Bishop’s Castle

In The Beginning There Was A Castle…

Some three years ago we began our shift from one ancient Shropshire town and into another: out of Much Wenlock and into Bishop’s Castle. The first was a settlement that grew up outside the walls of Wenlock Priory, its inhabitants subject to rule by Prior until the Dissolution in 1542. The second evolved, or rather descended from a hillside motte and bailey castle, built around the 1080s by the Bishops of Hereford, owners of the surrounding manor lands of Lydbury North.

Notional reconstruction of the earth and timber motte and bailey of 1080s CE

The castle was deemed essential for the defence of the manor, given its location close to the Welsh border and potential raiding parties. It also served as an administrative centre for running the estate, gathering taxes and holding courts to maintain law and order. The Bishops had pastoral duties too, but for the ordinary souls who lived and worked on their lands, their worldly purpose was to produce good crops and profits for their landlords, who in turn had their own obligations to the Crown. It was big business then; a feudal corporation.

It is not clear how the bishops of a town nearly 40 miles away came to own Lydbury North, a highly profitable farming domain. But, as often happened in medieval times, there was a handy legend to lend authority to claims of possession. (In Much Wenlock it was the apparent 11th century discovery of St. Milburga’s shining seventh century bones that helped turn the town into a busy pilgrim centre).

In similar vein, the Bishop’s Castle legend has it that around the 790s CE, the original Lydbury North owner, Saxon lord, Egwin Shakehead, was so grateful to have his tremors cured at St. Ethelbert’s tomb in Hereford Cathedral, he gave the 18,000 acre estate to the bishops in perpetuity. It is a compelling blend of antique ‘authority’ and saintly miracle, probably politically expedient in the immediate post-Conquest era of the Norman regime change.

The Bishops’ motte and bailey was thus built in line with the prevailing Norman subjugation plan to establish fortifications across England and Wales. The earth and timber mottes were fairly quick to construct. Later they would be rebuilt in stone, depending on strategic need. But in any event, they were highly visible structures to remind the Saxons and Celtic Welsh of who was in charge.

It was also Norman policy to develop civilian settlements next to their castles, this to secure the site and to ensure neighbouring land was cultivated. And so began the ‘planted’ town of Bishop’s Castle with the provision of dwellings for rent. These were established either side the castle’s main access road, running down from the outer bailey walls and towards the church.

Now you need to look at the High Street with fresh eyes: strip away all those slate roofs and hugger-mugger back-lot buildings. See, not the tall eighteenth and nineteenth century facades, but low, timber-framed, thatched dwellings fronting the road. Behind each cottage would be a long narrow garden or burgage plot for the tenant’s use. At the foot of these, on both sides and running parallel to the main street, were ‘back lanes’. And beyond the lanes, to the east and west, were the town fields.

You can get the gist from this rather blurry photo from one of the town’s information boards.

By 1167 there were 47 burgages, and the town was on the up. At that time, too, the castle was rebuilt in stone, and grand enough to host both bishops’ and royal visitations.

This following reconstruction is again notional, but it suggests there was both an outer bailey with service buildings such as stables, stores, brewery and bakehouse, and a defended inner bailey surrounding the main castle keep.

Over the following centuries the ‘new town’ prospered. Weekly markets and annual fairs were well supported, and local trades, servicing both castle and general populace, likewise flourished. The bishops continued to reap the benefit of course, and it wasn’t until 1559 that they lost control. Queen Elizabeth 1 forced the then Bishop Scory to surrender his four richest manors to the Crown in return for less wealthy ones. (The Bishop had been implicated in a domestic financial scandal). The exchange included Bishop’s Castle.

At this time, too, there was a Crown survey of the castle. It recorded the presence of thirteen habitable rooms, the roofs leaded. There was a tower containing stables on the east wall, a prison tower, dovecote and other buildings. The castle had its own garden, forest and park.*

There are few signs of the castle today, apart from the Castle Green (cared for by Old Castle Land Trust), a small grassy segment of the original bailey.

