CHILDHOOD'S DAYS
IN 1834 the curate-in-charge and his sister left our parish, and moved
into Berkshire. Before the curate left he came to say good-bye to us. He
also brought us some very useful things, which were most acceptable, for
I know my mother had to struggle hard against wind and tide, as one
might say, to keep us six great rollicking boys tidy, and how she did it
as well as she did, with the scanty materials at her command, I really
cannot conceive; but I do know that she many times went without food, so
that we might have our fill.
The curate looked at my sister's seamed face, then patted the baby, and
said, "Surely, Mrs. Langdon, you do not want so lovely a child to be
disfigured with small-pox, do you?"
"What can I do to avoid it?" asked my mother. "We have always been
taught by our clergy that all these evil things are the 'Lord's' will,
so who can hinder it?"
"God's will!" answered the curate. "Have you not heard what everybody is
talking about, I mean vaccination and cow-pox? Vaccination is a process
by which matter from a cow is inserted into your child's arm, and in
the course of a few days the child will have what is called cow-pox; it
is exceedingly mild, and the child will not suffer much, and if properly
carried out, it is a sure preventive of small-pox."
"Dear, me," said my mother, "I wish I had known this sooner. I would
gladly have had all my children vaccinated."
"I am very glad to hear you say so," replied the curate, "but it was
only accidentally that I mentioned it to you. I have spoken to several
people about it, and I have found them so thoroughly prejudiced on the
subject that I have found it prudent to hold my tongue. Go to Martock to
Dr. Stuckey, and I know he will vaccinate the baby free of charge, and
as I am leaving the village to-morrow I am very sorry that I shall not
be able to know the result of the operation."
My father had in the meantime come home to dinner, and had heard the
latter part of the conversation, and he said, "I will take care you know
the result, sir. When it is all over I will write and send you a letter,
and let you know all about it, and my wife and myself are truly grateful
to you for mentioning it."
I have only to add that my father did write the letter to tell the good
parson all about the baby having been vaccinated, and he had to pay one
shilling and tenpence for that letter to be posted, besides having to
walk several miles to the office.
Here I must say a few words in reference to Nanny Holland, and how it
was that such an old shrew should be able to hold such power over nearly
all the housewives of the village. In her younger days Nanny had the
reputation of being exceedingly skilful in midwifery. Moreover Nanny had
been known more than once to set a broken leg, or arm, when the doctor
was too busy, or, which was often the case, too drunk to attend. Nanny
was always ready to assist her neighbours in cases of sickness. She
would go when called upon, whether by night or by day; and if any one
hesitated to call her, she would not be any the better pleased, and
would give them what she called a bit of the rough side of her tongue.
But there was still another reason, and not an unimportant one, why the
women in the village did not always consider it prudent to offend old
Nanny. At that time almost, if not quite, every wife in the village made
her own bread, and Nanny had the only oven in the parish; and there the
women would go, carrying their dough with them, to be made into loaves
and baked.
In those days there was no electric telegraph, but somehow or other news
would fly; and my baby sister had not been vaccinated many hours before
the news reached old Nanny's ears, and she took the first opportunity to
call and find out particulars, so she came in with her teeth clenched,
and her dark eyes sparkling with rage, and said, "I have just heard some
news, and what dost thee think 'tis? Why, I heard that thee's been down
to thicky doctor and had thy chiel knockle-headed with vaccination."
"Well, so I have," replied my mother, "and I am only sorry that I did
not know of vaccination sooner, so that I could have had all my children
vaccinated."
"Whew," said Nanny, "of all natural fools I ever knowed, thee art the
cussedest fool of all. Mind'ee, if thee brings thy dough to my bakehouse
Vriday next, I'll kick thee and thy dough out vaster than thee brought
it in." And without another word old Nanny went away, and from that day
forward she always gave my mother a wide berth. Whenever they met she
would cross the road and pass along on the other side.
I have stated that our curate-in-charge had left the village and gone
into Berkshire. The rector was a gentleman whom I had never seen. It was
reported that he was squandering his time and his health and wealth on
the turf, amongst thieves, black-legs, thimble-riggers, and other rogues
and vagabonds. I know that it is not always prudent to believe all that
is stated by the tongues of the villagers, but in this case I fear the
accusation was only too true; in fact, the probabilities were that in
this case the village gossip did not know all the truth. One thing was
certain, he had to go about incognito as the bailiffs of the county
court were constantly looking after him to serve him with a writ, or to
arrest his person. Only one good thing do I know of him; he used to send
four pounds a year to my father for the maintenance of the Sunday
school.
After our curate left, it was several months before we had another. The
parsons of the neighbouring villages used to come, and sometimes we had
morning service, and sometimes afternoon, and sometimes evening service,
and more often no service at all. I remember on one occasion the bells
were chimed at half-past ten, and the people came to church, but no
parson came; the project again was tried at three, and again the people
came, and again no parson, and as a sort of forlorn hope the bells were
chimed again at six, and still no parson came.
Old George Pant and a few others set up services about this time in the
blacksmith's shop. Now old George Pant wore a wig, and other boys and
myself used to go and peep through a large crack in the door of the
blacksmith's shop, and watch him while he was praying. He used to get
dreadfully excited and shake himself about, till by and by his wig would
drop down behind him.
I had seen George Pant shake off his wig more than once, and the wicked
thought entered my mind to try and steal that wig, which piece of theft
I actually did accomplish on the very next Sunday evening; and this is
the way I did it. The door of the blacksmith's shop in which the
meetings were held had in it several large cracks which I could easily
put my hand through; and I noticed that when George was praying, he, and
all his congregation, knelt with their backs towards the door; and so
intent were they upon their devotions, that one could open the door and
go in and out again, without attracting their attention. But I was too
prudent to risk myself in far enough to pick up the coveted wig, when it
should chance to fall; so I provided myself with a long stick, and tied
a couple of eel-hooks to one end, and watched my opportunity through the
crack in the door. I had not very long to wait. George began to pray,
and presently down came the wig. Directly it touched the ground, my
fish-hook caught it up, and in another instant I was out of sight of the
door with the wig under my arm. But I was no sooner at a safe distance,
than I began to reflect, and I would have given the world to restore the
wig to its place, but I knew I dared not do it. I knew that if I gave it
up to its owner, he would freely forgive me, but my father would
literally skin me. So I dug a hole in our orchard at the foot of the
quince tree, dropped the wig in, and simply held my tongue. Its sudden
disappearance was a nine days' mystery in the village.
Meanwhile my father and mother were doing their level best to keep the
Sunday school going with no help from any one; and there we children
were taught the catechism, and lessons from the Old and New Testaments;
and the stick was frequently used. At length we received news that a new
parson was coming, and all sorts of speculations were rife as to what
sort of parson he would be. Was he young or old? Married or single? Rich
or poor? At last the bells were set ringing, and every boy blew his
penny whistle and fired his pop-gun, because the Reverend Peter Manonni
Scrope Cornwall, M.A., with his two sons, and two daughters, and
sister-in-law, Miss Brown, who was his housekeeper, had actually
arrived. Mr. Cornwall took the curacy at L80 per year, and an old
tumbledown, damp, dismal den of a house to live in. Now the Rev. P. M.
S. Cornwall had to preach the Gospel and educate his four children, keep
up the dignity of his profession, visit and succour the sick, give to
missionaries, buy books for the Sunday school, and subscribe to the
thirty-nine articles, besides giving an annual treat to one hundred
children, all out of L80 per annum. All of which he did to perfection.
Mr. Cornwall was what may be called a good-natured, good-tempered sort
of man; somewhat inclined to be stout; and I know that if any one was
troubled in mind, body, or estate, they had only to go and open their
heart to Mr. Cornwall and they would be sure to find a friend. Moreover
he had such a pleasant, benevolent-looking face that those who saw him
were bound to love him. His sister-in-law, Miss Brown, was a lady of
independent means, and when people went to their pastor to complain Miss
Brown would almost surely be present, and she would put in a word here
and there, as the case might require. She would blow people up if she
discovered that their grief was brought about by their own naughtiness,
as she would term it. She would tell them that they must be born again,
and that they must go regularly to church, and after she had told them
of their faults and how to mend them, she would dip her hand down into
the recesses of her great wallet and bring up half-a-crown, and hand it
over to the grieved one and say, "Bless your heart, you must give God
the glory, you must pray all day long, bless your heart, and say,
'Create in me a clean heart, O God, and renew a right spirit within me,'
and then you won't fall into trouble again, bless your heart."
