part 4

, pp. 131, 132_) whose sagacity equals his learning on antiquarian subjects, has assigned to it a different site, and has most probably discovered its true locality. Every one has noticed, on looking westward from the Castle Walk, a very singular mound of earth, about two hundred yards distant, the regular shape of which plainly proves it to be artificial. It is now known by the name of “Pam-pudding Hill.” This Mr. Eyton considers to be the site of Ethelfleda’s castle, and supports his assertion on the following grounds. A document is extant, of the date of Edward I., in which the road beneath this hill is called the road underneath “the Old Castle.” Now the castle on what is at present called the Castle Hill, was in the time of Edward I. the existent and garrisoned castle of the town: so that the “Old Castle” must have been a term denoting some fortress of a more ancient date; and as we have no record of any earlier castle but that built by Ethelfleda, this, which bore in the reign of Edward I. the title of the “Old Castle,” must have been hers. It is to be observed also, that the hill, called “Pam-pudding Hill,” is situate in the parish of Oldbury, a word which plainly signifies “_Old Borough_;” and as Ethelfleda attached a borough to the castles which she built, there can be no doubt that the neighbouring village of Oldbury, however small its circumference at present, has the honor of being the original borough, having the site of the ancient castle erected by this Saxon princess within its borders; and that Bridgnorth at the time was little better than an appendage to it.[5]

[5] That Oldbury is more ancient than Bridgnorth appears from the fact, that the former is mentioned in Domesday Book, and the latter is not noticed.

But in less than two centuries after the erection of this fortress, Bridgnorth became a place of consequence; the commanding position on which it stood, and the strong natural defences of the place, marking it out to the eye of a very bold and ambitious nobleman of the day, as a situation eminently fitted for a fortified castle. This nobleman was Robert de Belesme, the son and eventual successor to the English titles and estates of Roger de Montgomery, first Earl of Shrewsbury. Roger was a kinsman of William the Conqueror, as well as a very faithful vassal; and when William became possessed by conquest of this fair realm of England, he liberally rewarded his services by the grant of a very large share of territory in the conquered kingdom. He conferred on him the Earldom of Shrewsbury, with a feoff of four hundred and six manors, in which Quatford is included.—(_Blakeway’s History of Shrewsbury, Vol. 1, p. 37, note 3._) This he appears to have chosen as his favourite place of residence, perhaps on account of the opportunity it afforded him of indulging his Norman propensity for hunting; for the forest of Morfe was close adjacent to it. Here he not only built a castle,[6] but also built and endowed a Collegiate Church, and founded a borough. All these however, the privileges of the borough, the garrison of the castle, and the chief endowments of the church, his son Robert de Belesme transferred to Bridgnorth. But the foundation of Quatford Church is an historical event of so much interest, and is so intimately connected with the early history of Bridgnorth, that it deserves more than a passing reference.

[6] The remains of this castle were still standing when Leland visited Shropshire, in the time of Henry VIII.—“Quatford is by S. E. from Bridgnorth on Severne, where as yett appeare great Tokens of a Pyle or Manour Place, longing that tyme to Robert de Belesme.”—_Leland’s Itinerary, Vol. IV., pp. 103, 104._

The following is the substance of the narrative of the event given by John Brompton, an ancient chronicler, who lived in the reign of King John:—In the year 1082 Roger de Montgomery married his second wife, Adelissa, daughter of Ebrard de Pusey, one of the chief nobles of France. As she was sailing into England to join her husband, she was overtaken by a dreadful tempest, from which the mariners thought there could be no escape. In the midst of this furious storm one of the ecclesiastics, who accompanied her, wearied with watching, fell asleep; and in his sleep he dreamed that a female appeared to him, and thus addressed him:—“If thy lady would wish to save herself, and her attendants from the present danger of the sea, let her make a vow to God, and faithfully promise to build a church in honour of the blessed Mary Magdalene, on the spot where she may first happen to meet her husband, the Earl, in England; especially where groweth a hollow oak, and the wild swine have shelter.” The story goes on to state, that, when he awoke from sleep, he communicated to his lady the particulars of this singular dream, and that she at once made the prescribed vow. The tempest soon calmed, and she and her attendants landed safely in some port in England, from whence she immediately made her journey to her husband’s estates in Shropshire; and just on the top of Quatford hill, which was at that time in the outskirts of the Earl’s hunting ground, and near a spot where an oak tree was growing, she met him, engaged in his favorite pastime: and there at her request, in fulfilment of her vow, he built a church and richly endowed it.[7]

[7] This narrative may possibly be somewhat tinctured with the superstition which prevailed at the time; but there is no reason to doubt the general truth of it. Mr. Eyton, to whom I am indebted for my acquaintance with it, after giving the whole of the narrative in detail, in Vol. 1,