Date: | 28th. August 2015 | |
County: | WILTSHIRE | |
Location: | Salisbury | |
Type: | Scenic Area, Historical Buildings, Museums | |
Sub-Type: | Meadows, Rivers, Cathedral, Churches, Medieval Buildings | |
Viewed by: | WALK from car park | |
Car Park: | Pay and Display (Hourly) | |
Difficulty: | Easy (flat) | |
Distance: | 6 - 7Km | |
Season: | Summer | |
Weather: | Sunny. Light Cloud. | |
Time Of Day: | Mostly Mid Afternoon - Evening. (See text for exceptions.) | |
Camera: | Panasonic Lumix FZ-150 (RAW) | |
Scene Rating: | ••••• |
Please note: all data and opinions presented on this site are offered in good faith, but they are advisory only and are utilised at the risk of the user. The authors can accept no blame or liability for any loss or accident or other negative effect resulting from errors, omissions or data that has changed over time.
Original photographs found on this website are Copyright © Richard Baskerville 2015, All Rights Reserved. If small versions of other photographs are found here, they act only as links to larger versions on their originating websites. Such images may be copyrighted by their original owners. Please see the linked websites for copyright details.
Original photographs found on this website are Copyright © Richard Baskerville 2015, All Rights Reserved. If small versions of other photographs are found here, they act only as links to larger versions on their originating websites. Such images may be copyrighted by their original owners. Please see the linked websites for copyright details.
Salisbury: Summary
Like York, Salisbury is a place that exudes history. The graceful spire of its 13th. Century Cathedral is famous beyond our shores and - at 123 metres in height - it's the tallest in Britain. But there is much more of interest visitors. Many medieval (Middle Ages) buildings survive - from churches (like the one dedicated to St. Thomas Becket,) to a swathe of timber framed or flint-faced inns, pubs, mills and other mercantile buldings that still play an important rôle in the architecture and economy of the city today.
Salisbury is, likewise, well endowed with historical buildings from later centuries - not just those clustered around the Cathedral Close (made for ecclesiastical, educational or charitable use - like the Matron's College,) but also grand domeciles like The King's House, The Wardrobe (both now Museums,) the Edward Heath Charitable Trust's Arundells and the National Trust's Mompesson House.
Salisbury's historical beauty is also enhanced and humanised by its beautiful setting - amidst shallow, stoney rivers and open green spaces. The Hampshire Avon, Nadder, Wylye and two others all meet within or close to the city and are bounded by meadows and parks. These provide many pleasant places for walks and relaxation which have inspired celebrated painters like Turner, Constable and Edwin Young to record their vistas. The traditions of watercolour and oil painting established by these Georgian and Victorian artists are still continued in the city today, through Salisbury's healthy Art scene.
Salisbury is also in the heart of Wiltshire's most famous area of Neolithic settlement and monument-building. Archeologists have found evidence of human habitation here dating from 3000 BC - about the same time as men dug the Stonehenge bank and ditch. (The sacred circles of Stonehenge - and other celebrated Neolithic sites near Amesbury - are only 10 kilometers away.)
Once also called New Sarum, Salisbury's original settlement was not on the low lying land of St Mary's Fields, around today's Cathedral, but at what is now called Old Sarum - about 3 Km north of the modern centre and overlooking the (Hampshire) Avon.
The present Cathedral is clearly visible from the motte of the remaining Old Sarum site, although the site itself offers little to visitors. It consists of two concentric oval embankments, now stewarded by English Heritage. The largest of these is about 400m across the longest diameter. and there are no ruins other than the foundations of some medieval buildings - principally an 11th. Century cathedral. These unimpressive remains should not, however, condition our impression of Sarum's historical value. It was an important settlement for over 1600 years - until it was supplanted by New Sarum or Salisbury, at the start of the 13th. Century.
Wikipedia provides the most succinct history of early Sarum that we've seen and we since we can't better it, we'll quote it: "An Iron Age hillfort was erected around 400 BC, controlling the intersection of two native trade paths and the Hampshire Avon. The site continued to be occupied during the Roman period, when the paths became roads. The Saxons took the British fort in the 6th century and later used it as a stronghold against marauding Vikings. The Normans constructed a motte and bailey castle, a stone curtain wall, and a great cathedral."
"A royal palace was built within the castle for King Henry I and was subsequently used by Plantagenet monarchs. This heyday of the settlement lasted for around 300 years until disputes between the Wiltshire sheriff and the Salisbury bishop finally led to the removal of the church into the nearby plain. As New Salisbury grew up around the construction site for the new cathedral in the early 13th century, the buildings of Old Sarum were dismantled for stone and the old town dwindled. Its long-neglected castle was abandoned by Edward II in 1322 and sold by Henry VIII in 1514."
This model by John B. Thorp (photo by Kurt Kastner) shows the city in its Norman heyday. It confirms what the 12th. Century monastic historian, William of Malmesbury, said about Old Sarum: a town "more like a castle than city, being environed with a high wall ... it was very well accommodated with all other conveniences, yet such was the want for water that it sold at a great rate." It's the kind of Norman compound around which many towns in England and Wales grew - but that's not what happened at Salisbury.
Little is known about the exact dispute between the Old Sarum administrators and the clergy that made Bishop Richard Poore decide to move his Cathedral, but we do know that the idea had been mooted by Richard's Brother Herbert Poore as early as the mid 1190s and that the move had been approved - presumably from Normandy - by King Richard I.
But the history of this time was very turbulent, however, so Herbert's plans soon found themselves scuttled.
As a powerful landowner in his own right, Herbert Poore became enmeshed first in the dispute between Richard Coeur de Lion and his brother John and then, as a prominent Bishop, in the dispute between John Plantagenet (then King John) and the Pope - who excommunicated the King and, unsurprisingly, caused severe friction between King John's supporters and the Catholic clergy. At the nadir of the dispute, Herbert needed to flee to France - leaving his lands to be confiscated in his absence (although they were later restored...)
Herbert died in 1217, and it was then that Richard Poore obtained the Bishopric and began the process of moving his seat. Legend has it that the Bishop gave his word to establish his new town where an arrow shot from (Old) Sarum landed - but the arrow struck a white deer, which ran wounded for some distance before dying on the spot where the cathedral now sits! Other stories have it that the Bishop had a vision of St Mary, telling him where to locate the Cathedral.
The truth is probably more prosaic (and almost certainly more self-interested,) with the new town being established near the junction of rivers, on an estate already owned by Richard Poore's family (known in Latin as Veretes Sarisberiasto.)
Almost immediately upon becoming Bishop, Richard Poore laid out streets in a grid pattern on his estate, and leased out plots of land for building houses. The Cathedral was begun in 1220 (some say 1221,) but was not completed until 1258, during the tenure of Bishop Giles of Bridport - 21 years after Richard Poore's death. This 38 year construction period was actually remarkably quick for such a huge Middle Ages project, yet by the time the Cathedral was consecrated Salisbury had already grown to be a thriving market town with a busy economy that was already overshadowing nearby town of Wilton (a much longer established settlement, which in the 8th Century had been the capital of the Wiltunscire - now Wiltshire - district in the Saxon Kingdom of Wessex.)
Even before work on the Cathedral started, Salisbury had established a popular market and an annual fair that attracted people from all over the region. And within 10 years of Richard Poore's ordination as Bishop, the Salisbury settlement was granted a charter making it a city (in the year 1227.)
Today we tend to think of Old Sarum and modern Salisbury as distinct and separate places, but their DNA is actually the same - with one admittedly splitting from the other, but with the two strands of their DNA helix twirling in parallel for several hundred years. Today the old castle site of Old Sarum as still not been absorbed by the modern city suburbs, although it is now very close to the outskirts.
The perception that they are separate entities most probably arises from the difference in their place names, so let's clarify this.
Besides being a polically turbulent time, the Middle Ages were also a linguistically turbulent time, with several language being used in England within a few centuries - often concurrently. In the long lifespan of (Old) Sarum, the name was changed often. Initially called by an unknown Celtic name, the invading Romans knew it by the latinised Celtic name of Sorbiodumum. This was then replaced a derivative name given to it by Saxon invaders, and which was variously rendered as Searoburh, Searobyrig or Searesbyrig. (There were no standardised spellings at this time, but the sounds of those spellings are actually closer than they look on paper: Old English "-byrig" or town would probably have been pronounced more like "bur-igh", with the final "g" quite soft and breathy.)
With the coming of the Normans in 1066, the ruling elite spoke Norman French and the Clergy spoke either French or Ecclesiastical Latin - while the ordinary people continued to speak their Saxon (Germanic) Old English language, which was not dissimilar to the language of the Vikings, some of whom had settled in Britain after their 9th to early 11th Century invasions. (Oddly the Normans were also Vikings, who had settled in Normandy in 9th. Century, although they then became integrated into the local culture and learned French!)
Under the influence of the rulers the vernacular gradually mutated into the hybrid French-Saxon language that we call Middle English - although this happened over a long period of years, during which the use of court French and Latin persisted. Edward I (1272-1307) and his successors were probably bilingual, but it was only with Henry IV (1367–1413) that we finally had a English King who actually spoke English as his mother tongue - a mere 150 years after the foundation of Salisbury!
The most opaque question is why the name "Sarum" - clearly Latinate, but a considerable contraction from the original Roman name - came to be used at all.
The town of Sarum rapidly gained a Norman presence when a motte was constructed on the central mound only 4 years after the invasion. In fact, it's thought that the fort was used by William the Conqueror himself and that great Norman census he ordered, later known as the Domesday Book, was presented to him at "Old Sarum" in 1086.
Yet, oddly, even in The Domesday Book - which was written in much-compressed Medieval Latin - the town wasn't called "Sarum." It was called by the name Sarisberie (as below!)
Sarisberie is obviously a Norman French version of earlier Saxon names like Searesbyrig, so if this was used in 1086, why did it become known later as Sarum?
The first written evidence of the name Sarum is only found a seal dated 1239, so it seems that this name is actually much more recent appellation than the early names which have since evolved into "Salisbury." The British History Online website puts this down to the word being an abbeviation - the first two letters - of the word "Sarisberie", which was then somehow and erroneously given a Latin ending. But whatever the cause the of the word original coining, it must have gained currency with chroniclers and officaldom, because by the 14th. Century we had the Bishop (Wyvil) calling himself "Episcopus Sarum" - "the bishop of Sarum" and when modern Salisbury was given its city charter in 1227, it was in the name of New Sarum - which amazingly remained its formal or official name until 2009!
Yet, evan at the time, that name was not always used. Other documents from the Plantagenet period (and close to the time of Salisbury's 1227 charter) refer to the city as New "Saresbyri" - so it seems highly likely that both Old and New Sarum suffered a weird, schizophrenic existence for several centuries, whereby they were Old Sarum and New Sarum in some official (predominantly Latin) documents, while other documents joined the common parlance in the street and called them Old and New Saresbyri!
Happily it was Saresbyri that won and became Salisbury, which somehow sounds more friendly and inclusive than "New Sarum!"
But for many, Salisbury remains no more than that: a "Cathedral on the plain."
I myself had admired the Cathedral from a distance for many years before I wondered what more the city may have more to offer. And what a mistake that was!
The city was a thriving entrepôt and centre of learning for many centuries, leaving it liberally endowed with Grade I listed buildings (36 in all) from various eras.
As in York, there are many surviving medieval and Tudor timber-framed (half-timbered) wattle-and-daub buildings dating from the 12th. century onwards - and yet more made from stone (many of which have knapped flint facings or attractive chequer patterns alternating dark grey flint and light-coloured limestone.) These buildings have generally been integrated well with more modern structures, which have been designed to retain the "character" of the streets without preventing economic progress and locking commerce into the kind developmental straightjacket that condemns it to financial atrophy.
Besides being dominated by the wide and fluminous sky, the city is also ruled by terrestrial water. Five rivers converge here and unite within 5 km of the Cathedral precinct. The Wylye enters the Nadder at Quidhampton - just south-east of Wilton. The Nadder joins the (Hampshire) Avon around the city's Water Meadows, the Bourne at a point just past the Churchill Garden and the Eddle at Bodenham, 4 Km south of Salisbury Market - leaving only the Avon flowing south towards Dorset.
