Mrs Hamnett, Master Hamnett, and myself found ourselves passing through Macclesfield a few weeks ago. So I took the opportunity to visit the three splendid Mercian Round Shaft crosses that were erected in West Park there. I had tentatively suggested that one of them was a dead ringer for Whitfield Cross, and in a slightly better state of preservation. Definitely worth a closer look, and, of course, Master Hamnett was pleased as it means he got to go to the park.
The three cross shafts are located in the middle of the play area, and impossible to miss.
The Macclesfield Crosses, situated in the excellent West Park in town centre.
They were originally sited together at Ridge Hall Farm in Sutton (about a mile south of Macclesfield – here). Two of them were being used as gateposts, with iron and lead fixings carved into the stone, and the third was in a pile of rubbish. Their importance recognised, they were promptly moved to West Park, arriving there on 7th January 1858. Interestingly, Ridge Hall Farm was originally a moated farmhouse of medieval date – the remains of the moat can be seen in the aerial photograph above, circling the farm at the south and west.
Now, although the crosses were ‘found’ together, I don’t think that the farm was their original site, and it is likely that they had been moved there from points unknown. The probability of their movement is given evidence by the fact that the farmer had two cross shafts on his land, exactly the right width and in exactly the right location to form a useful gate. And by the fact that one of the crosses was “in a pile of rubbish” – such wording suggests it had been moved and discarded, perhaps awaiting employment as a fence or gate post. Also, whilst they occur in pairs (and the gatepost pair may well be an example of this), we know of no other examples of three crosses occurring together. However, caution should perhaps be urged here; with so few examples of this cross type surviving, we don’t have a huge body of evidence from which to draw comparisons or to make bold statements, and as the old archaeological dictum runs, absence of evidence in not evidence of absence. But in this instance, and on balance, I think it is likely they had been moved. Given that Ridge Hall Farm is not near any parish boundary, nor is close to a church, we might tentatively suggest that they originally marked the junction of tracks, as Whitfield Cross once did.
But I digress.
The one that resembles Whitfield Cross is on the left of the three in the above picture. In the Cheshire and Lancashire volume of Corpus of Anglo-Saxon Sculpture (website here) it is listed as Sutton (Ridge Hall Farm) 1, and dates it to 10th or 11th Century. Here is a close up.
The south-west side of the cross.
Although it is made of a similar stone, it is unclear if the cross base is original to the cross. I have to say, it looks like it might be, and if it is the case then we might suggest that this cross was in its original position on the farm. The other two crosses don’t have their bases, and it seems doubtful that the farmer would go to all the trouble of digging up the cross base, when he could just sink a hole and place the shaft that way. Also, if the other two had their bases, then the 19th Century antiquarians who were responsible for their movement would have taken them too.
The collar is of a very similar style to Whitfield – sloppily executed with a rough groove drawn around the neck, rather than two distinct bands.
The Macclesfield cross – note the collar.Whitfield Cross – detail of the neck band. Similar in style to the Macclesfield Cross above.
I also suggest that the decoration which is missing from Whitfield would be of a similar nature to the Macclesfield example. Here is a closeup of the decoration. You can see what remains of decoration on the Whitfield example above and below.
The decoration is, with the eye of faith, just about visible. Compare with those below.South west side, described in the Corpus as a “simple scroll, its three offshoots terminating in a triple round scooped leaves”. That looks about right.North east side, described in the Corpus as “crossing two-strand interlace terminating in a Stafford knot with pointed terminals”.South-east side – described in the Corpus as simply a “meander pattern”.North-west side, described in the Corpus as “two-strand encircled twist, with two loose and inward-turning ends at the bottom of the composition”
So there you are. This is what I think a little better preserved Whitfield Cross would have looked like had the puritans and drunken louts of the 18th Century not got hold of it. Having said that, I recently read about people digging up roadside crosses because they believed treasure was buried beneath them, which is another reason these crosses are so rare. Bloody barbarians!
Anyway, I know this is a long way from Glossop, but I think it is important that the comparison with Whitfield Cross is made and explored… who knows, the same craftsman or woman may have carved the crosses. And it’s interesting nonetheless.
Next time, I’ll be a lot more local… very local indeed.
As always, any comments and questions are welcome. There really is quite a thriving community of people out there, and it’s great to hear from you all.
