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Evesham

INTRODUCTION

Those who love with a deep reverence the work of their forefathers, whether because of the character and beauty of their handiwork, or from the historical associations which are indissolubly connected with it, cannot but regard with pain and abhorrence any cause which tends towards the demolition or destruction of the monuments of the past. To these it is a significant and distressing fact that hardly any modern English buildings or streets possess the qualities which give the value and charm to the old cities, towns, and villages of which we are the grateful inheritors. If any reader is inclined to doubt the truth of this statement, or to consider the sentiment expressed extravagant or groundless, let him consider the difference between the old towns and the new.

Evesham provides a typical and sufficiently striking instance of the contrasted methods and results. Here there is hardly an old house which has not a local and individual character. Many of them may be plain, severely plain, some possibly ugly; but in each can be read by all who will, a distinct and separate thought, or series of thoughts, connecting the dwelling with its builders and owners, and with the soil out of which it has sprung.

As the varying undulations of the face of the country tell a plain tale to the geologist, so the shape and materials of human habitations tell their story to the student of architecture and the history of man.

The timber cottages which are still to be found in the town tell of the time when tracts of the original forest still lingered, and oak was the cheapest material fit for building. Often the foundation of the walls is of stone, and the earliest stone to be used was that which could be had for the digging, the blue lias found in thin layers embedded in the clay of which the vale is composed. In the back streets which retain, as would be expected, more of their primitive character than the more respectable thoroughfares, this blue stone has been much used, and in the churches it can be seen in the earlier parts making a very pretty wall with its thin horizontal lines. The tower of the church of All Saints shows it to great advantage.

Another stone is also employed, and one far better suited for building, because it can be obtained in blocks of almost any size, and carved with the utmost delicacy. This is oolite, the stone of which the Bell Tower is built. From Norman times it was used in the more important parts of the Abbey, as is shown in the foundations of the great tower now exposed to view, and in Abbot Reginald's gateway. But the oolite stone could not be got much nearer than Broadway, and what was used by the monks in all probability came from the hill above that village. In numerous old houses this stone is made use of, but in almost all it must have come indirectly, having once formed part of the structure of the monastic buildings, or perhaps of the castle which for a short time flanked the bridge on the Bengeworth side of the river.

In the seventeenth century bricks came into fashion, and good clay for their manufacture was amply provided by the neighbourhood. To the end of the century belongs Dresden House in High Street, a fine example of the style of William the Third's time, built by a wealthy lawyer, who came to settle here, from the northern part of the county. Tower House in Bridge Street, probably of later date, is beautiful in its proportions and mouldings, the prominent lead spouts adding much to the general design. Unfortunately to this fashion for formality and brick-work, at a later period superseded by a covering of plaster, we must attribute the demolition of the older fronts, generally of timber, and often gabled and projecting, which gave such a pleasant irregularity to our old streets. Though formal and lacking in artistic qualities these Georgian screens have a certain historical value in showing that our little town was prosperous through the century, and able to support a decided air of respectability. But not without reason do we deplore the change.

The eighteenth century saw the beginning of the great development of machinery, and in these Georgian house fronts, the productions of a mechanical age, we see the deterioration of popular architecture. Every line is rigid and without human feeling: the style, where any exists, is exotic, not national or local; classical, not vernacular. It is a learned importation, not a popular growth. The mason has dwindled into an unreasoning tool in the hands of the architect; hence the lack of personality, the absence of charm; and only in rare instances has the architect proved himself capable of supplying those qualities of design and proportion which to some slight degree compensate for the loss of interest on the part of the craftsman.

