Things That Go Beep In The Night...

How the planned winery might look at night - disturbing more than the nocturnal wildlife...?

I recently wrote about the pre-history of Cuxton and the Bronze Age burial site discovered at Barrow Hill in Upper Bush. I first found out about the details of the latter in September 2021, whilst wading through the planning application documentation associated with the Vineyard Farms proposed vinicultural theme park. I had long been intrigued by the name of “Barrow Hill” and was pleased (but not surprised) to learn that an ancient burial site in the area was a reality rather than a local myth. The hint is in the name, of course...

Google Maps view of Barrow Hill, 2018...

It transpired that Vineyard Farms had commissioned an archaeological study of the area as a result of some aerial photographs that had shown the outlines of mysterious circular structures etched into the hillside. A subsequent study dig unearthed some human remains, flint tools and pottery fragments, dating from around 2000 BC.

In a promotional video released early in their planning application campaign (and still available to view on their otherwise moribund “Kentish Wine Vault” website),Vineyard Farms CEO Gary Smith acknowledged the existence of these remains with a grudging snigger (see the 9 minute point in the video) saying that the company wanted to "celebrate Medway and Kent's heritage" (amongst some other things that, two years later, seem a wee bit hollow).

Indeed, VF’s “celebration” of part of our local heritage (when they are not actively reinventing it) will be to dig up a Bronze Age cemetery and fill it with concrete in order to build its vainglorious winery.

In fairness, the studies suggest that the Barrow Hill site is no Sutton Hoo (although I suspect construction would not be halted even if it turned out to be so). Whilst there are many, many reasons why Vineyard Farms’ vainglorious winery should not be built there, the finding of a few ancient remains is probably not one of them.

Given the number of historic finds in the Cuxton area, it almost seems to be very difficult to stick a shovel in the ground in the Cuxton area and not find historical artefacts, be they Palaeolithic hand-axes, Neolithic flint tools, Iron Age relics, Roman pottery, building materials and burials or Anglo-Saxon graves. That hasn’t stopped Cuxton being transformed by building works in the past hundred years or so and doubtless nor will it do so in the future. If we place too high a value on every piece of history we find in the ground, we would never be able to build anything. It is a judgement call, although in the case of the Bronze Age site at Upper Bush, it is arguable that insufficient evidence has been gathered to make that judgement. 

Archaeologist unearthing a Bronze Age inhumation on Barrow Hill...

I personally find the thought of disturbing and then destroying ancient graves, well, disturbing - especially for something as trivial and unnecessary as a rich man’s vinicultural Xanadu. It just doesn’t seem right. The dead should be left in peace unless there are very good reasons not to, even if that peace has gone on for 4000 years. I can’t quite understand why I think this way, as I do not regard myself as particularly religious or prone to mysticism. “Respect for the dead” is just part of the way I was brought up, I suppose. I certainly have no time for tales of ghosts, shades of the long-dead (maleficent or otherwise) nor any other sort of spiritualistic, supernatural nonsense.

Finding out about the Bronze Age burial site on Barrow Hill did make me reconsider some memories of a rather strange experience I had there back in 2015, however.

At night, Bush Valley, with Barrow Hill sheltering its north-eastern flank, currently offers some of the darkest skies available in our otherwise urbanised environment of North Kent. It is one of the few local places that you can (for example) appreciate the silvery, starry arc of the Milky Way in summer, a sight normally washed out by urban and industrial light pollution. These wonderful dark skies are one of the many things that will be destroyed by the advent of the winery building, which will undoubtedly be lit up like a year-round Christmas tree for the benefit of its late-evening posh restaurant customers and throughout the night for its own “security” (something we know Vineyard Farms take very seriously indeed…).

Astrophotography is a hobby of mine and on one clear, dark February evening in 2015, I set off to Barrow Hill in an attempt to photograph a phenomenon known as the “zodiacal light”. This is a very faint silvery glow that, at certain times of the year (and only from very dark skies) can be seen stretching up from the night-time horizon. It is thought to be caused by sunlight reflected off of dust from the planet Mars that has spread out along the path of its orbit.

Vineyard Farms even include a (somewhat exaggerated) picture of the zodiacal light in their promotional planning documentation, oblivious of the irony that the light pollution from their massive, lit-up winery on Barrow Hill at night will completely obliterate any chance you would have of ever seeing it from there!

From the VF Design and Access Statement, Part 1, p 28.

As the zodiacal light is quite faint, I decided in advance that I would need to take a series of long photographic exposures, probably around the 60-90 second mark. To prevent the stars in the final picture from “trailing” (due to the rotation of the earth during the long exposure time), I had mounted the camera on a battery-driven drive that could compensate for the speed of the sky’s rotation (about 15 degrees per hour).

I drove out to Upper Bush at around 6.30 in the evening, leaving my car by the old Bush Farm buildings. Normally I would walk from home to Upper Bush, but the camera, tripod, clock drive and battery/lantern pack add up to a fair bit of weight and so I took the lazy option. I had decided to set up right on top of Barrow Hill, overlooking the valley towards the western horizon. Even that in itself was a fair slog from the farm, carrying my equipment.

Once on top of the hill, I got set up. The sun had set about an hour or so beforehand and brilliant Venus was just starting to approach the western horizon. Away to the south, the constellations of Orion and his retinue were glittering high in the sky in the rapidly fading twilight. Over to the north-west, the Milky Way could even be glimpsed, a sure sign that the sky was promisingly free from clouds or haze.