Spoken like this it all seems clear and tidy, but while there are five named rivers there are actually many more river branches - with the rivers splitting, reforming or hiving off into blind creeks at frequent, yet highly irregular, intervals. Looking at a map of the waterways, they look much more like a piece of glass that has been fractured by a large pebble than 5 simple paths! The map below shows just the few of these close to the centre. Try zooming in to the Google Map at the top to get a better of idea of what we mean!
If you start early-ish it should be possible to walk the whole route and spend some time in the major attractions in a single day, although it would certainly be better to split it into at least two days in order to avoid "tourist daze" and allow adequate time to browse inside the buildings, galleries and museums.
If you're in a dash, you could also shorten the walk by cutting out those parts shown as "spurs" on the map (where you go and then come back on the same path.)
These include numbers 7, 8 and 9 on the enlarged map (Joiner's Hall, The Wardrobe and Arundells,) letter D (the 12th Century New Inn) and letter F (the Odeon Foyer.) Letter A - the National Trust's Mompesson House - can also be considered optional, unless you are NT members, when you can make a quick tour without feeling guilty about the cost of the entry fee! Once those are removed you are left with a route very similar to the first walk we made.
Trying to do the whole route in one day is a particular problem for photographers. The Cathedral is best viewed from the West, which means that it's only from about noon-time that you start to get the right light. Our walk was in the afternoon, and this worked well for the Water Meadows, Cathedral, Mompesson House, the entry to the Old George Mall and so on. But it didn't work for buildings like St Thomas Becket church, the East-facing Old Mill at Harnham, the line of East-facing buildings opposite the Cathedral (Arundells, The Wardrobe and The King's House - which houses the Salisbury Museum,) the East-facing St Anne's Gate and the North-facing Joiner's Hall. (This situation with optimal lighting is probably similar for most city walks.)
Four hours parking is £4.60, but the chargeable period cuts off at 6pm (or 4pm on Sundays) so if you arrive at 2pm (mid-day Sunday) you could still stay until the next morning for £4.60. Be aware, however, that there is both long-stay and short-stay areas in the Central Car Park, so make sure you're in the right bit if you're staying
over 3 hours! Long-stay areas are usually further from the Maltings.
There are also public toilets in the car park (on the Maltings side,) although these seem to close early and not open on Sundays, so there's always the underground 24-hour toilets in Market Square if you find them closed. (Walk through the shopping arcade by the Library [SP1 1BL] then cross the road to to find Market Square.) Note, however, that the luxurious office-hour Market Square loos are shut in the evening and you are left with small and much less salubrious stainless steel cubicles, so I think I'd prefer a pub or fast food chain at night....
We don't have long to walk along the bank of this branch of the (Hampshire) Avon before it disappears under a broad pavement and attendant shops, so - unless you want to explore beyond the red brick frontage of The Maltings - aim diagonally left. Here you will see another branch of the Avon - a mirror of the first and parallel to it - about 30 metres beyond the first. Both are only 6-8 metres wide and between the two there's a small lawned patch, with a trees drooping protectively over the many ducks that seem to enjoy gathering to alternately sleep and argue here.
This second branch of the Avon has been channelled by stone and concrete walls, so it's prettier than the first, so it's worth a little walk along it to view the ducks, swans and fish - if you have time.
If you are aiming for the public toilets in the Market Square or want to see some of the art displayed in the Young Gallery, then cross the pedestrian bridge and walk through the Market Walk shopping arcade. The Gallery is on the first floor of the Public Library, which runs down the entire left hand side of the covered way. (The right hand side of Market Walk hosts shops and eateries, ending - at the Market Square exit - by a Giggling Squid Thai Restaurant. Cute...)
Exit Market Walk and cross the confluence of Minster Street and Blue Boar Row to get to Market Square, the toilets or the Guildhall (at which you can get additional information from the Salisbury Information Office - it's round the back in Fish Row - if you desire.)
Market Square is very large and open unless its a Market Day (Tuesdays and Saturdays) and there are some nice buildings around it, although there are more historically and photographically interesting areas later in the Walk. The columnar half-timbered building at the corner of Blue Boar Row (above) is an exception. It stands eccentrically on the plinth of a modern Timsons locksmiths shop. The top floor is half-timbered. The first and second floors have hanging tiles (although they may be timber-framed underneath - see the buildings opposite the Poultry Cross, later in the walk...)
The Young Gallery in Market Walk is housed in the library run by Wiltshire Council, as they jarringly insensitive bright white and green entry-way and side doors announce clearly. The Gallery has 5 collections, including the founding collection of Edwin Young (1831-1913) whose watercolours "provide an important source of topographical and social historical content, illustrating Salisbury and its environs from the middle of the 19th century to the period just prior to the First World War." The Edgar Barclay's collection is from a similar era and features similarly Victorianised views of pastoral Stonehenge. There is also a contemporary collection of "art with a Wiltshire connection. Works by Moore, Huxley, Hockney, Jones, Nash, Blackadder and Francis [being] some of the artists represented..."
The room featuring Young's work is the most coherent and often includes works by other Georgian or Victorian artists, such as oils in the style of Constable, which are often more attractive than Young's watercolours. The collections of art are actually much too large for the rooms available to show them, so the exhibitions are rotated and you can get to see more of the collections the more you visit.
The other two rooms are more confusing and you may not get to see much of the permanent collections at all, if there are more ephemeral modern exhibitions in train. They're a bit confusing and the gallery clearly needs more space.
But they're still worth a look - or regular looks if you live locally. (Note that our route returns via Market Walk at the end of it's loop, if you'd rather visit the Gallery at the end rather than the beginning. Don't forget that the Gallery closes at 5pm on most days, though...)
If you want to see Market Square and the Young Gallery later, then turn right before the footbridge to the Library and walk along the Maltings side of river towards Bridge Street.
Keep left around the back of The Mill (formerly The Bishop's Mill and certainly not to be confused with The Old Mill, which we'll see later,) then crosses the river into St. Thomas's Square, where you can find the secretive Parish Church of St. Thomas and St. Edmund (below.) The small churchyard is hedged on three sides by other buildings, so it's easy to miss if you don't approach it from this, the West side. However, if you want to take a photograph across St Thomas's Square you'll probably need to loop back at the end of our walk, in the mid-to-late afternoon. (We missed the shot on our first walk and had to return on another occasion - hence the suddenly clear sky...!)
You will see the church called the Church of St Thomas A Becket or the Church of St Thomas Becket (which is what we'll usually call it.) The old name board near the western church entrance used to have both names, but seems to have settled on St Thomas Becket at its last repainting.
The confusion arises because Salisbury city used to have 2 central parishes: St Edmund’s and St Thomas’s. But these were merged in 1973 to make the parish of St Thomas and St Edmund. The church of St Edmund (in the north of the city) was then deconsecrated and became the Salisbury Arts Centre, while the Church of St Thomas became the parish church of St Thomas and St Edmund as well. Hope that's clear (!)
Although the West face of the Church is the most open and has a large door, you can't usually enter the church into it here. We'll tell you how to get in shortly, but before you do that you may want to turn left and have a look at the north side of the church. We didn't photograph this because it was under scaffold, but we have seen some quite nice photos of the almost contiguous line of large windows in the northern aisle and upper nave, which are impressive from that angle.
Look out for the sundial on a building opposite too.
St. Thomas's is an active church, offering its congregation a busy calendar of gatherings, from services to coffee mornings, almost every day of the week - see their website for details. But they also seem to be very welcoming and you are invited to go inside and follow their self-guided tour (download it from their website) during most daytimes. Entry is free (although donations are, of course, appreciated) and it provides an intriguing journey into early Christianity that we can strongly recommend.
To get into the church, turn right at St Thomas's Square and then left into Silver Street. About 20m down the left hand pavement you'll see the sign above, which marks a narrow alleyway between the shops and into the Churchyard.
There are seats beneath the windows of the Southern Aisle, which are a popular place for locals to take a break, lulled by the two wooden figures or "jacks" who animate to chime the time on two bells on the church's belltower, in a way similar to the clock on Carfax (St Martin's) Tower in Oxford. The jacks appear to strike the bells with halberds, although actually the mechanism hits them from behind. The figures are in 16th century armour and the original mechanism is thought to date from 1581, although the current designs are more likely replacements from the 17th or 18th centuries - and even these became so deteriorated that 1982 and 2005 restorations were just guesses as to what the original detail looked like! The clock mechanism was also substantially replaced in 2005, using electric winding.
The churchyard does not have vertical gravestones and appears as a lawn with a single communal memorial stone set into it. (Ashes from cremations may still be laid here, but no memorial plaques or stones are permitted.)
Unusually the entrance to the church is through the base of the belltower, but the tower still has a ring of 8 bells, which are regularly pealed by the church's bellringers.
Archeologists still disagree about what are the earliest parts of the church, but - despite the claim on the sign in Silver Street that the church dates from "1220" - it's unlikely that you'll see much in the church that was built prior to the early 15th. century (although one theory holds that there's part of a late 13th. Century arch in the north-east corner of the Lady Chapel, if you look hard...)
However, the current church is believed to have been built on the site that was "the first active place of worship in New Sarum." The original Church is believed to have been a small wooden chapel built by Bishop Richard Poore in 1220 as a place where the men working on the new Cathedral and town could worship. It was replaced from 1226 by a small stone church with a crucifix shape (nave, choir and transcepts) dedicated to St Thomas of Canterbury, to which a St Stephen chapel was added at the end of the century.
The current belltower was built in the early 1400s as a separate structure, but still with an arched walkway beneath. It was the collapse of the choir and chapel in 1447 that precipitated the progressive rebuilding of the church into the perpendicular Gothic style, we see today - with the nave and choir replaced, two chapels added and then the two aisles that finally gave the church it's wide and largely rectangular shape, with the belltower as the entrance.
My first impressions on entering the church were that it
is unusually bright and airy. There are large leaded windows along the length of both aisles,
both sides of the the upper part of the nave (above the aisle rooves) and taking up much of the wall above the
western door. These all use clear glass (only the altar window now has
stained glass - the Lady Chapel stains were destroyed in the
Reformation) so the sunlight is not dimmed and I found that this provided enough light to take even
handheld photographs (those below) at ISO 200.
This was not always the case. Thomas Hardy's Jude The Obscure described the church as a "gloomy place," where the surrounding wooden galleries and the gentry's box-pews (all now removed) blocking out the window-light.
Unusually the rooves of the nave and choir - and the barely sloped rooves of the aisles - are all lined with natural wood panelling, painted gold only on the ceiling supports. This also seems to emphasise the height and "lack of weight" in the church in a way that vaulted stone ceilings do not (despite their lighter colour.)
The nave and choir are proportionally quite narrow, with the wide but relatively low aisles presumably providing enough support to allow so many large windows to be built without additional buttressing.
The church's most famous feature is a large mural on the chancel
arch, commonly known as the "Doom Painting." This is not the word "doom"
in the negative sense we understand it today (viz. "he was doomed to...") but in the Anglo-Saxon sense, which means "judgement." (Medieval representations of the Last Judgement were once very common in churches throughout Europe.)
It's believed to be the largest - and certainly best preserved - of its type in England and is said to have been painted by a parishioner in 1475, as thanks for a safe pilgrimage.
The mural features Christ and the 12 Apostles in the City of God (at the top,) with people rising for the Last Judgement (lower left,) and people - including nobles and a Bishop (!) - being marshalled into Hell's Mouth by demons (lower right to us, but to Jesus's left, where the goats ought to be.) The muted colouration somehow adds to the picture's mystical antiquity.
Although the Church was Catholic at the time of its foundation, it had been overtaken by exteme Protestant "reformers" by the Tudor and Stuart era. The mural was obliterated with white-wash in 1593 and forgotten - a clear reminder that the blinkered and fanatical impact of abstractive religiosity in no way began with Muslim terrorists!
Fortunately the painting was re-discovered in 1819, when the whitewash was carefully removed and the painting reproduced (not especially reliably) on paper. Inexplicably, however, it was then whitewashed again(!) and full restoration did not start until 1881. The most recent restoration process dates from 1953 and has rendered the magnificence of the painting clear, bright, and ready to inspire (or perhaps terrify) the souls of future faithful.
