by Peter Hill
Houghton folk know before they’re told,
Brayfield folk know when they’re told.
A whole group of villages in the Nene valley are given various attributes in the following rhyme which goes back to at least the first decade of the nineteenth century and appeared in an edition of the Northampton County Magazine in the 1920s:
Thorpe and Achurch stand in a row,
Lilford and Pilton and peevish Wadenhoe,
Onicle the Chronicle stands by the waterside, Islip is
nothing but malice and pride,
Thrapston,Whitehorse;Titchmarsh, the Cross;
Clapton, the Clay, Barnwell, King’s Highway,
Armston, On the hill, Polebrook, In the hole,
Ashton, Blows the bellows, Oundle, Burns the coal.
‘Thorpe’ is Thorpe Waterville and ‘Onicle’ is the old pronunciation of Aldwincle. Even today, Wadenhoe folk cannot account for why their village was called ‘peevish’ – in any of the word’s meanings of foolish, bad-tempered, obstinate or mischievous – and the residents of Islip would definitely say they are not haughty!
Sometimes the joke was at the expense of those who used the expression against another village. Grendon men were called ‘moonrakers’ after a legend sprang up that a group of locals were said to have once seen the reflection of the full moon in a pond and tried to rake it out, thinking it was a giant cheese. This was based on the more renowned Wiltshire legend, in which local men were engaged in retrieving smuggled casks of brandy hidden in the water of a pond and pretended to be idiots by raking out the moon’s reflection in a pond when they saw revenue men coming their way. The revenue men were the real fools for believing them, and missed their chance of catching the criminals. Grendon would have used the legend for themselves as a means of attention seeking and one-upmanship, like the ‘penning in the cuckoo’ or treacle mines (q.v.), the joke boomeranging back on anyone who believes or says it.
Other sayings are of a much more complimentary nature. Around England, a famous saying about the county is ‘Northamptonshire for spires and squires’. This is certainly justified, as the county was at one time the country seat of over 100 squires – some of them, such as the Montagus, Cecils, and Hattons, holding high positions in the nation – and has a similar number of spires on its churches, many of which have been built in the fine, durable local limestone.
One rhyme describes stand-out features of a particular settlement: ‘Doddington dovecote, Wilby hen, Arthlingborough ploughboys, Wellingborough men’. Another village, Holdenby, once had a fine hall, most of which was replaced by the present building in 1887. One can imagine its grandeur on a sunny day, as shown in the saying: ‘It shines like Holmby’.
The epithet ‘Naseby children’ was applied to the old people of that village, many of whom were noted for having full control of their mental abilities, even powers of physical regeneration at an advanced age. One villager who died at the age of ninety-four is said to have cut a new set of teeth after reaching the age of seventy. No one has ever worked out the secret of such a phenomenon, though some sources put it down to the water!
Four villages lying close together on the Nene are grouped together in a complimentary rhyme about their picturesque appearance: ‘Chelveston cum Caldecot, Stanwick little none, pretty little Denford, and fine Addington’. However, it is King’s Sutton that takes some beating for a description of its qualities. If the saying is correct even now, then it would certainly be a successful public relations exercise and a persuasive advertisement for coming to the village:
King’s Sutton is a pretty town, and lies all in a valley,
It has a pretty ring of bells, besides a bowling alley,
Wine and liquor in good store, pretty maidens plenty,
Can a man deserve more? There ain’t such a town in twenty!
Another rhyme is of much more ancient origin and, according to tradition, was uttered by the Danes fighting King Alfred at Danesmoor in the ninth century, as they swept across the region. It refers to Padwell, which is a spring at Edgcote, and the stone is a boundary marker on the Warwickshire border:
If we can Padwell overgoe, and Horestone we can see,
Then Lords of England we shall be.
Interestingly, a similar saying is associated with the Rollright Stones a few miles away on the Warwickshire and Oxfordshire border, where a mythical king with aspirations to extend his power was told by a local witch:
If Long Compton thou canst see,
The King of England thou shalt be.