Sunset over Bush Valley from Barrow Hill....

To make sure the camera drive tracked the sky properly, I had to line it up with the pole star. This involves squinting through a little telescope built into the drive unit, and adjusting the drive mount’s direction and elevation until the pole star can be seen in the middle of it. To help with this, there is a reticule in the telescope that can be lit up with a tiny LED so that you can see it against the dark sky (hopefully with Polaris, the pole star, somewhere in the view).

This LED wouldn’t light up however. This was strange, as I had only just recently fitted a new battery to it. Nevertheless, I managed to get a good alignment and carried on.

The telescope drive has a handset associated with it, that allows you set the time and to automatically point the camera at a specific star if you so wish. Normally, the handset “remembers” the time, but on this occasion, it wouldn’t. Not a problem, as you can set that manually via the handset key-pad. However, when I checked my watch by torchlight, that had also stopped! My watch is a solar-powered, self-charging one, which I had worn daily for several years and which had been supremely accurate and reliable. Its sudden failure didn’t matter too much in terms of the exercise in hand however, so I guessed the time to be around 7.30 pm, programmed that in to the handset and carried on.

I soon got the camera to point towards the western horizon and started taking 60 second exposures. Annoyingly, I noticed that the sky seemed to be darkening, although it was a strange sort of darkness. Normally, any hint of haze or cloud gives the sky a yellowish tinge due to reflected town light, but this just seemed as if the stars themselves were getting dimmer.

Then the camera back screen started flashing up a “Low Battery” alarm. I was now getting seriously fed up, as I had only just recharged that battery this afternoon. And the sky was getting dimmer, almost grey, but also weirdly darker. It was now getting difficult to see the horizon, or indeed even the surrounding hillside. And although it was a cold February night, it also seemed to be getting warm and humid. The chilly wind had completely ceased and a thin, damp, cloying mist started to develop. A total silence had also descended on the hillside, with the faint background noise of the distant M2 now completely absent.

Finally, the hand-set on the camera beeped and the drive stopped. In the total silence, the “beep” seemed startlingly loud. Low battery.

I am not of a nervous disposition, at least as far as night-time heebie-jeebies are concerned. As a very experienced astrophotographer, I am well used to spending very dark, late nights alone, and for long times in remote places. Night-time noises, such as the rustlings of hedgehogs or the occasional nocturnal comings and goings or unearthly screeches of foxes, owls or badgers, can startle but never frighten me.

But I was beginning to get seriously spooked. By now, I could not see or hear anything up on Barrow Hill and I was starting to panic a little bit. I felt as if I was going deaf and blind. The cloying humidity and mist was even making it difficult to breathe. I started to wonder if I was having some sort of “medical episode”.

I picked up my lantern/battery pack but the built-in torchlight was dead. In desperation, I got out my mobile phone, just for some light. That too, was dead.

I abandoned my equipment and blundered blindly down the hillside. Towards the bottom of Barrow Hill, the mist began to clear and I could see stars again. Looking back up towards where I had been, I could see no trace of the mist that had appeared to surround me.

I went back to my car for a breather and pulled myself together. This was not the witching hour. I could see the headlights of the occasional car going along Warren Road. Civilisation was alive and well, and close by. It could only have been around 9.00pm at the absolute latest, after all.

The clock on the dashboard said 00.30. That could not be possible.

I got out and looked up at the night sky, now shining with cold, hard, starlit transparency. Orion had sunk down to the western horizon. Leo was high in the southern sky. It was indeed past midnight. I had somehow lost three hours. Had I passed out?

”I am not scared I am not scared I am not scared” I repeated to myself.

I got a torch out of the glove box. That was working fine. Right, I am now feeling just fine and I am going back up the hill to collect my equipment. There will be no fuss, no bother.

There wasn’t. There was a chilly breeze. The night sky was crystal clear and the light of the stars was beginning to be reflected off of a silvery dusting of frost forming on the muddy, frozen field. And on the western horizon, was that a trace of the zodiacal light?

I picked up my useless collection of still-electrically-dead equipment, walked back to the car, loaded up and went home.

My other half was a bit tetchy, as I had told her I would be in by ten. “Why didn’t you ring me?” she asked. I pointedly put my ‘phone on charge. The battery was completely flat but subsequently charged up just fine.

Ditto my power pack and lantern. Ditto my wristwatch. Ditto the camera battery. The little non-rechargeable button battery in my polar alignment unit was completely dead, as was the 3V lithium battery mounted on the circuit board of my drive unit handset (hence its inability to remember the time). Five minutes with a soldering iron and a new battery, and everything was working again.

I have had absolutely no trouble with any of that equipment since then. I have also been back to Bush Valley and Barrow Hill at night on several subsequent occasions. But not on my own…

View from Barrow Hill - during the day, winter 2022...

So I found the subsequent discovery of an ancient Bronze Age burial pit on Barrow Hill to be quite intriguing.

Do I think that the ghosts of long-dead Bronze Age chieftains were responsible for sucking the life out of my astronomy electronics? Of course not.

Do I think that some weird supernatural event caused me to lose three hours? No.

