The River Tavy and the Abbot’s Weir – insights from ‘Home Scenes’ by Rachel Evans

In this blog I want to revisit the site of the medieval monastic weir on the Tavy – a place I have already written about – sharing additional details from Rachel Evans’ book ‘Home Scenes: or Tavistock and its Vicinity’ (1846). Evans, who knew this place from the 1830s and 1840s included in her book an amusing fanciful poem about a mineral-thief abbot meeting a watery end as a result of fairy mischief. She also recounts additional details about a real fight that happened at the weir in AD 1280, between the Buckland monks and the Forester to the Abbot of Tavistock. I have already mentioned this fight in a previous blog but, because Evans’s tale seems more complete and is yet, less well-known, I wanted to give it an airing.

Before I get stuck into the fairies and the fights I want to acknowledge that this blog only got written because I was alerted to Rachel Evans’s writing about the Abbot’s Weir by my friend John Hudswell. John is currently writing a book about Evans and so is the world’s leading authority on her work. The chapters in ‘Home Scenes’ are based around a series of walks Evans undertook, the third of which includes a visit to the Virtuous Lady mine and the Abbot’s Weir.

Recap on the Abbot’s Weir

I don’t want to cover old ground from my earlier blogs, but a short recap is worthwhile in order to contextualise what Evans has to say in Home Scenes.

After many walks on the banks of the Tavy last year, I finally managed to pinpoint the spot of the Abbot’s Weir – right next to the cliff face below Tavy Cottage (see The Buckland Abbot’s Medieval Fish Weir on the Tavy). This fish weir has a very long history. Early in the 12^th C it belonged to Baldwin de Redvers, future Earl of Devon (Finberg, 1969). At this time, he bequeathed the tithe of this fishery to Tavistock Abbey. They benefited from the weir until c. 1280 AD when the first monks took up residence at Buckland Abbey and the right to the fishery changed monastic hands to the Buckland men. Even as far back as Domesday (AD 1086), Buckland is recorded as having a fishery, hinting that the weir may even have had Saxon origins.

The Abbot’s Weir was a very important and well-known part of the Tavy landscape through to the 16^th century when Henry VIII ordered the monasteries be disbanded. Exactly what happened to the fish weir after this point is unclear but, sometime between  1580-1594, a new fish weir was built by Sir Francis Drake further down river, rendering the Abbot’s Weir pretty much redundant, what with the lower weir now controlling the fish supply (see Sir Francis Drake’s Weir – Discovering the Disappeared Fish Weir on the Tavy).

The Abbot’s Weir site was still known by this name through to the 19^th century, as evidenced by it being named on some old maps and some documents hidden away in record offices. Fast forward to today and knowledge of its location has been lost to time, and from memory.

Description of the Abbot’s Weir

In her chapter, Evans approaches the site of the Abbot’s Weir and the Virtuous Lady mine from the place we know today as Double Waters, a name she doesn’t use; she just refers to this place as the confluence of the Tavy and the Walkham. She rhapsodises ‘surely no virtuous lady had ever a brighter home than this‘ then describing that ‘there are crystal gems around her on every side‘ (p51).

When she visited, the reputedly Elizabethan Virtuous Lady mine, and was once again in operation. She reports that a ‘small rill‘ [which must have been the mine leat] forms a ‘sparkling cascade‘ to power the mine works.

She then narrates that the waters of the river:

‘throw up pearly drops of every hue as they foam over the dam formed in ages long past and from some old association called the “Abbot’s Weir” ‘

Evans, 1846, p51

This implies that there was a weir still standing when she visited. With mining resurrected in the valley, might it be that there was a new mine-related weir when she passed this way. There is a leat whose take off occurs at this spot, which contours its way to the Tavy Consuls Mine at Hocklake. However, it would appear that permission was not granted for a weir to be built to feed it. This information appears in a letter dated 1854 from John Benson, steward of the Bedford Estate, written to George Giles, agent to Sir Massey Lopes, relating to this matter. The letter confirms agreement to cut a leat through the Duke of Bedford’s land to feed Tavy Consols Mine, but permission was not given to erect a weir (The Box 874/48/120).

