But the Thames (or Isis as it is invariably called in Oxford) is the

place of more serious matters. To the rowing man “the River” means

only one thing, and really only a very short space of that: he is

accustomed to speak of “the River” and “the Cher,” and with him the

latter does not count at all. Everybody in the valley, certainly every

boy and girl, knows about the Oxford and Cambridge Boatrace, which is

held annually on the Thames at Putney, when two selected crews from the

rival universities race each other over a distance. Probably quite a

few of us have witnessed the exciting event. Well, “Boatrace Day” is

merely the final act of a long drama, nearly all the scenes of which

take place, not at Putney, but on the river at the University town.

For the Varsity “eight” are only chosen from the various college crews

after long months of arduous preparation. Each of the colleges has its

own rowing club, and the college crews race against each other in the

summer term. A fine sight it is, too, to see the long thin “eights”

passing at a great pace in front of the beautifully decorated “Barges,”

which are to the college rowing clubs what pavilions are to the cricket

clubs.

These “barges,” which stretch along the river front for some

considerable distance, resemble nothing so much as the magnificent

houseboats which we see lower down the river at Henley, Maidenhead,

Molesey, etc. They are fitted up inside with bathrooms and

dressing-rooms, and comfortable lounges and reading-rooms, while their

flat tops are utilised by the rowing men for sitting at ease and

chatting to their friends. Each college has its own “barge,” and it is

a point of honour to make it and keep it a credit to the college. The

long string of “barges” form a very beautiful picture, particularly

when the river is quiet, and the finely decorated vessels with their

background of green trees are reflected in the smooth waters.

May is the great time for the River at Oxford, for then are held the

races of the senior “crews” or “eights.” Then for a week the place,

both shore and stream, is gay with pretty dresses and merry laughter,

for mothers and sisters, cousins and friends, flock to Oxford in their

hundreds to see the fun. But to the rowing man it is a time of hard

work—with more in prospect if he is lucky; for, just as the “eights” of

this week have been selected from the crews of the February “torpids”

or junior races, so from those doing well during “eights week” may be

chosen the University crew—the “blues.”

Many have been the voices which have sung the praises of the “city of

spires,” for many have loved her. None more so perhaps than Matthew

Arnold, whose poem “The Scholar Gypsy”—the tale of a University lad

who was by poverty forced to leave his studies and join himself to a

company of vagabond gipsies, from whom he gained a knowledge beyond

that of the scholars—is so well known. Says Arnold of the city: “And

yet as she lies, spreading her gardens to the moonlight, and whispering

from her towers the last enchantments of the Middle Ages, who will

deny that Oxford, by her ineffable charm, keeps ever calling us nearer

to the true goal of all of us, to the ideal, to perfection—to beauty,

in a word?”

There are many interesting places within walking distance of Oxford,

but perhaps few more delightful to the eye than old Iffley Church. This

ancient building with its fine old Norman tower is a landmark of the

countryside and well deserves the attention given to it.

CHAPTER THREE

_Abingdon, Wallingford, and the Goring Gap_

Between Oxford and Reading lies a land of shadows—a district dotted

with towns which have shrunk to a mere vestige of their former

greatness. To mention three names only—Abingdon, Dorchester, and

Wallingford—is to conjure up a picture of departed glory.

[Illustration: ABINGDON.]

At Abingdon, centuries ago, was one of those great abbeys which

stretched in a chain eastwards, and helped to ensure the prosperity

of the valley; and the town sprang up and prospered, as was so often

the case, under the shadow of the great ecclesiastical foundation.

Unfortunately the monks and the citizens were constantly at

loggerheads. The wealthy dwellers in the abbey, where the Conqueror’s

own son, Henry Beauclerc, had been educated, and where the greatest

in the land were wont to come, did not approve of tradesmen and

other common folk congregating so near the sacred edifice. Thus in

1327 the proud mitred Abbot refused to allow the citizens to hold a

market in the town, and a riot ensued, in which the folk of Abingdon

were backed up by the Mayor of Oxford and a considerable crowd of the

University students. A great part of the Abbey was burned down, many

of its records were destroyed, and the monks were driven out. But

the tradesmen’s triumph was short-lived, for the Abbot returned with

powerful support, and certain of the ringleaders were hanged for their

share in the disturbance.