I think I might have flaked out due to my hill-climbing, lugging-heavy-equipment-type exertions and that I was a bit unlucky on the battery front. Damp has got into my sensitive astro-electronics in the past, but I must admit I have never had a total, across-the-board failure like that one. It would be so easy to pin a series of unusual events on some weird, supernatural shenanigans and I don’t intend to start that superstitious nonsense at my age. But I would be lying if I said I could totally ignore the tiny, credulous bit of me that says otherwise…

The one thing that really stuck in my mind about that evening was the feeling of stifling uneasiness. Curiously, the only other time I can ever remember feeling anything even remotely like that was when I visited Dode Church a few years back. I think that place has a slightly creepy vibe, even in broad daylight. It’s not the sort of place I would ordinarily imagine young folk getting married in somehow, but they do, in droves, and they all seem to be quite happy ever after about it. 

So it’s really just me...

As for Barrow Hill, I think it should be left alone, for lots of reasons.

So, Vineyard Farms, when you finally get your way and you get to build your billionaire’s stately pleasure dome up there, you only have yourselves to blame if your wine goes sour, your electrics play up or your staff or customers freak out.

I will only smile and say “been there, done that…”

Church Hill...

This year, the grasses and nettles have been allowed to grow on Church Hill, instead of being cut back in June. I'd like to thank whoever it is who usually looks after this area for leaving it alone and giving the insect population a chance to get re-established up there this year.

That won't please the "got to keep it tidy" merchants, some of whom were particularly nasty and unpleasant on Cuxton's anti-social media a while back when complaining about the long grass and daisies in the churchyard. But then they seem like the sort of people who will have a moan about anything. "Why doesn't SOMEBODY DO SOMETHING" is their refrain. Of course, that "somebody" is never them - by "somebody", of course, they mean "somebody else".

And I just wonder how much simpler the concept of "No-Mow May" has to be before some folk get to understand it.

I happen to rather like the long grass on Church Hill at the moment, which has now turned a pleasant golden colour and is so restful to watch as it sways in the breeze. Leaving grass and nettles to grow during the late spring and summer is also a boon to summer insects, particularly butterflies.

This year, for once, has been a particularly good one so far for Small Tortoiseshells, which have otherwise been struggling to hang on in what once was a stronghold for them. There were quite a few larval colonies on the Church Hill nettles this May, and it seems as if many of them have made it through to the adult stage judging by the numbers I have seen this year.

Church Hill panorama

The same is true for other nettle-using butterflies, such as Peacocks and Red Admirals. Talking to people who live close to Church Hill, many have observed that "it's a good year for butterflies", and I think the situation on Church Hill has helped greatly in that respect.

The long grass has also encouraged the Meadow Browns and Marbled Whites back, the latter having been driven away in the previous couple of years where the grass was cut short in early June.

Hopefully, a continuation of this "no mow summer" policy will also see the return of the Common and Chalkhill Blues, the Ringlets and the Wall butterflies, all of which used to grace Church Hill in the summer in good numbers, but could not survive the spring or early summer cut-back of grass that has happened in the past few years.

A hay cut in September would be just the job (with the insects that overwinter in the larval or pupal stages usually having gone to ground by then) otherwise the brambles and hawthorns will start taking over. But if whoever it is who usually does these things can't do it, well, you won't see me complaining. Time, equipment and fuel to run it all is not cheap.

Oh, and talking about people who do stuff (rather than those who just moan about others not doing it) many thanks to whoever it was (Cuxton Countryside Group, I suspect) who replaced the broken gatepost and the gate at bottom of Church Hill.

Nice job. That should see out those of us who care about such things.

Prehistoric Cuxton...

The 2005 discovery of yet more ancient Stone Age tools in Cuxton finally makes the local newspaper...

“When visiting Canon Colson on 24th August, 1889, on entering the gate of the rectory garden I picked up a fine Palaeolithic flint celt which lay upon the bank.” So stated noted Sittingbourne antiquarian (and founder of Rochester Museum) Mr. George Payne in the 1893 edition of the Collectanea Cantiana.

Later, in 1902, Mr. Payne noted that four other flint hand-axes from this same locality had been unearthed, one of which had been found by workmen laying a water main in the carriage drive of the rectory a few feet from the entrance gate.

Things remained this way until the autumn of 1962, when Bexley-based archaeologist Peter Tester was invited (by the Lower Medway Archaeological Research Group) to supervise the excavation of what were thought to be the remains of a Roman building, which had been found just inside the rectory gate close to where the flint tools were discovered.

No Roman material was forthcoming and it was quickly found that the “chalk wall” of the supposed building was nothing more than an exposure of natural chalk deposits.

Drawings of Acheulian tools found by P.J. Tester at Cuxton rectory in 1962

However, Mr. Tester’s initial excavation also uncovered a thin bed of gravel containing 14 fine flint hand-axes and a number of associated flint flakes. Subsequent excavations discovered over 600 Palaeolithic flint artefacts of a type identified as “Acheulian” (1).  

It became clear that the area around the Cuxton rectory site was once used by some of our earliest human ancestors, dating from around the same time as the nearby remains and artefacts associated with “Swanscombe Man” that were found at Barnfield Pit in 1935, and which have recently been shown to be approximately 300,000 years old.

The recovered skull of "Swanscombe Man", (or Woman, as it transpired...)

Monument at Swanscombe Heritage Park commemorating the discovery of Swanscombe Man...