In almost all buildings the roof is a prominent feature. In Evesham the old roofs are all made of oolite "slats," and as these are split irregularly, we have tiles of various sizes and slightly varying in shape. In roofing the plan was to place all the large tiles below, and to decrease the size gradually towards the ridge, the result being most pleasing to the eye. Besides the interest given by irregularity, the delicate silver grey of the oolite roofs, varied with tints of moss and lichen added by time, produces an effect unsurpassed by any other form of roof covering. Even the clay tiles, introduced at a later time, take their place when mellowed by sun and rain; and these throw into unpleasant relief the modern glazed Staffordshire ware which resists all softening influences. The Welsh slates, too, before perfect mechanical regularity was obtained, made a pretty roofing, though they, of course, have no local interest here.

No one would wish to dwell long on the opposite side of the contrast. We have already traced the beginning of the decline of domestic architecture, and the present condition follows as a natural development. In recent years the town has spread in every direction that is possible. In the centre is the Evesham of the past, the Evesham our forefathers built and our fathers knew. But it is encircled by streets and houses which are not the product of the vale, nor are they marked by any individual character. Rows upon rows of dwellings, symmetrical, mechanical, and monotonous, can give no pleasure to the eye, nor can the mind read in them any story save the commercial enterprise of a commercial age.

No one can note these differences without sometimes asking the cause of this lamentable degradation in the character of the buildings which compose our modern towns. They are many and complex, and too deeply rooted in present-day commercialism for us even to hope for their removal. Yet we may still turn to examples of individual effort throughout the country and find satisfaction. Here and there are houses possessing some of the finest qualities which have gone towards making our ancient streets and cities; and here we have evidence that beautiful building is still possible if we will but have it. It may be claimed that even the streets we build are historical as our old towns are historical; that they are the outcome of the age we live in. And truly this is so; and for this very reason we must needs be patient if we cannot be hopeful.

But it is something to recognise the fact that we have in our old buildings and streets records of unquestionable veracity, full of character and meaning, and such as we are entirely unable, with all our boasted advantages, to rival or even imitate. And more than this, we have in most of the work that has been left to us examples of craftsmanship, in every kind, which are invaluable as models of what we once could do, and may do, under favourable conditions, again.

Let us then guard this goodly heritage for ourselves and our children with jealous care, trusting that in fulness of time their handiwork may be not unworthy to stand beside the best that has been accomplished in the past. These storied towns may then be with us still to teach what no history book can tell, and to inspire us with the spirit of emulation for those qualities which sleep with the Genius of the Past.

EVESHAM AND THE VALE

--MICHAEL DRAYTON.

Evesham stands on a kind of peninsula formed by a deep loop of the river Avon on its way from Stratford-on-Avon to Tewkesbury. The broad vale in which it lies is enclosed by a semicircle of hills, which provide a background to every varied landscape, and give a sense of homeliness and seclusion which those who are familiar with unbroken stretches of level country will at once recognise and appreciate. From the east to the south-west range the Cotswolds, not striking in outline but depending for their beauty in great part upon the play of light and shade and the variety given by atmospheric effects. To dwellers in the vale the appearance of the hills not only reflects the feeling of the day but foretells the coming weather. When a delicate, blue haze shrouds their forms, entirely obliterating the more distant heights, the pleasure-seeker rests content in the promise of a fair morn; but no pleasant expectations can be formed when, robed in deepest purple, they seem to draw in and crowd together, and with vastly increased bulk to frown upon the darkening vale.

At each end of the Cotswold range, as seen from Evesham, stands, sentinel like, an isolated elevation, and in early times, as present remains testify, both these were occupied as fortified posts. To the east is Meon Hill, and to the south-west stands Bredon, the nearest and most prominent of the group. In the south-east the position of Broadway is decisively marked by its pseudo-Norman tower, and due south the level outline ended by an abrupt escarpment to the eastward is Cleeve Cloud, carrying the range on towards Cheltenham and Bristol.

