was born at Wynn in the Township of Winnington
within the Chapelry of Great Wollaston, and Parish of
Alberbury, in the County of Salop, in the year of our
Lord 1483. He lived in the reigns of 10 Kings and
Queens of England, King Edward IV. and V. Richard III.
Henry VII. VIII. Edward VI. Queen Mary, Queen Elizabeth.
King James I. King Charles I.
He died the thirteenth and was buried at
Westminster Abbey on the fifteenth November 1635
Age 152 years and 9 months.
John Taylor, known as the Water Poet because he was a Thames waterman,
who was born in 1580, and died in 1656, was a contemporary of Parr, and
wrote a book in 1635, the same year that old Parr died, entitled _The
Olde, Olde, very Olde Man_, in which he described Thomas Parr as an
early riser, sober, and industrious:
Though old age his face with wrinkles fill.
He hath been handsome and is comely still;
Well-faced, and though his Beard not oft corrected
Yet neate it grows, not like a Beard neglected.
Earl Arundel told King Charles I about this very old man, and he
expressed a desire to see him; so the earl arranged to have him carried
to London. When the men reached old Parr's cottage, which is still
standing, they found an old man sitting under a tree, apparently quite
done. Feeling sure that he was the man they wanted, they roused him up,
and one said, "We have come for you to take you to the King!" The old
man looked up at the person who spoke to him, and replied, "Hey, mon!
it's not me ye want! it's me feyther!" "Your father!" they said, in
astonishment; "where is he?" "Oh, he's cuttin' th' hedges!" So they went
as directed, and found a still older man cutting away at a hedge in the
small field adjoining the cottage, and him they took, together with his
daughter, for whom the earl had provided a horse. Musicians also went
with him, and it was supposed that he was exhibited at the different
towns they called at on their way to London, and such was the crush to
see him in Coventry that the old man narrowly escaped being killed. When
he was taken into the presence of King Charles, the king said, "Well,
Parr, you've lived a long time," and Parr answered, "Yes I have, your
Majesty." "What do you consider the principal event in your long life?"
asked the king, to which Parr replied that he hardly knew, but mentioned
some offence which he had committed when he was a hundred years old, and
for which he had to do penance in Alberbury Church, with the young woman
sitting beside him barefooted, and dressed in white clothing! Whereupon
King Charles said, "Oh, fie, fie, Parr, telling us of your faults and
not your virtues!"
[Illustration: OLD PARR'S COTTAGE.]
Parr was fêted in London to such an extent that he died of surfeit, and
was buried in the Poets' Corner in Westminster Abbey, where his
tombstone still exists, and is inscribed:
Thomas Parr of Y'E County of
Sallop Borne in A'P 1483. He lived
in Y'E Reignes of Ten Princes VIZ:--
K. Edw. 4. K. Edw. 5. K. Rich. 3.
K. Hen. 7. K. Hen. 8. K. Edw. 6.
Q. Ma. Q. Eliz. K. Ja. & K. Charles
Aged 152 Years
& was buried Here
Novemb. 15. 1635.
His portrait was painted by Van Dyck, who at that time was the Court
painter of King Charles I, and there were other oil paintings of him in
various places in England and abroad.
(_Distance walked thirty-one miles_.)
_Friday, November 3rd._
[Illustration: ST. MICHAEL'S CHURCH, COVENTRY.]
Our hotel was quite near the Coventry Parish Church dedicated to St.
Michael, which was said to be the largest parish church in England, so
we went out early this morning to visit it. We found it to be a very
fine church, and in it we saw some workmen erecting a beautiful
stained-glass window in which they had already placed the likeness of
two saints, one of whom was St. Ambrose. We wondered why they should be
putting such images in what we supposed to be the Reformed Church of
England. The men told us we should find a very fine stained-glass window
across the way in St. Mary's Hall, which had been erected in the time of
Henry VI, and was originally the work of John Thornton of Coventry, who
also had charge of the erection of the famous east window we had already
seen in York Minster. We only saw the exterior of the windows in St.
Mary's Hall, as we could not find any door that was open, so we hurried
away to form the acquaintance of "Peeping Tom," whose image we had come
so many miles to see. We found him high up on a corner of a street as if
looking down on the passers-by below. The building in which he appeared
was doing duty as a public-house, so we went in and saw the landlord, to
whom we explained the nature of our visit and journey, and he kindly
conducted us up the steps to the small room at the top of the house
where Peeping Tom was to be seen. He was a repulsive-looking image of
humanity, made of wood, without arms, and with a hideous face; how long
he had occupied his present position no one knew, but as we had seen
images of wood made hundreds of years ago, we were willing to suppose
that he was a relic of antiquity. Photography at the time of our visit
was only in its infancy, but small cards, 4 inches long by 2-1/2 inches
wide, with photographic views on them, were beginning to make their
appearance--picture postcards being then unknown. On our tour we
collected a number of these small cards, which were only to be found in
the more populous places. In our case we were able to get one at
Coventry of Peeping Tom, a facsimile of which we here produce. We did
not stay long in his company, for we looked upon him as an ugly and
disreputable character, but hurried back to our hotel for a good
breakfast before starting on our walk to the country of Shakespeare.
[Illustration: PEEPING TOM AT HIS WINDOW.]
[Illustration: PEEPING TOM.]
The dull days of November were now upon us, which might account to some
extent for the sleepy appearance of the old town of Coventry; but it
appeared that underlying all this was a feeling of great depression
caused by the declining state of its two staple industries--watches and
silk. The manufacture of watches had been established here for many
years, for as early as 1727 the archives recorded that a watch-maker had
been appointed Mayor of Coventry, and for anything we knew the
manufacture of silk might have been quite as old an industry there; but
the competition of American and Swiss watches was making itself
seriously felt, and the Treaty with France which admitted French silks
into England, duty free, was still more disastrous, causing much
apprehension for the future prosperity of the "good old town."
We lost a little time before starting, as my brother had seen something
in a shop window that he wanted to buy, but having forgotten the exact
position of the shop, we had to search diligently until we found it. It
was quite an artistic bookmarker made of white silk, with ornamental
bordering in colours which blended sweetly, enclosing a scroll, or
unfolding banner, which only displayed one word at each fold:
The Lord is my Shepherd; I shall not want.
I never knew what became of that book-mark until years later, after he
was married, when I saw it in his family Bible, and then I could guess
where it had been in the interval. I noticed also that he began to
quicken his speed considerably, and to be inclined to walk farther each
day, his explanation being that we were obliged to make up for lost
time. I also noticed that he wrote more notes in his diary in shorthand,
his knowledge of which I envied. He said that before he started on the
journey he imagined he knew the history of England, but had now become
convinced that he had it all to learn, and he thought the best way to
learn it thoroughly was by walking from John o' Groat's to Land's End.
[Illustration: KENILWORTH CASTLE FROM THE BRIDGE.]
A story was once told of two commercial travellers who had travelled
extensively, and were asked to write down the prettiest road in all
England, and one of them wrote "from Kenilworth to Coventry" and the
other wrote "from Coventry to Kenilworth"! This was the road on which we
had now to walk to reach what was known as "Shakespeare's country."
There were many pretty roads in England, and although this road was very
fine, being wide and straight and passing through a richly wooded
country, we had seen many prettier roads as regarded scenery. We soon
arrived at the historical Castle of Kenilworth, which, judging from the
extent of its ruins and lofty towers, must at one time have been a
magnificent place. According to local history the castle was originally
built in the reign of Henry I, and at one time it was in the possession
of Simon de Montfort, Earl of Leicester, who was born in 1206, and who
has been described as the "Father of English Parliaments." Henry
belonged to the Plantagenet family, the reigning house from Henry II in
1154 to Richard III, who was killed at the Battle of Bosworth Field in
1485. The strangest history in that family appeared to be that of
Eleanor Plantagenet, the daughter of Henry II, who caused her to be
married when only four years old to the great Earl of Pembroke, who was
then forty, and who took her as a bride to his home when she was only
fourteen years old, leaving her a widow at sixteen. She was thrown into
such an agony of grief that she took a solemn vow in the presence of the
Archbishop of Canterbury never to marry again, but to become a bride of
Christ. Seven years afterwards, however, she returned to the Court of
her brother, who was then Henry III, and, meeting Simon de Montfort,
Earl of Leicester, the king's favourite, one of the most handsome and
accomplished of courtiers, to whom he had given Kenilworth Castle, the
widowed countess forgot her vow, and though solemnly warned by the
Archbishop of the peril of breaking her oath, Montfort easily persuaded
Henry to give him his sister in marriage. The king knew that both the
Church and the barons would be violently opposed to the match, and that
they could only be married secretly; so on one cold January morning in
1238 they were married in the king's private chapel at Windsor; but the
secret soon became known to the priests and the peers, and almost
provoked a civil war. The Princess Eleanor was not happy, as her
husband, who had lost the favour of her brother the king, was ultimately
killed in the cause of freedom, along with her eldest son, at the Battle
of Evesham. He was the first to create a Parliament.
