Wednesday, January 29, 2025

The Serpent at Ashford Carbonnel

On a bookshop expedition in the Marcher country in the Summer of 2024, John Howard and I also paid a visit to the village of Ashford Carbonnel, a quiet, out-of-the-way place whose name sounds like that of an Edwardian detective. The 12th century church here had been recommended to us the previous year by a lady doing the church flowers in the large, redundant church high on the hill at Richard’s Castle, where they hold only two services a year. She lived, we gathered, even further up the hill, in a great hall: bleak in winter, I should think, I said, and she agreed it was, but with magnificent views.

The church of St Mary Magdalene at Ashford Carbonnel is up a narrow, quiet lane on a knoll. Next to the few narrow parking spaces was a polite sign asking motorists not to drive over the white stones marking the roots of the nearby yew tree. And this precaution was wise, for the tree is part of a notable grove of ancient yews. One at least, from samples, is thought to be 1,500 years old: as John said, that means it was around when King Arthur was reputed to be.

The church has a pleasing wooden bell tower with a pyramid-shaped roof. In the porch were jars of home-made marmalade for sale for church funds, glowing amber in the sunlight: we bought one each. It has become a sort of tradition to look out for such preserves offered in churches, ever since we found some zesty marmalade in the unusual church at Kinnersley, Herefordshire, with its neighbouring hall and walled garden. That jar had an almost alchemical appearance, the curling peel looking like preserved snakes or worms, waiting to awake.

As we perambulated Ashord Carbonnel churchyard, gazing out over the hills and fields, there drifted up from below the sound of a brass band playing James Bond themes, a wonderfully bizarre moment, ancient and contemporary mingling. It turned out they were the showpiece at a nearby village fete. We wandered around the village, regarded at one point from a high window by a haughty cat. Though it is quite close to the A49 road, the main thoroughfare through the Marcher country, the village seemed set-apart and secluded.

It was only upon my return home that I discovered something else unusual about the place, apart from its ancient yew trees. I was consulting the excellent if melancholy website The Lost Pubs Project, which documents closed pubs, looking at those in Shropshire, when I found that Ashford Carbonnel used to have one called The Serpent, now a private house. There was a photograph of a three-storey brick house with tall chimneys, and ivy on its walls, on a corner site. It is of 17th and 18th century origin.

The Serpent is a very rare inn sign indeed. I can hardly think I have seen another. There are dragons, of course, Red, Golden, White, Green, but few if any other Serpents. What could be its origin? The inns website has no other information. A Serpent Farm here is mentioned in a Shropshire directory of 1871. In discussing with John and others, we thought of various possibilities The most obvious is that it derives from heraldry, but there are not that many serpents in coats-of-arms and it does not appear to be invoked in any blazon of local magnates or armigerous gentry. The next possibility is that of a local dragon legend, as dragons are sometimes glossed as serpents or worms. There are dragon legends in the Marches, such as that of the Dragon of Mordiford, but I could not find any recorded locally here.

A topographical possibility is that the name refers to the meandering course of the river Teme, in whose valley the village is situated. There are certainly some very noticeable coilings nearby. But this sort of place name is rarely applied in England to such features: The Serpentine in Hyde Park, London, is an 18th century invention. A more prosaic explanation might occur if the pub was sited on a particularly winding road, but that does not seem to be the case. Then, since the village is not far off the main road, could it have been the nick-name of a mail coach service, which often were given picturesque titles? Possible, though, if so, this has not otherwise survived.

Perhaps most persuasive in the absence of other evidence, was John’s suggestion that the pub kept a specimen of that peculiar church band instrument called the Serpent, as exemplified by the Cotswold antiquary Ulric Daubeny in his story of that name and also discussed by him in his study Orchestral Wind Instruments, Ancient and Modern (1920). Thomas Hardy also mentions the instrument, in a quotation I borrowed for the title of my tale ‘Worse Things Than Serpents’.

Or perhaps we could imagine the inn as the fictional focus of some secret serpentine sect, with sinister cellars, as in Bram Stoker’s The Lair of the White Worm (1911), but presided over by some Bond-like villain. Maybe that brass band was offering a series of clues.

Well, all of these (except, we may hope, the last) have some potential, and they nicely illustrate why the study of inn signs can sometimes be so fascinating: but perhaps we shall never know the secret of The Serpent, unless some Carboniferous ancient or antiquary is able to enlighten us.

(Mark Valentine)

Photograph: John Howard, 2024. 


4 comments:

  1. Thanks for this excellent travel tip. We will be in Ludlow and the Marches in March, visiting from Texas. Great to learn more local lore.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I hope you enjoy your visit. There are some good second-hand bookshops in the area if you get the chance and antique/curio shops in Leominster. Mark

      Delete
  2. The serpent as the tempter of Adam & Eve?

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thank you, yes: there are some Adam & Eve inn signs, though not common, but The Serpent on its own is very rare.

      Delete