Three more paintings from the late 15th century can be found in the Lady Chapel, which today is more like a continuation of the south aisle than an enclosed space. The Lady Chapel was once much more ornately decorated, with stained glass windows, but much of this was also destroyed by doctrinaire "Reformation" vandals.
The three small murals showing the Annunciation, the Visitation and the Adoration of the Magi somehow survived - although, unhappily, another set of three on the opposing wall has been lost for ever.
The church's remarkable paintings testify to the awed spirituality of the medieval worldview - where the bliss of Heaven and unending terror of Hell were serious and pressing concerns - a in a way that the more restrained interior of Salisbury Cathedral really doesn't.
The church also contains some paintings in chancel alcoves, although these may date from Victorian times. There are also non-ecclesiastical paintings, featuring heraldry and coats of arms of noble families. The Royal Coat Of Arms - above - dates from the time of good Queen Bess, when all churches were required to put it on the chancel arch when the rood screen was removed.
It now hangs above the entry to St Michael’s Room (under the belltower,) although for centuries it was hung on top of the whitewashed Doom painting. The arms date from about 1580 when the queen paid £8 for the painting and £4 for the frame. The arms are supported by a lion and dragon rampant and bracketed by two Tudor roses. (The Scottish unicorn only replaced the Welsh dragon when James I took the throne in 1603.
For a much more complete history of the Church of St Thomas Becket and the Doom Painting it's well worth downloading the parish's own fact-packed PDF files. All three of them are accessible from this page from the church website.
Inspired by St Thomas (and having left a donation in the box near the door) you're ready for a bit of exercise.
Exiting the churchyard into Silver Street, turn left, and walk past Caffè Nero and Wagamama until the ground opens out on the right to reveal the front of The Mill.
The Mill itself is accessed by a small pedestrian bridge. But if you don't want refershment, check out the view of the mill-race from the bridge or bear right to the railings that stop you falling into the churning white water of the (Hampshire)
Avon as they emerge from under the building and tumble over a weir .
This branch of the Avon (the one that passed under the Library bridge) and the "twin" branch (near the Maltings toilets) rejoin just downstream of this little weir, between the Mill's lawn and road bridge. Having split near the top of the Central Car Park, this means that they form a half-kilometer long island with The Mill at the bottom-most point!)
The current Mill building (number "2" on our map) is a flint-faced 18th Century building that's now used as a pub/restuarant. It has patio dining - although, unfortunately, it seems to feature what's jovially called a "traditional English menu", which here seems to mean Fish and Chips, Real Ales, Burgers, Real Ales, Steaks, Real Ales, Vegetable Chilli Ramen (presumably they couldn't find anything English that wasn't for carnivors or hop-addicts - maybe that's what the squid was giggling at...) and, of course, Real Ales.
The current building is worth a passing look, although it's a pity that its medieval precursors didn't survive to the present day. The original structure is said to have been entered into the Domesday Book as belonging to a Bishop of Old Sarum over 130 years before the foundation of Salisbury by Bishop Richard Poore.
But as to additional information about this building (what kind of mill it was and what the mill-race was driving, for example,) your guess is as good as mine. I've only found a few scant paragraphs on the pub's website (which were clearly written by someone with a garbled sense of history.)
Rejoining the main road and crossing the road bridge into Fisherton Street, you'll find a Slug and Lettuce Cocktail-Bar-Cum-Snackhouse (from the name it seems there is something for both carnivors and veggies here, although veggies may worry about getting them in their salad at the same time.) And opposite the Slug, there's a stone clock-tower.
It's the clock-tower that's the more interesting (although the Slug's building is also quite intriguing - with a roof that seems crooked enough to be original but a fascia that is far to flat and regular to be the medieval timber-frame it's pretending to be...)
In the way of English humour, the Fisherton Street clock-tower is known locally as "Little Ben." It's reputed to have been commissioned in 1892 by one Dr John Roberts as a memorial for his wife, whom he'd lost the previous year. A carved plaque in the stone base of the tower depicts some manacles! This only makes sense when you know that the tower was built on the site of the old Fisherton Gaol. (Most of the gaol had been demolished about 50 years earlier.)
Continuing up Fisherton Street you'll find little of historical interest so, having crossed yet another parallel vein of the (Hampshire) Avon, turn left down Water Lane, which is a pedestrian pathway running along the right bank of the shallow stream. Or if you want a snack, go a bit further on Fishton Street and check out the Fisherton Mill Gallery and Cafe first. It's a large commercial gallery biased more towards craft than art.)
The walk up Water Lane path is quite short, but it will soon give you your first clear view of Salisbury Cathedral, the visual hub around which you will slowly gyrate for the next 4 kilometers.
This branch of the Avon passes under the road, but soon reappears in greener guise as part of the small and well-trimmed Queen Elizabeth Gardens, where it is shaded by water-loving trees like the weeping willow.
Our map shows the route as being along Cranebridge Road for about 50m before entering the Gardens in the North-East corner, but you can go straight across if you wish. On the south-western side of the gardens the branch of the river we've been following meets two other branches, which also converge at this point
We've seen it written that branch of the Avon that runs through the gardens was diverted there artificially, to make the garden more attractive. If this is true, then it's hard to see where it was diverted from, unless the channel was once closer to the road and joined the main branch of the Avon down the side of Mill Road.
If you're wondering why I keep talking of the "(Hampshire) Avon," by the way, it's not just to distinguish it from the Stratford-Upon-Avon Avon or the Bath and Bristol Avon, but actually from a total of four river Avons that can be found in England and a further three that are in Scotland. It's a popular name - and for a very good reason! The name "Avon" comes from the Celtic word "abon" (which persists in the Welsh word "afon") - all of which mean "river." (So, if you're bilingual Welsh, "River Avon"probably feels a bit like saying "River River" ;-)
But anyway, we've made the point now, so it will just be "Avon" for the rest of this article and we'll leave it in peace to flow on to Christchurch, where it joins with the Stour to seek a peaceful union with the sea...
Having relaxed in the sun, walked along the river edges and smiled at the children paddling in the shallow waters, we headed to the north-eastern corner of the Queen Elizabeth Gardens and crossed the a larger river channel on to Town Path. This tarmac'd footpath heads diagonally south-west across Salisbury's Water Meadows for about half a kilometer.
The Water Meadows look like a large, undeveloped stretch of countryside. But they are, in fact, an island ringed by two rivers that join south of the Cathedral. The River Nadder feeds into the Western side of the circle and the parts of the Avon we have been describing feed into the Eastern side.
There is some disagreement between map-makers as to whether the river bordering the island on the northern and western sides is the Avon or the Nadder. The Google maps we use here show the entire ring being parts of the Avon, while Ordnance Survey maps have the river to the North as the Nadder.
Documents about Harnham also have the Eastern part of the ring as being the Nadder and logically, having the Nadder as being the North and West sides of the ring makes more sense, so we're guessing that this is the more likely option. Looking at Ordnance Survey maps, by the way, you can see that the meadow inside the ring is a mass of blue striations, showing a network of blue gullies running at right-angles to the river. It's unclear as to how the map-makers decide when to show a gully as being filled water, rather than dry land, but the number of blue lines on the maps certainly make it obvious as to why these are called "water meadows!"
Town Path is also prone to flooding after heavy rain, with patches of water often left to form marshy areas in the fields as the water subsides. A wide, walled ditch has been built along the side of the path to keep it drained, although it's success has always been limited. At the time we visited it was so full of tall rushes, that it was hard to see down into the water through the stems - so maybe it gets too choked to be effective. (Apologies for the photo, BTW. It was shot against the sun.)
Besides offering a pleasant walk through grazing sheep, the great wonder of Town Path is the view of the distant Cathedral spire, which thrusts up from behind the trees that line the distant river-line in its attempt to puncture the sky. This view has been voted ‘The Best View in Britain’ by readers of Country Life magazine.
Presumably because of the flooding, Salisbury's Water Meadow island has remained a pastoral foreground for the Cathedral that has avoided development and continues to provide the wide panorama that has been so dear to a succession of painters, from the Romantic era onwards. These have included famed landscape and architectural artists like John Constable, and the young J.M.W Turner - although (as the city's galleries show) they've by no means been the only ones.
The most famous of the scenic works is probably Constable's "Salisbury Cathedral from the Meadows." There are a number of versions of this, including some aggressive and expressionistic studies that look more like late Turner - although the most admired version is probably the more polished and detailed 1831 version, which has a cart fording the river in the foreground.
As far as we know, none of the famous works by Constable can actually be seen on permanent exhibition in Salisbury, although the 1831 painting was bought in 2013 by a consortium of museums - which included the Salisbury and South Wiltshire Museum (opposite the West side of the Cathedral) - so maybe it will come home and be shown there in the not-too-distant future. (At the moment it seems to spend most time cycling itself through the Tate in London, the National Museum Wales and the National Galleries of Scotland.) Other Constables featuring Salisbury can be found in London's V&A.
Salisbury Cathedral from the Meadows was created a year after the death of Constable's wife and is recognised as strongly symbolic, with the dark clouds that mirror the turmoil and anguish of the artist's soul being set against the rock of the Cathedral, symbolising unbreakable faith. There is also the further symbolism the rainbow (the biblical motif of God's covenant and hence of Hope) and the waggoner (suggestive of human endurance and perserverance against adversity.) Another reassurance of the security of the Christian faith can be seen in the form of the St Thomas bell-tower, on the left.
It's not just the sky that is threatening. The whole painting is emblematic of Nature's chaos, with the blasted or wind-whipped trees and the tangle of the briar-ripped undergrowth all threatening the waggoner, who just pulls his collar tighter, and persists...
One curiosity is the painting's rainbow. This is curiously glass-like and solid looking, and in many ways it spoils the work. We all know what a real rainbow looks like, after all! But the composition would be less strong without it, as it acts almost like a barrier - radiating from the cathedral to protect it from the storm.
It's hard to identify where Constable positioned himself to make the painting from a modern map. Today's rivers don't seem to join in the way he shows, so either their course has been altered or there's a good deal of artistic licence being exercised here. If the claim that one branch of the stream was diverted to enliven the Queen Elizabeth Garden, then the former may possibly be the correct alternative. But in any case, if the perspective of the Cathedral was drawn correctly, then Constable must have been on the side of the river opposite the Water Meadows, at a spot that is in some way blocked or doesn't exist today.
Yet, regardless of these specifics, the strong counterpoint of the spire and the heavens that Constable portrays is just as obvious to anyone who walks down Town Path today, as it was for the artist. You don't need the sensitivity or passion of a Constable to be struck by the reckless defiance shown by the ancient master-masons in the face of the marshy ground and the ever-threatening flux of the clouds in the canopy above!
It's the audacious spire that brings wonder to the view. Had the Cathedral been built with a castellated tower or made from darker stone, it would not have the same striking impact as it still does today. The light Purbeck stone from which the Cathedral was fashioned somehow gives it the luminous - almost translucent - quality that you would expect to find more in the crystalline towers of faery tales or early chivalric myths like those raked by the Arthurian chronicles.
The spire's sharp needle is a clear emblem of Human aspiration and the Human dedication to an advancing Evolution that defies all odds. The spire is Excalibur - not thrust down into rock, but thrust up from the waters by ancient Earth spirits, to stand bright, proud and protective against the vicissitudes of wind and rain and misfortune. The spire has a magical dualism that is both at one with Nature (like the natural spires of the Old Harry Rocks) and a proactive metaphor of Humankind's ability to harness Nature - born from their own naïve faith in their ability to progress and survive, then forged by the fires of experience into the glinting fortitude of creativity and invention, millennia upon millennia.
You don't need an established faith to feel the power of this place - just a welcoming receptiveness to the Natural World and an awareness of our apparently contradictory rôle as both acolytes and leaders within it.
Well, these were my interpretations, anyway, as I was caught up by the euphoric mood that ran through me as I tried to encapsulate and immolate the beauty of the scene in my lens (!) - although, in truth, I sensed an accompanying but subliminal awareness that this scene could be interpreted otherwise and that, under the calmness, it was swirling with its own flux and contradictions.