The castle played no role in the Civil War of the mid 1600s. In fact by then it was reported derelict, with its roofs stripped of lead, and its stone and timbers used in developing the town’s housing. The recycling of materials probably became a matter of course. One beneficiary was The Castle Hotel, built in 1719 within the outer bailey.

Around this time, too, the site of the castle keep, which was further up the steep hill behind the hotel, was levelled to make a fine octagonal bowling green. Both the green and the restored octagonal pavilion are still in use today.

The Bowling Green Pavilion

So here we are at the bowling green at the top of the town. But for the best view we need to drop down a level to the garden above The Castle Hotel (its rooftops in the foreground).

I’m guessing I was standing near or within the site of the inner bailey when I took this photo. And am I sorry there’s no castle rampart left to clamber up and take more dramatic photos? No, not really. Castles can be exciting structures, but I’m thinking our response to them often has more to do with romance than reality.

I’ve anyway learned that the born-and-bred locals call their castle-less town ‘the Castle’, its utterance conveying a strong sense of community and long rootedness, yet with fellow-feeling enough to absorb generations of blow-ins; people like us. And so it seems that although the castle fabric may be long gone, what remains feels a better kind of stronghold.

Sources:

*The Story of Bishop’s Castle 2018 eds David Preshous, George Baugh, John Leonard, Gavin Watson, Andrew Wigley; Logaston Press

Bishop’s Castle: A Timeline of Governance Bishop’s Castle Heritage Resource Centre

Year’s End At The Castle: The Changing Seasons

Here’s how our world looked on Christmas morning we drove from our side of the Long Mynd to a family gathering on the other side. Above, the westerly face, a sinuous small portion. Then below, some easterly features. It’s a very long hill.

My sister’s home is perched on its foothills near Church Stretton. She looks out on Ragleth Hill: the backdrop to the day’s festivities, the deepening glow in ice-cold air while, indoors, lunch simmered and roasted and the wood stove crackled. Much laughter and chatter; the chink of wine glasses; rustle of wrapping paper. It was the finest Christmas Day, the sun alone a gift after the weather people’s threat of snow and earlier weeks of heavy rain.

Backtracking to mid-December and in the midst of gloomy wetness, we took ourselves off to next door Clun. Well water-proofed and wandering the lanes, we ended up at the Postcard Cafe beside the old Clun bridge. It seemed a good spot to lift the spirits:

Years ago it was a quirky little tea-room that also had trays of old postcards for sale. Now it’s bright and cosy resort, playing cool jazz and serving Brazilian coffee along with slices of the cook’s signature cardamom and ginger cake, and much else besides.

Meanwhile outside, the Clun River was threatening to leave its bed. It’s often guilty of serious flooding along the valley. Not so back in the summer, when the cafe’s clientele would spread themselves out at tables and chairs set out along the river bank, while the cafe’s staff would trot across the road with trays of cake and coffee, dodging the odd passing car. It was a pleasing reminder of warmer, drier days with no rain at all. (Though I do remember complaining about that!)

But enough of rain. Back to Bishop’s Castle, and another cold and sunny day on the High Street. Please note: this street will feature later, though not quite so emptily.

And so to Boxing Day and a lively gathering at the town’s ancient pub and brewery, The Three Tuns. It was a freezing cold morning so a big round of applause for Martha Rhoden’s Tuppenny Dish dancers and the Shropshire Bedlams morris men…

Later there was a performance of Castle Carols, by folks of Bishop’s Castle and the Clun Valley singing their hearts out. Choirmaster, local accordion-squeeze box magician, John Kirkpatrick, had schooled them well in ancient and traditional versions of English carols. He’s also the power behind the traditional dance teams.

