A Visit to Newtown

What, then, is the town of Newtown, or was the town of Francheville, like? And what of its history?

Here are two accounts from a hundred years or so ago, the second of which also includes a brief retelling of the localised piper tale.

The Visit of the Hampshire Field Club, 1890

On Friday, 25th July, 1890, various members of the Hampshire Field Club paid a visit to the Island, and in the course of their excursions visited Newtown and heard something of its history. An account of the visit was recorded in the Isle of Wight County Press and South of England Reporter dated Saturday 26 July 1890, p8.

For the complete article, see the additional notes.

THE HAMPSHIRE FIELD CLUB IN THE ISLAND.

Yesterday (Friday) the Hampshire Field Club paid a visit to the Island. The Southampton contingent, to the number of about 30, left by the 8.30 a.m. boat for Cowes. They included Mr. W. Whitaker, B.A.. F.K.S., F.G.S., president; the Rev. G W. Minns, LL.B., editor; Mr. W. Dale, F.G.S., general secretary; and Mr. T. W. Shore, F.G.S., F.C.S., organising secretary. At Cowes they were joined by the Rev. Father Davis and Mr. G. W. Colenutt, the local secretary for the Isle of Wight, who acted as director of the excursion; and on arriving at Newport Station at 10.15 they were met by Dr. Groves, with whom were Mr. J. Dore and Mr. L. C. Richards, of Newport. Here, also, they were augmented by a contingent from Uyde, which comprised the Rev. R. Nutt, the Rev. –. Barnicott, Mr. F. Newman (borough surveyor), and Mr. Councillor Pollard.

The day began with a vist to the Isle of Wight Museum in Newport and to various other locatins of note in the town before taking a train to Ningwood and then walking to Shalfleet, where they also took lunch, whereupon we pick their story:

Lunch over, the walk was resumed by the charming footpath leading past the old mill to Newtown, where the vicar, the Rev. H. R. Venn, was found waiting to the honours of the ancient borough.

Note

It is likely that the Reverend H. Venn (Henry), was son of Revd. John Venn, and brother of mathematician John Venn, remembered best as the creator of the eponymous Venn diagram.

A halt was made in front of the old Town Hall, and here the following paper was read by Mr. Colenutt:

