HISTORY OF WHITEHORSE FARMHOUSE,
MORTON-ON-THE-HILL, NORWICH, NORFOLK.
Researched and Written by
Mike & Susy Scott
Copyright 2012 Mike & Susy Scott
Smashwords Edition
* * *
ISBN: 978-0-9839677-2-9
(eBook version 1)
Visit the Author Website:
www.findingjingo.com
Also by Susy Scott
Finding Jingo
Reviews for Finding Jingo
“A treasure chest of courage and honesty”
Susy & Mike’s story inspires you to embrace opportunity, to travel and live life to the full. Her cleverly crafted narrative is warmly insightful and funny. It reflects their bond with Jingo with vivid detail and lively dialogue. I was gripped from the beginning by the spirit and trust they share and their commitment to their canine companion. This is no Disneyesque novel; this is a beautifully interleaved and resonant memoir. You will be touched by this outstanding debut. Geraldine Rees
“By Jingo!"
“Three things are likely to happen when you read this book; your bottom lip will undoubtedly tremble, Moscow will definitely be added to the 'must visit' list and you will want to have your very own long haired Jack Russell (possibly called Jingo). Susy's narrative, alternating between herself and Jingo, works exceedingly well. Enchanted from the beginning I read with a thirst, eager to know the outcome of Jingo's adventures. A gorgeously written story which is so captivating, at times I wanted to join the search for Jingo and reach for the vodka!" Louise Walding
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Disclaimer
This book is the work of the authors’ experience and opinions. Occasionally names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously, and in those cases any similarities to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locations, are entirely coincidental.
History of Whitehorse Farmhouse, Morton-on-the-Hill, Norwich, Norfolk
Copyright © 2012, Mike & Susy Scott
First Edition.
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form, or by any means, electronic or mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of the copyright owners.
History
of
Whitehorse Farmhouse
Morton-on-the-Hill
Norwich
Norfolk
Researched and Written
by
Mike & Susy Scott
Introduction
Whitehorse Farmhouse, Morton-on-the-Hill, is located about eight and a half miles (13km) north-west of Norwich, and served as an Inn from the late seventeeth century through to 1912. References to “the Horse” and “the Hart” can be found in Parson Woodforde’s Diaries, a charming observation of English rural life written by James Woodforde (1740-1803) the Rector of All Saints Parish Church, in the neighbouring village of Weston Longeville [sic] (edited by John Beresford 1924). Now a private residence, it is appealing to imagine the old farmhouse as Morton’s local hostelry and absolutely central to the heart of village life - a world away from great political events such as the emergence of America and the French Revolution. Undoubtedly aware of such important affairs, the parishioners of Morton and Weston would have remained preoccupied with the events of everyday life, portrayed so delightfully by Parson Woodforde during 1775 to 1803.
By the late 1800s, the British Empire dominated over one quarter of the World’s population and England herself had undergone rapid economic change. Agricultural life had declined dramatically during the Industrial Revolution and although Morton had remained largely unscathed by industrial development, White Horse Inn’s licensees were no longer solely “victuallers”. During the Victorian era, they diversified, increasing their skills and prosperity by acquiring surrounding farmland and branching out into other trades, shopkeeping, for example, or trading as the village wheelwright or carpenter.
As with so many English villages over the centuries, a large part of Morton and Weston land belonged to the local manorial lord and his descendants. At the turn of the twentieth century White Horse Inn, although still under the ownership of the Berneys of Morton Hall, is under lease to Bullard & Watts, a large local brewery. However, the lease is not renewed upon its expiry in 1912, and a year later, on the eve of World War I, White Horse “Beerhouse” is recorded in Eynesford Licence Registers (C1878-1929) as “closed” and reverts back to the Berney family.
Mike and I purchased the property in 1983 from the Masons who upon vacating the farmhouse remembered to take the horse but forgot the dog. (Yes. They did come back for him later that morning!) The Masons had purchased from “F.E.P. Taylor” who in turn had bought the farmhouse in 1960 directly from “J.V Berney Esq. & Others”. From the inherited file of documents and plans, we learned the farmhouse had been completely refurbished during the early1960s but a chance meeting in 1995 with the daughter of one of the last residents of the Inn, Mrs Winifred Bayfield, gave us a real insight into the historical significance of the property.