However, the town grew despite the frowns of the Church, and it soon

became a considerable centre for the cloth trade. Not only did it

make cloth itself, but much of the traffic which there was between

London and the western cloth-towns—Gloucester, Stroud, Cirencester,

etc.—passed through Abingdon, particularly when its bridge had been

built by John Huchyns and Geoffrey Barbur in 1416.

When, in 1538, the abbey was suppressed, the townsfolk rejoiced at

the downfall of the rich and arrogant monks, and sought pleasure and

revenge in the destruction of the former home of their enemies. So that

in these days there is not a great deal remaining of the ancient fabric.

A few miles below Abingdon is Dorchester (not to be confused with the

Dorset town of the same name), not exactly on the River, but about a

mile up the tributary river, the Thame, which here comes wandering

through the meadows to join the main stream. Like Abingdon, Dorchester

has had its day, but its abbey church remains, built on the site of the

ancient and extremely important Saxon cathedral; and, one must confess,

it seems strangely out of place in such a sleepy little village.

Wallingford, even more than these, has lost its ancient prestige,

for it was through several centuries a great stronghold and a royal

residence. We have only to look at the map of the Thames Valley, and

note how the various roads converge on this particularly useful ford,

to see immediately Wallingford’s importance from a military and a

commercial point of view. A powerful castle to guard such a valuable

key to the midlands, or the south-west, was inevitable.

William the Conqueror, passing that way in order that he might discover

a suitable crossing, and so get round to the north of London (p. 143),

was shown the ford by one Wygod, the ruling thane of the district; and

naturally William realized at once the possibilities of the place. A

powerful castle soon arose in place of the old earthworks, and this

castle lasted on till the Civil War, figuring frequently in the many

struggles that occurred during the next three or four hundred years.

It played an important part in that prolonged and bitter struggle

between Stephen and the Empress Maud, and suffered a very long siege.

Again, in 1646, at the time of the Civil War, it was beset for

sixty-five days by the Parliamentary armies; and, after a gallant stand

by the Royalist garrison, was practically destroyed by Fairfax, who saw

fit to blow it up. So that now very little stands: just a few crumbling

walls and one window incorporated in the fabric of a private residence.

Between Wallingford and Reading lies what is, from the geographical

point of view, one of the most interesting places in the whole length

of the Thames Valley—Goring Gap.

You will see from a contour map that the Thames Basin, generally

speaking, is a hill-encircled valley with gently undulating ground,

except in the one place where the Marlborough-Chiltern range of chalk

hills sweep right across the valley.

By the time the River reaches Goring Gap it has fallen from a height

of about six hundred feet above sea-level to a height of about one

hundred feet above sea-level; and there rises from the river on each

side a steep slope four or five hundred feet high—Streatley Hill on the

Berkshire side and Goring Heath on the Oxfordshire side.

The question arises, Why should these two ranges of hills, the

Marlborough Downs and the Chiltern Hills, meet just at this point? Is

it simply an accident of geography that their two ends stand exactly

face to face on opposite sides of the Thames?

Now the geologists tell us that it is no coincidence. They have studied

the strata—that is, the different layers of the materials forming the

hills—and they find that the strata of the range on the Berkshire side

compare exactly with the strata of the other; so that at some remote

period the two must have been joined to form one unbroken range. How

then did the gap come? Was it due to a cracking of the hill—a double

crack with the earth slipping down in between, as has sometimes

happened in the past? Here again the geologists tells us, No. Moreover

they tell us that undoubtedly the River has _cut its way_ right through

the chalk hills.

“But how can that be possible?” someone says. “Here we have the Thames

down in a low-lying plain on the north-west side of the hills, and

down in the valley on the south-east side. How could a river flowing

across a plain get up to the heights to commence the wearing away at

the tops?” Here again the geologists must come to our aid. They tell us

that back in that dim past, so interesting to picture yet so difficult

to grasp, when the ancient, mighty River flowed (see Book I., Intro.),

the chalk-lands extended from the Chilterns westwards, that there was

no valley where now Oxford, Abingdon, and Lechlade lie, but that the

River flowed across the top of a tableland of chalk from its sources

in the higher grounds of the west to the brink at or near the eastern

slope of the Chilterns; and that from this lofty position the River

was able to wear its way down, and so make a =V=-shaped cutting in

the end of the tableland. Afterwards there came an alteration in the

surface. Some tremendous internal movement caused the land gradually

to fold up, as it were; so that the tableland sagged down in the

middle, leaving the Marlborough-Chiltern hills on the one side and

the Cotswold-Edgehill range on the other, with the Oxford valley in

between. But by this time the =V=-shaped gap had been cut sufficiently

low to allow the River to flow through the hills, and to go on cutting

its way still lower and lower.

