Usky's Perspective

On one of my recent expeditions I found myself at a place called Cut-throat Bridge. As is often the case, old Usky's mind went into overdrive and started conjuring all kinds of lurid reasons why the place may have been named... as it turned out I was right, at least, kind of.

It seems Cut-throat Bridge takes its somewhat gruesome name from a 400-year-old murder, which took place in that location.

A historical document tells us that a man, one Robert Ridge, came across ?a man with a wound in his throat in Eashaw Clough?; the proper name is Highshaw Clough but local dialect of the time gives us Eashaw.

The un-named victim was still alive when found. Ridge and other helpers carried him to a house half a mile away, then on to Bamford Hall where the poor chap he died two days later.

The victim had been found lying approximately 40 yards from where a stone road bridge was later built. Remembering the murder, local people always referred to the new bridge as Cut-throat Bridge.

The present Cut-throat Bridge was built in 1821 and is the site of a stop on the local bus route.

Perhaps bizarrely another murder victim was found here a few years ago, this time minus his head. I can't help but wonder whether the location was chosen because of its name.

A newspaper report from the time:

A former lover of the pop singer, Gabrielle, beheaded his stepfather with a Japanese sword and later stayed at the star's London flat while he set fire to a car used in the killing, a court was told yesterday.

Anthony Antoniou, 30, and a close friend used the 2ft-long sword and a commando knife to murder Walter McCarthy before dumping his headless body at Cut-throat Bridge, a beauty spot in the Peak District, a jury was told.

The victim was stabbed 52 times after he was duped into going to Manchester with Antoniou and Timothy Redhead, Nottingham Crown Court heard. Stab wounds to Mr McCarthy's back and hands suggested that he was attacked while he was sitting in the front passenger seat of Antoniou's car, Peter Joyce, QC, prosecuting, said.

Antoniou, who is the father of Gabrielle's young son, Jordan, allegedly stabbed Mr McCarthy, 59, in the back with a commando knife as the car drew into a layby on the A57. Redhead, 29, who was driving the Nissan turbo, also attacked him, the court was told. They even tried to cut off his left hand before cutting off his head, said Mr Joyce.

The body was hidden behind rocks while the head was buried 150 miles away in woodland in Bedfordshire. Mr Joyce said the body was identified by documents left in his clothes when police discovered it a day after the murder in December 1995.

He said the defendants had selected the location, a lonely stretch of moorland at Moscar, during an earlier "reconnaissance mission". The court heard that Antoniou, who owned a fish and chip shop in Sheffield called The Lazy Coddling, had bought the murder weapons from a friend in the preceding November.

Mr McCarthy, of Halifax Road, Sheffield, married Antoniou's mother, Aphrodite, in 1979. She returned to Cyprus in September 1995. Antoniou, a Greek Cypriot, started a relationship with Gabrielle, 27 - real name Louise Bobb and voted best female artist at this year's Brit Awards - in 1992, even though he was married, the court heard.

After the killing, Antoniou appeared at her flat "out of the blue", Mr Joyce said. While staying there he set the car involved in the killing on fire in a nearby street, Mr Joyce added.

He said that, after Antoniou was arrested, he eventually admitted killing his stepfather, claiming that Mr McCarthy had boasted to his mother that he had had an affair with another woman and also liked to abuse boys and girls sexually.

Antoniou, of Parsons Cross, Sheffield, and Redhead, of Woodhouse, Sheffield, deny murder.

Some story, eh?

There's nothing very special about the current Cut-throat Bridge, but I photographed what I believe may have been the location of the attack that gave the spot its name... around 40 yards from the road... and adjacent the pathway to Derwent Edge.

The Pathway

The Brook

The Supposed Crossing

Evidence to Support Crossing Theory

I've nothing to support my theory of the crossing spot, except the proximity of the pathway and the obviously cut and placed stones... any local knowledge would be welcome.

There's been a lifeboat station at Bembridge on the Isle of Wight since 1867; the rescue of the crew of the Norwegian Barque Egbert by the fishermen of Bembridge in an ordinary open boat resulted in the commissioning of the lifeboat station by the RNLI.