As the clouds changed, so did the influence on my mind and the drift of my emotions. Now the scene appeared like a Taoist painting, with the white purity of the buildings in balanced harmony with the natural world. Now it was a scene from Thomas Hardy's Wessex, with oppressive clouds dwarfing the tiny spire and mocking the presumption of Man's pointless bravado. Nature is never still and pulls on the subconscious like the Moon...
It was little wonder that the finely tuned perceptions of artists had been drawn to this place, at various times and various moods. But they had practical concerns too. The light and the weather had to be commensurate with beauty.
We were lucky that we had chosen the right time for the walk. The descending afternoon sun was striking the western face of the Cathedral, yet was still modelled it for the camera.
Unlike the artists with the talent to use paint and oil, however, the photographer cannot leave out the inconvenient whatevers. Even with digital software there's a limit to what you can correct.
The rushes in the drainage ditch - though attractive in themselves, were an inconvenience to the view, and I found myself standing on the benches that were strewn along the path in order to get an unincumbered shot of the Cathedral behind the sheep in the pasture. As my mind reverted to humdrum technicality I found myself wondering how how evergreen they were, and whether winter or early spring may reduce their impact.
You can see from this photograph that at the time we made the walk the rushes were effectively a hedgerow 6 foot high and 6 foot broad!
The camera icons on our map show the rough locations of the 4 positions from which I took shots, although some may not be easy to match on the ground. In practice you just have to walk along looking for benches, or fences or gaps in the reeds or gateways through which you can peer unimpeded across the Eastern Meadow to the Cathedral.
Yet despite the difficulties I found myself shooting far more frames than was sensible and for paid dearly later as I spend time poring over my virtual lightbox! With so much that can move in the frame there's always the doubt that you have the best shot and the thought that maybe the clouds look better than before, or that the sheep have walked into a better pattern!
The presence of the sheep, quietly grazing the rich grass was - like the spire to Constable - a calming influence that ignored the capricious clouds. In Christian terms they were very appropriate to the ecclesiastical backdrop and it was easy to see that their unhurried rumination could revive a sense of spiritual security to the doubting pilgrim.
This was a true pastoral scene that echoed the essentially pastoral nature of Bishops and Evangelists: followers of Jesus himself, who was shepherd who knew his sheep and shielded them from wolves who were "red in tooth and claw."
Yet even in less Christian terms, sheep are somehow a Natural symbol of peace and thoughtlessness and I found, as watched them, the melody of Beethoven's 6th Symphony running through my head to the accompaniment of overly bucolic images - jolly rustics in smocks who seemed to infuse much of Victorian art. A far cry from Victorian reality, where old or disabled farmhands easily could end up in the workhouses run by stingy councillors...
Was the tranquility we like to see merely an escapist bulwark against the stinking reality of Dickensian London or Hardy's hiring-fair labourers digging turnips from the frozen ground in winter?
As the clouds changed, so did the influence on my mind...
Poverty and destitution may have been the realities suffered by the Unfortunate in Plantagenet Sarisberie too, but from the perspective of distant time the city grew and prospered.
Even more than today, much of business in the Middle Ages was due to location, location, location - and Medieval Salisbury was well located. Before the coming of the canals and railways trade was conducted by water or by road, and Salisbury was on the crossroads of two ox-cart highways. North to South there was the road from Wilton to the port of Southampton, which could access trade with Europe and the Silk Road. East to West road from London to Exeter - which were both important towns and had a healthy volume of trade flowing between them.
Initially the carriers had to ford the Avon and although it was not deep and had a firm base for most of the year, there were times of heavy rainfall when passage was barred by flood. The townsfolk built a stone bridge across the Avon,and from 1244 the traffic flow increased - as did the number of traders spending time and money in the town.
But for all the benefits of trade, wealth in that era came primarily from the bounty of the land (or the skilled hands that could add value to it.) The main industry in Medieval Salisbury revolved around sheep. Sheep were sheared. Wool was traded. Wool was carded, was woven into wool-cloth, was "fulled" by beating it with watermill-driven hammers in a mixture of soft clay called "Fuller's Earth" to clean and thicken it, was dyed and was exported through Southampton - mostly as cloth bales, but sometimes as garments.
Leather working was also an important industry and the city's workforce became experts in producing everything from cured hides to shoes and saddles.
City artisans even established an envied reputation for the production of small but fine steel items such as cutlery and swords - which is much more surprising, given that the ore and minerals used for smelting were not common in the region and would have needed to be imported. Ultimately this was its undoing. The steel industry declined during the 17th and 18th centuries, as more competitive factories in Sheffield and Birmingham got into their stride.
At a time when there are cities in the world with populations over 20 million, it seems laughable when it's asserted that Salisbury had, by the 15th century, a healthy population of 8,000! Yet this was enough to make it one of the larger towns in England!
The presence and expansion of the Cathedral also continued to grow the city's importance as a centre of faith and education. In 1269 Salisbury was wealthy enough to be divided into 3 parishes. The Bishops Palace was built in the 13th century, as were two friaries: for the Franciscans "Grey Friars" and the Dominican "Black Friars." (Roads named after them - Blackfriars Way and Greyfriars Close - can still be found near the St. Ann Gate today.)
Then, in the late 14th century, monks founded a hospital - the Hospital of the Holy Trinity - where the poor and sick could seek refuge and solace.
The influx of clergy also developed Salisbury as a centre of learning - for which the city no doubt claimed credit although, actually, the foundations for this had already been laid in Old Sarum.
Old Sarum's cathedral school was famed for its educational success from relatively early times and gave opportunities even to talented Saxons like the celebrated twelfth century English historian now called John of Salisbury. So when the Bishop's seat was moved to New Sarum by Richard Poore, the Cathedral School was, of course, moved with it - leading to the expectation that the town might spawn its own University.
In the Middle Ages universities were usually not consciously founded, but emerged gradually as towns attracted distinguished teachers who in turn attracted scholars, who attracted more teachers and more scholars until the numbers grew so large that a body needed to be established to organise the teaching and grant degrees.
Salisbury became associated with two of the most respected 13th Century teachers - both of whom spent time as canons at Salisbury Cathedral. These were Edmund Rich (canonized as St. Edmund in 1248) and Robert Grosseteste, (who later became an Oxford professor and Bishop of Lincoln.) Although neither Rich nor Grosseteste actually taught at Salisbury, their association with the cathedral was enough to greatly enhance Salisbury's prestige.
Oxford was developing as a seat of learning at about the same time, but the influx of scholars caused such resentment among the townspeople that there were frequent riots between "town and gown." There had been trouble as early as 1209 when an Oxford woman was killed by students, and three students were lynched in reprisal. In 1238 a fight broke out between students and the retinue of a Papal Legate called Cardinal Otho. The Cardinal's brother was killed and the Cardinal himself forced to flee Oxford in the night. And so it went on, until the hosility culminated in the St Scholastica Day riot of 1355, in which a total of 93 scholars and Oxford townspeople died!
Each time Oxford grew unsafe, many students left Oxford. Some went to Cambridge, some to Paris and some to Salisbury, where classes were offered by the Dominican friars and a new library with classrooms and desks was built to accomodate the scholastic influx. Bishop Giles of Brideport established De Vaux College to provide housing and scholarships for twenty poor students, while Bishop Walter de la Wyle provided stipends for graduate students or teachers via the College of St. Edmund.
But somehow Oxford always remained ahead and always managed to attract - or attract back - Salisbury's finest minds. De Vaux College continued to run courses in Salisburyfor many more decades - although increasingly its students spent only part of the year studying there, with the other part spent in Oxford. And finally, in 1545, it too was dissolved.
The disappearance of De Vaux College probably marked the end of Salisbury's ambitions to be a University, but it by no means ended Salisbury as a scholastic centre. Sarum College, Bishop Wordsworth's School, Salisbury Cathedral School and Leaden Hall School still remain clustered around the Cathedral and it's apparent from the conversations you hear around the city that educational attainment is still high here.
The end of Town Walk is marked by trees, where it transitions into a causeway and then a footbridge that walkers can use to cross the river. This point is less than 200 metres from where the Nadder feeds into the ring of water surrounding the Water Meadows. It's also almost due West of the Cathedral, although only half of the Cathedral's West face is visible through the trees and over the brick buildings clustered on the western side of the Cathedral Close.
Once across the river you are in Harnham - classified since 1903 as a suburb of Salisbury, but originally two villages: East and West Harnham (the latter of which had its own Parish Church.) These are not recent settlements. Archeologists have unearthed evidence of human habitation in the Harnham area that dates from the Iron Age.
The river is wider at this point, and has obviously be subjected to works aimed at manipulating its course - probably to funnel it through the Old (Harnham) Mill (described after the next picture.)
We mentioned earlier how some map-makers say this is the River Nadder and some the Avon, but descriptions of Harnham always seem refer to it as the Nadder, so the local people seem certain enough.
After crossing the pedestrian bridge you find yourself walking next
to a cluster of buildings that appear to be on their own island. In fact
they are on a small peninsula. The earliest buildings belonged to the
church and the detailing around the doors and windows of the current Old
Mill Hotel are said to date from this period (circa 1250.)
The main structure of the existing Old Mill building dates from the 16th Century, when it was converted from ecclesiastical use to become Wiltshire's first paper mill and the river was diverted to flow under it. Looking at the map it seems likely that the earlier buildings were on the bank of the river, but that those banks were cut away to form the peninsula we see today, with the Mill at its tip.
We've not seen when it was made into a hotel, but the older part of the building is
Grade 1 listed and we're told that the mill race can still be seen via a
viewing window in the hotel restaurant - so you'll need to have a meal
to see it fully! (although you can see the water rushing out of the race
through two portals in the base of the building from the outside too.)
The arc of the oldest part of the hotel, and what is obviously a much more recent building providing the bulk of the accomodation, both face almost due East - so late afternoon is definitely the wrong time to get a photograph, as the time almost entirely in shade. By the time we reached the Old Mill on our initial walk it was already too late and I returned on a later date at a slightly earlier time, when there was a clear sky and at least a little sunlight cutting across the front of the buildings.
For fully lit shots, though, the morning is probably the time to be here.
The original Mill building is constructed from a nice mix of materials and it's right on the pavement so it's easy to get up close and personal!
Salisbury is, likewise, well endowed with historical buildings from later centuries - not just those clustered around the Cathedral Close (made for ecclesiastical, educational or charitable use - like the Matron's College,) but also grand domeciles like The King's House, The Wardrobe (both now Museums,) the Edward Heath Charitable Trust's Arundells and the National Trust's Mompesson House.
Salisbury's historical beauty is also enhanced and humanised by its beautiful setting - amidst shallow, stoney rivers and open green spaces. The Hampshire Avon, Nadder, Wylye and two others all meet within or close to the city and are bounded by meadows and parks. These provide many pleasant places for walks and relaxation which have inspired celebrated painters like Turner, Constable and Edwin Young to record their vistas. The traditions of watercolour and oil painting established by these Georgian and Victorian artists are still continued in the city today, through Salisbury's healthy Art scene.
Salisbury is also in the heart of Wiltshire's most famous area of Neolithic settlement and monument-building. Archeologists have found evidence of human habitation here dating from 3000 BC - about the same time as men dug the Stonehenge bank and ditch. (The sacred circles of Stonehenge - and other celebrated Neolithic sites near Amesbury - are only 10 kilometers away.)
Once also called New Sarum, Salisbury's original settlement was not on the low lying land of St Mary's Fields, around today's Cathedral, but at what is now called Old Sarum - about 3 Km north of the modern centre and overlooking the (Hampshire) Avon.
The present Cathedral is clearly visible from the motte of the remaining Old Sarum site, although the site itself offers little to visitors. It consists of two concentric oval embankments, now stewarded by English Heritage. The largest of these is about 400m across the longest diameter. and there are no ruins other than the foundations of some medieval buildings - principally an 11th. Century cathedral. These unimpressive remains should not, however, condition our impression of Sarum's historical value. It was an important settlement for over 1600 years - until it was supplanted by New Sarum or Salisbury, at the start of the 13th. Century.
Salisbury: Early History
What follows is a brief history of how Old Sarum evolved into modern Salisbury. If you want to get straight into the description of the walk, please click here to jump down the page.
