Monthly Archives: September 2024

Newburgh Priory

Newburgh Priory, North Yorkshire: north front

Newburgh Priory, as the name suggests, was founded as a monastery of Augustinian canons who came to the site from elsewhere around 1150.

At the Dissolution of the Monasteries it was purchased by Henry VIII’s chaplain, Anthony Bellasis, in 1539.  It has remained the property of Bellasis’ descendants to the present day – taking a baronetcy in 1611, and the successive titles Baron, Viscount and Earl Fauconberg.

Thomas, 1st Earl Fauconberg (c1627-1700) married Oliver Cromwell’s daughter, Mary (1636 or 1637-1713) whereby hangs a tale.

Lord Fauconberg had an unerring instinct which side to back in the convoluted politics of the day.  He was a Roundhead in the English Civil War, but welcomed King Charles II at his Restoration in 1660 and when Charles’ brother James II was obliged to relinquish the Crown in 1688, the then Viscount Fauconberg supported the invitation to William of Orange to assume the Throne, for which he was made Earl Fauconberg.

In the aftermath of Charles II’s Restoration the corpses of three regicides, Oliver Cromwell (1599-1658), Henry Ireton (1611-1651) and John Bradshaw (1602-1659) were exhumed and taken to Tyburn for post-mortem execution.  The details of this unpleasant event are at Cromwell’s Body | olivercromwell.org.  The three corpses were beheaded and the heads stuck on spikes above the parapet of Westminster Hall.

Cromwell’s head was said to have blown down from the roof in a gale sometime towards the end of the seventeenth century and was picked up and hidden by a sentry.  It passed through several “owners”, until it eventually reached the Protector’s alma mater, Sidney Sussex College, Cambridge, where it was buried in an unmarked spot in the grounds in 1960 so that it would remain undisturbed.

There are bizarre stories of the identities and subsequent fates of the regicides’ headless corpses, contradicting the official version that they were buried in a pit below the gallows at Tyburn.

Alternative accounts of the location of Cromwell’s corpse began circulating in the 1720s, just as the events of 1660 passed out of the memory of the living:  it was said either to have been sunk in a lead coffin in the River Thames or buried at the battlefield of Naseby.

Alternative versions place its location in St Nicholas’ Church, Chiswick, where Mary, Lady Fauconberg and her sister Frances are buried, or in St Andrew’s Church, Northborough, where Oliver Cromwell’s widow, Elizabeth Claypole, is said to lie.

However, visitors to Newburgh Priory are shown a stone vault in the attic, where family tradition says the Protector’s headless corpse rests. 

Lady Fauconberg was said to have used her husband’s political influence to ensure that her father’s corpse was protected from further abuse.  It was quietly spirited away to Yorkshire and has remained undisturbed in the attic of Newburgh Priory to this day.

The Newburgh Priory family, now called Wombwell, have to their credit declined every request to open the vault and examine its contents.  It attracted the curiosity of King Edward VII as Prince of Wales when he stayed at Newburgh. He bribed the estate carpenter to break into the vault one night but was caught and like everyone else had to take “no” for an answer.

Richardson’s masterpiece

Pittsburgh, PA: Allegheny Courthouse, internal courtyard
Pittsburgh, PA: Allegheny Courthouse, internal courtyard

When I stepped out of the back entrance to the Omni William Penn Hotel on the first morning of my visit to Pittsburgh, I was confronted only a couple of hundred yards down the street by one of the masterpieces of American architecture by one of its master architects, the Allegheny County Courthouse and Jail (1883-88).

Henry Hobson Richardson (1838-1886) was responsible for a catalogue of memorable buildings, many of them so immediately recognisable that their distinctive style is named after him – Richardsonian Romanesque.

Though he studied at the École des Beaux-Arts in Paris he didn’t simply recreate the neoclassical Beaux-Arts style in the USA;  he distilled elements of European architecture based on the solidity of medieval Romanesque – solid, rusticated masonry, sturdy round arches (including Syrian arches which rise directly from the ground), dormer windows (including Japanese-derived eyelid dormers), extended eaves and tall towers with capped roofs.

He claimed he could design anything “from a cathedral to a chicken coop” but he’s best remembered for houses, public libraries, railway stations and grand public buildings.

Richardson himself believed that the Allegheny County Courthouse and Jail was his greatest achievement.

The courthouse stands four storeys high with a five-storey tower punctuating the main façade. An internal courtyard provides light to the interior as well as a cool space with a fountain away from the street. 

The jail is connected with the courthouse across a road by a close imitation of the Bridge of Sighs at the Doge’s Palace in Venice.

Richardson’s influence on American architecture is unmistakable, whether in his own designs, like the Glessner House in Chicago, or in those of his followers such as Louis Sullivan (1856-1924) and, at a further remove, Frank Lloyd Wright (1867-1959) in such Prairie-style houses as the Robie House, also in Chicago.

Few architects have a style named after them.

“The Pennsylvanian” – to Pittsburgh by rail

Pittsburgh, PA: Penn Station
Pittsburgh, PA: Penn Station

Rather than take a humdrum flight into Pittsburgh, I travelled by rail from Philadelphia in 2017 along what’s now called the Keystone Corridor.  It’s a much more meaningful experience.

The historic main line of the Pennsylvania Railroad from Philadelphia crosses the forbidding Allegheny Mountains, passing through formerly prosperous steel towns that, when they fell on hard times, were identified as part of the Rust Belt.

Altoona, the Pennsylvania Railroad’s railway town, is still an important centre bristling with the works and sidings of the PRR’s successor, the freight operator Norfolk & Southern, and also the location of the Railroaders’ Memorial Museum.

