If I had to pick a favourite period of history, it would be the 16th century


I just adore the shambles in York: seeing the timber frames leaning over me every time I wander down the cobbled streets lifts my heart. So, all things considered, it's remarkable that I haven't ever visited our own version of Tudor architecture, nestled in the steel city of Sheffield.

Bishop's house can be found on Norton Lees Lane, at the bottom of Meersbrook Park. It's an easy drive and, if you didn't know it was already there, it would be easy to miss. Unlike so many of the grand historical manor houses in the country, Bishop's House hides in plain, unassuming, sight amongst the modern semi-suburban scenery. Neat squares of grass and pathways frame the roads and  tower blocks of flats rise up in the background. When we visited we pulled up next to one of the countless scruffy allotments that are dotted across Sheffield. Bishop's house presses up to the park edge: a strange relic that is both out of place and yet firmly rooted into it's environment. There is no build up - no gated protection. No pomp or pagentry but for a small sign. You literally walk off the road wander up to a building that has been sat in this corner of Sheffield for the last 500 years.

The understatement of Bishop's house is a large part of it's charm, yet in it's construction it was a grand status symbol. At the time of being built, the park and houses would have instead been covered by fields, so it is thought that Bishop's house was built to act as a small manor house for a minor gentry or for a prosperous Yeoman. It was begun in 1500, it is thought, and there is some legend around how the house gained it's name, though no one has yet been able to support the story. It was thought that a pair of brothers lived in the house for a time who later became bishops: Geoffrey Blythe became the bishop of Lichfield/Coverntry and John Blythe became the bishop of Salisbury. 
While we can't support the evidence of this, there is evidence for the Blythe family having residence in the house some 127 years after it's construction started. In 1627 William Blythe lived in the house. It was thought that he was a farmer that was very successful in the scythe making trade which fourished in Sheffield at this time.
Following the Civil War William's son - a Parliamentarian - also lived there. He was one of two officers responsible for organising the destruction of Sheffield castle in 1648. A minister named Samuel was the last Blythe to reside in the building.
Bishop's house gradually fell into decline until 1886, when the house was given to the Coorperation when Meersbrook Park was created. Previously it had been surrounded by outbuildings, but these were soon demolished. In 1976 the house was opened as a museum.

As a museum Bishop's House is a little underwhelming, but as an example of Tudor architecture and as a living breathing example of Sheffield's lesser-known history, it is a treasure. As you walk across misshapen oak floorboards and wind your way through the cosy rooms of the house, it is easy to fall in love with the building. Display boards proudly show off the work that the Friends of Bishop's House do with schools, where children can come in for talks and to dress up as tudors. In what seems to be a trend in Museums Sheffield properties, there is also a display of farmyard taxidermy that would have charmed me as a kid.

While the main aim of the building is to soak in the architecture, if you look in the display cabinets the house does hold some real treasures. I particularly enjoyed the displays of stunning embroidered gloves worn by a wealthy Sheffield resident, and the examples of stump work embroidery. These are mirrored by a wall display of more modern naive embroidery that charmingly depicts a historical scene in bright vivid colours.

 In addition to the general material history in the place, display boards also give you further insight into the history of Early Modern Sheffield as a whole. For example, a board tells about how law and order was upheld in the town which inspires a rather interesting comparison to our modern ASBOs in use today. It reads:

'No manner of any person or persona shal at any tyme after nyne of the clock until three of the clock in the morninge use walkinge or takinge in towne street whereby it shalbe anoyeance to those that be honest men and householders in the said towne.'

Even in a time before an official police force, in 1554 Sheffield formed the Town Burgesses. These people administered public affairs in the town and employed people to enforce local laws. In addition, the town also paid for a street cleaner and a bellman to patrol the town in the night.


Overall, Bishop's House has a very local feel, and one has to to be charmed by it's character. As a building it is a stunning survivor worthy of respect, and a opening into a time of Sheffield's history which is often overshadowed by its industrial fame in the Victorian era.

If you'd like to visit, you can find bishop's house on Norton Lees Lane, S8 9BE in Sheffield.
And, if you'd like to become a member of the Friends of Bishop's House  you can click here for more info.



Sources
-Pictures taken by me in March 2014, filters courtesy of instagram
- Peeks at the Past in Sheffield and the Surrounding Area by Ann Beedham
- Bishop's House Website

I have to admit, Sheffield has a perfect blend of town-life and country-life: and this also applies to its history.

 

 Point yourself in one route and you're wrapped in urban trappings, with the whole of the Steel City's industrial heritage pressed around you. But turn in the opposite direction and, in the same amount of time, you can find yourself in the heart of rural Yorkshire and it's own eclectic past.

