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I had been less than a year at the school when an event happened which had a great bearing on my future life. It was in the autumn of the year 1690. I left afternoon school, and walked up Castle Street, intending to turn down by St. Mary's Church as I was wont to do, and make my way by Dogpole and Wyle Cop to English Bridge and so home.
The half-timbered hall of the Drapers' Guild, some old houses in Frankwell, including the inn with the quaint sign the String of Horses, the ancient hostels the Lion, famous in the coaching age, the Ship, and the Raven Bennett's Hall, which was the mint when Shrewsbury played its part in the Civil War, and last, but not least, the house in Wyle Cop, one of the finest in the town, where Henry Earl of Richmond stayed on his way to Bosworth field to win the English Crown.
In many towns we find here and there an old half-timbered dwelling, but in Shrewsbury there is a surprising wealth of them streets full of them, bearing such strange medieval names as "Mardel" or "Wyle Cop." Shrewsbury is second to no other town in England in the interest of its ancient domestic buildings.
I could not doubt now that 'twas my old enemy had wreaked on me the vengeance that had smouldered in his breast ever since Joe Punchard sent him down Wyle Cop in the barrel, and was fanned into a flame by my action on the night of the adventure in Raven Street. Mistress Pennyquick was firm in her belief that the Cluddes were party to the crime, but that I could not credit then, and never will.
I turned into Dogpole, rode helter skelter down Wyle Cop in the very course where Joe's barrel had rolled, and never drew rein until I came to the door of the Hall. 'Twas opened to me by Roger, home from following the campaign in Flanders a strapping fine fellow, near as tall as myself. "Gad, but your horse is in a sweat!" he said by way of greeting. "Where is Lucy?" I said.
Then, trundling it upon its edge, as draymen do with casks of beer, he brought it to the street, laid it sidelong, and set it rolling. Now the Wyle Cop at Shrewsbury, as you may know, is a street that winds steeply down to the English Bridge over the Severn.
Being thin and light of foot, I was a fleet runner, and though they immediately set off in pursuit, I gained on them for a few yards, and had some hope of distancing them altogether. But just as I came to where Dogpole runs into Wyle Cop, a stitch in the side, which often seized me at inconvenient times, forced me to slacken speed.
Of the part extending from Pride Hill to Wyle Cop only scant traces exist at the back of more modern buildings. The Rev. The town continued to grow and more extensive defences were needed, and in the time of Henry III, Mr.
Around this was erected the first wall. The latest historian of Shrewsbury tells us that it started from the gate of the castle, passed along the ridge at the back of Pride Hill, at the bottom of which it turned along the line of High Street, past St. Julian's Church which overhung it, to the top of Wyle Cop, when it followed the ridge back to the castle.
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