CHAPTER FOUR

_Reading_

Reading is without doubt the most disappointing town in the whole of

the Thames Valley. It has had such a full share of history, far more

than other equally famous towns; has been favoured by the reigning

monarch of the land through many centuries; has taken sides in internal

strife and felt the tide of war surging round its gates; it has counted

for so much in the life of England that one feels almost a sense of

loss in finding it just a commonplace manufacturing town, with not a

semblance of any of its former glory.

Like many other towns in England, it sprang up round a religious

house—one of the string of important abbeys which stretched from

Abingdon to Westminster. But before that it had been recognized as an

important position.

We have seen that Oxford, Wallingford, and other places came into

existence by reason of their important fords across the River. Reading

arose into being because the long and narrow peninsula formed by the

junction of the Kennet with the Thames was such a splendid spot for

defensive purposes that right from early days there had been some sort

of a stronghold there.

Here in this very safe place, then, the Conqueror’s son established his

great foundation, the Cluniac Abbey of Reading, for the support of two

hundred monks and for the refreshment of travellers. It was granted

ample revenues, and given many valuable privileges, among them that

of coining money. Its Abbot was a mitred Abbot, and had the right to

sit with the lords spiritual in Parliament. From its very foundation

it prospered, rising rapidly into a position of eminence; and, like

the other abbeys, it did much towards the growth of the agricultural

prosperity of the valley, encouraging the countryfolk to drain and

cultivate their lands properly.

[Illustration:

The Gatehouse Reading Abbey]

Though we first hear of it as a fortified place, and though at

different times in history it felt the shock of war, Reading was never

an important military centre, for the simple reason that it did

not guard a main road across or beside the River. Consequently the

interruptions in its steady progress were few and far between, and the

place was left to develop its civilian and religious strength. This

it did so well that during the four hundred years of the life of the

Abbey it always counted for much with the Sovereigns, who went there

to be entertained, and even in time of pestilence brought thither

their parliaments, whose bodies were in the end buried there. By the

thirteenth century the Abbey had risen to such a position that only

Westminster could vie with it in wealth and magnificence.

And now what remains of it all? Almost nothing. There is what is

called the old Abbey gateway, but it is merely a reconstruction with

some of the ancient materials. In the Forbury Gardens lie all that

is left, just one or two ivy-grown fragments of massive masonry,

outlining perhaps the Chapter House, in which the parliaments were

held, and the great Abbey Church, dedicated to St. Thomas Becket, where

were the royal tombs and where in 1339 John of Gaunt was married.

For the rest, the ruins have served all and sundry as a quarry for

ready-prepared building stone during several centuries. Much of it was

used to make St. Mary’s Church and the Hospital of the Poor Knights of

Windsor; while still more was commandeered by General Conway for the

construction of the bridge between Henley and Wargrave.

How did the Abbey come to such a state of dilapidation? Largely as

a result of the Civil War. The Abbey was dissolved in 1539, and the

Abbot actually hung, drawn, and quartered, because of his defiance. The

royal tombs, where were buried Henry I., the Empress Maud, and others,

were destroyed and the bones scattered; and from that time onwards

things went from bad to worse. Henry VII. converted parts of it into

a palace for himself and used it for a time, but in Elizabethan days

it had got into such a very bad state that the Queen, who stayed there

half-a-dozen times, gave permission for the rotting timbers and many

cartloads of stone to be removed. But it remained a dwelling till the

eventual destruction during the Rebellion.