As you may or may not know, the Royal National Lifeboat Institution relies on donations from the public; all lifeboat crews are volunteers.

There's a now boathouse being built at Bembridge and an appeal is currently underway to help raise funds: clicking the image above will take you to the Bembridge Lifeboat website where you can donate if you wish.

The RNLI is a charity close to my heart... I donate regularly, but of course it is never enough... so now I'm appealing to you folk in the hope you'll find the odd few pounds (or pennies) to help swell the coffers. Of course the RNLI don't just want your money... if you'd rather support the RNLI by donating a little of your time, simply go to www.rnli.org.uk and see the many ways you can help.

My generation was too old to enjoy the delights of Camberwick Green or Trumpton as children, but that doesn't mean we can't appreciate them as adults.

I always enjoyed the Fire Brigade bit in Trumpton and couldn't resist chiming in with Pugh, Pugh, Barney McGrew, Cuthbert, Dibble, Grubb when my daughter was watching the programme, but my favourite character of them all was Windy Miller from Camberwick Green.

A man after my own heart was Windy Miller... busy enough when the wind blew, but sitting outside his mill supping home-brewed cider when it didn't!

I think old Windy would like this mill, don't you?

Windy Miller, Windy Miller sharper than a thorn,
Like a mouse he's spry and nimble when he grinds the corn.
Like a bird he'll watch the wind and listen for the sound,
Which says he has the wind he needs to make the sails go round.

Just think, he could sit outside in the sunshine getting pissed out of his head on that scrumpy he likes to make until his world was completely out of focus!

The mill pictured above is Bembridge Windmill, one of the Isle of Wight's best known landmarks. Build around 1700, the mill was made famous having been painted on several occasions by J. M. W. Turner.

Congratulations Spicy... I knew one of you clever people would correctly identify my medieval rocket ship!

Known locally as The Pepper Pot, the tower is all that currently remains of St Catherine's Oratory.

I found this diagram interesting... but then I'm a bit anal!

click to make big
A reminder of the peril to shipping caused by the exposed southern coast of the Isle of Wight is provided by the medieval lighthouse on St. Catherine's Hill.

The lighthouse and also an adjoining oratory (chapel) - now vanished - was built by Walter D Godeton in the early fourteenth century and it is now the second oldest lighthouse in Britain (the eldest being of Roman vintage at Dover).

To visit the lighthouse take the footpath from the car park just inland from Blackgang. Whilst walking up St Catherine's Hill, notice the medieval cultivation terraces and strip lynchets. These strip lynchets, evidence of ploughing, can be seen on many hill slopes throughout Britain and demonstrate the scarcity of land in the Middle Ages, which made it necessary to take much more marginal land into cultivation.

On reaching the lighthouse note the distinctive roofline on one side of the building where once the vanished chapel was joined onto the lighthouse. Note also the enclosing turf wall around the lighthouse which is probably contemporary with the building and is shown on the Elizabethan survey of the area.

South of the medieval lighthouse there is a later lighthouse commenced in 1785 but never completed. This building is known locally as the 'salt pot'.

St. Catherine's Hill was not a very suitable place for a lighthouse since it is frequently obscured by mist. The present day lighthouse - built shortly after the wreck of the Clarendon in 1837, is situated on the coast, just to the west of Niton.

One of the things that always makes my grey matter start to tick is stumbling across a church stuck in the middle of a field... that's a church whose parish appears to be non-existent. The first question ask myself is "why?"

Sometimes it is obvious that over time the population has migrated, but on other occasions it seems much harder to understand why the church has been abandoned by 'civilisation' if not population.

In my immediate area there are at least five such churches... these are just the ones I know about, so there are probably more. I can think of many others if I spread my net wider, but let's just keep things local for a moment and let me ask you a question: how many field-bound places of worship do you know within a five mile radius?

This particular church, St Mary's, Whitson (AD 1535), was originally a chapellage of the Benedictine Priory at Goldcliff and stands in what used to be the manor of Great Porton.

