History of a man-made hill

A few miles north-east of Darlington, it is a peculiar man-made hump that rises out of a “plashy meadow” beside a beck.

It is one of the best preserved of the 600 motte-andbailey castles that survive in the country from Norman times of the 11th Century. The motte was the hump, made of soil and rubble, on top of which would have been a wooden fortification which a local aristocrat called home.

The bailey was a courtyard beneath it, enclosed by pallisades, moats, ditches, trenches, causeways and embankments.

You can see them all at Bishopton hill. You can definitely see the wide moat that encircled the motte; you can probably see that there were two baileys, and you may be able to work out how a network of ditches crossed the boggy fields and allowed the defenders of the hill to quickly channel the beck into their moats whenever they were threatened, washing their enemy away.

And if you’ve got an exceedingly good imagination, you’ll stand on the top of the high hump and visualise the drama that unfolded in that plashy meadow 871 years ago.

In 1138, King David I of Scotland, accompanied by his Lord Chancellor, William Cumin, invaded England. Determined to install David’s niece, Empress Matilda, on the English throne.

They captured Northumberland and Durham. They crossed the Tees and, on August 22, encountered the English army of King Stephen in fields to the north of Northallerton.

In three hours, the Scots were routed. David fled; Cumin was captured.

An uneasy peace was agreed. It allowed David to continue to roam the North- East, and Cumin was released the following month on the orders of the Pope.

In 1140, the Bishop of Durham died. David thought it would enhance his hold on the area if he could install his man Cumin on the throne.

Cumin seized Durham Castle, but the archdeacons refused to allow him to take control of the cathedral.

Cumin produced a letter purportedly from Pope Innocent II demanding that they consecrate him Bishop of Durham.

But the letter was a dreadful forgery. On March 14, 1143, when the Pope heard of Cumin’s unholy subterfuge, he excommunicated him and chose William of St Barbara, the Dean of York, as the new bishop.

WILLIAM rode for Durham, and found a stronghold in that plashy meadow at Bishopton where Roger de Conyers, the constable, had built an impregnable fortress on top of the motte.

Cumin, cut off from God and disowned by David, was now desperate. His men became violent, “incessantly making forages; whatever they could lay their hands on they plundered... Their torments were of many and various kinds, difficult to describe and difficult to believe.

“Men were hung from the walls of their own howses...

others plunged into the bed of the river... everywhere throughout the town there were groans and various kinds of death.”

A September 1962 picture of the village of Bishopton which grew up in the shadow of the bishop’s motte-and-bailey castle

One of those incessant forages 871 years ago was to Bishopton, where William was holed up. But Conyers’ fortifications were so strong that Cumin’s men didn’t bother attacking and they returned to Durham.

William chased after them, but Cumin’s men defended Durham so fiercely that they forced him in to St Giles’ Church, in Gilesgate.

From there he retreated to Bishopton, before moving onto a fortress at Thornley, near Kelloe. Then he laid low low on Lindisfarne until, in 1844, Cumin saw the error of his ways and departed Durham.

On October 18, William was enthroned in the cathedral in triumph.

Peace returned to the plashy meadow at Bishopton.

The Conyers family relocated to Sockburn, where they famously fought a dragon, and the Bishop took ownership of the motte-and-bailey.

Perhaps because it was too plashy, he didn’t live there, and gradually over the centuries the hump weathered away – in 1800, it was said to be 60ft high; today it is 38ft.

Since 1926, it has been a scheduled ancient monument, and now, before the vegetation springs forth, is as good time as any to follow the footpaths and explore