Further excavations made opposite the Rectory in 1984 at 15 Rochester Road, (2) and at 21 Rochester Road in 2005 (3), found similar Acheulian flint tools of the same age...

Acheulian flint hand axe (top) and scraper (above) discovered in Cuxton, 2005. Scale is in cm.

This area of what we now call Cuxton was very different 300,000 years ago, as might be expected! The passage of the late Palaeolithic was a time between two of the periodic ice ages of the Pleistocene era, known as the “Purfleet Interglacial”. Although the geology of the Medway Valley is the subject of much conjecture, it seems that the area of the Rectory then would have been close to the confluence of a stream running down what we today call Bush Road, to meet the River Medway. The nature of the gravel deposits in the area of the Rectory suggests that the ancient shoreline there was about 15 meters above today’s sea level, with the river being deeper and much wider than it is today.

In terms of climate, the summers of interglacial Cuxton then were slightly warmer than today (about 3°C) and the winters slightly cooler. The hominids that lived in the Thames and Medway areas seemed to keep to the coastline terraces, possibly because inland areas were heavily forested. 

300,000 years ago, Cuxton's inhabitants would have lived around - and even hunted - creatures such as the extinct Straight-Tusked elephant (pictured right)...

The fossil record in Southern England (4) from the period also seems to suggest that some of the local fauna - brown bears, wolves, and hyenas - were not animals you would wish to confront in dark, dense woodlands. However, other large animals known to exist in the area at the time (such as lynx, lions and even straight-tusked elephants, wild cattle and horses) needed more open ground, and it was in territory such as this that early hunters probably would have operated.

Fossils of early hominids are scarce. Unfortunately, as former Rector of Cuxton Revd. R.A. Smith (in his 1964 booklet "The Church and Village of Cuxton") recounts:

"...Those who investigated the first find of hand-axes (in 1902) were also told of an ancient skeleton that had been dug up on the hill above the church. The then Station-Master, (Charles Hall), a student of archaeology, was able to examine the bones and reported that the skull was of a distinctly early type. Unfortunately authority, in the person of the local coroner, intervened and insisted that they be buried in the churchyard. this was done without knowing the place. Knowing what we do now we would give a lot to see that skull..."

The nature of our early ancestors such as Swanscombe Man or those who made the flint tools at Cuxton is the subject of much debate and guesswork. Current thinking believes the makers of the Acheulian tools at Cuxton to be representatives of Homo Heidelburgensis, the common ancestor of both modern humans Homo Sapiens and Neanderthal Man (Homo Neanderthalis).

Fossilised skull of Homo Heidelburgensis (left) and reconstruction...

Homo Heidelburgensis, if you met them, would be unlikely to consider you as their grandchild 10,000 times removed, however. Instead, they would probably consider you to be lunch.

It is thought that they were powerfully built, much stronger than modern humans, and certainly hunted animals to eat. There is evidence to suggest that they used fire and made shelters, that they looked after their old and weak, and may have had a rudimentary language.

At Cuxton, our distant ancestors were attracted to the flints that were washed out of the coastline by the action of the river. It seems they lived and made their tools where the latter were discovered. Flint shards were found with the tools and the remains of their prey (comprising of bone fragments of wild horses, bison and even elephants) were identified (2).

Many of the flint artefacts found were quite large. If we consider that Cuxton’s “Heidelburgers” were most likely hunter-gatherers, it seems feasible that stashes of the larger tools would be left in favoured parts of their territory, places from which they could easily be retrieved to process nearby “kills”.

This seems to be borne out by the recent discovery of a cache of over 800 similar flint tools on nearby Frindsbury Hill, which were discovered in early 2023 during the construction of the new Strood Academy on Commissioners Road. 

Archaeologist Dr. Letty Ingrey with some of the Acheulian tools found at nearby Frindsbury...

It is difficult to imagine that such numbers of similar flint tools, so close to the Cuxton site and of about the same age, were not made by the same hunter-gatherer community.

It is has been suggested that the large tools were more symbolic than practical. However, in times when day-to-day survival must have a difficult and unrelenting struggle, manufacture of such objects would have represented a significant investment of time and effort. I therefore find it difficult to believe they were merely symbolic. Cuxton’s “Heidelburgers” were powerfully built and very strong and, unlike us, they would not have struggled to handle them. Whilst some of their flint tools seem, to us, extremely large and heavy, in strong hands they would have been ideally suited to rendering down large animal carcasses, cutting wood or treating large animal skins. They were perhaps simply the “power tools” of their era.

And why were so many made and then seemingly abandoned? I think it is possible that the caches of flint tools were just the equivalent of modern day tool stores, and that the sheer numbers of tools found simply represent the accumulated output of a small community that occupied their territory for a very long time, possibly for hundreds of generations. Or maybe they just liked making them.

We can only guess. What we do know is that another period of glaciation cycles (the “Devensian”) begun around 110,000 years ago, driving out the sparse population of hominids from the British Isles.

The maximum extent of the ice sheet of the most recent ("Devensian") Ice age...

Although even at its maximum extent (around 20,000 years ago), the Devensian ice sheet did not reach down as far as the south of England, the climate would have be brutally cold here until the end of the Pleistocene and the final retreat of the glaciers just 15,000 years ago.

It is thought that hominids in the shape of our direct ancestors, Homo Sapiens, returned permanently to the British Isles around 9000 years ago, although small numbers of both Homo Sapiens and Neanderthals were known to have temporarily inhabited parts of England during earlier (50,000-30,000 years ago) brief warm periods during the Devensian.