I gave a talk to the wonderful folk at the Glossop and Longdendale Archaeological Society on Tuesday night, on the subject of Whitfield Cross. I was honestly really quite nervous. Like most people, I am genuinely scared of speaking in public, and it’s not a thing that comes naturally to me. Indeed, research seems to show that people are more frightened of public speaking than they are of death – that is, they would rather be in the grave and dead, than standing over the grave and delivering the eulogy. However, I went ahead and did it – feel the fear, and do it anyway… as the rather cliched saying goes.
I think it went rather well, thankfully. Hopefully.
Anyway, here is the edited-for-blog transcript of the talk. It builds on the original Whitfield Cross post, but has lots of new information and photographs… so please read on, even if you have read the original.
I live in Whitfield.
For those of you who don’t know, Whitfield is a distinct area within Glossop, and was mentioned in the Domesday Book as a separate settlement from Glossop (as Witfeld), and remains a parish in its own right.
Now, my local pub is The Beehive, on Hague Street at the top – highly recommended, by the way – but in order to get to it, I had to walk up the steep hill of Whitfield Cross.
And every time I did, I pondered the name. Whitfield Cross is an odd name for a road that has no cross on it. I vaguely thought to myself, there must have been a cross here or somewhere nearby at some stage, but after a cursory scan on the internet, and a rifle through the local history section of the library, I drew a blank regarding the history of the cross. I must state that I hadn’t yet come across Neville Sharpe’s excellent book ‘Crosses of the Peak District’ which does have an entry for it, albeit a very short one.
However, sometime later whilst delving into the history of the area, I came across an article by our old friend Mr Hamnett entitled “Botanical Ramble to Moorfield”, dated to about 1890.
Newspaper cutting stolen from the New Mills History Society – Visit the original via link here. With thanks.
There is not much botany, but it is an absolute goldmine of local history. And as I read the article my jaw dropped. I’m going to read you the relevant part here, as it captures perfectly what makes Hamnett so good. Plus the language is great!
“In the latter part of the last century the Cross Cliffe lads planned and partially carried out what was to them a most daring and audacious deed. One ”Mischief Night” the eve of the first of May, it was resolved to steal the Whitfield Cross. In the depth of night, when all was quiet, and the Whitfield lads were slumbering or dreaming of their “May birch”, the Cross Cliffe invaders came and detached a portion of the cross. With secrecy, care, and much labour, it was conveyed away nearly to its projected destination, but the exertions required for the nefarious deed had been under estimated, their previous work in removing all articles left carelessly in the yards or at the back doors of the good people of Cross Cliffe and neighbourhood, such as clothes lines, props, buckets, etc., etc., to their “May birch” had already taken much of their energy out of them, and, coupled with the steepness of the ascent to the “Top o’ th’ Cross,” distance and roughness of the road to Cross Cliffe, and the weight of the stone, they were reluctantly obliged to abandon their “loot” in the last field near to the pre-arranged destination. What the feelings were of the Whitfield lads on discovering the desecration and loss of a portion of their cross can be better imagined than described. The stolen portion remained in the field for some years. Mr Joseph Hague, of Park Hall, was solicited to restore the cross to its original form and position, but being imbued with a little Puritanism, he refused, and the other portions gradually disappeared until there is nothing left of the Whitfield Cross, except the stolen portion, which is now part and parcel of a stile in a field at Cross Cliffe, where the then tenant of the field placed it, over a century ago.”
“Blimey!”, I thought!
Date wise then, the removal of the cross would have been 1790 or so, and the cross would have originally stood at the junction of the road Whitfield Cross and Hague Street/Cliffe Road but we shall return to that in a minute. Cross Cliffe is at the top, along Cliffe Road, and it extends further off screen.
The cross would have originally stood dead centre of the above picture, inappropriately marked 666!
Upon reading this passage I quite literally pulled on my boots and headed up to Cliffe Road and went exploring. Alas, not knowing exactly where the cross was – and it is not marked on any OS Map that I have seen – I failed to find it. Weeks later, however, and walking for pleasure rather than exploring, I by chance took the correct path… and this was the sight that greeted me.
The cross is the right of the two stones. Note Mouselow Iron Age hillfort in the background.
Now, I know what you’re thinking… what exactly is it?