Wikipedia provides the most succinct history of early Sarum that we've seen and we since we can't better it, we'll quote it: "An Iron Age hillfort was erected around 400 BC, controlling the intersection of two native trade paths and the Hampshire Avon. The site continued to be occupied during the Roman period, when the paths became roads. The Saxons took the British fort in the 6th century and later used it as a stronghold against marauding Vikings. The Normans constructed a motte and bailey castle, a stone curtain wall, and a great cathedral."
"A royal palace was built within the castle for King Henry I and was subsequently used by Plantagenet monarchs. This heyday of the settlement lasted for around 300 years until disputes between the Wiltshire sheriff and the Salisbury bishop finally led to the removal of the church into the nearby plain. As New Salisbury grew up around the construction site for the new cathedral in the early 13th century, the buildings of Old Sarum were dismantled for stone and the old town dwindled. Its long-neglected castle was abandoned by Edward II in 1322 and sold by Henry VIII in 1514."
This model by John B. Thorp (photo by Kurt Kastner) shows the city in its Norman heyday. It confirms what the 12th. Century monastic historian, William of Malmesbury, said about Old Sarum: a town "more like a castle than city, being environed with a high wall ... it was very well accommodated with all other conveniences, yet such was the want for water that it sold at a great rate." It's the kind of Norman compound around which many towns in England and Wales grew - but that's not what happened at Salisbury.
Little is known about the exact dispute between the Old Sarum administrators and the clergy that made Bishop Richard Poore decide to move his Cathedral, but we do know that the idea had been mooted by Richard's Brother Herbert Poore as early as the mid 1190s and that the move had been approved - presumably from Normandy - by King Richard I.
But the history of this time was very turbulent, however, so Herbert's plans soon found themselves scuttled.
As a powerful landowner in his own right, Herbert Poore became enmeshed first in the dispute between Richard Coeur de Lion and his brother John and then, as a prominent Bishop, in the dispute between John Plantagenet (then King John) and the Pope - who excommunicated the King and, unsurprisingly, caused severe friction between King John's supporters and the Catholic clergy. At the nadir of the dispute, Herbert needed to flee to France - leaving his lands to be confiscated in his absence (although they were later restored...)
Herbert died in 1217, and it was then that Richard Poore obtained the Bishopric and began the process of moving his seat. Legend has it that the Bishop gave his word to establish his new town where an arrow shot from (Old) Sarum landed - but the arrow struck a white deer, which ran wounded for some distance before dying on the spot where the cathedral now sits! Other stories have it that the Bishop had a vision of St Mary, telling him where to locate the Cathedral.
The truth is probably more prosaic (and almost certainly more self-interested,) with the new town being established near the junction of rivers, on an estate already owned by Richard Poore's family (known in Latin as Veretes Sarisberiasto.)
Almost immediately upon becoming Bishop, Richard Poore laid out streets in a grid pattern on his estate, and leased out plots of land for building houses. The Cathedral was begun in 1220 (some say 1221,) but was not completed until 1258, during the tenure of Bishop Giles of Bridport - 21 years after Richard Poore's death. This 38 year construction period was actually remarkably quick for such a huge Middle Ages project, yet by the time the Cathedral was consecrated Salisbury had already grown to be a thriving market town with a busy economy that was already overshadowing nearby town of Wilton (a much longer established settlement, which in the 8th Century had been the capital of the Wiltunscire - now Wiltshire - district in the Saxon Kingdom of Wessex.)
Even before work on the Cathedral started, Salisbury had established a popular market and an annual fair that attracted people from all over the region. And within 10 years of Richard Poore's ordination as Bishop, the Salisbury settlement was granted a charter making it a city (in the year 1227.)
Today we tend to think of Old Sarum and modern Salisbury as distinct and separate places, but their DNA is actually the same - with one admittedly splitting from the other, but with the two strands of their DNA helix twirling in parallel for several hundred years. Today the old castle site of Old Sarum as still not been absorbed by the modern city suburbs, although it is now very close to the outskirts.
The perception that they are separate entities most probably arises from the difference in their place names, so let's clarify this.
Besides being a polically turbulent time, the Middle Ages were also a linguistically turbulent time, with several language being used in England within a few centuries - often concurrently. In the long lifespan of (Old) Sarum, the name was changed often. Initially called by an unknown Celtic name, the invading Romans knew it by the latinised Celtic name of Sorbiodumum. This was then replaced a derivative name given to it by Saxon invaders, and which was variously rendered as Searoburh, Searobyrig or Searesbyrig. (There were no standardised spellings at this time, but the sounds of those spellings are actually closer than they look on paper: Old English "-byrig" or town would probably have been pronounced more like "bur-igh", with the final "g" quite soft and breathy.)
With the coming of the Normans in 1066, the ruling elite spoke Norman French and the Clergy spoke either French or Ecclesiastical Latin - while the ordinary people continued to speak their Saxon (Germanic) Old English language, which was not dissimilar to the language of the Vikings, some of whom had settled in Britain after their 9th to early 11th Century invasions. (Oddly the Normans were also Vikings, who had settled in Normandy in 9th. Century, although they then became integrated into the local culture and learned French!)
Under the influence of the rulers the vernacular gradually mutated into the hybrid French-Saxon language that we call Middle English - although this happened over a long period of years, during which the use of court French and Latin persisted. Edward I (1272-1307) and his successors were probably bilingual, but it was only with Henry IV (1367–1413) that we finally had a English King who actually spoke English as his mother tongue - a mere 150 years after the foundation of Salisbury!
The most opaque question is why the name "Sarum" - clearly Latinate, but a considerable contraction from the original Roman name - came to be used at all.
The town of Sarum rapidly gained a Norman presence when a motte was constructed on the central mound only 4 years after the invasion. In fact, it's thought that the fort was used by William the Conqueror himself and that great Norman census he ordered, later known as the Domesday Book, was presented to him at "Old Sarum" in 1086.
Yet, oddly, even in The Domesday Book - which was written in much-compressed Medieval Latin - the town wasn't called "Sarum." It was called by the name Sarisberie (as below!)
Sarisberie is obviously a Norman French version of earlier Saxon names like Searesbyrig, so if this was used in 1086, why did it become known later as Sarum?
The first written evidence of the name Sarum is only found a seal dated 1239, so it seems that this name is actually much more recent appellation than the early names which have since evolved into "Salisbury." The British History Online website puts this down to the word being an abbeviation - the first two letters - of the word "Sarisberie", which was then somehow and erroneously given a Latin ending. But whatever the cause the of the word original coining, it must have gained currency with chroniclers and officaldom, because by the 14th. Century we had the Bishop (Wyvil) calling himself "Episcopus Sarum" - "the bishop of Sarum" and when modern Salisbury was given its city charter in 1227, it was in the name of New Sarum - which amazingly remained its formal or official name until 2009!
Yet, evan at the time, that name was not always used. Other documents from the Plantagenet period (and close to the time of Salisbury's 1227 charter) refer to the city as New "Saresbyri" - so it seems highly likely that both Old and New Sarum suffered a weird, schizophrenic existence for several centuries, whereby they were Old Sarum and New Sarum in some official (predominantly Latin) documents, while other documents joined the common parlance in the street and called them Old and New Saresbyri!
Happily it was Saresbyri that won and became Salisbury, which somehow sounds more friendly and inclusive than "New Sarum!"
Salisbury: Our Guided Walk
General
From the mid 13th Century up until now, Salisbury's main attraction has been its beautiful cathedral, which a large portion of southern English people would easily recognise from a photograph. Located, as it is, on a wide plain, the Cathedral is visible for many miles and the paucity of hills mean that there has nothing to obstruct the view of its spire from the vast panoply of the sky.But for many, Salisbury remains no more than that: a "Cathedral on the plain."
I myself had admired the Cathedral from a distance for many years before I wondered what more the city may have more to offer. And what a mistake that was!
The city was a thriving entrepôt and centre of learning for many centuries, leaving it liberally endowed with Grade I listed buildings (36 in all) from various eras.
As in York, there are many surviving medieval and Tudor timber-framed (half-timbered) wattle-and-daub buildings dating from the 12th. century onwards - and yet more made from stone (many of which have knapped flint facings or attractive chequer patterns alternating dark grey flint and light-coloured limestone.) These buildings have generally been integrated well with more modern structures, which have been designed to retain the "character" of the streets without preventing economic progress and locking commerce into the kind developmental straightjacket that condemns it to financial atrophy.
Besides being dominated by the wide and fluminous sky, the city is also ruled by terrestrial water. Five rivers converge here and unite within 5 km of the Cathedral precinct. The Wylye enters the Nadder at Quidhampton - just south-east of Wilton. The Nadder joins the (Hampshire) Avon around the city's Water Meadows, the Bourne at a point just past the Churchill Garden and the Eddle at Bodenham, 4 Km south of Salisbury Market - leaving only the Avon flowing south towards Dorset.
Spoken like this it all seems clear and tidy, but while there are five named rivers there are actually many more river branches - with the rivers splitting, reforming or hiving off into blind creeks at frequent, yet highly irregular, intervals. Looking at a map of the waterways, they look much more like a piece of glass that has been fractured by a large pebble than 5 simple paths! The map below shows just the few of these close to the centre. Try zooming in to the Google Map at the top to get a better of idea of what we mean!
Walking Route(s) and Timing(s)
The route shown here links up everything we've found to be of most interest in Salisbury (so far, anyway...) In practice we've developed the route from a number of visits (the first being on the 28th. August 2015, which is shown as the date of this article) which we've made as our interest deepened and our knowledge broadened.If you start early-ish it should be possible to walk the whole route and spend some time in the major attractions in a single day, although it would certainly be better to split it into at least two days in order to avoid "tourist daze" and allow adequate time to browse inside the buildings, galleries and museums.
If you're in a dash, you could also shorten the walk by cutting out those parts shown as "spurs" on the map (where you go and then come back on the same path.)
These include numbers 7, 8 and 9 on the enlarged map (Joiner's Hall, The Wardrobe and Arundells,) letter D (the 12th Century New Inn) and letter F (the Odeon Foyer.) Letter A - the National Trust's Mompesson House - can also be considered optional, unless you are NT members, when you can make a quick tour without feeling guilty about the cost of the entry fee! Once those are removed you are left with a route very similar to the first walk we made.
Trying to do the whole route in one day is a particular problem for photographers. The Cathedral is best viewed from the West, which means that it's only from about noon-time that you start to get the right light. Our walk was in the afternoon, and this worked well for the Water Meadows, Cathedral, Mompesson House, the entry to the Old George Mall and so on. But it didn't work for buildings like St Thomas Becket church, the East-facing Old Mill at Harnham, the line of East-facing buildings opposite the Cathedral (Arundells, The Wardrobe and The King's House - which houses the Salisbury Museum,) the East-facing St Anne's Gate and the North-facing Joiner's Hall. (This situation with optimal lighting is probably similar for most city walks.)
Getting There and Parking
To get to the city, set your satnav to SP1 3SL, which is our preferred car park. There are a lot of choices for parking your car in Salisbury. There are details on the Wiltshire Council website about all of the car parks they run in the city, but note that many of these are "short-stay" with a 3 hour limit, which will probably not be enough to explore the many places of interest. The Central Car Park [SP1 3SL] that we usehas an hourly pay and display long stay car park, so you can choose how long you need. It's next to The Maltings Shopping Centre and is convenient for both the Market and the Cathedral.There are also public toilets in the car park (on the Maltings side,) although these seem to close early and not open on Sundays, so there's always the underground 24-hour toilets in Market Square if you find them closed. (Walk through the shopping arcade by the Library [SP1 1BL] then cross the road to to find Market Square.) Note, however, that the luxurious office-hour Market Square loos are shut in the evening and you are left with small and much less salubrious stainless steel cubicles, so I think I'd prefer a pub or fast food chain at night....
The Walk Itself
To start our route from the Central Car Park, walk to the left of Sainsbury's past the toilets, until you find the nearest of the many separate streams in the city that are called the "River Avon." (As we mentioned, there are few well-defined valleys in this area so the shallow rivers tend to split and merge again and again, as they dart hither and thither towards the sea. Some of the Avon fragments are even left as angular ponds and only get rejoined to what we would accept as the "main river" at times of spate. The Wylye and the Nadder - which run from the North and West of the city respectively - are similarly coquettish and indecisiveness of their lines of progress.)This second branch of the Avon has been channelled by stone and concrete walls, so it's prettier than the first, so it's worth a little walk along it to view the ducks, swans and fish - if you have time.
