April 2022 Reviews

By Philippa Harrison

(Head of Zeus 2021 xii+739pp ISBN 978-1-838-931827) £35

Philippa Harrison has a prestigious career in the world of publishing and an ancestry which connects her to farming life among the fells of the Lake District—strong credentials for writing this remarkable and ambitious book. At over 700 pages it initially presents a rather daunting prospect. Some perseverance is needed to keep focused on the numerous strands of the complex narrative, but this authoritative and well-researched history is very accessible, very enjoyable and full of fascinating details. The nine-page introduction outlines the central themes of Mountain Republic and Harrison’s elegant style is evident from the outset. She says that the locus of the story is ‘Great Crosthwaite's old parish’. For clarification, today Great Crosthwaite is a hamlet within Crosthwaite parish, although part 2 is entitled ‘Great Crosthwaite Parish Appreciated’ and occasionally in the text there seems to be a cross-over between the hamlet and the parish.

Made up of three main parts, this history of the parish of Crosthwaite is told from its earliest days during the sixth century up to its ‘utter transformation’ some 1200 years later. Each of the three parts is divided into chapters and one of the strengths of the book is that the locale is put into wider context through the centuries and the interplay between the parochial and the national (and international) is thereby explored. Useful maps show the location and extent of the parish, which is the largest in the heart of the Lake District. It encompasses the fells of Skiddaw, Great Gable and Helvellyn, the Borrowdale valley and the market town of Keswick, which grew to become the population centre of the parish. The town itself has an interesting, chequered history and Harrison outlines its varying fortunes and the effects on the parish.

A succinct explanation of the origins of the name Crosthwaite marks the beginning of part 1 (which has a hefty 200 pages). This part takes us back to earliest Crosthwaite, where St Kentigern planted his cross as he entered the mountains of Cumbria en route to Wales, and where the anchorite St Herbert blessed monks from Lindisfarne on pilgrimage to one of the two lakes in the parish—Derwentwater, which hundreds of years later Wordsworth would describe as ‘surrounded by sublimity’. Part 1 covers a wide-ranging series of events which impacted on the parish and introduces the reader to the importance of ‘customary tenancy’, a key feature of the parish and its governance. Eighteen men, ‘customary tenants’, were chosen annually to form the select vestry. They enjoyed an extraordinary degree of freedom, and the well-considered analysis discusses their involvement in the efficient governance of the parish. Harrison highlights the importance in the sixteenth century of the legal acceptance of customary tenancies, and an absorbing chapter is concerned with the customary tenants. Others consider the effects and aftermath of the Reformation in the North in general and the parish in particular, and the impact of the accession of James I and the Civil War. Part 1 concludes with local issues, including the enfranchisement of some tenants, a particularly interesting topic which was a major catalyst for change. It involved the transfer of the ownership of land and the author suggests that enfranchisement, by underlining differences in wealth between those enfranchised and other customary tenants, enabled the sale of land as an investment to outside purchasers and was a necessary prelude to later enclosures.

Part 2 is a study of the parish during seven decades to the mid nineteenth century—a brief timespan compared with the twelve centuries covered in part 1, but no less important to the area. This was the era of Romanticism, the Lakes Poets, and changing attitudes toward wild places. Numerous individuals contributed to discussions about creating a ‘picturesque landscape’ and Harrison sheds light on their various disagreements. Crosthwaite became a notable viewing point for those enjoying ‘a picturesque tour of the Lakes’. A short biographical introduction to William Wordsworth prefaces chapters studying the parish at a time when the effects of the French Revolution, affairs in Ireland, the state of agriculture and the perceived need for ‘improvement’ were to the fore. Part 2 concludes with detailed studies of William Wordsworth (who owned a patch of land in the parish), Samuel Taylor Coleridge and Robert Southey, both former residents of the parish. Southey, often overshadowed, is given due consideration and status in a deep and perceptive telling of his life and character. The well-researched study gives a wider context to these men and their complex relationships with each other, the parish and their natural surroundings.

Part 3, ‘Living in Interesting Times’, has a slightly different feel. Harrison cites examples of parochial and wider disharmony, culminating in the transformation of the parish. A sense of profound loss is summed up by the phrase that ‘there was a full-stop for Great Crosthwaite parish’, but this is followed on a brighter note as she writes, with evident affection, about the involvement of Canon Rawnsley in the parish and his role in founding the National Trust. We are reminded that the Trust was originally concerned with landscape conservation rather than building preservation. Harrison has sourced a superb selection of illustrations to accompany the text. The style of referencing with end-notes for each chapter is easy to use. There is an extensive bibliography of some 17 pages: testament to the breadth and depth of the research. This book was a joy to read from beginning to end. As well as people with an interest in the Lake District, anyone concerned for history which is thoroughly researched and presented in a rich and varied manner will find it fascinating.Carol Dougherty lives in Cumbria and has walked over all the high fells of Great Crosthwaite parish. She is currently involved in a HLF project looking into the early days of her local market town and has recently completed an extensive archaeological report about aspects of the Westmorland Dales.

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By Great Yarmouth Local History and Archaeological Society

(GYLHAS 2021 viii+172pp ISBN 978-0-957609-21-1) £10 pbk (also in hbk) www.greatyarmouthlocalhistoryandarchaeology.com

In 1820 John Preston, Comptroller of His Majesty’s Customs of Great Yarmouth, published his book The Picture of Great Yarmouth, encompassing what he deemed to be the important features of the town. It was illustrated with his own line drawings, for which he had a particular talent. In 2018 the Great Yarmouth Local History and Archaeological Society (GYLHAS) decided that the 200th anniversary of the publication should be celebrated. They applied successfully to the Heritage Lottery Fund for a grant. The plan was to review Preston’s accounts of the features described and establish what still existed, what had disappeared and consider which new developments to include. Not only would GYLHAS members be involved in research, but the wider community should be encouraged to contribute, an important condition of the grant. Activity started in 2019 with a public survey to decide which features should be chosen. The next stage was to allot each one selected to a volunteer to carry out research into its history and provide a description. Plans for publication in 2020 were upset by the onset of Covid-19; nevertheless, preparations continued and it was finally published in May 2021. Contributions were made by twelve authors, between them compiling 25 chapters, where appropriate using Preston’s original drawings. Each chapter follows a general format of origin, heyday, decline and sometimes ‘rebirth’; no particular pattern is apparent in the order of the chapters, which cover a wide range of architectural features, amenities and trades.