The Nineteenth Century
As a very young child, Mrs Bayfield had lived at White Horse Inn with her parents, whose marriage on 26th December 1898 is recorded in Morton-on-the-Hill’s Parish Register. In a letter written in 1967 to a local newspaper, Mrs Bayfield comments:
Freeman’s
of Norwich: Advert for Hollow Biscuits (Grace’s Guide)
“The Morton White Horse (de-Licensed I believe about 1912) ... is now a very picturesque private dwelling …The public kitchen had rather a unique partition carved to imitate organ pipes. These were often the subject for discussion and conjecture. The inn was used as a halfway house for the men driving cattle to Norwich Market on Saturdays. Three or four bedrooms were kept available for them the beds being aired with an old fashioned warming pan and the cattle were housed in the high stone-walled yards which are still standing. Travellers and packmen who called to rest and bait their horses often made a meal of the succulent Hollow Biscuits … and a piece of cheese washed down with a glass of beer from the deep cellar at the back of the house.”
Significantly, Mrs Bayfield’s mother’s name is Alice Susanna Blyth. When we looked at Alice’s marriage certificate, her father is recorded as John Frederick Blyth (deceased) and in William White’s 1845 edition of History Gazette and Directory of Norfolk, John Blythe is recorded as “Shpr., wheelwright., and vict. White Horse;”
Backtracking nine years to 1836, Eynesford Hundred’s Licence Registers for Morton-on-the-Hill records John Blyth, aged 55 in 1841, as licensee & wheelwright of the “White Horse” from 1836 to 1846. Mrs Frances Blyth, presumably his wife, aged 67 in 1851, is shown as licensee from 1851 to 1858. She broadens her horizons and becomes a “shopkeeper and farmer of 28 acres” and is probably helped by one William Moore. Reference to William of White Horse, Morton, in the Licence Registers, suggests William works and lodges at the Inn. He’s not listed as a licensee, and it’s reasonable to assume they are running the Inn together, possibly as man and wife.
After William dies in November 1857 it is unsurprising that just a year later Mrs Blyth is no longer shown as the licensee. Is she unable to run the busy village Inn alone? She’s certainly capable, having lived at White Horse Inn since 1836, surviving both her husband, John Blyth, and William Moore. It is more likely that Mrs Blyth at the age of 74 in 1858, either moves out of White Horse Inn or dies. Although we found no gravestone for Mrs Blyth in the local churchyard, the Licence Registers note “William was buried at Ringland” in the neighbouring village.
Robert Thomas, carpenter, becomes the Inn’s licensee following Mrs Blyth’s departure, and during his tenure, Robert acquires more surrounding land: in1865 he is recorded as farming 40 acres, whereas his successor, Henry Snelling, and a succession of Snellings after him, are shown as farming 44 acres from 1869 through to 1882.
The Eighteenth Century
The Diaries, a wonderful primary source, rounds out the atmosphere in Morton. In 1780, on October 15, Parson Woodforde writes:
“Will [one of his servants] came home drunk this evening after Supper from … Morton and he and my head Maid had words and got to fighting. Will behaved very saucy and impudent and very bold in his talk to me. Shall give it to him to-morrow for the same.”
Although not obvious here, everybody in villages like Morton and Weston observed rank, and yet they are at ease with each other because their lives are so entwined by patronage and obligation. For example, three years earlier, in 1777, there is a joint effort to clean out the village pond. On September 16 the Parson records:
“... We were obliged to sink the engine lower, and in doing of the same in raising the engine one of the triangular Poles broke and very near killed my man Will Coleman, he was knocked down by the Pole falling on his Head but it only stunned him for some time. I then gave him a dram and he was pretty soon well.”
Parson Woodforde lives in an England arguably referred to as Classical or Neoclassical where order, proportion, and above all, reason must control the passions, as observed by the Parson a few days after the village pond incident. He writes on September 21:
“ ... In the afternoon my dog Pompey came home shot terribly, so bad that I had her hanged directly out of her Misery. My greyhound Minx who was with her did not come home and we suppose she has met with the same fate. It is supposed that Mr Townshend’s gamekeeper who goes by the name of black Jack, shot Pompey. ...”
Genteel society believed that underlying the universe were a set of laws that could be understood by man’s reason. Rank is strictly observed and the role of the clergy is, to a certain extent, governed by aristocratic patronage. In James Woodforde’s case, however, he is an Oxford man and his living (a position in the church) is endowed by his College for £300 per annum. Parson Woodforde understood the philosophy embracing the combination of Christian morality and rationalism. Undoubtedly mourning the loss of his dogs, the Parson does not overreact. Instead we read that a week later he is “very politely received” in the nearby village of Honingham where:
“ ... The Hon: Charles Townshend handsomely apologised for my dogs being shot by his gamekeeper, and told me moreover that whenever I had an Inclination for a Hare I was very welcome ...”
