York Minster, south front, with ‘fiddler’s turret’. Photo: William Pumphrey, 1853 (city archives: photo information)

We returned to the front of the cathedral on our way homeward, and an old man stopped us, to inquire if we had ever seen the Fiddler of York. We answered in the negative, and said that we had not time to see him now; but the old gentleman pointed up to the highest pinnacle of the southern front, where stood the Fiddler of York, one of those Gothic quaintnesses which blotch the grandeur and solemnity of this and other cathedrals.

— wrote Nathaniel Hawthorne, during a visit to York in 1857. He’d just been to St William’s College, nearby (as discussed on yesterday’s December Daily).

On originally reading this, I assumed that the fiddler was some detail that is still there, on the exterior of York Minster. But apparently not.

Something I wouldn’t have thought much about if I hadn’t been looking for photographs from the 1850s in the online collection from the city archives. I found the photo above, and its accompanying information, which includes mention of the fact that ‘the pinnacle above the Rose Window (which was adorned with a statue of a man playing the fiddle) has been removed.’

I was rather curious about this. Clearly, back in 1857, the fiddler was seen as interesting enough to be pointed out by a friendly local to a visitor who was passing by, and he’s not just any old fiddler, he’s referred to as the ‘Fiddler of York’.

I thought I should try to find out more.

An often relied-upon source, Drake’s Eboracum (1736), says that

‘A little spiral turret, called the fidler’s turret, from an image of a fidler on the top of it, was taken some few years ago from another part of the building, and placed on the summit of this end, which has added much to its decoration.’ 
– (source here, and quoted in Notes and Queries, 1858)

A guidebook to York, published in 1857, refers to the fiddler figure in passing, in a description of the south transept:

the apex is surmounted by a small spire, commonly called the Fiddler’s turret, from a small effigy of a fiddler which crowns it. This effigy was removed from some other part of the building, and placed here.
– (source)

An earlier guidebook, by William Hargrove, published in 1818, also mentions this detail on the roof of the south transept:

The summit is crowned with neat and elegant turrets; on the centre one of which is the figure of a fiddler—that, however, is a singular accompaniment for a place of worship, and does not tend to increase the dignified appearance of the sacred edifice.
– (source)

Like Nathaniel Hawthorne, William Hargrove seems to have viewed the fiddler as rather offensive/inappropriate.

Also in agreement with that view is the author of ‘Browne’s New and enlarged guide for strangers and visitors to York Minster’ (?1870?):

the pinnacle, with the figure of a grotesque fiddler (instead of a cross) upon the top of it, placed there in the last century, is unsuitable to the solemnity of the style which prevails on the lower parts of the front.
– (source)

There’s some information available on the earlier history of the figure, why it was carved and why it was there in the first place, in connection with a former Archbishop of York, Lancelot Blackburne, apparently. But I’m more interested in when and why it was removed.

And here perhaps is the answer, in an extract from The Building News and Engineering Journal, Volume 26 (1874):

YORK MINSTER.— The restoration of the south transept of York Minster has been progressing slowly, but satisfactorily, for two years, and is now approaching completion, so far as the roof, the east and west clerestory walls, and the interior generally is concerned, little having as yet been done with the exterior. […] The erection of the parapet walls above the clerestories has been completed, and the cement gutters are being laid at the base of the roof on each side, preparatory to being covered over with lead. The pinnacle surmounting the south transept gable, and terminating with a fiddler, will shortly undergo restoration, in the execution of which the musician will be removed and replaced by a cross in harmony with the character of the architecture.
– (source)

The fiddler figure is still around somewhere inside the Minster, apparently, ‘on the wall of the South Quire Aisle of the Minster, and apparently has been there since 1946′, according to a mention in the archives of the York Press (18 October 2005). This was in answer to a query from a reader in Australia who was trying to find out the history of the York Minster Fiddler, as ‘she has an old door knocker with a fiddler on the front from the great cathedral’.

A search in Google Images provides many images of the York Minster fiddler, some in stone (presumably the original). It has also been represented in china, and indeed on a door knocker. Perhaps a few decades ago. Perhaps around the time that you could also buy cigarette lighters made from bits of Minster stone.

So Drake, writing in the eighteenth century, thought the fiddler on the south transept ‘added much to its decoration’. Several later observers clearly disagreed. But after the removal, there was enough interest left in the figure of the fiddler for it to be reproduced in items for sale, a memento of the Minster.

As always, there’s a whole other layer or several that I could go into, but this daily posting thing means sticking to deadlines and word limits, particularly now it’s so late it’s nearly into the next day. But it’s like that, York, isn’t it.  So many stories, so many layers.