The church is quite tiny, stone built and has a distinctive 'thimble' tower. St Mary's may not be the best example of a church standing alone since the hamlet of Porton is just a short walk away, but I particularly like it.

So come on then... give me some feedback on field-bound churches in your area.

A couple of comments passed between ArtsAPart and myself got me thinking about the village I live in and a reminded me of a rather large gap in my local knowledge... a gap I intend to fill. I'm thinking about the history of Undy and my lack of intelligence about the same.

Let's start with what I know... it won't take long!

Undy (Gwndy in Welsh)

A village in south east Monmouthshire (Wales) currently adjoined with the village of Magor with which it shares a community council.

The origin of the village name seems uncertain, but in English Undy has occasionally been referred to as Wondy, Woundy and Gwendy.

The word 'undy' became popular in the 1890s when referring to a female undergarment, so obviously has no bearing on the village name.

'Woundy' appears to be an adjective that has fallen out of use meaning excessively or extremely, so it seems unlikely to have any bearing either.

I've never found definitions for 'Wondy' or 'Gwendy' but it seems likely both are derivations of the Welsh Gwndy.

History

Undy was originally a village in its own right, although it is difficult to say quite how back the village dates. The area was certainly populated during Roman times; Vinegar Hill for example was the site of a Roman vineyard in the 3^rd and 4^th centuries and Roman burials have been found in the area.

The parish church of St. Mary contains a 13^th century west window and font. The church has an archway and porch from roughly the same period.

Saint Mary's, Undy
William Camden, traveller and writer, visited Undy during his tour and mentioned the village in the 17^th century having visited Venta Silurium.

Hard by are seene Wondy and Penhow, the seats in times past of the noble family of Saint Maur, now corruptly named Seimor. For William Mareshall Earle of Pembrok about the yeere of our lord 1240 was bound for the winning of Wondy out of the Welshmens hands to aide William Seimor. From him descended Roger de Saint Maur knight, who married one of the heires of John Beauchamp of Hach, a very noble Baron who derived his pedegree from Sibyl heire unto William Mareshall, that most puissant Earle of Pembrock, from William Ferrars Earle of Derby, from Hugh de Viven, and William Mallet, men in times past most highly renowned. The nobilitie of all these and others besides, as may bee evidently shewed, hath met together in that right honorable personage Edward Saint Maur or Seimor, now Earle of Hereford, a singular favorer of vertue and good learning, worthy in that behalfe to be honored and commended to posterity.

It is worth noting the Saint Maur family name (Camden's Seimor) has been further corrupted to Seymour.

Leaping forward to 1901 Kelly's Directory of Monmouthshire tells us Undy was a thriving rural community (population 393). Interestingly of the 7 private residents listed in Undy, 3 were members of the church.

Undy had its own National (mixed) School, built in 1871 for 65 children; the average attendance was 56. The Misses Curry and Musgrove were the original teachers.

The village Police Station boasted a single officer. Local businesses included a Butcher, Mole Catcher, Carpenter and Wheelwright, along with 19 working Farms.

There was a Village Pound, which is now a car-park and a Tithe Barn, now in ruin.

And that's it... that's where my knowledge of Undy ends... so I'm setting myself the task of finding out more information, which I may, or may not, post here.

Just over a year ago I uploaded three posts about Hailes Abbey ( 1, 2, 3 ). While I was at Hailes in Gloucestershire I also took the opportunity to visit Hailes Church, a small country chapel that pre-dates its more famous neighbour by a half-century.

Historic records at nearby Winchcombe Abbey tell us that Ralph de Worcester built a church at Hailes, summoning the Bishop of Worcester to dedicate it. Apparently the monks of Winchcombe were alarmed by this since it might threaten their parochial rights. Whether or not that was the case I really don't know, but the church was certainly built an what's more it was decorated in a most stunning manner.