Five miles west of Altoona lies the Horseshoe Curve, opened in 1854, a 220° curve which is so spectacular it’s a tourist attraction.  The purpose-built observation park opened in 1879.  On the train, the attendant alerts passengers with a PA announcement. 

The Horseshoe Curve was part of a scheme to replace the Allegheny Portage Railroad, opened in 1834 to transport barges on the Pennsylvania Canal over the watershed.  Unlike British canal inclines, such as Anderton and Foxton, the vessels were lifted out of the water and conveyed by rail on flat cars:  Old Portage Railroad by George W. Storm – Allegheny Portage Railroad – Wikipedia.  Charles Dickens described riding the Portage Railroad in American Notes for General Circulation (1842):  Conquering the Alleghenies | Pennsylvania Center for the Book (psu.edu)

Johnstown has a powerful history – home of the Cambria Steel Company (founded 1852), the site of the notorious Johnstown Flood of 1889, a dam-failure which killed well over two thousand people, and the location of the Johnstown Inclined Plane of 1891, a funicular like Saltburn’s but big enough to carry a car.

Further on there are stops at Latrobe, birthplace of the banana split according to Wikipedia, and Greensburg, a coal town that seems to have reinvented itself more successfully than most, partly perhaps because it has a university campus.

Arrival in Pittsburgh is less than dignified:  the two daily arrivals and two corresponding departures run into an annex beside Daniel H Burman’s magnificent Penn Station (1898-1902) which is now an apartment block.

However, a five-minute taxi transfer took me to the Omni William Penn Hotel, where I was speedily installed in a spacious and comfortable room with a vast bed, a generous bathroom and a walk-in closet (wardrobe) which could itself almost have taken a single bed. 

The William Penn is an illustrious, civilised landmark in Pittsburgh, opened in 1916 by a consortium that included the much-disliked Henry Clay Frick, and host to a succession of US Presidents from Hoover onwards:  https://www.omnihotels.com/hotels/pittsburgh-william-penn

Barack Obama, apparently, was the first president to be barred from the top-floor presidential suite because his security people insist on occupying the floors above and below him. 

His successor appears never to have darkened the doorstep.  Perhaps he owns or leases some place else.

The tailor of taste

Burton’s Building, 783-787 Attercliffe Road, Sheffield
Burton’s Building, 582-588 Attercliffe Road, Sheffield
Burton’s Building, 783-787 Attercliffe Road, Sheffield: entrance detail © Simon Hollis

My mate Simon had an opportunity recently to inspect the interior of the former Burton’s shop at 783-787 Attercliffe Road, Sheffield and sent me a collection of images.  The shop exterior is intact though time-worn, and still bears decorative features that can be restored.  The interior, like the Banners department store a couple of hundred yards away, was simply a space for shop fittings, most of which have disappeared.

The Burton tailoring empire was founded by a remarkable man, a Russian Jew born Meshe David Osinsky (1885-1952), who emigrated to Britain at the start of the twentieth century with £100 to his name and hardly a word of English.

He began as an itinerant pedlar, and opened his first shop at Holywell Cross, Chesterfield in 1904.  From there he expanded to Mansfield and then Sheffield.  He married in 1909 and started his family in a modest but respectable cul-de-sac, Violet Bank Road in Nether Edge.

The men’s suits he sold were bought in at first, initially off-the-peg until 1906 when he offered a bespoke made-to-measure service.  By 1910 he moved to Leeds to manufacture his own garments, and in the 1920s his Hudson Road premises became the largest clothing factory in Europe with 10,500 employees.

His identity became grand as his business flourished:  his name was Morris Burton by 1909 when he applied for British citizenship;  he quickly changed to Maurice Burton, and by 1917 he was Montague Maurice Burton.  In 1931 he became Sir Montague Burton.

It’s possible, but not certain, that his suits originated the expression “full Monty” – jacket, waistcoat and two pairs of trousers.

In 1923 he hired the Leeds architect Harry Wilson to design the company’s new buildings on freehold sites in an instantly recognisable house style which in fact embraced a variety of materials and architectural features. There’s a detailed account of the company’s distinctive architecture at Burton’s ‘Modern Temples of Commerce’ | Building Our Past and A Spotter’s Guide to Montague Burton – the Tailor of Taste, Part 2 | Building Our Past.    At the time of his death there were 616 Burton’s stores.

783-787 Attercliffe Road is typical:  it’s located on a corner site next to the Adelphi Cinema.  a white faience façade divided by pilasters fronts a steel-framed structure, and there were prominent reliefs (one of which remains intact) of the contemporary Burton logo with its strapline “The Tailor of Taste”.  The first floor is top-lit because of the proximity of surrounding buildings, some of which have since been demolished.  Surviving decorative features include the foundation stone laid by Stephen Austin Burton (possibly a grandson), the mosaic-floored entrance with original cast-metal glazing bars and at least one glass panel naming Burton stores in other towns and cities.

There’s also a slightly earlier, more restrained Burton’s building on the corner of Staniforth Road at 582-588 Attercliffe Road (1931).  Stanley Howard Burton (Sir Montague’s eldest son) laid the foundation stone.  Upstairs was at one time the Astoria Ballroom, and by 1944 it was a billiard saloon.  It’s now occupied by a monumental mason, Madani Memorials.

The proximity of two Burton’s tailor’s shops tells us that Attercliffe folk were not rich but they were prudent, and many of them had cash and believed that “best is cheapest”.

Burton’s brand is now found only online, but around a couple of hundred of Harry Wilson’s buildings survive, though in England and Wales only half a dozen are listed, largely because English Heritage takes a dim view of good buildings stripped of their interiors.

Let’s hope the new owner of 783-787 Attercliffe Road treats the building kindly, because it commemorates the time when an ordinary working man could first afford a “Sunday-best” outfit as an alternative to his workaday clothes.