The church of St Nicholas, now a minster, was founded in 1101 and represents an important element of Great Yarmouth’s medieval origins. The river Yare, after which the town is named, is a prominent feature with its Haven Bridge and Quay, the latter until recently being the sole location for moorings. Change in trading patterns and North Sea gas exploration necessitated larger vessels, which found it increasingly difficult to negotiate the river entrance. Eventually the problem was so acute that a change was essential, and the Outer Harbour was opened in 2009. Much of the town’s history inevitably has maritime connections, not least with Admiral Nelson. The monument in his honour was built in 1819, while the sixteenth century Jetty, demolished in 2012, was where Nelson landed in 1801 to visit wounded soldiers in the Naval Hospital.

Yarmouth was famous for its herring industry. Tolls on fish gave the Tolhouse its name and overseeing regulations regarding the export of herrings was part of John Preston’s job at the Custom House. Elderly and disabled fishermen were catered for in the Fishermen’s Hospital, situated near the Market Place, where there was a large fish market. This closed in 1869 but the trade in herrings continued until the 1950s. Harnessing the wind, freely available on the east coast, meant that windmills for grinding corn became a feature of Great Yarmouth. The tallest and longest lasting was the High Mill, built in 1812. Another industry that prospered was Lacon’s brewery, particularly in Victorian times, while after the First World War, Smith’s Crisps was established, serving East Anglia until 1982.

In the second half of the eighteenth century tourism began to increase, the seafront being the main area for development. The Bath House (1760), with its continuous flow of sea water, was Great Yarmouth’s answer to the benefits of ‘taking the waters’. It was eventually superseded by bathing machines. There were two piers, the Britannia being beset by several disasters, and the Wellington having a Winter Garden added in 1904. The Hippodrome functioned as a circus venue and was available for ‘water spectaculars’ when the floor was lowered. A popular viewpoint was the Oasis Tower, demolished and then rebuilt within a multi-attraction centre. Another feature mentioned is the Two Bears hotel, demolished in 2014 but whose sculptured bears survive. Theatres disappeared and re-emerged, and buildings that have been converted into flats include the Town Hall (1882), the Royal Barracks (1811) and the Municipal school of Art (1912).

The book ends with a Heritage Walk, with a map giving potted histories of the features and linked instructions for the visitor, but with few road names and none on either of the maps. This splendid volume is packed with historical detail but let down by the inadequate index and limited references. A bonus would have been to have given the author’s name with each chapter heading. My particular interest in this book is related to my family background: the High Mill belonged to my ancestors during the latter part of the nineteenth century. This is not a guidebook and does not claim to be, but it is well researched, beautifully illustrated and eminently readable.Great Yarmouth has a special family connection for Jane Walker (neé Press) relating to windmills in the town. Her great-grandfather was Benjamin Howard Press: his brother owned the High Mill and their father had also owned the Green Cap mill.

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By Dawn Hamill

(Brewin Books 2021 224pp ISBN 978-1-85858-738-7) £14.95

There is a salutary lesson for some local history societies in this book. The central concern is with the Adult Schools Movement, especially in the Midlands. The movement had a long and distinguished history and clearly achieved much in terms of educating working people over many generations. Gradually, though, its impact waned: ultimately it failed to attract younger members, the older dedicated members grew old and died, and people were unwilling to come forward to serve on committees. Of course, there are significant differences between this and the crises facing some local history societies today: interest in local history has probably never been greater, but the raison d’etre of the Adult Schools Movement was overtaken by free universal education and alternative provision such as the WEA and the U3A. Indeed, it is telling that in the end the two last Adult Schools in the Midlands (Frankley and Rubery) joined the U3A.

The idea of bringing education to the working classes—both men and women—was a noble aim in the days before universal education. The earliest Class appeared in Nottingham in 1798 and the West Midlands soon followed. As so often, nonconformists, and most notably the Quakers, were leading lights. The name Cadbury crops up frequently in this book but the instigator in the Birmingham area seems to have been another Quaker: Joseph Sturge. Given these links it is not surprising that the Movement was always closely linked with Christianity, and an early desire was undoubtedly to help the working classes read the Bible. The Quaker influence also meant a strong concern with social justice and a belief that the poor could lead moral, useful and happy lives—particularly away from the perils of drink. The Movement’s heyday was the later nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, with membership peaking at 114,000 in 1910. Friendship and fellowship were also central tenets. Thus, in the early days membership was high, often with waiting lists: an issue solved by starting new classes in different streets. The Midland Adult School Union (MASU) was formed to support the ever-increasing number of classes. A complex web of county unions and sub-unions often appeared. Many, though not all, were associated with urban areas, often in very poor districts.

This book mainly explores the various Midland Adult Schools, relying extensively, and often fascinatingly, on the oral testimonies of those involved in the Movement. In particular, the Rubery Adult School is analysed. Invariably those interviewed were elderly, but memories are sharp and detail recalled (over plentiful cups of tea). It is also a blessing that the dissolution of the MASU in 2018 released funds that partly paid to house the records in the archives of Birmingham Library. Dawn Hamill demonstrates clearly that there were many facets to the Movement. The gaining of knowledge was important, but so was the sharing of experience, the development of personality, social service, the promotion of friendship and the importance of a Christian character. Even in 1939 one of the listed aims was ‘an understanding of the Divine as revealed by Jesus’. This link with Christianity, while so important to many, inevitably made it harder to reach out to new arrivals in the West Midlands, such as refugees and asylum seekers, despite its strong belief in friendship to all. Some good work was done with Somali refugees in Sheffield, but this seems to have been a fairly isolated activity.

Social conscience permeates these pages. The MASU was prominent in many kinds of activities, such as developing public parks in Birmingham. Adult School leaders were often involved in politics and visited prisoners; indeed, members of the Movement included former inmates of Winson Green. Elsewhere some classes were held in prisons, such as Wandsworth. The Movement also showed a strong interest in helping the unemployed, for example by encouraging allotments. Other causes included homelessness. There was also an international dimension, encouraging pen pals abroad and adopting displaced persons camps on the continent.

Another key aspect of the Union, which could be seen as both a strength and a weakness, was its heavy reliance on a handbook: the National Adult School Union Handbook. Appearing first in 1911, by 1926 it had sales of 24,300 copies and 90 per cent of Adult School classes were reported to be using some, or all, of its lessons. The Handbook appeared annually until 2010 with many changes, both in terms of teaching topics, font sizes and references to the Bible. A committee determined the content for each year’s programme: some 50 subjects a year were planned. As time went on, many classes used it less and introduced their own topics, but for others it provided a kind of straitjacket even though it tried to move with the times. It is easy to be critical of the Handbook’s content but there are examples of prescient themes, such as racism and the importance of maintaining the balance of nature. Accommodation for the classes was often an issue. While many acquired the use of premises (often Quaker facilities) some, especially in the early days, met on steps or in classrooms where more than one class was going on. There are many tales of dingy classrooms and frequent movement between sites. Some even sat on each other’s knees, such was the accommodation shortage. As numbers dwindled this problem was often solved by meeting in each other’s homes.