Patronage and obligation – observed by all ranks in society. Late seventeenth century maps clearly establish White Horse as an Inn, and there are about thirty or so references to Morton and its inhabitants, and the surrounding parishes in the Diaries. Of particular interest is mention of the “Morton Carrier” suggesting that a post-chaise or similar horse-drawn carriage travelled to Norwich and used the White Horse Inn as a staging post. Parson Woodforde records on December 24th Monday 1792:
“Two Letters came to us today brought from Morton left there by a Carrier … The Carrier charged 2d for each letter …”
The Licence Registers show “White Horse Beerhouse” as being owned by G W Berney of Morton Hall, and “included in the sale of Morton Estate in 1815” but “given as the White Hart”. Were there two separate inns in Morton-on-the-Hill? References to the “Horse” and the “Hart” can be confusing. Parson Woodforde refers to “the Hart just by the Church” on May 3 in 1780. But in this case, the Parson is referring to his living in “Weston Longeville”. Too many “Harts”! Perhaps this is the reason Morton’s “White Hart” subsequently changes to “White Horse”. Present day public houses similarly change names. A contemporary example – and a smart marketing move - is Weston Longville’s current public house, The Parson Woodforde, still occasionally referred to as “the Ringers”. Renovated in 1987, The Parson Woodforde was previously named The Five Ringers.
Stepping back for a moment to 1815. This is the year when Napoleon is defeated by Wellington in the Battle of Waterloo ending the long period of wars with the French. Wars are expensive, and it is highly likely that loss of funds or loss of life, probably both, led to sale and acquisition of land and property, similar to Morton’s Inn, throughout England as fortunes rose and fell during these turbulent times.
The End of an Era
Robert Arthurton, farmer, and the last licensee of White Horse Inn from 1882 to 1912 now appears to be an employee of one of the region’s major brewers, Bullard & Watts. The Morton Hall Berneys still own the Inn but at some time the Estate leases out the property to the brewery until 11 October 1912 when the lease expires, or is not renewed.
As mentioned earlier, Mrs Winifred Bayfield recalled living at the Inn as a small child with her parents at the turn of the century. It is likely they were employed either by the Brewery or Robert Arthurton. Mrs Bayfield’s mother, Alice (nee Blyth) her grandfather, John Frederick Blyth and great grandfather, John Blyth had, during the nineteenth century, lived and worked at White Horse, and it would be natural for the family to continue working there during Robert Arthurton’s tenure.
In 1913, on the eve of World War I, White Horse Inn closes its doors for the last time but remains under the ownership of Morton Estates, presumably used for employee accommodation.
In the course of this research, a succession of Berney names crop up in the conveyancing deeds and documents. We also inherited an old photograph thought to have been taken around the turn of the twentieth century. It illustrates the Inn sign, a well worn turning area at the front of the house, now a shingled drive, and although the Inn sign no longer stands, certainly the flint walled drovers’ yard and pantiled byre remains within the curtilage of the present day Whitehorse Farmhouse.
A final recollection from Mrs Winifred Bayfield that at the turn of the century:
“Palmers Carrier’s cart from Foulsham called twice a week on its way to Norwich. This was a very large canvas covered vehicle drawn by two horses and carrying a conglomeration of articles for people along the route …”
Whitehorse
Inn, Morton-on-the-Hill. Circa 1900.
After purchasing the property from Morton Estate, F.E.P. Taylor applied for a discretionary grant from St. Faiths & Aylsham Rural District Council, (previously the Eynesford Hundred) and major renovation work to the property was completed in the early 1960s. These works comprised filling in the “deep cellar”, forming new dormer windows and repairing the thatched roof. Interior works comprised exposing beams and fireplaces and reflooring the main reception rooms with wooden parquet blocks. It is also likely that the “Priest’s Hole” was discovered when the Inglenook fireplace was uncovered in the drawing room. The grant awarded by the Rural District Council was £400.