Market Square is very large and open unless its a Market Day (Tuesdays and Saturdays) and there are some nice buildings around it, although there are more historically and photographically interesting areas later in the Walk. The columnar half-timbered building at the corner of Blue Boar Row (above) is an exception. It stands eccentrically on the plinth of a modern Timsons locksmiths shop. The top floor is half-timbered. The first and second floors have hanging tiles (although they may be timber-framed underneath - see the buildings opposite the Poultry Cross, later in the walk...)
The Young Gallery in Market Walk is housed in the library run by Wiltshire Council, as they jarringly insensitive bright white and green entry-way and side doors announce clearly. The Gallery has 5 collections, including the founding collection of Edwin Young (1831-1913) whose watercolours "provide an important source of topographical and social historical content, illustrating Salisbury and its environs from the middle of the 19th century to the period just prior to the First World War." The Edgar Barclay's collection is from a similar era and features similarly Victorianised views of pastoral Stonehenge. There is also a contemporary collection of "art with a Wiltshire connection. Works by Moore, Huxley, Hockney, Jones, Nash, Blackadder and Francis [being] some of the artists represented..."
The room featuring Young's work is the most coherent and often includes works by other Georgian or Victorian artists, such as oils in the style of Constable, which are often more attractive than Young's watercolours. The collections of art are actually much too large for the rooms available to show them, so the exhibitions are rotated and you can get to see more of the collections the more you visit.
The other two rooms are more confusing and you may not get to see much of the permanent collections at all, if there are more ephemeral modern exhibitions in train. They're a bit confusing and the gallery clearly needs more space.
But they're still worth a look - or regular looks if you live locally. (Note that our route returns via Market Walk at the end of it's loop, if you'd rather visit the Gallery at the end rather than the beginning. Don't forget that the Gallery closes at 5pm on most days, though...)
Keep left around the back of The Mill (formerly The Bishop's Mill and certainly not to be confused with The Old Mill, which we'll see later,) then crosses the river into St. Thomas's Square, where you can find the secretive Parish Church of St. Thomas and St. Edmund (below.) The small churchyard is hedged on three sides by other buildings, so it's easy to miss if you don't approach it from this, the West side. However, if you want to take a photograph across St Thomas's Square you'll probably need to loop back at the end of our walk, in the mid-to-late afternoon. (We missed the shot on our first walk and had to return on another occasion - hence the suddenly clear sky...!)
You will see the church called the Church of St Thomas A Becket or the Church of St Thomas Becket (which is what we'll usually call it.) The old name board near the western church entrance used to have both names, but seems to have settled on St Thomas Becket at its last repainting.
The confusion arises because Salisbury city used to have 2 central parishes: St Edmund’s and St Thomas’s. But these were merged in 1973 to make the parish of St Thomas and St Edmund. The church of St Edmund (in the north of the city) was then deconsecrated and became the Salisbury Arts Centre, while the Church of St Thomas became the parish church of St Thomas and St Edmund as well. Hope that's clear (!)
Look out for the sundial on a building opposite too.
St. Thomas's is an active church, offering its congregation a busy calendar of gatherings, from services to coffee mornings, almost every day of the week - see their website for details. But they also seem to be very welcoming and you are invited to go inside and follow their self-guided tour (download it from their website) during most daytimes. Entry is free (although donations are, of course, appreciated) and it provides an intriguing journey into early Christianity that we can strongly recommend.
There are seats beneath the windows of the Southern Aisle, which are a popular place for locals to take a break, lulled by the two wooden figures or "jacks" who animate to chime the time on two bells on the church's belltower, in a way similar to the clock on Carfax (St Martin's) Tower in Oxford. The jacks appear to strike the bells with halberds, although actually the mechanism hits them from behind. The figures are in 16th century armour and the original mechanism is thought to date from 1581, although the current designs are more likely replacements from the 17th or 18th centuries - and even these became so deteriorated that 1982 and 2005 restorations were just guesses as to what the original detail looked like! The clock mechanism was also substantially replaced in 2005, using electric winding.
The churchyard does not have vertical gravestones and appears as a lawn with a single communal memorial stone set into it. (Ashes from cremations may still be laid here, but no memorial plaques or stones are permitted.)
Unusually the entrance to the church is through the base of the belltower, but the tower still has a ring of 8 bells, which are regularly pealed by the church's bellringers.
However, the current church is believed to have been built on the site that was "the first active place of worship in New Sarum." The original Church is believed to have been a small wooden chapel built by Bishop Richard Poore in 1220 as a place where the men working on the new Cathedral and town could worship. It was replaced from 1226 by a small stone church with a crucifix shape (nave, choir and transcepts) dedicated to St Thomas of Canterbury, to which a St Stephen chapel was added at the end of the century.
The current belltower was built in the early 1400s as a separate structure, but still with an arched walkway beneath. It was the collapse of the choir and chapel in 1447 that precipitated the progressive rebuilding of the church into the perpendicular Gothic style, we see today - with the nave and choir replaced, two chapels added and then the two aisles that finally gave the church it's wide and largely rectangular shape, with the belltower as the entrance.
This was not always the case. Thomas Hardy's Jude The Obscure described the church as a "gloomy place," where the surrounding wooden galleries and the gentry's box-pews (all now removed) blocking out the window-light.
Unusually the rooves of the nave and choir - and the barely sloped rooves of the aisles - are all lined with natural wood panelling, painted gold only on the ceiling supports. This also seems to emphasise the height and "lack of weight" in the church in a way that vaulted stone ceilings do not (despite their lighter colour.)
The nave and choir are proportionally quite narrow, with the wide but relatively low aisles presumably providing enough support to allow so many large windows to be built without additional buttressing.
It's believed to be the largest - and certainly best preserved - of its type in England and is said to have been painted by a parishioner in 1475, as thanks for a safe pilgrimage.
The mural features Christ and the 12 Apostles in the City of God (at the top,) with people rising for the Last Judgement (lower left,) and people - including nobles and a Bishop (!) - being marshalled into Hell's Mouth by demons (lower right to us, but to Jesus's left, where the goats ought to be.) The muted colouration somehow adds to the picture's mystical antiquity.
Although the Church was Catholic at the time of its foundation, it had been overtaken by exteme Protestant "reformers" by the Tudor and Stuart era. The mural was obliterated with white-wash in 1593 and forgotten - a clear reminder that the blinkered and fanatical impact of abstractive religiosity in no way began with Muslim terrorists!
Fortunately the painting was re-discovered in 1819, when the whitewash was carefully removed and the painting reproduced (not especially reliably) on paper. Inexplicably, however, it was then whitewashed again(!) and full restoration did not start until 1881. The most recent restoration process dates from 1953 and has rendered the magnificence of the painting clear, bright, and ready to inspire (or perhaps terrify) the souls of future faithful.
The three small murals showing the Annunciation, the Visitation and the Adoration of the Magi somehow survived - although, unhappily, another set of three on the opposing wall has been lost for ever.
The church's remarkable paintings testify to the awed spirituality of the medieval worldview - where the bliss of Heaven and unending terror of Hell were serious and pressing concerns - a in a way that the more restrained interior of Salisbury Cathedral really doesn't.
The church also contains some paintings in chancel alcoves, although these may date from Victorian times. There are also non-ecclesiastical paintings, featuring heraldry and coats of arms of noble families. The Royal Coat Of Arms - above - dates from the time of good Queen Bess, when all churches were required to put it on the chancel arch when the rood screen was removed.
It now hangs above the entry to St Michael’s Room (under the belltower,) although for centuries it was hung on top of the whitewashed Doom painting. The arms date from about 1580 when the queen paid £8 for the painting and £4 for the frame. The arms are supported by a lion and dragon rampant and bracketed by two Tudor roses. (The Scottish unicorn only replaced the Welsh dragon when James I took the throne in 1603.
Inspired by St Thomas (and having left a donation in the box near the door) you're ready for a bit of exercise.
Exiting the churchyard into Silver Street, turn left, and walk past Caffè Nero and Wagamama until the ground opens out on the right to reveal the front of The Mill.
This branch of the Avon (the one that passed under the Library bridge) and the "twin" branch (near the Maltings toilets) rejoin just downstream of this little weir, between the Mill's lawn and road bridge. Having split near the top of the Central Car Park, this means that they form a half-kilometer long island with The Mill at the bottom-most point!)
The current Mill building (number "2" on our map) is a flint-faced 18th Century building that's now used as a pub/restuarant. It has patio dining - although, unfortunately, it seems to feature what's jovially called a "traditional English menu", which here seems to mean Fish and Chips, Real Ales, Burgers, Real Ales, Steaks, Real Ales, Vegetable Chilli Ramen (presumably they couldn't find anything English that wasn't for carnivors or hop-addicts - maybe that's what the squid was giggling at...) and, of course, Real Ales.
The current building is worth a passing look, although it's a pity that its medieval precursors didn't survive to the present day. The original structure is said to have been entered into the Domesday Book as belonging to a Bishop of Old Sarum over 130 years before the foundation of Salisbury by Bishop Richard Poore.
But as to additional information about this building (what kind of mill it was and what the mill-race was driving, for example,) your guess is as good as mine. I've only found a few scant paragraphs on the pub's website (which were clearly written by someone with a garbled sense of history.)
Rejoining the main road and crossing the road bridge into Fisherton Street, you'll find a Slug and Lettuce Cocktail-Bar-Cum-Snackhouse (from the name it seems there is something for both carnivors and veggies here, although veggies may worry about getting them in their salad at the same time.) And opposite the Slug, there's a stone clock-tower.
In the way of English humour, the Fisherton Street clock-tower is known locally as "Little Ben." It's reputed to have been commissioned in 1892 by one Dr John Roberts as a memorial for his wife, whom he'd lost the previous year. A carved plaque in the stone base of the tower depicts some manacles! This only makes sense when you know that the tower was built on the site of the old Fisherton Gaol. (Most of the gaol had been demolished about 50 years earlier.)
The walk up Water Lane path is quite short, but it will soon give you your first clear view of Salisbury Cathedral, the visual hub around which you will slowly gyrate for the next 4 kilometers.
Our map shows the route as being along Cranebridge Road for about 50m before entering the Gardens in the North-East corner, but you can go straight across if you wish. On the south-western side of the gardens the branch of the river we've been following meets two other branches, which also converge at this point
We've seen it written that branch of the Avon that runs through the gardens was diverted there artificially, to make the garden more attractive. If this is true, then it's hard to see where it was diverted from, unless the channel was once closer to the road and joined the main branch of the Avon down the side of Mill Road.
If you're wondering why I keep talking of the "(Hampshire) Avon," by the way, it's not just to distinguish it from the Stratford-Upon-Avon Avon or the Bath and Bristol Avon, but actually from a total of four river Avons that can be found in England and a further three that are in Scotland. It's a popular name - and for a very good reason! The name "Avon" comes from the Celtic word "abon" (which persists in the Welsh word "afon") - all of which mean "river." (So, if you're bilingual Welsh, "River Avon"probably feels a bit like saying "River River" ;-)
But anyway, we've made the point now, so it will just be "Avon" for the rest of this article and we'll leave it in peace to flow on to Christchurch, where it joins with the Stour to seek a peaceful union with the sea...
The Water Meadows look like a large, undeveloped stretch of countryside. But they are, in fact, an island ringed by two rivers that join south of the Cathedral. The River Nadder feeds into the Western side of the circle and the parts of the Avon we have been describing feed into the Eastern side.
There is some disagreement between map-makers as to whether the river bordering the island on the northern and western sides is the Avon or the Nadder. The Google maps we use here show the entire ring being parts of the Avon, while Ordnance Survey maps have the river to the North as the Nadder.