[Illustration: ELIZABETH, QUEEN OF ENGLAND.]
In the year 1206 a festival was held at Kenilworth, attended by one
hundred knights of distinction, and the same number of ladies, at which
silks were worn for the first time in England, and in 1327 Edward II was
there compelled to sign his abdication in favour of his son. Kenilworth
Castle probably attained the zenith of its prosperity in the time of
Queen Elizabeth, who in 1563 conferred it upon her favourite, Robert
Dudley, Earl of Leicester, who entertained her there with great
magnificence on four different occasions, 1566, 1568, 1572, and 1575.
But the former glory of Kenilworth Castle had departed, and we only saw
it in the deplorable condition in which it had been left by Cromwell's
soldiers. They had dismantled the lofty towers, drained the lake,
destroyed the park, and divided the land into farms, and we looked upon
the ruins of the towers, staircases, doorways, and dungeons with a
feeling of sorrow and dismay. We could distinguish the great hall, with
its chimney-pieces built in the walls; but even this was without either
floor or roof, and the rest appeared to us as an unintelligible mass of
decaying stonework. And yet, about half a century before we made our
appearance at the ruins, a visitor arrived who could see through them
almost at a glance, and restored them in imagination to their former
magnificence, as they appeared in the time of Queen Elizabeth. He has
described the preparations for the great feast given in her honour in
1575 by the Earl of Leicester, and resuscitated the chief actors in that
memorable and magnificent scene. He was described as "a tall gentleman
who leaned rather heavily on his walking-stick," and although little
notice was taken of him at the time, was none other than the great Sir
Walter Scott, whose novel _Kenilworth_ attracted to the neighbourhood
crowds of visitors who might never have heard of it otherwise.
We had begun to look upon Sir Walter in the light of an old
acquaintance, once formed never to be forgotten, and admired his
description of Kenilworth Castle:
The outer wall of this splendid and gigantic structure inclosed seven
acres, a part of which was occupied by extensive stables, and by a
pleasure garden, with its trim arbours and parterres, and the rest
formed a large base-court, or outer yard, of the noble Castle. The
Lordly structure itself, which rose near the centre of this spacious
enclosure was composed of a huge pile of magnificent castellated
buildings, apparently of different ages, surrounding an inner court,
and bearing in the names of each portion attached to the magnificent
mass, and in the armorial bearings which were there blazoned, the
emblems of mighty chiefs who had long passed away, and whose history,
could Ambition have lent ear to it, might have read a lesson to the
haughty favourite who had now acquired and was augmenting the fair
domain. A large and massive Keep, which formed the Citadel of the
Castle, was of uncertain, though great antiquity. It bore the name of
Cæsar, perhaps from its resemblance to that in the Tower of London so
called. The external wall of this Royal Castle was on the south and
west sides adorned and defended by a Lake, partly artificial, across
which Leicester had constructed a stately bridge, that Elizabeth
might enter the Castle by a path hitherto untrodden. Beyond the Lake
lay an extensive Chase, full of red deer, fallow deer, roes, and
every species of game, and abounding with lofty trees, from amongst
which the extended front and massive towers of the Castle were seen
to rise in majesty and beauty.
The great feast provided by the Earl of Leicester in honour of the visit
of Queen Elizabeth to Kenilworth Castle in 1575 was of a degree of
magnificence rarely equalled either before or since, extending
continuously over the seventeen days of the queen's stay, beginning at
two o'clock, at which time the great clock at the castle was stopped and
stood at that hour until the Princess departed. The cost of these
ceremonies was enormous, the quantity of beer alone consumed being
recorded as 320 hogsheads.
[Illustration: KENILWORTH CASTLE, LEICESTER BUILDINGS AND CÆSAR'S
TOWER.]
Sir Walter describes the preparations for the feast and the
heterogeneous nature of the crowd of people who attended it. The
resources of the country for miles round were taxed to their utmost, for
not only the queen's purveyors, but the Earl of Leicester's household
officers had been scouring it in all directions to provide the necessary
viands and provisions. The services in this respect of all the leading
families had been requisitioned, and--
They took this opportunity of ingratiating themselves by sending
large quantities of provisions and delicacies of all kinds, with game
in huge quantities, and whole tuns of the best liquors, foreign and
domestic. Thus the high-roads were filled with droves of bullocks,
sheep, calves and hogs, and choked with loaded wains, whose
axle-trees creaked under their burdens of wine-casks and hogsheads of
ale, and huge hampers of grocery goods, and slaughtered game, and
salted provisions, and sacks of flour. Perpetual stoppages took place
as these wains became entangled; and their rude drivers, swearing and
brawling till their wild passions were fully raised, began to debate
precedence with their wagon-whips and quarter-staves, which
occasional riots were usually quieted by a purveyor, deputy-marshal's
man, or some other person in authority breaking the heads of both
parties. Here were, besides, players and mummers, jugglers and
showmen, of every description, traversing in joyous bands the paths
which led to the Palace of Princely Pleasure; for so the travelling
minstrels had termed Kenilworth in the songs which already had come
forth in anticipation of the revels, which were there expected. In
the midst of this motley show, mendicants were exhibiting their real
or pretended miseries, forming a strange though common contrast
betwixt the vanities and the sorrows of human existence. All these
floated along with the immense tide of population, whom mere
curiosity had drawn together; and where the mechanic, in his leathern
apron, elbowed the dink and dainty dame, his city mistress; where
clowns with hobnailed shoes were treading on the kibes of
substantial burghers and gentlemen of worship; and where Joan of the
dairy, with robust pace and red sturdy arms, rowed her way onwards,
amongst those prim and pretty moppets, whose sires were knights and
squires. The throng and confusion was, however, of a gay and cheerful
character. All came forth to see and to enjoy, and all laughed at the
trifling inconveniences which at another time might have chafed their
temper. Excepting the occasional brawls we have mentioned among that
irritable race the Carmen, the mingled sounds which arose from the
multitude were those of light-hearted mirth and tiptoe jollity. The
musicians preluded on their instruments--the minstrels hummed their
songs--the licensed jester whooped betwixt mirth and madness, as he
brandished his bauble--the morrice-dancers jangled their bells--the
rustics hallow'd and whistled--men laughed loud, and maidens giggled
shrill; while many a broad jest flew like a shuttle-cock from one
party to be caught in the air, and returned from the opposite side of
the road by another, at which it was aimed.
[Illustration: ENTRANCE TO THE GREAT HALL, KENILWORTH.]
The arrival of the Queen, who had journeyed from Warwick Castle, had
been somewhat delayed, and the Guards had some difficulty in keeping the
course clear until she appeared with the lords and ladies who
accompanied her. It was dark when she approached the Castle, and
immediately there arose from the multitude a shout of applause, so
tremendously vociferous that the country echoed for miles around. The
Guards, thickly stationed upon the road by which the Queen was to
advance, caught up the acclamation, which ran like wildfire to the
castle, and announced to all within that Queen Elizabeth had entered the
Royal Castle of Kenilworth. The whole music of the castle sounded at
once, and a round of artillery, with a salvo of small arms, was
discharged from the battlements; but the noise of drums and trumpets,
and even of the cannon themselves, was but faintly heard amidst the
roaring and reiterated welcome of the multitude. As the noise began to
abate, a broad glare of light was seen to appear from the gate of the
park, and, broadening and brightening as it came nearer, advance along
the open and fair avenue that led towards the Gallery Tower, lined on
either hand by the retainers of the Earl of Leicester. The word was
passed along the lines, "The Queen! The Queen! Silence, and stand fast!"
