The Pilgrimage Series
THE BLACKMORE COUNTRY
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[Illustration]
THE
BLACKMORE COUNTRY
BY
F. J. SNELL
AUTHOR OF “A BOOK OF EXMOOR,” ETC.
SECOND EDITION
WITH 32 FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS
FROM PHOTOGRAPHS BY
CATHARINE W. BARNES WARD
LONDON
ADAM AND CHARLES BLACK
[Illustration]
“So holy and so perfect is my love,
* * * * *
That I shall think it a most plenteous crop
To glean the broken ears after the man
That the main harvest reaps.”
--Sir PHILIP SIDNEY.
_First Edition, containing 50 illustrations, published 1906_
_This Edition published 1911_
PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION
The _Blackmore Country_ having achieved a second edition, it is proper
to state that it is now presented to the public substantially in the
same form as in the original issue. Advantage, however, has been taken
of a friendly critique by Mr Arthur Smyth to effect some revision. Mr
Smyth, who was well acquainted with the Blackmore family, and indeed a
distant relation, is rather perplexed at the assertion that the
novelist’s father was a poor man; but he certainly passed for such at
Culmstock, and the fact that he took pupils, in addition to serving his
poor cure, tends to show that he was by no means too well off.
In my _Early Associations of Archbishop Temple_ it is stated with
reference to the restoration of Culmstock Church: “Nobody knew from what
source Mr Blackmore obtained the necessary funds, but it was supposed
that his wife’s relations were rich.” This is, in a sense, confirmed by
Mr Smyth, who says that Mr Turberville, R. D. Blackmore’s elder brother,
inherited considerable property from his mother; but, when I wrote the
passage above quoted, I was not aware that John Blackmore was married
twice. His first wife, who died three years after their marriage, and
before John Blackmore set foot in Culmstock, may not have been in
possession of means, although Turberville’s estate--Mr Smyth says, “his
will was proved for (I believe) £20,000”--may have been derived from his
maternal connections. Mr Snowden Ward, in his Introduction to the
Doone-land edition of _Lorna Doone_, informs us regarding R. D.
Blackmore, also a son of this lady: “A bequest from the Rev. H. Hay
Knight, his mother’s brother, put an end to his financial worries.”
Nevertheless, it may be doubted whether the novelist was ever in even
“comparative affluence.” He himself publicly declared that he lost more
than he gained from market-gardening--he was, by the way, a
F.R.H.S.--and the late Rev. D. M. Owen, Blackmore’s old schoolfellow,
with whom he maintained a lifelong correspondence, told me that he was
constantly complaining of his pecuniary limitations. Mr Owen’s reply was
that he had no excuse; he had only to write another _Lorna Doone_ to
replenish his treasury to the brim. When, also, he was asked for a
subscription to the Culmstock flower show, Blackmore declined, assigning
as the reason that he “couldn’t afford it.” This does not look like
“comparative affluence.”
Mr Smyth says that he never saw or heard of any daughters of the Rev.
John Blackmore. If he implies that there were none, he is certainly
mistaken (see Prologue), but he raises a problem which, I confess, I am
not able to solve. “In Charles Church there is a marble slab erected to
the memory of the Rev. John Blackmore by his children, J. B., R. B., M.
A. B. No allusion is made to M. A. B. in the pedigree either by the
Rev. J. F. Chanter or Mr Snell.” The only explanation which occurs to me
is that M. A. B. may represent the initials of their full sister, who
died in infancy. The Rev. John Blackmore married in 1822. Three years
later he sustained a terrible trial. “The novelist’s father,” says Mr
Ward, “was a ‘coach’ for Oxford pupils, until, in 1825, a great outbreak
of typhus fever swept away his wife, daughter, two pupils, the family
physician, and all the servants, and almost broke John Blackmore’s
heart.” R. D. Blackmore’s mother’s maiden name was Anne Basset Knight;
and the A. in M. A. B. suggests that her daughter may have been called
Anne--perhaps Mary Anne, if M. A. B. indicates that daughter. She had
long been dead, but the brothers, as an act of piety, may have chosen to
commemorate her in this way, whilst ignoring the daughters of the second
family, whom Mr Smyth never saw or heard of.
In conclusion, the demand for a second edition of this work is a
satisfactory answer to the disparaging remarks of the late Mr F. T.
Elworthy in a presidential address to the members of the Devonshire
Association for the Promotion of Literature, Science, and Art. It is a
bad precedent that the title and contents of a new work should be
officially censured on an occasion when it was by an accident that the
author was not present to be lectured for his shortcomings, just as it
was a pure accident that Mr Elworthy was not named in the book as
accompanying Dr Murray and Professor Rhys in their visit to the
Caractacus stone on Winsford Hill (p. 109)! I now repair this omission,
and at the same time express regret that the secretaries did not take
steps to delete from the reports of a learned and very useful
association criticism which, to say the least, was beside the mark.
