About Firbeck in 1900
The following newspaper extract from the Leeds Mercury details Firbeck as it was in August, 1900.
by HARWOOD BRIERLEY
About ten or eleven miles to the south of Doncaster is Firbeck, the home of the St. Legers. The first glimpse of this two-squired village from the copses and pheasant-covers around it is entrancing. I question if the North has anything more delightfully sylvan to show, and, seeing that Firbeck is grouped with Roche Abbey and Sandbeck House - the seat of the Earl of Scarbrough - as the village for both, I question if it has not been unduly neglected by tourists.
Firbeck is undoubtedly, one of those places that a resident poet, novelist, or naturalist of pre-eminence would soon be able to turn into classic ground, and all the world would come to it as to a shrine, and write about it. It is easy to imagine "Mosaics of Firbeck Vale" or the "Natural History of Firbeck" as it is that of Selborne or Nunburnholme. However, the village can lay claim to not a few celebrities besides General St. Leger. It lies sequestered in a dimple of the land between two estates, and may be said to have two squires, who have been identified from time immemorial with military, parliamentary, and magisterial positions; with horses, with foxes, with pheasants, with rooks; with classical libraries, antiquarian literature, and "Belles lettres."
Those parklands and treescapes, ranging up to the village doors, tell a story of sylvan luxury and leisure. Park Hill estate, "Le masion de St. Leger," has been the scene of many elaborate farming experiments. Imagine a village with a farming, military, horse racing squire at one end, and a pious justice of the peace combined in the person of an antiquarian "squarson" at the other end. Such a village has Firbeck been.
In the first place, we have Sir Ralph Knight, a man of history, who is said to have entertained General Monk on his march from Colstream to London.
Park Hill, on the opposite side of the church to Firbeck Hall, was bought, in 1745, by Major-General Thomas Fowke, Governor of Gibraltar, a post now occupied by Sir George White of Ladysmith fame. Park Hill was ultimately purchased by General (at that time Colonel) St. Leger in whose family it has remained to the present time. It was, however, let for some years to Holland Watson, a genealogist of some renown.
At the other mansion lived a descendant of the redoubtable Sir Ralph Knight - Henry Gally Knight - the "Yorkshire Ruskin." His "Magnum Opus," "The Ecclesiastical Architecture of Italy," with 81 illustrations, and also several classical poems, appear to have been written at Firbeck Hall. His father, Dr Gally Knight, prebendary of Norwich and Gloucester, also lived here, and collected a valuable classical library. His publications are quoted in Nicholas's Literary Anecdotes. An earlier owner of Firbeck Hall was Sir Francis Fane who wrote three poems for Tate's Miscellany, and whose biographer volunteers the information that he was able to write comedy tragedy just as he pleased. Dr Joseph Hunter observes that his marriage with a daughter of Rushworth, a useful 17th century analyst, will preserve his name to future generations better than his own plays and lyrics.
And then there was old Jonathan Staniforth, who invented¹ a ploughing machine, patented it, and had a lawsuit. The lawsuit sickened him of the world, so he diverted his thoughts from mechanics to music, and for years the walls of Firbeck Hall were haunted by violin scrapings and the voices of an old bachelor's three maiden sisters. The Rev Henry Gladwyn Jebb , lately resident here, was Firbeck's "squaron," a magistrate, and a Fellow of the Society of Antiquaries.
Park Hill, on the south - west side of the village, is a stone mansion standing in a park of about 500 acres, noted at one time for it's beautiful pleasure - grounds. Originally, however, it was known as Gowk Hill, gowk in this case being a vulgar name for cuckoo, though it more than usually signifies an awkward fellow - or, as Burns has it, "Conceited gowk, stuffed up wi' windy pride!" Nonus Parker changed the name of the estate to Park Hill in 1685. In 1745 it was bought by Major General Thomas Fowke, Governor of Gibraltar. Colonel Anthony St. Leger (who afterwards became a general) made his appearance here in 1766. He it was who founded the St. Leger race at Doncaster, as popular a race in the north country as the Derby is in the south. There is no annual event in Yorkshire so typical of the county and so well worth attending by those who wish to see Yorkshiremen "en masse" as the St. Leger in early September. A sweepstakes was originated in 1776 by the then Colonel St.Leger of Firbeck, and won by the Marquess of Rockingham's Allabalcula. In the following year the Doncaster grand stand was built. In 1778, the race, the conditions of which were identical with those governing the aforesaid Sweepstakes, first received the name of St. Leger, the proposal to so designate it emanating from the Marquess of Rockingham , whose horse, Sampson, was the first successful competitor for these stakes. Firbeck does not look as though it could ever indulge in mundane excitements, but it must be subject to flutters during Doncaster race week, for to the Leger race public curiosity and anxiety not only throughout England but in almost every colony and European country have year by year been unremittingly directed. Every sporting man and turfite has heard of the Park Hill Stakes, which emanate, of course, from St. Leger of Park Hill, Firbeck - a man who must have been the means of bringing more money into Doncaster in the month of September than any other individual living or dead. The famous family has entertained at Firbeck sporting royalty and nobility from the days of the Georges downwards. The present owner is Colonel John St. Leger, D.L., J.P.
