduced to a small village. The church stands on the highest point of the cliffs; and history relates that its ancient priests professed to have the head of St. John the Baptist. Pilgrims came a long distance with great offerings, and thus became the dupes of superstition and deceit.
WAXHAM.
Waxham lies on the coast between Palling and Horsey, and is about fourteen miles north-west of Yarmouth. This parish was formerly much more extensive, and although it has not been encroached upon for some years, yet the sand hills appear evidently inclined to recede.
The church, dedicated to St. John, exhibits considerable dilapidation, the chancel end being quite in ruins. In the church-yard lies interred the remains of the unfortunate mate of the Hunter cutter.
WELLS.
Wells next the sea is situated five miles north by west of Walsingham, and 32 miles north-west of Norwich. It possesses a tolerably good harbour and several neat buildings, but its streets are very irregular. The church, dedicated to St. Nicholas, is a neat edifice, with a square tower. On July 15th, 1817, a gale of wind from the north produced so high a tide, that the marshes near Wells became inundated.
WINTERTON.
Winterton is an ancient village, annexed to Horsey on the south, and within eight miles north by west of Yarmouth. It is sheltered on the north-east by a bold promontory called Winterton-Ness, and well known to the mariner as the most fatal headland between Scotland and London. The church, dedicated to the Holy Trinity and All Saints, possesses a fine tower, 118 feet in height, which commands an extensive view of the ocean.
On the 27th of December, 1665, a tremendous high tide caused such alarming breaches in the sand hills at Winterton, Horsey, and Waxham, as to threaten destruction to all the valuable marsh land from thence to Yarmouth, Beccles, &c.
YARMOUTH,
Frequently termed Great Yarmouth, is the principal sea-port town in Norfolk, and 123 miles distant N.E. of London. It stands on the east bank of the river Yare (from whence it takes its name), at its confluence with the Bure, about two miles from the mouth of the haven, which is very extensive and commodious.—From the appearance of the country, and an ancient chart, supposed to have been drawn about A.D. 1000, it is evident that a broad and extensive estuary divided this part of the eastern coast, not only in the time of its most ancient inhabitants, but for a long period after the Saxon Conquest, extending its waters westward to the city of Norwich, northward to Caistor, Reedham, Herringby, and Strumpshaw, and southward to Gorleston, Burgh, Bungay, Harleston, and Haddiscoe. This large arm of the ocean forming the grand receptacle of all the eastern waters of Norfolk (as it still continues under the circumscribed form of the Yare), began to disappear after the fifth century, when the sand collecting at its entrance, was, by the action of the waters, gradually formed into an island, which ultimately extended itself to the main land, and became the peninsula on which Yarmouth is founded. Several successive disappointments, and an immense outlay of capital in endeavouring to erect substantial havens for the guidance of the river waters into the sea, had been experienced, and at length finally accomplished by the erection of those beautiful piers and noble jetty. In 1528 the work was commenced, and on the 2nd day of March, 1559, men, women, and children, to the number of one thousand, were employed, and succeeded, in the short space of two days, in causing the water to issue forth into the sea, leaving a depth of ten feet at ebb tide. In 1567, the water forced a passage down the old channel, towards the village of Corton. After this disaster, a celebrated Dutch engineer was employed, who commenced his operations by driving and hedging down large stakes and piles, to make a firm substantial foundation; this was first done on the north and afterwards on the south side of the entrance, for the purpose of forcing the ebbing of the tide to run out by a north-east channel. The next step was the erecting of piers for preventing the haven from overflowing, and preserving, at all times of the tide, a sufficient depth of water for ships to float at their moorings. The jurisdiction of the haven includes that part of the sea called Yarmouth roads, extending northward to Scratby, and southward to Corton, in Suffolk.
Inundations, Shipwrecks, &c.
In 1287, St. Nicholas’ Church was completely inundated by the sea, during a tremendous flood, that did incredible damage to the town, the greater part of which was under water.
In 1554, fifty sail of vessels was lost in one day and night, and the crews perished.
