Histon and Impington 

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Historical notes about the Parish of Histon and Impington

Histon

Histon's roots go deep into the past, to the days of the Romans who left odds and ends to be dug up here; but Histon is modern, too, for it is one of the group of villages which come into Cambridgeshire’s educational scheme of village colleges and it lies in the midst of acres and acres of fruit trees, having the great Chivers factory with 2000 people who turn out a hundred tons of jam every day and played a great part as pioneers of the English canning industry.

By the church are the remains of the moat which protected Histon's old manor house, now gone. The medieval church itself, though much restored, has in its nave wall fragments of stones carved with zigzag by Norman masons and a pair of noble 13^th century transepts. There were once two churches, but the lord of the manor, Sir Francis Hinde, pulled down one 300 years ago, using stone from it to complete his fine house at Madingley. Only within the last century has the Norman font he carried off been moved from the hall to the church at Madingley, and at the same time fragments of the old church were brought back to Histon’s old church of St Andrew, to be embodied in the chancel.

There are lion gargoyles along the south walls of this cross-shaped church, and on the south transept is a gable cross too worn for its detail to be seen from below, but it portrays Christ fully robed, and without the crown of thorns. The tower rising on low arches from between the transepts, the south porch, and the fine nave arcades are all 14^th century; the nave, aisles, and most of the windows, and the font are 15^th century. The west window and those of the clerestory were made new last century, when the 13^th century chancel was extended to its original length and given its fine east window, a group of lancets under a triple arch copied from an old fragment. The transepts resemble each other with their lovely arcaded walls and their double piscinas, and specially fine are the two triple lancets under rich arcades in the south transept, their centre of cluster of shafts replaced by a 14^th century pinnacled niches a bracket carved with a Catherine wheel and two angles bearing Catherine to heaven. The oak seats in this transept, with their poppyheads and arm rest of animals, were modelled in our own time from a 15^th century pew in the other transept, and the cherub in the aisle, and the oak lectern of St John writing his Gospel (with his eagle on his shoulder supporting the Bible) are Norwegian work. There is an old chest with a round lid, another made from the tracery of a reredos, some old glass fragments, and an iron-bound poor box.

Impington

Samuel Pepys knew it well, for Impington Hall was the family mansion, begun in the middle of the 16^th century by one of the Pepys family and theirs till the 19^th century was on its way. Though it has been enlarged, Pepys would recognise today the red brick house in the park, with the arms of Pepys and Talbot carved on an oak shield over the garden entrance. Several times his rode over here from Cambridge to see his old uncle, Talbot Pepys, noting it all in the diary, and once describing how he slept in the best chamber, walked in the orchard with his cousin discussing his uncle’s will, and then went to church and listened to a good plain sermon. “At our coming in (he writes) the country people all rose with so much reverence; and when the parson begins, he begins Right Worshipful and Dearly Beloved to us.” We are reminded of another vicar who used to begin “Dearly beloved Eliza” when his wife was his only congregation.

Impington village is among the orchards, with its church against a belt of trees, a simple little building with patchwork walls of stone and cobble, mostly from the 14^th and 15^th centuries but with fragments of Norman carving in an outside wall of the chancel, and with much that is new. We enter, as Pepys entered, by a charming black and white porch with traceried windows cut in oak, and there on the wall, framed in a scrollwork of leaves, is a 500 year old painting which was probably hidden when Pepys came, for it was discovered under plaster last century. It shows St Christopher as a red-robed giant carrying his holy burden across a rocky stream. The Child hold the world in his hands; fishes swim round the saint’s feet; and at the door of his cell the hermit who set the giant working for Christ in this way holds out a lantern and waves an encouraging hand.

Another old wall-painting of a small figure is in a canopied niche between two angels in the chancel, and there is another exquisite niche in a window splay, with pinnacles rising from its dainty vaulted roof, where we counted 20 tine rose bosses. The old church roof with its bosses is hidden under a new panelled ceiling. Generations of the Pepys family were baptised at the ancient font, and there is a fine brass of 1525 picturing a family here before them, John Burgoyne with his wife, two daughters, and seven sons. The knight is in armour with many curly-haired dogs on his heraldic tabard; his wife is charming in a girdled gown and with a pointed headdress.

Impington has one of the group of village colleges founded in Cambridgeshire for the purpose of training children to live the worthy lives of country folk. The college at Sawston was the pioneer of this praiseworthy education scheme, and similar schools have been opened at Bottisham, Linton, and Histon. So in this proud county a new generation is growing up with a wider appreciation not only of the usefulness of country life but also of its essential dignity.

Buried in the Snow

Impington furnishes among its records the most extraordinary parallel to Arctic peril and adventure that English annals afford, a burial alive of a human being for eight days; from the railway line skirting the park we see a stone marking the spot where she lay.

The victim was Elizabeth Woodcock, the wife of a farmer, who, setting forth on horseback on her return from marketing at Cambridge on Saturday, 2^nd February, 1799, was overtaken by a snowstorm only a mile from home. Something, supposed to have been a bright falling meteor, startled her horse, which backed into a ditch, causing her to dismount, and then ran away across the fields. In pursuing it she lost one of her shoes and, her foot becoming frozen, she sank exhausted near a hedge where the snow had drifted deeply. Unable to rise again, she became buried by snow, enclosed in a mound six feet high, incapable of movement owing to the stiffness of her frozen clothes and the position in which she lay. A long struggle enabled her at last to get her hands free and push the snow from her face, so that it set in a cave-like formation about her head. In the morning she found that her breath had caused a sort of tunnel to form from her head to the outer air; and she retained sufficient presence of mind to utilise this for an expedient which was ultimately to lead to her rescue.

In her struggles she had lacerated her right arm on the stout stem of a bush near her; breaking off a branch from this bush, she fixed her coloured handkerchief to it and thrust it through the hole as a signal of distress to passers-by. Soon the outer extremity of the opening was closed by the formation of a thin sheet of ice, which acted as a window, letting in light so that she was never in absolute darkness, and enabling her to distinguish between night and day. She heard the bells from clocks and belfries sound, and kept count of days and nights; she heard the cries of animals; she heard horses and carts pass, and even caught the talk of gypsies. Again and again she cried aloud, but no one heard.

Nature mercifully minimised her suffering. She felt no hunger, and thirst was quenched by her eating a little snow. Her only discomfort arose from the melting of her ice window, which caused her frozen clothes to thaw and her body to become sodden and greatly reduced in temperature. This discomfort was increased when, after six days a general thaw reduced the interior of her prison to slush. She was, however, too weak now to extricate herself. For four days and nights she had been sought by her husband and kin, but as no trace of her could be found they had sadly come to the conclusion that she had been robbed and murdered.

At last, on Sunday, February 10^th, eight days after her imprisonment, a neighbour taking a short cut across the fields, saw her handkerchief fluttering from its twig. Approaching, he heard the sound of laboured breathing, and, looking through the tunnel in the snow, he saw a huddled figure. He was too terrified to address her, but called up a shepherd, who cried, “Are you there, Elizabeth Woodcock?” “Dear John Stittle, I know your voice; for God’s sake help me out of this place!” she said.

She was carried home, and for the next five months she battled for life, but frost and snow had done their work and she died on July 13^th in the same year.

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Historic images from around the Parish of Histon and Impington

This small selection of historic images of Histon and Impington are from our British National Image Library. You may click on the thumbnail pictures to view larger versions and read what information we have regarding the image.

Large White Sow with Piglets

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Hotels, Apartments and B&B's in Histon and Impington

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 Rose Corner 

 

 Histon Central Apartments