Denbigh And The Danes (5 August 1977)

In my recent article headed “A town by other names” I referred to a story that at one time the old Denbigh Hall Inn was known as the Marquess of Granby.

I called it just a story because I had a lurking feeling of having heard it discounted at some time somewhere.  Since writing the article I have come across the reason for that feeling.  It is contained in some notes written by the late Mr Warren Dawson, of Simpson, in 1947.  Of all writers on some aspects of local history I have found Mr Dawson to be the soundest.  And this is what he wrote about the now demolished Denbigh Hall:

“A short distance beyond the bridge which carries the LMS main line over Watling Street stands the hostelry known as Denbigh Hall.

“Around the supposed origin of this inn various stories have gathered.  It is said that it takes its name from Basil, the 6^th Earl of Denbigh, who was forced to put up there one night when a wheel came off his coach on his way to London.  It is further said that he was made so comfortable that he asked that the name of the house should be changed from the Marquess of Granby to his own.

“Unfortunately, the story will not stand the test of investigation.  To begin with, the 6^th Earl of Denbigh was born in 1719, but Denbigh Hall is already mentioned in the Bletchley Burial Register, in 1715.

“It is probable that the name Denbigh Hall applied rather to a hamlet of several cottages which once stood there rather than to the one which became an inn.

“Secondly, it is extremely improbable that it had previously been called the Marquess of Granby, as that famous general did not become a signboard here until after the Battle of Minden, which was fought in 1759.

“It is very improbable that Denbigh Hall was an inn at all until after the middle of the 18^th century, for a Simpson man had a roadside hunt or stall for the sale of ale and other liquors to travellers at the time he met his tragic death (he was murdered) in 1742.  This was in the immediate vicinity, although on the other side of the road.”

So there it is.  Any connection with Granby is extremely improbable, unless some big new discovery has been made relating it either to that part of Bletchley or to some other part.

On the other hand it does have a similar historical ring about it in that both Denbigh and Granby could go back to the Danes, who invaded and settled in this country in the 9^th and 10^th centuries.  When they took over a Saxon settlement or made a new one, they used the suffix “bi” much the same as the Saxons had used “ton” and “ham.”  Both Derby and Whitby had other names before the Danes took them over.

Then came the well-known Danelaw agreement under which the Danes were awarded the land to the east of the Watling Street, as far south as the Bedford parallel in this area and the Saxons kept what was left.

In a local document of 1372 there is a reference to “Danweshandlond,” which could be construed either as “Dane ways and land” or “Dane way, Shenley land.”  In time a hamlet there could have been named Danby, then Denby and then finally enlarged to Denbigh by the sort of people who change Smith to Smythe.  That is sheer speculation, of course, but I challenge anyone to find a better explanation.

But Denbigh, old as it could be might not be as old as another name for that general area.  I refer to Rickley, which has had a number of different spellings in the past, but is certainly of Saxon origin.  For centuries Rickley Wood stretched right from Bletchley Church to the Watling Street.  In more recent years many people, including myself, have enjoyed a walk over a lane or path that led across Home Farm and over the “Sixty Steps” to Denbigh Hall.  The new Rickley Lane is a reminder.

As for the “hall,” this name has been applied in the past to many buildings of quite modest appearance and importance.  The former Willow Hall on the Watling Street was just a constable’s cottage for instance.  There is also Bleak Hall in the same area . . .

AND NOW for another of my favourite subjects, namely digititis.  This spotty disease is spreading everywhere.  Eventually it will suffocate us unless a good calamine lotion is speedily applied.

The latest case is a letter to householders in the Borough of Milton Keynes about the change-over from dustbins to plastic sacks.  I have no complaints about the contents of the letter.  The change is quite proper, if it happens to be both cleaner and cheaper as well as being easier for the dustmen.

But look at the “My ref.” of the sender.  It is no less than TS24/40500/50/40504/KJAE/SAJ.

(That has taken me five attempts to get right on my typewriter, so woe betide the typesetter if he now gets it wrong.)

But what I am wondering is what will happen if at some time I write to the person concerned and get one of those 28 punches wrong.  Instead of going to the sack man, might it go to the ballcock man, the cemetery man, the man who pushed it through the letter box, or who?  And would I get a reply or not?

Or maybe you will check your letter to see whether yours has the same “My ref.” number as mine.  If not, and if one or two digits are different, I can only conclude that voluminous and continuing correspondence is expected from each individual recipient.

But a naughty thought enters my head.  Suppose I reply to the letter, quoting his “My ref.” And then giving a             “My ref.” of my own – one of 29 punches, just to be even more prestigious?  Do you think he would oblige?