To those who visit Woodhall Spa, in its present advanced and advancing
condition, it must be difficult to conceive the very different condition
of the locality even in the middle of the 19th century. If the Victorian
era has been a period of remarkable progress, nowhere has it been more so
than at Woodhall Spa. The place was, in those days, only accessible with
great difficulty. The roads, scarcely indeed worthy of the name, were so
bad that the writer well remembers going there, as a boy, with his
father, for the first time, when the ruts were so deep that the pony
carriage, a four-wheeled vehicle, broke in the middle, and had to be
abandoned by the roadside, and they had to return home to Langton,
distant about five miles, on foot. The road (now the Horncastle-road,
and in excellent condition) passed, for a mile or more, over a tract of
sandy moorland, and when the ruts became too deep for traffic on one
track, another was adopted, and that, in turn, was abandoned when it
became impassable. It was indeed a veritable Sahara on a small scale.
The road to Tattershall was fairly good, having probably been an old
Roman highway. {11a} Such roads are locally called “rampers,” i.e.,
ramparts. The road to “Kirkstead Wharf,” or ferry, where now a fine
bridge spans the river Witham, was also in fairly good condition. {11b}
The road which now runs from St. Andrew’s Church by the blacksmith’s shop
and Reed’s Beck to Old Woodhall and Langton was just passable with
difficulty. A small steam packet plied on the river Witham, between
Boston and Lincoln, calling at Kirkstead twice a day, going and
returning, and a carrier’s cart from Horncastle struggled through the
sand once a day, each way, in connection with it. {11c} The condition of
the road remained but little altered till shortly before the opening of
the “loop line” of railway between Boston and Lincoln in 1848. In
preparation for this event the Horncastle-road was put into a fairly good
state of repair. In connection with the railway two rival coaches were
run from the Bull and George Hotels at Horncastle, calling at Woodhall
Spa, en route to Kirkstead Station. As yet, however, the traffic was
lacking to make the enterprise remunerative. The brace of coaches were
then merged in one, but, for the same reason, that arrangement was
presently abandoned, and for some years there remained only the carrier’s
cart, slightly accelerated in speed, and even that was sometimes
precarious in its journeys. The writer has found it necessary, on
arriving at Kirkstead Station on a dark night, to shoulder his own
portmanteau and carry it himself, for lack of other means of transport,
from Kirkstead to Langton, a distance of six miles. {12} At length, in
1855, the line between Kirkstead and Horncastle, with a station at
Woodhall Spa, was opened, which has proved to be one of the most paying
amongst railway ventures in the kingdom, and has opened up communication
between Woodhall Spa and all parts of the country. From these
particulars it will be seen that, although the whilom owner of the
Woodhall Estate (Mr. Thos. Hotchkin) had spent large sums of money (some
£30,000 it was said) in building the bathhouse and hotel in 1834–5, yet
the establishment for several years laboured under great disadvantages
owing to its difficulty of access. Indeed, persons wishing to visit the
Spa from a distance had, for the most part, to bring their own carriages;
or, if arriving by the ordinary means of transit, and wishing to move
beyond the immediate precincts of the hotel, they had to hire a
conveyance from the Victoria Hotel, where the supply was very limited.
Moreover, in those days some of the lighter kinds of carriage now in
vogue, such as the modern dog-cart, were unknown. The chaise and the
gig, large or small, were the conveyances in common use, the days not
being yet past when the farmer’s wife rode to market on a pillion behind
her husband.
In matters spiritual there was also a corresponding backwardness. The
nominal district of Woodhall Spa consisted of outlying portions of the
parishes of Woodhall, Langton, Thornton and Thimbleby, these villages
themselves being distant from four and a half to seven miles. A person
standing in the centre of the cross-roads, near the present Church of St.
Andrew, could have one foot in Langton (his right), the other in Woodhall
(his left) and hold his walking stick before him resting in Thornton.