But the chief glory of the vale, so far as its background is concerned, is the truly mountainous outline of the Malvern Hills, the whole length of which is seen bounding the western horizon. The breadth of the valley here is more than twenty miles from hill to hill, and includes both the Severn and its tributary stream. To how many does the thought of sunrise not recall this undulating range illuminated and glorified by the clear beams of the early sun striking across the vale and thrown back in glittering fragments by the long line of houses at its base! And few more beautiful associations will gather round the sunset than those in which Malvern plays its part, the rocky skyline standing up sharp and clear against the ever-changing brilliance. As we recall the scene the dazzling effulgence fades into a glow, the glow diminishes almost imperceptibly into twilight, and, as we watch, a line of twinkling lights becomes visible beneath the hill, and one by one the stars appear in the deepening sky.

Northward there are no striking elevations, the ground sloping gradually upward by the Lench Hills and the Ridge Way towards the great central tableland; but opposite Malvern, continuing the horizon to the north of Meon, can be seen, when the air is clear, beyond the flat Stour valley, the outline of Edgehill, recalling as we gaze the years of civil strife, full of terror and bloodshed, yet round which Time has thrown his mantle of romance.

So far we have been able to dwell on the broad features of the country which it takes many ages to change or modify. From the earliest times we can record the settlers on this chosen spot must have looked out on the same hills and the same broad valley with its overarching sky. But then, instead of the "crown of gold" of which Drayton sings, or the silver sheen which in springtime now glorifies the gardens, the face of the country was, we are told, one vast thicket of brushwood and forest trees. In Blakenhurst, meaning black forest, the name of the hundred in which the town is situated, we have an indication of the former character of this region. Only here and there was a clearing with a few huts giving shelter to a scanty population of herdsmen and hunters. In those shadowy times the river was broad and shallow, unconfined to one course, here swift and clear, there sluggish and thick, feeding creeks and marshes by the way, and overgrown with rushes and water weeds; of no use probably as a water-way but prolific in fish and fowl.

During historic times the vale has been hallowed by many events, and is sacred to many memories: there is hardly an acre which does not bear evidence of the doings of our forefathers through the long ages of which we have knowledge. The site of the town was apparently unoccupied by the Romans though their thoroughfares run not far distant, and their camps are numerous on the neighbouring hills. Not until Saxon times do we hear of this fertile peninsula being inhabited, and then we are told by the chroniclers of a village called Homme near this spot, the home of only a few peasants. Like many other towns and cities, in England, Evesham is said to have had a monastic origin, and for a long succession of years it is to the monastery alone that she owes her existence and celebrity. The monastic foundation dates from about A.D. 702, and from this time until the Conquest we know little of the fortunes of the place. Access would have been difficult in those days to so retired a spot protected on three sides by a broad river, and though doubtless there was a ford passable on horseback when the water was not in flood, yet until the building of the bridge it must have been isolated indeed. More than once we are told of ravages of the Danes. We know they penetrated far into the country, and Evesham did not escape their vigilance.

Evesham's next great claim to notice is as the field of the decisive battle of 1265, ending in the defeat and death of Simon de Montfort, and the allies still remaining faithful to their leader. This event, we know, added much to the fame of the monastery, and reacted on the town by bringing many pilgrims to the grave of that popular hero. The tomb of the great Earl vied with, or exceeded in popularity, the many sacred relics already enshrined in the abbey church.

Although in pre-Reformation days the abbey dominated the town and the abbot's will was practically law to the inhabitants, yet the townsmen on the whole lived quite apart, doing their own work, managing their own affairs, and enjoying themselves in their own way. The monastery, too, was complete in itself, having its own staff of servants and needing little, if any, outside help. The precincts of the abbey were as entirely shut in with their high wall and strong gates, all fortified in the Edwardian times, as any castle; and little of what went on in this self-contained society would be known to the people living without. It must be remembered also that the townsmen had their own church, that of All Saints, and only on special occasions would they be allowed entrance to the great church belonging to the monks. It would seem that the second church, dedicated to St. Lawrence, was principally used by pilgrims, and this was connected with the monastic buildings by a covered walk of stone.