The author clearly demonstrates the dedication of individuals, often motivated by temperance, religion and social improvement. In fact, not just individuals but whole families became involved in the classes over several generations. This commitment was key to the MASU’s long existence, even when there were alternative, and often more attractive, organisations for adult education. It also partly explains its decline—cliques became inevitable. Sometimes groups became so comfortable in their own company that they did not bother to attract others. It is also doubtful whether it would have been so successful without the support of prominent local families such as the Cadburys, Lloyds and Albrights.

One marvels at the commitment of both teachers and attendees. Meetings were often held at odd times and behaviour was not always good. Despite the almost obsessional concern with temperance, drink was a problem in early days (one class was known as the Debauchee Division). Classes varied: some junior and senior classes, some for men and women, some were mixed. Although often united by adherence to union values and the Handbook, many ran semi-autonomously. There were often strict rules and even a small number of absences meant having to leave a class. There were also fees to pay. Those attending were not always taught by a teacher: members were often encouraged to lead on subjects which could be as varied as knitting, heraldry and Australia. Some classes offered rewards, such as tickets towards buying books. Perhaps because it varied so much, there is relatively little coverage of teaching methods, although there are examples of key word cards to help teach reading and writing, and early writing lessons involved copying from the Bible. Discussion, however, was also a central part. The classes were central but were supplemented by day conferences.

The social element was also very important, with drama, music, dances, jumble sales, Christmas fairs and carol services. The plays, in particular, impress not just by the performing and the variety but by the making of up to 250 costumes even when rationing was in existence. There were outings to places such as Chatsworth, Chester Zoo, Malvern, Blackpool, Southport and Weston super Mare, and also some international study tours to such places as Belgium and Malta. Camps also proved popular, with members often enduring spartan conditions.

Another strong element of the Movement was its charitable side. Collections were held for worthy causes right up to the end of the Union. The emphasis on thrift and self-help was central, with some running dividend and sickness clubs. Medical aid was often a valuable element in the days before the NHS. Northfield ran a Goose Club collecting subscriptions for the Christmas meal, while the Coal Club must have been welcomed by many. Another welcome facility was a library, in areas with limited public library provision. Paradoxically the Union in its later days provided support for local public libraries.

The Adult Schools in the West Midlands competed in a sizeable pool of adult education organisations, but this was among the more successful regions for the Movement. Its methods and approach were caught in a time warp. Too often it provided what it thought was good for people, but as the years progressed the gap between this and what people actually wanted widened, while it suffered by not offering qualifications. The decline was clearly terminal. By 2003 there were just 56 Adult School Groups and 769 members nationally; by contrast, in 1901 the Midlands Union alone had 400 groups and 45,000 members. However, the author covers not only the decline and death of the movement but also the many benefits which it brought over the years—the learning, the broadening of horizons, the many friendships, and indirect benefits such as the fostering of public speaking skills. The Movement gave working-class women an opportunity to escape drudgery, providing holidays and excursions.

This highly informative and well-researched book has addressed the many successes and failures of the Movement in the Midlands. The overall message is of huge commitment by many, but it is difficult to see how it could have survived the changes to society more recently. As the author says, they talked themselves round in circles trying to find a way forward. The Movement fulfilled many of its aims but those did not reflect the desires of recent generations; even so, a great deal of good was achieved before its inevitable demise.Tim Lomas, a former chair of BALH, has an interest in all aspects of educational history, the result of a former life as a teacher, education adviser and inspector.

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By Brian Lancaster

(Croydon Natural History & Scientific Society Ltd 2021 36pp ISBN 978-0-906047-36-1) £6.95+£1.50 p&p from 68 Woodcote Grove Road, Coulsdon CR5 2AD or email brian.lancaster@gmail.com

The main protagonists of Ahead of their time are various members of the Malleson and Taylor families who resided in Croydon for some of their lives; however, their activities were focused on London, not Croydon, and the radical causes that they embraced were (sometimes) world-wide. Other members of their ‘circle’ (connected with the people, not with Croydon) were William Henry Ashurst and his remarkable daughters, one of whom, Caroline, married (Sir) James Stansfeld, a highly influential Radical member of parliament and a Liberal cabinet minister. Lancaster’s definition of ‘radical’ is ‘those who were ahead of their time, whose views were progressive and whose support of radical causes was not shared by the majority of educated members of the middle and upper classes’, including MPs. Members of the circle campaigned for social reforms and political change at home and abroad. Biographies of some of the campaigners are provided, principally Peter Alfred Taylor (1790-1850) and William Taylor Malleson (1830-1921) because they have no entry in the Oxford Dictionary of National Biography (ODNB).

One of the most significant radical causes that the circle supported was the unification of Italy. Giuseppe Mazzini (1805-1872), one of the Italian revolutionary leaders, lived in exile for some time with William Henry Ashurst; indeed, two of the latter’s daughters went to Paris to set up a secret postal service for the exiles. Parliamentary reform after the 1832 Reform Act was also targeted with various members of the circle joining either (or both) the Reform League and the National Reform Union. These groups sought household suffrage (that is, all male householders to have the vote), which was largely achieved by the 1867 Reform Act. Unsurprisingly the circle supported the campaign to enfranchise women, which began in earnest during the passage of Gladstone’s failed Reform Bill of 1866. Lancaster demonstrates how they were heavily involved in a petition, with 1499 signatures, presented to Parliament in June 1866 requesting the enfranchisement of women. Before it was presented John Stuart Mill’s stepdaughter, Helen Taylor, did not want it signed by men, fearing that the press might give credit for the petition to men. It is known at that Peter Taylor (1819-1891) signed it, as did various women related to William Taylor Malleson and the daughters of William Ashurst. Taylor’s wife, Clementia (Mentia) became one of the joint secretaries of the London National Society for Women’s Suffrage.

Another cause was ‘progressive education’, the goals of which included opportunities for middle-class women wanting a higher education and for working-class women wanting an education beyond that which fitted them to become domestic servant and seamstresses. The Working Men’s College, set up by Frederick Maurice in 1854, and George Birkbeck’s founding of the London Mechanics’ Institute in 1823 (which became the Birkbeck Literary and Scientific Institute) were key to the eventual foundation of the Working Women’s College in 1864, with which several Mallesons were involved.

