Memorials of old Derbyshire

In Short

This volume serves as a scholarly yet accessible anthology documenting the historical, architectural, and folkloric landscape of Derbyshire. Bringing together the work of various contributors, it explores a wide range of subjects, from the distribution of Bronze Age tumuli and the evolution of church screens to the domestic lives of local gentry and the peculiar superstitions of rural life. By preserving records of structures and customs that have frequently been lost to time or insensitive restoration, the work acts as an essential repository of regional identity, grounding the broader narrative of English history within the specific, rugged geography of the Peak District.

The Story

The narrative arc of the book begins with the physical landscape of Derbyshire, tracing the county’s history from the remote, prehistoric era to the early twentieth century. It opens by acknowledging the incredible richness of the county’s records, noting that despite decades of research, the historical wealth of the region remains inexhaustible. The text moves quickly into the deep past, examining the distribution of prehistoric remains—particularly the stone cairns and tumuli scattered across the mountainous Peak region. It argues that these ancient monuments were not randomly placed; rather, their survival is largely dictated by the history of land use, as the plough has long obliterated traces of human activity in the more fertile, lower-lying lands.

From the silent stones of the prehistoric period, the focus shifts to the tumultuous religious and political shifts of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. The book details the profound impact of the Reformation on Derbyshire, highlighting the state’s “sternest possible measures” against those who clung to the old faith. It chronicles the musters of the 1530s, when thousands of men were readied for potential conflict, and describes the precarious life of Mary, Queen of Scots, during her long confinement at Wingfield, where her retinue was strictly monitored and her daily life—from the wine bills to the state of her linen—was meticulously recorded by her keepers.

The narrative then grounds itself in the material culture of the county, specifically the evolution of church interiors. Through a close study of rood-screens, the text laments the “atrocious restorations” of the nineteenth century, which dismantled and scattered the intricate wood carvings of the medieval period. It examines the endowments for rood-lights and the social function of parish guilds, illustrating how the physical church served as a central hub for community life and spiritual devotion.

As the scope narrows to individual families and homes, the text disputes the common historical caricature of the uneducated country squire. By analyzing the library and personal correspondence of figures like Mr. Sitwell, the book argues that these men were often highly literate, engaged with classical philosophy, divinity, and law. The final segments move from these high-minded pursuits into the realm of the ephemeral: the oral traditions, ghost stories, and "mischief" of the rural population. It closes with a glimpse into the letters of industrial figures like Jedediah Strutt, whose advice to his son reveals the social anxieties of a rising middle class, completing a trajectory that spans from prehistoric sun-worship to the polished, aspirational social codes of the Georgian era.

How It Unfolds

The landscape of antiquity The book establishes the connection between geography and history, noting that mountainous regions preserved ancient monuments while agriculture destroyed them in the valleys. It explains that stone circles and tumuli were not mere curiosities but essential tools for an agricultural people who relied on the sun as their primary almanac.

The weight of political control The focus turns to the sixteenth century, detailing the suppression of monastic life and the constant, paranoid surveillance of political prisoners. It provides a granular look at the logistics of confinement, detailing the costs of food and wine that sustained the Queen’s household during her forced stay in the county.

The craftsmanship of the parish The narrative examines the evolution of church screens and the guilds that maintained them, contrasting regional styles with those found in southern England. It documents the tragic loss of these artifacts during modernizing church restorations, preserving the details of what remains through careful description and technical analysis.

The life of the mind and the hearth The book pivots to the private lives of the gentry, using library inventories to challenge the notion that provincial life was intellectually stagnant. It concludes by delving into the superstitious and folkloric heartbeat of the region, where stories of "skull protectors" and Mischief Night customs reveal a layer of belief that persists beneath the veneer of recorded history.

The People

The book is populated by a diverse cast that ranges from the powerful to the anonymous. The Duke of Devonshire, to whom the volume is dedicated, represents the established, landed authority of the county. In sharp contrast, Mary, Queen of Scots, appears not as a legendary figure but as a heavily guarded prisoner, whose daily existence was defined by the mundane details of linen supplies and kitchen costs.

The Foljambe family serves as a recurring focal point for the study of medieval status and familial piety. Through the construction of their "table-tomb" in Chesterfield, they demonstrate the elaborate social and religious obligations that families of their standing felt toward their ancestors. Similarly, the Bradshawe family members emerge as figures caught in the shifting loyalties of the Civil War. John Bradshawe, despite his role in the regicide of Charles I, maintained local connections, while Anthony Bradshawe is remembered as an industrious student of history who sought to record the unique character of his home district.

Finally, the book highlights the perspective of Jedediah Strutt, who embodies the transition into the modern industrial age. His letters to his son represent a bridge between the traditional life of the landed gentry and the new demands of a commercial society. He is acutely aware of the social deficits of his own upbringing, desperately wanting his child to master the "genteel address" and "polite behaviour" that he felt were missing from his own early years. These individuals, whether remembered for their political power, their artistic contributions, or their personal insecurities, collectively illustrate the varied, changing face of Derbyshire.

In Its Own Voice

The sternest possible measures were taken to suppress the least disaffection shown against the policy of dissolution.

This sentence captures the harsh atmosphere of the sixteenth-century religious upheavals.

It is probable that the valleys and the low-lying lands generally, which are now the most populated, were in prehistoric times too swampy for habitation.

This observation explains why the physical record of ancient human life remains so unevenly distributed across the county.

If you are a tall man you have to bend your neck.

This instruction warns of the practical difficulties one encounters when entering the old, fortified farmhouse of Offerton Hall.

What It's Really About

At its core, this work explores the tension between permanence and decay. It is a meditation on how human memory is tied to physical objects—from the massive stone circles of the Bronze Age to the fragile brasses on a church tomb and the "worm-eaten" remnants of a folkloric ghost story. The book argues that historical understanding is not merely a matter of reading documents, but of interpreting the remnants of the past that have survived the relentless pressure of time, the plough, and the "restorations" of well-meaning but destructive modernizers. It asks how a community maintains its identity when the artifacts of its religion, the structures of its homes, and the habits of its people are constantly being reshaped or erased by the changing tides of politics and industry.

Why Read It Today

Readers who possess an interest in the tactile, granular aspects of local history—the kind found in church vestries, old library catalogues, and rural legends—will find this book immensely rewarding. It is written with the warmth of a scholar who has spent a lifetime walking the hills of his native county, and there is a quiet, elegiac tone to his descriptions of stone fragments and forgotten traditions.

The book is not a fast-paced narrative; it is an invitation to slow down and look closely at the details of the past. It demands a reader’s patience, particularly when it engages in technical discussions of rood-screen architecture or inventories of seventeenth-century divinity books. Furthermore, the modern reader must be prepared for the attitudes of the early twentieth century, which occasionally surface in the author’s reflections on "civilized" versus "uncivilized" races or his dismissive comments regarding the architectural standards of his own time. Yet, these limitations are part of the book’s character. What remains with the reader is a vivid sense of place: the feeling of entering a low-doored farmhouse, the sight of a carved tomb hidden in a remote chapel, and the realization that history is not just a sequence of national events, but the sum of many small, persistent lives lived in specific corners of the world.