The winter has truly turned optimistically towards spring. With a bright sun that darted occasionally through the clouds and the ground finally dry, I decided to do what I as of yet haven't managed: walk around the entire circuit of Damflask.
At 3.5 miles long, the fact that I have only gotten half way around the walk before in my life is as much a commentary on bad timing as it is my general level of rubbish fitness. But finally, having pulled on my trusty Converse shoes, I trogged briskly around the whole circuit of the dam in an hour. The scenery is, in a word, beautiful - with a vast polished expanse of water which sweeps in a gentle curve and then peters away into a marsh-like plain of reeds and thin twisted trees. Surrounding the dam is a pathway that briefly breaks into  a road as you cross the bridge, but is otherwise well maintained for a casual stroll and framed by thin strips of woodland and drystone walls that back onto farmland. The dam is a Mecca for British wildlife which has grown relatively tame through exposure to ramblers. Twice on my travels, for example, a little brown mouse has come out of it's home to sniff around my feet. As well as mice there are coots, moor-hens, herons, ducks, robins, blue-tits and other birds, all charmingly close.

While Damflask is a delight for anyone looking for a place to take in some quiet and fresh air, it also serves a very practical purpose. Stretching some 116 acres and filled with a capacity of 1,123.1 gallons it provides running water throughout Sheffield and, in times of drought, beyond. Currently it is owned by Yorkshire Water and in 2000 was opened up to unrestricted access for the local sailing club to use as well as the general public of walkers and fishermen.

Sheffield itself is fed by multiple dams and reservoirs, and Dam Flask's history is tragically tied up in the most infamous dam of them all.

At midnight on the 11th of March in 1864, Dale Dyke Dam's wall cracked and, despite the efforts of the owner - John Gunson - the wall burst, unleashing a torrent of water that destroyed 800 houses and claimed the lives of some 238 people as well as 700 animals. Downhill of the dam was the village of Damflask. The village was typical of the area, with a corn mill, paper mill, wire mill and - of course - a pub, named The Barrel Inn.

1853 map of Damflask village overlay with modern Google Earth image

The village was in direct threat of the waters of Dale Dyke Dam but, thanks to some life-saving serendipity the majority of the villagers were saved. A young man named Stephenson Fountain had been sent down to Sheffield to fetch a waterworks engineer when the crack was discovered but, on the way, his saddle girth broke. He stopped in Damflask village to repair it and mentioned the crack in the dam uphill. As word spread the villagers decided that the risk was too great and quickly moved themselves and their families to higher ground. Tragically, some did not act: Henry Burkinshaw scoffed at the idea of the danger and remained in bed. He had worked as a navvy in Dale Dyke Dam and reportedly stated that 'There isn't water enough in Yorkshire to burst that dam.' Within the hour the torrent of deadly water crashed down to consume the village and Henry's body was swept away, only to be discovered later half a mile away the next morning. His landlady, Mrs Kirk, and her pets all survived, having evacuated without him. The waters of Dale Dyke Dam completely destroyed the village and, in a twist of irony, it was never rebuilt, instead cleared and the land filled forever with new waters.

The history of  Dale Dyke Dam is firmly etched in the minds and educations of Sheffield residents. If you travel into the town centre, over to the Sheffield University area and up to the Weston Park museum, it has a whole section of it's gallery dedicated to exhibiting the artifacts that were pulled out from the wreckage that the disaster led behind.
Also if you travel on Ecclesall road, make sure to take a step into the General Cemetery. Buried among the slanted graves is the memorial of John Gunn - the site manager of Dale Dyke Dam - who was never able to forgive himself for the disaster. His grave, with sad hope, reads that he is now, finally, 'Removed from all suffering and strife.'

Perhaps Damflask is the most beautiful and fitting monument of all to this tragedy. As I walked around this strip of industrial countryside I was joined by countless people who also soaked up the freedom and the scenery. As well as a curious mouse, there were countless dogs that were delighted by the water. Joggers huffed past those walkers who ambled along to soak in the scenery. Wizened old men and couples sat on the benches and listened to the birds. Fishermen soaked up the quiet and waited for a nibble on their lines. Families rattled prams and children howled in delight as they charged past on push-along scooters down the straight safe paths. While the lost village will forever be at the heart of the dam as a reminder of the tragedy of the disaster, the people who use this beautiful place will walk across its surface as a reminder of the beauty of life that still presses on.

Sources

- Countryside photos taken by me in March 2014, filters courtesy of Instagram

- John Gunson's grave, mentioned in my article in 'Now Then' -Cemetery

- Bradfield Walkers.org

-Damflask reservoir figures from Wikipedia 

- Damnflask village map from 'Sheffield history pro' by 'Gramps' and 'Jeremy'

-Mrs Kirk and her pets