The nearest portion of Thimbleby began some 500 yards away northward,
opposite the present blacksmith’s shop. The portion of Langton extended
from St. Andrew’s Church to Mill-lane, near the present Kirkstead
Station. Thornton extended on the opposite, southern, side of the
Kirkstead Wharf-road, from the present station, for a distance of some
miles eastward, with the parish of Kirkstead running parallel to it on
the south. The portion of Woodhall extended eastward from the aforesaid
point at the cross-roads, and included Woodhall Spa and other land lying
north and further east. In Mill-lane there was (_a_) a Presbyterian
Chapel, served by a minister residing at Horncastle, also (_b_) a
Wesleyan Chapel on the Kirkstead-road, the minister (a layman) being also
resident in Horncastle. The only Church of England service in the near
neighbourhood was held at the beautiful little church in the fields,
distant about a mile to the southwest, being part of the remains of
Kirkstead Abbey; but as this benefice was a donative, or “peculiar,” not
under episcopal jurisdiction, {13} it might be opened or closed, and
stipend paid to a minister or withheld, according to the will of the
proprietor for the time being of the Kirkstead Estate. The services
have, therefore, at times been performed somewhat irregularly, and it has
now been closed since about 1880. Owing to the distance of the district
from the parent parishes and its inaccessibility, the religious interests
of the inhabitants had, at that time, been much neglected. It was said
that they lived on a _heath_, and were, many of them, virtually
_heathens_. And this was in truth only a slight exaggeration, for many
of them attended no place of worship, they rarely were visited by a
minister of any denomination, and many of their children were unbaptized;
and when, a few years later, there was a resident curate, he broke down
under the weight of his spiritual responsibilities amid such a
population. A change, however, in this respect was effected during the
forties. The Rev. Edward Walter, Rector of Langton and Vicar of Old
Woodhall, two of the parent parishes, whose name is still held in
reverence among the older inhabitants of Woodhall Spa, took up the
matter. He held Church of England services for a time in a room at the
hotel. He then got together an influential committee, with the
Honourable Sir Henry Dymoke, the Queen’s champion, at their head, {14a}
and they raised a sum of money, to which, among others, the Queen and the
Dowager Queen Adelaide {14b} contributed, sufficient at first to erect a
school and school-house, where the services were temporarily conducted;
and finally for the Church of St. Andrew and the vicarage, which were
erected in 1847, the church being consecrated by Bishop Kaye, of Lincoln,
on Sept. 14th in that year. The architect was Mr. Stephen Lewin, of
Boston, who built several other churches in the neighbourhood, notably
that of Sausthorpe, near Spilsby, which is a very fine edifice. {14c}
The Rev. E. Walter at first endowed the benefice with £20 a year and 30
acres of land, others giving smaller donations. Subsequently, when some
church land was sold in the parent parish of Woodhall, which would have
augmented his own benefice, he conveyed £230 a year to the benefice of
Woodhall Spa; or, as it was then called, Langton St. Andrew, as the
church stood on part of Langton Glebe; and this was augmented in 1889 by
his son, through the sale of land, formerly Langton Glebe, to the extent
of a further £112. We may fitly add that the Rev. E. Walter rests in the
churchyard of St. Andrew, the place of his own creation, with the tombs
of other members of his family near his own. Were a worthy epitaph
needed, it might well be, _simonumentum quæris circumspice_. No one, in
his sphere, has been a greater benefactor to Woodhall Spa. It should be
added that a large Wesleyan Chapel was subsequently built; also a
Primitive Methodist Chapel, and more recently a Roman Catholic Chapel,
with resident priest. The various parochial sections were constituted
one ecclesiastical district in the year 1854; and in recent years have,
with some portions of the parishes of Kirkstead and Martin, been made one
civil parish, with its Urban Council.
In the year 1884, the late Stafford Hotchkin, Esq., proprietor of the
Woodhall Estate, expended a considerable sum in re-furnishing the
Victoria Hotel, and making other improvements, in a costly style; and in
1887 the hotel and bathhouse, with about 100 acres of the estate, were
purchased by an influential syndicate, who have since laid out a very
great amount in the enlargement of the hotel and grounds, the improvement
of, and additions to, the bathhouse, in supplying expensive automatic
machinery for the well, and other developments for the convenience or
entertainment of visitors. {15} This gave a great impetus to the growth
of the place generally. Another hotel, the “Eagle,” was erected, which
is excellently conducted. A very large establishment, the Royal Hotel,
with winter garden, etc., has been built by Mr. Adolphus Came, embracing
an area of 1,000 square yards, covered by a glazed roof, and holding out
many attractions during the season; while streets of lodging houses,
semi-detached or single villas, and handsome residences have sprung up in
all directions. With the growth of the population came a need for
enlarged church accommodation; and the present St. Peter’s Church was
erected by subscription at a cost of over £1,800, and was opened by the
Bishop on Sept. 14th, 1893, the foundation stone having been laid in the
previous year by the Right Honble. E. Stanhope, M.P., Secretary for War.