During the war which proved so disastrous for the great Abbey, Reading

was decidedly Royalist, but the fortunes of war brought several changes

for it. It withstood for some time during 1643 a severe siege by the

Earl of Essex, and, just as relief was at hand, it surrendered. Then

Royalists and Parliamentarians in turn held the town; and naturally

with these changes and the fighting involved the place suffered

greatly, especially the outstanding building, the Abbey. St. Giles’

Church, which escaped destruction, still bears the marks of the

bombardment.

But the town refused to die with the Abbey. The Abbey had done much

to establish and vitalize the town. In its encouragement of the

agriculture of the districts it had created the necessity for a central

market-town, and Reading had grown and flourished accordingly. Thus,

when the Abbey came to an end, the town was so firmly established that

it was enabled to live on and prosper exceedingly.

Now Reading passes its days independent, almost unconscious, of the

past, with its glory and its tragedy. Nor does the River any more

enter into its calculations. To Reading has come the railway; and the

railway has made the modern town what it is—an increasingly important

manufacturing town and railway junction, and a ready centre for the

rich agricultural land round about it; a hive of industry, with

foundries, workshops, big commercial buildings, and a University

College; with churches, chapels, picture-palaces, and fast-moving

electric-tramcars, clanging their way along streets thronged with busy,

hurrying people—in short, a typical, clean, modern industrial town,

with nothing very attractive about it, but on the other hand nothing to

repel or disgust.

Reading’s most famous industries are biscuit-making and seed-growing.

Messrs. Huntley and Palmer’s biscuits, in the making of which four or

five thousand people are employed, are known the world over; and so

are Messrs. Sutton’s seeds, grown in, and advertised by, many acres of

beautiful gardens.

The Kennet, on which the town really stands, is a river which has lost

its ancient power, for the geologists tell us that along its valley the

real mighty river once ran, receiving the considerable Cherwell-Thames

tributary at this point. Now, whereas the tributary has grown in

importance if not in size, the main stream has shrunk to such an

enormous extent that the tributary has become the river, and the river

the tributary. Of course, passing through Reading the little river

loses its beauty, but the Kennet which comes down from the western end

of the Marlborough Downs and flows through the Berkshire meadows is a

delightful little stream.

CHAPTER FIVE

_Holiday Thames—Henley to Maidenhead_

The western half of that portion of the River which has for its bank

the county of Buckinghamshire might well be spoken of as “holiday

Thames,” for it is on this lovely stretch that a great part of the more

important river pleasure-making is done. Certainly we get boating at

Richmond, Kingston, Molesey, etc., nearer the metropolis, but it is of

the Saturday or Sunday afternoon sort, where Londoners, weary from the

week’s labours, find rest and solace in a few brief hours of leisurely

punting or rowing. But, between Maidenhead and Henley, at places like

Sonning, Pangbourne, and Cookham, folk live on or by the River, either

in houseboats or waterside cottages, and the River is not just a

diversion, but is for the time being the all-important thing.

[Illustration: SONNING.]

Nor is this difficult to understand, for the River here is

extraordinarily beautiful—a place to linger in and dream away the

hours. Henley, which commences the stretch, lies just within the

borders of Oxfordshire, and here is celebrated what is, next to the

Boatrace at Putney, the most famous of all Thames festivals—for Henley

Regatta draws rowing men (and women) from all parts, and crews come

from both the Old World and the New to compete in the open races. The

River then is almost covered with craft of all sorts moored closely

together, with just a narrow water-lane down the centre for the passage

of the competing boats; and the bright dresses and gay parasols of the

ladies, with the background of green trees, all reflected in the water,

make a brilliant and pleasing spectacle.

[Illustration: HENLEY.]

A few miles below Henley is Great Marlow, a clean and compact little

riverside town, whose chief interest lies, perhaps, in the fact that

here the poet Shelley lived for a time, writing some of his wonderful

poems. Shelley spent much of his time on the River, and learned to love

it very much, so that in after years we find him writing from Italy:

“My thoughts for ever cling to Windsor Forest and the copses of Marlow.”