After the last ice age, Britain was still joined to the European continent via a low-lying region called “Doggerland”, which joined the east coast of England to the Netherlands and the western coast of Germany. Rising sea levels flooded this peninsula around 6500 years ago, turning Britain into an island.

How "Doggerland" gradually vanished under the North Sea after the last Ice Age...

By then, Mesolithic humans were well-established in the Cuxton area, as evidenced by the discovery of large numbers of flint spear heads, arrow-heads, hand-axes and other flint relics in the Ranscombe area by local Cuxton antiquarian Dave May. 

Mesolithic flint tools found at Ranscombe...

These tools are smaller and seem (to us) far more practical in nature than the larger Acheulian ones of Palaeolithic times. The site was clearly a place that was long-inhabited - over 15,000 flint artefacts have been found, including innumerable flint flakes that demonstrate that the flint tools were made where they were found.

We know that at least some parts of the Cuxton area were heavily forested at this time (probably with yew, ash, elm, birch, lime and oak) and that the Medway River was shallower than today. Evidence of this can be seen from the remains of tree stumps (another Dave May discovery) that can found on the banks of the Medway at very low tides near the M2/ Channel Tunnel Rail Link bridge. 

Aerial view of the Medway M2 Bridge area: the dark spots on the river bank are old tree stumps...

Ancient tree stump on the Cuxton banks of the Medway...

However, it is possible that, given the sandy nature of the soil in the north-eastern area of the Ranscombe reserve where the Mesolithic camp site existed, the tree cover was far less extensive. An open area here would have commanded excellent views along the Medway valley and would have been of great strategic value when it came to defending territory against rival tribes.

Cuxton’s Mesolithic residents were also probably hunter-gathers, but in time, it seems possible that the “megafauna” (elk, deer, wild cattle, etc.) numbers began to fall through hunting as they could not be replenished from mainland Europe as a result of the submergence of Doggerland. It is also possible that an influx of migrants from Eastern Europe around 6000 years ago also brought Neolithic farming practices to Britain.

Whatever the cause, it was at this time that a large of amount of deforestation took place across the south of England, with the cleared land being used for the planting of crops. This, in turn, led to communities living in permanent settlements, rather than the semi-nomadic lifestyle of hunter gatherers living in makeshift shelters.

Evidence of a Bronze age settlement at nearby Cobham has been found, represented by pits, post holes and ditches, recorded during excavation work in association with the Channel Tunnel Rail Link in 1998.

In Cuxton, one of the oldest “field names” is Barrow (or Borrow) Hill at Upper Bush and indeed, aerial photography has revealed what looks like a burial barrow, possibly of late Neolithic or early Bronze Age origin (around 2000BC). This may have been linked to the nearby Cobham community.

Excavation work in 2021 undertaken as part of the Vineyard Farms winery application (and conducted by contractors commissioned by the applicants) uncovered skeletal remains of at least one individual, along with around 50 struck flints and associated flakes as well as some shards of decorated pottery consistent with the late Neolithic or early Bronze Age period (5, 6). 

An archaeologist uncovers Bronze Age human remains on Barrow Hill at Upper Bush (a skull, at centre)...

These finds were dismissed as insignificant and not sufficient to warrant protection of the site from the winery construction.

Unfortunately, it seems as if any further excavation work in the area will only be as a result of the construction of the Vineyard Farms winery complex. The “mitigation strategy” proposed by the developer land-owners MDCV UK Ltd (and as agreed with Medway Council) will be to take photographs of any remains found before the concrete starts pouring.

References:

1)    P. J. Tester,1965, An Acheulian Site at Cuxton.

2)    R. J. Cruze, 1984, Further Investigation of the Acheulian Site at Cuxton.

3)    Francis Wenban-Smith, 2006, Giant Acheulian handaxes.

4)    Mammalian Biostratigraphy of the Later Middle Pleistocene in Britain, by D.C Shrive, UCL.

5)    Phase 1 Archaeological evaluation report, Canterbury Archaeological Trust Ltd, July 2021 (Medway Council Planning Portal ref: 5812490)

6)    Archaeological Desk-based Assessment, Canterbury Archaeological Trust Ltd, July 2021 (Medway Council Planning Portal ref: 5812491)

Ranscombe and thereabouts...

Nether Great Bottoms...

Speckled Wood...

View from Brockles...

Broomrape...

White Pyramidal Orchid...

Bee Orchid...

Bee Orchid...

View from Brockles...

View from Brockles...

Pyramidal Orchids...

Forge Field...

Forge Field

First Fiance Field...

Forge Field...

Marbled White...

 

The Lady Harley Memorial...

Perhaps one of the most striking artefacts in Cuxton’s history is also one of the hardest to find and appreciate. Hidden away on the south-western wall  of the Lady Chapel in St. Michaels and All Angels Church (and not accessible to the public) is the Lady Harley memorial...

Commissioned by Sir Robert Harley in remembrance of his late and first wife Ann (who died in 1603) the marble installation is a richly-coloured classical wall monument and one that (rather perversely) is now completely obscured by the church organ. It deserves so much better and needs some repair and restoration, although the work undertaken on it in 1723 by Lord Edward Harley (the famous parliamentarian and son of Sir Robert and his third wife) has lasted well. 