In the seventeenth century a revolution was effected by the river being rendered navigable from the Severn up to Stratford-on-Avon. Wharves were built, and numerous barges plied their trade up and down the stream. Through Stratford, Birmingham and the Midlands became accessible for heavy traffic by canal. In this century the peaceful vale is once more disturbed by the clang of arms. During the Civil War Evesham was an important military post, on account of its position between the Royalist cities of Worcester and Oxford, and the engagement which took place here will be recounted in due order.

No very notable events took place for many years; the gardening industry flourished, the town retained its importance as an agricultural trading centre, but progress was slow, and life free from incident. But the change from those days of leisure to these in which we live is great. Now the river has ceased to be utilised for commerce: two railways connect the town with every other place of note in the country, and the whole aspect of things is altered. The Evesham of to-day is with us; over the past a glamour is spread.

It may be that, even if we had the chance, we would not return to the past, but over many of us few other studies exercise so great a fascination as the contemplation of the "good old days" which are gone.

THE ABBEY

--LEGEND ON MONASTIC SEAL.

THE FOUNDING OF THE ABBEY

In the dim ages of antiquity, when the face of the country, now busy and fertile, was one dense forest, with here and there a settlement of dwellers in huts, tillers of the land, herdsmen, or hunters, there lived near the spot now occupied by the thriving town of Evesham a swineherd named Eoves. One day, we are told, a favourite sow was missing, and her master hunted brake and briar, far and near, in search of her. While on this errand he penetrated far into the depths of the forest, when suddenly he was startled by a radiant light, in which appeared three figures of women dazzling by their beauty. The vision faded, and on the spot the joyful herdsman discovered his sow with a litter of young.

The news was soon noised abroad, and at length reached the ears of Egwin, the Bishop of the diocese, at Worcester. Egwin inquired into the matter, visited the place, and was himself rewarded by the appearance of the three figures, whom he pronounced to be no other than the Virgin Mary with two attendant angels. Moreover, he was commanded by the Holy Virgin to build a church in that very place. The Bishop, we know, built a church here, founded a monastery, and himself became first abbot. These events occurred early in the eighth century.

Egwin was a man of high connections and influence, and before long the new institution was handsomely and sufficiently endowed. Ethelred, King of Mercia, his nephew Kenred, who succeeded him, and Offa, King of the East Saxons, being the chief donors.

There is another picturesque legend concerning Egwin, which is preserved in the coat-of-arms used by the monastery. It appears that the prelate was falsely charged with certain offences, and to prove his innocence he made a journey to Rome; but before setting off, he fastened a chain and horselock to his ankle and threw the key into the river Avon. On his arrival in the Holy City, a fish was caught by his companions in whose belly the very key was found which had been cast into the river before his departure! Another account relates that the fish who had swallowed the key leapt on board before the travellers reached their destination! The legend of the foundation of the Abbey is engraved on the conventual seal in a series of scenes; and we know it was also depicted in the glass of one of the large windows in the church.

How far the events of this early time are historical, how far traditionary, or even mythical, it is impossible to say, but for many years afterwards the record gives us merely the scanty information we should expect. We hear of the depredations of the Danes, and the destruction by them of the monastery, and later of discords and dissensions between monks and canons; indeed, it is not until the reign of Canute that the Benedictines gained complete and final possession of the Abbey and its estates. The first church and monastery were probably of wood. Later, in the Saxon period, stone would have taken its place, but the form was no doubt primitive in the extreme. The founder's tomb would be the principal treasure, but, as time went on, other relics were acquired, and many shrines needed to contain the precious remains.

It was to King Canute that the monks owed the relics of Saint Wistan, which held the place of honour in the church in mediaeval days. They were enclosed in a magnificent tomb erected behind the high altar, in the position occupied by the shrine of Edward the Confessor in the Abbey Church of Westminster. Soon afterwards we hear of the acquisition by purchase of the body of Saint Odulf from some travelling merchants, dealers in relics of sanctity, who, as will be seen, had no right to have the remains of the saint in their possession.

