Flintham
Holme & Langford: A Tale of Two Villages and a River That Changed Its Mind
If you ever find yourself wandering the quiet lanes of Nottinghamshire, take a detour along the River Trent. There, nestled in the folds of the countryside, lie two villages—Holme and Langford—whose stories are as winding and unpredictable as the river that shaped them.
The Village That Switched Sides
Holme wasn’t always where it is today. In fact, it used to be on the other side of the River Trent. That is, until the river decided to throw a tantrum in 1575. A catastrophic flood tore through the land, carving a new course between Holme and its then-parent parish, North Muskham. Just like that, Holme found itself marooned on the eastern bank, cut off and suddenly independent. By 1866, it had become a civil parish in its own right—a village quite literally swept into a new identity.
But Holme’s story begins long before the river’s rebellion. Around AD 43, Roman legions marched into the Vale of Trent, and it’s believed they pitched a camp right here, just a few miles from the Fosse Way. The name “Holme” itself whispers of Norse roots—derived from holmr, meaning an island or reclaimed farmland in a marsh. It’s fitting, really, for a village that’s always been a little bit apart.
Holme doesn’t appear in the Domesday Book, but it does sneak into the historical record in a deed from around 1160. Lady Isabel, widow of Thomas de Muscam, granted land in “Hollum” to a man from nearby Winthorpe. One of the witnesses? William the Sergeant of Holum. A name lost to time, but a sign that Holme was already a place of note.
Of Churches, Wool, and Ghostly Watchers
At the heart of Holme stands St Giles Church, a stone sentinel with stories etched into every corner. Its oldest wall dates back to 1150, but the church as we see it today owes much to a man named John Barton, a wool merchant with a flair for branding. In 1485, Barton expanded the church, adding a Lady Chapel and South Aisle. His personal emblem—a barrel and a bar, a pun on his name—can still be spotted carved into the stonework.
Barton’s wealth came from sheep, and he wasn’t shy about it. His house once bore the inscription:
“I thank God, and ever shall, it is the sheepe that payed for all.”
Inside the church, time seems to pause. The pews are adorned with carved poppyheads—birds, beasts, and angels frozen in oak. The stained glass glows with medieval colour, and in the porch above the entrance lies Nan Scott’s Chamber.
Legend has it that during the Black Death of 1666, Nan Scott locked herself in this tiny room, watching from above as her neighbours were buried one by one. When hunger finally drove her out, she found only one other survivor. Stricken with grief, she returned to her chamber and never left again. Today, the room remains much as it might have been—complete with a truckle bed and a well-worn Bible.
A Fishy Finale and a Spinning Post
Holme’s history isn’t all solemnity. In 1902, the last known sturgeon caught in the River Trent was landed near the village. It was a monster—eight and a half feet long and weighing 250 pounds. A fish worthy of folklore.
And in the days of barge traffic, Holme had a “spinning post” in the river. Barges would loop a rope around it, letting the current spin them into position at Collingham Wharf. A clever bit of riverine choreography.
Langford: Lords, Legends, and Lost Rivers
Just a short stroll from Holme lies Langford, a village with roots just as deep and stories just as rich.
In 1066, Langford was ruled by Leofric, son of Leofwin, a noble with holdings in sixteen parishes. But after the Norman Conquest, the land passed to a man named Ranulf, who by 1086 had amassed over 100 estates. The Domesday Book records Langford’s value at a modest £4–£4.50, with a taxable value of 2.4 geld units.
Langford too was reshaped by the great flood of 1575. Before then, the River Trent flowed beside St Bartholomew’s Church, and Holme lay across the water. After the flood, both villages found themselves on the same side—a geographical twist that forever linked their fates.
War, Remains, and Remembrance
During World War II, Langford’s stables were used by officers from RAF Winthorpe. One man, born with a clubbed foot and unable to serve in combat, took on a grim but vital role: recovering the remains of aircrew from crash sites. His work ensured that even the smallest fragments—sometimes less than 7lb—were given proper burial. One Lancaster crew of seven, he recalled, fit into a single ammunition box. A haunting reminder of the cost of war.
Langford Old Hall: A Manor of Many Stories
Standing proudly in Langford is Langford Old Hall, a Grade II* Elizabethan manor built in 1573 by George Talbot, the Earl of Shrewsbury and gaoler of Mary Queen of Scots. The hall has been lovingly restored, with original stonework, mullioned windows, and Staffordshire blue tiles all carefully preserved.
The house itself is a marvel. Its porch stones are wider at the top than the bottom—possibly worn by sword sharpening during the battle for Newark Castle. The chimneystack is so large it could be a room in its own right, and the walls are three to four feet thick. Some windows are bricked up, a relic of the old window tax.
The estate spans 300 acres, including 30 acres of grassland known as “The Park,” believed to carry the history of the Roman age. This land, protected and untouched, runs from the Hall along the back of Langford—a living link to the past.
A Place of Quiet Wonder
Holme and Langford may seem like sleepy villages, but beneath their calm exteriors lie centuries of drama, devotion, and resilience. From Roman camps to Tudor merchants, from floods that redrew maps to legends that linger in church towers, these villages are rich with the kind of history you can feel underfoot.
So next time you’re near Newark, take the riverside path from Winthorpe. Let the dogs run, breathe in the countryside air, and listen closely. You might just hear Nan Scott whispering from her chamber, or the echo of a Roman soldier’s march across the Vale of Trent.