The Harley family is of ancient lineage (with one source suggesting that it pre-dates the Norman Conquest) and by 1221 were in possession of the Shropshire manor from which they took their name. The property subsequently passed out of the family through an heiress, but by that time a family branch had established itself at Brampton Bryan, ten miles south west of Ludlow. Situated in the extreme north of Herefordshire, Brampton Bryan lay close to the borders with Radnorshire and Shropshire.

From the fourteenth century the Harleys played a leading part in those two county communities. The first member of the family to make a place in national life was Sir Robert Harley (1579-1656), who became Master of the Mint under Charles I and M.P. for Radnor Boroughs in 1604, for Herefordshire in 1624, 1626 and 1640 and for Evesham in 1628.

On 13^th. Feb. 1602, Sir Robert married Ann Barrett. Born in 1583, she was the daughter of Sir Charles Barrett of Belhus, Aveley, Essex and Christian (nee Mildmay) Barrett and the sister of Sir Edward Barrett. When Anne Barrett-Harley's father died, her mother married Sir John Leveson on 9th June, 1586.

Heraldic symbols on the Harley memorial: the red and white chequer is associated with the Barrett family, whilst the other devices are those of the Harley dynasty...

Ann was thus the step-daughter of Sir John Leveson, then owner and resident of Whorne’s Place, thus establishing the link between the Herefordshire-based Harley dynasty and Cuxton.

The match probably arose as a result of Harley’s close connection with the Shropshire branch of the Leveson family, for the brother of Sir John Leveson Junior, (Sir Richard Leveson of Lilleshall Lodge, Shropshire) was his first cousin. Although marriages within the aristocracy in those days were often merely arrangements driven by politics and property, it seems that there was genuine love between the young Robert Harley and his equally youthful wife.

Sadly, their marriage was cut short after just less than two years – Lady Ann Harley and her new-born baby son Thomas both died in childbirth on 1st. December 1603.

It seems possible that the couple were staying with Sir John Leveson at Whorne’s Place at the time, as records show that Sir Robert was latterly acting on behalf of at least two Kentish Lords (Sir Henry Crispe of Quex House, Birchington and Thomas Crayford, the son of Sir William Crayford of Great Mongeham) making representations for them in the Houses of Parliament.

What is certain is that Ann and her child were laid to rest at St. Michaels and All Angels Church, with Sir Robert Harley instigating the remarkable monument to her memory that still exists today.

The text of the main plaque on the memorial leaves us in no doubt as to the extent of Sir Robert’s grief...

"HERE DEATH HATH SPORTED, TYRANT-LIKE IN BLOOD,

IN TAKINGE LIFE FROM YOUTH AND WOMANHOOD,

ACTINGE THE DOOME OF HIS INFORCED DUTY,

REGARDLES OF MODESTY OR BEAUTY,

BUT I AM MUCH IN LOSS OF SO GREAT BLIS,

THOUGH NOT REPAIRED YET COMFORTED IN THIS,

THAT DEATH IN HIS PROUD CONQUEST HATH NO JOTT,

OF THIS UNTIMELY SPOILE FOULEN TO HIS LOTT,

EARTH HATH POSSESSION OF HER EARTHLY PARTE,

WICH SHE INCLOSETH IN A MOTHER'S HEARTE,

HERE SOUL IN HEAVEN, HER MEMORY ALIVE,

AND THAT WHICH EARTH DETAINES NOW SHALL REVIVE,

AND IN DESPITE OF ALL DEVIDINGE DEATH,

MEETINGE THE REST SHALL DRAW A JOYFULL BREATH"

The plaque below reads:

LET THIS INFORM PROSPERITY THAT HERE LYETH ANN DAUGHTER TO CHARLES BARRET

OF BELHOUSE IN THE COUNTY OF ESSEX, ESQR. WHICH ANN WAS MARIED TO SIR ROBERT

HARLEY, KNIGHT OF THE BATH THE 13th FEBRUARY 1602 AND DECEASED THE FIRST OF

DECEMBER 1603 BY WHOM HE HAD ISSUE A SON NAMED THOMAS WHICH LIES HERE ALSO

BURIED IN MEMORY OF WHOM HER SORROWFUL HUSBAND HATH CAUSED THIS 

MONUMENT TO BE ERECTED AS THE LAST OFFICE OF HIS LOVE

"LINQVENDA TELLVS ET DOMUS ET PLACENS VXOR"

The last line translates from the Latin as “Leaving Earth and home with a pleasant wife”.

In his Registrum Roffense of 1769, John Thorpe tells us that below the monument, on white marble, there was also an inscription that read: “This monument was repaired at the charge of Edward, Lord Harley, 1723”.

I can find no such marble and I assume it was removed during the Victorian "restoration" of the church in the 1860s. 

Death's Head, topped by an hourglass: perhaps a symbol of how fleeting are our lives on earth...

It is recorded that on August 27^th 1723, Lord Edward Harley rode out to Cuxton “through very straight (narrow) lanes” to inspect the monument. When he reached the village, it is said that some poor women of the place strewed mint upon the road out of their aprons (a practice that seems as unlikely as it is bizarre, at least by modern standards).