Saint Wistan was a scion of the royal house of Mercia, heir to the throne, and for a short period nominal monarch, but his nature was more fitted for a religious than a political life, and he took little part in the affairs of the state. In the year 849 he fell a victim to the treachery of his cousin Britfard, a rival claimant to the kingdom.

A curious story relating to the remains of this saint is told in the monastic chronicles. Edith, the queen of Edward the Confessor, being anxious to acquire some precious relic for purposes of her own, called upon a number of the religious houses of England to send their treasures to Gloucester, there to be inspected by her, and, among others, the convent of Evesham sent the remains of Saint Odulf and Saint Egwin. As the queen was examining the shrine of the former, she was suddenly struck with a peculiar form of blindness, and not until she had invoked the saint's intercession, and declared her intention of restoring the sacred relics to the monks, did she regain her sight!

Another interesting personality gained in a very different manner the reverence, if not the worship, of the religious devotees of the time. This was Saint Wulsy, a hermit of repute, who, we are told, lived for seventy-five years a life of contemplation and seclusion. From Crowland Abbey, his earlier home, Wulsy was led blindfolded, that he might not be contaminated by the world, to Evesham, and near the church he built with his own hands a chapel in honour of Saint Kenelm, saint and martyr, with a cell adjoining, in which he spent the rest of his life.

In the reign of Edward the Confessor the church was rebuilt and greatly enlarged by Abbot Mannie, noted as a skilful craftsman in gold and silver; but even this must have seemed to the ambitious Norman insignificant, and unworthy of its high purpose, for very soon after the Conquest it was pulled down to make way for a much larger and more dignified building.

THE ABBEY AFTER THE CONQUEST

William the Conqueror did not oust the prudent Abbot whom he found in office at Evesham. A favourite at the court of Edward the Confessor, Abbot Agelwy stood high also in Harold's regard, and was not only unmolested when William took up the reins of power, but was appointed to other offices of great trust and political importance. On his death the abbacy was given to a Norman monk, Walter of Cerasia, and in his time the great church of which some foundations still remain was begun. The "wily Agelwy" had left "four chests of silver" towards this reconstruction, but this was not enough to build even the crypt and chancel, and we find Abbot Walter sending the chief treasures of the monastery, namely, the shrines containing the relics of Saint Odulf and Saint Egwin, round the country in charge of certain monks for the collection of more funds.

According to the monkish historian Saint Odulf refused to allow himself to be used for this purpose, and after one experiment the attempt was given up. The story goes that the shrine was carried to Winchcomb and laid in the church there, with the intention of being brought out next day into the market-place for exhibition, and probably with the hope of some cures being effected. But when the bearers tried to remove it from the church they could not with all their strength raise it from the floor; so the sermon was preached outside, a collection made, and the shrine brought home. The expedition with Saint Egwin was quite successful, and a considerable sum of money collected towards the building.

As time went on the Monastery waxed in wealth and importance, and succeeding abbots completed, furnished, and decorated the new church planned by Abbot Walter. It had the usual choir, nave, central tower, and transepts; and cloisters surrounded by monastic buildings. Those who know the larger Norman churches of England will be able to form a fairly correct impression of the church at this time; but it is impossible to imagine truly the effect of the painted walls, arches and columns, the rich monuments, shrines, and altars decorated with fine embroideries, goldsmith's work, and jewellery; all illuminated by windows of richly coloured glass.

