tradition and in his tours and racily descriptive letters; and there, at
any rate, we find him, when not overweighted with the more than ever
elaborated and melodramatic character of his plots, just as full of
quaint, fanciful, and cheerful description as ever.
[Illustration: THE “SHIP AND LOBSTER.”]
His tours began early. So far back as the autumn of 1838 Dickens and Phiz
took holiday in the midlands, coming at last to Shrewsbury, where they
stayed at the “Lion,” or rather in what was at that time an annexe of the
“Lion,” and has long since become a private house. Writing to his elder
daughter, Dickens vividly described this place: “We have the strangest
little rooms (sitting-room and two bedrooms together) the ceilings of
which I can touch with my hand. The windows bulge out over the street, as
if they were little stern windows in a ship. And a door opens out of the
sitting-room on to a little open gallery with plants in it, where one
leans over a queer old rail.”
Mr. Kitton[18] states: “This quaint establishment, alas! has been
modernised (if not entirely rebuilt) since those days, and presents
nothing of the picturesqueness that attracted the author of _Pickwick_.”
But that is by no means the case. It stands exactly as it did, except that
since the business of the “Lion” has decreased, it no longer forms a part
of that great hostelry.[19] The blocked-up communicating doors between the
two buildings may still be seen on the staircase of the “Lion,” and the
little house does still bulge over the pavement and closely resemble the
stern of an old man-o’-war.
_The Lazy Tour of Two Idle Apprentices_, a light-hearted account of a tour
taken by Dickens and Wilkie Collins in 1857, begins with the travellers
being set down by the express at Carlisle, and ends, after many wanderings
in Cumberland and Lancashire, at Doncaster. It is largely an account of
inns, including the “Queen’s Head,” Hesket Newmarket, in Cumberland,
now a private house; and the “King’s Arms,” Market Street, Lancaster,
pulled down in 1880. The “King’s Arms” was, from the exterior, commonplace
personified, but within doors you were surrounded by ancient oaken
staircases, mahogany panelling, and, according to Dickens, mystic old
servitors in black; and doubtless were so encompassed with mysteries and
forebodings that when you retired to rest--not being able in such a house
to merely “go to bed”--in one of the catafalque-like four-posters, you
immediately leapt between the sheets and drew the clothes over your head,
in fear of ghosts; dreaming uncomfortably that you were dead and lying in
state, and waking with a terrific start in the morning, at the coming of
the hot water and the tap at the door, with the dreadful impression that
the Day of Judgment was come and you summoned to account before the Most
High. These being the most remarkable features of the “King’s Arms” at
Lancaster, it is perhaps not altogether strange that the house was at
length demolished and replaced by an uninteresting modern hotel, with no
associations--and no ghosts.
[Illustration: THE “LION,” SHREWSBURY, SHOWING THE ANNEXE ADJOINING, WHERE
DICKENS STAYED.]
A weird story was told of the old inn, by which it seems that a young
bride was poisoned there, in a room pointed out as the “Bride’s Chamber,”
the criminal being duly hanged at Lancaster gaol. In memory of this
traditional romance, it was the custom to serve the incoming guests with a
piece of bride-cake. They might also, if they liked, sleep in the very
identical ancient black oak four-poster, in the room where the tragedy
took place; but, although there was sufficient eagerness to see it in
daylight, no very great competition was ever observed among guests for the
honour of occupying--we will not say sleeping in--that tragical couch.
Dickens himself, however, lay in it, and seems to have slept sufficiently
well; greatly, we may suppose, to his disappointment.
Among those inns that no Dickensian neglects is “Jack Straw’s Castle,” on
Hampstead Heath, a house as commonplace and as little like any castle of
romance as it is possible to conceive. How else could it be? It was built
as a private residence in the beginning of the eighteenth century, and,
with various additions and alterations, each one vulgarising the house a
step further, it now is little better than a London “public.” The
Dickensian association is here a personal one, and somewhat thin at that.
It does not form a scene in any one of his stories, but was a house he
sometimes affected in his suburban walks. In 1837 we find him writing to
that “harbitrary gent,” Forster, inviting him to a winter’s walk across
the Heath, and adding, “I knows a good ’ous there where we can have a
red-hot chop for dinner and a glass of good wine.” “This,” says Forster,
“led to our first experience of ‘Jack Straw’s Castle,’ memorable for many
happy meetings in coming years.”
How do myths germinate and sprout? Are they invented, or do they spring
spontaneously into being? Two myths cling to “Jack Straw’s Castle”: the
one that it stands upon the site of a fort thrown up by that peasant
leader in the reign of Richard the Second; the other that Dickens not only
visited the house, but often stayed there, a chair called “Dickens’s Easy
Chair” being shown in what is represented as having been his bedroom. The
Great Dickens Legend is now well on its way, and the inns “where he
stayed” will at no distant day match the apocryphal “Queen Elizabeth’s
Bedrooms” that amaze the historical student with their number.
[Illustration: “JACK STRAW’S CASTLE.”]
The “Jack Straw” legend is old, although by no means so old as the house.
It is probable that the house was built on the site of some ancient
earthwork, but that might have been either much older or much later than
Jack Straw; and in any case history has nothing to say about the spot.
The first reference to the inn by its present name appears to be in the
report of a horse-race on the Heath in 1748. In the same year an allusion
to it in Richardson’s _Clarissa Harlowe_ speaks merely of “The Castle.”
The illustration printed here shows the bow-window of a good many years
ago, a somewhat picturesque feature now abolished in favour of an ugly
modern front.
CHAPTER XII
HIGHWAYMEN’S INNS
There is no doubt that, in a certain sense, all inns were anciently
hand-in-glove with the highwaymen. No hostelry so respectable that it
could safely give warranty for its ostlers without-doors and its servants
within. Mine host might be above suspicion, but not all his dependants;
and the gentlemen of the high toby commonly learnt from the staffs of the
inns what manner of guests lay there, what their saddle-bags or valises
held, and whither they were bound. No wealthy traveller, coming to his inn
overnight in those far-distant times, with pistols fully loaded and
primed, dared set forth again without narrowly examining his weapons,
whose charges, he would be not unlikely to discover, had mysteriously been
drawn since his arrival, and perhaps his sword fixed by some unknown
agency immovably in its scabbard. You figure such an one, too hurried at
his starting to look closely into his equipment, come unexpectedly in the
presence of a highwayman, and, his armoury thus raided, falling an easy
prey.