F. J. SNELL.
_January 30, 1911._
PROLOGUE
The “Blackmore Country” is an expression requiring some amount of
definition, as it clearly will not do to make it embrace the whole of
the territory which he annexed, from time to time, in his various works
of fiction, nor even every part of Devon in which he has laid the scenes
of a romance. The latter point may perhaps be open to discussion in the
sense that, ideally, the glamour of his writing ought to rest with its
full might of memory on all the neighbourhoods of the West around which
he drew his magic circle. As a fact, however, it is North Devon and a
slice of the sister county that form his literary patrimony, while
Dartmoor is a more general possession, which he failed to seal with the
same staunch and archetypal impression. There have been many good
Dartmoor stories, and one instinctively associates that region with the
names of Baring-Gould and Eden Phillpotts; with Blackmore, hardly at
all. But from Exmoor to Barnstaple, and from Lynton to Tiverton, he
reigns supreme--and naturally, for this was his homeland, which, through
all its length and breadth, he knew with an intimacy, and loved with a
devotion, and portrayed with a skill, that will surely never again be
the portion of any child of Devon.
Richard Doddridge Blackmore was born on June 7, 1825, at Longworth, in
Berkshire--a circumstance which raises the delicate and important
question whether, after all, he can be justly claimed as a Devonshire
man. On the whole, I think, the question may be answered affirmatively,
although it is evident that he cannot possibly be described as a native
of the county. Who, however, would dream of depriving an Englishman of
his nationality merely for the accident of his being born abroad, unless
indeed he deliberately abandoned that proud title and threw in his lot
with the country of his birth, to the exclusion of his ancestral home?
And this practically represents the state of affairs as regards
Blackmore. In one sense it must be admitted he did not remain constant
to his Devonshire connections, inasmuch as he resided through a great
part of his life, and to the day of his death, at Teddington, in
Middlesex. But as against this must be set the facts that he descended
from an old North Devon stock, a stock so old that it may fairly be
termed indigenous, and that his boyish experiences were almost entirely
confined within the county. To these weighty considerations may be added
that he eventually became possessor of the ancient residence of his
race, that he always manifested the warmest interest in county concerns,
and that his great achievement in literature was inspired by
West-country legend. That well-known authority, the Rev. J. F. Chanter,
worthy son of a worthy sire, would like to say “Devon” legend, and much
may be urged in favour of his contention, notwithstanding that modern
Exmoor is altogether in Somerset. He points out, for instance, that
Bagworthy (or “Badgery”) Wood, the centre of the Doone traditions, is in
Devon. Still it were better, perhaps, to consider _Lorna Doone_ in the
light of a border romance. Indeed, on an impartial survey, it seems
almost necessary to adopt this view; and Blackmore himself was anything
but unwilling to recognise, and even to emphasise, the Somerset element
in his story.
Not long before the novelist’s death, a gentleman wrote to him from
Taunton, calling attention to the widely prevalent idea that in the
course of the tale he conveyed the impression of allocating this
charming country to North Devon rather than West Somerset; and Mr
Blackmore’s correspondent went on to mention that recently strenuous
efforts had been made to procure the inclusion of Exmoor in Devon, but
that the policy of plunder had been defeated by the vigilant action of
the Somerset County Council. In reply to this communication the
following letter was received:--
“My dear Sir,--Nowhere, to the best of my remembrance, have I said,
or even implied, that Exmoor lies mainly in Devonshire. Having
known that country from my boyhood--for my grandfather was the
incumbent of Oare as well as of Combe Martin--I have always borne
in mind the truth that by far the larger part of the moor is within
the county of Somerset, and the very first sentence in _Lorna
Doone_ shows that John Ridd lived in the latter county. Moreover,
when application is made to Devon J.P.’s for a warrant against the
Doones, does not one of them say that the crime was committed in
Somerset, and therefore he cannot deal with it? See also p. 179
(6d. edition), which seems to me clear enough for anything.
Moreover, the rivalry of the militia, both in _Lorna Doone_ and
_Slain by the Doones_--which title I dislike, and did not choose
freely--shows that the Doone Valley was upon the county border. I
think also that Cosgate, supposed to be ‘County’s Gate,’ is
referred to in _Lorna Doone_, but I cannot stop to look.[1] The
Warren where the Squire lived is on the westward of the line, as
Lynmouth is--or, at least, I think so--and therefore North Devon is
spoken of the heroine who lives there. All this being so very clear
to me, I have been surprised more than once at finding myself
accused in Somerset papers of describing Exmoor as mainly a
district of Devonshire--a thing which I never did, even in haste of
thought. And if you should hear such a charge repeated, I trust
that your courtesy will induce you to contradict it, which I have
never done publicly, as I thought the refutation was self-evident.”
It is certainly true that at Dulverton, which, if not Exmoor, is next
door to it, visitors frequently imagine that they are in Devonshire, as
I have myself proved, but, for my own part, I have never attributed this
delusion to the influence of _Lorna Doone_. On the contrary, it has
seemed to me that a river is the culprit. The Exe is universally
esteemed a Devon stream, and lends its name to the metropolis of the
West. That in these circumstances Exmoor should be anywhere but in
Devonshire, may well appear a violation of the fitness of things, and as
coloured maps seldom perhaps emerge from their impedimenta, these
visitors revenge themselves on the makers of England by substituting for
artificial delimitations their own easy beliefs and natural assumptions.