In terms of the location of the monument, Edward Hasted (in his 1797 “History and Topographical Survey of the County of Kent: Volume 3) tells us that it was to be found “in the chancel, within the rails of the south wall”. Similarly, the Registrum Roffense states it was set "within the communion rails, on the South wall". In that position today is a stained-glass window, of a plainer and seemingly later design than the two magnificent windows in the south-east and eastern chancel walls.

This suggests that the Harley monument may have been moved to its current position as part of the church restoration works of the 1860s, which saw the building of the “new” south aisle and restoration of the Lady Chapel, where the memorial now resides.

This proved to be somewhat unfortunate. In 1881, the church organ was duly installed in the Lady Chapel, thus completely obscuring the view of the Lady Harley memorial. If the memorial had been left where it was, it would have been so much better. Why the church officials decided to place the organ in the Lady Chapel really is completely beyond me. It would have seemed logical to place it in the newly-enlarged nave.

Fruit, and in particular apples and pears, were associated with female fertility and here, possibly allude to the death of the young mother. Pears were also associated with mortality or death.

Ironically, it is conceivable that the Lady Harley memorial could well have suffered a much worse fate as a result of the religious beliefs of its creator. Sir Robert Harley was a committed Puritan, supported in his beliefs by his third wife, the splendidly-named Brilliana (daughter of Sir Edward Conway, then a Secretary of State). In April 1843 (against the febrile background of the English Civil War), Sir Robert was made head of the Committee for the Demolition of Monuments of Superstition and Idolatry, which presided over the destruction of a great deal of religious art and architecture. Fortunately, the memorial escaped the fervour of the puritans.

In terms of the photograph you see here, it is a composite of about 20 individual images. There is only about a four foot clearance between the monument and the back of the organ. I therefore had to mount a camera on a frame and move it around to gather the images I needed to put together an overall view, using the magic of image processing software.

(Note that I have taken the liberty of making some small “enhancements”: I have erased the rather thoughtless electrical wiring for the organ that otherwise disfigures the right hand side of the memorial. I have also “replaced” the missing scroll to the left of the gilded lion’s head below the main plaque. Otherwise, what you see is how it is - or how it would be, if the organ wasn’t in the way!)

Whilst the process of compositing from multiple close-ups has resulted in some rather odd perspective effects if you look closely, the final image nevertheless gives a good overall impression of the memorial, one that has not been seen for over 140 years.

References:

1)   The History of Parliament, entry for Sir Robert Harley (1579-1656)

2)   The Harley family and the Harley papers by Clyve Jones, 1989

3)   WikiTree entry for Anne (Barrett) Harley (1583-1603)

4)   Edward Hasted, 'Parishes: Cookstone', in The History and Topographical Survey of the County of Kent: Volume 3 (Canterbury, 1797), pp 389-403

5)   Cuxton – a Kentish Village, by Derek Church .p.22, 24 (1976)

6)   Puritan Iconoclasm in England 1640-1660, pp. 75-136 (Ph.D thesis by Julie Spraggon, 2000)

7)  Registrum Roffense, by John Thorpe, pp.769-770.

Ludd's a Dud....

The mythical King Ludd is plagued by a greedy giant. Perhaps there's a metaphor here?

Earlier I wrote a post about Vineyard Farms’ latest batch of fake fizz and its equally fake-sounding marketing campaign for it.

Their marketing blurb for it states that:

…”Silver Reign is a reflection of our regal heritage. We invoke King Ludd's pioneering legacy to bring the unique terroir in the Garden of England to life, producing England's finest sparkling wines…”

“Our regal heritage”…?!  “We invoke King Ludd’s pioneering legacy”…?!

I read this and wondered just what fresh hell Vineyard Farms is now trying to inflict upon us.

Like many others I was inclined to think that in their unilateral renaming of large parts of the parishes of Cuxton, Halling and Luddesdown as the “Silverhand Estate”, Vineyard Farms had simply liked the vibe and gone with it. 

Many of the fields, woodlands and roads around Cuxton and Luddesdown have interesting and unusual names, names that are steeped in local history. Wrangling Lane, Cutter Ridge, Bushy Wood, Hatch Hill, Brimstone Hill, Brazenden Wood, Backenden Hill: all of these names mean something locally and would have made fitting titles for Vineyard Farms’ new estate and their brands. That would mean that Vineyard Farms would need to acknowledge the pre-existence of the local community around their new fiefdom however, something they don't seem to want to do.

After all, I can see why a moniker like “Silver Hand” might appeal to a certain type of management team. It has a remote, cold, impersonal feel to it, invoking both wealth and power. There are no warm or friendly connotations associated with the thought of the cold, metallic grasp from a powerful, wealthy, disconnected hand. It almost seems to have been adopted as a warning first and a brand second. 

In terms of historical precedent or links of the Silverhand name with the areas of Cuxton, Halling or Luddesdown however, there appeared to be none whatsoever – indeed, the most prevalent on-line reference to “Silverhand” was to a computer game character!

Johnny Silverhand "doesn't care much for the people around him as long as they are used to accomplish his goals..."

I like to think I know a little bit about local history, but the mention of a “King Ludd” rather puzzled me. It was certainly one I hadn’t come across before in my various researches in relation to Luddesdown.

Vineyard Farms themselves say that the “Silverhand” name comes from:

“…the history of the area - King Ludd, the founder of Luddesdown and many other points of interest, lost his hand in battle and had it replaced with a Silver Hand.  Hence, we have taken that inspiration and name our vineyard the Silverhand Estate….”