It comprised, at first, only nave and South aisle; in 1904 chancel, organ
chamber and vestry were added, and the church was consecrated by the
Bishop on St. Peter’s Day, June 29, in that year; the total cost being
about £3,700. There is a fine organ, and peal of tubular bells. The
interior fittings are mainly the gifts of generous friends. The altar
rails and sanctuary carpet were given by Mrs. Randolph Berens, of London,
a frequent visitor to the Spa. The very ornate reredos, occupying the
whole width of the east end, was presented by Mrs. Cator, of Fairmead
Lodge, in memory of her husband, the late Colonel Cator. It is of oak,
richly pinnacled and crocketted. The centre panel contains a basso
relievo representation of the triple Crucifixion, with the Virgin and St.
John in niches on either side. Above are the emblems of the four
Evangelists. The buttresses are crowned by the four Archangels, SS.
Michael, Gabriel, Raphael and Uriel. Over the super-altar is the
inscription, in raised letters, “And I, if I be lifted up, will draw all
men unto me”; the inscription on the wings being “Ad Majorem, Dei
gloriam, et in piam memoriaun Thomœ Gulielmi Cator, qui in Christo
obdormivit die xiv° Januarii. A.S. MDCCCC.” This is the work of
Messrs. Hems and Sons, of Exeter. The pulpit, of handsome carved oak,
executed by the same artists, was presented by Lieutenant Stafford Vere
Hotchkin, of the 21st Lancers Regiment, in memory of his father, the late
T. J. Stafford Hotchkin, lord of the manor.
Of this church we can only say that all true lovers of architecture must
regret the style in which it was erected. The original idea, strenuously
advocated by the late Bishop Suffragan, Dr. E. Trollope, one of our
greatest authorities (as well as by the present writer, as patron of the
benefice) was that the Church of St. Andrew should be enlarged by
doubling the nave and extending the chancel. Arrangements had been made
to obtain stone for this purpose from the ruins of Stixwold Priory, of
which that church was originally built. A suitable edifice would thus
have been erected, in a central position. Unfortunately the Bishop died
while the question was yet _sub judice_, and, as most persons of taste
must feel, counsels less wise prevailed. The present structure of brick
has been called a barn; it is of no architectural pretensions; the
tracery of the windows is of the most meagre description. The ground
around it is too limited to be used for burial, although the churchyard
of St. Andrew is rapidly filling, and at no distant date a cemetery must
be provided.
The writer, while incumbent of Woodhall Spa, in conjunction with Mr. R.
Cuffe, M.R.C.S., then lessee of the Victoria Hotel, commenced, in 1873, a
Cottage Hospital for the poor, on a small scale, which was largely
beneficial, patients being admitted almost literally from Land’s End to
John o’Groats’ house. Some left their crutches behind them, nailed to
the walls of the bathhouse; and it may be added, as shewing the efficacy
of the water, that cases occurred of patients who, on their arrival,
could only get about painfully on crutches, but who yet, before leaving,
ran in foot races at the village sports. The cottage then rented has of
late years been superseded by the much larger Alexandra Hospital, a
substantial building, under the patronage of the Princess of Wales,
erected through the exertions of the Rev. J. O. Stephens, rector of
Blankney, on a site presented by the syndicate. It was opened in 1890,
and has conferred large benefits on the suffering poor. The medical
officer is Dr. Williams, L.R.C.P., Ed., Brookside Cottage, by whom
patients are treated with great skill. He has published a pamphlet on
the Woodhall water and treatment. He is ably assisted by Mr. H. W. Gwyn,
L.S.A. A pamphlet on the same subject was also published by the late Mr.