Documents about Harnham also have the Eastern part of the ring as being the Nadder and logically, having the Nadder as being the North and West sides of the ring makes more sense, so we're guessing that this is the more likely option. Looking at Ordnance Survey maps, by the way, you can see that the meadow inside the ring is a mass of blue striations, showing a network of blue gullies running at right-angles to the river. It's unclear as to how the map-makers decide when to show a gully as being filled water, rather than dry land, but the number of blue lines on the maps certainly make it obvious as to why these are called "water meadows!"
Town Path is also prone to flooding after heavy rain, with patches of water often left to form marshy areas in the fields as the water subsides. A wide, walled ditch has been built along the side of the path to keep it drained, although it's success has always been limited. At the time we visited it was so full of tall rushes, that it was hard to see down into the water through the stems - so maybe it gets too choked to be effective. (Apologies for the photo, BTW. It was shot against the sun.)
Presumably because of the flooding, Salisbury's Water Meadow island has remained a pastoral foreground for the Cathedral that has avoided development and continues to provide the wide panorama that has been so dear to a succession of painters, from the Romantic era onwards. These have included famed landscape and architectural artists like John Constable, and the young J.M.W Turner - although (as the city's galleries show) they've by no means been the only ones.
The most famous of the scenic works is probably Constable's "Salisbury Cathedral from the Meadows." There are a number of versions of this, including some aggressive and expressionistic studies that look more like late Turner - although the most admired version is probably the more polished and detailed 1831 version, which has a cart fording the river in the foreground.
As far as we know, none of the famous works by Constable can actually be seen on permanent exhibition in Salisbury, although the 1831 painting was bought in 2013 by a consortium of museums - which included the Salisbury and South Wiltshire Museum (opposite the West side of the Cathedral) - so maybe it will come home and be shown there in the not-too-distant future. (At the moment it seems to spend most time cycling itself through the Tate in London, the National Museum Wales and the National Galleries of Scotland.) Other Constables featuring Salisbury can be found in London's V&A.
Salisbury Cathedral from the Meadows was created a year after the death of Constable's wife and is recognised as strongly symbolic, with the dark clouds that mirror the turmoil and anguish of the artist's soul being set against the rock of the Cathedral, symbolising unbreakable faith. There is also the further symbolism the rainbow (the biblical motif of God's covenant and hence of Hope) and the waggoner (suggestive of human endurance and perserverance against adversity.) Another reassurance of the security of the Christian faith can be seen in the form of the St Thomas bell-tower, on the left.
It's not just the sky that is threatening. The whole painting is emblematic of Nature's chaos, with the blasted or wind-whipped trees and the tangle of the briar-ripped undergrowth all threatening the waggoner, who just pulls his collar tighter, and persists...
One curiosity is the painting's rainbow. This is curiously glass-like and solid looking, and in many ways it spoils the work. We all know what a real rainbow looks like, after all! But the composition would be less strong without it, as it acts almost like a barrier - radiating from the cathedral to protect it from the storm.
It's hard to identify where Constable positioned himself to make the painting from a modern map. Today's rivers don't seem to join in the way he shows, so either their course has been altered or there's a good deal of artistic licence being exercised here. If the claim that one branch of the stream was diverted to enliven the Queen Elizabeth Garden, then the former may possibly be the correct alternative. But in any case, if the perspective of the Cathedral was drawn correctly, then Constable must have been on the side of the river opposite the Water Meadows, at a spot that is in some way blocked or doesn't exist today.
Yet, regardless of these specifics, the strong counterpoint of the spire and the heavens that Constable portrays is just as obvious to anyone who walks down Town Path today, as it was for the artist. You don't need the sensitivity or passion of a Constable to be struck by the reckless defiance shown by the ancient master-masons in the face of the marshy ground and the ever-threatening flux of the clouds in the canopy above!
The spire's sharp needle is a clear emblem of Human aspiration and the Human dedication to an advancing Evolution that defies all odds. The spire is Excalibur - not thrust down into rock, but thrust up from the waters by ancient Earth spirits, to stand bright, proud and protective against the vicissitudes of wind and rain and misfortune. The spire has a magical dualism that is both at one with Nature (like the natural spires of the Old Harry Rocks) and a proactive metaphor of Humankind's ability to harness Nature - born from their own naïve faith in their ability to progress and survive, then forged by the fires of experience into the glinting fortitude of creativity and invention, millennia upon millennia.
You don't need an established faith to feel the power of this place - just a welcoming receptiveness to the Natural World and an awareness of our apparently contradictory rôle as both acolytes and leaders within it.
As the clouds changed, so did the influence on my mind and the drift of my emotions. Now the scene appeared like a Taoist painting, with the white purity of the buildings in balanced harmony with the natural world. Now it was a scene from Thomas Hardy's Wessex, with oppressive clouds dwarfing the tiny spire and mocking the presumption of Man's pointless bravado. Nature is never still and pulls on the subconscious like the Moon...
We were lucky that we had chosen the right time for the walk. The descending afternoon sun was striking the western face of the Cathedral, yet was still modelled it for the camera.
Unlike the artists with the talent to use paint and oil, however, the photographer cannot leave out the inconvenient whatevers. Even with digital software there's a limit to what you can correct.
The rushes in the drainage ditch - though attractive in themselves, were an inconvenience to the view, and I found myself standing on the benches that were strewn along the path in order to get an unincumbered shot of the Cathedral behind the sheep in the pasture. As my mind reverted to humdrum technicality I found myself wondering how how evergreen they were, and whether winter or early spring may reduce their impact.
You can see from this photograph that at the time we made the walk the rushes were effectively a hedgerow 6 foot high and 6 foot broad!
Yet despite the difficulties I found myself shooting far more frames than was sensible and for paid dearly later as I spend time poring over my virtual lightbox! With so much that can move in the frame there's always the doubt that you have the best shot and the thought that maybe the clouds look better than before, or that the sheep have walked into a better pattern!
This was a true pastoral scene that echoed the essentially pastoral nature of Bishops and Evangelists: followers of Jesus himself, who was shepherd who knew his sheep and shielded them from wolves who were "red in tooth and claw."
Was the tranquility we like to see merely an escapist bulwark against the stinking reality of Dickensian London or Hardy's hiring-fair labourers digging turnips from the frozen ground in winter?
As the clouds changed, so did the influence on my mind...
Even more than today, much of business in the Middle Ages was due to location, location, location - and Medieval Salisbury was well located. Before the coming of the canals and railways trade was conducted by water or by road, and Salisbury was on the crossroads of two ox-cart highways. North to South there was the road from Wilton to the port of Southampton, which could access trade with Europe and the Silk Road. East to West road from London to Exeter - which were both important towns and had a healthy volume of trade flowing between them.
But for all the benefits of trade, wealth in that era came primarily from the bounty of the land (or the skilled hands that could add value to it.) The main industry in Medieval Salisbury revolved around sheep. Sheep were sheared. Wool was traded. Wool was carded, was woven into wool-cloth, was "fulled" by beating it with watermill-driven hammers in a mixture of soft clay called "Fuller's Earth" to clean and thicken it, was dyed and was exported through Southampton - mostly as cloth bales, but sometimes as garments.
Leather working was also an important industry and the city's workforce became experts in producing everything from cured hides to shoes and saddles.
City artisans even established an envied reputation for the production of small but fine steel items such as cutlery and swords - which is much more surprising, given that the ore and minerals used for smelting were not common in the region and would have needed to be imported. Ultimately this was its undoing. The steel industry declined during the 17th and 18th centuries, as more competitive factories in Sheffield and Birmingham got into their stride.
The presence and expansion of the Cathedral also continued to grow the city's importance as a centre of faith and education. In 1269 Salisbury was wealthy enough to be divided into 3 parishes. The Bishops Palace was built in the 13th century, as were two friaries: for the Franciscans "Grey Friars" and the Dominican "Black Friars." (Roads named after them - Blackfriars Way and Greyfriars Close - can still be found near the St. Ann Gate today.)
Then, in the late 14th century, monks founded a hospital - the Hospital of the Holy Trinity - where the poor and sick could seek refuge and solace.
Old Sarum's cathedral school was famed for its educational success from relatively early times and gave opportunities even to talented Saxons like the celebrated twelfth century English historian now called John of Salisbury. So when the Bishop's seat was moved to New Sarum by Richard Poore, the Cathedral School was, of course, moved with it - leading to the expectation that the town might spawn its own University.
In the Middle Ages universities were usually not consciously founded, but emerged gradually as towns attracted distinguished teachers who in turn attracted scholars, who attracted more teachers and more scholars until the numbers grew so large that a body needed to be established to organise the teaching and grant degrees.
Salisbury became associated with two of the most respected 13th Century teachers - both of whom spent time as canons at Salisbury Cathedral. These were Edmund Rich (canonized as St. Edmund in 1248) and Robert Grosseteste, (who later became an Oxford professor and Bishop of Lincoln.) Although neither Rich nor Grosseteste actually taught at Salisbury, their association with the cathedral was enough to greatly enhance Salisbury's prestige.
Oxford was developing as a seat of learning at about the same time, but the influx of scholars caused such resentment among the townspeople that there were frequent riots between "town and gown." There had been trouble as early as 1209 when an Oxford woman was killed by students, and three students were lynched in reprisal. In 1238 a fight broke out between students and the retinue of a Papal Legate called Cardinal Otho. The Cardinal's brother was killed and the Cardinal himself forced to flee Oxford in the night. And so it went on, until the hosility culminated in the St Scholastica Day riot of 1355, in which a total of 93 scholars and Oxford townspeople died!
Each time Oxford grew unsafe, many students left Oxford. Some went to Cambridge, some to Paris and some to Salisbury, where classes were offered by the Dominican friars and a new library with classrooms and desks was built to accomodate the scholastic influx. Bishop Giles of Brideport established De Vaux College to provide housing and scholarships for twenty poor students, while Bishop Walter de la Wyle provided stipends for graduate students or teachers via the College of St. Edmund.
But somehow Oxford always remained ahead and always managed to attract - or attract back - Salisbury's finest minds. De Vaux College continued to run courses in Salisburyfor many more decades - although increasingly its students spent only part of the year studying there, with the other part spent in Oxford. And finally, in 1545, it too was dissolved.
The disappearance of De Vaux College probably marked the end of Salisbury's ambitions to be a University, but it by no means ended Salisbury as a scholastic centre. Sarum College, Bishop Wordsworth's School, Salisbury Cathedral School and Leaden Hall School still remain clustered around the Cathedral and it's apparent from the conversations you hear around the city that educational attainment is still high here.
Once across the river you are in Harnham - classified since 1903 as a suburb of Salisbury, but originally two villages: East and West Harnham (the latter of which had its own Parish Church.) These are not recent settlements. Archeologists have unearthed evidence of human habitation in the Harnham area that dates from the Iron Age.
We mentioned earlier how some map-makers say this is the River Nadder and some the Avon, but descriptions of Harnham always seem refer to it as the Nadder, so the local people seem certain enough.
The main structure of the existing Old Mill building dates from the 16th Century, when it was converted from ecclesiastical use to become Wiltshire's first paper mill and the river was diverted to flow under it. Looking at the map it seems likely that the earlier buildings were on the bank of the river, but that those banks were cut away to form the peninsula we see today, with the Mill at its tip.
The arc of the oldest part of the hotel, and what is obviously a much more recent building providing the bulk of the accomodation, both face almost due East - so late afternoon is definitely the wrong time to get a photograph, as the time almost entirely in shade. By the time we reached the Old Mill on our initial walk it was already too late and I returned on a later date at a slightly earlier time, when there was a clear sky and at least a little sunlight cutting across the front of the buildings.
For fully lit shots, though, the morning is probably the time to be here.
The upper level is constructed from (lighter) red bricks, while the lower level is more massive - with stone lintels, doors frames and window frames. The facia alternates limestone and knapped flint, to form a chequer pattern that is quite common on medieval and Tudor buildings in this area. The door is also made of heavy wood and is reminiscent of church architecture from the same period.
The Church is only about 200m away from the Old Mill, so it's worth a quick look if you're interested in early churches - although you probably won't be able to go in. Just walk past the Mill and keep in the same direction down the road until you reach a T-junction by a thatched terrace. This is Lower Road. Turn left then immediately right. The church is now surrounded by a mix of 19th and 20th century brick dwellings.