This, however, is somewhat of a digression. I return to the probably
more interesting topic of Mr Blackmore’s Devonshire “havage,” which good
old West-country term I once heard a good old West-country clergyman
derive from the Latin _avus_--needless to say, a most unlikely etymon.
In the above-quoted letter reference is made to the novelist’s
grandfather as incumbent of Oare and Combe Martin, but, had the occasion
required it, Blackmore could no doubt have furnished a much fuller
account of his North Devon pedigree. It is extremely probable, but not
absolutely certain, that one of his remote ancestors, sharing the same
Christian name Richard, married a Wichehalse of Lynton. To have read
_Lorna Doone_ is to remember how John Ridd rudely disturbed young Squire
Wichehalse in the act of kissing his sister Annie; and I shall have more
to say of this half-foreign clan, their fortunes, and their eyry in a
subsequent chapter. Meanwhile one may note that the first entry in the
parish register of Parracombe relates to the marriage of Richard
Blackmore and Margaret, daughter of Hugh Wichehalse, of Ley, Esq.; and,
further, that the bride’s father died on Christide, 1653, and the bride
herself thirty years later. These dates are important, as they seem to
preclude the possibility of the Richard Blackmore who wedded the Lady of
Ley being the direct progenitor of the Richard Blackmore who wrote
_Lorna Doone_, though it can scarcely be questioned that he was of the
same kith and kin, and so, in the larger sense, an ancestor. In any
case, the match cannot be accepted as a criterion of the standing of the
family. _Mésalliances_ are not unknown in North Devon, one such romantic
union of erstwhile celebrity being the marriage of a small farmer’s son
with a daughter of the resident rector, a gentleman of good descent and
prebendary of Exeter Cathedral. From the time of John Ridd, and who
shall say for how many ages antecedent thereto, love has laughed at
locksmiths and gone its own wilful way.
Small farmers, however, the Blackmores were not. They were freeholders
settled at East Bodley and Barton in the parish of Parracombe, and
leaseholders of the neighbouring farm of Killington, or Kinwelton, in
the parish of Martinhoe. Over the porch of the old farmstead at
Parracombe may still be read the inscription, “R.B., J.B., 1638”; and as
the Subsidy Rolls of 16 Charles I. for Parracombe and Martinhoe contain
the names of Richard and John Blackmore, we may conjecture without
difficulty to whom the initials belonged. The first of the yeomen on
whom we can fasten as a certain ancestor of the novelist was a John
Blackmore who died in 1689. His son Richard, and grandson John, and
great-grandson John--not to mention other members of the family whose
names are duly recorded--suffered themselves to be absorbed with the
peaceful and healthful pursuit of husbandry, which they practised,
generation after generation, on their estate at Bodley. Then, towards
the end of the eighteenth century there occurred a change; and the
Blackmore name, in the person of another John, took what may be termed
an upward turn. This John Blackmore, born in 1764, betrayed a taste for
learning, and through Tiverton School found his way to Exeter College,
Oxford, where he won the degree of B.A. He was soon after ordained, and
entered on his duties as curate of High Bray, on the outskirts of
Exmoor, and in his own country and county. An antiquary and a person of
general cultivation, he was at the pains of copying the parish register,
and in the new edition did what every parson should do, set down items
of current interest, together with an informal history of the parish, so
far as it could be learned. He did also what few parsons should
attempt--adorned his copy of the register with original Latin verses.
Such specimens of new Latin poetry as I have disinterred from parochial
records are, for the most part, fearful and wonderful lucubrations as to
both sentiment and technique, whereas it is frequently the case that
voluntary jottings in the vulgar tongue gild and redeem, with their
human touches, whole continents of inky wilderness.
Not long after his advent at High Bray Mr Blackmore appears to have
married, and in process of time his wife bore him a first-born son, whom
he named John. He was, however, not quite content with his position as
curate; and accordingly he bought the advowson of the adjacent living of
Charles, in the confident expectation that it would shortly become void,
pending which happy consummation he agreed to serve as curate-in-charge.
No speculation could have been more disastrous, since, in point of fact,
the hoped-for vacancy did not occur till quite half a century had passed
over his head, and at that advanced age he did not think proper to enter
upon possession. Instead of doing so, he presented his second son
Richard to the rectory. During this protracted era of suspense John
Blackmore, senior, as he must now be designated, did not lack
preferment. In 1809 he was appointed rector of Oare, and in 1833
(pluralities being still admissible) he received in addition the
valuable living of Combe Martin; and both these appointments he
continued to hold till his death in 1842.
As has been intimated, the original Parson Blackmore had two sons, John
and Richard, each of whom, following in his footsteps, entered the
Church; and the elder at all events met with considerably worse luck
than his father. Curiously enough, his early life was full of promise,
for in 1816 he was elected Fellow of Exeter, his father’s old college,
and this might well have proved the inception of a long and successful
academic career, either in Oxford or at one of our public schools. But
in 1822 he vacated his fellowship on his marriage with Anne Basset,
daughter of the Rev. J. Knight, of Newton Nottage. Thirteen years later
he had attained to no higher position than that of curate-in-charge of
Culmstock, near Tiverton; and when he retired from that, it was only to
proceed in a similar capacity to Ashford, near Barnstaple. He was always
poor, but deserved a happier fate, since he was always good (see _Maid
of Sker_, chapter xxxix.). He died in 1858.