The very first Sunday she was in the village she went and took full
possession of the Sunday school, and asked my father to give her the
names of all the people who had children but did not send them to
school, saying she would go round and ask the fathers and mothers to
send their children. So during the week Miss Brown trudged from house to
house, and asked the parents why the children were not sent to school.
Most of them began to make excuses. Some had no clothes fit to go in,
some had no shoes, some were sick with influenza, some were getting
well, and others getting ill with small-pox; in fact, some had real
excuses, and some made paltry excuses. But Miss Brown was equal to the
occasion. Those who were ill were to come to the parsonage for medicine,
others were to come for clothes, shoes, or hats. Anything and everything
could be had for the fetching of it, and it was really astonishing how
Miss Brown came by garments to suit nearly every child in the village;
if she had been a marine store dealer, she could not have been possessed
of more odds and ends, so that fathers and mothers as well as their
children had not a shadow of an excuse for not coming to church or
school.
But the funniest thing was that Miss Brown did not let old George Pant
escape her notice. She called upon him, and his wife began to make
excuse for him, that he had no hair on his head, and that he used to
wear a wig, but some mischievous person had stolen it, and that George
could not go to church and sit in a draught or he would catch such a
cold that he would not get well again for months. Miss Brown listened as
patiently as she could, and then said, "Bless your heart, I have a wig
that was my uncle's; and if George Pant will come or send to the
parsonage he shall be most welcome to it. It will just suit his
complexion, bless your heart, and if people will only pray to the Lord,
He will always give them what is good for them, bless your heart. You
must 'seek the Lord while He may be found, and call upon Him while He is
near.'"
The Sunday school was held in the church, there being no school-house in
the parish, and every Sunday, in all weathers, at nine in the morning
and half-past two in the afternoon, Miss Brown would be at the church
door waiting to go in and open school; and I do believe that Miss
Brown's great gold watch was always half an hour too fast, for my
father, who was the very cream of punctuality, could not keep time with
her. Father kept the keys, and he was not always ready to open the
church doors when the time was up by Miss Brown's great gold watch, and
when he did arrive she would give him a gentle reminder that he was not
in time by pulling out of her great wallet that great gold watch, and
saying as she did so, "Come, come, children, in to school; we are
already two minutes late, and we have no time to lose; come and read."
All had to read or learn a text, and were taught the catechism, before
the afternoon service, which began at three o'clock. But Miss Brown was
very tender-hearted towards her brother-in-law, the curate, and if that
gentleman happened to have a cold, or a touch of the gout, which
happened very often, then somehow there were fifty or fifty-five minutes
between half-past two and three o'clock by Miss Brown's great gold
watch, because "bless your heart, Mr. Cornwall has a bad cold and cannot
walk very fast."
Also Mr. Cornwall came amongst us most Sunday evenings and gave us some
wholesome admonition, and he would tell us of all the most interesting
things that were going on in the outer world, and of which we should
never have heard without him. And when the dear man stood there in our
midst telling us all these stories, his face beaming with goodness and
kindness, and his hair as white as snow, I think I almost worshipped
him. Then about every sixth or seventh Sunday he would preach a sermon
specially to the young. Thus did the Rev. P. M. Cornwall and Miss Brown
take possession of the hearts of the people, both old and young, and in
a very few years boys and girls grew up, and, as young men and maidens,
still attended the Sunday school--a school that could not be matched for
miles around. On Easter Monday Mr. Cornwall would invite us to meet him
in the churchyard, and we would join hands and encircle the church. Then
he would feed us with hot cross buns, and do all in his power, with the
help of Miss Brown, to make us happy. It seems needless to record how
much these two good people were beloved.