. . . . .

This is December Daily number 15. If you appreciate this month’s mix of new things, old things, York things large and small, then virtual coffees are welcome, thank you.

The post A fiddler on the roof, York Minster appeared first on York Stories.

Courtyard of St William’s College, 1870s. (city archives, image information)

After yesterday’s December Daily I’ve been reading more of Nathaniel Hawthorne’s English notebooks, and this has led me into an afternoon of researching/reading, and gathering together, from online searching, some handsome old images, and a few thoughts (see below).

In 1857 Nathaniel Hawthorne paid another visit to York, again by train, after ‘a miserable hour in and about the railway station of Leeds.’

It then took ‘an hour or two’ on the train to get to York from Leeds. (Journey times are generally a bit shorter now, thankfully.)

Again the journal contains vivid and interesting descriptions of York as it was in the 1850s. On this visit he describes in some detail St William’s College, and the state it was in at that time.

We put up at the Black Swan, and before tea went out, on the cool bright edge of evening, to get a glimpse of the cathedral, which impressed me more grandly than when I first saw it, nearly a year ago. Indeed, almost any object gains upon me at the second sight. I have spent the evening in writing up my journal,—an act of real virtue.

After walking round the cathedral, we went up a narrow and crooked street, very old and shabby, but with an antique house projecting as much as a yard over the pavement on one side,—a timber house it seemed to be, plastered over and stained yellow or buff. There was no external door, affording entrance into this edifice; but about midway of its front we came to a low, Gothic, stone archway, passing right through the house; and as it looked much time-worn, and was sculptured with untraceable devices, we went through. There was an exceedingly antique, battered, and shattered pair of oaken leaves, which used doubtless to shut up the passage in former times, and keep it secure; but for the last centuries, probably, there has been free ingress and egress. Indeed, the portal arch may never have been closed since the Reformation. Within, we found a quadrangle, of which the house upon the street formed one side, the others being composed of ancient houses, with gables in a row, all looking upon the paved quadrangle, through quaint windows of various fashion. An elderly, neat, pleasant-looking woman now came in beneath the arch, and as she had a look of being acquainted here, we asked her what the place was; and she told us, that in the old Popish times the prebends of the cathedral used to live here, to keep them from doing mischief in the town. The establishment, she said, was now called “The College,” and was let in rooms and small tenements to poor people. On consulting the York Guide, I find that her account was pretty correct.

I wasn’t able to find photographs of the building from the 1850s — the earliest in the city archives online collection is from a bit later (see the top of the page). Another from the later nineteenth century shows the exterior and the streetscape around it, presumably similar then (before clearances of buildings to the right of the photo) as it was when our 1850s visitor visited.

St William’s College (left), 1890s (city archives: image information)

We also have, from the pre-photography age, etchings by Henry Cave (1780-1836), published in 1813.

The building’s impressive doorways (one to the street, and one in the courtyard) were recorded by Henry Cave in the early part of the 19th century, and by photographers many decades later, before the building’s restoration in 1906.

Doorway in St William’s College, Henry Cave (from ‘Antiquities of York’, 1813)

Doorway, St William’s College, circa 1900 (city archives: more information)

The most obvious difference in the intervening time (almost a century), is the blackened look of the stonework.

The main doorway, onto the street, was also recorded by Henry Cave, in the early years of the nineteenth century:

Gateway to St William’s College, Henry Cave (Antiquities of York, 1813)

… And by a photographer around a century later:

Gateway to St William’s College, early 20th century, just before restoration (city archives: image information)

The main doorway to St William’s College looks nothing like that now, and is apparently a twentieth century recreation of the previous eroded stonework and detail. Something I wouldn’t have thought about if it wasn’t for the discovery of Nathaniel Hawthorne’s notebooks.

The building obviously has had a long and interesting history, and much of this is covered in detail in various sources, the conventional kind of history: establishment, church, rich families, etc.  Who inherited it, who they were related to. Generally mentioning only in passing, if it’s mentioned at all, how the building in its more dilapidated state for many years housed some of ‘the city’s poor’.

Another photo from the city archives, of the inner courtyard, is again from some decades after Nathaniel Hawthorne’s visit, but dates from the time before the building was restored, and presumably the ‘poor’ of the city were still occupying it. I had to include it, even though this page is quite long already, as to me it reminds us that the nineteenth century residents of the city weren’t just distant ancestors looking rather awkwardly at cameras when someone with a camera arrived. Here, in the courtyard, is a garden, made by someone, presumably just one of those ‘poor’ people.