Stories of King Lludd Law Eriant (“Ludd of the Silver Hand”) state that he was King of the Britons from around 79BC to 18BC, and allegedly ordered the rebuilding of London's walls and towers. They go on to tell us that the city, hitherto known as Trin ovantum, thus became the city of Lud, i.e. Kaerlud. This was later corrupted to Kaerfundein, from whence came its present name. Ludd was eventually buried in London, close to Ludgate that still bears his name.

These tales arise from the History of the Kings of Britain as written by Geoffery of Monmonth (1095-1155) - a work which is now pretty much regarded as “a literary forgery containing little reliable history”!

Geoffery of Monmonth, it seems, was much more of a romanticist than a historian, many of his works being associated with mythical figures such as King Arthur. Indeed, it seems that his stories about King Ludd were derived from Welsh folklore.

The reality of local history may not be as glamorous or magical as Vineyard Farms would like it to be, although it is still fascinating nonetheless.

The dates given for the “reign of King Ludd” above coincide with a time just fifty years before the Roman invasion of Britain. The country at the time was divided into many different kingdoms ruled over by their own tribal kings, rather than a single “King of the Britons” as Ludd was claimed to be.

At the time of the Roman invasion in 43AD, Kent itself was under the rule of the four kings whom the Romans called the Cantiaci (whose capital was at Durovernum Cantiacorum, now called Canterbury) and who Julius Caesar named as Segovax, Carvilius, Cingetorix, and Taximagulus. On the news of the Roman landing, the British tribes united to fight the invaders under the command of Togodumnus and his brother Caratacus of the Catuvellauni tribe.

These British tribes were subsequently defeated at the Battle of Medway and fell back to the Thames, a wider river that was harder for the Romans to cross and easier to defend. Londinium was subsequently established as a civilian town by the Romans about four years later. Of a “King Ludd” and his founding of London, genuine histories contain not a trace…

So regarding the Silverhand Estate’s claims to a “regal heritage”, two things are completely apparent.

First and foremost, King Ludd of the Britons probably never existed. He is a figure from Welsh mythology, with links to the legend of King Arthur. He’s a myth. A legend. All that stuff linking him with London or anywhere else is just folklore. Ludd may have once been a minor Welsh tribal chieftain, but he almost certainly wasn't a King of the Britons. There is thus no real “regal heritage” or “pioneering legacy” for Vineyard Farms to trade off of.

Secondly, there is no concrete evidence to link the non-existent King Ludd with Luddesdown anyway, despite the plausibility of the name.

In terms of the origins of Luddesdown, Edward Hasted’s ancient and renowned History and Topographical Survey of the History of Kent Volume 3 tells us that:

”ADJOINING to Meopham, eastward, lies Luddesdon, commonly called Luddesdown. In the Textus Roffensis it is written Hludesdune, and in Domesday, Ledesdune. This place takes it name from the two Saxon words, leod populous, and dune collis, i.e. the peopled hill, alluding to its situation in this hilly country."

Alternatively, the name of Hludesdune, as cited in the 10^th century Textus Roffensis (Book of Rochester) translates as “Hludes Hill”: it may be that Hlude was a local chieftain of the area. “Hlude” also translates from the Anglo-Saxon as “loud” (and may be the origin of the term "hullabaloo"): perhaps the hill referred to was a meeting place.

But whichever way you slice it, there were no plagues of dwarves, no red and white dragons, no magical giants and no mythical kings in Luddesdown’s history.

Perhaps Luddesdown’s history was just far too boring, obscure and mundane for Vineyard Farms and so they simply decided to invent a more glamorous one to suit their own ends. Perhaps they just are jealous of their (and far more liked) competitor Chapel Down's genuine historical links to their own area and local community, links that they are proud to advertise. Perhaps VF felt they therefore needed to pay a historian to come up with a plausible-sounding load of mythical old cobblers in order to try and give some substance to their whimsical choice of an estate name.

(They have “form” in that respect. After all, they have just paid a top King’s Counsel to argue a legal case that the green belt/AONB planning restrictions affecting their billionaire’s £30m Xanadu can be waived aside, because it really is just the same as an agricultural tin shed, isn’t it?)

Or perhaps they've just been badly advised. After all, Vineyard Farms Ltd are largely just a bunch of business managers, advertising wonks and accountants, not historians. It would be quite amusing to think that a high-powered, multi-million pound company, and one that was looking forward to basing its entire branding strategy on having a "regal heritage", was misdirected by a preference for fantasies and legends rather than historical fact.

Whatever the reason, we should just laugh at their somewhat feeble attempts to subvert our local history to suit their own corporate marketing purposes - but thanks to things like ChatBot AI, made-up twaddle can soon become main-stream. Repeat nonsense often enough and clever-clever algorithms will pick it up and turn it into “the truth” - or at least what the lazy and credulous regard it as.

Vineyard Farms have bought up huge swathes of our local parishes and are aggressively reshaping and policing them in order to hijack their future for profit and glory.

Now, it seems, Vineyard Farms want to reshape and hi-jack our past as well.

Just my opinion of course, but could they really be any more contemptuous of the local area (and its people) than that?

Money can certainly buy you vast swathes of historic green-belt AONB farmland and enable you to industrialise it for profit. Money might buy you a favourable public inquiry result. It might even buy you a reinvented, glamorous history.

But, as the song goes, it can’t buy you love...