Conclusion
Clearly, White Horse Inn is a significant building in Morton from the late seventeenth century, and like most hostelries throughout the land, inn keepers offered both local customers and passing trade, not only accommodation and victuals, but a place to rest and feed their animals, repair carriage wheels and shoe the horses. It is quite fascinating to imagine Morton’s villagers mixing with travelling packmen and people journeying in the Morton Carrier, exchanging gossip, dining, supping ale and wine, and warming their bones by a roaring fire on a cold winter’s night.
Contemporary literature, Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice for example, published in 1813, portrays a similar scene of such a gathering when Miss Elizabeth Bennet travels with her Aunt and Uncle Gardiner, and stays at the Inn at Lambton in Derbyshire. Mr Darcy introduces his sister, Georgiana, to Miss Bennet in one of the Inn’s private rooms. How enchanting to imagine Morton’s own Fitzwilliam Darcy and Charles Bingley ducking their heads under the entrance to White Horse Inn to meet a lady in one of the private rooms!
One of the last references referring to the property as an Inn, can be found in Kelly’s 1912 Directory of Norfolk: Morton. It also records private and commercial residents in the parish of Morton, together with the Inn’s closure in 1913. In this Directory a thumbnail sketch of Morton-on-the-Hill incorporates details of St. Margaret’s Church, a gothic flint building with an ancient round bell tower; the Midland & Great Northern joint railway - colloquially identified as “Muddle & Go Nowhere” - now known as Marriott’s Way and a public bridleway and footpath; a post office under Norwich; the manor, Morton Hall, picturesquely seated on the southern slope of a “commanding eminence”; the type of soil, subsoil and crops, which one local farmer is recorded as saying “…the land is only good for second rate carrots…needing a shower every day and a shower of shite every other day.”
It would be satisfying from an historical point of view to find primary source evidence prior to the late seventeenth century, although there are parish records of births, deaths and marriages dating back to 1559. William White’s 1836 edition of History Gazette and Directory of Norfolk indicate that Morton village is “anciently called Helmingham”. Although Morton-on-the-Hill is not recorded in the Domesday Book of 1086, it does refer to two churches in Helmingham and from the thirteenth century that settlement is referred to as “Helmingham alias Morton”. Arguably, it is likely that Morton is covered in that entry.
Whitehorse
Farmhouse, Morton-on-the-Hill. 1983
In 1994 Mike and I obtained a building grant from Broadland District Council to replace the dilapidated thatched roof with Norfolk pantiles, replace all windows with locally crafted wooden casements, and upgrade the septic tank drainage system. At that time it was Council policy not to provide funds for re-thatching due to the short life span compared to that of roof tiles. The grant awarded by the Council was £36,000.
A few charming links from the past were discovered when the thatch was dismantled; a small black and red Hamlet cigar carton, newspapers, an old mug, a forgotten metal implement, and an authentic inscription around the chimney breast in the roof space.
Whitehorse Farmhouse was invited to be part of a national survey carried out by the Department of the Environment every five years. The house is one of 25,000 properties surveyed by the English Housing Condition Survey (EHCS) which at that time assisted in determining housing conditions and future requirements. EHCH integrated with Survey of English Housing in 2008 to form the new English Housing Survey.
Mike and I sold Whitehorse Farmhouse in 1999, having lived in this lovely old house, with its wonderful history, for sixteen years.
Whitehorse
Farmhouse, Morton-on-the-Hill. 1998
Whitehorse
Farmhouse, Morton-on-the-Hill. 1998
Authors’ Note
If you are interested in reading more about Whitehorse Farmhouse, meeting the Labradors, the old reprobates from Swannington Hall, sampling homemade wine and beer, please visit www.findingjingo.com
Excerpts from Finding Jingo
Chapter 2 - The Venue
“Christmas was a time for festooning Whitehorse Farmhouse. An oversized tree from Weston Hall estate, swags of holly and ivy above the fireplaces, twinkling lights along the beams and snowy stencils on the dormer windows in the thatched roof. Lovely. The farmhouse was just SO ye olde Englande. Mike and I had inherited just one old photograph when we bought the property in the early eighties. Taken around the turn of the twentieth century, it shows a well worn turning area in front of the house, then an inn, with the pub sign, now long gone, standing in front of the flint walled drovers’ yard, currently our vegetable garden.
In my first year at the UEA reading English History and avidly studying Dickens and other Victorian novelists, my imagination was kindled by nostalgic ideas of a Victorian Christmas at Morton White Horse a century or so earlier. There would have been no shortage of ale and wine from the cellar that was certain. I wandered from room to room imagining twinkling candles hung on fragrant boughs, garlands strung from the mantle, framing a glowing fire of crackling pinecones, maybe the family Bible prominently displayed on a table, opened to the greatest story ever told.