The portion of the Isle of Wight on which this meeting of the Field Club is taking place is one of which the past history is of much interest. In taking a hasty survey of the town or village of Newtown one is struck by the absence of old buildings or any other tangible indications of former importance. It is not in its architectural features, but in its municipal history, that the antiquary will find subjects for investigation and study at Newtown, and the very absence of any old buildings is of itself interesting. A glance at the map of the Island will show the town situated on a tongue of land formed by two of the branching arms of the estuary known as the Newtown River, and in bygone times, when ships of large burthen were unknown and when the only vessels were galleys or vessels of light draught, this estuary would have afforded safe anchorage and harbour. In medieval times there appear to have been six chief towns in the Island, these being Yarmouth, Newtown (or Francheville, as it was then called), Carisbrooke, Brading, Sandown (or Sandham), and Woolverton. There seems to be reason for supposing that Woolverton, however, was never of great importance, being little more than a large fishing village situate on the eastern shore of Brading Harbour. Its site was visited by the Field Club in July, 1887, and no doubt the circumstance will be remembered by some of the members present here to-day. Of Woolverton nothing now remains save some obscure traces of the course of the streets in the copse which now covers the ground. The events which led to the complete destroction of Woolverton affected Francheville in no less degree; but on the ruins of Francheville arose the Newtown, and some of its prosperity returned to it. One of the first misfortunes which befell the town appears to have been the plundering of it by the Danes on their invasion of the Island in the year 1001, when they virtually took possession the Isle of Wight and used it as a rendezvous for their pillaging excursions on the mainland. We read at this time of the burning of villages and the destruction of town called Wealtham. This seems to have been a large hamlet which stood on the site of the modern Wellow, village lying between Shalfleet and Freshwater. During the three hundred years following Francheville doubtless shared in the miseries of the dwellers in the Isle of Wight through the repeated raids made by the Normans and the French. In August of the year 1577 the French made a descent on the Island, and Woolverton and Francheville both suffered most severely, being completely burnt to the ground. Yarmouth, or, as it was then called, Eremuthe, also shared like fate. The inhabitants were so terrified by the successes of the invaders that they fled to Carisbrooke Castle for protection. Newport was attacked and burnt, but retribution was not long delayed. Sir Hugh Tyrrel was at this time Captain of the Castle, and with the garrison be made sally towards the south part of the town, at the same time placing large portion of his force in ambush. The unwary Frenchmen fell into the trap, and a complete slaughter of the invaders was the result. The place of the ambush was called in spirit of derision Noddies-hill, and its modern name is Node-hill; Deadman’s-lane in the vicinity also derived its name from this incident. The reasons which led to the founding of the New-port operated also against prosperity returning to Newtown. For ships were built of larger size and trade by was increasing ; the merchants resided in the midst of the larger community at Carisbrooke and Newport, and thither the local maritime trade gravitated. That Newtown was of little importance in the reign of Henry VIII. may be inferred from the fact of that king taking no measures to fortify it as he did with Yarmouth, Cowes, Sandown, and other places on the coasts of Hampshire and the Isle of Wight. Worsley tells that Newtown was borough by prescription, and its first representation in Parliament was in the twenty-seventh year of the reign of Queen Elisabeth. Aymer, Bishop of Winchester, granted privileges to his town of Francheville, of which was lord by deed dated at Swainston; the legality of these privileges being subsequently confirmed by Edward II., Edward IV., and Queen Elizabeth. Francheville doubt derived its name from its rights of holding fairs and markets, and in a charter of Edward II. the King grants to his son Edward, Earl of Chester, afterwards Edward III., a market to be held at his town of Francheville every Wednesday, and a fair for three days annually, on the feast of St. Mary Magdalen, on the eve preceding and the day following. No market or fair has been held here for several centuries, and it is doubtful if the privileges were exercised at all after the destruction of the town in 1377. It still continued however to exist as a corporate body, and bought and sold real estate under a common seal, a good representation of which may be seen over the Inn door and also in the east window of the church. The qualification of burgess appears to have been the holding of a borough land, the rent of which was paid to the Mayor and Chief Burgess, this burgage tenure carrying with it also the right to vote for a member of Parliament. Until the passing of the Reform Act, Newtown— a typical pocket borough — sent two members to Parliament. John Churchill, afterwards Duke at Marlborough, represented this place in 1678. It is not wonderful that round two towns which passed through such vicissitudes as Woolverton and Francheville there should gather legendary matter. In regard to Woolverton there ia quaint legend concerning its destruction by the French, but which is too long to be detailed here. At Newtown we have an example of the “Pied Piper” legend, and in the Island town of Francheville this itinerant musician seems to have created quite as much dismay and destruction among its peaceable but money-loving inhabitants as he did on the occasion of his visit to Hamelin. At this place the children are said to have been led down into the Solent, detail which I believe usually takes a local turn in examples of this legend. The study of the legends of Hampshire and especially those having distinctly local bearing is one which is of much interest, and which would make attractive object for investigation at meetings of the Field Club.

The paper was illustrated by map copied in 1768 from an older one, and lent to the club by Mr. A. H. Estcourt, C.A., J.P. Mr. Shore, in the course of same remaaks on the paper, said this was the most interesting map he had seen in any part of Hampshire as an example of burgage tenure, and he sincerely hoped that, if permission could be obtained, they might publish it in their Proceedings.

I haven’t yet found a copy of the map. In passing, a modern map, with an overlay of what the extent of the old town may have looked like, can be found on the website of the Isle of Wight History Centre.