I think it more likely therefore that Evans is describing the water foaming over the remains of the long redundant fish weir. I have recently been shown a sketch of the location, drawn by a notable artist called Henry Worsley. The sketch is labelled ‘The Virtuous Lady and the Abbot’s Weir on the Tavy’, and is thought to have been rendered in the 1820s because it shows the landscape before the mine captain’s cottage was built at the cliff face above the river. This sketch is held in a private collection but I have been given permission to share it here. Notably, from the point of view of this weir story, it shows a clear but broken line of boulders across the river where the old weir once spanned, but no fully functional weir.

Poem – The Abbot’s Weir

Evans, without robust knowledge of the historic fishery of the Tavy, briefly explains that the name of the Abbot’s Weir might have come from the weir being used for the monk’s fishery. However, she then, rather oddly says that ‘another interpretation for the nomenclature has been given in the following lines‘ proceeding to share a poem she has penned called ‘The Abbot’s Weir’. It is therefore unclear if this poem is one based on local folklore or is entirely her own fictional creation.

I am not going to copy all of the poem out here because it is rather long and, I will be kind to describe it as ‘not to our current taste’. In summary, it tells the tale of an abbot, of days gone by, who sneaks off on a mule, crosses the weir [He fordeth the wave with anxious care] and enters the mine to steal its treasures. With a hammer he begins to break off mineral ores and gems. Inside the mine, the nervous abbot gets spooked by the sound of fairies laughing.

He hastily re-mounts the mule and returns back over the weir. But the mule is unhappy at the abbot’s rush and the extra weight of the minerals the abbot is carrying. The beast of burden flings the abbot into the water. The greedy abbot, whose pockets are full of heavy gems and ore, sinks to the bottom of the boiling waters and drowns. The poem ends:

A spirit still haunteth the sacred spot,
And knocketh for ore in our Lady’s grot,
Where fairy boxes and shoes are wrought,
Close by “The Abbot’s Weir “.

What are these ‘fairy boxes and shoes‘ Evans refers to? It seems that the fairy shoes are pointed, and in her words, ‘vaulted arch’ shaped mineral formations and the ‘fairy boxes‘ are hollow cubes ‘formed by the most elaborate effort of art‘ and within which are ‘crystals, rising like some precious plant with tubercles of copper for their root‘. Minerals taking these forms are known of from the Virtuous Lady. They are rare and collectable, with some appearing in the Natural History Museum and others in private collections.

Whilst the poem is fanciful and folkloric, with its fairy content, what I find interesting is how Evans tells of the abbot using the weir as a crossing point. Today, we don’t tend to view weirs as bridges or fords, but there are reasons for believing that weirs were used more commonly in this way in the past. For example, with respect to the weir on the Tamar, there is a letter from Gilbert Eveliegh to Pears Edgcumbe, esquire, ‘desiring leave to carry Lord of Bedford’s woods over weir, paying 12 pence per pound, 1 February 1664-1665 (KK ME/2002).

I will leave it for you to decide if Evans weaves local folklore about this special place into her poem, or if every word of it is the creative work of her own imagination, inspired by the landscape, place-names, and the rare mineral wealth of this historical confluence of the Virtuous Lady mine and Abbot’s Weir.

The Infamous Weir Rumpus Revisited

Setting fairies to one side, it is Evans’s recounting of the incredible fight that took place between Tavistock Abbey and Buckland Abbey in AD 1280 that I particularly want to re-visit. In writing about this fight in my earlier blog I used the details given by both Finberg (1969) in his book on Tavistock Abbey, and by Gill in his book on Buckland Abbey (1968). Both men provide similar brief accounts. They tell us about the Forester (Thomas Gyrebrand) and his run-in with Abbot Robert of Buckland and his men. The story sees Thomas Gyrebrand attacking the Buckland men at Ivy Oak in Blackmoorham wood because they are chopping down oak from the Tavistock woodland for the repair of their newly acquired weir. The Buckland monks retaliate, firing arrows at Thomas and wounding him in the arm. Thomas accuses the Buckland men of stealing his belongings. The Buckland men say that Thomas fled, leaving his things behind. Ultimately it is Thomas who is found to be in the wrong and who, according to Gill, is sentenced to gaol.