The seven miles between Marlow and Maidenhead contain the most glorious

scenery in the whole valley, for the River here for a considerable

distance flows between gently rising hills whose slopes are richly

wooded, the trees in many places coming right down to the water’s

edge. Alike in spring, when the fresh young green is spreading over

the hillsides, and in autumn, when the woods are afire with every

tint of gold and brown, the Cliveden Woods and the Quarry Woods of

Marlow, with their mirrored reflections in the placid waters below,

are indescribably beautiful. Above the woods, high on the Buckingham

bank, stands Cliveden House, magnificently situated. In the old mansion

which formerly stood on the spot was first performed Thomson’s masque

“Alfred.” This is very interesting, for the masque contained “Rule,

Britannia,” composed by Dr. Arne; so here the tune was sung in public

for the first time.

At various spots along the stretch we can see quite clearly the

terraces which indicate the alteration in the position of the

river-bed. High up towards the tops, sometimes actually at the tops of

the hillsides, are the shallow, widespread gravel beds which show where

in the dim past the original great Thames flowed (see Book I., Intro.).

Then lower down come other terraces, with more gravel beds, to show a

second position of the River, when, after centuries, it had cut its way

lower and diminished in volume. Thus:

[Illustration: DIAGRAM OF THE THAMES VALLEY TERRACES.]

Well-marked terraces can be found on the Berkshire side of the River

between Maidenhead and Cookham, also at Remenham not far from Henley.

They are visible on both sides of the River at Reading. Above Reading

similar terraces, with their beds of river gravel, may be seen at

Culham and Cholsey, between Radley and Abingdon, and also at Oxford.

CHAPTER SIX

_Windsor_

Windsor Castle, seen from the River at Clewer as we make our way

downstream, provides us with one of the most magnificent views in the

whole valley. Standing there, high on its solitary chalk hill, with

the glowing red roofs of the town beneath and the rich green of the

numerous trees clustering all round its base, the whole bathed in

summer sunshine, it is a superb illustration of what a castle should

be—ever-present, magnificent, defiant.

Yet, despite its wonderful situation, the finest without doubt in all

the south of England, Windsor has had little or no history, has rarely

beaten off marauding foes, and seldom taken any part in great national

struggles. Built for a fortress, it has been through the centuries

nothing more than a palace.

Erected by the builder of the Tower, William of Normandy, and

probably for the same purpose, it has passed in many ways through a

parallel existence, has been just what the Tower has been—an intended

stronghold, a prison, and a royal residence. Yet, whereas the Tower

has been intimately bound up with the life of England through many

centuries, Windsor has, with just one or two brief exceptions, been

a thing apart, something living its life in the quiet backwaters of

history.

[Illustration: WINDSOR CASTLE.]

The Windsor district was always a favourite one with the rulers of the

land even before the existence of the Castle. Tradition speaks of a

hunting lodge, deep in the glades of the Old Windsor Forest, close by

the river, as belonging to the redoubtable King Arthur, and declares

that here he and his Knights of the Round Table stayed when they

hunted in the greenwood or sallied forth on those quests of adventure

with which we are all familiar. What is more certain, owing to the

bringing to light of actual remains, is that Old Windsor was a Roman

station. Certainly it was a favourite haunt of the Saxon kings, who in

all probability had a palace of some sort there, close to the Roman

road which passed by way of Staines to the camp at Silchester; and

its value must have been thoroughly recognized. Edward the Confessor

in particular was especially fond of the place, and when he founded

and suitably endowed his wonderful Abbey at Westminster he included

“Windsor and Staines and all that thereto belongs” among his valuable

grants to the foundation over which his friend Edwin presided.

In those days the Castle Hill was not even named. True, its

possibilities as a strategic point were recognized, by Harold if by no

other, for we read in the ancient records that Harold held on that spot

four-and-a-half hides of land for defensive purposes.

But it remained for William the Conqueror, that splendid soldier and

mighty hunter, to recognize the double possibilities of Windsor.

Naturally, following his victory, he made himself familiar with

Harold’s possessions, and, coming shortly to Windsor, saw therein the

means of gratifying two of his main interests. He inspected the ancient

Saxon royal dwelling and saw at once its suitability as a retiring

place for the King, surrounded by the great forest and quite close to

that most convenient of highways, the River. And at the same time,

warrior as he was, he understood the value of the little chalk hill

which stood out from the encompassing clay.