By his wife Anne the Rev. John Blackmore had one daughter and two sons,
Henry John, who afterwards took the name of Turberville, and Richard
Doddridge. The former produced a bizarre poem entitled “The Two
Colonels,” and was proficient in a number of sciences, notably in
astronomy, but he was eccentric to such a degree that there was grave
doubt, in spite of all his attainments, whether he was quite _compos
mentis_. He resided at Bradiford, near Barnstaple, died at Yeovil under
distressing circumstances, and was buried at Charles (in 1875). He
assumed the name Turberville, so it is said, out of resentment at the
sale of the family estates for the benefit of a half-brother, Frederick
Platt Blackmore, an officer in the army and a spendthrift; and he
notified his intention, as well as his reason, to all whom it might
concern in a printed handbill. Anger was also the motive for his writing
“The Two Colonels”; he conceived there had been discourtesy on the part
of the members of the Ilfracombe Highway Board and others. The
publication caused much excitement, and at one time an action for libel
seemed imminent. Eventually, it is believed, the book was withdrawn.
Besides the son already mentioned, the Rev. John Blackmore had by his
second wife two daughters, Charlotte Ellen, who married the Rev. J. P.
Faunthorpe, of Whitelands College, Chelsea, and Jane Elizabeth, who was
the wife of the Rev. Samuel Davis, for many years vicar of Barrington,
Devon. He was for a year or two at Bude Haven, and won some reputation
there as a preacher. Hence, his son, Mr A. H. Davis, thought he might
possibly be the “Bude Light” of _Tales from the Telling House_, but my
friend, the late Rev. D. M. Owen, who probably knew, gave me to
understand that the “Bude Light” was the Rev. Goldsworthy Gurney.
Returning to the first family--the second son was Richard Doddridge
Blackmore, the novelist. In his case, although great wit is proverbially
allied to madness, the question of sanity is not likely to be raised;
and probably the worst fault that the world will lay to his charge is
that of undue secretiveness. It is common knowledge that he interdicted
anything in the shape of a biography, and doubtless he took measures to
prevent the survival of private papers and letters which might be used
as material for the purpose. Whether or not he did this, his wish will
assuredly be held sacred by his more intimate friends, who alone are
qualified to undertake such a work. Meanwhile the novelist has to pay
for his prohibition of an authentic Life, by the unrestricted play of
_ben trovare_. Having myself been victimised by this insidious enemy of
truth, I seize the opportunity to protest that any statements regarding
the late Mr Blackmore to be found in the present work are made without
prejudice and with all reserve, as being, conceivably, the inventions
of the Father of Lies. At the same time, as due caution has been
observed and the evidence has, in various instances, been drawn from
reputable and independent witnesses who, without knowing it, acted as a
check on each other, I cannot seriously believe that these contributions
to history are either gratuitous or garbled.
An illustration, pointed and germane, is not far to seek. I always
understood from my late kind friend, the Rev. C. St Barbe, Sydenham,
rector of Brushford, who, to the deep regret of a wide circle of
acquaintance, passed away in the spring of 1904 at the age of 81, that
R. D. Blackmore, as a boy, spent many of his vacations at the moorland
village of Charles, to the rectory of which his uncle Richard had, as we
have seen, been presented by his grandfather. Mr Sydenham even went so
far as to use the expression “brought up” in this connection, which
indicates at least the length and frequency of young Blackmore’s visits.
Now the Rev. J. F. Chanter, in a paper written in 1903, shows that he
also has gained a knowledge of the circumstance--certainly by some other
means. As the rector of Charles did not die till 1880, and so lived to
see his nephew and guest grown famous, it is not to be supposed that he
allowed his share in the hero’s tirocinium to remain obscure. What more
natural than that he should communicate it freely to his neighbours,
with all the pride of a fond uncle with no children of his own? Would he
not have related also, as the harvest of imparted wisdom, that in the
rectory parlour, the scene of former instruction, great part of _Lorna
Doone_ was written? Nor must we forget the old Blackmore property at
Bodley, where the novelist’s grandfather, in order to adapt it to his
requirements as an occasional residence, had added to the venerable
homestead a new wing; and where, or at Oare rectory, the future romancer
passed blissful holidays, roaming at will in the North Devon fields and
lanes, and drinking in quaint lore, conveyed in the broad, kindly
accents of the North Devon country-folk. The Bodley estates, consisting
of East Bodley, West Hill, and Burnsley Mill, passed to the novelist’s
father, by whom they were sold a few years before his death. Mr Arthur
Smyth, referring to R. D. Blackmore’s college days, avers that even then
he was very reserved. Mr Smyth’s father often went shooting with him.
About this time a white hare was caught at Bodley, and, having been
stuffed, was treasured by the Rev. R. Blackmore in his dining-room at
Charles.