In spite of Firbeck's model appearance, there are a cottages of the old stamp left, in and between. There are sites of half a score tumble - down old places; but everybody now appears to have got at least a weather-tight roof. The model cottages - of which the post-office is one - all boast trim porches lined with shelves for plants, where you may see tradescantias, real shamrocks, crumbs of comfort, Aaron's beard, and several other old favourites. In course of time these modern domiciles will have settled down into quaint picturesque objects, while villages which have been since rebuilt will be deplored for their crude modernness, and compared unfavourably with the time sustained aspect of Firbeck. Still there are good old folk here, and some pretty young ones.
Phyllis, the farmer's nut-brown maid, sallies forth from her little ivy green sentry-box of a porch in an evening armed with a green, long-necked watering-can, and proceeds diligently to besprinkle the floral jewels growing within the enclosed little paradise of butterfly and bee. Sweet-williams, sweet-peas, perennial phloxes, standard roses, hollyhocks, wallflowers, pinks, carnations, picotees, dahlias, stocks, and asters all revel there in their season. The operation of watering these flowers, whether they really require it or not, demands both time and care for it's satisfactory accomplishment; the time and care, in fact, of two persons. For as punctually as as the dainty blue print frock appears in the garden plot, so surely appears, over the hedge, the brown face of a fairly happy swain; one who looks as though he had never played at "I languish." A running fire of banter ensues at the end of which the gentleman of bronze is to be found in the garden beaded all over with spray from the green can. He may have sung oftener than once the hymn of Moody and Sankey in which occurs the line, "let some droppings fall on me," and now that he has got them we suppose he is content; anyhow he is so happy at having achieved his topmost desire that he can afford to give and forgive anything. Phyllis has punished the boisterous spirit, and in her turn can well afford to give that swain her greeting in the cosyest manner conceivable, for she knows that old Mrs Links is watching them from own door opposite, where she sits on a stool knitting. Old Mrs Links minds the time when she, too, was young; but she is not so jealous as to be unable to rise to the happiness of others. But that is, of course, another story. She will tell you in her own words that a tombstone in the churchyard records a remarkable double instance of longevity; viz., Isabel Robinson. who died in November. 1694. aged 114 years; and James, her son. died 1730. aged 109 years. These she claims as her "mother's folk."
Firbeck has two squires at a time, and Mrs Links has lived to see a lot come in and a lot go out. The last occupier of the Hall was the squirson of Firbeck, the Rev H. G. Jebb, M.A., J.P., and a fellow of the Society of Antiquaries. One wonders if he was a sporting parson, or if a staid magistrate and staider antiquary he walked counter to race-course morality as supported by his neighbour, St. Leger, on the far side of the church. "Them as sows the wind." says old Mrs. Links, "shall reap the whirlwind; an' I've heard my mother say St. Leger's property was all knocked down one night and trampled on by a winged horse that breathed fire." "Ay," observes the old road mender, who had just broken his hammer-head off, and was endeavouring to extract the wood stump with a knife, "I remember it a very different sort o' place, wi' every cottage thatched an' tum'lin' to bits, like t' chech tourer wur a-doin'. whya, w' are all spic an' span now, an' w' are goin' to hev a new chech touer to match. An' t' inn's as nice as ninepence sin' James Martin came tiv it through t' Hall, where he made old Mrs Jebb a rare butler, an' was a mon all full o' smiles like t' sun i' the sky above us. God bless James! He's right un fur t' Black Lion, an' it's cleanest hoose y' ever put your head inti."
To return to Jonathan Staniforth, one of the ancient squires of Firbeck, who turned out a musical madman. Dr. Miller came to the Hall one day, and found the old man - who was upwards of 70 years of age, and exceedingly meagre in his figure - playing Handel on the violin. Utterly dead to the world after the lawsuit he had had respecting his patented ploughing - machine, Jonathan Staniforth devoted not less than eight hours a per day to the practice of music on a common Dutch fiddle not worth more than half a guinea. His thin legs had become distorted by sitting most of his time in one position. With this humble companion he used to work hard every morning on the old solos of Vivaldi, Tessarini, Corelli, and other masters. Evening was reserved for the mere recreation of accompanying one of his three ancient unmarried sisters, who sang most of the songs from Handel's Italian operas, composed soon after his arrival in England. She warbled her selections from beginning to end, and, at the period of an air, when brother Jonathan stopped scraping, she raised her eyes seraphically to conclude with an extemporaneous oadence of great length, which even the critical Dr Miller denominated perfectly original. A Mr Brett, tenor from Drury Lane Theatre, came down to Firbeck to exchange the language of vocal melody with Miss Staniforth, but they soon fell foul of each other as being representatives of the old style and the new.
¹ Refer to The Rotherham Plough.
Ward Family of Letwell and Firbeck» »
Parkhill