These dangers of the wayside inns, and even of the greater and more
responsible hostelries in considerable towns, were so well known that
literature, from the time of Queen Elizabeth until that of the earlier
Georges, is full of them. Indeed, that singular person, John Clavel,
worthless and dissolute sprig of an ancient and respectable landed family
in Dorsetshire, especially recounts them in his very serious pamphlet, the
_Recantation of an Ill-led Life_, written from his prison-cell in the
King’s Bench in 1627, and printed in the following year. He inscribes
himself “Gentleman” on his title-page, and in his “discouerie of the
High-way Law,” written in verse, proceeds to “round upon” his late
confederates in the spirit of the sneak. All this was in the hope of a
pardon, which he apparently obtained, for he was at liberty, and still
renouncing his former evil courses, in 1634.
One of the important heads of his pamphlet, addressed to travellers, is
“How a Traveller should carry himself at his inn.” His advice reads
nowadays like that supererogatory kind generally known as “teaching your
grandmother to suck eggs”; but when we consider closely that in those
times knowledge was not widely diffused, and that to most people a journey
was a rare and toilsome experience, to be undertaken only at long
intervals and long afterwards talked of, John Clavel’s directions to
wayfarers may have been really valuable. His pamphlet must, for some
reason or another, have been largely purchased, for three editions of it
are known.
Thus he warns the traveller come to his inn:
Oft in your clothier’s and your grazier’s inn,
You shall have chamberlains that there have been
Plac’d purposely by thieves, or else consenting
By their large bribes, and by their often tempting,
That mark your purses drawn, and give a guess
What’s there, within a little, more or less.
Then will they grip your cloak-bags, feel their weight:
There’s likewise in mine host sometimes deceit:
If it be left in charge with him all night,
Unto his roaring guests he gives a light,
Who spend full thrice as much in wine and beer
As you in those and all your other cheer.
But the classic and most outstanding literary reference to these dark
features of old-time innkeeping is found in Shakespeare, in the First Part
of _King Henry the Fourth_. The scene is Rochester: an inn yard. Enter a
carrier, with a lantern in his hand, in the hours before daybreak.
_1 Car._ Heigh ho! An’t be not four by the day, I’ll be hanged:
Charles’ wain is over the new chimney, and yet our horse not packed.
What, ostler!
_Ost._ [_Within._] Anon, anon.
_1 Car._ I pr’ythee, Tom, beat Cut’s saddle, put a few flocks in the
point; the poor jade is wrung in the withers out of all cess.
_Enter another_ Carrier.
_2 Car._ Pease and beans are as dank here as a dog, and that is the
next way to give poor jades the bots: this house is turned upside
down, since Robin ostler died.
_1 Car._ Poor fellow! never joyed since the price of oats rose; it was
the death of him.
_2 Car._ I think this be the most villainous house in all London road
for fleas: I am stung like a tench.
_1 Car._ Like a tench? by the mass, there is ne’er a king in
Christendom could be better bit than I have been since the first cock.
_2 Car._ Why, they will allow us ne’er a jordan, and then we leak in
your chimney; and your chamber lie breeds fleas like a loach.
_1 Car._ What, ostler! come away, and be hanged, come away.
_2 Car._ I have a gammon of bacon, and two razes of ginger, to be
delivered as far as Charing-cross.
_1 Car._ Odsbody! the turkies in my pannier are quite starved.--What,
ostler!--A plague on thee! hast thou never an eye in thy head? canst
not hear? An ’twere not as good a deed as drink, to break the pate of
thee, I am a very villain.--Come, and be hanged:--Hast no faith in
thee?
_Enter_ Gadshill.
_Gads._ Good morrow, carriers. What’s o’clock?
_1 Car._ I think it be two o’clock.
_Gads._ I pr’ythee, lend me thy lantern, to see my gelding in the
stable.
_1 Car._ Nay, soft, I pray ye; I know a trick worth two of that,
i’faith.
_Gads._ I pr’ythee, lend me thine.
_2 Car._ Ay, when? canst tell?--Lend me thy lantern, quoth a?--marry,
I’ll see thee hanged first.
_Gads._ Sirrah carrier, what time do you mean to come to London?
_2 Car._ Time enough to go to bed with a candle, I warrant
thee.--Come, neighbour Mugs, we’ll call up the gentlemen; they will
along with company, for they have great charge.
[_Exeunt_ Carriers.
_Gads._ What, ho! chamberlain!
_Cham._ [_Within._] At hand, quoth pick-purse.
_Gads._ That’s even as fair as--at hand, quoth the chamberlain: for
thou variest no more from picking of purses, than giving direction
doth from labouring; thou lay’st the plot how.
_Enter_ Chamberlain.
_Cham._ Good morrow, master Gadshill. It holds current that I told you
yesternight: There’s a franklin in the wild of Kent, hath brought
three hundred marks with him in gold: I heard him tell it to one of
his company, last night at supper; a kind of auditor; one that hath
abundance of charge too, God knows what. They are up already, and call
for eggs and butter: They will away presently.
_Gads._ Sirrah, if they meet not with saint Nicholas’ clerks, I’ll
give thee this neck.
_Cham._ No, I’ll none of it: I pr’ythee, keep that for the hangman;
for, I know, thou worship’st saint Nicholas as truly as a man of
falsehood may.
_Gads._ What talkest thou to me of the hangman? if I hang, I’ll make a
fat pair of gallows: for, if I hang, old sir John hangs with me; and,
thou knowest, he’s no starveling. Tut! there are other Trojans that
thou dreamest not of, the which, for sport sake, are content to do the
profession some grace; that would, if matters should be looked into,
for their own credit sake, make all whole. I am joined with no foot
land-rakers, no long-staff, six-penny strikers; none of these mad,
mustachio purple-hued malt-worms: but with nobility, and tranquillity;
burgomasters, and great oneyers; such as can hold in; such as will
strike sooner than speak, and speak sooner than drink, and drink
sooner than pray: And yet I lie; for they pray continually to their
saint, the commonwealth; or, rather, not pray to her, but prey on her;
for they ride up and down on her, and make her their boots.
_Cham._ What, the commonwealth their boots? will she hold out water in
foul way?
_Gads._ She will, she will; justice hath liquored her. We steal as in
a castle, cock-sure; we have the receipt of fern-seed, we walk
invisible.
_Cham._ Nay, by my faith; I think you are more beholden to the night,
than to fern-seed, for your walking invisible.
_Gads._ Give me thy hand: thou shalt have a share in our purchase, as
I am a true man.
_Cham._ Nay, rather let me have it, as you are a false thief.
_Gads._ Go to; _Homo_ is a common name to all men. Bid the ostler
bring my gelding out of the stable. Farewell, you muddy knave.