Thus the limits of the Blackmore country are definitely staked out by
family tradition, as well as by literary interest, running from
Culmstock to Ashford, and from Oare to Combe Martin, with the commons
appurtenant. The confines are somewhat vague and irregular, and I must
crave some indulgence for my method of configuration. Obviously, the
novelist’s recollections of his youth with their accompanying sentiments
and inspirations, cannot be taken as an absolute guide, for then it
would be requisite to cross the Bristol Channel to Newton Nottage, his
mother’s home, in the vicinity of which are laid the opening scenes of
the charming _Maid of Sker_. Such a course would infringe too much on
the popular conception of the phrase, and the attempt to link
localities without any natural connection, and severed by an arm of the
sea, however successfully accomplished in the romance, would in our case
involve needless confusion. What little is said about Newton Nottage,
therefore, may as well be said here.
A village in Glamorganshire, it had peculiarly sacred and solemn
associations for R. D. Blackmore. Nottage Court, the seat of the Knight
family, was his mother’s ancestral home, and it was also one of the
homes of his own childhood. Here he wrote his first book, the
above-named romance, which was ever his favourite, but the story was
re-written, and not published till a later date. For Blackmore, however,
the place had sad as well as pleasant memories, for it was here that his
father, then curate of Ashford, was found dead in his bed on the morning
of September 24, 1858, whilst on a visit to his wife’s people, and at
Newton Nottage he lies buried.
If this is crossing the Bristol Channel, so be it; we are soon back
again, and ready to discourse of Tiverton, and Southmolton, and Lynton,
and Barnstaple, and their smaller neighbours, with the moors and commons
appurtenant.[2]
PEDIGREE OF THE BLACKMORE FAMILY
JOHN BLACKMORE of Parracombe, _d._ 1689.{*}
|
RICHARD BLACKMORE === MARY ----.
of Parracombe, |
_d._ 1733.{*} |
-----------------------
| |
RICHARD BLACKMORE, JOHN BLACKMORE === ELISABETH,
_b._ 1698.{*} _b._ 1701,{*} | daughter of
_m._ 1731-2,{*} | William Dovel
_d._ 1761.{*} | of Parracombe.
|
----------------------------------------------
| | | | | |
PHILPOT, RICHARD, 2 Daughters. | RICHARD,
_b._ 1732-3,{*} _b._ 1733, | _b._ 1742.
_m._ 1756,{*} _d._ 1733. |
R. Cook, Clothier, --------
son of |
the Rev. J. Cook, |
Rector JOHN BLACKMORE === ELISABETH,
of Trentishoe. _b._ 1739,{*} | daughter of
_m._ 1762,{*} | John Slader
_d._ 1805.{*} | of
| Parracombe.
|
-----------------------------------------
| | |
JOHN BLACKMORE === MARY. RICHARD, BETTY,
_b._ 1764,{*} | _b._ 1766,{*} _b._ 1768,{*}
_m._ 179-, _d._ 1842.{**} | | _m._ 1796,{*}
Rector of Oare and Combe | Issue. Henry Quart
Martin. | of Molland.
|
-----------------------------------------
| |
JOHN BLACKMORE === ANNE BASSET, RICHARD
_b._ 1794,{***} | daughter of _b._ 1798,{***}
_m._ 1822,{***} | Rev. J. Knight _d._ 1880,{**}
_a._ 1858{**} | of Rector of Charles.
at Newton Nottage; | Newton Nottage. |
Fellow of | No Issue.
Exeter College, |
Oxford |
(1816-1822){*****}; |
C. of Culmstock |
and Ashford. |
|
---------------------
| |
HENRY JOHN RICHARD DODDRIDGE === LUCY M‘GUIRE.
(Turberville), BLACKMORE,
_b._ 1824, _b._ 1825,{****}
_d._ 1875.{**} _m._ 1852,
| _d._ 1900,
No Issue. Scholar of Exeter College;
B.A., 1847.{*****}
|
No Issue.
{*} Parracombe Registers.
{**} Charles Registers.
{***} High Bray Registers.
{****} _Dict. Nat. Biog._
{*****} Register Exeter College.
NOTE.--For the Blackmore pedigree and other kindly assistance, the
author is indebted to the Rev. J. F. CHANTER, of Parracombe.
CONTENTS
PAGE
PROLOGUE ix
_PERLYCROSS_
CHAPTER I. THE APPROACH 1
“ II. BLACKMORE’S VILLAGE 12
“ III. THE HINTERLAND 33
_LORNA DOONE_
“ IV. BLACKMORE’S SCHOOL 49
“ V. THE TOWN OF THE TWO FORDS 61
“ VI. THE WONDERS OF BAMPTON 77
“ VII. WHERE MASTER HUCKABACK THROVE 89
“ VIII. BROTHERS BARLE AND EXE 107
“ IX. THE HEART OF THE MOOR 122
“ X. BAGWORTHY AND BRENDON 138
“ XI. THE MOUTH OF THE LYN 162
“ XII. ROUND DUNKERY 178
_LORNA DOONE AND THE MAID OF SKER_
“ XIII. GOSSIP-TOWN 201
“ XIV. THE FORGE OF FAGGUS, AND THE CURE OF
CHOWNE 216
“ XV. BARUM 241
“ XVI. THE SHORE OF DEATH 256
ENVOY 277
INDEX 281
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
FROM PHOTOGRAPHS BY CATHARINE W. BARNES WARD.
1 On the Lyn, below Brendon _Frontispiece_
FACING PAGE
2 Culmstock Vicarage and Church 9
3 Rectory House at Charles 16
4 Culmstock Church and River 25
5 Hemyock 32
6 Culmstock Bridge 41
7 Old Blundell’s School, Tiverton 48
8 Chapel, Greenway’s Almshouses, Tiverton 73
9 Combe, Dulverton 80
10 A Bit of Old Dulverton 89
11 Torr Steps, Hawkridge 96
12 Winsford 121
13 Landacre Bridge, Exmoor 128
14 Bagworthy Valley 137
15 Brendon, near Oare 144
16 Nicholas Snow’s Farmyard Gate 153
17 Oare Church 160
18 Junction of Lyn and Bagworthy Water 169
19 “The Waterslide,” Lancombe 176
20 The Cheesewring, Valley of Rocks 174
21 Ship Inn, Porlock 185
22 Minehead Church 192
23 Dunster Castle Gate, from the Outside 201
24 Square at Southmolton 208
25 Whitechapel Barton 217
26 Tom Faggus’s Forge, Northmolton 224
27 Chancel, Northmolton Church 233
28 Ashford Church, near Barnstaple 240
29 Barnstaple Bridge 249
30 Tawstock Church, near Barnstaple 256
31 Towards Morte Point 265
32 Combmartin Church 272
Sketch Map of Blackmore Country 288
R. D. Blackmore, from a Photograph by Frederick Jenkins _On the Cover_
THE BLACKMORE COUNTRY
CHAPTER I
THE APPROACH
R. D. Blackmore was about ten years of age when his father took up his
abode at Culmstock, a village in East Devon, at the foot of the
Blackdowns. Notwithstanding an inclination to wander, evidence of which
has been adduced in the previous section, the boy must have passed a
fair amount of time at home; and wherever Blackmore tarried, he became
imbued with the spirit of the place, wrested all its secrets, and
acquired an intimate acquaintance with its arts and crafts such as would
do credit to a committee of experts. Above all, he had the enviable gift
of being able to distil from the rude realities their poetic
essence--the prize of loving intelligence.
So far as Culmstock and the neighbourhood are concerned, the fruits of
his observation are to be seen in _Perlycross_, and in a much lesser
degree in _Tales from the Telling House_. The former, by no means so
_répandu_ as _Lorna Doone_, labours under the disadvantage, which is yet
not all disadvantage, of fictitious names; consequently but few are
aware that Perliton, Perlycross, and Perlycombe are pretty, but
deceptive aliases of Uffculme, Culmstock, and Hemyock. These little
places--Uffculme, however, claims to be a town--are tapped by a light
railway of serpentine construction, which branches from the main line at
Tiverton Junction. The trains are appallingly slow, chiefly on account
of the curves; and just outside the junction is a stiff gradient, the
ascent of which, especially in frosty weather, is problematical. Often
there is nothing for it but to drop back to the station and try again,
or, as the French have it, _se reculer pour mieux sauter_.
The level champaign traversed by the caricature of locomotion is
remarkable for its fertility, and for many other things redolent, I wot,
to the ordinary resident of nothing but the meanest bathos--so deadly in
use! It is otherwise with the stranger within the gates, to whom these
items of every day unfold themselves as precious boons, creating a
joyous sense of novelty and possession. A rapid but happy and accurate
description of the vale by Mr Henry, who, I believe, is an Irishman,
points the common lesson how much of beauty and wonder lies around us,
had we but eyes to see. Impatient for the hills, and doubtless as
purblind as my neighbours, I should scarce have lingered amid these
pastoral scenes but for his restraining touch, so that I rest doubly
indebted to his sage and kindly interpretation.
“I live in Uffculme. Its name might appropriately be Coleraine, for it
is indeed a corner of ferns; every lane abounds with them, the hart’s
tongue being specially abundant. Uffculme takes its name from the river
Culm, and means simply up Culm. It is noted for ‘zider’ and its grammar
school. It is a quaint and quiet village. I love its charming thatched
cottages, with their niched eaves, each niche the eyebrow of a little
window. The inns too are quaint, with their suspended signs, each a
symbolic gem. Some in the country around here bear such names as the
‘Merry Harriers,’ the ‘Honest Heart,’ the ‘Rising Sun,’ the ‘Half Moon,’
the ‘Hare and Hounds,’ etc.
“There are four streets in Uffculme, and a triangular ‘square,’ on which
a market is held every two months. In the interval the grass has its own
sweet will. Everything is still; the smoke rises like incense in the
air. Here, as I write, looking into a garden, which even now, in
October, has many flowers in bloom, I hear no sounds but the song of the
robin enjoying the glory of the morning sun, a chanticleer crowing in
the distance, and the clanging anvil of the village blacksmith.
“The narrowness of the lanes around adds greatly to the country’s
charms, their high hedgerows being a mass of many kinds of flowers.