Well, it’s a 9th, or more likely 10th , century Anglo Saxon stone cross of a type known as a Mercian Round Shaft or Mercian Pillar Cross. There are roughly 30 known examples, with doubtless quite a few more waiting to be discovered. Originally though… who knows. Hundreds? Thousands?
Most stone cross shafts are square or rectangular in section. The Mercian variety is defined by its round or slightly oval shaped shaft. It’s difficult to understand exactly what the crosses would have looked like from the Whitfield example alone – it is particularly worn and has been defaced. However, although no complete examples survive, by studying the better preserved examples we can begin to build up a picture of how they would have looked.
So then. There is the defining characteristic shaft.
The round shafts are very obvious in this picture of the three crosses in West Park, Macclesfield. Photo and information here.
Round or slightly oval in section, and usually under 5ft in height, although some, such as that at Cleulow in Cheshire, reach as high as 7ft.
Cleulow (or Clulow) near Wincle, Cheshire.
The shaft is normally plain and undecorated, although examples exist where this is not the case – Leek and Blackden for example.
Leek cross, in the churchyard of St Edwards.The cross shaft at Blackden, Cheshire. You can just make out the very worn decoration on the side of the shaft.
A notable example is at Brailsford, where we can see a seated solder holding a sword.
The seated soldier with sword on the shaft of Brailsford cross. Photo and much more info here courtesy of the Mellor Archaeological Trust.
The shaft tapers to a single, or more commonly, double band or collar that runs around the shaft.
A single band on the cross at Blackden.
A double band on the Shall Cross on Elnor Lane, south of Whaley Bridge (thank you David Dunford)
This band is not normally decorated, although at Leek, and elsewhere, it is (see above photograph for detail)
Above the band is a rectangular neck that is more often than not missing. Where the neck is present, it is normally decorated – often simply, but sometimes with complex knotwork and rope motifs such as these examples from Disley.
Ornately carved, these two were possibly once attached to the cross shafts discussed below
On top of this neck the cross itself would have sat. Fragments, such as those from Disley, allow us to reconstruct the cross head – it would have been a ‘wheel’ type with four arms and a central boss, perforated, and probably heavily decorated with rope and knot motifs.
A reconstructed cross head would look something like this – this is from Neville Sharpe’s book.
So, with this in mind, let’s look more closely at Whitfield Cross.
Note the perfectly carved Bench Mark – the surveyors had no respect for heritage! Incidentally, this one is at 682 ft above sea level.
We can see immediately it is very worn. The shaft, made from the local millstone grit, is a lightly flattened round shape in section, and tapers slightly up to the collar. The collar is, at first glance, a single band. But, with the eye of faith, I think I can detect a groove running around its centre, meaning it would be a double.
A close up of the double band – you can make out the detail quite clearly here.
It is worn, but I think would have originally been something like this.
This is one of the Macclesfield crosses – we can see it’s a shallow groove, rather than a properly carved double collar.
Back to Whitfield Cross, we see the neck is worn almost beyond recognition, surviving only 6inches above the collar. However, and again with the eye of faith, I think I can detect the remains of knotwork or similar decoration.
The relief work is perhaps visible – just about.
The depressions you can see on the neck are possibly the remains of the hollow parts, the relief, of the knotwork decoration. Look again at the photographs above, and then compare with the Macclesfield example above – you can clearly see the relief work and how it would look if it was worn.
As for the cross head… we have no clue. Instead, we must rely on Sharpe’s reconstruction for guidance.
So then, and apologies in advance for the rather bad penmanship on my part – I am a good technical drawer, but an awful artist – here is my reconstruction of how the cross might have originally looked, assuming all the ‘eye of faiths’ are correct!
Reconstruction of Whitfield Cross – it now only survives a few inches above the collar.
So then, further questions are raised – the first of which is, well… what is it?
It’s a cross… obviously, but what is the meaning of it, why was it carved, and why is it here?
The urge to leave a mark in the landscape is undoubtedly a universal feeling, and one that has been with us since we humans first started ‘thinking’. Stones have often been used to leave this mark, to somehow own the land, and to act as a focus, I’m thinking prehistoric standing stones, here. Stone crosses are very much a continuation of this act of permanently stamping yourself into the landscape.
But they can convey much more information.
They were often placed as boundary markers, showing where parish, territory, hunting rights, farmland and such begin and ended. Indeed, there are many stone crosses in the area that do just that. They act as a reminder of the adoption of Christianity in the area, a symbol stating loudly that “we are Christians”. It may also have been used as a gentle reminder that “you are Christians, now” as certainly in the early Saxon periods, and with the later Scandinavian incursions, the old pagan Gods were never far away, and it was far from certain that Christianity would prevail.
However, if we look again at where the Cross originally stood, we can see another, more practical, purpose for the cross – that of marking an important junction in the contemporary roads.
So, we have the old pack horse route that comes from the south – Peak Forest, Buxton, and Chesterfield – to Old Glossop, and on to Woodhead and Yorkshire, beyond, and now called Hague Street/Cliffe Road. The cross would have marked the junction of the track that went along Whitfield Cross and Hollincross Lane, and onto Simmondley and beyond. There was another spur coming out along what is now Gladstone Street, leading to that area of what is now the town, and again onto Woodhead.
The Junction at the top of Whitfield Cross in real life.
It has been suggested that some roadside crosses were placed as a gift of thanks for the completion of a safe journey, effectively a votive offering in payment for an answered prayer (i.e. help me get home in this awful weather, and I’ll set up a cross to say thank you). They might also function as a spiritual fortifier, reminding the traveller of God’s watchful eye and his protective power over the faithful. It is easy, I think, in these days of surfaced roads, street lights, and large settlements, to forget just how dark and treacherous travelling in the pre-modern era was – making your way from A to B in total darkness, along a muddy track, and with no map as such, and knowing that if you took a wrong turn somewhere, you were lost.
There is also a further, more subtle, reason, too for the cross being here. Actually, one that perhaps wouldn’t have been that subtle when it was first carved and erected, and this reason is tied in with another important question: Who made it?
It is known as a Mercian round shaft because it occurs only in the Anglo Saxon kingdom of Mercia. However, that is to massively oversimplify the answer, and it is more complex and more interesting than that.
The Kingdom of Mercia in early 10th Century. The Peak District is the top right section.
Mercia was for a time, the dominant kingdom in Britain, but by the 9th & 10th centuries it had lost that dominance to Wessex. Even so, we can see that the kingdom is still a massive area. The occurrence of these particular cross types is confined almost completely to the northern part of the kingdom, and specifically where we are now – north west Derbyshire, east Cheshire, and northern Staffordshire: in short, the Peak District.
One of the smaller kingdoms absorbed by the Mercians was that of the Pecsaetan, literally the people of the peak, and who probably gave their name to the Peak District. They seem to have been a distinct tribal grouping, relatively autonomous, but owing tribute and allegiance to the King of Mercia. Interestingly, the land upon which the Pecsaetan farmed and lived, coincides precisely with that in which the crosses occur – Northern Mercia.
I am speculating, obviously, but it is possible that this specific cross type is a product of the people of Pecsaetan kingdom, or at least what remained of it. Moreover, this was at a time – the 9th and 10th centuries – when the Mercian dominance was on the wane – just the time that a little national pride would be in order. And thus, we may speculate that the cross – a region or people specific type – might even have become a symbol, or totem perhaps, for the Pecsaetan kingdom.
There are other examples of Mercian Round Shafts in the area. As I say, there are about 30 known crosses, give or take – there seems to be no definite number recorded, and doubtless there are more waiting to be uncovered. I note that the Derbyshire section of the book series the ‘Corpus of Anglo Saxon Stone Sculpture’ is due to be published, but without having a spare £100, I’ll have to wait until the library gets a copy to check what it says about the crosses.
Our nearest examples are Robin Hood’s Picking Rods in Ludworth, roughly 3 miles south west of Glossop.
Robin Hood’s Picking Rods.
Originally known as the Maiden Stones, these are an example of a double cross, that is, two crosses set up side by side. This seems to have been a feature peculiar to the Mercian Round Shaft, but it is unclear what the purpose or meaning of this was. The Picking Rods sit on the parish boundaries of Mellor, Ludworth, Thornsett, and almost that of Chisworth. Perhaps then, the fact there are two of them may be related to their importance in marking this out – with two different parishes choosing to erect a cross each. Another possibility is that they were originally two separate crosses, but were brought together at some stage in the past – with perhaps one of them originally marking the parish boundary for Chisworth.
There is another pairing of crosses to be found in Disley, some 10miles or so south west of Glossop.
it is possible that the cross necks illustrated above may have once sat upon these shafts.
These too have no obvious reason behind their pairing, and although they have been moved from their original site, the old, double, cross base is still there marking the place.
Other, single, examples of Mercian Round Shafts are to be found at Macclesfield, Fernilee, Bakewell, Alstonfield, and notably Leek. Importantly, at Bakewell and Alstonfield, there are large numbers of cross shafts and heads, which, suggests Neville Sharp, may be where some were made and distributed.
What then, does the cross tell us of Glossop in the so-called Dark Ages?
Sadly, not very much. The post-Romano-British period is massively under-represented in the area, to a point where it is virtually non-existent – there is the possible glass bead from Mouselow, and that is about it. And yet we know something was here as Whitfield, Glossop, Chunal, Hadfield and Padfield are all mentioned in the Domesday book – they are clearly important enough to be counted. There is also the possibility that All Saint’s church in Old Glossop has a Saxon origin, but that is currently unproven. Neville Sharpe in his book Glossop Remembered suggests that the lack of a Saxon presence in Glossopdale may be due to a lack of interest and funding by local landowners prior to the area being industrialised. This may be the case to a point, but we do see Roman material coming to light from that point in Glossop’s history, so where is the Saxon?
No, seemingly all we are left with is the monuments – Robin Hood’s Picking Rods… and Whitfield Cross.
Our single link to our Saxon past.
What the cross can tell us, though, is that Whitfield, and by extension Glossopdale as a whole, was clearly in contact with other areas of Mercia. There was no mass media, and so the particular style of cross – the Round Shaft – could only have been communicated and spread through contact and travel. Even in this insular and provincial northern part of the kingdom of Mercia, it seems that the Glossop area was very much a part of the greater Anglo Saxon world with access to all that that brought.
And there it sits, a single monument to the late Saxon inhabitants of Glossop – the most tangible connection we have with the residents of the area at that time.
And sadly one of the most overlooked.
I would love to see the cross moved from its present location and placed somewhere where it can be seen and understood by everyone, as a vital part of the heritage of the area. I have suggested before that the wells on Whitfield Cross, the road, would be ideal, but that is a project for the future.
Thanks for reading, and apologies for the lengthy post. As always, any comments, questions, or corrections are very welcome.
James, Mrs Hamnett, and myself went for a walk yesterday, taking advantage of the beautiful weather in the afternoon. Not a long hike – 2 year olds really don’t have a lot of stamina, and walk at a glacial pace, stopping to inspect stones, sticks, grass, puddles, clouds, etc. As we passed down the start of Carr House Lane, I looked to the left to see if I could see the guide stoop that I had been looking for since I first read ‘Glossop Remembered‘ by Neville Sharpe (highly recommended, by the way). A guide stoop is an early form of carved stone signpost, situated at road junctions, that tells you where each road goes; to use them, simply face the name of the location you want, and take the road to the right. They became common in the late 17th Century after a 1697 act of parliament, intended to improve road conditions, suggested that guide stoops were erected at junctions (There is a brilliant website about Derbyshire guide stoops here). In the book, there is a photo of a flat stone with the words ‘To Glossop’ inscribed rather ornately on the facing side. Stylistically, the date of the carving would be, I would suggest, sometime in the early 18th century.
Now, despite Sharpe telling us where it is, I have so far been unable to find it, despite trying dozens of times and in different seasons. I had begun to think that either it was firmly and permanently buried behind thick bramble and dog rose, or worse, that it had been removed and was now lost to us forever.
That is, until yesterday! Someone had attacked the bramble with secateurs, and lo and behold – the guide stoop was there!
On the left hand side, just as you enter Carr House Lane from Cliffe Road. Originally, it would have stood on a stone plinth.
This was great news as it meant that we might have a chance to work out what the other three sides say, and thus where it was originally placed. There was some debate about location elsewhere on this site (in the comments, at the bottom here), but I was excited to be able to try and solve the problem. In short, we have a 4-sided guide stoop, with ‘To Glossop’ on one side, and, according to Sharpe, ‘To Dinting’ on another. It’s possible that Dinting is on the opposite side, but there is nowhere near that Dinting is in the opposite direction to Glossop. Plus, if we place Dinting somewhere else on the four sides, where are the other two locations mentioned? Chapel (en le Frith)? Sheffield? No, it is a bit of a mystery… until now!
I felt along the right hand side, and with my fingers I traced an upper case ‘T’. Obviously, the start of ‘To’, but without dismantling the wall, there is no way of knowing to where. Tentatively, I removed some loose stones on the left hand side, hoping to push my hand in and be able to find the last letters of whatever place was written on that side of the square… and was shocked. It went back squarely for a few inches, and then turned abrubtly at 45 degrees. the stone was a triangle! Only three sides, and only three locations. I scrabbled my fingers along and traced a lower case ‘L’, but no more… The stone was too jammed in, and I couldn’t wriggle past it.
You can see the side turning 45 degrees to form a right-angled triangle.
I might try again at a later date, but in any case, I think we now have enough to hazard a guess as to where the places are, and to where it was originally placed.
Glossop is obvious. Dinting is likely – we have no reason to doubt Sharpe, although I don’t know how he knew that. The last… well, we know it ends in an ‘L’, so it is probably Chapel (en le Frith) – although Mrs Hamnett suggests, not unreasonably, Chunal.
This is my reconstruction of the guide stoop’s inscriptions and shape.
A right-angled triangle, in this configuration. Probably!
So where, if this is the configuration, did it stand? Well, simply and almost certainly, at the top end of Whitfield Cross, where it meets Hague Street/Cliffe Road.
The three-way junction at the top of Whitfield Cross works perfectly in the above configuration. Incidentally, the red blob marks the location of the guide stoop, on the left hand side going up Carr House Lane.
If this is the case, the ‘Glossop’ side would be facing south east, indicating Glossop is down Cliffe Road. Dinting is north east, accessed via Whitfield Cross, Freetown, and then Hollin Cross Lane (the old Roman road). Chapel (or Chunal) is facing south west, and accessed via the road down to Gnat Hole and then onto Chunal, Hayfield, and beyond.
The only way we would know for certain is to demolish the wall… and that would be a massive undertaking.
Just as with the Whitfield Cross, I would love to see the guide stoop restored to its place of origin – I think it would look amazing at the junction, perhaps on the pavement at the left. We really could turn Whitfield into a heritage hotspot.
As an amazing bonus, on the way back, and just by Whitfield Cross, I found this.
A marble. A literal marble.
Just peeking out of the soil, I thought it was a stone at first – it’s perfectly spherical and very tactile; a child’s toy marble. It’s stone – marble or alabaster I think, but certainly not clay as most of the Victorian marbles are, and because of this, it clearly belonged to a well off child. I wonder if it was lost on the path, or if it was lost in the city and ended up in the field as part of the process of night soiling?
Either way, it’s a hell of a find. It’s so personal and intimate – and this is why I love doing what I do.
Please feel free to comment, correct, or just chat. All is welcome.
Well, so far I have managed to fail utterly in my New Year’s resolution in posting at least once a week. So my apologies. A lot of my spare time has recently been taken up with writing and preparing for a talk I am going to give on the subject of Whitfield Cross. Interestingly, the Whitfield Cross post (here) is by far and away the most popular on this blog. I know this because behind the scenes here, there are a whole pile of statistics that can be accessed that tells me how many people visit each day, what they look at, and even from where they come – yesterday, for example, I even had a visitor from South Africa! Now, I have no idea why the Whitfield Cross post is so popular, but when I was asked to give a talk on any subject, I though I’d go with that!
The talk is titled: Whitfield Cross – Glossop’s Saxon Heritage
To be given to the excellent folk of the Glossop and Longdendale Archaeological Society (website here) on Tuesday 3rd April at the Bluebell Wood pub, Glossop Road, Gamesley. Talk starts at 7.30, so get there a little earlier, and it’ll cost £2 on the door (although for £5, you can join GLAS and reap the benefits for the year).
The talk will draw on the blog post, but will include new research into Glossop’s only Anglo Saxon feature, and include a discussion of other examples of Mercian Round Shafts.
Plus, this is your chance to find out who Robert Hamnett actually is… and buy him (well, me) a drink!
In all seriousness though, come along – if you are interested in the blog, or Whitfield Cross, you’ll be interested in this.
Right, despite having another cold (courtesy of the ever ill James), I shall try and bash out another blog entry
The Glossop Cabinet of Curiosities 