[_Exeunt._
There was never any lack of evidence as to the complicity of innkeepers in
the doings of highwaymen. When John Nevison and his associates were tried
at York in 1684, for highway robbery, their headquarters were stated, on
oath, to have been at the “Talbot,” Newark, where the landlord was
“supposed” to be cognisant of their business, and the ostler was known to
have been in their pay. Nevison, it should be said, was the man who really
did ride horseback to York in one day. He achieved the feat, and
established the celebrated _alibi_ by it, in 1676, before Turpin (who
never did anything of the kind) was born. But at last, in 1684, the end
came. He was arrested at the still existing “Three Houses” inn, at Sandal,
near Wakefield, and being found guilty, was executed on Knavesmire, York,
on May 4th, in that year.
[Illustration: THE “THREE HOUSES INN,” SANDAL.]
A rather startling sidelight on these old-time aspects of inns was the
discovery, in 1903, of an ancient and long unsuspected staircase at the
“Bush,” Farnham. In the course of extensive repairs the builders came upon
a staircase that had once led up among the rafters of the oldest part of
the house; and it was presumed by those learned in the history of that
picturesque Surrey town that, by connivance of the landlord at some
distant period, it was used by highwaymen as a hiding-place when hard
pressed. Near by the stairway a number of old coins were found, but most
of them were so worn and obliterated, that it was an impossibility to read
the date or any other part of the inscription.
[Illustration: THE “CROWN” INN, HEMPSTEAD.]
The most famous highwayman of all time--famous in a quite arbitrary and
irrational way, for he was at the bottom, rather than at the head of his
profession--is Dick Turpin, who was born at Hempstead, in Essex, in 1705,
at the “Crown” inn, his father being landlord of that hostelry, which
still faces the road, and looks on to the lane that winds up to the
village church. There is much that is appropriate, if you do but consider
it, in one who is to be a highwayman and finally to be hanged, being born
in a place called Hempstead; but this by the way. The ring of old trees
planted on an ancient circular earthwork beside the lane opposite his
birthplace (and seen in the illustration) is known locally as Turpin’s
Ring.
The youthful Turpin began his career as apprentice to a Whitechapel
butcher, and while still serving his indentures started his course of low
villainy by stealing some cattle from a Plaistow farmer. Fleeing from
justice, he joined a band of smugglers and sheep-stealers who had their
head-quarters in Epping Forest, and their store-house in a cave in the
neighbourhood of Chingford; a spot now occupied by a singularly
commonplace modern beer-house, like a brick box, named from this romantic
circumstance, “Turpin’s Cave.”
A reward of fifty guineas was offered for the arrest of this precious
gang, but it was not until the amount was doubled that things grew
dangerous, and the unholy brotherhood was broken up. Turpin then took to
scouring the roads singly, until he met with Tom King, with whom he
entered into a partnership that lasted until he accidentally shot King
dead when aiming at a police-officer who was endeavouring to arrest both,
at the “Red Lion,” Whitechapel, in 1737.
[Illustration: “TURPIN’S CAVE,” NEAR CHINGFORD.]
His partner dead, Turpin, finding London too hot to hold him, removed
quietly to Welton, a Yorkshire village ten miles from Beverley, where he
set up as a gentleman horse-dealer, Palmer by name. He had not long been
domiciled in those parts before the farmers and others began to lose their
horses in a most unaccountable way, and so they might have continued to
lose and not discover the hand that spoiled them, but for the coarse and
brutal nature that was Turpin’s undoing. Returning from a shooting
excursion in which he had apparently not succeeded in shooting anything,
the self-styled “Palmer” wantonly shot one of his neighbours’ fowls. The
neighbour remonstrated with him and probably suggested that it required a
good shot to bring down game but that the domestic rooster was an easy
mark for a poor sportsman, whereupon the “gentlemanly horse-dealer”
threatened to serve him in the same way.
[Illustration: THE “GREEN DRAGON,” WELTON.]
One did not, even in 1739, threaten people with impunity and shot-guns.
Something unpleasant generally resulted; and “Palmer” was accordingly
arrested at the “Green Dragon” inn, Welton, on a charge of brawling; being
afterwards haled before the magistrates assembled at Petty Sessions at
Beverley, where, as he could produce no friends to speak on his behalf,
he was put back for further inquiries. Those inquiries resulted in his
being charged with stealing a black mare, blind of an eye, off Heckington
Common. In fiction--and especially in fiction as practised by Harrison
Ainsworth--Turpin at this point would in some way have sprung upon the
back of Black Bess, come ready to hand from nowhere in particular, and
would have been carried off triumphantly from the midst of his “enemies”;
but these things do not happen in real life, and he was, instead, lodged
in York Castle. Thence he wrote from his dungeon cell a letter to his
brother at Hempstead, imploring him in some way to cook him up a
character. This letter was not prepaid, and the brother, not recognising
the handwriting, refused to pay the sixpence for it demanded by the Post
Office.
[Illustration: THE “THREE MAGPIES,” SIPSON GREEN.]
See now from what trivial incidents great issues hang. The village
postmaster chanced to be identical with the schoolmaster who had taught
Turpin to write. He was a man of public spirit, and travelled to York and
identified the prisoner there as the man who had been “wanted” for many
crimes. It was on April 17th, 1739, in the thirty-fourth year of his age,
that Dick Turpin was hanged on Knavesmire, York, and since then he has
become very much of a hero: perhaps the sorriest, the most sordid and
absolutely commonplace scoundrel that was ever raised on so undeserved a
pedestal.
No district was more affected by highwaymen in the old days than Hounslow
Heath, and the fork of the roads, where the two great highways to Bath and
Exeter set out upon their several courses at the west end of what was once
Hounslow village and is now Hounslow town, used in those brave old days to
be decorated with a permanent gibbet, rarely without its scarecrow
occupant, in the shape of some tattered robber, strung up as a warning to
his fellows. Prominent amongst many stories that belong to this stretch of
country is that of the murder of Mr. Mellish, brother of the then Member
of Parliament for Grimsby, on a night in 1798, when returning from a day’s
hunting with the King’s Buckhounds in Windsor Forest. The carriage in
which his party were seated was passing the lonely old beerhouse called
the “Old Magpies,” at Sipson Green, at half-past eight, when it was
attacked by three footpads. One held the horses’ heads, while the other
two guarded the windows, firing a shot through them, to terrify the
occupants. No resistance was offered to the demand for money, and purses
and bank-notes were handed over, as a matter of course. Then the carriage
was allowed to proceed, a parting shot being fired after it. That shot
struck the unfortunate Mr. Mellish in the forehead, and he died shortly
after being removed to an upper room in an adjoining inn, still standing,
the “Three Magpies.” The older and more humble inn, heavily thatched and
with a beetle-browed and sinister look, where the footpads had been
drinking before the attack, makes a picture, in the melodramatic sort, on
the Bath Road, even to-day.
[Illustration: THE “OLD MAGPIES.”]
A very curious and authentic relic of those old times is found in that
secluded little inn, the “Green Man,” a most innocent-looking, white,
plaster-faced house that seems a very bower of rustic simplicity and
guilelessness, standing at Hatton--“Hatton-in-the-Hinterland” as one feels
tempted to style it--a rural hamlet, “the world forgetting, by the world
forgot,” tucked away in the beautiful orchard country between the angle
formed by those branching Bath and Exeter roads westward of Hounslow town.
It is to-day, as I have said, a beautiful district of orchards, where the
pink and white of the apple-blossom delights the eye in spring, and the
daffodil grows. There is an old rustic pound at Hatton, and in front of
the “Green Man” an idyllic pond where ducks quack and dive; and everything
seems as pure and unspotted from the world as those white Aylesbury ducks
themselves would appear to be. But Hatton is a Place with a Past, and the
“Green Man” not so green as you might suppose. For here spread the lonely
and sinister Heath, in days gone by, and at the “Green Man” the highwaymen
of the district, who all cherished the most magnificent thirsts, and would
not readily barter them away, foregathered in the intervals between
offering wayfarers an unwelcome choice between rendering money or life.
Sometimes the Bow Street runners--so called, in the contrariwise spirit,
because they never by any chance ran, unless it might be away--would,
daring very much indeed, poke inquisitive noses into the “Green Man,” but
they never found any one more suspicious there than a drunken carter. For
why? Because in the little parlour on the left-hand side as you enter,
there is a veritable highwayman’s hiding-hole at the back of the
old-fashioned grate, filling what was once an old-world chimney-corner.
Into this snug, not to say over-warm and possibly sooty place, one of the
starlight conveyers of property upon the Heath could creep on emergency
and wait until danger passed off.
[Illustration: THE “GREEN MAN,” HATTON.]
[Illustration: THE HIGHWAYMAN’S HIDING-HOLE.]
That Putney Heath was a favourite resort of the gentry of the horse-pistol
and crape mask is a mere commonplace to the student of these byways of
history, and, however little it may be suspected by those who look in
casually at the “Green Man” that stands on the crest of Putney Hill, where
the Heath and the Portsmouth Road begin, that house was in the old days
rightly suspect. About it--and no doubt also in it--lurked that bright and
shining light of the craft, Jerry Avershawe, that bold spirit who, after
making his name a name of dread, and Putney Heath and Wimbledon Common
places to be avoided by all travellers with money and valuables to lose,
died on the scaffold at Kennington in 1795, in his twenty-second year.
Footpads, too, frequented the “Green Man”: despicable fellows, who were to
highwaymen what “German silver” and “American cloth” are to the real
articles. The footpads waited for revellers who had taken too much liquor
and were zig-zagging their unsteady way home, before they dared attack. A
curious little incident in this sort was enacted in 1773 at the “Green
Man.” Two convivial fellows drinking there had been watched by two
footpads named William Brown and Joseph Witlock. When the two jolly topers
came forth and corkscrewed a devious course home-along, Messrs. Brown and
Witlock set upon them and secured the highly desirable booty of twenty
guineas and some snuff-boxes and pen-knives. It was ill gleaning for any
other of the fraternity, after thoroughgoing practitioners like these had
gone over the pockets of the lieges. The smallest involuntary
contributions were gratefully received, and they condescended even to
relieve a baker’s boy of his little all, which was little indeed:
consisting of a silver buckle and some halfpence. It is rather
satisfactory, after all this, to learn that Messrs. Brown and Witlock were
hanged.
The “Green Man” still keeps a stout, bolt-studded door, and the house,
seen across the road from where the large old-fashioned pound for strayed
horses, donkeys, and cattle stands on the Heath, presents a charming
scene.
The “Spaniards” inn, that picturesque and picturesquely situated old
house, built about 1630, in what was then an extremely lonely situation on
the roadside between Hampstead and Highgate, stands actually in the parish
of Finchley. It occupies the site of a lodge-entrance into what was once
the Bishop of London’s great rural park of Finchley, where there stood
until quite modern times a toll-gate that took tribute of all wayfarers.
The odd little toll-house itself is still a feature of the scene, and may
be noted on the left hand of the illustration.
How the “Spaniards” derived its name is rather a matter of conjecture than
of ascertained, sheer, cold-drawn fact. If the generally received version
be correct, the name should be spelled with an apostrophe “s,” to denote a
single individual; for, according to that story, the original lodge was
taken over by a Spaniard about 1620, and converted into a place of
entertainment for Londoners, who even then had begun to frequent
Hampstead and the Heath. The fact that the Spanish Ambassador, Gondomar,
retiring from the danger of plague in the infected air of London, resided
at neighbouring Highgate, 1620-22, may possibly have some bearing upon the
question.
[Illustration: THE “GREEN MAN,” PUTNEY.]
It becomes a little difficult to believe in the “Spaniards” being so early
a place of popular resort; but, shaming the incredulous, there stands the
old house, visibly old, undoubtedly large and designed for the conduct of
a considerable business, and still comparatively lonely. It is also one of
those very few houses, out of an incredibly large number, which really can
make out a good claim to have been frequented by Dick Turpin. This spot
was well within the “Turpin Country,” so to speak, as one speaks of
literary landmarks; it was included in his “sphere of influence,” as they
say in international politics; or simply (as a policeman might put it) was
“on his beat.” Turpin has so taken hold of the imagination that you find
legends of him in the most impossible places, but his real centre of
activity, before he fled into Yorkshire, was Epping Forest, and a radius
of twenty miles from Chingford just about covers his province.
It is only in modern times that the “Spaniards” has been anxious to claim
Turpin. In that hero’s period, and when highwaymen still haunted dark
roads and were hand-in-glove with many innkeepers, the “Spaniards” was no
doubt just as anxious to disclaim any such association. Thus we do not
find, in any memoirs of former landlords, “Turpin as I knew Him,” or
anything of that kind. It is a pity, for we are in such a case reduced to
accept legends, and Heaven and the inquirer into these things alone know
what lies these legends tell. At the “Spaniards,” however, we accept the
tradition that mine host, throughout a long series of years, had an
excellent understanding with the whole fraternity of road-agents, and with
Turpin in particular.
[Illustration: THE “SPANIARDS,” HAMPSTEAD HEATH.]
It is not necessary to this general belief to place one’s faith in the
truth of the stable attached to the house having been that of Black Bess,
because we know that famous mare to have been entirely the figment of
Harrison Ainsworth’s imagination; and the quaint old tower-like
garden-house seen on the right hand of the accompanying picture of the inn
is itself so picturesquely suggestive of headlong flights and pursuits
that, whether Turpin _did_ hide in it, or not, it is obviously demanded by
all the canons of the picturesque that he _should_ be made to do so--and
accordingly he is. Thus we read: “This outhouse was a favourite
resting-place for Turpin, and many a time on the late return of the
marauder has it served as a bedroom. The underground passages that led to
the inn itself have been filled up, years ago. Formerly, here Dick was
safe enough. Were the two doors attacked by unpleasant visitors, he dived
through the secret trap-door into the underground apartment, there to
await the departure of the raging officers, or to betake himself to the
inn, if that were clear of attack.”
Oh! those “secret passages” and “underground apartments”! Do we not meet
them (in legend) everywhere? And have they not invariably been “filled up”
long ago?
Forty-one years after Turpin had been hanged we find the “Spaniards” in
touch with actual, unquestionable history. June, 1780, was the time of the
“No Popery Riots” in London, when Newgate was fired by the mob, and half a
million pounds’ worth of damage was done to business houses and private
residences. The Earl of Mansfield’s town house, in Bloomsbury Square, was
destroyed, and the mob, pleased with their handiwork there, determined to
complete their revenge on the obnoxious judge by treating his country
mansion at Caen Wood in the same manner.
Caen Wood still stands hard by the “Spaniards,” which you must pass in
order to come to it from London. Here the landlord stood, with the tollbar
behind him, like another Horatius in the gate, and met the rioters as they
came with pikes and “No Popery” flags, and torches and firelocks,
streaming along the road. They were an unsuspicious mob, and a thirsty,
and when mine host invited them to partake of his best, free of charge,
and even to wallow in it, if they would, they did not stop to ask the
motive of such extraordinary generosity, but took him at his word and sat
boozing there until the detachment of Horse Guards, sent up in response to
the mounted messenger despatched by the landlord, had time to dispose
themselves in the Caen Wood grounds, and so to overawe their undisciplined
force.
A very great deal of the “Spaniards’” picturesqueness is due to the rustic
setting of narrow lane and tall elms that frames it in, but that story of
the resourceful landlord and his artful way with those London furies gives
the house and the scenery a final dramatic touch. You fancy, if you stroll
that way some June evening, that you see him, in old-fashioned
dress--buckled shoes, worsted stockings, knee-breeches, scrubby
wig--standing in the roadway, tankard in one hand, churchwarden pipe in
the other, with assumed joviality confronting a rabble in equal parts
drunk and mad. You see the banner, “No Popery!” you hear the curses
and--without the aid of imagination, for the “Spaniards” is a going
concern--smell the drink. And presently you hear the gallop of the Horse
Guards and the rattle and jingle of their accoutrements.
But you must not by any means come here on Easter Monday or any other
occasion of popular holiday, for amidst such wholesale merry-making
imagination becomes atrophied, and the ghosts of historic drama will not
condescend to share the stage with twentieth-century comedy.
_Printed and bound by Hazell, Watson & Viney, Ld., London and Aylesbury._
INDEX
Adelphi Hotel, Adelphi, i. 212, 264
Ale-stakes, i. 14-17
Anchor, Ripley, ii. 212, 242
Angel, Basingstoke, ii. 279
-- Bury St. Edmunds, i. 238
-- Colchester, i. 90
-- Ferrybridge, ii. 81
-- Grantham, i. 118-123
-- Guildford, ii. 57
-- Islington, i. 119
-- Stilton, ii. 48
Ass-in-the-Bandbox, Nidd, ii. 203
Barge Aground, Brentford, ii. 203
-- Stratford High Road, ii. 203
Battle, Pilgrims’ Hostel at, i. 97
Bay Tree Tavern, St. Swithin’s Lane, ii. 290
Bear, Devizes, ii. 8-16
-- Esher, ii. 116
-- and Billet, Chester, ii. 74
Bear’s Head, Brereton, ii. 62
Beaufort Arms, Bath, i. 254
Beckhampton Inn, i. 238
Bee-Hive, Eaumont Bridge, ii. 138
-- Grantham, ii. 192
Beetle-and-Wedge, Moulsford, ii. 195
Bell, Barnby Moor, i. 60, ii. 55, 81
-- Belbroughton, ii. 245
-- Berkeley Heath, i. 256
-- Dale Abbey, ii. 88, 90
-- Stilton, ii. 48-54
-- Tewkesbury, ii. 283-287
-- Warwick Lane, London, i. 30
-- Woodbridge, ii. 112
Bell and Mackerel, Mile End, ii. 129
Belle Sauvage, Ludgate Hill, i. 229
Berkeley Arms, Tewkesbury, ii. 288
Birch Tree Tavern, St. Swithin’s Lane, ii. 290
Black Bear, Sandbach, ii. 58
-- -- Tewkesbury, ii. 289
-- Boy, Chelmsford, i. 242
-- Bull, Holborn, i. 288-290
-- -- Newcastle-on-Tyne, i. 53
-- Horse, Cherhill, i. 232
-- Jack, Clare Market, i. 242-244
-- Swan, Kirkby Moorside, ii. 267
Blue Bell, Barnby Moor, i. 60, ii. 55, 81
-- Boar, Leicester, i. 202
-- -- Whitechapel, i. 291
-- Dragon, near Salisbury, i. 282-288
-- Lion, Muggleton, _i.e._ Town Malling, i. 226
-- Posts, Chester, i. 155-158
-- -- Portsmouth, ii. 137
Boar, Bluepitts, near Rochdale, ii. 197
Boar’s Head, Eastcheap, ii. 253, 261
-- Middleton, ii. 218
Boot, Chester, ii. 78
Bottom Inn, Chalton Downs, near Petersfield, i. 270-274
Buck and Bell, Long Itchington, ii. 130
Bull, Dartford, i. 79-82
-- Fenny Stratford, ii. 111
-- Rochester, i. 221-223
-- Sissinghurst, ii. 244
-- Whitechapel, i. 242, 245
Bull and Mouth, St. Martin’s-le-Grand, i. 228
Bull’s Head, Meriden, ii. 80
-- Greengate, Salford, i. 7
Burford Bridge Hotel, near Dorking, ii. 273
Bush, Bristol, i. 255
-- Farnham, i. 309
Capel Curig Inn, ii. 254
Carnarvon Castle, Chester, ii. 77
-- Arms, Guildford Street, ii. 289
Cart Overthrown, Edmonton, ii. 203
Castle, Conway, ii. 122
-- Marlborough, i. 60, ii. 8, 90-99
Cat and Fiddle, near Buxton, ii. 147
-- near Christchurch, ii. 181
Cat and Mutton, London Fields, ii. 139
Cats, Sevenoaks, ii. 191
Chapel House, near Chipping Norton, ii. 100-106
Cheney Gate, near Congleton, ii. 139
Chequers, Slapestones, ii. 134
-- of the Hope, Canterbury, i. 85
Civil Usage, Brixham, ii. 203
Clayton Arms, Godstone, ii. 30-34
Coach and Dogs, Oswestry, ii. 200
Coach and Horses, Chalton Downs, near Petersfield, i. 270
Coach and Horses, Isleworth, i. 276
Cock, Eaton Socon, i. 267
-- Great Budworth, ii. 69-71
-- Stony Stratford, ii. 43, 47
Cock and Pymat, Whittington, near Chesterfield, i. 181-184
County Inn, Canterbury, i. 291
Craven Arms, near Church Stretton, ii. 47
Cricketers, Laleham, ii. 167
Crispin and Crispianus, Strood, i. 292-295
Cross Hands, near Chipping Sodbury, ii. 85
Cross Keys, Wood Street, Cheapside, i. 295
Crow-on-Gate, Crowborough, ii. 205
Crown, Chiddingfold, ii. 242
-- Hempstead, i. 310
-- Oxford, ii. 101
-- Rochester, i. 223-225
-- Stamford, ii. 158
Crown and Treaty, Uxbridge, i. 161-169
Custom House, Chester, ii. 77
Dale Abbey, ii. 88-90
Dedlock Arms, i. 290
De Quincey, T., on old inns, i. 57, ii. 274-279
Dial House, Bocking, ii. 226
Dick Whittington, Cloth Fair, i. 4
Dolphin, Potter Heigham, i. 159
Domus Dei, Southampton, i. 90
Dorset Arms, East Grinstead, ii. 35
Duchy Hotel, Princetown, ii. 149
Eagle and Child, Nether Alderley, ii. 209
Edinburgh Castle, Limehouse, ii. 106-108
-- Regent’s Park, ii. 126-128
Eight Bells, Twickenham, ii. 200
Epitaphs on Innkeepers, ii. 245-254
Falcon, Bidford, ii. 89
-- Chester, ii. 74
Falstaff, Canterbury, i. 87
Feathers, Ludlow, ii. 18-25
Ferry inn, Rosneath, ii. 180
Fighting Cocks, St. Albans, i. 4
First and Last, Land’s End, ii. 206
-- Sennen, ii. 206
Fish and Eels, Roydon, i. 118
Flitch of Bacon, Wichnor, ii. 79
Fountain, Canterbury, i. 291
Four Crosses, Hatherton, ii. 134
Fowler, J. Kearsley, of the White Hart, Aylesbury, i. 62
Fox and Hounds, Barley, ii. 153
Fox and Pelican, Grayshott, ii. 180
Fox-under-the-Hill, Strand, i. 255
Garter, Windsor, ii. 261
Gate, Dunkirk, ii. 133
Gate Hangs Well, Nottingham, ii. 133
Gatehouse Tavern, Norwich, ii. 130
George, Amesbury, i. 283-287
-- Andover, ii. 16-18
-- Bridport, i. 180
-- Brighthelmstone, i. 181
-- Broadwindsor, i. 180
-- Colnbrook, i. 188
-- Crawley, ii. 152
-- Grantham, i. 267, ii. 55
-- Glastonbury, i. 107, 116
-- Greta Bridge, i. 268
-- Hayes Common, ii. 172
-- Huntingdon, ii. 47
-- Mere, i. 180
-- Norton St. Philip, i. 123-132
-- Odiham, ii. 44
-- Rochester, i. 82
-- St. Albans, i. 117, 119
-- Salisbury, ii. 263
-- Southwark, i. 31
-- Stamford, ii. 154-158
-- Walsall, i. 60
-- Wanstead, ii. 141
-- Winchcombe, i. 132-136
George and Dragon, Dragon’s Green, ii. 117-119
-- Great Budworth, ii. 137
-- Wargrave-on-Thames, ii. 176
-- West Wycombe, ii. 222
George and Vulture, Lombard Street, i. 213, 251, 264
George the Fourth, Clare Market, i. 242-244
God’s House, Portsmouth, i. 89
Golden Cross, Charing Cross, i. 213-220, ii. 72, 268
Grand Pump Room Hotel, Bath, i. 254
Great Western Railway Hotel, Paddington, i. 72
Great White Horse, Ipswich, i. 246-251
Green Dragon, Alderbury, i. 282-288
-- Combe St. Nicholas, ii. 109
-- Welton, i. 312
-- Wymondham, i. 95
Green Man, Hatton, i. 317
-- Putney Heath, i. 319
Green Man and Black’s Head, Ashbourne, ii. 159
Grenadier, Whitley, ii. 138
Greyhound, Croydon, ii. 153
-- Sutton, ii. 153
-- Thame, i. 160
Guildford Arms, Guildford Street, ii. 290
Halfway House, Rickmansworth, ii. 215
Hark to Bounty, Staidburn, ii. 204
-- Lasher, Castleton, ii. 204
-- Nudger, Dobcross, Manchester, ii. 204
-- Towler, Bury, Lancashire, ii. 204
Haycock, Wansford, ii. 80
Haygate Inn, near Wellington, Salop, ii. 80
Hearts of Oak, West Allington, ii. 87
Herbergers, i. 25
Hop-pole, Tewkesbury, i. 257, ii. 288
Horseshoe and Castle, Cooling, i. 295
Hostelers, i. 25
Hundred-and-One, The, ii. 129
Innkeepers, Epitaphs on, ii. 245-254
Isle of Skye, near Holmfirth, ii. 148
Jack Straw’s Castle, Hampstead Heath, i. 300-302