It was also customary in many communities around the county to give certain people names according to their appearance, habit, personality, or occupation. This was useful, especially among males, as several often had the same Christian name such as Bob or Bill; however, it was important in other ways. Gertrude Watkins of Brixwoth wrote in 1881:
It was rather necessary to be acquainted with the nicknames of some people. Frequently on enquiry for a person by his real name, the only answer would be a blank stare, when yet the nickname elicited an immediate response.
Around the county, Stump would be a common name for a person walking on one leg, Sexy for a sexton and Toby was not unknown for anyone with a face like the jug of that name! Later, Hobbs or a similar well-known name would be given to a particularly avid cricket fan. Other one-time common names were Nipper, Stubby, Mossy, Sammy Rags, Wagger, Dripping, Dribbler, Goggy, Hedgehog, Spider, Monkey, Ferret, Donkey, Whoppy, Bodger, Bobby Noddles, Fiddler, Fidgit, Doshy, Spot, Fleshy, Pudden, Porky, Giant, Snobby and Spud. An unusual county version of the common expression ‘like father, like son’, was ‘such words, such chips’.
A famous deer stealer active in Rockingham Forest in the seventeenth century was Jack o’Lantern of Kingscliffe. Another, active around Gretton, was Jumping Jack. At Brixworth, there were two brothers with the same first name who were known according to their occupations: Chip Bob was a carpenter and Dough Bob a baker. At Higham Ferrers, there was a poor couple known as Lord and Lady Higham. Watercress Harry was the name given to a Kettering inspector of milestones, who plied his wares in the area. In early Victorian times, lads named Albert were given the epithet Prince, in honour of the Prince Consort.
Field Names
Life, Lunch, Wormstalls, Deadman’s Grave, Grimble White, Ankers, Cobra, Jack Arthur, Wounds, Easter Hill – the names conjure up all kinds of images – are just a few of the many colourful descriptions of landscape features around Northamptonshire that have come down through the ages, a rich vocabulary applied to the type, status or nature of a particular field, pasture, meadow, wood, hill or spring. But their names are often not what they seem. Many of these are either regional or national. Most are no longer known by their original fanciful names – names that would have changed in pronunciation and spelling over the years and have now become part of folklore. So why were they given such interesting names, making our modern-day imagination work overtime, trying to guess their meaning?
Unlike place names, field names are often more difficult to trace, firstly because written records before the thirteenth century do not usually mention them, so we have to rely on their Middle English (medieval) or later names, many of which have been changed etymologically, in spelling or in pronunciation. In this chapter and in the Glossary, the following codes are used for the three language sources: OE (Old English), ON (Old Norse), and ME (Middle English).
In some exceptional cases, there may be a hidden or implicit meaning, using sarcasm, irony or humour. For example, Van Dieman’s Land, a name usually applied to a distant working field, may be a play on the word ‘demon’, implying that it is land that the Devil own, i.e. hard to plough. The name also had criminal connotations current at the time the field was named, as criminals were transported to Van Dieman’s Land on the other side of the world; in this case the name implies that the field would be the ideal location for certain elements of society meeting under dubious circumstances, e.g. poachers!
More straigh
tforward is Dedequene Moor, near Towcester. In 1907, a thirteenth-century document was discovered detailing a grant of land by Edward I at ‘Dedequenemor’, leading to speculation that the name referred to a dead queen, probably Boudicca. For centuries, the exact location of Boudicca’s burial site has been a source of intrigue and one of the supposed sites was off Watling Street, near where the fatal British tribal battle took place with the Romans, and where the queen is said to have taken poison in defeat. The field is in the right region, albeit further south of the struggle. Unfortunately, any speculation by county people must be dashed, since the word ‘quene’ was the Old English word for ‘lady’; today it is still found in the Danish ‘kvinde’ and Swedish ‘kvinna’, where ‘kv’ is the equivalent of our ‘qu’. Blatherwycke, at the other end of the county, also laid a claim to having Boudicca’s remains, as two separate stone coffins containing the upper and lower parts of a very tall female skeleton were once discovered. Being so tall of course would be a mark of distinction – not just physically but also in status!
