Grape Lane, Whitby, and the Collecting of Gropecunts

I have a thing for place names, and collect some of the more interesting ones by visiting them. One of my favourite subsections relates to trades.  There was a time we were more straightforward, and our language was salty and earthy and salt of the earthy, and just as there were Shambles, and Milk Streets, and Silver Streets, and Wine Streets, there were also Gropecunt Lanes.

The first Gropecunt in my collection comes from my home city of Bristol. Nelson Street in Bristol, once called Haulier's Lane. And before that, Grope Lane. And before that - in the time of topographer, William Wyrcestre, who measured the city in 1480 - Gropecunt Lane. 

Another early specimen was Parsons Street in Banbury, where I lived in 1990.  It bore this name as early as 1410, but 77 years previously, had been known as Gropecunt Lane. 

For connoisseurs of Gropecunts, the mention of a Grove Street or Lane is like the ringing of a bell is to Pavlov's dogs. And indeed, if we wander a little deeper into Oxford's past, we soon discover that on John Speed's map of 1605, Magpie Lane, aka Grove Street, is Grope - or Grape - Lane.  And when we go back to the 13th century, we find ourselves in Gropecuntelane.  

This street sign in Union Street, Wells does most of the explaining itself. 

'Known as Grope Lane in medieval times, altered to Grove Lane by 1821 and changed to Union Street in 1834.' 

Except that it was actually known as Gropecuntelane in the 13th and 14th centuries.

In nearby Glastonbury, the area to the right of 14th century St Benedict's Church - now St Benedict's Close - was recorded as Grope Lane in 1425 and Gropecunte Lane in 1290. 

In Norwich, Opie Street near the Castle, described as a turpis vicus in 1333, was in 1305 called Gropekuntelane.

In fact, there are two examples in Norwich. The dual carriageway, Grapes Hill, was, after trade moved outside the city walls, known as Gropecunte Hill. 

 I was very pleased the week before last to be able to add a new lane to my collection: namely, Grape Lane, Whitby, the former home of Captain James Cook, who lodged in a property there whilst serving his apprenticeship. 

Not a lot of documentary evidence, apparently, but the suggestion that it is the street formerly known as Grapcunt Lane. 

PS. For an amusing take on changing sensibilities around street names, take a look at the kerfuffle around the attempt to change the name of Tickle Cock Bridge in Castleford, Yorkshire.  

Pictures of Whitby

Just a few random ones that didn't make their way into a blog proper ... 

Where we were staying - a cottage with no access by road and spread over four floors - punishing on the knees, but with the considerable compensation of wonderful views. 

'What views?' asks Ted

Well, these ...

This is the market place, where we encountered a boredom of teenagers on a school trip, still being taught at quarter past eight in the evening. 

This was Ted's favourite place, the harbour, where we sat and ate chips and mushy peas.

Even starving gulls didn't fancy mine.

I can't think why.

I loved the alley ways, which weren't called snickets or ginnels as you might expect, but courts, yards and ghauts. (No idea how you say the last.) 

And I enjoyed the quirk. (Always like a bit of quirk.)

Homage to Jonny Fluffypunk

Overall, it was pretty ... 

but with a bleakness that suited our mood, post Referendum.

Kirkham Priory and Yorkshire Honey from Galgate

Up north all those days and somehow I'd missed seeing my mate, Jill, who was down in Shropshire. Bally poor timing.  But Jill, being resilient and resourceful, arranged at the last moment for us to meet up at Kirkham Priory, between Malton and York.  So we did. 

And it was beautiful.  












Like Bolton Abbey with its legend of the drowning of William de Romilly (the Boy of Egremont), Kirkham Priory is also associated with a premature death, that of the son of Walter l'Espec who was killed when his horse was startled by a boar. That incident led to his father founding the abbey in his remembrance in the 1120s.

The still impressive gatehouse was built almost two centuries later, c1290-5. 

This is John Piper's depiction, dating from 1988.

We arrived before Jill so had a wander about.

 

When Jill arrived, we popped into the gift shop to get some coffee and ice cream, and I sniffed out a couple of gifts for my parents. I have to say, the jars of Yorkshire honey from Galgate puzzled me. I know Galgate - it's the nearest village to the campus of the University of Lancaster, where I was a student in the early 1980s. And it's in Lancashire.

'Ah, but they're Yorkshire bees,' said the woman at the till.

And then we sat for a bit and contemplated the ruins. Something of which we've done a lot lately.