Johnson Dr., on inns, i. 43-46
Jolly Farmer, Farnham, ii. 217
Keigwin Arms, Mousehole, ii. 230
King and Tinker, Enfield, i. 205-207
King Edgar, Chester, ii. 72-74
King’s Arms, Lancaster, i. 299
-- Malmesbury, ii. 293
-- Salisbury, i. 180
-- Sandwich, ii. 228
King’s Head, Aylesbury, i. 141-143, ii. 38
-- Chigwell, i. 277-283
-- Dorking, i. 230
-- Stockbridge, ii. 249
-- Thame, i. 160
-- Yarmouth, i. 207, ii. 114
Labour in Vain, Stourbridge, ii. 199
Lamb, Eastbourne, ii. 57
Lawrence, Robert, of the “Lion,” Shrewsbury, i. 60, ii. 250
Leather Bottle, Cobham, Kent, i. 230
-- Holborn, ii. 191
Leighton, Archbishop, i. 29
Lion, Shrewsbury, i. 60, 297, ii. 250, 274-279
Lion and Fiddle, Hilperton, ii. 195
Lion and Swan, Congleton, ii. 65-67
Living Sign, Grantham, ii. 192
Load of Mischief, Oxford Street, ii. 162
Locker-Lampson, F., on old inns, i. 58
Loggerheads, Llanverris, ii. 168
Lord Crewe Arms, Blanchland, i. 136-140
Lord Warden, Dover, i. 54
Luttrell Arms, Dunster, ii. 37-40
Lygon Arms, Broadway, ii. 2-8, 244
Magpie, Little Stonham, ii. 153
-- and Stump, Clare Market, i. 242
Maiden’s Head, Uckfield, ii. 37
Maid’s Head, Norwich, ii. 40-42
Maison Dieu, Dover, i. 88
-- Ospringe, i. 84
Malt Shovel, Sandwich, ii. 228
Man Loaded with Mischief, Oxford Street, ii. 162
Marlborough Downs, i. 231-238
Marquis of Ailesbury’s Arms, Manton, i. 232
-- Granby, Dorking, i. 230
Maund and Bush, near Shifnal, ii. 199
Maypole, Chigwell, i. 277-282
Miller of Mansfield, Goring-on-Thames, ii. 177
Molly Mog, ii. 271
Mompesson, Sir Giles, i. 37-41
Mortal Man, Troutbeck, ii. 169
Morison, Fynes, on English inns, i. 36
Music House, Norwich, i. 157
Nag’s Head, Thame, i. 160
Neptune, Ipswich, ii. 110
Newhaven Inn, near Buxton, ii. 255
New Inn, Allerton, ii. 80
-- Gloucester, i. 98-106
-- Greta Bridge, i. 268
-- New Romney, ii. 44
-- Sherborne, i. 106
Newby Head, near Hawes, ii. 149
Noah’s Ark, Compton, i. 90
Nutley Inn, ii. 36
Old Angel, Basingstoke, ii. 279
-- Bell, Holborn, i. 30
-- -- Chester, ii. 78
-- Black Jack, Clare Market, i. 242-244
-- Fox, Bricket Wood, ii. 201
-- Hall, Sandbach, ii. 58-62
-- House at Home, Havant, ii. 220
-- King’s Head, Aylesbury, i. 141-143, ii. 38
-- -- Chester, ii. 77
-- Leather Bottle, Cobham, Kent, i. 230
-- Magpies, Sipson Green, i. 317
-- Rock House, Barton, ii. 196
-- Rover’s Return, Manchester, i. 7
-- Royal Hotel, Birmingham, i. 258, ii. 268
-- Ship, Worksop, ii. 226
-- Star, York, ii. 158
-- Swan, Atherstone, ii. 227
-- Tippling Philosopher, Chepstow, ii. 203
-- White Swan, Piff’s Elm, i. 202-205
Osborne’s Hotel, Adelphi, i. 212, 264
Ostrich, Colnbrook, i. 188-201
Pack Horse and Talbot, Turnham Green, ii. 192
Peacock, Eatanswill, i. 230
-- Rowsley, ii. 25-29
Pelican, Speenhamland, i. 208, ii. 293
Penygwryd Hotel, Llanberis, ii. 294-298
Pheasant, Winterslow Hut, ii. 102
Pickering Arms, Thelwall, ii. 71
Pie, Little Stonham, ii. 153
Pied Bull, Chester, ii. 78
_Piers Plowman_, i. 16-18
Piff’s Elm, i. 202-205
Pilgrims’ Hostel, Battle, i. 97
-- Compton, i. 90
Plough, Blundeston, i. 290
-- Ford, ii. 136
Pomfret Arms, Towcester, i. 259-263
Pounds Bridge, near Penshurst, ii. 220
Queen’s Arms, Charmouth, i. 180
-- Head, Hesket Newmarket, i. 299
-- Hotel, St. Martin’s-le-Grand, i. 229
-- Burton-on-Trent, ii. 114
Raven, Hook, ii. 86
-- Shrewsbury, i. 42, 60
Red Bull, Stamford, ii. 158
Red Horse, Stratford-on-Avon, ii. 47, 269-271
Red Lion, Banbury, i. 146
-- Canterbury, i. 51
-- Chiswick Mall, ii. 123-125
-- Egham, ii. 53-56
-- Glastonbury, i. 116
-- Great Missenden, ii. 198
-- Guildford, ii. 262
-- Hampton-on-Thames, ii. 159
-- Hatfield, ii. 55
-- Henley-on-Thames, ii. 299-301
-- High Wycombe, i. 184
-- Hillingdon, i. 169
-- Martlesham, ii. 113, 165
-- Ospringe, i. 84
-- Parliament Street, i. 265, 290
Reindeer, Banbury, i. 145, 147-155, 169
Ridler’s Hotel, Holborn, i. 31
Robin Hood, Turnham Green, ii. 131
-- Cherry Hinton, ii. 131
Rose, Wokingham, ii. 271
Rose and Crown, Halifax, ii. 273
-- Rickmansworth, ii. 215
Rover’s Return, Shudehill, Manchester, i. 7
Row Barge, Wallingford, ii. 178
Royal County Hotel, Durham, ii. 55
Royal George, Knutsford, ii. 279
-- Stroud, ii. 82
Royal Hotel, Bath, i. 255
-- Bideford, ii. 273
Royal Oak, Bettws-y-Coed, ii. 172-175
Rummyng, Elynor, i. 19-24
Running Footman, Hay Hill, i. 255, ii. 193
Running Horse, Leatherhead, i. 18-25
-- Merrow, ii. 233
Salutation, Ambleside, ii. 292
Saracen’s Head, Bath, i. 266
-- Southwell, i. 172-180
-- Towcester, i. 259-263
Serjeant’s Inn Coffee House, i. 255
Seven Stars, Manchester, i. 6, 8-12
Shakespeare’s Head, near Chipping Norton, ii. 100-106
Shears, Wantage, ii. 202
Shepherd’s Shore, Marlborough Downs, i. 232-237
Ship and Lobster, Denton, near Gravesend, i. 296
-- Afloat, Bridgwater, ii. 203
-- Aground, ii. 203
Ship, Brixham, ii. 139
-- Dover, i. 54
Smiling Man, Dudley, ii. 203
Smoker, Plumbley, ii. 179
Soldier’s Fortune, Kidderminster, ii. 136
Sondes Arms, Rockingham, i. 290
Spaniards, Hampstead Heath, i. 256, 320-327
Star, Alfriston, i. 93-97, ii. 165
-- Lewes, ii. 37
-- Yarmouth, ii. 42-44, 273
Stocks, Clapgate, ii. 202
Stonham Pie, Little Stonham, ii. 153
Sugar Loaves, Sible Hedingham, ii. 195
Sun, Canterbury, i. 292
-- Cirencester, i. 180
-- Dedham, ii. 225
-- Northallerton, ii. 248
Sunrising Inn, Edge Hill, ii. 299
Swan and Bottle, Uxbridge, i. 165
-- Charing, ii. 188
-- Ferrybridge, ii. 81, 83
-- Fittleworth, ii. 159, 183
-- Haslemere, ii. 242
-- Kirkby Moorside, ii. 267
-- Knowle, ii. 231-233
-- near Newbury, ii. 216
-- Preston Crowmarsh, ii. 179
-- Rickmansworth, ii. 214
-- Sandleford, ii. 217
-- Tewkesbury, ii. 288
-- Thames Ditton, ii. 292
-- Town Malling, i. 226
-- with Two Necks, Gresham Street, i. 54-56
Tabard, Southwark, i. 77-79
Talbot, Atcham, ii. 80
-- Cuckfield, ii. 81
-- Newark, i. 308
-- Ripley, ii. 213
-- Shrewsbury, ii. 80
-- Southwark, i. 79
-- Towcester, ii. 115, 243
Tan Hill Inn, Swaledale, near Brough, ii. 145
Tankard, Ipswich, ii. 110
Thorn, Appleton, ii. 138
Three Cats, Sevenoaks, ii. 191
-- Cocks, near Hay, ii. 47
-- Crosses, Willoughby, ii. 303
-- Crowns, Chagford, i. 170-172
-- Horseshoes, Great Mongeham, ii. 197
-- Houses, Sandal, i. 308
-- Jolly Bargemen, Cooling, i. 295
-- Magpies, Sipson Green, i. 317
-- Queens, Burton-on-Trent, ii. 114
-- Tuns, Bideford, ii. 110
Town Arms, Eatanswill, i. 230
Traveller’s Rest, Flash Bar, ii. 148
-- Kirkstone Pass, ii. 148
Treaty House, Uxbridge, i. 161-169
Trevelyan Arms, Barnstaple, ii. 40, 110
Trip to Jerusalem, Nottingham, ii. 134
Trouble House, near Tetbury, ii. 203
Turnspit Dogs, i. 48-51
Turpin’s Cave, Epping Forest, i. 310
Uncle Tom’s Cabin, Bluepitts, near Rochdale, ii. 197
Unicorn, Bowes, i. 269
-- Ripon, ii. 121
Verulam Arms, St. Albans, ii. 79
Vine, Mile-End, ii. 259
_Vision of Piers Plowman_, i. 16-18
Visitors’ Books, ii. 291-308
Waggon and Horses, Beckhampton, i. 233, 237
Wellington, Broadstairs, ii. 47
-- Market Place, Manchester, i. 7
-- Rushyford Bridge, i. 60
-- Tewkesbury, ii. 287
Whetstone, Chiswick Mall, ii. 124
White Bear, Fickles Hole, ii. 203
-- and Whetstone, Chiswick Mall, ii. 123-125
-- Bull, Ribchester, ii. 119-121
White Hart, Adwalton, ii. 255
-- Aylesbury, i. 62-67, 140
-- Bath, i. 254
-- Castle Combe, ii. 234
-- Drighlington, ii. 255
-- Eatanswill, i. 230
-- Glastonbury, i. 112
-- Godstone, ii. 30-34
-- Guildford, ii. 55
-- Hackney Marshes, ii. 257-259
-- Scole, ii. 150
-- Somerton, i. 185-187
-- Southwark, i. 226-228
-- Whitchurch, Hants, ii. 280
-- Widcombe, i. 254
-- Yard, Gray’s Inn Road, ii. 106
White Horse, Eaton Socon, i. 267
-- Fetter Lane, i. 31, 219
-- Maiden Newton, ii. 289
-- Shere, ii. 241
-- Woolstone, ii. 211
White Horse Cellar, Piccadilly, i. 253
White House, Hackney Marshes, ii. 259
White Lion, Maidstone, i. 226
White Swan, Henley-in-Arden, ii. 300
Who’d Have Thought It, Barking, ii. 204
Why Not, Dover, ii. 204
Widow’s Son, Bromley-by-Bow, ii. 125-127
Windmill, North Cheriton, ii. 89-91
-- Salt Hill, i. 60
-- Tabley, ii. 179
Winterslow Hut, near Salisbury, ii. 102
Wizard, Alderley Edge, ii. 65-69
Wood’s Hotel, Furnival’s Inn, i. 31
World Turned Upside Down, Old Kent Road, ii. 204
-- near Three Mile Cross, ii. 204
Wright’s, Rochester, i. 223-225
Yacht, Chester, ii. 77, 304
FOOTNOTES:
[1] Woman-shoemaker.
[2] Warrener.
[3] Needler: maker of needles.
[4] Ditcher.
[5] Bald.
[6] Fiddler.
[7] Ratter.
[8] A mounted servant of a knight.
[9] Welshman.
[10] This is an ancient parallel with
“Who comes there?”
“Grenadier.”
“What d’ye want?”
“Pot o’ beer.”
“Where’s yer money?”
“Haven’t got.”
“Get away, you drunken sot!”
[11] A large hotel was also built outside Slough Station, eighteen miles
from Paddington, for weary and hungry travellers. Such were the quaint
ideas of the early railway directors, who could not forget the
necessities, the usages and customs of the coaching age, when inns at
short stages were indispensable. The hotel at Slough was from the first a
failure, and the building has long been an orphanage.
[12] Another landlord of the “Tabard”--William Rutter, represented East
Grinstead in Parliament, 1529-1536.
[13] Vol. II., p. 348.
[14] For example, the Rev. Dr. Thackeray, late Chaplain of the Hackney
Union, licensee and active publican of the “Fish and Eels” at Roydon.
[15] Cf. a lengthy description of the origin of the place-name “Shepherd’s
Bush” in the West of London: _The Oxford, Gloucester, and Milford Haven
Road_, vol. i. pp. 55-57. Also compare the still-existent
“shepherd’s-bush” thorn-trees on West Winch Common, Norfolk.
[16] For further particulars respecting the “Bull,” see _The Norwich
Road_, pp. 19-28, and _Stage-coach and Mail in Days of Yore_, vol. i., p.
324; vol. ii., pp. 227, 232-5, 343.
[17] A newer extension, built in recent years, makes a fourth.
[18] _The Dickens Country._ By F. G. Kitton, p. 167.
[19] Within the last few months the lower part of the house has been
converted into a dairy, but the part described by Dickens remains
unaltered.
Transcriber's Notes:
Passages in italics are indicated by _italics_.
Superscripted characters are indicated by {superscript}.