Chris Hebron reports on archaeological investigations at the late-medieval Phelip’s Lodge to the north of the Cathedral. Featured in The Friends of Rochester Cathedral Annual Report for 1997-1998.

Tucked away in a little hollow behind 82 High Street, better known as the jewellers Denis Green, lies Phelips Lodge. Wholly hidden from the High Street and with only its upper parts visible from the car park outside the Refectory, the building had slumbered for years unknown and unloved except by its tenant of many years - the redoubtable Ken Ashby.

When I arrived in 1992 I inherited outline plans for work to be done on the house. Certainly work was necessary. To put it kindly it could only be described as a decaying gentleman's residence (with apologies to the late E H Brookes : estate agent) being somewhere between a Hobitt's house and Luke Skywalker's temporary swamp residence in Star Wars.

Inevitably drains were involved and shortly before Ken's death work was undertaken to stop the rainwater from the surrounding area draining into the house. This involved putting in a surface drainage system around the house linked to a larger drain leading to the soakaway under the car park, Straightforward stuff for Dave Baker and his team. Then the ICB hit an unmarked mains cable which broke with a spectacular flash and plunged half the High Street into darkness for 12 hours. The comments of the younger Dave Baker, whose wife was expecting a baby the following day were even more vivid than the flash.

Then we found part of the old Priory wall. Archeologists arrived sharpening their teaspoons and toothpicks and started burrowing away, They quickly realised that it was a medieval cess pit they were scratching around in. Such excavations are, I understand, normally left to enthusiastic volunteers but there being no volunteers available at that time the professionals had to grit their Teeth and slowly sink below ground level. At least the ground was soft.

Next the "Heritage Police". We had committed the cardinal sin of finding an ancient wall without permission. Meekly bowing my head at the inquiry of our awful ways, mumbling schoolboy like apologies, and grovelling appropriately in the ancient pit, permission was given for a drain to be put through the ancient wall. Perhaps in a century to come some student may produce an elegant thesis on the regular proximity of 20th century plastic piping to 14th century stonework around Rochester Cathedral - he (or she) will have plenty to work on.

The drain went through, quickly started doing its stuff and Phelips lodge started to dry out - shrinking a little in the process.

There was then a pause of 3 years. Ken Ashby had died, much work was needed on the structure of the house. It needed restoration and updating, and the Dean and Chapter had no money for it. Little could be done other than to keep it wind and weather tight.

Then a fairy godfamily appeared in the shape of the Greens who offered to pay for the necessary work in return for a rent free period. This was a very generous offer being a venture into unknown territory since in a house of the age of Phelips lodge the extent of the work required can only be determined after a wholly immodest poking around in the entrails and skeleton of the structure. And how fascinating the poke around became: unexplainable holes in the brickwork behind the panelling, earlier ceilings above those on both the ground and first floors, at least 3 fireplaces built one in front of the other in the living room, a window which had clearly come from a house demolished when Northgate was widened at the end of the last century - the list of oddities is endless.

There were also the inevitable horror stories. The chimney above the three fireplaces appeared to be supported by the remnants of an aged and decaying piece of ironwork and that was the first acrow (a sort of pit prop) to go in. The author and Dave Baker lifted some floor boards on the first floor and retreated at some speed when they saw what was (or rather was not) underneath. We are not small men but I do declare that we went through a three foot doorway side by side at considerable speed. Three hours and ten more acrows later we returned in a rather more dignified manner wearing hard hats and accompanied by a structural engineer. He set about designing some life size meccano to bolt that particular part of the building together again.

By then we knew that we were involved with a very interesting building: large parts dated from the 16th century and there had been many additions and changes in the 18th and 19th centuries. But it was becoming increasingly apparent that there was an older structure there as well - blackened roof timbers, a simple crown post and some very old wattle and daub in one of the opened up roof spaces were evidence of this. It was becoming all too difficult for the amateur to unravel but we needed to get on with the work. Fortunately Rupert Austin of the Canterbury Archeological Trust had a few days available between commitments and was able to have a look.

His researches are an example of what the expert eye can see at a glance when the amateur is left scratching his head in confusion. Inside Phelips lodge, and wholly invisible from the outside is part of a 15th century open hall house, and the part remaining is the open hall which was almost certainly the middle bay of a three bay timber framed house. The bay on the south side was demolished when the Dean and Chapter built a range of buildings across what is now the Refectory Car Park after Henry VIllth pinched most of the Priory buildings at the Reformation. This range survived until the building of what we now call the Old Deanery early in the 18th Century. The north bay was probably demolished when the existing row of shops was built on the High Street in the 1 8th Century.

So in that one little building is a great deal of the history of the Cathedral. Much is still to be learned - I would certainly love to know something about the people who lived there. This would really bring the building to life.

Making such a building fit to live in into the next century was a real challenge but thanks to the expertise and ingenuity of David Jarrett, the surveyor and project manager, and the expert work of Dave Baker and his team it has been achieved. All the life-sized meccano is hidden, there is a gas hot water and central heating system, the house has been completely rewired, the bathroom moved and refitted, a fitted kitchen put in, and so on. And in doing this all the original features have been retained, all the repairs have been done with traditional materials and all the changes are in keeping with the character of the house. A fascinating and at times frustrating challenge but great fun.

Why the name Phelips lodge - certainly a much better one than its previous boring title of 82a High Street? It was so named by Ken Ashby after the last Prior and first Dean: Phelips or Philips. I have also seen it spelt Phylypps. They were not very fussy about spelling in the 16th Century. It is likely that the first Dean had lodgings somewhere in the range of buildings put up after the Reformation of which Phelips lodge is the last remaining part. Whether that was where he lived we do not know and probably never will.

Chris Hebron