The Vicar having described the mode of electing the Parliamentary representatives of the borough the older time, a visit was made to the interior of the hall, permission having bean granted Sir Barrington Simeon. Here were pointed out the tables at which the Corporation used to discern their business and their dinners, the fine old royal arms in carved and pointed wood, the curious inkstand with its sand and wafer boxes, &c.; and the extensive view from the top of the flight of steps was duly admired.

Proceeding by way of “High-street,” the church was reached, where the vicar gave an account of the rebuilding of the edifice, explaining that the Charity Commissioners compelled the Corporation to put by a certain sum for its endowment, they were unable to erect a building as large as the original one. The architect, however, adhered to its style as far possible, and the vicar pointed out the striking resemblance of the groined roof and the windows to a portion of Salisbury Cathedral, of which it was an almost exact reproduction. The church was dedicated to the Holy Spirit, a dedication which was vary rare in England— he believed there were only two other instances in the country. He suggested that the original dedication may have been to St. Mary Magdalen, seeing that the old fair was held on St. Mary Magdalen’s day, and the glebe formerly attached to the church was called St Margaret’s Croft.

Outside the church the President of club said they had that day had the pleasure hearing two clergymen explain their churches— the Rev. J. Thomas and the Rev. H. R. Venn. They always experienced great help from the local clergy in their outings; they were glad to hear all they could tell them, and in return they as a club were glad to assist the clergy in the preservation of their buildings.

The party then returned, via Calbourne, to Newport, wherefrom the visitors took their leave.

The Piper of Francheville

The following account of the Newtown tale — Francheville being an early name for the town — published in the October, 1902, edition of Temple Bar, Vol 126 Iss 503, p471-5, opens with a review of the Hamelin version before introducing something of the history of Newtown and only then summarising the tale and its possible genesis:

The Piper of Francheville

The legend of the Pied Piper of Hameln has never been satisfactorily explained. Take it as you will, its details are so extraordinarily circumstantial, that they cannot be twisted into any interpretation as a nature myth, or whittled down into fragments of an earlier tradition. The surmises of the most erudite commentators are wanting in logic, and their explanations are apt to become weak-kneed at a crucial point. The legend’s authenticity is not really undermined by the number of diluted plagiarisms with which neighbouring towns have sought to win a spurious notoriety. The stories of the man who fiddled away all the children of Brandenburg into the Marienberg mountain, or of that Piper of Lorch who allured ants, crickets, and rats into the lake and finally, unpaid, inveigled the little boys and girls into the Tannenberg—these are obvious clichés. But there is something quite inexplicable about the original tale (as I take the Hameln one to be)—something into which no ingenious theories of the folklorist will quite fit.

The earliest English account of the Hameln affair (which is supposed to have occurred in 1284), is in Richard Verstegan’s ‘ Restitution of Decayed Intelligence’ [London, 1534]. He gives a full account of the rats piped to their death in the Weser, and the children decoyed into a hole of the hillside.

“ A boy being lame, came somewhat lagging behind the rest, and seeing this that happened, returned presently back and told what he had seen. Forthwith began great lamentation amongst the parents for their children, and men were sent out with all diligence both by land and water, to enquire whether aught could be heard of them: but with all the enquiry they could possibly use, nothing more than as aforesaid could of them be understood. In memory whereof it was then ordained that, from thenceforth, no drumme, pipe, or other instrument should be sounded in the street leading to the gate through which they passed: nor no ostery to be there holden. And it was also established that from that time forward in all publike writings that should be made in that towne, after the date therein set downe of the yeere of our Lord, the date of the yeere of the going forth of their children should be noted, the which they have accordingly ever since continued.”

So that, two hundred and fifty years after, the Hameln people still preserved the memory of that fatal year in their “ publike writings.” If this be not documentary evidence, what is ?

“The street through which the Piper went is called Bungen-Strasse, because no music, no drum (Bunge) may be played there. If a bridal procession passes through, the music must cease until it is out of it. It is not long since two moss-grown crosses on the Koppenburg marked the spot where the little ones vanished. On the wall of a house in the town is written in gold characters— “ ‘ Anno 1284 am dage Johannis et Paulii war der 26 Junii dorch einen piper mit allerlei farve bekledet gewesen 130 kinder verledet binnen Hameln gebon to Calvarie, bi den Koppen verloren.’