Certainly it belonged to the Abbey as a “perpetual inheritance,” but

to such as William that was not likely to matter much. All England was

his: he could offer what he liked. So he chose for exchange two fat

manors in Essex—Wokendune and Feringes—fine, prosperous agricultural

places, totally different from the unproductive wastelands of Windsor

Hill; and the Abbot, wise man that he was, jumped at the exchange. Thus

the Church was satisfied, no violence was done, and William secured

both the Forest and the magnificent little hill commanding then, as it

does now, many miles of the Thames Valley.

Why did he want it? For two reasons. In the first place, he wanted an

impregnable fortress within striking distance of London. True, under

his orders Gundulf had built the Tower, frowning down on the city of

London; but a fortress which is almost a part of the city, even though

it be built with the one idea of striking awe into the citizens, is

really too close at hand to be secure. A fortress slightly aloof,

and therefore not quite so liable to sudden surprise, yet within a

threatening distance, had vastly greater possibilities.

William’s other great passion was “the chase.” Listen to what the

ancient chronicler said about him: “He made many deer-parks; and he

established laws therewith; so that whosoever slew a hart or a hind

should be deprived of his eyesight. He loved the tall deer as if he

were their father. Hares he decreed should go free. His rich men

bemoaned it; and the poor men shuddered at it. But he was so stern,

that he recked not the hatred of them all; for they must follow withal

the King’s will if they would live, or have land, or possessions, or

even his peace.” For this the surrounding forests rendered the position

of Windsor a delightful one.

Thus came into existence the Norman Keep of Windsor Hill, and beneath

it shortly after the little settlement of New Windsor. When Domesday

Book was prepared the little place had reached the number of one

hundred houses, and thenceforward its progress was steady. By the time

of Edward I. it had developed to such an extent that it was granted a

charter—which document may still be seen in the Bodleian Library at

Oxford.

With the Kings that came after the Conqueror Windsor soon became a

favourite residence. Henry I., marrying a Saxon Princess, Edith, niece

of the Confessor, lived there and built a fine dwelling-place with a

Chapel dedicated to the Confessor and a wall surrounding everything.

During the reign of John, Windsor was besieged on more than one

occasion, and it was from its fastness that the most wretched King

who ever ruled—or misruled—England crept out to meet the Barons near

Runnymede, just over the Surrey border.

Henry III., finding the old fabric seriously damaged by the sieges,

determined to rebuild on a grander scale, and he restored the walls,

raised the first Round Tower, the Lower and Middle Wards, and a Chapel;

but, save one or two fragments, all these have perished.

However, it is to Edward of Windsor—the third King of that name—that we

must look as the real founder of the Windsor of to-day. He rebuilt the

Chapel and practically all the structures of Henry III., and added the

Upper Ward.

In connection with this last a very interesting story is told. Edward

had on the spot two very distinguished prisoners—King David of

Scotland and King John of France—rather more like unwilling guests

than prisoners, since they had plenty of liberty and shared in the

amusements of the Court. One day the two were strolling with Edward in

the Lower Ward, taking stock of the new erections, when King John made

some such remark as this: “Your Grace’s castle would be better on the

higher ground up yonder. You yourself would be able to see more, and

the castle would be visible a greater way off.” In which opinion he was

backed by the King of Scotland. Edward’s reply must have surprised the

pair of them, for he said: “It shall be as you say. I will enlarge the

Castle by adding another ward, and your ransoms shall pay the bill.”

But Edward’s threat was never carried out. King David’s ransom was paid

in 1337, but it only amounted to 100,000 marks; while that of King

John, a matter of a million and a half of our money, was never paid,

and John returned to England to die in the year 1363 in the Palace of

the Savoy.

In the building of Windsor, Edward had for his architect, or

superintendent, a very famous man, William Wykeham, the founder and

builder of Winchester School and New College, Oxford. Wykeham’s salary

was fixed at one shilling a day while at Windsor, and two shillings

while travelling on business connected with the Castle. Wykeham’s chief

work was the erection of the Great Quadrangle, a task which took him

ten years to complete. While there at work, he had a stone engraved

with the Latin words, _Hoc fecit Wykeham_, which translated means

“Wykeham made this.” Edward was enraged when he saw this inscription,

for he wanted no man to share with him the glory of rebuilding Windsor;

and he called his servant to account for his unwise action. Wykeham’s

reply was very ingenious, for he declared that he had meant the motto

to read: “This made Wykeham” (for the words can be translated thus).