Thoroughly to enjoy the beauties of the neighbourhood, however, it must
be viewed from one of the hills or downs. Embowered in a wealth of
greenery, Uffculme sleeps on a slope of the Culm valley. As far as the
eye can reach, lies a most beautiful panorama of diversified hill and
dale with rounded trees, every field hedged with them. The quiet herds
of Devon cattle lie ruminating and adorning the green bosom of the
country. The whole scene has a charming cultured aspect, as if some
giant landscape-gardener had laid it out. What peacefulness! How
beautiful the cattle!
‘Aren’t they innocent things, them bas’es,
And haven’t they got old innocent faces?
A-strooghin’ their legs that lazy way,
Or a-standin’ as if they meant to pray.
They’re that sollum an’ lovin’ an’ steady an’ wise,
And the butter meltin’ in their big eyes,
Eh, what do you think about it, John?
Is it the stuff they’re feedin’ on?
The clover, and meadow grass, and rushes,
And then goin’ pickin’ among the bushes,
And sniffin’ the dew when its fresh and fine,
The sweetest brew of God’s own wine.’
“And then the Devonshire clotted cream! It is delicious, yet simply
made. The milk stands on the hob till the cream rises and attains almost
the consistency of dough. Every son of Devon, native and adopted, enjoys
this luxury to the full.
“The Culm is a little wandering river, abounding in trout. Otters are
hunted at Hemyock. Foxes also are found in the neighbourhood, and on one
occasion the noble wild red deer approached within five miles of us.
Birds of all kinds are plentiful, and flowers abound. Bullfinches are a
pest, even among the apple-trees. In my first walk, I saw a kingfisher
and a jay. The country exudes vegetation at every pore. The mildness of
the climate is evidenced by the fact that on Saturday last (October 17)
I saw in bloom the foxglove, poppy, primrose, wild anthernum, and many
other flowers. I ate a strawberry grown in the open; watched the bees on
the mignonette beds, and saw a wood-pigeon’s nest with young. The
climax is reached when I say that a man of great agricultural faith, in
the neighbouring parish of Halberton, is attempting a second crop of
potatoes.
“The country is well-watered; little rills gush from every quarter. The
natives reckon by the flowers--_e.g._, ‘He went to Canada last hyacinth
time.’ The gentlemen’s seats are lovely in the extreme, and are
surrounded by trees that would not grow ‘in the cold North’s unhallowed
ground.’ Within a stone’s throw of the ‘square,’ and in a former
Coleraine gentleman’s seat, grow Wellingtonia pines, the cypress, the
breadfruit tree, the Spanish chestnut, and other exotic beauties. A
house in the village has its walls adorned with passion-flowers, now in
bloom.
“We are out of the tourist’s track here. The motor rarely invades our
quiet life; indeed, the roads are not suited for motoring, as the
streams cross them in several places, and a foot-bridge affords the only
means of dry transit for the passengers.
“I need not dwell on the Devon dialect. It is familiar to every reader
of _Lorna Doone_. Suffice it to say that it slides out with the maximum
ease, and in defiance of every rule of grammar. Have I exhausted
Devonian joys? Nay, I could mention the melodious church-bells, the
beauty of the children, and many other matters; but I have fulfilled my
intention, if I have conveyed the quaintness, the peace, and the good
living of this part of rural Devon--a land ‘where the plain old men have
rosy faces, and the simple maidens quiet eyes.’”
Hence it appears that all the glory did not depart from Devon with
fustian coats and brass buttons.
Mr Henry, it will be observed, speaks admiringly, as well he may, of the
extreme loveliness of the country-seats. So far as the Culm valley is
concerned, none will compare with Bradfield, the immemorial home of the
Walrond family. Readers of _Perlycross_ will recollect the brave
veteran, Sir Thomas Waldron, and the wrong done to his honoured remains;
and they may perchance note the different modes of spelling the name.
Blackmore follows the local pronunciation, and the precedent of good old
John Waldron, founder of an almshouse at Tiverton, of whom Harding
remarks, “By his arms I judge his ancestors were branched from the
ancient family at Bradfield, near Cullompton, where they were located in
Henry II.’s time.”
According to Hutchins, the family of Walrond is descended from Walran
Venator, to whom William I. gave eight manors in Dorsetshire. The name
is indubitably of French origin, and apparently represents the old Latin
patronymic Valerian.
To turn from names to things, an authentic note attests that, in 1332,
John Walrond had a licence for an oratory. Presumably this was the
ancient chapel of which Lysons speaks, and which probably stood on a
site still known as the Chapel Yard, on the north side of the mansion.
The present house does not go back to so remote a time. On the north
wall are the words, “Vivat E. Rex”; and elsewhere may be seen the dates
1592 and 1604. It is considered that the house was rebuilt in sections
and at intervals, during the short reign of Edward VI., and towards the
close of that of Elizabeth.
