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Page 2
To-day the beautiful river winds in and out of the ancient streets, and
among the meadow lands, much as it did when Cobbett penned his _Rural
Rides_, although many charming examples of domestic architecture, which
then graced what was probably the most attractive High Street in
England, have been demolished or restored beyond recognition. As it
flows through the city proper, the river is divided up into a number of
small streams abounding in trout; but after a brief course these
rivulets unite just below the city, from whence the waterway is said to
be navigable all the way to Southampton. The bridge at the foot of the
High Street marks the former limit of the navigability of the river, and
is the reputed site of the legend concerning St. Swithun and the old
woman to whom the saint restored her eggs.
Before the advent of the railway, that great destroyer of our ancient
waterways, the Itchen was crowded with barges making their way from the
maritime port to the inland city; for, like so many of our old British
settlements, the site of Winchester was determined by the natural
conditions of the land which could be utilized for the purposes of
defence. Although every lock on the Itchen is now in ruins or choked by
weeds, and the last of its fleet of brown-sailed barges is derelict,
this is essentially a city whose origin goes back to the days when those
who, coming cautiously up from Southampton Water, reached at length the
practical part of the valley, where they built their stronghold under
the shelter of the downs, yet within easy reach of the sea. It was by
means of barges that much of the stone was brought for the building of
the numerous churches and monastic buildings. This was brought from the
Binstead Quarries in the Isle of Wight, from the Purbeck Quarries in
Dorset, and possibly from Portland as well.
There is ample evidence that Winchester was a British city (Caer-Gwent),
and the Venta Belgarum of Roman days, when it was connected by roads
with the other Roman cities of Andover, Silchester, Porchester, and
Salisbury. With the taking of the town by the Saxons in 495 it became
known as Wintanceastre, and here, after the final subjection of the
Britons, the capital of Wessex was established. If the claim of
Canterbury to be the "Mother City" of the Anglo-Saxon race be granted,
few will deny to Winchester the honour of being her eldest and her
fairest daughter. A royal city was this when Birinus, the apostle of
Wessex, came hither in 634, on his way to the Oxfordshire Dorchester, to
baptize the King of the West Saxons; and in 679 the episcopal see was
established, a cathedral built, and a monastic house attached to it. It
was from Wintanceastre that Egbert sent forth the decree which gave the
name of Anglia to his kingdom; and here, by the tranquil waters of the
Itchen, Alfred (with his friend, adviser, and tutor, St. Swithun),
Athelstan, and Canute held their Courts, and directed their policies.
It was during the reign of Athelstan that the redoubtable Guy, Earl of
Warwick, returning to England in the garb of a palmer from a pilgrimage
to the Holy Land, found the Danes besieging Winchester in great force,
and King Athelstan unable to find a champion willing to meet the Danish
giant, Colbrand, in order to decide the issue by single combat. The
Earl, retaining his disguise as a palmer, begged the king to let him
appear as the English champion.
[Illustration: THE CITY BRIDGE]
This singular combat, which was to decide the fate of the city,
commenced by Guy breaking his spear on the giant's shield, and the Dane
cutting the head off the Earl's horse. Guy then fought on foot, and,
beating the club out of his opponent's hand, cut off his arm. So the
duel waged until night, when the Dane, faint from loss of blood, fell
to the ground, and his head was cut off by the English champion. Having
settled the affair to the honour of his country and his own
satisfaction, the Earl made himself known to the King, under an oath of
secrecy, and returned thanks in the cathedral for his victory. He then
retired to a hermitage beside the Avon, and passed the remainder of his
life in the cave which still bears his name, and probably contains his
bones.
Several modern antiquaries are very sceptical about the whole story, and
labour hard to prove that Guy was a mythical figure, and his deeds
nothing but legendary lore. There is always some truth in these old
legends, in spite of the frills and embellishments added by the later
chroniclers, and the history of our land would be poor reading indeed if
we banished the romantic legends merely because they are not confirmed
by such dry-as-dust evidence as alone will satisfy a certain section of
scientific compilers, whose minds can perceive neither truth nor beauty
underlying ancient legends and traditions. The fact that they cannot be
proved to have happened is more than half their charm, and our garden of
romance, with its beautiful flowers of chivalry, is infinitely better to
live with than the dry and parched fields given over to the cultivation
of nothing but facts.
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