Swanscombe is one of the many picturesque villages which so pleasantly margin Old Father Thames as he flows steadily between Kent and Essex to the sea. The fatal Niger, the mighty Amazon, the picturesque and historic Rhine, the classic Tiber—each and all have their scenes, their stories, and associations. Each by turn claims notice, and each has goodly claim to attention. But commend us, and all Englishmen, to the Thames.
Swanscombe, whose church is here chosen for illustration, being well surrounded by wood, has a highly-picturesque appearance from the Thames, which forms the northern boundary of the parish. It is near Northfleet, about four miles from Dartford, and no great distance from Gravesend—Greenhithe, a spot familiar to the river tourist, being one of its hamlets. A Kentish village, with now about & thousand inhabitants, it has its bare of Kentish history—half true, half legendary. Its name is said to be a corruption of Swaneskamp—Sweyn, King of Denmark, having landed near, and fixed his camp upon, this spot, in the days when the sea-kings of the north gathered a goodly portion of their revenues from our early ancestors. At a later period William the Norman here received a foretaste of the spirit of the men of Kent. They enclosed the Conqueror and his followers, bearing boughs in their hands, “which casting down, they prepared for battle, demanding the enjoyment of their former rights;” which, says the old chronicler, they speedily obtained.” No need to prompt the memory that Shakspere has employed this incident in Macbeth.
The history of the manor is too long to be here written, but is interesting, and gives a fair sample of the chequered stories attached to many an old baronial possession. Given originally to Odo, the Bishop of Bayeux, it passed, on his disgrace, to the family of Montchensie, one of whom was a chief leader of the rebellious barons who seized their King, Henry IlI., after fighting the battle of Lewes. Taken prisoner himself, at Kenilworth, he owed his life and lands to his sister’s relation hip to the monarch’s half-brother. He was slain fighting against the Welsh, under the then regent, the Earl of Cornwall. A subsequent owner of Swanscombe, Aymer de Valence, attending the Queen into France, was murdered, in revenge, it was said, for the death of the Earl of Lancaster, at whose condemnation De Valence had sat two years before, at Pontefract. Still later, an heiress, entitled to these lands, was held prisoner at Kensington, in Surrey, and induced to give up her claims to Hugh le Despencer, Earl of Winchester, who, at ninety years of age, was, with his son, publically executed, for taking part with the Queen against Edward II. Later still, the manor was granted to an Earl of Kent, who, in Edward the Third’s reign, was “charged with treason, and, through the malice of Queen Isabel, executed for treason against the late King.” And in this way goes on for some centuries the history of Swanscombe Manor—now lorded over by a powerful baron, who, in the changing aspect of the times, becomes a traitor, the axe making way for a new proprietor; who, in his turn, by the fortune of war or other accident, loses at once station and life.
Swanscombe Church is the subject of our sketch. It is chiefly in the the English style, is dedicated to St. Peter, and, in old times, was “much frequented by companies of pilgrims, who resorted hither for St. Hilderforth’s help.” This saint was a bishop, and had here a shrine, with his portrait in the upper window of the south side. He was supposed to have the power of curing insanity. The church contains a number of tombs to the memory of the later possessors of the manor, and of other inhabitants of the parish—as one always wishes, and almost expects, to see in an ancient village church.
The Illustrated London News, London, England, Week Ending November 26, 1842
