Castles of England

John Paul Davis

• Publisher: Pen and Sword History
• Year: 2021
• ISBN:
  9781526749925
• Topic: Architecture
• Subtopic: Architecture General

In 1051, a monk of Canterbury Cathedral made a bizarre observation in what would eventually form part of the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle. In his chronicling of the year’s events, he described the establishment of a new fortification in Herefordshire by French members of the king’s party. More sophisticated than the typical Saxon burh, the word provided was alien to his vocabulary. In Latin, its builders had christened it: castellum. Little did anyone at the time know, this unique building would mark a drastic change in the direction of England’s history. For almost a thousand years, the castles of England have stood proudly over her landscape. While many bear the scars of centuries of warfare, others continue to enjoy a far more comfortable existence. They are the sites of bloody sieges. The windswept ruin. The royal palace. The home of knights and nobility. The local museum. The posh hotel. Though we all recognise a castle when we see one, no two are ever exactly alike. By digging deep into the history of England’s mighty castles, the purpose of this book is to throw light on those who lived there. For as long as there have been castles in England, there have been mysteries within their walls: murders that were never solved, treasures that remain unfound, prisoners left to rot in the ghastliest pits or executions worthy of lasting infamy. From unfortunate victims to long lost legends, infamous owners to ladies in grey, Castles of England offers a fresh investigation into many of those tales that will forever be the cause of intrigue for visitors. To understand who they were is to understand the story of the castle in England. To understand the castle in England is to understand England.

Chapter 1

The Isles of Scilly, Cornwall and Devon

Lyonesse

Charles Dickens wrote that he knew of no experience comparable to watching the sunset over Land’s End. Should the great novelist have looked out to sea from there at the end of a calm summer’s day, he might well have been rewarded with the sight of a burning ball of golden yellow, glistening off an endless stretch of calm blue, beyond which the mystery of creation awaited discovery. On certain days, a ghostly mist crosses the headland: a phenomenon that appears all the more portentous when mixed with the noise of a strong tide lapping against the rocky shoreline or the dreary calling of a foghorn resonating through the haze.

There is an old legend that before the Norman Invasion, a great landmass existed beyond the tip of Land’s End and stretched out far across the Celtic Sea. Most accounts place its destruction between the midtenth and eleventh centuries, yet the exact date has become the subject of intense conjecture. Other reports from the Middle Ages claim this mysterious land veered south and joined with the equally legendary city of Ys that reputedly existed off the north coast of Brittany. It is generally accepted that the origin of the legend is no later than Celtic times.

Of all the lost lands said to have sunk beneath the waves, evidence for this particular landmass is at least interesting enough to consider. Not only do vague accounts appear in various Saxon writings, but early literature also includes a partial list of its kings, which has since become inextricably intertwined with Arthurian legend. It was written that the lost land, usually known as Lyonesse, was a fabled country made up of beautiful towns and buildings, among which the bells of 140 ancient churches tolled. Scant evidence for the claim is supported by the remains of a fossilised forest visible at low tide. Timeless reports also speak of Cornish fishermen dredging up ancient masonry or glass among their wares. To this day, stories also abound that the ghostly tolling of those long lost bells continues to be heard, seemingly originating from beneath the waves.

Thanks to Alfred Lord Tennyson, Lyonesse’s home in Arthurian lore has long been settled. His epic work Idylls of the King pinpointed Lyonesse as the location of Arthur’s fateful Battle of Camlann, in which he succumbs to wounds inflicted by nemesis Mordred. The same landmass has also become famed as the birthplace of Tristan, whose love affair with Iseult was destined for tragedy. Tristan was himself a knight of the round table, and his father a king of Lyonesse.

Such stories are just two of many that connect Lyonesse to the Cornish mainland. Located near Fowey, the Tristan Stone is said to mark his grave. Though unlikely to be factual, the stone possesses a strange aura: the type somehow typical of Cornwall in general. The coat of arms of the Trevelyan family also celebrates the tale that their forebear was the lost land’s one survivor after being galloped to safety by his trusty white steed.