The ‘policing’ of prostitutes was legalised by the contagious Diseases Acts passed in 1864, 1866 and 1869. Under the Acts women suspected of being a prostitute could be invasively examined medically: simply ‘acting suspiciously’ might result in an examination. The campaign to repeal the Acts began in 1869: campaigners did not condone prostitution but were incensed that the women suffered while the men who paid them went unpunished. It was part of ‘the general question of justice for women’ (to quote Mazzini). On one occasion William Taylor Malleson and his brother Frank helped Josephine Butler, a principal campaigner, escape from a meeting besieged by a mob hired by her opponents. Sir James Stansfeld supported her in the House of Commons. The Acts were finally repealed in 1886.

In the twentieth century Miles Malleson (1888-1969) and his second wife Joan (1899-1956) stand out. In 1925 she qualified as a doctor. Her professional interests included sexual difficulties experienced by married couples, birth control and abortion: all taboo subjects at the time. In 1931 she was one of the first doctors to set up a government-authorised public clinic dealing with birth control, and in 1938 she gave evidence to an inter-departmental government committee on abortion. Miles belonged to the Independent Labour Party and was director of the ILP’s Arts Guild (set up in 1928), travelling the country to promote its message. Between the wars he was a prolific playwright, many of his plays being about disarmament and sex.

Brian Lancaster’s study brings to life a circle (or rather a tree) of radical people, not only thinkers and speakers but also activists. He has made good use of newspapers and of biographies in the ODNB. And it is worth remembering that the ODNB (often accessible through your county library service) is searchable by place as well as by people.Heather Falvey is the Reviews Editor of The Local Historian.

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By Marshall G. Hall

(Windgather Press 2021 168pp ISBN 978-1-911188-92-6) £35

This lavishly illustrated book provides a catalogue of 58 bridges in the historic county of Buckinghamshire: 32 in the centre and north of the county and 26 in the south. For each bridge there is a physical description, a date of opening and numerous photographs, both contemporary and historic. There are also images of paintings and drawings in some cases; those of Turvey Bridge in the 1830s are particularly striking. Useful information is included about the construction and terminology of bridges, and there are short biographies of some of the architects. The author has gone to considerable lengths to find obscure bridges on footpaths (no.14 on the edge of Buckingham) or scarcely visible beneath minor roads (no.1 at Castlethorpe). There are also well-known bridges over the Thames, including the county’s only suspension bridge (Marlow), and its most complete medieval bridge (Thornborough). The photographs provide views which a road-user or even pedestrian would not normally see. As a list of sites worth visiting the book is very successful, and any resident of the county or visitor is sure to find something new.

For inclusion in the book, a bridge had to be (inter alia) be over a hundred years old, publicly accessible, and span a river, lake or stream. Railway and canal bridges are therefore excluded, although the Iron Trunk at Cosgrove, possibly Buckinghamshire’s most remarkable bridge, qualifies because it carries a canal over a river. The criteria ruled out some attractive bridges over the Grand Union Canal and its branches, but fortunately (as the lakes and streams did not have to be natural) not those in landscaped gardens, including the county’s most photographed bridge, the Palladian Bridge at Stowe. Public accessibility is not explained and turns out to include not only National Trust sites but also estates which are usually only open to hotel guests (Hartwell) or fee-paying visitors on very limited days (Wotton), and a golf course (Stoke Park). The bridges are also expected to be ‘architecturally and visually interesting’, although the Queen Victoria Bridge in High Wycombe makes it despite being ‘not a particularly attractive or architecturally interesting bridge’. No bridges at all in the town centres of Aylesbury and Milton Keynes qualified, but Chesham, Newport Pagnell and Buckingham are well represented.

There are maps showing the rivers and bridges, but these are confusing since they make most of the bridges on the Great Ouse, including those in Buckingham, appear to be on Padbury Brook or the River Tove. The meandering nature of the Great Ouse and its tributaries is the reason why the book contains so many bridges near the northern edge of the county, but that is not at all clear from the maps. Grid references are provided which enable each bridge to be located precisely, but in some cases it would be helpful to have small maps of individual sites, for example showing the relative locations of the various bridges within towns, or the layout of the bridges at Three Bridges Mill near Twyford. Victorian OS maps would also help to put the bridges into their earlier context. Readers can do this for themselves by entering the grid references on the National Library of Scotland’s Map Images website https://maps.nls.uk/index.html.

The opening dates for the bridges raise some questions. In at least two cases there is an obvious misprint (the bridge at Denham Place was not opened in the 7th century) and some dates are based on very dubious inferences: Thorney Mill on the River Colne might be mentioned in Domesday Book but that does not mean that the adjacent bridge was opened in 1086. Little Linford Lane Bridge and Water Stratford Road Bridge are given precise dates of 1811 and 1881 with no explanation. Three different dates are given for the Palladian Bridge at Stowe. Sources of information are provided sporadically. Much use is made of the VCH, cited only in the somewhat cryptic form of ‘British History Online – Amersham, 2001’. The author has consulted numerous local websites, and sometimes relied heavily on them: the description of Goosey Bridge is identical to a photo caption on the MK Trails website (http://www.mktrails.org/cowpers-rural-walks.html), and most of the text about Turvey Bridge is the same as the Turvey History website (https://www.turveyhistory.org.uk/topics/buildings/turvey-bridge-a-brief-history).

Background information has been garbled in places: it is not plausible that only three generations of Temples owned Stowe between 1716 and 1921. Elsewhere it is of little relevance to the bridge: the Winslow ghost Sieve-Guts did not haunt Shipton Bridge but a different brook. Some errors could have been spotted quickly by locals: the 1898 inscription on Stoney Lane Bridge over the River Chess was put up by Buckinghamshire County Council, ‘Bucks C.C.’, not ‘BUCKS. CO.’. The book was compiled before Buckinghamshire’s current Heritage Portal (https://heritageportal.buckinghamshire.gov.uk/) came online, although its predecessor would have been available. A significant resource which was not used is Peter Gulland, The Toll Roads of Buckinghamshire (2017) which provides more reliable dates for and information about the development of bridges on the main roads, as at Newport Pagnell, and about the rerouting of the road from Aylesbury to Buckingham. At least ten of the bridges were on turnpike routes but there is no discussion of turnpikes or their effects on bridge-building.

Hall is described as ‘a retired UK university professor of socio-anthropology’ and ‘an American living in London’. The book was clearly a labour of love, and it would make a good present for anyone interested in Buckinghamshire. It will draw attention to the many unlisted historic bridges which may need protection sooner or later (about half those in the book which are not on National Trust property), and they can currently be nominated for Buckinghamshire’s Local Heritage List (https://local-heritage-list.org.uk/buckinghamshire). The book is a starting point for someone seeking information about a particular bridge. It is unfortunate that, even in the difficulties of 2020–2021, an imprint of Oxbow did not manage more careful editing but left the author with something bearing all the hallmarks of a self-published book.David Noy is Honorary General Editor of the Buckinghamshire Record Society and Honorary Archivist of the Buckinghamshire Archaeological Society. He runs the Winslow History website (www.winslow-history.org.uk).

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Edited by Michael Pearson and Ian D. Hodkinson

(Cumberland & Westmorland Antiquarian & Archaeological Society Tract Series vol.29 2021 140pp ISBN 978-1-873124-89-5) £15 including p&p

Ian Hodkinson, an invertebrate biologist and professor emeritus in the School of Natural Science at Liverpool John Moores University, was the author of Natural Awakenings (published by the CWAAS in 2019), in which he shed light on the achievements of John Gough of Kendal and other early naturalists. Michael Pearson is a naturalist and local historian. Working together they have produced what they describe as ‘a product of the pandemic’: this engrossing and well-structured volume, the focus of which is the life of John Gough. Born into a prosperous family in 1757, Gough was blinded by smallpox before his third birthday. Nevertheless, his intellectual prowess enabled him to publish papers across a very wide range of disciplines as he nurtured an interest in, and a fascination for, mathematics, botany, natural history, meteorology, ornithology and the folklore of his native Westmorland.

His life up to the age of 18 was documented in an autobiography which he dictated to his eldest son Thomas; extensive biographical notes written by Thomas were then added to complete the story. Hitherto unpublished, but now made available by Hodkinson and Pearson, the autobiography and further biographical additions are the best example of its kind of any British scientist of the period. The account of Gough’s life has been transcribed by the editors in a manner which preserves the original grammar, spelling and punctuation. It was evidently a major undertaking: the published version amounts to close to a hundred pages and makes for absorbing reading. The editors provide a brief explanation as to uncertainties regarding the dating of some aspects of the text but, despite these uncertainties, conclude that both the dictated autobiography and further observations were entirely written by Thomas. Additionally, they provide a comprehensive, chronological list of his publications in scientific journals spanning some 34 years: sixty essays and papers in total. The range of Gough’s interests and his considerable investigations indicate a prodigious body of work. The sheer diversity and complexity of subject matter is quite astonishing and ranges across studies on forked lightning, the laws of motion, harmonics, mixed gases, ornithological observations and ‘the cause of fairy rings’ to cite just a handful. He also contributed items to a mathematical journal between 1779 and 1808, which feature in another list. The editors’ insights into local history, social history and aspects of education in the eighteenth century help to put Gough and his life into context.

Gough’s personal difficulties and triumphs are explicit—his strength of character comes through in his own words as he outlines his ‘art of improving the sense of touch as to give it … a degree of sensibility which in some cases obviates the inconveniences arising from the loss of vision’. He recalls vividly the last Kendal Guild procession in 1759, which had no ‘charm’ for him but which remained ‘impressed’ on his mind. He further explains how he similarly retained many images. His descriptions of his recovery in infancy from smallpox which ‘depressed his spirits’ are an emotional read, while subsequent explanations of the importance of the sense of hearing regarding ‘walking in the dark’ hints at his fortitude and resilience in the face of disability. In 1772 he ‘cultivated a taste for experimental philosophy’ (an empirically-based approach) and it becomes clear that thereby he would devote considerable energy to numerous disciplines: his achievements in an array of subject matters were outstanding.

The final chapter provides a background sketch of the life of his son and amanuensis, Thomas, who had many achievements of his own and became a well-respected surgeon. Like his father, his interests were wide-ranging and, beyond the field of medicine, he also devoted much time to botany, ornithology and natural history. It can surely be no coincidence that in his professional life he was alert to the needs of physically disadvantaged people and took an interest in community health. His brief biography is a fitting conclusion to this excellent publication.

John Gough himself argued that ‘there are no circumstances in which the blind can be placed that do not afford them opportunities of acquiring information’ and his own achievements are an inspiration to both sighted and visually impaired. The editors have done a great service in bringing this remarkable life to a wider audience.Carol Dougherty lives in Cumbria and is currently working on an archaeological investigation into aspects of the Westmorland Dales and transcribing documents as part of a project to uncover the early history of her local market town of Appleby-in-Westmorland.

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By Paul R Davis

(Y Lolfa 2021 378pp ISBN 978-1-912631-30-8) £19.99

Towers of Defiance is an updated and much expanded version of two earlier works by the same author. It consists of three main sections and opens with a very readable historical introduction to the events and rulers of the three main kingdoms of medieval Wales, with occasional references to some of the lesser dynasties as required. The introduction extends beyond the Edwardian conquest of 1282, taking us up to the time of Owain Glyndwr, and provides a good context for the rest of the work.

The second section is an introduction to the architecture of Welsh castles, starting with ‘Earthworks’, the wooden castles situated in the motte and bailey earthworks found right across Wales. The next section looks at ‘Earthwork enclosures’ and suggests that although they may not be castles, they were undoubtedly defensive. The stone castles of the Welsh princes are dealt with next. Particular attention is paid to the stone structures of Castell Deudraeth (near Porthmadog) and the impressive hilltop site of Carn Fadryn (Llŷn), both mentioned by Gerald of Wales in 1188 as ‘built recently’. The stone castle at Cardigan started by the Lord Rhys in 1171 might be the earliest reference to Welsh prince building a stone castle, but these two sites deserve to be better known. The section is completed by an accessible overview of stone castle construction and castle-specific architectural terms. The text is accompanied throughout by photographs, plans and reconstruction drawings. Although the notes for these two sections are not comprehensive, they include references to the grey literature reports by the Welsh Archaeological Trusts that are the source of a great deal of information, especially for the lesser sites.

The third section, the ‘Gazetteer of Sites’, is divided into three sections covering the main kingdoms of Gwynedd, Deheubarth and Powys, with a fourth section covering ‘lesser dynasties’. Each is further divided into main sites and lesser sites. This provides comprehensive coverage, and many of the sites are illustrated with a plan, aerial photograph, or reconstruction drawing. The main sites have descriptions of who built them, events at the castle, and its current state. They also include access information (which helpfully points out those sites on private land and not accessible without permission), as well as references to chronicle sources and important discussions of the site. The lesser sites also have brief descriptions, but it is a little disappointing that access information and source references are not given for these, as they will be less well-known to most readers and references for further study would be most helpful.

An appendix provides useful family trees for the three major Welsh kingdoms and a brief note on Welsh heraldry. The bibliographical section contains a list of abbreviations used in the work followed by a bibliography, but the subheading ‘Antiquarian sources’ does something of a disservice to the Brut y Tywysogyon (Chronicle of the Princes), an important primary source. It also omits any reference to the Latin Annales Cambriae (Welsh Annals), which underlie so much of the Welsh Brutiau and are now easily accessible at the Welsh Chronicles Research Group website (www.croniclau.bangor.ac.uk). The book is rounded off by a useful index of places and historical persons mentioned in the text, with a bold typeface used for the illustrations.

Towers of Defiance provides an excellent, affordable and well-illustrated entry point to the fascinating castles of the Welsh princes, which are often overshadowed by the tourist hotspots of their post-conquest neighbours. It will be an essential addition to the shelf for anyone interested in medieval Welsh history.Scott Lloyd is the Project Development Coordinator for the Royal Commission on the Ancient and Historic Monument of Wales (Comisiwn Brenhinoi Henebion Cymru) and specialises in medieval Welsh history.

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By Helen Lawrence

(Camden History Society 2019 [actually 2021] 264pp ISBN: 978-1-913213-008) £14.95 from Camden History Society

Many accounts of the saving of Hampstead Heath from development focus on the events and personalities surrounding the passing of the Hampstead Heath Act in 1871. Much less attention has been paid to the story of the Heath in the 150 years since the Act, particularly the work of the Heath and Hampstead Society to protect, and wherever possible to facilitate additions to, the Heath. This neglected history is addressed by Helen Lawrence in a fascinating account of the Heath and its history over two centuries.

In many ways the earlier history of Hampstead and its heath mirrors that of other London communities and their local commons. From the seventeenth century the once remote village began to change as wealthy merchants built houses. Encroachments on the common increased. At the same time revellers from London were attracted by the increasingly lively social scene, while more respectable visitors came to enjoy the heath’s ‘healthful and pleasant walks’. Hampstead became a fashionable country retreat for the well-to-do, with easy access to London. This combination of affluent and influential residents and its enormous popularity with a wider public played a significant role in saving Hampstead Heath. Nevertheless, as Lawrence points out throughout the book, the broader social and political context (in this case a growing political sensibility in the face of industrialisation, social change and the uncontrolled expansion of London) was also important.

For local landowners, such as Sir Thomas Maryon Wilson in Hampstead, commons were wasted assets, with increasing potential value as building land, but for most Londoners open spaces were ever more precious as urban development progressed. A movement for wider public access began. This was particularly important in Hampstead which, by the middle of the nineteenth century, had seen an influx of middle-class professionals, businessmen and lawyers. Many were religious dissenters with a sense of civic responsibility, who invigorated the campaign against the loss of the Heath to development. In addition to these local campaigners, other protagonists included MPs, the press (notably The Times) and, from 1865, the Commons Preservation Society, with its broad and influential membership. A turning point was the establishment of a parliamentary select committee to protect London’s forests and commons, followed by the Metropolitan Commons Act (1866) which created powers for the development of local management schemes for open spaces.

Despite these developments, in Hampstead it was only the death of the intransigent Maryon Wilson and the succession to the estate of his much more collaborative brother that enabled progress to be made. This was rapid and the Hampstead Heath Act became law in June 1871. In common with legislation to protect other metropolitan open spaces, the Act provided that the Heath was to remain uninclosed and unbuilt on, ‘its natural aspect being, as far as may be, preserved’. Ensuring compliance with this requirement was to be the work of local campaigners over the next 150 years.

The first public manager of Hampstead Heath was the Metropolitan Board of Works (MBW), a London-wide body set up in 1855 to provide and maintain the city’s infrastructure, including the provision of parks and open spaces. Almost immediately there were complaints about the management of the Heath (or rather the lack of it), and a Hampstead Heath Defence Association was established to hold the MBW to account. In 1889 the MBW was replaced by the London County Council, which as an elected body included local representatives from Hampstead. Policy changed dramatically, as the new management began tidying up, or, as furious opponents declared, ‘parkifying’ the heath. Locally this opposition organised itself into the Hampstead Heath Protection Society (HHPS), which continues today as the Heath and Hampstead Society. The story of the Society’s relationships with the succession of public bodies whose actions have impacted the Heath since which occupies the rest of the book.

Helen Lawrence’s account chronicles the Society’s work in two main areas. Campaigns to obtain additions to the Heath began in the first two decades of the last century with the effort to add Golder’s Hill (an extension to the north) and the house and grounds of Kenwood, setting a pattern for the rest of the century. However, the Society’s main preoccupation came to be what Lawrence calls ‘the management dilemma’. Relatively little true heathland survives today on Hampstead Heath, most of the acquisitions since 1871 having been farms or parkland. The Society realised that a ‘wild and natural’ appearance needs constant management, and it has played a key role in ensuring the Heath was managed as countryside and not as a park.

Lawrence makes a telling point in emphasising that a major objective of the Society has been to influence management through harmonious working with the authorities. As London’s first civic amenity society the HHPS was in the vanguard of the development of modern democratic accountability, which at the beginning of the twentieth century was a new concept, as was the idea of public consultation. Making genuine dialogue a reality was not an easy task. Notwithstanding periods of cooperation, from the 1930s until the replacement of the LCC by the Greater London Council (GLC) in 1965, financial constraints and a lack of political will undermined effective management of the Heath. Without a clear management policy its decline continued under the incoming GLC, though remedial work did finally begin in the late 1970s. Then the abolition of the GLC created what the Society’s 1983-4 annual report called ‘the gravest threat to the ... Heath since its birth as a public open space’. The GLC was not replaced by another strategic authority, and scant attention was paid to the fate of London’s parks and open spaces, with under-resourced borough councils expected to take over these assets. Meanwhile Kenwood was split from the Heath and handed over to English Heritage, a newly formed quango.

The eventual outcome of this crisis for the Heath was, says Lawrence, ‘a tribute to the tenacity of the Society’s committee’. With the redoubtable Peggy Jay as chairman, parliament was lobbied, the press was enlisted, and a petition organised calling for a London-wide democratically elected body to manage the Heath and other metropolitan open spaces. In April 1988 after many delays the City of London corporation was announced as the new managing body for Hampstead Heath. A management committee was established, with the Society represented on it. For the first time Hampstead Heath had a dedicated budget with ring-fenced funds, and a proper management plan, something the Society had been requesting for 100 years. ‘The City’, says Lawrence, had ‘responded admirably to the challenge’.