Apart from inevitable decay, the mansion remained practically unaltered
until about the middle of the last century, when it was thoroughly
restored by the late Sir John Walrond, who planted the fine avenues of
oak and cedar. Sir John did nothing to destroy or impair the character
of the place, and the changes he introduced were extremely judicious, as
indeed was to be expected from a gentleman of his refined taste. Son of
Mr Benjamin Bowden Dickinson, of Tiverton, who assumed his wife’s name
on his marriage with the heiress of the last of the Bradfield line, he
came into possession in 1845. At that time the house consisted of north
and south gabled wings, united by the old hall, and in ruinous repair,
roughcast and whitewashed. Low offices disfigured the west side, and the
south wall was propped with timber. A farmyard and other buildings
occupied the site of the present entrance.
Such was Bradfield. To-day it is one of the most charming and beautiful
homes in the West. The most ancient and characteristic portion is the
noble hall, which is forty-four feet long by twenty-one feet wide, and
glories in a magnificent hammer-beam roof, adorned with carved angels, a
rich cornice, carved pendants, and old oak plenishings. The napkin
panelling is in excellent preservation, and the fine woodwork, once
covered with many coats of paint, is now fully exposed. Quaint and
delightful features of the apartment are the open fireplace, the
minstrel gallery, and a dog-gate which kept canine favourites below
stairs. Just off the minstrel gallery is the state bedroom, containing a
good sketch of the hall and gallery in days of yore, which gives one to
see how rich the colouring must have been. Below the gallery is the
“buttery hatch,” and beyond the “buttery hatch,” the old kitchen, now
the library.
The drawing-room, communicating by a doorway with the hall dais, and one
of the last rooms to be restored, has, in lieu of paint and whitewash,
walls of moulded oakwork, a richly panelled and decorated ceiling, and a
Jacobean mantelpiece. On the screen over the doorway are coloured
figures of Adam and Eve; and among other curios are an embroidered silk
sachet, in which is enclosed a love letter from Mr Walrond to Anne
Courtenay, written on parchment, and dated October 27, 1659, and a
prayer-book belonging to the old family chapel. Many other charming
sights the interior affords, such as the oak panelling of the
dining-room, its old chimney-piece, its pictures. And outside is a rare
plesaunce, with clipped box-trees, and great clipped yews, and a lake,
and an old bowling-green. Truly, an ideal country-house!
Another branch of the Walronds lived at Dulford House, which is also in
the neighbourhood. Neither of these mansions can be exactly identified
with the “Walderscourt” of the romance, which is represented as standing
on a spot roughly indicated by Pitt Farm, in the parish of Culmstock,
and not far from the village.
[Illustration: CULMSTOCK VICARAGE AND CHURCH (page 33).]
There are coloured effigies of the Cavalier period in Uffculme Church,
which, by the way, has a magnificent screen, sixty-seven feet in length,
probably the longest in the county. Nothing authentic is known about the
effigies, but many have the impression that they represent members of
the Walrond family. It is possible, however, that the originals of the
busts were Holways, of Leigh, since the oldest monuments in the church
were erected in memory of their dead. Leigh Court is the name of the
present mansion, but Goodleigh, as is shown by old deeds, was the
description of the more ancient manorial residence, which did not stand
on the same site. And thereby hangs a tale.
The late Mr William Wood, father of my kind friend, Mr William Taylor
Wood, of Gaddon, owned and lived at Leigh, and, being of an economical
turn of mind, he thought he would clear away the few mouldering ruins of
the old manor house, which only cumbered the ground, and thus extend the
area of one of his fields. Men were engaged for the work, and had
already proceeded some way with their task, when suddenly a workman
threw down his tools and vanished clean out of the neighbourhood. For
years there were no tidings of him. Eventually he returned, but never
vouchsafed the least explanation of his extraordinary conduct. The
people of the place, by whom a new coat or pair of boots would have been
scrutinised with suspicion, all decided that he had found a “pot of
treasure,” whilst Mr Wood, who, with all his good qualities, was
somewhat touched with superstition, commanded the operation to be
stayed.
Wandering about in this pleasant and hospitable region one gathers many
a charming idyll of bygone times. Such, for instance, is the story of
the young lady who arrived at Gaddon on a short visit and remained
fourteen years. It seems that the old housekeeper was sitting on a box
before the kitchen fire, preparing lamb’s tails for a pie (by dipping
them in water brought to a certain temperature, in order to facilitate
the removal of the wool), when all at once she fell back--dead.
The master of the house, Mr Richard Hurley, had relations living in
another part of the parish, and, on learning the sad news, sent off to
them for assistance. There were a lot of girls in the family, and they
and their mother were sitting cosily round the hearth, when there came a
knock at the door. In those days a knock at the door was enough to throw
any country household into a ferment of excitement, which, in this
instance, was not diminished when the messenger announced his errand.
“Please, master wants one of the young ladies to come over, because old
Betty has dropped dead.”
Upon this a family council was held, and the following morning Mary
Garnsey, a pretty, rosy-cheeked maiden of fourteen, mounted her horse,
and with her impedimenta slung from the saddle-bow--there were no
Gladstone bags in those days--rode over to Gaddon to aid her uncle in
his difficulty. Pleased with her agreeable company, and more than
satisfied with her efficient services, Mr Hurley became loth to part
with her, and, in fact, coaxed her to remain till she was twenty-eight,
when she left to be married. Old inhabitants may, perchance, remember
Mrs Pocock, of Rock House, Halberton. She was the lady.