In 1692, a fleet of two hundred sail of colliers, having left the roads with a fair wind, were suddenly assailed by a tremendous gale from the north-east. After they had passed Winterton-ness, some of them tacked and arrived back safe in the roads; the remainder pushed out to sea, but were unable, through its violence, to clear the Ness to the southward. The night was exceedingly dark, and missing the lights, few could find their way; some rode out at a distance; but the rest, amounting to one hundred and forty sail, were driven ashore, completely wrecked, and scarcely any of the crews saved. At the same unfortunate juncture, a number of coasting vessels, laden with grain, bound to Holland, from Lynn and Wells, having just left the roads, experienced the same disaster; so that in the whole more than two hundred vessels and one thousand people were lost in twenty-four hours.
If vessels leaving Flamborough Head, proceed southward, and meet with a heavy gale from any point between north-east and south-east; or if leaving the Yarmouth roads, proceeding to the northward, they are retarded by the wind blowing hard from the north-east, so that they cannot weather Winterton-ness, they become embayed, and the only chance for safety is to run for the Lynn Deeps, in attempting which they are in danger of foundering on the rocks near Cromer, or stranding on the flat shores between Cromer and Wells.
In 1790, seventy sail of ships met with a similar fate, and also their crews.
In 1791, a raging tide inundated the denes and the meadows to such a depth, that boats rowed on Southtown turnpike.
In 1805, a tremendous storm at sea occurred, accompanied by a raging tide, which nearly destroyed the old jetty.
In 1825, a destructive tide ensued, which did much damage to the town. The water flowed nearly to the doors of some of the houses on the quays. The Southtown road was completely overflowed and rendered impassable, the lower apartments in several houses on the west side were under water, and much corn, grain, and other merchandize in the store-houses spoiled.
To do ample justice to the highly interesting records associated with this celebrated sea-port town, would form a volume in itself, and the ingenuity and embellishments displayed by its inhabitants, to be properly appreciated ought to be visited, to form a lasting impression of their industry. Situated on a narrow strip of land, less than a mile in breadth, and stretching five miles from north to south, it cannot boast of any pretty inland scenery, as the country is extremely flat, but it possesses resources interesting and inviting to the stranger.
Its harbour is excellently situated for affording shelter for vessels unable to contend against contrary winds. Its extensive traffic in coal and corn, and above all the celebrity it has attained for its herring and mackerel fisheries, must ever render it a place of the greatest importance. As a watering-place its merits must not be forgotten. Splendid edifices and admirable accommodation have been provided near the sea-shore, enabling its visitors to partake of “delightful breezes to their hearts’ content,” or to mingle with the gaieties of a city life. As a naval station during the late war, it proved highly advantageous; and in accordance with that circumstance, a beautiful Monumental Pillar was erected on the south Denes, about a mile from the town, to the memory of the gallant Nelson. It is of Grecian Doric order, elegantly fluted, and one hundred and forty-four feet in height, ascended by an easy flight of steps. Upon the plinth are the names of the four ships, “Vanguard, Captain, Elephant, and Victory,” on board which the heroic Admiral’s flag was so valorously displayed; and on the coping of the terrace are inscribed the names of the four principal battles—“Aboukir, St. Vincent, Copenhagen, and Trafalgar.” On each of the four sides of the pedestal is a flight of steps leading to the terrace, which affords a promenade round the shaft. The roof is supported by Caryatides, surrounded by a ball, and a figure of Britannia, admirably cast, holding in her hand a trident and a laurel wreath.
On the west side is a very elegant Latin inscription, from the pen of a Norfolk Gentleman, of which the following is a translation:—
HORATIO LORD NELSON, Whom, as her first and proudest champion in naval fights, Britain honoured, while living, with her favour, and, when lost, with her tears; Of whom, signalized by his triumphs in all lands, the whole earth stood in awe on account of the tempered firmness of his counsels, and the undaunted ardour of his courage; This great man NORFOLK Boasts her own, not only as born there of a respectable family, And as there having received his early education, But her own also in talents, manners, and mind, The glory of so great a name though sure long to Outlive all monuments of brass and stone, His fellow-countrymen of Norfolk have resolved to commemorate By this column, erected by their joint contributions. He was born in the year 1758; Entered on his Profession in 1771; And was concerned in nearly 150 Naval Engagements with the enemy. Being Conqueror, among various other occasions, At Aboukir, August, 1798; At Copenhagen, April, 1801; And at Trafalgar, October, 1805: Which last Victory, the crown of so many glorious achievements, He consecrated by a death, equally mournful to his country, And honourable to himself.
FINIS.