St. George's Church is thought to date from early Norman (or possibly even from Saxon) times and some rounded (as opposed to Gothic arched) windows and doorways still remain, although these are quite small and the church must be rather dark inside. Some people date the original church to 1115 - a century before the Salisbury was founded.
The church is known to have been expanded in the 13th and 14th Centuries when the chancel was lengthened and a mural painted on the chancel arch. A lot of the church was also rebuilt in the Early English style (the style of Salisbury Cathedral) and a Lady Chapel added.
Work on the church also continued in the 15th. century and there are corbel bosses which are thought to feature local people from the time. Well that's what we're told anyway.
Work on St George's didn't end in the middle ages. Deterioration in the Norman north tower meant that it was replaced circa 1873 in a "restoration" project undertaken by William Butterfield - a Gothic Revival Victorian who somehow managed to reconcile his Gothic taste with the use of bricks (sometimes with features of white and blue brick in the predominant red.)
Butterfield is most famous for his construction of Keble College Oxford - a brickwork college that stands out like a sore thumb among the older stone colleges of the ancient city, although luckily it is tucked away near the Science Labs and looks much nicer from inside its large quads!
The new St George's tower was built with a chequer flint and stone facing to match with buildings like the Old Mill - although its tiny slitted windows look like arrow slots from an even older era. But Butterfield made a new western end from red brick (!) Well, you either love it or hate it...
From the church you could take Lower Road back towards Salisbury, but it's more interesting to go back to the Old Mill and walk along the river, as we did on the first walk.
The park goes no further, so you need to walk away from the river through a childen's playground to get to Harnham Road, which you follow left.
The only building to hold moderate interest is All Saints Church, which has a nice flint facing to the walls, athough its quite young by Salisbury standards, having been built as a parish church for East Harnham in 1854. (You can probably get a better shot by walking down the lane to the left.)
Services in All Saints and St George's are now conducted by a single vicar, who runs the single parish of Harnham: St George's and All Saints.
Facing a bit South of East the building was backlit when we saw it, so even though it was only late afternoon, the landlord had admitted defeat and switched on his flourescent lights!
I did manage to brighten it up, with a lot of tweaking and slider pulling in camera raw software and image editors, but it was pretty dark and murky to start with...
At the far end of the bridge two hanging-tile faced buildings glower at each other over the narrow road. The chicane formed by the two buildings may have been deliberate to make it easier to collect the tolls. The Toll House is on the right. It looks Georgian, but we haven't been able to find any more information about it, other than that it is Grade II listed, has a modern maisonnette inside and was on the market at the time for £245,000 ... cheaper than you would expect ... does it flood?
St. Nicolas' Road bends sharp right, back towards the highway, shortly after. But we didn't follow it anyway, and turned left into De Vaux Place. It was somewhere on this corner that Bishop Giles Bridport's De Vaux College (mentioned earlier, but also sometimes called "College De Valle" or "De Valle Scholarium") was located, until it was dissolved in 1545.
We've not be able to find what happened to it afterwards, however.
The British Listed Buildings website shows that there is a Grade II listed property called De Vaux House at 6 St Nicholas' Street and that this forms a group with 8 St Nicholas' Street and 9 De Vaux Place, all of which are supposed to retain at least parts of the old college. But, on the ground, it's very unclear which these buildings are, since none of them seem particularly old or photogenic.
At the termination of De Vaux place you come to the South Gate (sometimes the St Nicholas or Harnham Gate,) which is one of the five gatehouses giving access to a walled precinct around the Cathedral. Originally there were four gates, but a fifth was constructed in the 19th century to allow separate access to Bishop Wordsworth's School. (These are still locked at night, which begs the question as to whether the people who live within the walls of the precinct get a set of keys...)
The South Gate is perhaps the least impressive of the Gates, but once you pass through it you're in Salisbury's walled precinct - called Cathedral Close - which has a wealth of history, both ancient and modern, attached to it. At 80 acres the Salisbury's Cathedral Close is the largest in Britain. (There is a walk on the National Trust website that gives more detail about some of the buildings in the Close than you'll find here, if you're interested.)
They are just opposite each other anyway, so you can make your own choice as to what to see first - and actually, when we took our first walk it was already near 5 o'clock, so we had to mark down both intramural visits for later.
The Museum looks quite different on the inside than from the outside. From the exterior the elegance of the old house is readily apparent, while inside the exhibitions are often inside "rooms within a room," so you don't know it's there at all. There are some exhibitions where the room is more in evidence, like the one housing the ceramics exhibition upstairs, but the large and shiny new Wessex Gallery and the secure air-conditioned room that houses special art exhibitions seem to be the way they are moving. This is, of course, a great benefit for the exhibits themselves, although I couldn't help feeling that this fascinating old house was under-represented and that more attention should have been spent on showing that too.
From the outside the galleries that have rooms within rooms have windows that are blanked out with white panels. As you can see from the photograph this even affects the look from the outside, making the rooms look closed and faceless.
The original 13th. Century building had been developed as the Prebendal residence for the Abbot of Sherborne, although most of it was obviously added at a later date. On the northern side of the original dwelling there were a few smaller houses occupied by lesser priests, but after the Reformation some of these were absorbed into what was now known as Sherborne House.
The house which was improved and extended in the 16th and early 17th. centures - first by an Elizabethan owner and later by Thomas Sadler, who was Registrar to the Bishops of Sarum. It never was actually a "King's House." The name arose after Thomas Sadler entertained James I here in 1610 and again in 1613. Thomas gained a knighthood for his efforts, and the house gained a prestigious name, so was worth the expense!
I was also a little shocked to find that entry to the museum was £8.00 - although the blow was softened a bit by the fact that they had an exhibition of early Turner paintings at the same time, and by the policy of buffering the price for local people by making the entry valid for a year - a common trick from cash-strapped local authorities and one I'd already witnessed at the Truro Museum.
I found myself in two minds about this, since I've always been a believer that anything educational should not have economic barriers placed on it, so that anyone can benefit from it - regardless of their economic status. On the other hand, the provision of a modern area for the Wessex Gallery and the need for money to help buy old masters like Constable's Salisbury Cathedral from the Meadows obviously does require funding of a large order.
My mood intensified when I noticed that much of The King's House that played host to the museum was in serious need of attention. Any exposed windows seemed to have cracks or flaking in the stone surrounds and they would obviously be expensive to fix.
And I became even more depressed when I saw that the largest and most impressive of the Turner oil-painting in the special exhibit was looking a bit tired, with quite a lot of cracking and a few chips in it. That would be expensive to restore too.
Looking back on it I must have slipped into the kind of resigned-but-depressed "Sic Transit Gloria Mundi" kind of mood that I hadn't really experienced since my early teens, when - for some reason - I found myself worrying that the Universe was going to end one day and destroy the beauty of both Nature and all of Mankind's Art and achievements (without much considering that this likelihood would probably be several million years away and there's a lot that Humankind could probably do in the interim.)
Anyway I found my spirits dampened and this rather marred my visit to the Wessex Gallery, where all the Beaker People pots and even the Amesbury Archer finds somehow felt a bit lacking in artistry and, hence, a bit unimportant.
I was also unable to find the more famous exhibits like gold torc found at Monkton Deverill (near where we like to buy freerange eggs) or the Warminster Jewel only found near Cley Hill (which we'd scaled a few months earlier) in 1997. The Warminster Jewel is a cousin to only 3 more Anglo-Saxon aestel or manuscript pointer jewels (like the celebrated Alfred Jewel) so far discovered - and which you'll normally only see in museums like the Ashmolean or the BM.(Both of which still have fee entry, incidentally.)
I had just decided to shelve the search for another time and was leaving the Wessex Room, when two tall gentlemen who were also in the room, and who seemed to be somehow connected to the exhibit (maybe as part-time employees or volunteer custodians?) started to talk in rather loud, middle-class English voices that belied any need to eavesdrop. The loud voices in themselves seemed to be rather out of context for a room full of Neolithic bones, but the subject matter was even more so, as they were discussing the demerits of current theories of the Higgs boson and some kind of specific String Theory that I'd never even heard of. The sheer discontinuity of the 21st century debate and the up to 4000 year old objects in the cases somehow cheered me up and I began to consider that they were actually the same thing. The metalworking tools of the Amesbury Archer were just as important to the future technology of Bronze Age Man (and hence to us) as the discovery of the Higgs Boson at the Large Hadron Collider may be to out children. And like the underground circle of the Hadron Collider, the astronomical calendar embodied in the stone circles of Stonehenge was an equal wonder of its Age...
My spirits lifted somewhat, I went upstairs again and had a look at the exhibit that dealt with more recent artifacts from Salisbury, the largest of which was the Salisbury giant - a 12 foot figure used in folk parades.
The museum information calls the Salisbury Giant "a unique survival in this country," which may or may not be true, depending on whether festivals like those featuring the Giant Bolster in St Agnes have their origins back in the mists of time, or whether they are revivals. One big difference that's immediately apparent is that the Giant Bolster is carried and operated by a whole team of men, while the Salisbury Giant has a wooden frame that is supported by just one man - the poor fellow.
The Giant in the museum was rebuilt in 1850 and has been in the museum since 1873. In fact, because of his size, he can't actually leave the current room of the museum because the room has effectively been built around him and he can't get out! The first Giant is thought to date from the 14th Century, when what were essentially pagan celebrations somehow managed to co-exist quite happily with the (pre-Inquisition) Church.
With the Giant is a hobby-horse called Hob-Nob, who in recent times was seen as the mischievous character who cavorts in the front in the procession to clear Giant's way. In one recent photograph I've seen, the hobby-horse is being operated by a cheerfully smiling man (or woman?) from under a not-very-opaque dome of black gauze - although if you look at Hob-Nob's black cover and aggressive-looking head in isolation, it's just as sinister in its way as the Padstow scarey-looking 'obby 'oss. What dark rites in folk history did these come from I wonder?
I was a little sad to think that, if the Giant was in the museum, the folk processions that featured him may have died. But from what I've managed to find since, this is not the case. The Giant and Hob-Nob (or replicas of them, presumably) are said to appear in Salisbury on the Sunday nearest St. George's Day and with the Sarum Morris Men at the nearby Downton Cuckoo Fair on May 2nd. - but I'll have to get back to you on that next year!
cuppa, cloisters, line of trees, entrance,
The open area bounded by the North, West and Bishop's Walks is today a neatly manicured lawn that surrounds the Cathedral with an atmosphere of peace, but it was not always so. Today's look stems mostly from James Wyatt's 1789-1792 "remodelling" and is the one part of that process that is not subject to much controversy.
A 1782 visitor to the cathedral had complained that the churchyard was 'like a cow common', so Wyatt drained and levelled it. Curiously, despite the high water table (which had in marshy areas like New Orleans lead to the practice of burying people in above-ground vaults) the graveyard had long been used for interment. Wyatt mapped the positions of the earlier graves, buried the gravestones and covered them with lawns. However, existing drainage channels remained until complaints about their unkempt state led them to be filled in by the Board of Health in the mid 19th Century.
Pubs and businesses returned to the Close at this time and the place started to look like a cross bewteen a playground and a rubbish dump. Butchers were said to slaughter and sell meat there, while coaches and carts crossed the churchyard - turning up the ground and breaking gravestones. In effect, the Close lapsed into a grotesque echo of the markets that were held in the streets outside the Gates, and the bawdry that surrounded them as high-church clergy kept a low profile to avoid the attention of roundhead soldiers.
Wyatt's lawns brought calm and dignity back to the Close - probably a major factor in making the Close a desirable residential area for rich families and gave it an elegant 18th-century character. A new building boom started in 1670 with the restoraton of the deanery and three of the canons' houses, but was quickly followed by a wealth of constuction, extending, rebuilding or refronting according to the well-proportioned architectural style of architects like Wren.
Surrounded by these genteel dwellings and looking up from the lawns to the quiet and graceful northern face of the Cathedral today, it's hard to believe that people could ever have treated the Close with such disrespect - especially in the age of supposedly fervent Christian devotion that was Cromwell's Commonwealth.
Text (Medieval Hall)
http://www.dorsetcamera.co.uk/html/around_the_city.html http://www.urban75.org/photos/wiltshire/salisbury-photos.html
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