This well reveals the Bishop’s Castle conundrum. The town so often wears a dreamy, not-much-happening face, but looks can deceive. I was thus sorry I’d missed a sighting of the local rugby club’s now annual charity fundraiser – the Boxing Day Boxer Run – wherein the brave run a circuit of the town, starting at the King’s Head pub, and wearing only their underpants. A chum told us he’d spotted twenty one of them charging up the very steep High Street. They raised over £500 this year. I’ll leave you with that image, then, as I wish all who come here a very

Happy New Year

and some cheery singing from Castle Carols:

The Changing Seasons: December 2025 Ju-Lyn at Touring My Backyard and Brian at Bushboys World are our very good hosts for posts of the month just gone. Many thanks, both.

Six On Saturday: In The December Garden

Now as the year ends, the garden is wet, wet, wet. Wet as in waterlogged, sodden, soggy and all round slithery. But yesterday we had sun. It seemed like a heavenly blessing after days of gloom and serial downpours. And suddenly, instead of finding the garden depressing, I started to notice the plants that were not only doing their best, but in their own way, putting on a show.

1) Top of the list is Nandina domestica, otherwise known as Heavenly Bamboo. It’s not a bamboo and so does not have bamboo’s bad infesting habit. The variety here is Fire Power. It’s compact, dome-like in habit, evergreen, and will grow around 18 inches tall with a two feet spread. It likes full sun, but otherwise is undemanding. It also seems unfazed by hard frost (we had several weeks of freezing weather last year). But what colours! It turns more red with the cold weather.

Number 2) is a plant that has made a good recovery after a very unpromising start. It’s a Japanese Shield Fern I bought on-line back in the spring. After ten days being lost and tossed about by the delivery company, it arrived in very sorry state, much mangled and desiccated. Now it seems very happy in its pot, making new fronds even..

3) The prize for steadfast out-of-season flowering goes to the Phlox paniculata Adessa in the front garden. This is a young plant, bought in the summer. I was not expecting it to flower until next year, but come November, spires of small white flowers appeared, and they’re still going, subtly scented too.

4) Also in the front garden is a tiny self-grown viola. It’s seeded from the pot of violas my sister gave me over a year ago. Such stalwart, exquisite little plants.

5) Another surprise is the number of foxglove plants in the garden, all self-sown. They have been growing huge during the recent wet and mostly mild weather, having recovered from a spell of heavy frosting in November. Happy thoughts of summer then.

6) Finally, and spot on for a December debut is hellebore Christmas Carol. It was a gift last year, since divided and planted out both in a pot and in the new back steps bed. It’s been so cheering on dull days, though, annoyingly, some beastie is biting holes in its petals. Last year it flowered from months and months.

Happy gardening everyone –

whether planning or planting, depending on your hemisphere

Six on Saturday And thanks and Happy Christmas to host Jim. He has shown us so many fascinating plants, to say nothing of guiding us around his stunning planting schemes.

Last Posting For Lens Artists: The Dew Pond Walk

Green lane, hollow way, sunken road: there’s a hint of mystery in these byways, not only in the names, but in the sense of times past, centuries of footfall embedded in the earth between ancient hedges; the passing of cottage folk, farmers, drovers with their herds and flocks; times when most people only had their feet to rely on if they needed to go anywhere.

This particular green lane is one of my favourite spots in Bishop’s Castle. The following photos are ones I forgot to post, taken on a late November walk. It was a brilliant day too, following a brief snow fall and several days of hard frost.

The frozen grass and leaves were crunchy under foot, gripping boots and making the walking easy as we climbed up Wintles Hill. We were heading to the dew ponds.

There are essential landmarks en route of course: a hoar-frosty Long Mynd…

The barns with their rusty roofs that always insist on having their photo taken…

The skyline ash tree that looks like an arboreal version of Munch’s ‘The Scream’…

As for the dew ponds, there are three on the hilltop, one very much in use, as you can see from the well-pocked mud around it…

One dwindling in the next door arable field and so only used by wildlife…

And the largest in a now enclosed enclave where it is producing a fine crop of bullrushes…

I don’t know why this corner of the field has been hived off, access provided by two stout kissing gates either side of it, but the Shropshire Way footpath passes through it.