On the Rathhaus was sculptured in memory of the event— “ ‘Im Jahr 1284 na Christi gebert
Tho Hamel worden uthgevert
Hundert und dreiszig kinder dasiilvest geborn
Durch einen Piper under den Koppen verlorn.’”

“Grimm has collected a list of authorities,” adds Mr. Baring Gould, “who speak of the event as a historical fact.” ['Baring Gould, ‘Curious Myths of the Middle Ages.']

As a rule, the queerer and more improbable a story is, the more elements of verity it will be found to possess upon investigation. These details of the day, the year, the commemoration of the disaster, form a hard nut for the unbeliever to crack: and yet nobody would care to vouch for the whole story as it stands. The thing that goes farthest to shake one’s faith in this particular kidnapper as an indigenous product of the Hameln district, is the curious coincidence of an almost identical legend, still prevalent in a town verging on extinction. In Francheville, now called Newtown, on the north shore of the Isle of Wight, a similar piper wrought similar havoc at an approximately similar period.

Newtown, situated on a peninsula between Clamerkin Lake and Newtown river, and surrounded with a network of creeks, has been inveterately unlucky. Its British inhabitants—such of them as survived the Roman conquest of a.D. 43—probably perished in that massacre of the year 530, by which the Jutes practically wiped out the Celtic race whose barrow tombs stud the island hill-tops. Subsequently the town may be identified with that Waltheam, burned by the Danes pour encourager les autres, when they descended on the Wight in 1001. Repeopled and renamed it arose as the corporate town of Fraunchville (” free-town,”— i.e. free from all manorial obligations except suit of court), rich and prosperous, holding charters from Edward II. and from Aymar de Valence, the Bishop of Winchester. In 1318, no less than fifty ships of five hundred tons each could ride in the river, opposite the town. From very early times there had been a settlement engaged in the salt manufacture (down to the present century) and probably Francheville shared no small part of the sea-trade of Southampton. Field-tracks running down to the deserted salterns and the desolate tidal mud, still retain the names of “Gold Street,” “Silver Street,” “Broad Street,” and join the remains of “ High Street”; and tradition, rapidly dying out, indicates the sites of erstwhile stately churches.

A horde of French invaders, in 1377, burned Francheville to the ground: and from this blow it did not recover for two centuries, but lay in ruins until the time of Elizabeth, who gave it a fresh charter and lease of life as Newtown. Thence, until the passing of the Reform Bill, it did fairly well under its Mayor and Corporation, and returned two members to Parliament, amongst whom were John Churchill, afterwards the great Duke of Marlborough (1678-81), and George Canning (1796). When the borough was disfranchised, however, there was nothing left to bolster up its crumbling relics of greatness.

Never was there such ruin as has fallen upon the quondam Francheville, A few cottages, some of remote antiquity, and desolate farmhouses, scattered among the marshy banks of the tidal stream ; a town hall, rebuilt in the eighteenth century, now used as a labourer’s dwelling, and dilapidated to the verge of collapse; a tavern, known, de jure, as the “ Newtown Arms,” and, de facto, as the “ Noah’s Ark,” adjoining what was once the main quay, the golden mediaeval galley in full sail, with a scarlet lion disporting on the deck, which formerly glorified the banner of Francheville, flaunting above the lintel; these alone remain. Everything combines to produce the dreariest effect. The water laps against the rotting posts which no longer strengthen the clay banks. The horrible solitude of the mud-levels at low-tide is scarcely more melancholy than the grey expanses of high water flooding innumerable little creeks; the wailing and wheeling of sea-birds add to the gloom. The inhabitants cling with desperate tenacity to the older cottages; I have known one of these dwellings fall to pieces in a storm, ten minutes after its obdurate occupant, a bedridden crone, had been removed, willy-nilly, in the arms of a resolute vicar. “He that is down need fear no fall,” and assuredly no Dane, Jute or Gaul will ever ravage Newtown again. Its shipping has been transferred to wealthier ports; “ Newtown Randy,” once the greatest annual fair in the island, has long been discontinued; its streets are obliterated, and its glories have followed the rats—as the tale tells.