When Hailes Abbey was founded in 1246, Hailes Church became the place of worship for visitors, pilgrims and abbey workmen, since the public was not allowed to use the grand church of Hailes Abbey. It seems likely one of the monks from the abbey probably led the services at Hailes Church.

Many architectural changes were made to Hailes Church in the 13th century to reflect its new association with Hailes Abbey and the wall decoration extended. This mural of hunting greyhounds can be seen on the south wall of the nave.

The north wall of the chancel is decorated with a mural of St. Catherine of Alexandria, an aristrocratic and well-educated Christian lady who refused the advances of Emperor Maximin, a dedicated pagan.

Various murals appear on the walls depicting figures from the medieval bestiary, including unicorns and griffins. My favourite though is the flying elephant (Walt Disney, eat your heart out!) seen here.

I thought perhaps I'd best include this one too... especially for Jack Frost, who has an unending fascination for unicorns.

If ever you find yourself at a lose end in Gloucestershire, you could do a lot worse than spend a few hours wandering around the abbey and adjacent church at Hailes.

I don't intend going into a full history of trade and Newport Dock here, just an observation on a part of it.

From what I can see, the port of Newport has been in the timber business since the mid-fourteenth century. There is documented evidence of timber being barged down the River Usk to Newport from Tredunnoc for export from the 15^th century right up until 1801; it seems likely the export of timber from Newport ceased at around that time and was never a major part of the town's trade.

The importing on timber is a whole different matter though. Several companies imported timber through Newport from the 18^th century onwards, including Davies Brothers (Deebee) from the 1890s for the next century.

Since the completion of The Alexandra Docks in April 1875, the timber trade moved 'out of town' abandoning the Old Town Dock and New Town Dock wharves. No doubt the types of timber imported has changed considerably over the years, but the emphasis has remained with the construction trade.

These days Premier Forest Products, one of the UK's leading independent importers and distributors of Timber and Panel Products, are the main timber importers at Newport and although the dock itself is fairly quiet timber carriers remain frequent visitors.

I sometimes wonder where all the timber ends up? Perhaps more to the point, whether or not it is all sustainable? Like many other port towns, the docks at Newport have all but died... provided the trade is environmentally sound I for one hope to see timber being imported through Newport for many years to come.

Very high in the keyword section of Usksider's statistics is the phrase Reverse Cow Position...

I've always felt it kind of odd that people searching for images of women riding their men backwards should end up looking through my blog just because of a sinful comment passed between friends one evening a couple of years ago... what? You didn't know the Reverse Cow was one of the 101 top sex positions? Oh dear... your education is sadly lacking!

Well anyway I decided it was time I put matters to rights and gave those sad Reverse Cow searchers a taste of what they have been seeking... those of a delicate nature should look away now!

...are you still looking?

...so you're sure you want to see this?

...well you can't say you haven't been warned...

...here it comes...

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Reverse Cow Position

Yes there it is, the Reverse Cow Position... or at least, a load of cow backsides and not a hint of SEX in sight! Go on, admit it... don't you feel a little stupid?

This will be my last post following my recent visit to Caerwent. Once again the post has a historical nature, but this time the history is far more recent.

In 1913 local philanthropists Colonel Henry Burton and his sister Miss S. E. Burton commissioned the construction of what has become one of Caerwent's best known 'modern' landmarks, the Burton Homes.

The Burton Homes were built to provide homes for elderly ladies who had spent their lives 'in service' to others. In those days domestic servants 'lived in' and frequently found themselves without a roof over their head upon retirement.

The Burton Trust provided twelve self contained units and a central hall. Each residence comprised a furnished bed-sitting room, a kitchen and a small pantry. There was a shared toilet outside, along with a coal-house.

The homes were not provided with electricity or gas, so domestic lighting was provided with oil lamps and candles. Cooking was undertaken on a small coal-fired range.

The Burton Trust also provided a 'pension' to each resident of ten shillings per week, which was delivered to the 'matron' and had to be individually signed for.

Somehow I doubt the Burton's would ever have envisaged their Trust homes being sold off to private individuals with no need of a charitable pension and their own mode of transport...