It’s a good spot for holly trees, which reminds me. Holly was once grown in farm hedges both to shelter stock and as a valuable winter fodder for sheep (and sometimes cattle) when hay was in short supply. And yes, it does seem an unlikely foodstuff with all those prickles, but apparently the leaves become less barbed as the tree grows taller. And so it was the upper branches that were lopped off for the animals to feed on, the holly trees doubtless thriving on the pollarding (if our brute of a garden holly hedge is anything to go by).

Water was the other essential in hill country where streams were lacking. Dew ponds have been used at least since Neolithic times. They were also much used in mediaeval times and in the 18th-19th centuries, both periods reflecting a vibrant market for sheep wool.

Pond construction required skill and heavy labour. First a saucer shaped depression was excavated, about 3 feet (1 metre) deep. The diameter varied between 10 feet (3 metres) to 45 feet (15 metres). The whole surface was then covered with straw followed by a layer of mud which had to be puddled to seal the surface. (Canal beds were sealed in the same way, the puddling usually done by labourers in bare feet). Once sealed, rain and field run-off duly collected in the ponds.

In the past, Welsh drovers would have driven their stock through Bishop’s Castle, and on to the town and city markets of the Midlands. This next photo shows the country they would have trekked through – not so tamed and tidy in the eighteenth century. (Wales ahead, dewponds behind me). Perhaps the flocks and herds were gathered and watered at points like these before the drovers broached the town.

And it was at this moment that thoughts of watering holes had us turning on our heels and heading downhill to town. Toasted sandwiches at The Castle Hotel suddenly beckoned, plus a glass of delicious Clun pale ale.

Cheers and happy festive season to all the Lens-Artists (and their followers).

Many thanks for setting us so many diverting challenges through 2025.

Lens-Artists: Last chance for 2025 This week Patti sets the theme: last chance to post photos that missed previous posting opportunities.

A Shadowy Past

This is a fine spot for catching one’s breath after climbing Bishop’s Castle’s steep High Street. The bench sits on the footprint of a long gone market hall, built for the town by Edward, eldest son of Robert Clive (as in Clive of India) in 1781. At this time (and until 1926) the manor of Bishop’s Castle was owned by the Clive family, and above the bench is some surviving evidence. This is the Clive family’s (acquired) coat of arms: an Indian elephant and a griffin that once adorned the market hall, and so stood above the town, proclaiming the Clive wealth and power.

This, then, is the view from the bench in the Market Square. (I included it the other day on our walk around the town). All very picturesque. Except, even on a bright autumn afternoon, that Clive coat of arms sheds dark shadows that still linger.

Robert Clive (1725-1774), was the pugnacious offspring of a Shropshire land-owning family. He began his meteoric career as a clerk in the East India Company Madras in 1744. Once in India, he proved an able administrator and ruthless military commander, so efficient in fact, he is credited with securing the power of the East India Company and thus the establishment of British Rule in India.

He returned to England with a vast fortune, equivalent to some 30 million pounds by today’s values. That he was the subject of a parliamentary enquiry for corruption (including examination of his punitive policies while running the East India Company) did not stop him from securing an Irish barony and buying his way into government.

He lived in Mayfair, London and owned estates in Surrey and Ireland, but bought the Shrewsbury seat in 1761 and remained the town’s M.P. until 1774. (Shrewsbury is Shropshire’s county town and nowhere near London). He also deployed his wealth to secure the votes of Bishop’s Castle’s 150 burgesses, so ensuring that this town’s M.P. was also always a member of the Clive family fiefdom. The town already had the reputation as a ‘rotten borough’ i.e. votes for whoever could best bribe the burgesses. Now it became a ‘Pocket Borough’ ruled by Clive friends and relations, a situation that continued until 1832 when The Electoral Reform Act ended direct representation for the town and other ‘rotten boroughs.’

It’s astonishing perhaps to think how one man’s shadow can reach so far – through time and across the world. But then what about those among us today whose material ambitions and global reach affect the lives of millions; I wonder what future historians will have to say of them.

November Squares #23

Jude’s Bench Challenge Anniversary

Crab Apple Morning

A hard frost overnight, but this morning a big sun; the garden fence lit up; a glow of crab apples.