For, once upon a time, the only drawback to Francheville’s prosperity was its plague of rats, as ubiquitous, as insolent, as innumerable as ever were those of Hameln. A piper in parti- coloured clothes appeared one day in the Town Hall and bargained with the burgesses to rid the town of its rats for £500. He piped up Silver Street and down Gold Street, and all the rats swarmed after him to the harbour. There he embarked in a boat with high sides, so that no rat could get in, and shoved off into the middle of the river, the rats paddling round and waving their tails with delight to the lively tunes of his pipe. He played until the tide fell and the boat was aground in mud (this part of the legend presents a remarkable instance of adaptation to environment. Only those who have been personally stranded in Newtown mud can realise its length, breadth, depth and tenacity). The infatuated rats, still paddling round, were smothered one by one; before the tide rose again not a rat was left alive. The mayor and burgesses said that the piper certainly had done the job, but with no trouble or difficulty whatever, and that £50 was very good pay for his day’s work. The piper, muttering vengeance, strode off down Silver Street and up Gold Street, and as he went he played; and so away into the forest, with all the children dancing after him. The shrill pipe-music echoed far among the old oak-trees as he strutted out of sight. Not a child ever returned. The inhabitants died and dwindled; there was no strong young race to follow them. Those born since the piper’s coming were still but babes, and none but old folks and small folks were left when the French landed and destroyed Francheville, with none to oppose them.

It was in 1284 that the Hameln piper appeared and vanished ; ninety-three years afterwards, in 1377, Francheville was burned. This goes some way to identify the first piper with the second, plus an ingenious application of local colour. Yet how did the story find its way from the Weser to the Solent, and why should it be appropriated by Newtown alone of all England? I found the above details, somewhat more coherently given than one can obtain them from oral tradition, in a quaint illustrated book of some ninety years ago. The author adds—and part of his theory sounds both adequate and plausible—

“This is one of the ancient and popular tales told and believed by the old inhabitants of Francheville. The popular tales of a land… have parallel traditions all over the world, handed down from the earliest periods, and relate to Noah and the Flood, or to the events taking place at Babel. This probably was some event occurring before the Saxons migrated to Germany.”

It seems likely that the phrase, “paying the piper,” originated in this legend. The Great Unpaid, according to the Hameln version, was called Bunting from his dress (bunt, variegated, parti-coloured, motley), and it is the insistence on this fact of his many-coloured raiment which helps to thwart any theory of his identity. Is he to be regarded as a kinsman of the Hadjiuji Madjuji, the demon pipers of Ethiopia, who ride through the villages on goats and lure away the children after them? Or as a male variant of Frau Holle, whose mystic song draws the child-souls crowding after her through the German forests? Is he the gale, or singing-wind, which leaves destruction and devastation in its track ?

“ All over England the peasants believe that the spirits of unbaptised children wander in the wind… the very names given to the soul— animus, spiritus, athem —signify wind or breath, and point to the connexion which was supposed to exist between them. Our word Ghost, the German Geist, is from a root gisan, to gush or blow as does the wind.” [Baring Gould.]

All these suggestions, like Phyllis in the ballad, “never fail to please,” but they have one radical defect, they do not allude to the rats, The episode of the children is only the logical outcome of the extirpation of the rodents: yet, “Who said rats?” Never a scientist of them all. And as there is absolutely no connection discoverable between the wind and rats, we may as well front the world with a brazen credulity and avow our belief that, there being no valid evidence to the contrary, there was at the close of the thirteenth century a piper-man in motley who frequented rat-ridden towns with no remunerative result, and in revenge lured away the children with magical music.

May Byron.