What is interesting about the account given by Evans is that she provides, not only a slightly different version to that of the later historians, but her tale is more detailed. She also tells us that she knows the story because she had been kindly permitted to peruse the old document in which particulars she narrates were written. Because Evans’s version of these events is under-reported and under-appreciated, I thought it important to give this fuller story an airing.

What follows then is Evans’s version of the 13^th C altercation, provided in chunks, and interspersed with my commentary.

It appears that the wood, called Black-moreham Wood, belonged to the Abbot of Tavistock; the Weir beneath, called the Abbot’s Weir, to the Abbot of Buckland. Thomas de Gryreband was appointed “Forrester to keep the wood, of the Abbot his master, of Black-moreham”

So far so good. The only difference in Rachel’s account is that the forester’s name is given as ‘Thomas de Gryreband’ rather than ‘Thomas Gyrebrand’.

and on a certain Friday before the feast Decollation in the 8th year of the reigning king, the same Thomas came into the wood at a place called Ivy Oak …

Decollation means beheading and so the feast of Decollation is the Feast of St John the Baptist, which occurs on June 24^th. Evans is therefore able to share with us, not just the year this event occurred (in AD 1280) but the month. The reigning king at this time was Edward I, known also as ‘Edward Longshanks’ and the ‘Hammer of the Scots’.

 … and found to his dismay and anger Robert the Abbot of Buckland with many of his “comonks ” amongst whom is mentioned “Robert Cohum keeper of the Palfries of the said Abbot” …

The word ‘comonks’ is noteworthy. It is not a previously recorded word; I certainly could not find it in the full Oxford English Dictionary. Perhaps it should be co-monks? Here Rachel mentions a new character – Robert Cohum. He is the ‘Keeper of the Palfries’. This is a truly medieval job. Robert was responsible for the saddle horses with the role distinguishing smaller riding horses of the wealthier classes from the bigger ‘warhorses’.

… felling and destroying the oaks growing there, to the damage of the Abbot of Tavistock his Lord. When Thomas, according to the law and custom of the country, wished to prevent these marauders; the Abbot of Buckland with his companions stood on the defensive, and with hatchets; insulted, beat, and robbed him: wounding him in the right arm with an arrow made of ash, headed with iron and steel, and robbing him of a certain outer garment called a coat.

Here we get more detail of the event from the perspective of Tavistock Abbey and Thomas than offered by Finberg and Gill. In this version, Thomas tries to prevent the oak being taken according to ‘law and custom’. It is unclear how he did this, but the emphasis is on his right to stop, what he views as the theft of the valuable timber. We have more detail too on Thomas’s accusation of being beaten and insulted as well as being shot with an arrow. I am amazed by the detail given, that the arrow was made of ash and headed in iron and steel. Apparently ash was a common wood for the making of arrows, partly because it was a very straight grained wood.

Whereupon the Abbot of Tavystoke instituted a suit against the Abbot of “Bokeland”.The defendants appeared in court, (all the comonks) and pleaded that the Abbot of Buckland had a certain weir in the Water of Tavy, and that he ought to have from the wood of Blakemoreham as much branches as were neccessary to repair the same weir,…

In this passage we have confirmed that the initial case was brought by the ‘Abbot of Tavystocke’. In the accounts by Gill and Finberg, the emphasis is put on the forester Thomas Gyrebrand making the complaint, implying he brought the suit alone, without the support of Tavistock Abbey.