These twentieth century struggles to preserve the integrity of the Heath and its fringes are set in the wider context of metropolitan growth, transforming the Heath from ‘a tongue of wild country penetrating into ... London’ into ‘an island in the centre of a growing densely populated urban area’. Detailed accounts are given of contests with developers and planning authorities over plans ranging from the building of high-rise flats on the sites of older houses to the repeated schemes for major road development which threatened the dismemberment of urban ‘villages’ like Hampstead.

Lawrence tells this complex story lucidly and engagingly, chronicling the Society’s many victories (and some defeats) in defence of the Heath and its surroundings. The book is well illustrated with coloured plates and maps, though an overall map of the Heath marking the sites of key importance referenced in the text would have helped the reader less familiar with the Hampstead area. Perhaps the only issue I would take with this excellent account is its title. Given that, as Lawrence herself notes, at key moments of crisis the Heath benefited crucially from the support of numerous local residents with great influence, and in some cases deep pockets, it is possible to query whether this was truly a story of ‘people power’ in a broader sense. Nevertheless, this is a minor quibble with a book which is an important contribution to the small but growing body of studies of open space preservation in London, demonstrating, as Helen Lawrence concludes, ‘why it is vital that this history must be retold in every generation’.Mark Gorman is a local historian living in east London. He is the author of Saving the People’s Forest: open space, enclosure and popular protest in mid-Victorian London.

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By Rosemary Lauder

(North Devon Books 2020 192pp ISBN 978-0-9528645-1-6) £12

Well known as a Devon author whose many published titles include Vanished Houses of South Devon, Rosemary Lauder has long been interested in Cornwall. The site of Stowe, one of fourteen houses featured as individual sections in this book, is only a few miles from her North Devon home. Meticulously researched over ten years or more, the book includes many illustrations and photographs published here for the first time. Yet Lauder’s interest is as much in the families who inhabited these lost houses, and their interconnectedness, as in the houses themselves. Of Harewood, she writes: ‘There was no fire; there was no shortage of money; the family did not die out. It was abandoned for the most unusual of causes – a slow death by arsenic poisoning’. This sets the scene for what follows.

The book focuses on the major Classical-style mansions which were always fewer in number than in some other counties—no Chatsworths or Blenheims here. A few earlier houses, including Rialton, the prior of Bodmin’s summer home near Newquay; and a rare moated site at Penhallam in Jacobstow, are among the additional houses noted in the introduction. Starting in east Cornwall with Harewood, Trebartha Hall, and Whiteford, Lauder moves on to mid- and west Cornwall. Roscrow near Penryn and Pendarves in Camborne parish are linked by the Pendarves family, and the next three Tehidy, Nanswhydden and Carclew were all designed by the architect Thomas Edwards of Greenwich. This is the nearest Cornwall gets to millionaires’ mansions and all were funded by tin and copper mining. Like the next house, Clowance in Crowan, all these Edwards’ houses were destroyed by major fires. The final five houses are mostly in the eastern half of the county: Coldrenick, Thanckes, Saunders Hill, Trehane and Stowe.

All fourteen houses featured were chosen on the basis of their surviving records—diaries, inventories, architects’ plans, visitors’ descriptions good and bad, auction brochures and other bills of sale, newspaper accounts, wills, letters and memoirs. The detail is fascinating: from coming-of-age parties to a funeral cortege attended by thousands. At Trebartha the Rodds bought some furnishings second-hand in 1765 at a house sale including a spy glass and Indian umbrella, while the contemporary ‘nabob’ Sir John Call furnished Whiteford as an outpost of the Raj. Vignettes of eighteenth-century gentry life include the writer Mary Delaney riding her horse along Cornish beaches as an escape from Roscrow and her unhappy first marriage, while in the first half of the next century Lady Trelawny of Harewood taught her daughters Greek, Latin and Hebrew. Many of the houses have disappeared completely. In 1803 Saunders Hill became a casualty of Padstow family feuds less than twenty years after it was built. Others are romantic ruins, with a handful rebuilt, sometimes on a different site. In other cases surviving outbuildings and stables have become humbler homes, while at Wearde, the present farmhouse was built out of the wreckage next door.

Rosemary Lauder should be congratulated on writing an exemplary book—an inspiration for local historians to examine the lost architectural heritage on their own doorsteps.Joanna Mattingly has long had an interest in Cornish country house fires and the architectural changes that they occasioned. She was a BALH committee member for many years and has taught numerous adult education classes, most recently for the WEA.

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By D. Ben Rees

(Y Lolfa 2021 340pp pbk ISBN 978-1-912631-36-0 hbk ISBN 978-1-800990-83-8) £19.99/£29.99

In the popular perception, the history of Liverpool since the middle of the eighteenth century is inextricably linked with a prolonged and massive influx of Irish migrants, giving the city its special character and, it is often supposed, its unique accent and dialect. However, the focus on Irish migration, while entirely understandable, means that other very distinctive migrant communities probably receive less attention than they deserve. Liverpool was a mecca for incomers originating in Scotland, the Isle of Man and—the subject of this book—Wales, and the northern counties of the principality in particular. In this book the Reverend D. Ben Rees, the most prominent historian of the Welsh community in Liverpool, and of the legion of its citizens who are of Welsh descent, summarises almost half a century of research on the subject and reveals the remarkable story of a place which in some senses served almost as the capital of north Wales.

Although it might be seen as over-generalising, the Welsh community in Liverpool, like its Scottish counterpart but in marked contrast to the numerically much larger Irish one, included a sizeable and highly influential middle-class element, and much of the book is devoted to the important cultural, social and professional aspects of their lives and impact. Thus, chapter 7 is devoted to Welsh language publishing, for which Liverpool was as important as anywhere actually in Wales, with an impressive output of newspapers, magazines and journals (many in the Welsh language) from the end of the eighteenth century to the present. Other sections focus on, for example, medical men, literary figures, builders, missionaries and the photographer John Thomas (1838-1905). Unsurprisingly, the intricacies of the many Welsh chapels in the city and their often powerful and forceful ministers, crucially influential figures, receive a great deal of attention. Their central role in sustaining the Welsh community and its language, and in acting not only as a spiritual but also a social and cultural focus for the diaspora is made very clear. Other chapters in the first half of the book look at Welsh missionaries (not seeking to convert Liverpudlians, but using Liverpool as a base for overseas activity), the Liverpool Welsh and the colony in Patagonia, the Liverpool Welsh and the city’s maritime business (looking particularly at Welshmen among the shipping owners), and the Welsh middle class. A contrasting chapter considers the Welsh poor, and those who sought to support and help them: the poor themselves are given limited coverage, although a sub-section does tell us about Welsh prostitutes.