The ready answer appeased the King’s wrath.

The method by which the building was done was that of forced labour—a

mild form of slavery. Edward, instead of engaging workmen in the

ordinary way, demanded from each county in England so many masons, so

many carpenters, so many tilers, after the fashion of the feudal method

of obtaining an army. There were 360 of them, and they did not all come

willingly, for certain of them were thrown into prison in London for

running away. Slowly the work proceeded, but in 1361 the plague carried

off many of the craftsmen, and new demands were made on Yorkshire,

Shropshire, and Devon, to provide sixty more stone-workers each. When

at length the structure was completed in 1369, it included most of the

best parts of Windsor Castle—the Great Quadrangle, the Round Tower,

St. George’s Hall and Chapel, and the outer walls with their gates and

turrets.

The Chapel was repaired later on, under the direction of another

distinguished Englishman, Geoffrey Chaucer, the father of English

poetry, who for over a year was “master of the King’s works” at

Windsor. In 1473 the Chapel had become so dilapidated that it was

necessary to pull it down, and Edward IV. erected in its place an

exceedingly beautiful St. George’s Chapel, as an act of atonement for

all the shed blood through which he had wallowed his way to the throne.

Queen Elizabeth was very fond indeed of Windsor, and frequently came

thither in her great barge. She built a banqueting hall and a gallery,

and formed the fine terrace which bears her name. This terrace, on the

north side, above the steep, tree-planted scarp which falls away to

the river valley, is an ideal place. Behind rise the State Apartments:

in front stretches a magnificent panorama across Eton and the plain.

On this terrace the two Charleses loved to stroll; and George III. was

accustomed to walk every day with his family, just an ordinary country

gentleman rubbing shoulders with his neighbours.

It is a wonderful place, is Windsor Castle—very impressive and in

places very beautiful; but there is so much to write about that one

scarcely knows where to begin. Going up Castle Hill, we turn sharp to

the left, and, passing through the Gateway of Henry VIII., we are in

the Lower Ward, with St. George’s Chapel facing us in all its beauty.

This fine perpendicular Chapel is, indeed, worthy of the illustrious

order, the Knights of the Garter, for whom it is a place both of

worship and of ceremonial.

The Order of the Knights of the Garter was founded by Edward III. in

the year 1349, and there were great doings at Windsor on the appointed

day—St. George’s Day. Splendid pageants, grand tournaments, and

magnificent feasts, with knights in bright armour and their ladies in

the gayest of colours, were by no means uncommon in those days; but on

this occasion the spectacle was without parallel for brilliance, for

Edward had summoned to the great tournament all the bravest and most

famous knights in Christendom, and all had come save those of Spain,

forbidden by their suspicious King. From their number twenty-six were

chosen to found the Order, with the King at their head.

St. George’s Chapel has some very beautiful stained-glass windows,

some fine tracery in its roof, and a number of very interesting

monuments. The carved stalls in the choir, with the banners of the

knights drooping overhead, remind us certainly of the Henry VII.

Chapel at Westminster. Within the Chapel walls have been enacted some

wonderful scenes—scenes pleasing, and scenes memorable for their

sorrow. Here have been brought, at the close of their busy lives, many

of England’s sovereigns, and here some of them—Henry VI. and Edward IV.

among them—rest from their labours. Queen Victoria, who loved Windsor,

lies with her husband in the Royal Tomb at Frogmore, not far away.

The Round Tower, which stands practically in the centre of the

clustered buildings and surmounts everything, is always one of the most

interesting places. From its battlements may be seen on a clear day no

less than twelve counties. We can trace the River for miles and miles

as it comes winding down the valley from Clewer and Boveney, to pass

away into the distance where we can just faintly discern the dome of

St. Paul’s.

CHAPTER SEVEN

_Eton College_

Standing on the north terrace, or on the hundred steps which ascend

from Thames Street, with behind us the fabric which William Wykeham did

so much to fashion, we gaze out to yet another place which Wykeham made

possible—the famous College of Eton.