Or possibly not.
This was an inn after all, a halfway house for men driving cattle to Norwich market. They wouldn’t be walking from room to room, drinking in heavenly scents of fir, pine, hemlock, sweet spices of cinnamon, cranberries and apples, they would be more interested in resting their horses and slaking their hunger and thirst. The windows would probably be frosted on the inside, without central heating, and the walls would faintly move with the howl of the snow-laden winds outside. Brrrrrrr.”
Chapter 3 - Jack in the Box
“What a pretty little puppy you are. Here’s your bally.” I put both pup and the ball in her basket and she got herself comfortable, vigorously chewing on her new toy. “We’ll be back soon.” I glanced around the kitchen; no obvious dangers for a new [Jack Russell] puppy. No expensive shoes or slippers lying around, plenty of water, so I was good to go. I knelt down beside her. “When I get back I’ll tell you all about the house you’ve come to live in. It’s a very old house and at one time used to be an inn which is sort of a halfway house where drovers used to stop with their animals on the way to market.
I know. I can hear them. There’s lots of people laughing and drinking around the tables in the room next door. Thank you for the bally. Very nice.
Pup fell asleep during mid-chew and I gently stroked her head with the side of my thumb. “See you soon, puppy.” I quietly closed the kitchen door and grabbed my coat from the porch. The [black and golden Labradors] dogs waiting in the car, barked impatiently. “Ringland Hills or Marriott’s Way pooches?”
I often wondered if any of our dogs had ever had a sense or felt a presence from the past, but no, I didn’t think so. They never acted strangely, never refused to go into a certain area of the house, or never howled in the night at some invisible being. It was rather wishful thinking because the house certainly did have a history. Maybe our new pup would be more intuitive.
Perhaps we’ll name pup after one of the previous inhabitants of the farmhouse I thought, although we could hardly call pup after Frances Blyth or Mary Ann Snelling, and the only other female resident on record was called Alice. No this little puppy was going to have a fun name, something like Bingo or maybe something patriotic. A play on Jack or Russell? It was Mike who came up with the moniker “Jingo”. As in “By Jingo”. As in “I say old thing, aren’t you being a tad jingoistic.”
Over the years, Jingo was abbreviated to a variety of names: Jing-Jing, or Jingie, or Jinga-loo and inevitably, in Moscow, Lulusha.”
Chapter 19 - Cabin Jack
“A few people in the terminal came over to ask if I was taking my dog on the plane. Like me, when I’d first started making enquiries about the best way to get Jingie to Moscow, they were really surprised that a dog was allowed inside the airport and quite astonished to find that she could, theoretically, travel in the cabin with me as excess baggage. The kennel would be placed in a recess at the back of the plane but if the flight wasn’t full, it could be placed in the seat beside me. Only on Aeroflot as far as I was aware. It was still only 10:00am so we took a turn around the terminal.
This is very tickety boo. Something going on all the time. Lots of people to make a fuss of me. No Jaffa [the cat] so I’ve got all Mummy’s attention all the time. I’m pretty certain we’re going to see my Daddy soon although it’s not definite. But we are travelling and that’s very hunky dory. There are so many good foody smells too. American smells that we don’t have in the house like doughnuts and fried breakfasts. Oh there’s a lady coming over. She’s got very big hair and her boobies are spilling out of her shirt. I wonder if she knows.
Jingie sat in her travel kennel like a little Mussolini nodding gravely to her people from HQ. I checked that it was still secure on the trolley.
“Oh look, Terr-ey. Look at that littole dog. Ain’t ‘e sweet. Is ‘e flyin’ wiv ya?”
I explained, yes she is.
“Bee’ave! Wot if ‘e shits in ‘is kennel on the flight?”
“That’s unlikely. But if she does, I’m sure we can get it cleared up.” I smiled.
“’ere. Wot flight are you on?”
“The 1:30 to Moscow.”
“Oh my good gawd. What Moscow in Russia? Oy, Terr-ey? Did you ‘ear what she just said. She’s takin’ ‘er littole pet wiv ‘er to Moscow in Russia. ‘Ere. ‘Ave a Rollo. Well good luck, mate! ‘Ave a nice flight.” Jingie thumped her tail enthusiastically and accepted the chocolate graciously.”