What's New

This lovely article comes from our Winter 1999 Heritage Newsletter:

Quoting from Celia Fiennes, the trouble with Mansfield is that ‘there is nothing remarkable here’, an opinion echoed by a later commentator, Roy Christian who remarked that it is a ‘pity that this quite pleasant town that has had a market since 1277…should have so few distinguished buildings, though its locally quarried white and red sandstone has added distinction to such buildings elsewhere as the Houses of Parliament and St. Pancras Station’. There is, however, evidence to counter such views not only in the buildings that unfortunately have gone but also in those that are still standing. We shall look at one building in Mansfield and see what made it remarkable.

The Mansfield Public Baths were erected in 1853 near the corner site of Bath Street and Littleworth. Even though they have been demolished, it is fitting that they have been replaced by the Water Meadows Swimming Centre, thereby continuing the watery theme! They were built by the architect C.J. Neale and builder C. Lindley, when the population of England was steadily increasing, with a major growth in the population of England and Wales from around 8 million at the beginning of the century to over 32 million towards the end. The building was constructed from a local material, the grey Mansfield stone which was used in the building of the Houses of Parliament, as Roy Christian pointed out.

Barbara Gallon has given us a fascinating insight into how the original baths served the public before replacement by the modern version. Their purpose was arguably more important in that they provided facilities which the majority of the patrons would not have possessed. Baths and showers could be had at varying costs depending on the class of ‘cleaning’ required, as well as whether towels were hired out or not (with the charge of 3d for the pleasure) and the time of day one went for one’s toilet. For example, first class warm bath and use of warm towels cost 6d, whereas second class use cost 4d, whilst cheapest of all was a third class bath with only one towel provided for 2d. for using the swimming pool, 1d or 2d was charged depending on the time of day. The entrance hall was reputedly quite spacious, with the ladies’ area running off to the right and divided into first and second class bathing area. The gentlemen’s section was to the left of the entrance hall, again offering different classes of bathing.

The photograph shows how the building looked in August 1969, markedly changed – four decorative chimney stacks had been removed and modern windows replaced the stone mullioned originals. Ornate iron railings used to flank the building, only the wall gate piers remain as evidence of their former glory.

This lovely little article originates from our Winter 1999 newsletter:

Bells are part of our culture, and references abound:- ‘Ding-dong bell, Pussy’s in the well’, ‘Great Tom is cast…’, ‘…for whom the bell tolls’, ‘the sunken bells of lost Atlantis ring’, to name but a few.

The sound of bells was more common in medieval England than today; calling people to services, to work or play, to wake or sleep, or put out their fires in their thatched homes at curfew (couvre-feu, ‘cover the fire’) in the evening. Bells were rung at baptisms, weddings, funerals and festivals; for joy, sorrow and emergencies. People believed clanging bells drove away the evil spirits of storms, and Spalding Church records show ringers were paid three pence for ‘ringing when the tempest was’.

At Claughton, Lancs., a bell survives bearing the date 1296, and even older ones remain; the earliest were long and narrow in shape. In the 17th century, improvements in hanging and tuning bells to a musical scale led to change-ringing (unknown outside England).

Molten bell-metal, an alloy of copper and tin, was poured into moulds lined with cow or horse manure (still used today) at the foundry. The bells often carry beautiful lettering, inscriptions, names, foundry marks; things of great interest and beauty but rarely seen. The great frames on which bells were hung in the bell-tower were designed and constructed by expert carpenters using massive oak timbers, hand-sawn, split, adzed and joined together with mortice and tenon joints secured by one inch oak pegs.

At the dawn of the 21st century, belling ringing was given a tremendous boost by the prospect of ringing in the millennium. All over England, foundries were casting new bells, bell-hangers were improving existing bells and hung new ones, and new recruits were trained in the art of bell ringing. There are 5000 churches in England with 5 or more bells, and Southwell Minster has 13! But let us not forget the little villages; at Headon-cum-Upton there is just one bell, although two were recorded in 1740. The inscription should read ‘CUM VOCO VENITE’ (‘come when I call’) but the last word is spelt ‘VENITI’ and some of the Gothic capital letters are placed sideways or upside down. The bell is thought to be late 16th century, but the magnificent two-bay frame may be earlier.

This articles comes from our Winter 1998 newsletter:

Imagine being dressed in your smartest regalia, out for a stroll after a large Sunday roast, surveying your fine territory and gardens, when, oops, looking out across the well-cut lawns, you stumble, lose your footing and fall flat, while your friends and family around you have a good giggle at your expense. This could be the fate for anyone walking along in a garden ever since the turn of the eighteenth century, and the wicked culprit – the ha-ha.

The first ha-has were seen in England during the late seventeenth century and regarded as a way of seeing the garden landscape as well as the wilderness beyond it, where landscape architecture was becoming a rising feature of the well-to-do and their gardens. Whereas garden walls would restrict the prospect of what a person could see across the land, the ha-ha was viewed as something which wouldn’t limit what the eye could see and gave an awakening to sensations and curiosity where, according to the inventors of the ha-ha, Bridgman and Eyres – Royal Gardeners of Chiswick Park, variety and concealment were the pre-requisites of the art of landscape.

‘The destruction of walls for boundaries and the invention of fosses – an attempt then deemed so astonishing that the common people called them Ha! Has! to express their surprise at finding a sudden and unperceived check to their walk’ – Horace Walpole, ‘The History of the Modern Taste on Gardening’.

In reality, the sunken ditch of the ha-ha was used to separate the lawns from the working meadows and fields, though leaving the view of the entire countryside to the eye, while keeping the animals, i.e. the deer and the stock including the cows, out of the gardens. Normally the garden side of the ditch was vertical, faced with brick or stone, while the outer side of the ditch sloped up gently to the normal level of the ground, leaving the view of the countryside beyond free and unhindered.