In recent times, stories of Lyonesse have generated new interest. In 1998, researchers from the Institute of Metahistory in Moscow claimed that the lost continent of Atlantis had at last been located, approximately 100 miles into the Atlantic, on the edge of the Celtic Shelf. Consideration has also been made that this could fit the description for Lyonesse, albeit far further away from the tip of Land’s End as it had appeared in the earliest legend. Indeed, potentially more in keeping with Plato’s descriptions of Atlantis.

Should a kernel of truth exist in the old legends, a prime contender is the Isles of Scilly. The possibility that this small archipelago of over 100 islands and islets, located 28 miles from Land’s End, really are the mountaintops of land that disappeared beneath the waves is doubtful. Nevertheless, for more than 1,000 years, a combination of rumour and old documentary evidence has spoken of the Isles of Scilly as a single landmass.

At the time of the Roman occupation of Britain, sources told of the Scillonia Insula, which implies a more substantial landmass than mere islands. Similarly, the Greeks spoke of the Cassiterides – Tin Islands. So important was the location to them and the seamen of Gades – modernday Cádiz in Spain – and their trading with the Phoenicians that the site of the Cassiterides was a closely guarded secret. The reference is curious. Tin mining is practically unheard of there in the modern day. Contrastingly, the process was highly lucrative in Cornwall. Tradition named the most extensive island Ennor, which had a large settlement and at least one port.

Reference to one land mass also compares with accounts left behind by the Vikings. In the tenth century, a combination of Norse oral tradition and later writings spoke of farming communities, large monasteries – or at least some form of religious foundations – and several town-like communities, raids of which yielded the theft of several cattle. Sadly it can no longer be claimed with certainty that any of these accounts concerned a single landmass, nor one separate from mainland England.

Though evidence of petrified wood and the historical veracity that some ports have indeed fallen into the sea does potentially offer credence, the story of Trevelyan has a certain Noah and the Great Flood feel about it. Similarly, the idea that God smote the wicked with a single stroke compares well with the tales of Sodom and Gomorrah and Atlantis. Of perhaps even greater intrigue is suggestion in Arthurian literature that the land was mostly underwater, akin to the Low Countries, and effectively plugged using dams and tidal barriers. In one version of the Arthurian tradition, Mordred’s deputy, Maelgwyn, occupied Lyonesse for several months after the Battle of Camlann and ordered its opening in about 538 ad. Until further evidence comes to light, the story of Lyonesse, though fascinating, must be considered more myth than history.

The Isles of Scilly

As marine traffic developed, defence of the inhabited islands from hostile raids became more pressing. The first of the Isles’s castles were built on the largest island of St Mary’s and named Ennor in honour of the single island spoken of in Saxon texts. Available evidence suggests it probably consisted of little more than a shell keep and a walled courtyard. The earliest reference is found in a deed from 1244.

In 1306, Edward I appointed Sir Ranulph de Blanchminster constable in return for an annual rent of 6s 8d or 300 puffins. The Isles were a natural habitat of the creature: technically a fish, thus rendering it edible during Lent. By 1337, the islands and its assets formed part of the Duchy of Cornwall. After garrisoning some 150 men at arms during Tudor times, its influence and prosperity waned under Elizabeth I and was soon in disrepair. Before this time, led by the government of Edward VI and under the watchful eye of Sir Thomas Godolphin, work began on a castle on the second-largest island of Tresco, itself reputedly a haunt of mermaids and mysterious cave passages that link it to St Mary’s. Due to its poor positioning on the west side of the island, the defensive capabilities of what was then named Castle Down were severely limited. It was later renamed King Charles’s Castle.

A new castle was built on St Mary’s, named the Star Castle in honour of its unique eight-pointed shape. When Tresco and its neighbouring island, Bryher, fell to Admiral Blake’s Parliamentarians during the Civil War, the Royalists were forced to surrender St Mary’s too. A second castle was built on Tresco in 1652, known as Cromwell’s Castle. After operating as a prison under the Commonwealth and Charles II, from 1669, the Star Castle hosted a garrison of 200. It later became the Governor’s mansion before opening its doors as a hotel in 1933 in a ceremony involving the then duke of Cornwall, later Edward VIII. The hotel remains open to guests and offers some of the best views of the locality. Ennor Castle’s stone keep also survives in part, while nearby earthworks provide a reminder of its use in the Civil War. The gunpowder-battered remains of King Charles’s Castle have been reassembled. Close by, Cromwell’s Castle still stands guard over Tresco harbour, three centuries after helping to ensure the Isles never fell to the Dutch.

