Thorpe: Where Empires Marched, Women Rose, and Legends Echo

Just a short walk from Farndon—and a longer but rewarding one from Newark—lies the quiet village of Thorpe, a place that wears its history like a well-worn cloak. Today, it may seem like just another sleepy hamlet, but beneath its tranquil surface lies a tale of Roman ambition, Tudor intrigue, and revolutionary courage.

 

Ad Pontem: The Roman Outpost

Long before Thorpe was Thorpe, it was Ad Pontem—“the place near the bridges.” In the 1st century AD, Roman soldiers built a fortlet here, one of four key settlements along the Fosse Way between Lincoln and Leicester. The name may refer to a long-lost bridge over the River Trent near Fiskerton, or perhaps to wooden planks laid across the marshy floodplain. Either way, this was a place of passage, of movement, of empire.

 

By the 2nd century, the fortlet had grown into a bustling town, complete with turf ramparts and later, stone walls. People lived, traded, and travelled through Thorpe for over three centuries. Though not as grand as nearby Margidunum, it was a vital stop for weary travellers and marching legions. Beneath the fields lie traces of Iron Age huts, Roman ditches, and the echoes of a world long gone.

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Lucy Townsend: The Quiet Revolutionary

Centuries later, Thorpe would become home to a very different kind of pioneer. Lucy Townsend, born in 1781, was a woman far ahead of her time. Though slavery had been abolished in Britain in 1807, Lucy knew the fight was far from over. In 1825, from her home in Birmingham, she founded the Ladies’ Society for the Relief of Negro Slaves—the first of its kind.

 

Lucy and her husband, Rev. Charles Townsend, moved to Thorpe where he served as clergyman at St Laurence’s Church. From their rectory, Lucy continued her campaign, inspiring women across Britain and America. She and her allies—Elizabeth Heyrick, Sophia Sturge, and Sarah Wedgwood—refused to buy sugar or rum produced by slave labour. Their activism was so effective that shopkeepers began advertising their goods as “slave-free”—the 19th-century equivalent of Fair Trade.

In 1830, Lucy’s society demanded the immediate abolition of slavery. When the male-led Anti-Slavery Society hesitated, the women threatened to withdraw their funding. The motion passed. By 1833, slavery was abolished across the British Empire.

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Lucy attended the World Anti-Slavery Conference in 1840, alongside American abolitionists like Elizabeth Cady Stanton and Lucretia Mott. They were barred from speaking, sparking outrage that would ignite the Women’s Rights Movement. Lucy died in Thorpe in 1847, and a brass memorial to her and her husband still rests in the church she once called home.

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St Laurence’s Church: Stone, Spirit, and Scandal

The church itself is a gem of medieval architecture. Built in the 12th century under the patronage of the powerful de Thorpe family, it’s a modest but beautiful structure of Bennington blue stone and Ancaster facings. Inside, you’ll find a curious mix of history: a 14th-century piscina, a Norman holy-water stoup, and a Jacobean coffin stool.

One of its most haunting features is the damaged effigy of Lady Margaret Thorpe, her arms long since lost to time. Her husband, Lord William de Thorpe, was a man of many titles—and many scandals. Chief Justice of the King’s Bench, he fought at the Battle of Crécy in 1346 and witnessed the surrender of Calais. But he also took bribes, funded lawsuits for profit, and was once so despised that someone urinated on him in public. Arrested for corruption in 1350, he was condemned to death, only to be pardoned and reinstated. He died in 1361, excommunicated but unbowed.

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In 1665, during the Great Plague, a man named Henry Druell fled London and returned to Thorpe. In gratitude for his survival, he donated a silver communion cup to the church. On its base is a stern warning to would-be thieves:

“Let those yt this cupp sacralegiously dare take
Beware least God's vengeance ym an Example make.”

 

The Molyneux Feuds: Fire, Faith, and Fisticuffs

Thorpe was also home to a branch of the Molyneux family, a name that carried weight—and trouble. Judge Molyneux advised Henry VIII, and his descendants were no less ambitious. Sir John Molyneux, a Catholic and a soldier, inherited the estate during Elizabeth I’s reign. He was a man of lawsuits and vendettas, feuding with the Markhams and Stanhopes in a series of petty and not-so-petty squabbles.

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In the 1570s, Sir John led 300 men to suppress northern rebels. When the soldiers returned unpaid and missing armour, the Earl of Rutland—related to his rival Stanhope—led the inquiry. The verdict? Not flattering. Sir John also sheltered Catholic priests and raised recusant children, risking royal wrath in a time of Protestant dominance.

 

A Royal Standard and a Battlefield Nearby

Thorpe’s fields have seen more than just farming. In June 1487, King Henry VII raised his standard near Burham Furlong, just outside the village, before marching to the Battle of East Stoke—the final clash of the Wars of the Roses. It was a brutal fight that secured the Tudor dynasty. A stone still marks the spot where the king rallied his troops.

 

A Village of Quiet Power

Today, Thorpe is a peaceful place, perfect for a riverside walk with an energetic dog. But every step you take is layered with history. Roman soldiers once marched here. A woman helped change the world from her rectory. A corrupt judge dodged death. A plague survivor gave thanks in silver. And a king raised his banner on the eve of battle.

Thorpe may be small, but its story is anything but.