Exploring my landscape

Owston Ferry

As part of my landscape project I want to really get to know the land I am writing about – not just the areas which are already familiar to me. So I’m embarking on a series of walks in the different villages in the Isle – getting to know the feel and character of each settlement and looking out for any interesting features I can follow up later in my research.

I want to document the walks on Substack, not with any detailed commentary, but just a gentle wander round the villages with a few of the photos I have taken. Join with me for the first of the walks in the Isle of Axholme, starting in the village of Owston Ferry.

I parked by the recreation ground and passed by the War Memorial, wondering, as always at the incalculable loss of so many young men in what is a small village today and in 1914 would have been a fraction of the size.

I consulted my photo of the OS map and followed a freshly mown footpath round the back of the village, stopping to admire the six almshouses, which were founded in 1860 by Miss Frances Sandars, "for the benefit of aged females", each resident receiving an "allowance for daily bread" totalling five shillings per week. The almshouses are still run as a charity for ‘ladies over the age of fifty.’

My path led me passed mown pastures, where dozens of swallows were hunting low over the cropped grass, beside a field of sleepy cows and brought me out on the riverside road. As soon as I could I climbed onto the path which runs along the riverbank. The River Trent is a serious river. No meandering in its determined rush towards Trent Falls, where it meets the Ouse and the mingled waters flow out to sea as the great River Humber. An ancestor of mine drowned in the Trent, in the early 20th Century attempting a rescue of a child who had fallen into the waters. Maybe as a result of growing up with that story I have always viewed the Trent with cautious respect. It is uncompromising, rushing wide and brown between Owston ferry and east Ferry away on the other side. As the names suggest, a ferry once plied its trade between the two villages, the village being known as ‘the town and port of Ferry’. I sensed the ghost of the ferryman, perhaps lamenting the loss of importance of the village once the bridge was built at Keadby.

The River Trent at Owston Ferry

Back through the main street of Ferry, past the village shop and the Old Smithy and Heritage Centre (open Sundays and Bank Holidays through the summer and a repository of local and family history) towards the church. I think Owston Ferry has my favourite approach to its church of any village I’ve been.

The triple crenellated arch was constructed in 1859 for the Archdeacon William Stonehouse, sometime vicar of this parish and his sister-in-law, Frances Sanders, of almshouse fame. I am fond of the Rev Stonehouse because he wrote one of the early and most widely quoted histories of the Isle, The history and Topography of the Isle of Axholme. WB Stonehouse (1839). He is also remembered with a plaque inside the church.

It was Robert de Mowbray who gave the living of the church in 1145 to the Augustinian order at Newburgh Abbey (near York). None of that church remains in the current building but it was built beside the motte and bailey castle which dated back to the years after the Norman conquest, was dismantled in 1095 and was rebuilt by Roger de Mowbray in 1173. Roger picked the wrong side in a dispute between King Henry II and his son and his castle was subsequently destroyed. The de Mowbrays moved to their manor in Epworth and continued to be influential in the Isle but all that is left of Owston Ferry or Kinnard Castle now is a grassy mound with mown paths and good views across the Isle.

I spent a little time inside the church, reading the history panels and admiring the stained glass windows.

St Martin's Owston Ferry interior

It was good to find a church open for visitors but there were no stewards and I had the church to myself. At first I welcomed the peace and spent some time in contemplation but after a while it became oppressive and I was glad to be back outside with the sound of the birds and the swish of grass under my feet. I have ancestors buried in the churchyard so paid them my respects and headed back to my car.

It was no more than a snapshot of the village but it gave me a few strands I might want to pull on - the Stonehouse connection, the still evocative remains of the castle and, running through it all, giving the village meaning and life, the River Trent.