Onward came the cavalcade, illuminated by 200 thick waxen torches, in
the hands of as many horsemen, which cast a light like that of broad day
all around the procession, but especially on the principal group, of
which the Queen herself, arrayed in the most splendid manner, and
blazing with jewels, formed the central figure. She was mounted on a
milk-white horse, which, she reined with peculiar grace and dignity, and
in the whole of her stately and noble carriage you saw the daughter of a
hundred kings.
[Illustration: KENILWORTH CASTLE IN 1871.]
Leicester, who glittered like a golden image with jewels and cloth of
gold, rode on her Majesty's right hand, as well in quality as her Host
as of her Master of the Horse. The black steed which he mounted had not
a single white hair on his body, and was one of the most renowned
chargers in Europe, having been purchased by the earl at large expense
for this royal occasion. As the noble steed chafed at the slow speed of
the procession, and, arching his stately neck, champed on the silver
bits which restrained him, the foam flew from his mouth and speckled his
well-formed limbs as if with spots of snow. The rider well became the
high place which he held and the proud animal which he bestrode, for no
man in England, or perhaps in Europe, was more perfect than Dudley in
horsemanship and all other exercises belonging to his rank. He was
bareheaded, as were all the courtiers in the train, and the red
torchlight shone upon his long curled tresses of dark hair and on his
noble features, to the beauty of which even the severest criticism could
only object the lordly fault, as it may be termed, of a forehead
somewhat too high. On that proud evening he wore all the graceful
solicitude of a subject, to show himself sensible of the high honour
which the Queen was conferring on him, and all the pride and
satisfaction which became so glorious a moment. The train, male and
female, who attended immediately upon the Queen's person, were of course
of the bravest and the fairest--the highest born nobles and the wisest
councellors of that distinguished reign, and were followed by a crowd of
knights and gentlemen. It was now the part of the huge porter, a man of
immense size, to deliver an address and drop his club and resign his
keys to give open way to the Goddess of the Night and all her
magnificent train, but as he was so overwhelmed with confusion of
spirit--the contents of one immense black jack of double ale--Sir Walter
only records the substance of what the gigantic warder ought to have
said in his address:
What stir, what turmoil, have we for the nones?
Stand back, my masters, or beware your bones!
Sirs, I'm a warder, and no man of straw,
My voice keeps order, and my club gives law.
Yet soft,--nay stay--what vision have we here?
What dainty darling this--what peerless peer?
What loveliest face, that loving ranks enfold.
Like brightest diamond chased in purest gold?
Dazzled and blind, mine office I forsake,
My club, my Key, my knee, my homage take.
Bright paragon, pass on in joy and bliss;--
Beshrew the gate that opes not wide at such a sight as this!
Elizabeth received most graciously the homage of the herculean porter
and then passed through the guarded tower amidst the sounds of trumpets
and other instruments stationed on the tower and in various parts of the
castle, and dismounted near Mortimer's Tower, which was as light as day
as she walked across the long bridge built especially for her and lit
with torches on either side. She had no sooner stepped upon the bridge
than a new spectacle was provided, for as soon as the music gave signal
that she was so far advanced, a raft on the lake, disposed as to
resemble a small floating island, illuminated by a great variety of
torches, and surrounded by floating pageants formed to represent
sea-horses, on which sat Tritons, Nereids, and other fabulous deities of
the seas and rivers, made its appearance upon the lake, and, issuing
from behind a small heronry where it had been concealed, floated gently
towards the farther end of the bridge. On the islet appeared a beautiful
woman, clad in a watchet-coloured silken mantle, bound with a broad
girdle, inscribed with characters like the phylacteries of the Hebrews.
Her feet and arms were bare, but her wrists and ankles were adorned with
gold bracelets of uncommon size. Amidst her long silky black hair she
wore a crown or chaplet of artificial mistletoe, and bore in her hand a
rod of ebony tipped with silver. Two nymphs attended on her, dressed in
the same antique and mystical guise. The pageant was so well managed
that the Lady of the Floating Island, having performed her voyage with
much picturesque effect, landed at Mortimer's Tower with her two
attendants, just as Elizabeth presented herself before that outwork. The
stranger then in a well-penned speech announced herself as that famous
Lady of the Lake renowned in the stories of King Arthur, who had nursed
the youth of the redoubted Sir Lancelot, and whose beauty had proved too
powerful both for the wisdom and the spells of the mighty Merlin. Since
that period she had remained possessed of her crystal dominions, she
said, despite the various men of fame and might by whom Kenilworth had
been successively tenanted. The Saxons, the Danes, the Normans, the
Saintlowes, the Clintons, the Montforts, the Mortimers, the
Plantagenets, great though they were in arms and magnificence, had
never, she said, caused her to raise her head from the waters which hid
her crystal palace. But a greater than all these great names had now
appeared, and she came in homage and duty to welcome the peerless
Elizabeth to all sport which the castle and its environs, which lake or
land, could afford! The queen received the address with great courtesy
and the Lady of the Lake vanished, and Arion, who was amongst the
maritime deities, appeared upon his dolphin in her place. But amidst all
this pageantry Sir Walter throws a side-light on Mervyn's Tower, where
we see a prisoner, a pale, attenuated, half dead, yet still lovely lady,
Amy Robsart, the neglected wife of Leicester, incarcerated there while
her husband is flirting with the queen in the gay rooms above. Her
features are worn with agony and suspense as she looks through the
narrow window of her prison on the fireworks and coloured fires outside,
wondering perhaps whether these were emblems of her own miserable life,
"a single spark, which is instantaneously swallowed up by the
surrounding darkness--a precarious glow, which rises but for a brief
space into the air, that its fall may be lower."
[Illustration: MERVYN'S TOWER, KENILWORTH CASTLE.]
Sir Walter Scott described Kenilworth as "a place to impress on the
musing visitor the transitory value of human possessions, and the
happiness of those who enjoy a humble lot in virtuous contentment," and
it was with some such thoughts as these in our own minds that we hurried
away across fields and along lovely by-lanes towards Leamington, our
object in going there by the way we did being to get a view of the great
mansion of Stoneleigh, the residence of Lord Leigh, who was also a
landowner in our native County of Chester. It seemed a very fine place
as we passed through the well-wooded park surrounding it, and presently
reached his lordship's village of Ashow, where the old church, standing
on a small knoll at the end of the village, looked down upon the River
Avon below, which was here only a small stream. The roofs of many of the
cottages were thatched with straw, and although more liable to be set on
fire than those covered with the red tiles so common in the County of
Warwick, they looked very picturesque and had the advantage of not being
affected so much by extremes of temperature, being warmer in winter and
cooler in summer for those who had the good fortune to live under them.
We noticed several alms houses in the village, and near the smithy had a
talk with an old man who was interested to know that we came from
Cheshire, as he knew his lordship had some property there. He told us
that when a former Lord Leigh had died, there was a dispute amongst the
Leigh family as to who was the next owner of the estate, and about fifty
men came up from Cheshire and took possession of the abbey; but as the
verdict went against them they had to go back again, and had to pay
dearly for their trespass. He did not know where the Leighs came from
originally, but thought "they might have come from Cheshire," so we told
him that the first time they were heard of in that county was when the
Devil brought a load of them in his cart from Lancashire. He crossed
the River Mersey, which divided the two counties, at a ford near
Warrington, and travelled along the Knutsford road, throwing one of them
out occasionally with his pikel, first on one side of the road and then
on the other, until he had only a few left at the bottom of his cart,
and as he did not think these worth taking any farther, he "keck'd" his
cart up and left them on the road, so there were persons named Lee,
Legh, or Leigh living on each side of that road to the present day. The
old man seemed pleased with our story and grinned considerably, and no
doubt it would be repeated in the village of Ashow after we had left,
and might probably reach the ears of his lordship himself.
Two of the Lees that the Devil left on the road when he upset his cart
took possession of the country on either side, which at that time was
covered with a dense forest, and selected large oak trees to mark their
boundaries, that remained long after the other trees had disappeared.
But in course of time it became necessary to make some other distinction
between the two estates, so it was arranged that one landlord should
spell his name Legh and the other Leigh, and that their tenants should
spell the name of the place High Legh in one case and High Leigh in the
other, so that when name-plates appeared on carts, each landlord was
able to tell to which estate they belonged. There were many antiquities
in the country associated with his Satanic Majesty, simply because their
origin was unknown, such as the Devil's Bridge over which we had passed
at Kirkby Lonsdale, and the Devil's Arrows at Aldborough, and it was
quite possible that the remote antiquity of the Legh family might
account for the legend connected with them. There were several facts
connected with the Cheshire estate of the Leghs which interested us, the
first being that my grandfather was formerly a tenant on the estate, and
the squire had in his possession the rent rolls for every year since
about 1289. A fact that might interest ladies who are on the lookout for
a Mr. Wright is, that out of a hundred tenants on that estate at the
present day, twenty-seven householders bear the name of Wright.
[Illustration: REMAINS OF THE BROAD OAK, HIGH LEGH.]
But the strangest incident connected with High Legh was the case of a
young man who came from Scotland to work in the squire's gardens there.
He had attended Warrington Market, and was returning over the river
bridge when he stopped to look at a placard announcing a missionary
meeting to be held in the town that night. He decided to stay, although
he had quite seven miles to walk on his way home, and was so impressed
by what he heard that he decided to become a missionary himself, and
became one of the most famous missionaries of the nineteenth century.
His name was Robert Moffat, and he laboured hard in South Africa, where
his son-in-law, David Livingstone, following his example, also became a
renowned explorer and missionary in the "Dark Continent."
Accept me for Thy service, Lord,
And train me for Thy will,
For even I in fields so broad
Some duties may fulfil;
And I will ask for no reward
Except to serve Thee still.
MOFFAT.
[Illustration: ROBERT MOFFAT.]
We soon arrived at Leamington, which was quite an aristocratic town, and
different from any other we had seen on our journey, for it consisted
chiefly of modern houses of a light stone colour, which contrasted
finely with the trees with which the houses were interspersed and
surrounded, and which must have appeared very beautiful in the spring
time.
The chief object of interest there was the Spa, which although known to
travellers in the seventeenth century, had only come into prominence
during recent times, or since the local poets had sung its praises. In
the introduction to a curious book, published in 1809 by James Bissett,
who described himself as "Medallist to his Majesty King George the
Third, proprietor of the Picture Gallery, public, news-room, and the
museum at Leamington," there appeared the following lines:
Nay! Foreigners of rank who this look o'er
To try the Wells may quit their native shore;
For when they learn the virtues of the Spaw
Twice tens of thousands to the spot will draw,
As when its wondrous powers are pointed out
And men found cap'ring who have had the gout;
When pallid cheeks regain their roseate blush
And vigorous health expels the hectic flush
When those once hypp'd cast the crutch away;
Sure when the pride of British Spas they see
They'll own the humble instrument in me!
The Spa, it appeared, had been patronised by royalty on several
occasions, and Queen Victoria in 1838 acceded to the request that the
inhabitants might henceforth style the town the "Royal Leamington Spa."
Benjamin Satchwell claimed to have discovered the principal well there
in 1784, and on his tombstone in the churchyard appeared the following:
Hail the unassuming tomb
Of him who told where health and beauty bloom,
Of him whose lengthened life improving ran--
A blameless, useful, venerable man.
We only stayed a short time here, and then walked quickly through a fine
country to the ancient town of Warwick, with Guy's Cliffe and Blacklow
Hill to our right, the monument on the hill being to Piers Gaveston,
Earl of Cornwall, the hated favourite of Edward II. Gaveston was
beheaded on the hill on July 1st, 1312, and the modern inscription
reads:
In the hollow of this rock was beheaded, on the first day of July
1312, by barons, lawless as himself, Piers Gaveston, Earl of
Cornwall, the minion of a hateful King, in life and death a memorable
instance of misrule.
[Illustration: GUY'S TOWER, WARWICK]
Gaveston surrendered to the insurgent barons at Scarborough, on
condition that his life should be spared; but he had offended the Earl
of Warwick by calling him the "Black Hound of Arden," and the earl
caused him to be conveyed to Warwick Castle. When brought before
Warwick there, the Earl muttered, "Now you shall feel the Hound's
teeth," and after a mock trial by torchlight he was led out of the
castle and beheaded on the hill. Every one of the barons concerned in
this rather diabolical action died by violence during the next few
years.
[Illustration: WARWICK CASTLE FROM THE RIVER. "As we crossed the bridge
we had a splendid view of Warwick Castle ... the finest example of a
fortified castle in England ... the 'fairest monument of ancient and
chivalrous splendour yet uninjured by time.'"]
[Illustration: WARWICK CASTLE]
[Illustration: THE PORTCULLIS.]
[Illustration: ENTRANCE TOWERS.]
[Illustration: WARWICK CASTLE]
As we crossed the bridge leading over the River Avon we had a splendid
view of Warwick Castle, which had the reputation of being the finest
example of a fortified castle in England, Sir Walter Scott describing it
as "the fairest monument of ancient and chivalrous splendour which yet
remain uninjured by time." It could boast of a continuous history from
the time of Ethelfreda, the daughter of the Saxon King, Alfred the
Great, and its towers rose to a considerable height, Cæsar's tower
reaching an elevation of 174 feet. Here could be seen the famous and
exquisite Vase of Warwick, in white marble, of unknown age and of
fabulous value, said to have been found at the bottom of a lake near
Hadrian's Villa, at Tivoli, in Italy. There were an immense number of
curios in the castle, some of which were connected with that famous
character Guy, Earl of Warwick, including his shield, sword, and helmet,
and his kettle of bell-metal, twenty-six feet wide and capable of
holding 120 gallons of water. We had no time to visit the interior of
the castle, but it was interesting to read, in one of his letters, what
Dr. Adam Clark saw there in 1797: "I was almost absolutely a prey to
astonishment and rapture while I contemplated the painting of the wife
of Schneider by Rubens, such a speaking canvas I never beheld." He saw
the large Etruscan vases collected by Sir William Hamilton, some bronze
cups dug out of the ruins of Herculaneum, and the bed in which Queen
Anne slept and which, according to report, she wrought with her own
hands. In the Armoury he was permitted to fit on some of the armour, and
attempted also to wield the sword of Guy, Earl of Warwick, which weighed
seventy pounds. He also examined the rest of Guy's gigantic equipments,
not omitting his porridge-pot, which held no gallons and was filled
every time an Earl of Warwick came of age. This Guy was not the famous
King Maker, but the original Guy, who lived at a time when England was
covered with thick forests in which savage beasts, now unknown, roamed
at large, causing great havoc amongst the early settlers, both to their
persons and their cattle. Of gigantic stature, he was renowned for his
courage and prowess, and, being in love with the fair Felice at Warwick
Castle, for her sake he performed prodigious feats of valour, both at
home and abroad. Amongst other monsters which preyed upon and terrified
human beings he killed the wild and fierce Dun Cow which infested Dun's
Moor, a place we had passed by the previous day; and we were reminded of
his prowess when we saw the sign of the "Dun Cow" displayed on inns in
the country, including that on the hotel at Dunchurch. He went on a
pilgrimage to the Holy Land, where he killed many Saracens, and when on
his return he landed at Portsmouth, King Athelstane, ignorant of his
name, asked him if he would become his champion in a contest on which
the fate of England depended. The king told him that the Danes had with
them a champion named Colbran, a gigantic Saracen, and that they had
offered to stake their fortunes on a duel between him and an English
champion, not yet found, on condition that if Colbran won, England must
be given up to Anlaf, King of Denmark, and Govelaph, King of Norway. Guy
undertook the fight willingly, and defeated and killed the gigantic
Saracen, after which he privately informed the king that he was the Earl
of Warwick. He secured the hand and affections of the fair Felice, but
when the thoughts of all the people he had killed began to haunt him, he
left her, giving himself up to a life of devotion and charity, while he
disappeared and led the life of a hermit. She thought he had gone into
foreign lands, and mourned his loss for many years; but he was quite
near the castle all the time, living beside the River Avon in a cave in
a rock, which is still called Guys Cliffe, and where he died. Huge bones
were found and kept in the castle, including one rib bone, which
measured nine inches in girth at its smallest part and was six and a
half feet long; but this was probably a bone belonging to one of the
great wild beasts slain by the redoubtable Guy. We were sorry we could
not explore the castle, but we wanted particularly to visit the
magnificent Beauchamp Chapel in St. Mary's Church at Warwick. We found
this one of those places almost impossible to describe, and could
endorse the opinion of others, that it was "an architectural gem of the
first water and one of the finest pieces of architectural work in the
kingdom." It occupied twenty-one years in building, and contains the
tomb of Richard Beauchamp, under whose will the chapel was begun in
1443; Robert Dudley, Earl of Leicester, the haughty favourite of Queen
Elizabeth, was also entombed here. We had too much to do to-day to stay
very long in any place we visited, but we were interested in the remains
of a ducking-stool in the crypt of the church, although it was far from
being complete, the only perfect one of which we knew being that in the
Priory Church of Leominster, which reposed in a disused aisle of the
church, the property of the Corporation of that town. It was described
as "an engine of universal punishment for common scolds, and for
butchers, bakers, brewers, apothecaries, and all who give short measure,
or vended adulterated articles of food," and was last used in 1809, when
a scolding wife named Jenny Pipes was ducked in a deep place in one of
the small rivers which flowed through that town. The following lines,
printed on a large card, appeared hanging from one of the pillars in the
aisle near the stool:
[Illustration: TOMBS IN THE BEAUCHAMP CHAPEL.]
[Illustration: THE DUCKING-STOOL, WARWICK.]
There stands, my friend, in yonder pool,
An engine called a Ducking Stool;
By legal power commanded down,
The joy, and terror of the town.
If jarring females kindle strife,
Give language foul, or lug the coif:
If noisy dames should once begin
To drive the house with horrid din,
Away! you cry, you'll grace the stool
We'll teach you how your tongue to rule.
Down in the deep the stool descends,
But here, at first, we miss our ends,
She mounts again, and rages more
Than ever vixen did before.
If so, my friend, pray let her take
A second turn into the lake;
And rather than your patience lose
Thrice and again, repeat the dose,
No brawling wives, no furious wenches
No fire so hot, but water quenches.
[Illustration: THE DUCKING-STOOL, LEOMINSTER]
The stool was exactly like a chair without legs, fastened on one end of
a long pole, in the centre of which was a framework with solid wooden
wheels. The culprit was fastened in the chair with her face towards the
men, who were at the other end of the pole, and who had to push and
guide the machine through the narrow streets of the town until they
reached the "deep hole," where the unfortunate woman had to be ducked
overhead in the river. Her feet were securely tied to the top of the
pole to prevent them from being hurt when passing through the town, and
to hinder her from using them to keep her head above the water. The poet
describes the "engine called a ducking-stool" as the "joy and terror of
the town," but the "joy" could only have been that of the men, women,
and children who could be spared to see the show, and knew the woman's
scolding propensities. If she continued scolding after the first "duck,"
down she went again, and again, until, as we imagined, half filled with
water, she was unable to scold further, and so the water triumphed in
the end:
No brawling wives, no furious wenches
No fire so hot, but water quenches.
The tower of St. Mary's Church was built on four lofty arches, one of
which formed the entrance to the church while the other three formed
entrances to the street, the footpath passing through two of them.
[Illustration: LORD LEICESTER'S HOSPITAL AND GATE.]
We passed alongside the ancient and picturesque half-timbered building
known as Lord Leicester's Hospital, which was one of the few buildings
in the town that escaped the fire in 1694. It had been built by Robert
Dudley, Earl of Leicester, the favourite of Queen Elizabeth and of
Kenilworth fame, to accommodate twelve poor men or brethren besides the
master, who, according to Dugdale the famous antiquary, "were to be
clothed in blew cloth, with a ragged staff embroydered on the left
sleeve," and not to go into the town without them. The hospital dated
from 1571, but what was formerly the banqueting-hall belonged to an
earlier period, and owed its preservation largely to the fact that the
timber of which the roof had been constructed was Spanish chestnut, a
timber which grew luxuriantly in the forests of England, and resembled
English oak. It was largely used by the monks in the building of their
refectories, as no worm or moth would go near it and no spider's web was
ever woven there, the wood being poisonous to insects. It is lighter in
colour than oak, and, seeing the beams so clean-looking, with the
appearance of having been erected in modern times, it is difficult for
the visitor to realise that they have been in their present position
perhaps for five or six centuries. Over one of the arched doorways in
the old hospital appeared the insignia of the bear and the ragged staff,
which was also the sign of public houses, notably that at Cumnor, the
village of Amy Robsart. This we discovered to be the arms of the Earls
of Warwick, originating during the time of the first two earls: the
first being Arth or Arthgal of the Round Table--Arth meaning bear--and
the second Morvid, who in single combat overcame a mighty giant who
came against him with a club--a tree pulled up by the roots and stripped
of its branches; and in remembrance of his victory over the giant the
"ragged staff" ever afterwards appeared on the coat of arms of the Earls
of Warwick.
[Illustration: CÆSAR'S TOWER, WARWICK CASTLE.]
At the end of the hospital stood St. James's Chapel, built over the West
Gate of the town, which we left by the footpath leading both under the
church and its tower, on our way to Stratford-on-Avon.
[Illustration: SHAKESPEARE'S HOUSE (Before Restoration).]
We walked the eight miles which separated the two towns at a quick
speed, and, leaving our luggage at the "Golden Lion Inn" at the entrance
to Stratford, we went to explore that town, and soon arrived at the
birthplace of Shakespeare, one of the few houses in England where no
fire is ever lit or candle lighted. It was a very old-fashioned house
built with strong oak beams, the ceiling of the room in which
Shakespeare was born in 1564 being so low that visitors could easily
reach it, and they had written their names both on it and the walls
until there was scarcely an available space left. Written with lead
pencil, some of the autographs were those of men distinguished in every
rank of life both past and present, and would doubtless have become very
valuable if they had been written in a book, but we supposed Visitors'
Books had not been thought of in those days. We wondered if the walls
would ever be whitewashed again, and this thought might have occurred to
Sir Walter Scott when he scratched his name with a diamond on one of the
window panes. It was at another house in the town that Shakespeare wrote
his plays and planted a mulberry-tree in the garden. This mulberry-tree
used to be one of the objects of interest at Stratford, nearly every
pilgrim who arrived there going to see it. There came a time when the
house and garden changed hands, and were sold to a clergyman named
Gastrell, who we were sorry to learn was a countryman of ours, as he
belonged to Cheshire. He had married a "lady of means," who resided at
Lichfield, and they bought this house and garden, we supposed, so that
they might "live happily ever afterwards"; but the parson, who must have
had a very bad temper, was so annoyed at people continually calling to
see the mulberry-tree that he cut it down. It was probably owing to this
circumstance that he had a furious quarrel with the Corporation of
Stratford because they raised the rates on his property. When he
complained that they were excessive and the surveyor insisted on their
being paid, Gastrell ended the matter by pulling the house down to the
ground, and leaving the neighbourhood, so we supposed it was then a case
of--
Where he's gone and how he fares
Nobody knows and nobody cares.
Eventually the site became a public garden, where a slip of the
mulberry-tree may still be seen.
[Illustration: SHAKESPEARE'S TOMB, STRATFORD-ON-AVON.]
Shakespeare died in 1616, and was buried in the church at Stratford,
where on the ancient stone that covered his remains were inscribed in
old English characters the well-known words:
Good friend, for Jesus' sake forbear
To dig the dust enclosed here,
Blest be the man that spares these stones,
And curst be he that moves my bones.
Shakespeare's threatened curse was doubtless one reason why his bones
had remained undisturbed, for it was no uncommon occurrence in his time
for the bones of the dead to be removed from a tomb and to be replaced
or mingled with those of a stranger, for even the tomb of his daughter,
who died in 1649, shared that fate, her epitaph being effaced and
replaced by another of a person in no way related to the Shakespeare
family, but who was buried in the same grave.
In one corner of the church was a tomb bearing the effigy of John
O'Combe, who we thought might have hailed from the neighbourhood of the
old abbey of that name which we passed the night before. In spite of his
benefactions recorded in the church, he was looked upon as a usurer,
because he charged 10 per cent, for his money. He was at one time a
friend of Shakespeare, and often asked the poet, who was no doubt
acquainted with his rate of interest, to write him an epitaph. When at
length he acceded to his request he greatly offended Combe by writing:
"Ten in the hundred" lies here en-graved,
'Tis a hundred to ten if his soul be saved.
If any one asks who lies in his tomb--
"Oho" quoth the devil "'tis my John O'Combe."
Shakespeare bought the house in which he wrote his plays from the
Clopton family, calling it "New Place," and a sorrowful story was
connected with the Clopton vault in Stratford Church. Sir Hugh Clopton,
who was buried there, was Lord Mayor of London in 1492, and had a very
beautiful young daughter named Charlotte, who, according to her
portrait, which was still in existence, had light blue eyes and pale
golden hair. In the time when a plague was raging in Stratford she was
said to have been found sitting in a chair in the garden apparently
dead, and was at once carried to the vault to be buried. A few days
afterwards another member of the family died of the plague, and was also
taken to the vault; but when the torch-bearers descended the steps
leading into the vault, the light from their torches revealed the form
of Charlotte Clopton leaning against the side of the tomb. They were
stricken with horror, but had arrived too late to save her, as she was
now quite dead. The poor girl must have been in a trance when they
carried her to the vault, and in her agony of hunger had bitten a piece
of flesh from her own shoulder!
We found the "Golden Lion" quite a comfortable hotel, and had a
first-class tea there in the company of an actor from London, who, like
ourselves, was exploring the country hereabouts, though perhaps from a
different point of view, and who had a lot to tell us about Shakespeare
and his plays. He had been to a village named Bidford a few miles away
where there was an old-fashioned inn, in the courtyard of which
Shakespeare and his friends had acted his _Midsummer's Night Dream_ long
before it appeared in London. It was at that inn that Shakespeare on
one occasion had too much to drink, and when on his way home to
Stratford he lay down under a thorn tree to sleep off the effects; the
tree was fenced round later on in memory of that rather inglorious
event. Although we were temperance men, we had to admit that the old
inns where the stage-coaches stopped to exchange passengers and horses
had a great attraction for us, and it was not without a feeling of
regret that we found them being gradually closed throughout the country
we passed through. They had mostly been built after the same model, the
gateway or door at the entrance being arched over and placed in the
centre of the front of the hotel. Through this archway the coaches, with
passengers and luggage, could pass in and out, a door on each side of
the entrance leading into different sections of the inn. The yards of
the inns were in the form of an oblong, generally roofed over, and along
each side were the out-offices, storerooms, and stables, with a flat
roof overhead, extending backwards as far as the bedroom doors, and
forming a convenient platform for passengers' luggage as it was handed
on and off the roof of the coach. The outside edge of the platform was
sometimes ornamented with a low palisade, which gave the interior of the
covered yard quite a pleasant and ornamental appearance.
[Illustration]
Such was the character of the inns that existed in the time of
Shakespeare, and although sanitary regulations in later times required
the horses to be provided for in stable-yards farther in the rear, very
little structural alteration in the form of the inns had taken place.
The actor told us that in Shakespeare's time nearly all the acting
outside London and much within was done in the courtyards of these inns.
The actors travelled in two covered wagons or coaches, and when they
arrived at the inn they were drawn into the inn yard, while two members
of the party went out into the town or village vigorously beating a drum
to announce the arrival of the actors, almost the entire resident
population, men, women, and children, following them to the inn yard to
listen to the play, which custom, he said, was referred to by
Shakespeare in one of his plays in the passage:
The Actors have come and the rout are following!
The covers were then taken off the top of the wagons and placed round
the sides of the wheels, to act as screens while the actors changed
their dresses, which had to be done underneath the coaches. Meanwhile
boards, kept at the inns specially for that purpose, were fastened over
the tops of the wagons, and on these the actors performed their plays.
The squire, or lord of the manor, had the right to see the plays free of
charge, and when he came, a bar of wood was placed across the entrance
to one of the horse-boxes to keep off the spectators who thronged the
inn yard. From these people the actors collected what money they could,
while those who were better able to pay were accommodated on the
platform above the stables, which commanded a better view of the play.
When theatres were built, he informed us, they were modelled in the same
shape as the yards of these inns, their arrangement being also the same:
the stage represented the boards on the wagons and the actors dressed
underneath it, the pit corresponded to the inn yard, the gallery to the
platform over the stables, the boxes to the place railed off for the
squire. The actor was not sure about the stalls, and thought these were
instituted at a later period; but we reminded him that stalls were a
necessary adjunct to stables.
[Illustration: STRATFORD-ON-AVON CHURCH.]
He also told us that the actors had a language peculiar to their
profession, which also dated from the time when they acted in the
country inn yards, for even when they travelled by train they were
always "on the road," and when acting in the theatre they were still "on
the boards."
We asked him if he knew about Shakespeare's stealing the deer from
Charlecote Park, Sir Thomas Lucy's property, and he said he did; but the
report was not quite correct, for at that time the park was surrounded
by Common Land, and it was there that Shakespeare shot the deer, which
only went into the park to die. Shakespeare followed it, and as he was
removing the carcase he was caught and summoned; the case hinged on
whether he had his weapon with him or not. As that could not be proved
against him, the case was dismissed. It appears that the Law of England
is the same on that point to-day as in the time of Shakespeare, for if a
man shoots a hare on his own land, and it dies on adjoining land
belonging to some one else, he has a perfect right to remove it,
providing he does not take his gun with him, which would constitute a
punishable offence. We were sorry to leave the hotel, as we should have
been very comfortable there, and the actor, who wanted to hear of our
adventures, did his best to persuade us to stay; but our average must be
made up, and I particularly wanted to celebrate my birthday on the
following Sunday at Oxford.
It was quite dark as we crossed the river bridge on our way to Kineton,
ten miles distant, and we soon lost sight of the lights of Stratford; as
we left we could see the church being lit up for evening service. A man
on the bridge in directing us the way to Kineton told us we should pass
the park where "old Shakespeare stole the deer," and he seemed to think
he was a regular poacher there. We could not see the deer, but we heard
them as we passed alongside the park, the noise resembling that of a
pig, but not nearly so loud. We soon afterwards arrived at a fair-sized
village about half-way between Stratford and Kineton, where we recrossed
the river and, turning towards the right, walked along a lonely road for
an hour or two, until we reached Kineton, where we intended to stay the
night. We were, however, doomed to disappointment, for, as the railway
was being cut through there, the whole place was completely filled with
engineers and navvies, who had taken up all the accommodation. There was
not even a chair "to be let," so we were obliged to move on in the hope
that we might come to some house or village on the road where we could
obtain lodgings for the night. We had already walked thirty miles and
were sleepy and tired and could not walk quickly enough to keep
ourselves warm, for the night was damp with fog and very cold, and our
quick walk had caused us to perspire, so that we were now in what might
be termed a cold sweat, a danger to which we were often exposed during
these later stages of our long journey. Fortunately for us, however, the
cuttings from the sides of the hedges and ditches, which extended for
miles, had been tied in neat little bundles, possibly for sale, and
deposited on the sides of the road, and every now and then we set fire
to one of these and stayed a few minutes to warm ourselves, expecting
every moment to attract the attention of a policeman, and get ourselves
into trouble, but none appeared. The last quarter of the moon was now
due, and although we could not see it through the misty clouds overhead,
it lighted up the air considerably when it rose, so that we could then
see the fields on either side of the road, especially when we came to an
upward gradient. We gradually became conscious of what appeared to be a
great black cloud in front of us as we climbed up the road, and were
astonished when we perceived that instead of a cloud it was a tremendous
hill, towards which our road was leading us. We had been walking for
days through a level country, and did not expect to come to a hill like
this, and this strange and sudden development sharpened us up a little,
for we had only been walking at about the rate, including stoppages, of
one mile per hour, so we walked steadily up the hill, and presently came
in sight of some large trees, from which we knew that we were
approaching civilisation; we had not seen a single habitation or a
living being of any kind since leaving Kineton. On the other side of a
field to the left of our road we could see a rustic-looking shed which
we resolved to visit, so, climbing over the fence, we walked cautiously
towards it, and found it was an ancient store-shed for hay and straw. We
listened attentively for a few moments and, as there was no wind, we
could have heard the breathing of a man or of any large animal that
might have been sleeping there; but as all appeared quiet, we sat down
on the dry straw thankful to be able to rest our weary limbs if only for
a short time.
We had some difficulty in keeping ourselves awake, but we durst not go
to sleep as the night was so very cold, and there was a rough floor
immediately above us which had caused us some uneasiness. When we heard
the footsteps of some small animal creeping stealthily amongst the straw
over our heads, as if preparing to make a spring, we decided to evacuate
our rather eerie position. It might have been a rat or more likely a
cat, but as we did not care for the company of either of these animals,
we lost no time in regaining the road.
As we approached the top of the hill we came to some quaint-looking
houses, which appeared much too large for their occupiers to take in
visitors at that early hour of the morning, especially two tramps like
ourselves. We were almost sure that one of the houses was an inn, as it
had a sign on the wall, though too high up for us to read in the dark.
Presently we passed what appeared to be an old castle.
We could now only walk very slowly, or at a speed that my musical
brother described as about equivalent to the "Dead March in Saul," and
at seven o'clock in the morning reached the entrance to the town of
Banbury, exciting considerable curiosity among the men we met on the way
to their work in the country.
We called at the first respectable-looking inn that we came to, where
the mistress informed us we could not have two beds, "as the other
people hadn't got up yet," but a gentleman who had to leave early was
just getting up now, and we "could have his bed if we liked." We were
glad to accept the offer lest in going farther we might fare worse. We
could hear the gentleman's heavy footsteps on the floor above our heads,
and as soon as the room was prepared we got into the bed he had vacated,
which was still quite warm, extremely thankful to get in anywhere, and
in spite of the noises usual in inns on Saturday morning we "slept like
bricks" until eleven o'clock, the hour arranged for our "call."
(_Distance walked forty-two and a half miles_.)
_Saturday, November 4th._
[Illustration: EDGE HILL.]
We were quite surprised to find that the night before we had been
walking along the site of one of the most famous battles--because it was
the first--in the Great Civil War of the seventeenth century, named
after the strange hill we had walked over, and known to history as the
"Battle of Edge Hill." We learned that had we crossed it on a fine clear
day instead of in the dark we should have obtained a splendid view over
the shires of Warwick, Gloucester, and Worcester, and portions of other
counties besides. The hill itself stood in Warwickshire, but we had
crossed the boundary into Oxfordshire on our way to Banbury some time in
the early hours of the morning. The Royalist Army, under King Charles I,
had encamped a few miles from Banbury, when Prince Rupert sent the king
word that the army of the Parliament, under the command of the Earl of
Essex, had arrived at Kineton. The king's army had left Shrewsbury two
days before Essex's army departed from Worcester, and, strange as it
might appear, although they were only about twenty miles away from each
other at the start, they travelled almost side by side for ten days
without either army knowing the whereabouts of the other. The distance
between them was only six miles when the news reached the king, who,
although the day was then far advanced, resolved to give battle at
once. The Earl of Lindsey, who had acquired his military experience
fighting in the Low Countries, was General of the king's army, while the
king's nephew, Prince Rupert, the finest cavalry officer of his day,
commanded the Horse, Sir Jacob Astley the Foot, Sir Arthur Aston the
Dragoons, Sir John Heyden the Artillery, and Lord Bernard a troop of
Guards. The estates and revenues of this single troop were estimated to
be at least equal to those of all the members who, at the commencement
of the war, voted in both Houses of Parliament; so if money could have
won the battle, the king's army ought to have been victorious; the king,
moreover, had the advantage of a strong position, as his army was well
placed under the summit of the hill. The battle was fought on Sunday,
October 23rd, 1643, and resulted in a draw, and, though the armies stood
facing each other the next day, neither of them had the heart to take
the initiative or to fight again, for, as usual in such warfare, brother
had been fighting against brother and father against son; so Essex
retired to Warwick and the king to Oxford, the only town on whose
loyalty he could depend. But to return to the battle! The prayer of Sir
Jacob Astley, the Commander of the king's foot soldiers, has been
recorded as if it were one of the chief incidents on that unhappy day,
and it was certainly admirable and remarkable, for he said, "O Lord!
Thou knowest how busy I must be this day. If I forget Thee, do not Thou
forget me!" and then in place of the usual "Amen" he called out "March
on, boys!" Prince Rupert, with his dashing and furious charge, soon put
Essex's cavalry to flight, pursuing them for miles, while the right wing
was also driven back; but when the king's reserve, commanded by Sir John
Byron, saw the flight of both wings of Essex's army, they made sure that
the battle was won, and, becoming anxious for some share in the victory,
joined the others in their chase. Sir William Balfour, however, who
commanded Essex's reserve, seeing the advantage this afforded him,
wheeled about upon the Royal Infantry, now left without horse, and
dashed in amongst them, slaying right and left. Lindsay fell mortally
wounded, and was taken prisoner, and his son in trying to save him
shared the same fate, while the Royal Standard Bearer, Sir Edmund
Verney, was slain and the standard taken; but this was afterwards
recovered. When Rupert returned from his reckless chase, it looked more
like a defeat than a victory. Both armies had suffered severely, and
when Mr. Fisher, the Vicar of Kineton, was commissioned by Lord Essex to
number those killed on the side of the Parliament, he estimated them at
a little over 1,300 men, all of whom were buried in two large pits on
land belonging to what was afterwards known as Battle Farm, the
burial-places being known as the Grave Fields. As these were about
half-way between Radway and Kineton, we were quite near them when we
were lighting the fires on the sides of the road the night before, and
this may have accounted for the dreary loneliness of the road, as no one
would be likely to live on or near the fields of the dead if he could
find any more desirable place. It was at the village of Radway where
tradition stated the king and his sons breakfasted at a cottage in which
for many years afterwards the old table was shown to visitors on which
their breakfast stood, and it was on the hill near there where the
boy-princes, Charles and James, narrowly escaped being captured as they
were watching the battle that was being fought on the fields below.
We were in no hurry to leave Banbury, for we had not recovered from the
effects of our long walk of the previous day and night, and were more
inclined to saunter about the town than to push on. It is astonishing
how early remembrances cling to us in after life: we verily believed we
had come to Banbury purposely to visit its famous Cross, immortalised in
the nursery rhyme:
Ride a cock-horse to Banbury Cross,
To see a fine lady get on a white horse;
She's rings on her fingers and bells on her toes.
And she shall have music wherever she goes.
[Illustration: BANBURY CROSS.]
The rhyme must, like many others, have been of great antiquity, for the
old Cross of Banbury had been removed by the Puritans in the year 1602,
and its place taken by a much finer one, recently erected to commemorate
the marriage of the Emperor Frederick of Germany to the Princess Royal
of England. The fine lady and the white horse were also not to be found,
but we heard that the former was supposed to have been a witch, known as
the Witch of Banbury, while the white horse might have been an emblem of
the Saxons or have had some connection with the great white horse whose
gigantic figure we afterwards saw cut out in the green turf that covered
the white chalk cliffs of the Berkshire Downs. The nursery rhyme
incidentally recorded the fact that the steps at the base of the Cross
at Banbury were formerly used as a convenience to people in mounting on
the backs of their horses, and reminded us of the many isolated flights
of three or four stone steps we had seen on our travels, chiefly near
churches and public-houses and corners of streets, which had been used
for the same purpose, and pointed back to those remote times when people
rode on horseback across fields and swampy moors and along the
pack-horse roads so common in the country long before wheeled vehicles
came into common use.
We had eaten Eccles cakes in Lancashire, and Shrewsbury cakes in
Shropshire, and had walked through Scotland, which Robbie Burns had
described as--
The Land o' Cakes and brither Scots,
but we had never heard of Banbury cakes until we walked through the
streets of that town, and found that the making of these cakes formed
one of its leading industries. The cakes in Scotland were of a sterner,
plainer character than those farther south, the cakes at Banbury being
described as a mixture between a tart and a mince-pie. We purchased
some, and found them uncommonly good, so we stowed a few in our bags for
use on our way towards Oxford. This industry in Banbury is a very old
one, for the cakes are known to have been made there as far back as
1602, when the old Cross was pulled down, and are mentioned by Ben
Jonson, a great dramatist, and the friend of Shakespeare. He was Poet
Laureate from 1619, and had the honour of being buried in Westminster
Abbey. In his comedy _Bartholomew Fair_, published in 1614, he mentions
that a Banbury baker, whom he facetiously named Mr. "Zeal-of-the-Lord
Busy," had given up the making of these cakes "because they were served
at bridals and other profane feasts." This baker, we imagined, must have
been a Puritan, for from the reign of Queen Elizabeth to that of Charles
II Banbury had been noted for the large number of Puritans who lived
there, and for their religious zeal; they had even been accused of
altering the names of the staple industries of the town from "Cakes and
Ale" to "Cakes and Zeal," and were unpopular in some quarters, for
Braithwaite in his _Drunken Barnaby_ cuts at them rather savagely:
To Banbury came I, O profane one:
Where I saw a Puritane one
Hanging of his cat on Monday
For killing of a mouse on Sunday.
[Illustration: THE PURITAN.]
The Academy at Banbury was famous as the place where Dean Swift began
to write his famous satire entitled _Travels of Lemuel Gulliver_, the
reading of which had been one of the pleasures of our schoolboy days. He
was said to have copied the name from a tombstone in the churchyard.
There were several charming old gabled houses in the town, and in "Ye
Olde Reindeere Inn" was a beautiful room called the "Globe," a name
given it from a globular chandelier which once stood near the entrance.
This room was panelled in oak now black with age, and lighted by a lofty
mullioned window extending right across the front, while the plastered
ceiling was considered to be one of the finest in the county of Oxford.
In the High Street stood a very fine old house with, three gables
erected about the year 1600, on which was placed an old sun-dial that
immediately attracted our attention, for inscribed on it appeared the
Latin words, "Aspice et abi" ("Look and Go"), which we considered as a
hint to ourselves, and as the Old Castle had been utterly demolished
after the Civil War, and the fine old Parish Church, "more like a
cathedral than a church," blown up with gunpowder in 1740 "to save the
expense of restoring it," we had no excuse for staying here any longer,
and quickly left the town on our way to Oxford.
[Illustration: THE REINDEER INN, BANBURY. (Outside the Globe Room.)]
The Latin motto "Look and Go" reminded my brother of an old timber-built
mansion in Staffordshire which, as it stood near a road, everybody
stayed to admire, its architectural proportions being so beautiful. It
was said that when the fugitive King Charles was in hiding there he was
greatly alarmed at seeing a man on the road staring stedfastly at the
house, and as he remained thus for a considerable period, the king at
last exclaimed impatiently, "Go, knave, what lookest at!" Long after the
king had departed the owner of the house caused his words to be carved
in large characters along a great beam extending in front of the
mansion, which travellers in the present day still stay to admire,
though many take the words as being meant for themselves, and move on as
we did at Banbury, but perhaps more slowly and reluctantly.
We had the valley of the River Cherwell to our left, and at Deddington
we saw the site of the old castle from which Piers Gaveston, the unlucky
favourite of Edward II, was taken by the Earl of Warwick. He had
surrendered to "Joseph the Jew," the Earl of Pembroke, at Scarborough
on condition that the barons spared his life, but Warwick said he never
agreed to that, and as Gaveston had greatly offended him by nicknaming
him the "Black Hound" or the "Black Dog," he took him to Warwick Castle
and wreaked his venegance upon him by cutting off his head.
By what we called a "forced march" we arrived at the grounds of the
famous Palace of Woodstock, and were lucky in meeting with a woodman who
took us across the park, where we had a fine view of the monument, the
lake, and the magnificent Palace of Blenheim.
[Illustration: BLENHEIM PALACE.]
Woodstock is a place full of history and in a delightful position, with
woods still surrounding it as in the days of yore, when it was the abode
of kings and a royal residence. A witenagemot, or supreme council, was
held here by King Ethelred in the year 866, and Alfred the Great pursued
his literary work here by translating the _Consolations of Boethius_,
and in the grounds he had a deer-fold. In Domesday Book it is described
as a royal forest, and Henry I had an enclosure made in the park for
lions and other wild beasts, which he surrounded by a very high wall, in
which menagerie he placed the first porcupine ever seen in England,
presented to him by William de Montpellier. The country people at that
time imagined that the quills of the porcupine were weapons which the
animal could shoot at those who hunted it. Henry II resided at the
palace with the lady of his love, the Fair Rosamond. She was the second
daughter of Walter, Lord de Clifford, who built his castle on a cliff
overlooking a ford on the River Wye at Clifford in Herefordshire, and
his daughter Rosa-mundi (the rose of the world) was born there. She had
a local lover whom she discarded when Prince Henry appeared on the
scene, and finally Henry took her away to Woodstock, where he built
magnificent apartments for her and her children, the entrance to which
was through an intricate maze in the castle grounds. The rear of the
buildings adjoined the park, so that Rosamond and her children could
pass out at the back into the park and woods without being perceived
from the castle. Queen Eleanor was naturally jealous when she heard that
she had been superseded in the king's affections, and it was said she
tried all available means to discover the whereabouts of the Fair
Rosamond, but without success, until she contrived to fasten a thread of
silk to one of the king's spurs, which she afterwards followed in the
maze in the castle grounds to the point where it had broken off at the
secret entrance. She waited for her opportunity, and when the king was
away she had the trap-door forced open, and, taking a large bowl of
poison in one hand and a sharp dagger in the other, found Rosamond near
a well in the park and commanded her to end her life either with one or
the other. Rosamond took the poison, "and soe shee dyed," and the well
ever since has been known as Fair Rosamond's Well; we afterwards found
another well of the same name in Shropshire. She had two sons, one of
whom became the Earl of Salisbury and the other Archbishop of York; an
old ballad runs:--
But nothing could this furious queen
Therewith appeased bee:
The cup of deadlye poyson strong.
As she knelt on her knee,
She gave this comlye dame to drink,
Who took it in her hand;
And from her bended knee arose
And on her feet did stand.
And casting up her eyes to heaven,
She did for mercy calle;
And drinking up the poyson strong.
Her life she lost with-alle.
Edward III and his Queen Phillipa resided at Woodstock in the fourteenth
century, and it was here that the Black Prince, who figured so largely
in English history, was born. A nice little love story was connected
with their court. The king had a page and the queen had a damsel, who
fell deeply in love with each other, and whenever they got a chance
walked out in the beautiful park and woods which surrounded the castle,
where the young man made some poetry about the "Cuckoo and Nightingale,"
whose notes they so often heard amongst the sylvan beauties of
Woodstock. The king was pleased with the poetry, and the young page
became quite a favourite with him. He afterwards became known as the
"Father of English Poetry." His name was Chaucer, and he achieved
immortality by his "Canterbury Tales." He was not only successful in his
own love affairs, but assisted John o' Gaunt with his, and was
instrumental in obtaining for him the hand of Blanche of Lancaster, who
had inherited from her father, the Duke of Lancaster, an enormous
fortune, of which Kenilworth formed a part. Chaucer wrote an
allegorical history of that love story in his poem entitled "Chaucer's
Dream," and John o' Gaunt being a true friend, as was shown by his
protection of his friend John Wiclif, the great reformer, Chaucer had no
reason to regret the services he had rendered, for his fortunes rose
with those of John o' Gaunt, whose great power and wealth dated from the
marriage. Chaucer described Woodstock Park as being walled round with
green stone, and it was said to have been the first walled park in
England. Richard III held a tournament in it at Christmas 1389, at which
the young Earl of Pembroke was accidentally killed. Henry VII made
additions to the palace, and built the front gate-house in which his
granddaughter Elizabeth, afterwards Queen of England, was imprisoned by
command of her sister Mary, when she wrote with charcoal on one of the
window shutters:
Oh, Fortune, how thy restless wavering state,
Hath fraught with cares my troubled witt.
Witness this present prysoner, whither Fate
Could bear me, and the joys I quitt;
Thou causeth the guiltie to be loosed
From bonds wherein an innocent's inclosed,
Causing the guiltless to be straite reserved,
And freeing those that Death hath well deserved;
But by her malice can be nothing wroughte,
So God send to my foes all they have thought.