Passing on brightness among the shadows.

November Shadows #21

Snow!

We woke to snow this morning. Not too much and already melting at 8 a.m. but, even so, far too early an occurrence for the time of year.

The first photo shows the kitchen rooflight.

I think it’s likely to be an indoors day.

November Shadows #19

Becky shows us some very fabulous Norwegian shadows today.

Sun And Shadow At The Top Of The Town

Yesterday we had sun. We did! And a fine afternoon it was for a short tramp up and round the town.

As you can see, Bishop’s Castle is on a steep hill. The header view shows the High Street below the Town Hall. We’re around half way up the hill.

Now I’m walking you backwards, past the Town Hall, past Bamber’s elephant mural into the Market Square, and crossing Salop Street.

And now I’m turning you right around to look up Bull Street:

And we’re still not at the top.

Bull Street leads to Bull Lane. If we look right and downhill, there’s a fine view of farm fields, doubtless winter wheat and oil seed rape.

But we’re not going down, but left and up to the crossroads where Bull Lane meets Castle Street, Wintles Lane and Montgomery Road.

Now we’re at the top of the town, by the blue house that is growing a fine shadow tree:

And in the shade, on the house wall opposite, a tribute to our two local Morris dance teams, the Shropshire Bedlams and Martha Rhoden’s Tuppenny Dish

At the crossroads it’s decision time – to go left and back into town via Castle Street (where there is no castle, only some ground it once sat on and some more good views):

Or cross the road into Wintles Lane:

If you want to see the elephant sculpture, then you need to take the Wintles Lane option and follow the footpaths on the right. And climb another hill:

It’s also worth clambering up here for the view of the Long Mynd.

And from here, too, you can turn about and look down on the town. A fine spot on Planet Earth:

November Shadows #18

After The Storm ~ Six On Saturday

This time last week, the wind was racketing around the garden, threatening to uproot and mash the herbaceous plants. But in the end, damage was minimal. In fact some plants have been thriving since.

And especially

1) Cornelia rose

She’d been in a big pot by the greenhouse all summer. And as she was new, I’d been concerned about keeping her suitably watered during the long summer drought. She did flower a little back then, but not for long. But since the storm, and removal into a bigger, bottomless pot, she has sent out elegant arching stems laden with buds and blooms. She’s a hybrid musk, and the flowers, though small like wild roses, smell delicious. I’m hoping she will eventually fill the gap between the hedge and the greenhouse.

2) Cosmos bigger and better

The gale might have blown their frocks off, not to mention nearly scooting them out of the ground, but the Cosmos plants on the terrace wall have come back bigger and better, and are covered in new buds. I’ve been filling vases with them.

3) Tree tomatoes?

Nor did the big wind deter tomato production in the cooking apple tree. Daft, I know.

This plant was one of my rejects, a pot-bound Sungold seedling that had hung around on the garden path long after I’d potted up the main plants in early June. Eventually, I stuck it the ground , and generally forgot about it, though I did provide it with a supporting stick. Some time later I discovered that it had climbed way up into the apple tree, and so chopped off its top growth. And again ignored it. Then it began fruiting and has been doing so for many weeks – just a few tomatoes at a time. They’re delicious too.

Here it is – you can just see a strand of green fruit hanging down to the right of Jelly King crab apples, green obelisk behind.

4) The Kabuki calabrese gets the prize this week for making me smile a lot. I always find it exciting when my brassicas start to sprout. And this particular plant has survived remarkably unscathed after the summer attack of flea beetles which make holes in everything of the brassica family. The flower head isn’t exactly big enough for two. Well, not yet. Watching brief activated.

5) Grumble of the week

Well, there always has to be something. Now I’m wondering what on earth is making holes in my Swiss Chard (mature and seedling versions) and also the Perennial Spinach. I thought I’d finally protected all the edible greens from all comers with a covering of fine black netting. All summer I’d managed to fend off butterflies from the caulis and purple sprouting. And kept the pigeons at bay. But now I have holey leaves. He who is a sometime plant pathologist posits caterpillars, but I can see no obvious sign of them. Suggestions, anyone?

6) Sunbathing

And not to end with a fit of gardening disgruntlement, since the storm we’ve been having some wonderful sunny spells, warm enough to make one put autumn woollies straight back in the cupboard. Even the ladybirds have been sunning themselves. I’ve been finding them all around the garden, including some very tiny ones.

And that’s it from our Shropshire garden. Happy gardening, folks.

Please call in on our host Jim at Garden Ruminations.

Six On Saturday

Feeling Blustered: Six On Saturday

1. Storm-struck

This morning at breakfast time – with a high wind whooshing about the place and rain lashing the kitchen doors, the garden definitely looked a no-go area. I could see three dozen bean canes splayed like pick-up-sticks across the top path by the greenhouse. Drat and double drat. When I dismantled the runner bean rows a week or so ago, I had forgotten to tether them securely to the hedge. I could also see the cosmos at the top of the steps being tossed about. Since late September and the onset of rainy days, it has been flowering magnificently. Now it was having its petals blown off. More curses. And I could see that the Selinum (farthest right at the wall top) which is still flowering as well as seeding, was now rearranged at a 45 degree angle.

Not a happy gardener.

Cosmos unclothed; Helianthus blown away.

And then, quite suddenly, towards midday, the rain stopped and the sun came out, although we still have a mighty blow, with now-and-then gusts that lift you off your feet.

I did a quick tour of the garden, but there was not much to be done mid-gale, apart from attempting a bit of support for the Selinum.

2: Apples

With the wind, I was expecting another heavy crop of windfalls. But when I went out to check the damage, I was pleased to see that most of our remaining apples are still clinging sturdily to their stalks. Which is good news as I already had a stack of windfalls in the kitchen. And there’s only so much apple sauce we can eat, and all the neighbours are overwhelmed with apples too and putting them out at their gates for anyone to take. However, I recently discovered an easy apple chilli chutney recipe, and so, as gardening was out, this was what happened next.

3. In love with Michaelmas daisies

I’m not expecting the late flowering flowers to survive the wind, but that won’t include the Michaelmas daisies (Symphyotrichums/Asters whatever they’re called these days). I took this photo with the wind still blowing. Only a couple of small side stems damaged.

Its neighbour, a compact little variety (I think it could be Purple Dome) has only just decided to flower:

And at the bottom of the garden this tall white bushy version, White Ladies maybe, and…

…Aster x frikatii Monch have been flowering since the hot days of summer:

4. Great Dixter Nursery

And so like Jim, I’ve been doing some plant buying. I have recently discovered that Great Dixter House and Gardens has an online plant shop. They sell some very lovely plants (1 and 2 litre sizes) at very reasonable prices. That’s where I found Patrinia as featured in an earlier SoS. And it’s where I also found ‘Symphyotrichum Les Moutiers’ which is now planted in my front garden. We’ll have to wait nearly a year before we see it in action though. Do give the link a quick look.

5. Ongoing edibles

The salad stuff hasn’t been troubled by the unruly weather. The radicchio and endive, rocket, land cress, and Moroccan Cress lettuce are presently thriving, though everything has to be netted against pigeons.

We also have some Swiss chard, beetroot, parsnips and leeks, and a new bed of winter greens (planted out on the runner and borlotti bean bed) is looking quite good. And there are still a few climbing borlotti beans to pick in the side-garden wall bed.

6. A happy face

Now as I’m writing this, the rain is back and the wind is still blowing. So I’m finishing off with another garden stalwart. I was so pleased to find this marigold looking so fresh-faced as I went round the garden late-morning. Of course, we eat these too. Perhaps I shouldn’t mention that though.

Happy gardening folks – whatever your weather. Even on distinctly unpromising days, there’s usually something in the garden to be glad about.

Six On Saturday Please catch up with Jim at Garden Ruminations.

Tish Farrell

Writer on the Edge