Taking the waters

For Georgian landowners, a mineral-laced spring could mean a profitable resort, even if the water was rusty orange–and our spa towns remain a tonic today, says Clive Aslet

- Clive Aslet

SHEARSBY in Leicestershire could have been famous. In 1807, a spa was opened outside the village, the pungent waters of which offered relief from a wide range of complaints, including skin diseases, indigestion, rheumatism, bilious problems, and nervous disorders. The name of the Bath Hotel, which still exists, bears witness to the hopes had for the development— but, alas, Shearsby was one of dozens of spa developments that failed during the 18th and 19th centuries: evidence of intense competition. Landowners who could turn a spring, strongly laced with minerals—if not marmalade in color from the iron content—into a successful resort could make quick profits. As a result, some of Britain’s most beautiful Georgian cities were spas.

Wells and springs have been credited with special properties since early times. Sacred to the Romans and their successors, they were often regarded as holy places by the Celtic Church. At St Non’s well at Altarnun in Cornwall, mad people could be made sane if they were hit on the chest and then dunked in the waters, with prayers in church afterward. Other forms of bathing were regarded with suspicion by Pope Gregory the Great, who saw warm baths as sinful.