A small side note to their existence is that during the latter days of the English Civil War, Admiral Maarten Tromp’s Dutch navy found themselves at war with the Royalists. In league with the Parliamentarians, the Dutch navy was blighted by Royalist raids at sea. So precarious was the Royalist position by this time, its navy had retreated to the Isles, their one remaining stronghold. After initial talks came to little, Tromp declared war on the Isles on 30 May 1651. Due to the Isles’s enforced surrender to the Parliamentarians in 1651, the war came to little and would have been instantly forgotten had all concerned remembered to sign a peace treaty. This mishap was finally remedied in April 1986 after the Dutch ambassador flew over for talks. Thus ended one of the longest wars in history: officially lasting 335 years and suffering not a single shot or fatality.

Pengersick

Located close to Land’s End, the ruins of Pengersick are easily among England’s most picturesque. Contrary to its name, which means ‘head of a marshy place’, the castle is a magical place over which a strange atmosphere often hangs.

The original site probably dates back to the Bronze Age. Excavations have confirmed the presence of earthworks predating the Norman Conquest. A more tangible mark survives from the twelfth century, at which time the Pengersick family constructed the original Norman castle in stone to defend Mount’s Bay from sea raiders. Three centuries later, a combination of fruitful marriage and the spoils of a Portuguese vessel, the San Antonio, enriched the future owner and later governor of St Michael’s Mount, John (Job) Militon, who used the extra wealth to expand the castle. In 1899, the Devonshire Reverend Sabine Baring-Gould wrote of Militon’s father of the same name:

near Germoe, but nearer the sea is a very fine remnant of a castle, Pengersick. It was erected in the time of Henry VIII by a man named Millaton … He had committed murder and to escape justice he fled his native country and hid himself in the dip of land facing the sea at Pengersick, where he constructed at tower amply protected with means of defence. The basement is furnished with loops for firing upon anyone approaching, and above the door is a shoot for melted lead. The entire building is beautifully constructed. Here Millaton remained in concealment until he died, never leaving his tower for more than a brief stroll. The land had not been purchased in his own name, but in that of his son.

That the older John Militon had a reputation for murder before he constructed the castle is plausible, albeit again, there is no clear proof of this. Evidence that he stuck to the castle appears supported. This may also be behind the rumour that his ghost haunts the modern house. Most of what survives dates from the sixteenth century, when a fortified manor house was built more in line with the standards of Tudor living. Writing in 1814, the English antiquarian and engraver, Samuel Lysons, composed of the site:

There are considerable remains of an ancient castellated mansion on this estate, called Pendersick Castle, the principal rooms in which are made use of as granaries and hay-lofts; one of them, which is nearly entire, is wainscoted in panels; the upper part of the wainscot is ornamented with paintings, each of which is accompanied with appropriate verses and proverbs in text hand.

Few places compare with Pengersick concerning the number of legends. Indeed, the castle has a reputation as one of the most haunted castles in England. Prevalent among the old yarns are those that surround the original twelfth-century owner, Henry Pengersick. Henry appears by all accounts to have been possessed of a violent temperament; he may even have been psychopathic. Local legend also states he participated in Devil Worship. Indeed, the castle is reputedly the setting of both Satanism and witchcraft. One of the estate’s more famous legends concerns his killing of a monk of Hailes Abbey, who presented himself at the castle to collect tithes. The murdered monk is synonymous with the hooded spectre alleged to haunt the grounds. Finding proof of the murder, however, has been difficult. Better evidence surrounds his assault of the diligent brother. A similar report concerns a local vicar.