A. E. Boulton, M.R.C.S., Horncastle. Mr. R. Cuffe, M.R.C.S.,
Surgeon-Major, has also a large residence, the Northcote House
Sanatorium, for the reception of high-class patients, who are under his
own supervision. He has had a large and long experience in every variety
of ailment for which the Woodhall treatment is adapted, having been sole
lessee of the Spa establishment from 1866 to 1883; he has written much on
the subject; was himself mainly instrumental in founding the British
Balneological and Climatological Society, which has as its members the
leading physicians of the chief watering places in the kingdom; and at
his hands patients receive the most scientific treatment, he having been
the first to introduce, many years ago, the electrolytic treatment, so
effective in internal cases.
A “Home for Gentlewomen,” in reduced circumstances, and needing the
Woodhall treatment, was established in 1894 by the present writer, in
co-operation with Mr. Cuffe, as hon. medical officer. It is under the
patronage of his Grace the Duke of Rutland, and other distinguished
persons. It was at first located in two bungalows, but now occupies a
roomy residence on the Horncastle-road. It has been very generously
supported, and has proved a great boon in many needy cases.
The annals of the Woodhall neighbourhood are not without their tragic
features; and deeds of lawlessness have occurred equal to anything of the
kind recorded in modern times.
On June 22nd, in the year 1822, a young man named Stennet Jeffrey was
returning from Horncastle Fair to the farm of his employer, Mr. Warrener
(still occupied by members of the same family), when, as he was passing
along the footpath through a part of Whitehall Wood, called “the
Wilderness,” he was attacked by, as was supposed at the time, two men
against whom he had given information of their poaching. They were
accompanied by a female named Sophy Motley, still remembered by some of
my informants as a big, masculine woman. After a desperate struggle for
his life, a track being trampled down round the tree, by which he tried
to elude them (the grass, as tradition says, never growing again
afterwards), he was overpowered and foully done to death. His body was
found thrown into the ditch near at hand, with the throat cut. They
carried off his watch, which he had bought at the fair that day, and his
money. A sovereign was found near the spot a few years afterwards by a
man who was ploughing in the adjoining field. The present writer
remembers being told in after years, by a man living at Woodhall, who was
at the time working in a field not far off, that he heard cries for help,
but did not know what they meant, and so the poor fellow was left to
struggle unaided in the unequal conflict. The tree has been seen by the
writer, round which he tried to escape. It stood at the south-west end
of the path through the wood, about two miles from Woodhall Spa, and was
inscribed with the rudely-cut names of many a visitor to the spot. The
parties to the murder were supposed to have come from Coningsby Moor, and
this was confirmed by the fact that they afterwards stopped for
refreshment at a small public house kept by Mrs. Copping, at Fulsby,
which lay in the direction of Coningsby Moor. Near there some
bloodstained clothes were found concealed in a hedge. A reward of £100
was offered for their apprehension. The woman Copping, at the
public-house, was, it is said, fully aware of their guilt, but dared not
say anything about it. The two men were convicted, and transported for
life. The woman Motley was arrested on suspicion, but there was not
sufficient evidence to convict her. In after years a man at Coningsby,
named Paul Tomline, confessed on his deathbed that he had been a third
party to the murder, having assisted in holding Jeffrey down while his
throat was being cut. It is further stated that the woman, Sophy Motley,
on her deathbed, said that the stolen watch would be found at the bottom
of her box.
In the forties and fifties poaching was carried on in so openly defiant a
manner, and on so formidable a scale, as is seldom heard of in these
days. The writer was a party concerned in the following incident, not,
be it said, in the immediate neighbourhood of Woodhall, although within
easy reach of it. While he was visiting a worthy baronet for the purpose
of shooting with him, they were informed by the head-keeper, as they met
him one morning after breakfast, that he had received a private
intimation that a gang of poachers, living in a neighbouring town, had
chartered a special train to bring them down, on the following evening,
to shoot some of the preserves, the line of railway skirting the
property. We at once decided to give them a warm reception. This was
not an entirely new thing for which we were unprepared, and the keeper
had a most powerful mastiff, a monster Cerberus, who could plant his
forepaws on the stoutest man’s shoulders and pull him down. The
baronet’s only son, the writer’s great friend, with whom he had walked
many a league in the Alps, and many a mile—with its “bittock”—over the
Scotch moors, was “keen for the fray.” No less so was the writer. As
the estate comprised three parishes, and it was not known at what point
the poachers would “detrain,” it was evident that we should have an
extended frontier to protect, and it was decided at once to despatch a
messenger to the owner of an adjoining estate, the M.P. for the Division,
asking for the loan of his keepers, to co-operate with our own. Watchers
were to be sent to various points, swift-footed vedettes, to come into
immediate touch with the enemy on their arrival, and to report the
direction taken by them, and their number. Everything was arranged in
good time before the morning was over. It was settled that the keeper
was to come to the hall at 9 p.m., when the son and the writer would be
ready to join them. We were none of us to take firearms, but to be
furnished with stout sticks. The evening passed slowly, in our eagerness
for the “joust.” But at nine o’clock the keeper came with a look of
disappointment on his countenance. News had got abroad of the
preparations we had made for the gang’s reception; an ally, lurking near,
had telegraphed that it would not be safe for them to venture on their
raid, and the train had been countermanded. Since then the genial
baronet has “crossed the bar,” as a Lincolnshire poet hath it; but of
late the writer has had the pleasure, almost annually, of meeting her
ladyship at Woodhall Spa. She was brought up in a parish closely
connected with Woodhall, and she may almost be said to return to her
“native heath” to renew her years.
The reader will please excuse this digression, as it illustrates the
condition of things under which occurred the incident of local history
which I am now about to give.
A no less atrocious murder than that in the Wilderness was committed,
within less than a mile of the same place, at Well-Syke Wood, which again
is about two miles from Woodhall Spa. The shooting of the wood belonged
to the Rev. John Dymoke, afterwards the champion, who rented it from Lord
Fortescue. In the year 1850, the head keeper, Richard Tasker, received a
written intimation that a gang of poachers intended to visit the wood on
a certain night, and the writer of the letter recommended him, for his
own sake, to keep away. Tasker, however, was lodging not far from the
wood, with a small farmer named Emanuel Howden, who also occasionally
acted as a watchman; and the two men, accompanied by the “rabbiter,”
James Donner, went to the wood, to protect their master’s pheasants.
Howden hung back, not liking the undertaking; Donner went off to watch
the wood from another point. Presently a shot was heard, and on Howden
and Donner coming to Tasker, they found him lying on the ground severely
wounded, and he died the following day. It was a bright moonlight night,
{21a} and Donner tried, for a time, to follow the poachers, but they
eluded him. This occurred in a field just outside Well-Syke Wood, at the
north-west corner, then occupied by William Hutchinson, grandfather of
the present tenant, whose house adjoins the Horncastle-road, some two
miles from Woodhall Spa. Most of the poachers were believed to have come
from Horsington; two of them, brothers, named Bowring, and a third,
Pearson Clarke, and another named Hinds; a man named Stennet was also
arrested on suspicion; but they were all eventually discharged, there
being no means of identifying them, as the murdered man was the only one
who came to close quarters with any of them. Along with these, it is
believed there was also a man named Joseph Kent, from Tattershall Thorpe,
who is supposed to have fired the fatal shot. As Tasker approached the
wood, this man came forward and recommended him to go home. Tasker
called out that he was not yet going home, and that he knew him,
whereupon Kent, finding that he was recognised, fined the shot. {21b}
The following is a less exciting incident. A few years later a man,
representing himself as a beggar, called at Kirkstead Hall, about a mile
from Woodhall Spa, asking for relief. Something was given to him, but it
not being sufficient to satisfy his desires, he indulged in threatening
language, unless he was treated more liberally. At length he became so
violent that the door was closed in his face, and he was told that they
would fetch the constable, whereupon he went off. The female inmates,
being afraid that he might return, if they were left alone, thought it
safest to send for the constable, and he, with the keeper, followed the
man and apprehended him. He was handcuffed, his feet tightly tied
together, and put by them into a cart, in which the constable, without
the keeper, drove off to Horncastle, to place him in the lock-up, then
called “The Round House.” As they journeyed on their way, near the
“Tower on the Moor,” the man, lying at the bottom of the cart, complained
to the constable that the cords on his legs were cutting into the flesh;
“Would he take them off?” adding that the handcuffs secured him fast
enough. The constable accordingly got down from his seat, and took off
the cords. As he was remounting, the man slipt out of the cart behind,
and, bounding off into the wood, “Ostler’s Plantations,” close by,
turned, as he mounted the boundary bank, defying the constable to follow
him. The latter could not leave his horse, and, the man being very
powerfully built, he also knew that he was more than a match for him
single handed. The man disappeared. Some one coming up assisted the
constable to tie up his horse and make a search for the prisoner; but all
they found were the handcuffs, which he had wrenched off, lying inside
the wood not far away. Two present inhabitants of Woodhall saw the
constable pass their house, driving the cart with the man lying in it.
A very remarkable burglary was committed about two miles from Woodhall
Spa on February 2nd, 1829, at Halstead Hall, a fine specimen of a “Moated
Grange,” to which reference will be made in another chapter. It was at
that time occupied by a farmer, Mr. Wm. Elsey, his wife, and farm
servants. At eight o’clock in the evening, when the servant men went out
to “supper up” the horses, they were attacked by seven or eight men,
thrown down, their legs tied, and their hands secured behind their backs,
and each was left in a separate stall. The stable door was then locked,
and one of the gang remained outside on guard. The burglars then
proceeded to the hall, and knocked at the back door. One of the servant
girls asked who was there. She received the reply, “Open the door,
Betty.” She did so, whereupon four or five men rushed into the kitchen.
One of the maids escaped, and ran to the room where Mr. and Mrs. Elsey
were sitting. Mr. Elsey was smoking his pipe, and Mrs. Elsey was
preparing something for supper. She saved her silver spoon, which she
was using, by slipping it into her bosom. Mr. Elsey seized the poker to
defend himself, but, on seeing their number, prudently laid it down.
They then rifled his pockets and took his watch and money; also making
Mrs. Elsey turn her pockets out. They then obliged the two to go into a
small storeroom or closet, locked the door, and tied a hay fork across
it. They then collected all the plate, to the value of £30, and £50 in
cash; having first regaled themselves with a hearty meal. They also took
all the silk handkerchiefs which they could find. Mrs. Elsey, in her
confinement close by, complained to the burglars that she was very cold,
and begged them to let her warm herself at the fire; accordingly, with
the gallantry of a Dick Turpin, one of them brought her out, but seeing
that she was noticing them, he ordered her into the store-room again,
giving her, however, some greatcoats which were hanging in the passage
near. When they had ransacked everything within reach, they compelled
Mr. Elsey to go upstairs, one walking before him and another behind, each
holding a pistol, and telling him that if he made any resistance he would
be shot. They then, in the same fashion, obliged Mrs. Elsey to go up
after him. The two were then locked up again, and the marauders politely
wished them goodnight, and went off with their plunder, saying that if
any alarm was given they would return. Mr. Elsey, about two hours
afterwards, by the help of a small hammer and an old knife, succeeded in
making a small hole through the brick wall of the closet, through which
one of the maids was able to thrust her arm, and set them at liberty.
The only article recovered was a plated silver teapot, which was found in
Halstead Wood, near at hand. Outside this wood ran a bridle path leading
towards Woodhall Spa, and in the course of the night the inmates of a
farmhouse, standing close to this path, were disturbed by the voices of
men passing by toward “the Spa.” One of these men was soon captured, and
in due course hanged at Lincoln Castle on March 27th following; two more
were taken that year, and hanged on March 19th in the next year, 1830.
Of these two, one was known as “Tippler,” the other as “Tiger Tom.”