… and that he had sent William de Norwy a certain monk of his, with Brother Nicholas and others to cut down branches for repairing the aforesaid weir. Also that Thomas de Gryreband insulted and attacked them; upon which the men of Buckland defended themselves, and one of them (whose name was luckily unknown) shot the unfortunate Thomas with an arrow in the arm.

Isn’t it interesting that, amongst all the details given in the case, that none of the Buckland ‘comonks’ are able to identify which amongst them had shot Thomas with an arrow? Very suspicious!

At this he fled leaving his coat, bow, and hatchet, which William de Norwy and John de la Burgh carried away, and they did it not as a robbery; as the same Thomas left them there in their custody.

According to Gill it was a man called William le Pye who Thomas accused of stealing his coat. William le Pye does not appear in Rachel’s version, instead two different men are accused of the theft. However, if we include Robert le Pye’s name in those mentioned in relation to this story then we now know the names of five Buckland monks in addition to Abbot Robert himself, these being: Robert Cohum, William de Norwy, Brother Nicholas, John de la Burgh and William le Pye. This is a wonderfully rich expansion of what we know of the cast of characters in the wood on this June day in AD 1280.

It seems that the defendants were aquitted on paying a fine of one mark; Thomas the Forester also paid a find of 1½ mark as a pledge (of his keeping the peace?).

This final statement on the case is the detail that most diverges from the versions by Finberg and Gill. Finberg is vague about the outcome of the suit, saying only that it established the right of the Abbot of Buckland to take timber from the Tavistock woodlands for the repair of the weir. Gill however says that Thomas Gyrebrand lost the case and went to prison for perjury. Evans’s account says nothing of this outcome and instead suggests that all were acquitted but had to pay fines.

What isn’t clear is if the Buckland defendants were required to pay a collective fine, or had to pay one mark each. Assuming the former then Thomas Gyrebrand really comes out of this worst. 1½ marks, according to the National Archives currency converter, would be the equivalent of around £800 today. Expressed a different way, this was equivalent to at least 100 days worth of labour for a man such as Thomas. I wonder if Thomas could afford to pay such a heavy fine or if the Abbot of Tavistock at the time, a man called Robert Colbern, helped poor Thomas out?

Assuming Gyrebrand did have the money, he would not have handed over a coin called a ‘mark’. The mark was not a coin but an account book unit for an amount of money equivalent to 160 pence. Instead, he may have handed over a groaning bag of silver pennies.

Summary

Evans’s remarks about the Abbot’s Weir in ‘Home Scenes’ expand our understanding of this historic node in the landscape, where the ancient medieval fishery of the Tavy intersects with the Elizabethan copper mine called the Virtuous Lady.

Of note, Evans shares with the reader her understanding of the place called the Abbot’s Weir. She correctly suggests that it may be linked to a monastic fishery. However, she also offers, by way of a fairy poem, a tale of an abbot who drowned in the foaming waters of the weir after attempting to steal gems from the mine. In this way Evans connects the place name to both the history of the fishery and to the mine, with its highly unusual and notable gem formations. It is for the reader to decide if the tale Evans tells is a new work of her own fiction, or one which reveals fragments of local landscape folklore.

Finally, ‘Home Scenes’ gives us a more detailed picture of the infamous fight that occurred near the Abbot’s Weir in AD 1280 than any other historian has provided in their better-known accounts. Her version differs in some respects to that of Finberg and Gill, but her story is also more particular and, as she says, she has had the benefit of seeing an ‘old document’ from which the account is known. Her telling of this tale provides richness to the Tavy fishery history. It also seems that her comments have been overlooked in the way they contribute to knowledge of the first monks who took up their ‘home scene’ at Buckland Abbey.

References

Evans, R. (1846). Home Scenes, or Tavistock and its Vicinity. Simpkin and Marshall (London) and J.L. Commins (Tavistock).

Finberg, H.P.R. 1969. Tavistock Abbey: A Study in the Social and Economic History of Devon. Augustus M. Kelley, New York.

Gill, 1968. Buckland Abbey. Third Edition. Underhill, Plymouth.