Henry’s hand is also alleged to have been involved in another life cut short: that of his beautiful wife, Engrina Godolphin, whose family were wealthy magnates. Henry is known to have been violent to Engrina, who reputedly haunts the modern tower house’s main bedroom. How she died is a mystery, though there is some evidence that her tale may have merged with another of the castle’s darker stories. A ghostly woman has been seen clutching her stomach in agony. Often the apparition of a maid or nurse accompanies her. How the ghost of this thirteenth-century lady haunts the more modern sixteenth-century fortified house seems mysterious in its own right without proving the existence of ghosts. Yet, an interesting solution has been put forward based on the knowledge that the modern castle was built using the same stones as the original. Proponents of the ‘stone tape theory’, that events of some importance become deeply entrenched into the local ether due to the physical properties, have long advocated this as the reason for the hauntings.

Another candidate for the strange haunting concerns the castle in its present form. More specifically, Job Militon’s son, William. Stories of a ghostly woman may also lend to the story that William sought to poison his wife. Baring-Gould again picks up this fascinating account:

According to local legend, William Millaton lived a cat and dog life with his wife Honor. They hated each other with a deadly hate and at length each severally resolved this incompatible union must end. William Millaton said to his wife, ‘Honor, we have lived in wretchedness too long. Let us resolve in a reconciliation, forget the past, and begin a new life.’

‘Most certainly do I agree,’ she said.

‘And,’ continued William, ‘as a pledge of our reunion, let us have a feast tonight.’

So a banquet was spread in Pengersick Castle for them twain and none others. And when they had well eaten, William said,

‘Let us drink to our reunion.’

‘I will drink if you will drink,’ she said.

Then he drained his glass, and after that, she drained hers. With a bitter laugh she said, ‘William, you have but three minutes to live. Your cup was poisoned.’

‘And you,’ he retorted, ‘have but five, for yours was poisoned also.’

‘It is well,’ said Honor. ‘I am content. I shall have two minutes in which to triumph over your dead carcass, and spurn it with my foot.’

Highly plausible it is that the marriage was an unhappy one, a brief check of the records is enough to confirm this story as false. Rather than dying within minutes of one another, Honor survived her husband’s death in 1571 by a further eight years.

That the reputed ghosts of a black cat and dog are intended as symbolic of this unhappy union is another intriguing suggestion. The Black Shuck is a famous one in England’s south-west. Another possibility is that this infamous stretch of coast that became the domain of smugglers in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries saw the Shuck’s creation as a cover.

The spirit of a teenage girl is alleged to haunt the battlements, tempting others over. A mischievous boy also pulls at women’s skirts. Encasing the strange stories of suspected murder and tragedy is the sudden appearance of ghostly mists that cloak the ancient stones in obscurity.

St Michael’s Mount

Few places in Cornwall epitomise the magic of this beautiful county better than St Michael’s Mount. Located just south of the mainland at the heart of Mount’s Bay between Marazion and Penzance, the mount is a tidal island accessible via boat travel or a causeway at low tide.

Like much of England’s south-western tip, legends abound. Synonymous with the tale of Lyonesse, a large forest once spread along the coast around the mount: it is here the fossilised remains can still be seen at low tide. Prior to its modern naming, locals dubbed the mount ‘Carreg luz en kuz’, meaning, ‘the white rock in the wood’. The origins of the mount itself are even more mysterious. The early stories centre around a giant named Cormoran, who chose the peak to keep watch over his neighbours. The giant had a preference for the white granite rocks that could be found in the surrounding hills, much to the displeasure of his wife, Cornellian, who collected greenstones in her apron. Legend tells that Cornellian’s perceived laziness irked her husband, leading to his kicking her in frustration, causing one of the stones to fly up and onto the sand. Chapel Rock still occupies a spot on the beach and is cited as the stone in question.

For many years, the giant plagued the locals by rustling sheep and cattle from the mainland. One morning a young boy rowed out to the mount when the giant was asleep and sought to end his reign of terror by digging a deep hole, which he disguised with twigs and straw. When the giant awoke, he unwittingly fell into the well-laid trap, after which Jack-the-giant-killer returned home a hero. Despite the clear mythology at play, an ancient well is still visible at the present site and is celebrated as the spot into which the giant fell.

Prehistoric myths are not the only tales to have graced this isolated spot. The name itself owes its origins to a legend involving St Michael the Arc...