The second part of the book commendably addresses the challenges of the twentieth century and the major changes which these brought about, as the integrity and identity of the Welsh community were under growing threat. The background to the early decades is the religious controversies which beset Welsh nonconformity more widely, and the well-documented religious revival of the Edwardian period. Succeeding chapters look at the impact of the Great War; the cultural ‘golden age’ of the 1920s and its eisteddfodau (and, intriguingly, the emergence of Plaid Cymru in the city); and the experience of the Second World War which, it must be said, had no distinctively Welsh dimension. The post-war period was marked by the bitter controversy over Liverpool Corporation’s ultimately successful plan to build a reservoir (Llyn Celyn) in the Tryweryn valley above Bala, a development which galvanised Welsh nationalism and provoked fierce antagonisms in Liverpool itself. Rees argues that it also led to much disillusionment within the city’s Welsh community. The chapter entitled ‘Twist and shout (1959-76)’ includes notably few references to Welsh participation in Liverpool’s extraordinary global cultural phenomenon—although three people of Welsh descent who knew the Beatles are namechecked. Other sections cover Welsh footballers in the two great teams, and the continuing efforts of community leaders to maintain and sustain Welsh heritage and identity into the present century.

The book is loosely structured chronologically and thematically, but it is dominated by the people of the Welsh community and, in particular, their leaders. There are very many biographical sections, a possibly disproportionate number of these being devoted to ministers of the Welsh chapels, at the expense of leaders in the secular world of the Liverpool Welsh. The focus on biography, personality and individual achievement means that the weakest aspect of the work is the perhaps insufficient sense of an overview, and a lack of context. It also militates against proper coverage of the majority of the community—the ordinary Welsh people who might potentially have been traced from, for example, census returns, chapel registers, school records and newspaper reports of crime. This is not to criticise what is included, but to regret that a greater breadth and depth of coverage of the lower ranks was not sought or more probably was simply not feasible. It is indeed ‘a remarkable story’, but their contribution is yet to be investigated and told.Alan Crosby is editor of The Local Historian, and has been a historian of Lancashire for almost forty years. He has written extensively on aspects of Liverpool and Merseyside history.

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By Gareth Williams

(Boydell & Brewer 2021 760pp ISBN 978-1-783275-39-7) £95

This is a magnum opus in all senses of the word, the product of years of painstaking research by its author, who was formerly a regional director of Sotheby’s and is now curator of Weston Park in Staffordshire. After a short introductory essay on the development of country houses in Shropshire, he devotes the remainder of the 748 pages of main text to a gazetteer of 265 houses, including some which have been lost. The resulting volume is a reference work which will be of inestimable value to researchers both in Shropshire and beyond. It is particularly gratifying that, in addition to tracing the ownership of the properties described, he also deals with their architectural development wherever possible. This is a great strength of the book, for while the Pevsner guide covers this aspect well, for obvious reasons its remarks on ownership are brief. Coverage of houses which have been destroyed is particularly useful, for while Shropshire has not suffered as badly as some counties from twentieth-century demolition, it has taken its toll. Detailed and well-illustrated discussions of destroyed mansions like Park Hall and Tong Castle, as well as smaller properties such as Corfton and Larden, are of great value.

The gazetteer tells the history of the country houses of Shropshire by individual case studies. In many ways it is a microcosm of the whole country, with obvious local variations. Only a handful of houses remain in the hands of the families who built them, and estates such as Loton Park and Plowden which boast continuous descent from medieval times are very much the exception. Failure of the direct line has been common throughout. Financial embarrassment, often the product of indulgence in politics, gambling or both, led to the sale of many properties. Those who avoided these pitfalls, especially if they made judicious marriages, had a greater likelihood of seeing their properties pass to their descendants. Acquisition of further estates through marriage or inheritance meant that families might accumulate ‘surplus’ properties which were often let, like Netherfield in Pride and Prejudice. During the nineteenth century the number of such ‘tenant gentry’ grew, and the book contains examples such as Ludford and Delbury, where this situation lasted for decades.

The Victorian period witnessed ‘new money’ acquiring estates in the county and building new houses or radically reconstructing existing buildings. Bedstone Court, commissioned by the Ripleys, a Yorkshire manufacturing family, and Stokesay, built from the proceeds of Dent’s gloves, are classic examples. In the twentieth century the effects of punitive taxation, particularly inheritance duties, two world wars and shrinking estate revenues saw many owners abandoning their country seats. Even before the Second World War a number had become educational establishments, a trend which continued in the post-war period. Occupation by the armed forces left some houses, like Ferney, semi-derelict, and during the 1950s and 1960s the number of demolitions increased rapidly.

The Destruction of the Country House exhibition held at the Victoria and Albert Museum in 1974 marked a turning point in public attitudes to country houses, and the rate of destruction gradually slowed. New owners and new uses in the later twentieth century heralded a somewhat brighter future for the larger houses, many of which found a new role as wedding venues. There have been other encouraging trends, such as the rescue of several houses which had been abandoned and at risk, one of the most significant of which is Pell Wall. Even more surprising and gratifying is the case of Onslow, where Haycock’s Greek Revival house was demolished in 1955 and replaced with a modern structure which, the author notes, attracted ‘cruel nicknames from the owners of neighbouring estates’. This in turn was demolished and replaced in 2013 by a refined Greek Revival house designed by Craig Hamilton. The return of the Colthurst family to Pitchford—which they had been forced to sell in 1987, a sale followed by three decades of neglect at the hands of an absentee owner—is probably the most important of these success stories. While perhaps falling short of a renaissance, the new millennium has shown the resilience of the country house and its owners in a manner which could not have been foreseen sixty years earlier.

The book forms an astonishingly detailed and well-researched work of reference. It makes it possible to cross refer, for example, to branches of the same families living in different parts of the county or the work of individual architects and craftsmen. Sources are well-referenced, which makes it easy for those wishing to undertake their own research to use these as a basis for further investigation. This volume does indeed suggest several possible lines which could be developed, such as the use of country houses by the military, and its effects, or the extent to which they housed schools before, during and after the Second World War. The quality of the illustrations, many from the author’s collection, is excellent, and the reproductions of original paintings from private collections are particularly valuable. The standard of book production is exemplary, and it is pleasing to note that the binding is strong enough to sustain a work of such size. Although the book is undoubtedly expensive, it compares well with, for example the Victoria County History volume on Shrewsbury at the same price. It has set a very high standard, and will form an invaluable reference book for students of the county, and of country houses in general, for many years to come.

MARTIN SPEIGHT is currently Chairman of the Shropshire Archaeological and Historical Society. He has written on a number of houses in Ludlow and south Shropshire

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