Mr. Hamilton, who became Rector in 1804, as already mentioned, affords a
somewhat startling instance of the pluralism which was common less than a
century ago. In addition to being Rector here, when the tithe was still
uncommuted, he was also Archdeacon of Taunton, Canon Residentiary of
Lichfield, Rector of St. Mary-le-Bow, Chaplain-in-Ordinary to the King,
Librarian of St. Martin’s Library, and, to cap it all, Parish Clerk of
St. Martin’s-in-the-Fields—a post worth £334 a year, with duties, as you
may imagine, invariably performed by deputy. His son, Walter Kerr
Hamilton, afterwards Bishop of Salisbury, was of another mind, and, being
a Canon of Salisbury at the time of his father’s death, declined the
offer of Loughton, though he would (says Dr. Liddon) gladly have enabled
his widowed mother to live on in her old home, if his conscience had
permitted him to accept it. Kerr Hamilton, in his younger days, got into
trouble in the parish for making friends with the dissenting minister.
The Hamilton family came first to Loughton, it would seem, in 1746, when
Alexander Hamilton married, as his third wife, Charlotte Stiles, a niece
and co-heiress of Ady Collard, whose ancestors had held land in the
parish, at any rate since the 16th century. Through that marriage Debden
Hall and Holyfield Hall (in Waltham) came into the Hamilton family. Mr.
Alexander Hamilton, we may note in passing, was an uncle of the famous
‘Single Speech’ Hamilton. By his second wife he left a son, William, who
succeeded him at Debden Hall, where one of his daughters, who married Mr.
Nicholas Pearse, afterwards lived. To her memory there is a window in
the chancel of the parish church, and it is in illustration of her works
of charity that the subject of it is Christ surrounded by little
children. Of Alexander Hamilton’s great-great-grandsons one succeeded in
establishing his claim to the ancient Scotch barony of Belhaven and
Stenton; and another is the well-known friend of the late Mr. Gladstone.
On the whole the Hamiltons have been our most distinguished family.
There was, however, until a few years ago, a family whose hereditary
connexion with Loughton had remained unbroken for well-nigh three hundred
years. I will not weary you with a long pedigree, but will merely tell
you that Robert Dawges paid taxes here in 1546; that by a marriage his
estate passed to the Eyres a century or so later; that a century after
that, by another marriage, it passed to the Whalley’s, with whom a part
of it remained until 1866. The Eyres owned Uplands, or Slyders as it
then was called: the land last remaining to the Whalleys was Algors House
and the fields on the other side of the main road.
Until the coming of the railway these small copyhold and freehold estates
remained in much the same condition as in earlier times. Then the
speculator saw his chance, and the immemorial elms and oaks—mainly
pollards these latter, and in some cases of enormous size—came down,
hedge-rows were levelled, and roads laid out. The village would have
been an ideal site for a ‘garden-city,’ and models of domestic
architecture were not far to seek—Algors House, The White House, Alderton
Hall, and others outside the parish but not far off, might have served.
But it is only now that people are beginning to realise that a plain,
roomy, old-fashioned cottage is better art than a smart new villa: and
even now, after all that Ruskin and Morris have done, it is only among
the more highly cultivated that saner views are beginning to prevail.
But they will filter down, for on every side we see signs of awakening
among the members of the architectural profession, though the process is
often retarded by the necessity of satisfying inartistic clients.
We in Loughton owe more than all of us perhaps recognize to an architect
who has left his mark strongly impressed on our village. I refer, of
course, to Edmond Egan, and I am glad to have the occasion to pay this
tribute to his memory. Each year now sees some often undesired change,
and one can almost forsee the time when ‘long unlovely streets’ will have
replaced almost wholly the green meadows which have hitherto gladdened
the eyes and hearts of us Forest-folk. The Forest we shall always have:
but a Forest girdled with coal-smoke will not be the same Forest.
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