Before the days of treated sewage and public toilets, human waste had to be deposited somewhere, often being scattered across fields, in midden heaps or at some discreet location. However, one could not help but notice where these functions took place and appropriate names were given to these places. There was a Shitten Alley at Finedon, a Mickstead – meaning ‘dungheap’ – at Desborough, Fish Alley at Bozeat and Dinge Lane, from the OE ‘dycge’ meaning manure, at Polebrook. One survivor is Jericho at Oundle, an enclosed narrow cul-de-sac just off the old marketplace. The name comes from ‘jerry’, an old word for a chamber pot. With dozens of public houses at one time in the vicinity, it was vital to have some kind of watering place nearby!
Two curious street names in Oundle: Blackpot Lane recalls the hostelry that stood in the vicinity, itself named after a type of drinking vessel used in olden times; Jericho refers to a secluded place for emptying the bladder.
Daglin Lane at Harringworth and Dag Lane at Corby, Stanion, Deene and Cottingham are references to the muck that accumulated on the underside of sheep as they passed through. Lumbertubs Lane at Moulton was so-called after being used at one time by local shopkeepers disposing of their rubbish. ‘Lumber’ meant articles of no further use and ‘tubs’ were presumably the containers for butter and other commodities. Ramshackle houses or an area infested with rats would be referred to as Rats Hall, as at Wadenhoe and elsewhere, or Rotten Row, as at Rushden, Oundle, Geddington and Kettering. In the latter town, the name was given to a row of twelve shops facing the north of Market Place, which were ‘very irregularly Built and all Thatch’. The upper floors were accommodation for the poor and very disagreeable to the people that occupied the shops or lived near them.
In modern times, niceties have crept in and names have undergone a change. Northampton’s Cow Meadow was renamed because the Ladies’ Bowling Club was based there and they would have objected to the bovine connection! Shutlanger was the new name for the village of Shitlanger, for obvious reasons. Boothville replaced the name Buttocks End.
Other names are far from what they might seem in their meaning. Hell’s Yard at Aynho has no unpleasant connection but is simply a corruption of the surname Hill, referring to a family who once lived and farmed on the site. An alternative name for Gartree Road, a Roman road running from Huntingon via Thrapston and Corby into Leicestershire, was the Via Devana. However, it is misleading to think this is an original name, for it was invented by scholars in the eighteenth century solely to give it a classical feel. Scotgate at Harringworth comes from the Old Norse ‘skog gata’, meaning a woodland road, and nearby Turtle Bridge is a corruption of the surname of Ralph Turcle (ON: Thorkill), who owned land here in 1277. Therefore it is not a reference to turtles swmming in the River Welland below!
Little London, despite fanciful interpretations of its meaning, was a jocular village name. In the nineteenth century, as the population began to rise again after emigration and newcomers began to arrive, some villages began to expand and any extra dwellings would have given a sense of overcrowding in an area previously unspoilt or uninhabited. Change is anathema to human nature! Among villages hosting this name past and present are Gretton, Yardley Gobion, Passenham, Silverstone and Earls Barton.
Another jocular name was given to the dominant street of Middleton by locals in the nineteenth century: a plaque on the front of The Maltings in Main Street is inscribed ‘Birmingham Street’, since that was the name of the largest town in the region at the time, and the road – with diversions – would eventually lead to it!
The Folly at Rothwell was a local name for Shotwell Mill Lane, stemming from the fact that a builder erected two cottages at a site which at the time was so distant from the town that folk said, ‘What a folly to build so far out!’ and the name stuck.
Many streets have ‘pudding’ in their names. In some cases it is a description of the sticky surface, as in Pudding Lane, Wadenhoe and Plum Pudding Lane, Titchmarsh. Featherbed Lane at Little Oakley got its name for similar reasons. Pudding End, Braybrooke; Pudding Bag, Sibbertoft and Pudding Bag Lane in Kettering, Bozeat and Paulerpury were so-called because there was no way out of them, like a cloth-covered steamed pudding. These roads were a dead-end as a public right of way, although there was often private land beyond, and access would in some cases have been tantamount to trespass.
A tablet on the wall of a house in Middleton, with a jocular alternative name for the street in which it stands.