St William’s College courtyard, with plants, and a cat (city archives: image information)

Perhaps on this occasion they were behind that plant-covered window, having made an impressive potted garden, neatly, in the space available. As many city dwellers try to do now.

Quite a garden there, clustered in the courtyard of the old St William’s College, while a cat on the cobbles perhaps shows some interest in the photographer.

. . . . .

Various references and links should probably be added in, but later, it’s been a long day of staring at the screen. The December Daily postings are chugging along nicely, thanks to Nathaniel Hawthorne’s fascinating work, and leading on in a pleasing way to other things, expanding. If you’re appreciating these daily postings, which I thought I’d do for various reasons (more here), I always appreciate your virtual coffees, (particularly at this time of the month when the payment for the monthly hosting bill leaves my bank account).

The post St William’s College, and Nathaniel Hawthorne’s visit in 1857 appeared first on York Stories.

Lendal ferry and the Ouse, 1854. Photo: Roger Fenton (city archives)

Yesterday’s December Daily included descriptions of the Black Swan on Coney Street by Nathaniel Hawthorne, an American novelist and short story writer.

He was appointed US consul in Liverpool in 1853 and spent some years in England. During that time he seems to have gone all over the country by train, and recorded in his journals his impressions of the places he visited, including York.

I thought I’d include some more extracts from those journals, recently discovered. They convey an interesting ‘sense of place’, from a visitor’s point of view, from this particular visitor’s point of view.

These extracts date from a visit to York in 1856:

Before reaching York, first one old lady and then another (Quaker) lady got into the carriage along with me ; and they seemed to be going to York, on occasion of some fair or celebration. This was all the company I had, and their advent the only incident. It was about eleven o’clock when I beheld York Cathedral rising huge above the old city, which stands on the river Ouse, separated by it from the railway station, but communicating by a ferry (or two) and a bridge. I wandered forth, and found my way over the latter into the ancient and irregular streets of crooked, narrow, or of unequal width, puzzling, and many of them bearing the name of the particular gate in the old walls of the city to which they lead. There were no such fine, ancient, stately houses as some of those in Shrewsbury were, nor such an aspect of antiquity as in Chester; but still York is a quaint old place, and what looks most modern is probably only something old, hiding itself behind a new front, as elsewhere in England.

From his description, it seems that instead of getting the ferry (pictured above), he crossed the river via Ouse Bridge (no Lendal Bridge at this time), so perhaps then headed down Coney Street, as he states that he  then found his way, ‘by a sort of instinct, as directly as possible’, to York Minster.

Minster south front, 1853. Photo: William Pumphrey (city archives)

Trying to access the Minster, he goes in by the wrong door — hard to imagine this now, when the Minster is a much-visited tourist attraction, with all visitors carefully guided in to a well-signposted entrance.

He does of course describe the Minster in detail, and his impressions of it. Including that ‘in England, the interior of a cathedral, nine days out of ten, is a vast sullenness, and as chill as death and the tomb.’ Having left the Minster he wanders around a bit, and is helped to find the way back to the railway station by a friendly local.

After emerging from this great gloom, I wandered to and fro about York, and contrived to go astray within no very wide space. If its history be authentic, it is an exceedingly old city …
York is still partly surrounded with a wall, and has several gates, which the city authorities take pains to keep in repair. I grew weary in my endeavor to find my way back to the railway, and inquired it of one of the good people of York, — a respectable, courteous, gentlemanly person, — and he told me to walk along the walls. Then he went on a considerable distance; but seemed to repent of not doing more for me; so he waited till I came up, and, walking along by my side, pointed out the castle, now the jail, and the place of execution, and directed me to the principal gateway of the city, and instructed me how to reach the ferry. The path along the wall leads, in one place, through a room over the arch of a gateway, — a low, thick-walled, stone apartment, where doubtless the gatekeeper used to lodge, and to parley with those who desired entrance.

I found my way to the ferry over the Ouse, according to this kind Yorkist’s instructions. The ferryman told me that the fee for crossing was a halfpenny, which seemed so ridiculously small that I offered him more; but this unparalleled Englishman declined taking anything beyond his rightful halfpenny. This seems so wonderful to me that I can hardly trust my own memory.

In focusing on the changes, as we do, as I’ve done so often on here, we can perhaps forget the things that continue, haven’t changed. It’s still quite common for the ‘Yorkist’s’ and the people of anywhere to pause and help the lost traveller where they can, and to only take what’s ‘rightful’.

. . . . .

I’m continuing with December Daily. Thank you to everyone who has supported these pages recently with virtual coffees, and to everyone who appreciates careful, thoughtful words — whether mine or someone else’s.

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