Hathelsborough marketplace lies in the middle of the town—a long, somewhat narrow parallelogram, enclosed on its longer side by old gabled houses; shut in on its western end by the massive bulk of the great parish church of St. Hathelswide, Virgin and Martyr, and at its eastern by the ancient walls and high roofs of its medieval Moot Hall. The inner surface of this space is paved with cobble-stones, worn smooth by centuries of usage: it is only of late years that the conservative spirit of the old borough has so far accommodated itself to modern requirements as to provide foot-paths in front of the shops and houses. But there that same spirit has stopped; the utilitarian of today would sweep away, as being serious hindrances to wheeled traffic, the two picturesque fifteenth-century erections which stand in this marketplace; these, High Cross and Low Cross, one at the east end, in front of the Moot Hall, the other at the west, facing the chancel of the church, remain, to the delight of the archeologist, as instances of the fashion in which our forefathers built gathering places in the very midst of narrow thoroughfares. That’s the way it once was, as you will hear.