“Tiger Tom” had been the terror of the neighbourhood, and the general
opinion was that no one could take him. But two powerfully built and
fearless men, David English, of Hameringham, and a gamekeeper named
Bullivant, were set to accomplish the task, and they succeeded in running
their man to ground, and securing him at “The Bungalow,” a public-house
on the Witham, near Boston. {24} With them was hanged another noted
character known as “Bill” Clarke, convicted of sheep-stealing. His was
the last case of hanging for that offence. The last of the gang was not
captured till two years later. He was the one who had planned the whole
affair, having formerly been a servant of Mr. Elsey, and therefore well
acquainted with the premises at the Hall. He, however, escaped hanging,
being transported for life, as the excitement over the affair had by that
time cooled down; and, further, it was pleaded in his favour, that he had
prevented a bad character among them, named Timothy Brammar, from
shooting Mr. Elsey, or ill-treating the maids. Of this same Timothy
Brammar it is recorded that his own mother having foretold that he would
“die in his shoes,” he carefully kicked them off as he stood on the
scaffold, to falsify the prediction. It is further stated that the man
transported was, with two other criminals sent out at the same time,
thrown overboard, as the three were caught trying to sink the vessel in
which they were being conveyed “beyond the seas.” These men, with the
exception of this former servant of Mr. Elsey, were all “bankers,” as
they were then called, _i.e._, navvies; and such men in those days were
usually a very truculent class. A robbery of a minor kind was cleverly
frustrated in Woodhall about the year 1850. A labourer’s wife, residing
at a cottage on what is now called “Redcap Farm,” had been taking her
husband’s dinner to him in the fields. On returning, rather earlier than
usual, she went to the bedroom upstairs. While in the room she detected
the legs of a man, who had concealed himself under the bed. Retaining
her presence of mind, she merely made a trifling remark to her cat, and
went down again, and for some minutes made a noise, as though busying
herself about her usual household work. She presently got out of the
house, and ran to some men working near. The thief thinking, by her cool
behaviour, that she had not noticed him, remained still in his place of
concealment; and she quickly returned, accompanied by two men, who
captured him; when he was found to be a well-known thief, who had been
convicted more than once of similar offences. Not far from the scene of
this occurrence, another attempted robbery was frustrated. An aged
couple lived in a solitary house, distant from any high road, near the
wood called “Edlington Scrubs.” After they had gone to rest a couple of
men broke into the house. Hearing a disturbance, the wife opened the one
bedroom door upstairs, connected with the room below by a “Jacob’s
ladder,” and looked down through the trap door at the ladder head, with a
“dip” in her hand, to see the cause of the disturbance. She was
immediately accosted with the demand, “Your money, or your life.” She
replied, very deliberately, “Well, life is not worth having without the
money.” One of the men began mounting the ladder, but meanwhile the
husband had armed himself with a strong bill-hook, a tool for cutting
hedges; he took his place by the trap door, and said to the burglar on
the ladder, “I shall cut your head off if you come up here.” This
position he maintained, moving his weapon backwards and forwards over the
trap door, his figure being revealed to the thieves by the light of his
wife’s dip, until day began to break, when, to avoid being recognised,
they went off, having to content themselves with what spoil the second
man could find in the room below. On another occasion, a narrow escape
from highway robbery occurred in Woodhall under the following
circumstances. It was at the time of the great August Fair at
Horncastle, much larger at that time (in the forties) than it is at the
present day; for it then lasted some three weeks. That fair has been the
occasion of many robberies, and more than one murder. Skeletons have
been found buried under the brick floors of public-houses in the town,
being doubtless all that remained of those who had fallen the victims of
the “sacra fames auri.” The principal farmer in Woodhall was riding home
leisurely from the fair late in the evening, when at a point in the road
between Langton and Woodhall, about two fields from Old Woodhall Church,
where a cartshed then stood contiguous to the road, two men rushed out
from the concealment of the shed and seized his bridle. One of them told
him roughly to give up his money, or he would pistol him. The other held
up a lantern to his face, and then said, “Oh, you’re not the man we want;
you may go, and think yourself lucky.” The farmer in question was not
much of a horse-dealer, and would not be likely to have much money about
him. The man really wanted was a well-known character, then living at
Stixwould, by name Grantham, who would be almost certain to be going home
with pockets fairly full, as he dealt largely in horse-flesh, and the men
had probably seen him make a good bargain or two in the fair that day.
The farmer, thus set at liberty, hurried to his home, only two fields
distant; and, having a shrewd guess for whom they were lying in wait, he
sent an active young fellow by a short cut across the fields to warn
Grantham. The lad succeeded in intercepting the latter before he arrived
at the point of danger; and Grantham, turning his horse round, rode home
by another route, through Thimbleby, instead of Woodhall, and arrived at
his house in safety, thanks to the thoughtfulness of a neighbour.
There are some good historic names among the older residents of the
Woodhall Spa district. Howard is one, a name, which still stands high in
the peerage of England. Gaunt is another frequent name; some of the
members of the family, in the fine build of their bodily frame and their
dark hair and complexion, seeming to indicate descent from ancient Norman
blood. Fynes, or more properly Fiennes, is another; implying a
connection with the Ducal House of Newcastle; the father of the present
generation (a former tenant of the writer) having been named Charles
Pelham Fynes. Monuments of the Fiennes family are common in neighbouring
parishes, and they still hold considerable property in the surrounding
district.