More curious names include Polopit at Titchmarsh, which derives from an earlier name, Puddle Pit, where the villagers got stone, gravel or sand for roads or their own use. Derngate at Northampton originates from the Celtic ‘dubras’, meaning water, hence its meaning is ‘watergate’. The same element gives rise to the name Derwent. Hatchdoyle Lane at Stoke Doyle refers to a ‘dole’, which was the name formerly applied to a portion of the common fields, and came to mean ‘gateway to the field’, the name later corrupted to Doyle after the name of the village.
Jordan Bridge, spanning the River Jordan at Braybrooke. The name derives from the local Baptist church who used its water in their services.
The names of the county’s villages are more straightforward and well-documented, though there are some that need more research. Interesting examples are Maidford and Maidwell, meaning ‘ford where the maidens gathered’ and ‘spring where the maidens gathered’ respectively. While one can imagine the younger women collecting water at such sites, there are other possible origins, for the prefix, with spelling variations in older names, can mean either ‘folk’, ‘meadow’ or ‘stone’, all of which are plausible. Place names have always been of great interest to county folk, with such a variety of colourful names within its boundaries, but we can discount an etymological list which appeared in the 1920s in the Northampton County Magazine, under the giveaway name of the compiler, L.E.G. Puller! For example:
Hanging Houghton: It was the custom to hang beggars as soon as they were seen.
Sywell: There was a famous well here to which lovers used to repair to plight their troth; the ceremony, for which there was no charge, was necessarily accompanied by many a sigh and so Sigh-well.
Isham: Literally ‘home of the ice’ but actually ‘home of the Ise’ as called because the river when first seen was frozen, and it was called Ice, but the Saxons, no more than the Danes, ever could spell.
Sulgrave: From Sol, the sun. At a suitable place to the east at the vernal equinox, the sun appears to sink into the earth at Sulgrave, to go into its grave as it were, thus Sul-grave.
Two of the more unusual place names to be found in the county: Stowe Nine Churches, named after the number of attempts at building the church, or alternatively the number of churches visible from the site; and Luddington in the Brook, named after the proximity of its original location, before realignment in the mid-1800s.
Epitaphs
At Bozeat there is an inscription on a mid-nineteenth century gravestone to John and M
ary Partridge which ends with a warning to would-be desecrators that today’s vandals would do well to heed: ‘May all the afflictions of Job be the lot that disturbs the remains of those that repose below’. At Weedon Bec is a stone to Alice Old, who honoured her name by living ‘through six reigns’, from Charles I through the Commonwealth to William and Mary. Beneath the carpet in the nave of the church of St John the Baptist at Harringworth is a floor memorial to one of its former vicars, Matthew Palmer, who died in 1752 at the remarkable age of 110 years. At Weedon Lois, there is a weatherworn tombstone depicting a woman handing a cup of poison to her husband. According to tradition, she was the last person to be burned at the stake in England. This is erroneous of course, as burning was only for heresy not murder. At Welton, facing the roadside, there is a poignant inscription to a six-year-old boy found starved to death.
The chancel of the partially ruined church of All Saints in Barnwell has an elaborate wall memorial with a tall obelisk decorated with texts, water symbols and coloured panelling. It stands behind shutters which, on opening, reveal pictures of a christening robe and hearse mantle. It is that of the infant son of Henry Montagu, lord of the manor, who drowned before his third birthday. The inscription reads:
Thursday 16 May 1622 Borne
Much rain falling Aprill 1625 filled a pond
Wet with a scoopet, lieing by way
Supposedly ye occasion of his end
Thus Ascension Day Christened,
Thus 28 Aprill 1625 dyed.
In the peaceful, isolated churchyard of Holy Trinity at Blatherwycke, there is something of a mystery, for which an answer has never been forthcoming: one of the tombstones has its inscribed side facing the boundary wall away from the church, making it difficult to read. It marks the resting place of a black servant, Anthony Williams, who had worked at the Hall and who had drowned in the lake in 1836 while trying to save his master, who had fallen from a boat while fishing. The inscription contains a piece of poetry: