Tavistock Abbey to Buckfast Abbey Monastic Path: Part 3 – Siward’s Cross to Horse Ford

Hemery’s ‘Walking Dartmoor’s Ancient Tracks: A guide to 28 routes’, Track 12. This section is from Siward’s Cross to Horse Ford. 3.9 miles

Background

In my previous blog post about this route, I said that I would come back to the great Andrew Fleming, the man responsible for developing our understanding of the Dartmoor reaves. In more recent years Fleming has written about various routeways, including a consideration of a crossing of Dartmoor from Ashburton to Tavistock (and beyond, into Cornwall), a route he describes as being the best way to connect central, south and east Devon to Cornwall, across the ‘waistline’ of Dartmoor (Fleming, 2011). Fleming discusses this route in its wider context, not just in relation to stone crosses and ‘Christian’ travel, a focus that has tended to dominate the attention, mainly because crosses are the only extant evidence of a ‘way’ over the moor. They are the obvious, where everything else is lost in shadow.

My purpose in this blog is to continue to walk the inter-monastic route between Tavistock and Buckfast, following the ‘ancient tracks’ described by Hemery (1986).  However, as Fleming says, these routes do not exists in ‘splendid isolation’. Over the moor, this route would not only have been part of the connectedness of monasteries in the middle ages, but would almost certainly have had an even deeper history, serving powerful Saxon elites (and potentially tribal elites before them), as part of regional networks of communication, not to mention being used by more lowly ‘jobbers’, travelling this way for work and trade.

But why choose this particular route? To get from the southeast side of the Dartmoor, across to west Devon and Cornwall, one could choose to circumnavigate below the moor, but this adds considerable distance, and runs into difficulties of having to cross rivers at their wider stretches; rivers that would have likely been unbridged this far back in time. To go south of the moor would mean encountering the fluvial barriers of the Plym, Tavy and Tamar, whose steep, enclosed valleys would have presented a security risk as the topography of them would have made them prone to ambush. Far more preferable would have been a shorter route across the moor which, while exposed, had ‘open’ visibility, and was less undulating. Such terrain would have been good riding country, and therefore more suitable for powerful men on horseback or workmen with pack horses. This particular route, by passing south of Two Bridges and Dartmeet, also has the advantage of minimising having to cross many bigger moorland rivers, which even on horseback, could have been problematic for to ford in times of spate (Fleming, 2011). I wonder at how long it took, in days before aerial photographs and maps, did it take to establish an optimum line of travel? What part did trial and error play in honing the best’ way to go? How did historical shifts that cemented land ownership, created social hierarchy, required political manoeuvring, and sometimes ended in conflict, breathe life into this route; bringing it into existence though historical necessity.

In its early days then, this route would not have been lined with crosses. However, once monastic houses were established, and Christianity colonised the mental and actual landscape, crosses were erected. Today, many of the crosses are lost or truncated, and so it is not possible to get a true sense of how they would have seemed as medieval way-markers. We cannot, for example, stand at one cross, and look for the next to show the way. The gaps between them are too large so that it is almost never possible to hold the cross you came from, and the cross you are heading towards, in view at the same time. For the walker, Fleming also prompts us to think about the viewpoint of crosses from the perspective of the saddle. From standing height, and without all the crosses located in their original conditions and location, we cannot truly get a sense of how effective they were in guiding the way.

This stretch, between Nun’s Cross Farm and Horse Ford, is the most remote section of the route, and would pretty much have felt that way in the past too. In the middle ages, a traveller would have left behind pockets of farmsteads and fields in the Newleycombe Valley area at Burrator, and not encountered their reassuring presence again until Holne. The landscape wasn’t empty though. People would have had a presence, with tinners scattered widely in the valleys and gerts. Men, boys and even maids would also be around, particularly in the spring and summer, doing their pastoral duties. Perhaps the medieval traveller would have had as many encounters with other people as a modern walker does today? I think it is also worth remembering that medieval wayfarers would also have encountered a greater array of wildlife than the denuded ecology of our own landscape. At the time of Domesday, for example, as well as seeing a much greater biodiversity of benign wildlife, if you were out in such remote territory, then you may have glimpsed boar, wolf or even bear.

And so, leaving behind the uneasy feeling of being stalked by a hungry wolf, let’s return to the route, and the 7 interesting things along this section …

For Part 1 follow the link – Tavistock Abbey to Buckfast Abbey Monastic Path: Part 1 – Tavistock to Walkhampton

For Part 2 follow the link – Tavistock Abbey to Buckfast Abbey Monastic Path: Part 2 – Walkhampton Church to Siward’s Cross.

7 Interesting Things

1. Nun’s Cross Farm

The forsaken farmhouse of Nun’s Cross Farm, flanked by twin firs, has got to be one of the most photographed of Dartmoor locations. It stands, anti-social; its withdrawn location and lowering countenance adding to its woeful presence. Even on a radiant day, this place feels grim. And that’s its charm. Pretty isn’t everything.

According to Hemery (1983), Nun’s Cross is first recorded with a place name in 1699 as Nannacross, but the farm is a relatively new addition to the landscape. Hemery talks with admiration of the first farmer here, John Hooper who, in 1870 leased the land from the Duchy and …

‘constructed for himself a rough-and-ready shelter and, leaving his family at home, betook himself to the labour of building a primitive family dwelling. A single Storey, two-roomed house with a fireplace at each end.’

Hemery 1983 p338

By 1871 the Hoopers had moved in, whence they began to construct the farm’s newtake walls. Despite its barren location, profit was to be made, and within a number of years Crossing (Le Messurier, 1992) recalls Hooper as being able to sell ‘£100-worth of cattle yearly’. The Hooper’s daughter, Anna-Maria, grew up to marry a man called Edward Worth. The newlyweds joined the Hoopers in the farmhouse, and began work on building their own home, which was completed by 1901. It is this building which is the Nun’s Cross Farm that we see today. When Mr and Mrs Hooper died, Edward and Anna-Maria turned the original dwelling into a shippen. Hemery is able to list all of the subsequent residents of Nun’s Cross – Thomas Coaker, another Edward Worth, Mrs Allen, and finally, Mr and Mrs Phillips and their son Jack.

The farmhouse was abandoned after the second world war and soon became a wreck. For a while in the 70s and 80s it was used as a camping base by the Royal Navy for training and recently came into the ownership of Mount Kelly school, from whom it is available to rent, with a bunkbed capacity of 27 (Quayle, 2021). I wonder what John Hooper would make of a private school purchasing this meagre farm, and its current incarnation as a base for leisure and modest adventure?

Today, the name Nun’s Cross is associated with the farm and is also given as an alternative name for Siward’s Cross that stands here (and was discussed in the last blog about this route). However, Fleming hypothesises that in the past, a second cross may have stood near here (2011). Tin workings of the 16th and 17th C, to the east of the current farm, are documented with ‘nun’ in their name (Greeves, pers comm to cited in Fleming, 2011). It is therefore possible that there used to be another cross here, perhaps at Nun’s Cross Ford, to the east of the 19th C farm, guiding the traveller across the headwaters of the river Swincombe.

2. Goldsmith’s Cross

Whether heading east or west, a major danger to any traveller in this vicinity, would have been ending up in Fox Tor Mire, the most notorious of Dartmoor’s valley bogs. This is definitely a place which is preferable to go around, rather than through, so saturated and blancmange-like is the terrain. Every foot forward is one that needs to be tested against the threat of sinking. It is within this context that we might judge Goldsmith’s Cross. Whilst all crosses that serve routes are markers, the placing of Goldsmith’s Cross seems particularly judicious in guiding wayfarers on a safe path.

This Latin cross, also known as Foxtor Mire Cross, lay prone, perhaps since the reformation, until 1903, when it was re-discovered. It takes its name from a Lieutenant Malcolm Lennon Goldsmith who supposedly recruited four sailors to help cement it back into its original socket in a large boulder (Stanbrook, 2003 cited in HER, undated^a). The cross was repaired, with its arms secured by an iron clamp, to what remains of its shaft. The differing dimensions of head and shaft, not to mention its stumpy stature, indicate that a sizeable section of the shaft is missing.

I thought it might be interesting to see if I could find out a bit more about Lieutenant Goldsmith, after whom this Dartmoor cross has become known. Plymouth born Goldsmith (b.1880, d 1955) was only 23 when he discovered the cross. By the outbreak of World War 1, he had been promoted to the rank of commander, going on to command a whopping eighteen ships, as well as ‘Captain of Dockyard, Deputy Superintendent and King’s Harbour Master, Malta’ and ‘Captain of Fishery Protection and Minesweeping Flotilla’ (Dreadnaught Project). Goldsmith was, in retirement, made a Vice Admiral but returned to service in World War II as a commodore, leading thousands of Atlantic convoys. As a consequence, Commodore Goldsmith was knighted. Apparently Sir Malcolm was far happier in the wilds than in society, which is a nice connection back to this story of the young Lieutenant, rummaging about on remote Dartmoor, and finding this fallen cross (Dix Noonan Webb, 2003).

3. Childe’s Tomb

Childe’s Tomb is another of those Dartmoor locations with a big reputation. Situated on the margin of the Fox Tor ‘Grimpen’ mire, of Conan Doyle fame, this cairn-cist-cross hybrid monument is associated with a legend of gripping and dramatic narrative (HER, undated^b).

The legend tells of ‘Childe the Hunter’ , who was an ancient lord who owned extensive property including land at Plymstock. One unfortunate day, Childe got caught in a snow storm on the edge of the mire. A veritable Saxon Bear Grylls, Childe sliced open the belly of his horse, disembowelled it, and took sanctuary inside the warm carcass. But there was no happy ending for Childe, and he froze to death in this desolate location.

Childe was a wealthy man with land to be bequeathed. Supposedly his will specified that wherever he was buried, then that church would be gifted his lands. In some versions of the story, Childe is even said to have written his will, in his last perishing moments, out of the blood of his dead horse. There was therefore considerable incentive for the local monastic houses, once hearing that Childe was missing, presumed dead, to be the first to find his body.

They first that fyndes and brings mee to my grave
The priory of Plimstoke they shall have

Supposed original inscription on Childe’s Tomb. Cited in Finberg (1946)

The drama now goes into overdrive as the monks of Tavistock Abbey and those from Plymstock Priory, apparently great rivals, race to secure the corpse. Tavistock got to the body first, but the Plymstock men refused to admit defeat. They plotted an ambush at a bridge over the Tavy, but the Tavistock monks got wind of this plot. They evaded the trap by taking a different route and crossing the Tavy by building a temporary structure. Because the Tavistock monks had shown guile in evading the ambush, this crossing became known as Guile bridge.

This is a wonderful tale of misadventure, blood, guts, money, rivalry and cunning. But could any of this be true or is it just fantastical fabrication? I had assumed this story was largely garbage but, it appears, there may be quite a lot of it which has an historical basis.

The great historian of Tavistock Abbey, H.P.R Finberg, tackled the legend Childe in a paper from 1946. He used a combination of evidence, chiefly the accounts of the 12th century historian, William of Malmesbury (c.1095-c. 1143). William was writing his history of the Bishops of England in the 1120’s, only fifty years or so after the legendary events are supposed to have taken place. He is thought to have visited Tavistock personally and therefore is the nearest we have to contemporary evidence. Finberg supplemented these accounts with documented details from the Exon Domesday and oral tradition, first written down in the 17th Century. Finberg’s telling of the story of Childe is less dramatic, but for me, his dry detail is all the more remarkable for the degree of verisimilitude between his historical account and the embellished legend.

According to Finberg, there was a man named Ordulf, living in 1066, who, according to Domesday, was lord of nineteen manors in Devon, two in Cornwall and one in Somerset. Ordulf was the son of a man called Ordgar. He is not to be confused with an earlier Ordulf (also the son of a man named Ordgar) who founded Tavistock Abbey, although he is very likely a descendent.

Finberg, summarising Wiliam of Malmesbury, describes this later Ordulf (who he refers to as Ordul II), as a man of great strength and gigantic stature, who was also passionately fond of the chase. He explains that …

‘ One of his favourite hunting-grounds was Horton in east Dorset, where a small monastery of recent foundation, attracted his notice and secured some benefactions from him. It is said that he expressed a wish to be buried there; but one day, while hunting up on Dartmoor, he lost his way and perished of exposure. After this it was inevitable that his body, when found, should be interred at Tavistock beside his ancestors. In accordance with the custom of the age, Ordulf had assigned one of his manors for a ‘soul-scot’ or gift to the church in which he should be buried; and of this manor abbot Sihtric now took possession. It was Anthony, in Cornwall, a desirable acquisition both for its own sake and as adjoining the lands given by Ordulf’s forebears in Sheviock and Rame. In the course of the Domesday inquest the abbot of Horton put in a claim to Antony, but failed to convince the royal commissioners.‘

Finberg, 1969, p4-5.

This account seems to confirm that a hunt-loving noble did exist and perish on Dartmoor; that he did have a will; and that there was a dispute over his assets between Tavistock and another ecclesial house, albeit not Plymstock (besides which, Plympton had the priory, not Plymstock). In fact, in his original 1946 paper, Finberg says:

“But as he [Ordulf II] had directed certain legacies to be given to the church [at Horton]with his body, his wish was frustrated by violence of abbot Sihtric, who carried off both gifts and giver to his own monastery“. 

Finberg, 1946

This additional detail also supports the controversial, contested and violent nature of the legend of Childe the Hunter’s narrative. Even the character of Guile Bridge in the story can be explained. A document of 1651 refers to Tavistock’s Guildhall as the ‘Guilehall’, and so, as Finberg (1946) says, “Guile Bridge is probably Guild Bridge, so called because it was constructed and maintained by a guild“.

Putting together the story of Childe the Hunter with Fleming’s work on the importance of this route stretching back into Saxon and prehistoric times, I wonder about the location of Childe’s Tomb. Perhaps it is not the random perishing point of a millennial dead hunter, ranging across the moor, hunting in a snowstorm. It seems to me that it is no coincidence that this Saxon lord may have died on a well used route across the moor.

In summary, I will leave the final words to Finberg who says of this tale:

It affords indeed a beautiful example of the way a popular tradition may at once preserve and disguise matter of authentic fact.”

Finberg,1946

4. Ter Hill Crosses

Ter Hill, or Terrell, as the moormen call it, according to Crossing (Mercer, 1990), sports a triumvirate of crosses, all within 500 metres of each other – Mount Misery Cross, Ter Hill Cross West and Ter Hill Cross East.

Mount Misery Cross lies at the junction of the monastic route and another route, the Sandy Way, about which I can find out nothing of substance about its history. This cross coincides with the corner of the newtake wall of Fox Tor Farm. Hemery considered that it was used as a convenient boundary point when the wall was built. In the naming of this cross Hemery’s opinion was that the struggle of ‘spading and taming the ground here in an attempt to grow crops‘ led to ‘the depressing epithet ‘Mount Misery’ attaching to this place’. (Hemery, 1983, p355). Like many crosses, Mount Misery Cross was re-erected where it had fallen, beside its original socket stone.

Of Ter Hill Cross West, William Crossing reports that it ‘was taken to Sherburton many years ago by the late Mr Richard Coaker, who desired to preserve it there, but was brought back by him when he learnt that the Duchy authorities were averse to its removal ‘(Mercer, 1990, p464).

Ter Hill Cross East is not an original but a very convincing replica. The original cross, which was broken into pieces, was clamped together in 1885. In 1984 it fell once more and broke apart even further. It was therefore decided to repair it but re-site it at the High Moorland Visitor Centre at Princetown in 1994, and a replica inserted into the socket stone on Ter Hill (HER, Undated^c).

With all three crosses seemingly in their original locations, this shows a wayside density greater than most other stretches. Is is possible their desolate location is a factor in their preservation? Maybe this hints that, before the reformation, this monastic route was lined with many more crosses than we are left with today; the fate of others being damaged, pulled down re-used as lintels and gateposts.

5. Skir Gert

This monastic way between Ter Hill and Down Ridge crosses Skir Gert; the most westerly of a network of four gerts that run north-south from the O Brook (see image below). Hemery (1983, p421) prefers the spelling Skaur instead of Skir because, phonetically, the word is supposed to be pronounced with an ‘aw’ sound. This preference is made on the basis of ‘an old Dartmoor lady’ who tells him “that Skir should of course be Skaur or Scor for ‘tis pronounced ‘Scor’”. Hemery considers the origin of this name to be an ancient one, linked to the ‘scoring and scarring’ of the hill by tin mining stretching back into antiquity; a similar etymology to that of Scorhill, also on Dartmoor.

The Skaur Gert is but one of many earthen scars that I have had to negotiate since Burrator. Many of these tin workings date from the Tudor age and before and so, in imagining our inter-monastic travellers, it is therefore useful to recognise that they would have been passing through a landscape populated by tinners. I often wonder at the nuanced interactions between these two very different ‘communities’ of men – monks and tinners. Was there a tribal ‘them-and-us’ dimension to interactions between these two groups? Were the men of the cloth at ease travelling over high Dartmoor? Were they greeted, ignored or even taunted by the men toiling over the tin? Perhaps, monks offered prayers or indulgences on behalf of these miners, in return for assistance and hospitality along the remote stretches of their passage?

6. O Brook

From the Skir Gert I trudged my way across the hillside of Down Ridge. Here, the landscape and ruins of more recent extraction adds to the palimpsest of tin mining. I head for Horse Ford, interpolating between Skir Ford Cross and Horse Ford Cross, on my way into the valley of the O Brook.

O Brook, it seems, is a dialect shortening of Oak Brook. The name features in the Perambulation of Dartmoor undertaken in 1240 AD, on the order of a writ issued by Henry III, to define the boundary of the Forest of Dartmoor land given to Richard, Earl of Cornwall. The perambulation describes the boundary along this stretch:

... et sic per aliam Dertam ascendendo usque Okebrokysfote, et sic ascendendo Okebroke usque ad la Dryworke, ... 

... and so on along the Dart ascending until Oak Brook foot, and thus ascending Oak Brook up to the Dry Work ...

From Rowe(1896)

This simple description is super informative. It confirm the name of the O Brook is derived from Oak Brook, and so we can assume that sometime in the past, this tributary of the Dart was wooded with Oak trees. Not so now. The oaks have gone, although there is a sprinkle of other shrubs and small trees, including willow, edging the valley bottom. It also tells us that this area was being used for tin extraction before the date of 1240 AD, and that these tin works were ‘Dryworkes’; a dry work being tin working of surficial deposits, found at the base of slopes and dry valley bottoms , as opposed to streamworks, where the tin is found in stream or river channels and floodplains.

7. Horse Ford

When I walked this way I searched for the Horse Ford. I had presumed it would be the easiest way to cross the river. I clambered over the floodplain, across tin-worked terrain, amongst trees and pockets of sodden bog. I did get across the O Brook, but not at what I would describe as a clear fording point.  Returning home and consulting my books, I can see why. It was ‘washed out’ in 1965 (Hemery, 1983). Hemery says that he remembers it as being paved with flat stones, indicative of the amount of traffic passing here. He offers some direct advice to the Ordnance Survey, that it would be better if they changed their map annotation to ‘Site of Horse Ford’ to reflect the fact that it has all but disappeared from the landscape.

Fleming (2011) draws our attention to the designation ‘Horse Ford’, considering that the name itself might have significance, linking it back to the utility of this olden route for ‘horse elites’ crossing the moor. However, we should also remember that there would have been a profusion of plodding pack horses travelling to and fro from the mining that proliferated in this valley over the centuries, supplemented also by the jobbers trading over the moor. Surely these workaday nags must be equal candidates to the high horseback Saxon ealdormann, and mounted medieval abbots.

The Route

• From Siward’s Cross, cut through the Nun’s Cross newtake fields. Divert to look at Nun’s Cross Farm [1] if you fancy.
• There is not a persistent clear track to follow along much of this route. Head east and navigate to Goldsmith’s Cross [2].
• Then on to Childe’s Tomb [3].

• Head ENE, up hill, and make for the corner of the newtake wall and Mount Misery Cross [4].
• Keep on the same trajectory to Ter Hill Cross west and east [4].
• From Ter Hill cross east head off in a more NE direction to intersect with Skir Gert [5]near the place called Skir Ford.

• Veer east and then ESE to take in two more crosses not discussed here that stand on Down Ridge.
• Descend into the valley of the O Brook [6] and find your way across the small river. Have a look for where you think Horse Ford [7] is, presumably above where the brook bifurcates.

References

Archiuk. Old Maps. https://www.archiuk.com/archi/archi_maps.htm

Dix Noonan Webb. 2003. Vice-Admiral Sir Malcolm Goldsmith, Royal Navy British War and Victory Medals (Commr., R.N.) . Lot 812, Date of Auction: 16th December 2003. https://www.dnw.co.uk/auction-archive/past-catalogues/

Dreadnaught Project. Undated. Malcolm Lennon Goldsmith. dreadnaughtproject.org.

Finberg, H.P.R. 1946. Childs Tomb. Transactions of the Devonshire Association, 78, pp265-280.

Finberg, H.P.R. 1969. Tavistock Abbey. Augustus M. Kelly: New York.

Fleming, A., 2011. The crossing of Dartmoor. Landscape History, 32 (1), pp.27-45.

Hemery, E. 1983. High Dartmoor. Robert Hale: London.

Hemery, E. 1986. Walking Dartmoor’s Ancient Tracks: A Guide to 28 Routes. Robert Hale: London.

HER. Undated^a. Cross north-east of Nun’s Cross, Dartmoor Forest. Dartmoor Forest. Record MDV6366

HER. Undated^b. Childe’s Tomb cairn and cist, Dartmoor Forest. MDV48907

HER. Undated^c. Stone Cross on Ter Hill. MDV6300

Le Messurier, B. 1992. Crossing’s Dartmoor Worker. Peninsula Press: Newton Abbot.

Mercer, I. 1990. Crossing’s Guide to Dartmoor. Peninsula Press: Newton Abbot.

Qualyle, T. 2021. The spooky abandoned farmhouse on Dartmoor that can sleep up to 27 guests. Plymouth Herald, 28 Aug 2021.

Rowe, S. 1896. A Perambulation of the Forest of Dartmoor and the Venville Precincts. Third Edition. James G Commin, Exeter and Gibbings & Co, London.