From time to time Abbots with a taste or genius for building added to the structure. In the thirteenth century the central tower fell, and this was in part rebuilt and the choir repaired by Marleberge, an Abbot conspicuous by his ability, of whom we shall hear later. It was Marleberge who helped to complete a bell tower, which also fell to the ground not many years after, to be replaced by the beautiful campanile which still remains. Although the great church of the Monastery was the principal part of that institution, and on it was lavished all the wealth and skill available, yet it was but a small part of the whole group of buildings forming the "mitred Abbey" of Saint Mary and Saint Egwin. Round the cloister were ranged the principal chambers accommodating the abbot and the monks. Here were the chapter house in which meetings of various kinds were held, the refectory where meals were served and partaken of, the long dormitory where the monks slept, and the scriptorium in which the writing and illuminating was done. Round the outer courtyard, entered by the great gatehouse, which could be defended in case of need, were other buildings, barns, stables, and servants' quarters. Not far away was the hospital, and almost adjoining the principal gatehouse was the Almonry where the poorer guests were received and food served out to the needy. This building exists at the present time, and it will be observed that it is not enclosed within the boundary wall but is open on one side to the public green.

The Monastery owned much land, mostly in the neighbourhood, and before the dissolution the income through various channels has been calculated at about eighty thousand pounds of our present money. Dr. Jessop has described with wonderful realism the daily routine of the Benedictine monasteries, and the chronicles of Evesham have provided him with some of his most valuable information. In addition to the daily services which occupied much of their time, we find every member of the community busy with some work specially entrusted to him. In a well-regulated monastery idleness was impossible; the limited time permitted for leisure was usually occupied by recreation, gardening and bowls both being favourite pastimes. Of course writing and illumination were in constant demand, and Dr. Jessop has pointed out that in addition to the production of church service books, of music, and educational work in connection with the school, "a small army of writers" must have been needed in the "business department of the scriptorium." The Benedictine rule would appear to have been framed with the idea of giving full employment to every inmate of the monastery.

Considering the wealth of the institution, consisting for the most part in land, and the responsibilities consequently incurred, we are not surprised to read that before the dissolution the Abbey of Evesham contained eighty-nine monks and sixty-five servants. The property did not all lie in the near neighbourhood. In the fifteenth century the Abbey of Alcester came into the hands of the Monastery. At an earlier period the Priory of Penwortham in Lancashire was granted to this wealthy body, and in the time of William Rufus monks were sent to a religious house at Odensee in the island of Fuenen, in the Baltic sea, to instruct the members in the Evesham usage of the rule of Saint Benedict. This Priory became a little later a cell of the great Abbey.

The last of the abbots and one of the most striking figures on the roll was Clement Lichfield. To him we owe much of the architectural beauty of both the parish churches; and besides erecting the bell tower he adorned the choir of the "great church," as it was called, with perpendicular decoration.

THE DISSOLUTION

Philip Hawford cannot be counted on the list of abbots. After having borne and yielded much, Lichfield resigned, and Hawford was appointed in his place, merely that he might surrender his charge in due form to the King, an act to which it was impossible for Abbot Lichfield to condescend, Hawford afterwards became Dean of Worcester, and there in the cathedral, in a recess behind the reredos, his effigy may still be seen, in full abbatial vestments, mitre and staff. Abbot Lichfield was allowed to retire to the manor house of Offenham, where he died in 1546, and was buried in the lovely chapel he had built in early life on to the church of All Saints beneath the shelter of his own Abbey.

The story of the Monastery has now come to an end. In 1536 the lesser priories and monasteries were suppressed, and we can well imagine the tremor which this daring act of Henry must have sent through the religious world. We can be sure the blow was unexpected by the monks themselves. Only a few years before this Clement Lichfield had devoted much labour and money to the decoration of the great church, and his last work was the building of the tower which stands to this day. We can never know whether the architectural additions which he made to the parish churches were suggested by the suspicion that they might survive that glorious edifice under whose shadow they reposed; but in his later years of retirement surely we may believe that he experienced a sorrowful gratification at the thought that some of his work would remain for the admiration of future ages, and that his mortal remains would lie in peace within the chapel which, in his youth, he had planned and adorned.

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