Nottinghamshire has many examples of ha-has, some date from the early eighteenth century through to the late nineteenth century that have listed building status. They range from 150m long at Shireoaks Hall to over 800m long at Wollaton Hall;1m high at Brackenhurst Hall to up to 3m tall at Kelham Hall; made of bricks at Norwood Park to stone at Stanford Hall; and often incorporating other features of landscape architecture, such as fountains at Hardwick Terrace to gates at Scofton Church.

This wonderful articles comes from our Spring 2001 newsletter:

It was the ‘gret myte water flodes’ which in 1495 were recorded to have destroyed Newark Castle Bridge. Similarly, in recent times, we have experienced many destructive floods in the county. Media hype tends to portray floods as freak events when in reality they are a quite usual, albeit devasting, occurrence.

It was in 1336, for example, while riding through the fields of Hoveringham on a crippled horse (which would have been a disadvantage at the best of times), that the unfortunate Robert Glover met his untimely death when the ‘waters of the Trent having greatly overflowed, he could not see his way and fell into a certain hole and was drowned’. The flood of 1795 was recorded as ‘the greatest flood ever remembered by the oldest person living’, ‘so awful, so sudden a visitation, worked upon the feelings of all descriptions of people; the rich and the poor, in different places, were all alike involved in the general catastrophe’.

Above: The peak levels of major floods are recorded at Trent Bridge; against this we can see just how high the water rose in November 2000 during a flood.

As these historical accounts suggest, flooding of the Trent has always happened. We also have a growing body of archaeological evidence for these episodes stretching back into the distant past.

When the Trent floods over its banks it leaves silty deposits stranded beyond the river when the water retreats. Layers of this material, called alluvium, have been found at several sites. At Besthorpe quarry, excavations have dated these to suggest a period of flooding in the middle Bronze Age, while at the Roman town of Segelocum at Littleborough, at least two phases of flooding and river deposits have been found interleaved between phases of Roman building.

The Trent also has more severe but less frequent ‘catastrophic’ floods that can be of sufficient force to alter the course of the river. This leaves behind a series of redundant river channels, called palaeochannels, and these have yielded interesting evidence of flooding. At Colwick Hall quarry, a palaeochannel was found to contain numerous large tree trunks which would seem to have been uprooted and deposited in successive huge floods. These have been dated by dendrochronology (tree rings) to the Neolithic period (approx. 5000-2500 BC). At Langford quarry, human remains dating to the late Neolithic have also been found in a palaeochannel. These were either the victims of a flood or the water washed out remains from a burial site.

Archaeological evidence of flooding can also be seen in man’s reaction to these events. One human response to something so devasting is to call upon the mercy of the Gods. It is argued that the sudden increase in deposits of Bronze Age metalwork found in river silts may be evidence of these kind of appeals. A more practical response can be found in the system of major and minor flood defences. These were built to protect towns, villages and farmland and could have a significant impact on the local landscape. Unfortunately, many of these features remain undated.

Archaeological and historical accounts not only help us understand flooding in the past, but can be used to draw useful anecdotes as part of an informed and effective modern-day approach to this phenomenon.

This educational article comes from our Spring 2002 newsletter:

In the late 1950’s, local authorities around the country were faced with the task of providing large numbers of new public buildings to cater for the growing local populations. There was a greater demand for primary schools at this date than at any other time in the 20th century and in Nottinghamshire, many areas experienced rapid urban growth as a result of the coal mining industry.

‘CLASP’ buildings were the result, it stands for 'Consortium of Local Authorities Special Programme' and was in essence a collaboration between the architects of county authorities. Nottinghamshire County Council’s architects took a lead role from the outset, and in particular, Henry Swain led the way with new and innovative designs that answered the many demands they faced. These buildings had to be built quickly, to a high quality and within a tight budget. They were also faced with a considerable technical problem caused from mining subsistence, which the new buildings needed to be able to withstand. The solution up until then had been to use massive concrete foundations, but these tended to break-up under the pressure.

Henry Swain and his colleagues’ solution was revolutionary. They designed a lightweight steel frame that clipped and bolted together, with large panels between. These buildings were laid on foundations of sand so that if a wave of mining subsistence passed underneath, the building moved gently to accommodate it, as if surfing over the top. All the components were designed to be easily prefabricated allowing mass production and keeping costs down.

At the time, this CLASP system was acknowledged by experts for its innovation and was used throughout the country to great effect. CLASP technology won a number of Royal Institute of British Architects awards and Henry Swain’s contribution was acknowledged internationally with the Hold Medal at the Milan Triennale in 1960.

Henry Swain was the Deputy County Architect from 1958 and then County Architect from 1964-68, during which time he was also the vice-president of RIBA in 1967/68. He died in Nottinghamshire in January 2002, aged 77. His legacy of public buildings are all around us and make an important contribution to Nottinghamshire’s communities. Many people work, socialise, and learn in them every day.

Examples of CLASP schools can be seen in Ollerton, Carlton (Frank Wheldon), Bingham (Toothill), East Retford (King Edward VI), Skegby, Arnold (Redhill), Mansfield (Berry Hill). Health centres and other buildings include: Mansfield Health Centre (St John’s Street); County Hall extension, West Bridgford (the County Council’s own HQ); South Manor, Ruddington; Sherwood Lodge Police HQ; The Sutton Centre, Sutton-in-Ashfield. There are many more CLASP buildings across the county. To find more records, search 'CLASP' in our search bar here and look for the records that say 'Building'.