True, he had nothing whatever to do with the building of Eton itself,

but he founded Winchester School, which is commonly spoken of as

England’s oldest public school; and this served the boy-king, Henry

VI., as a model for his new foundation, so that Eton is in many

respects, both as regards buildings and management, a copy of the older

place.

The first charter is dated 1441. Henry was then only nineteen years

old, yet he says that “from the very foundation of his riper age” he

dreamed of “a solemn school at Eton where a great number of children

should be freely taught the rules of grammar.” The school was to be

called “The Kynges College of oure Ladye of Eton, beside Wyndesore.”

[Illustration: Eton College]

Henry, in order that he might be certain he and his assistants were

following the excellent Winchester model, paid a number of visits to

that school, and made a close study of its ways. There he was brought

much into contact with William Waynflete, who had become master of

Winchester in 1429 and done much to keep the school at its high level;

and the result was that in 1442 Henry persuaded him to become the

first master of Eton, whither he came, bringing with him from the

older foundation half-a-dozen favourite scholars to be a model for all

newcomers. Eton began with “twenty-five poor scholars” to be educated

at the King’s cost, but this number was soon increased to seventy.

Henry did not live to see his splendid scheme in being. In fact, the

beautiful chapel which he had designed was never completed at all;

moreover, the fabric itself, which he had desired to be made of “the

hard stone of Kent,” was very largely built of brick. Nor did the

College as a whole rise into being in one great effort. Like most

historic buildings, it grew little by little into its present self,

with just a bit added here and a bit renovated there, so that the whole

thing is a medley of styles.

In these days Eton, like most of the big public schools, is far from

being what its founder intended it to be—a school for the instruction

of deserving poor boys. Instead it has become a very exclusive college

for the education of the sons of the rich.

There are usually just over eleven hundred boys in residence, seventy

of whom are known as “collegers,” while the other thousand odd are

called “oppidans.” For the old statute which decided on the number of

“collegers” as seventy is still obeyed, and Henry’s wish is kept in

the letter, if not in the spirit. The “collegers” live in the actual

College buildings, have their meals in the College Hall; and they wear

cloth gowns to distinguish them from the rest of the scholars. These

other thousand odd boys, the sons of gentlemen and other folk who can

afford to pay the great sum of money necessary, live in the various

masters’ houses, which are built close at hand.

The “collegers,” who win their positions as the result of a stiff

examination, are practically the holders of very valuable scholarships,

for they pay only small sums towards their expenses. And, generally

speaking, they have a better time of it, even though they may be looked

down on and called “tugs” by some of the more snobbish “oppidans”; for

the College buildings are better than most of the houses. Moreover,

the “collegers” have two large playing fields of their own, so that

they can avoid the crush in the school fields.

Just when the “oppidans” began to take their place is by no means

certain; but it could not have been very long after the foundation, for

there is actually in existence the letter of an “oppidan” written in

the year 1467, forty years after the opening. It is a very interesting

letter, written to the boy’s elder brother, and enclosing for his

inspection a specimen of the writer’s Latin verses (the making of Latin

verse has always been a speciality at Eton). The letter also suggests

the forwarding of “12 lbs. of figgs and 8 lbs. of raisins,” so, you

see, boys were boys even in those far-off days.

Many of Eton’s most picturesque customs have either died out or been

suppressed by the authorities. One of the more famous of these was

“Montem,” given up in 1847. On a certain day, once every three years,

the scholars marched in procession to Salt Hill—that is, to “the

mountain” (_ad montem_ means “to the mountain”); and there certain of

their number made a collection of money from all and sundry, giving

little pieces of salt in exchange. Usually royalty from Windsor met

them there, and contributed generously to the fund. “Montem” was a

gay festival, for fancy-dress was the order of the day, and there was

plenty of noise and colour as the merry procession made its way up the

hill to the music of several bands, followed by a crowd of visitors.

In 1846 the authorities decided to put an end to the celebration,

because with the coming of the railway to Windsor an unwelcome crowd

of excursionists presented itself each year, and the picturesque

gathering degenerated into a vulgar rabble. One old custom which still

survives is “Threepenny Day.” On the 27th day of February each year,

the anniversary of the death of a Provost named Lupton, builder of the

picturesque gateway, each of the “collegers” receives a bright new

threepenny-bit, provision for which is made in a sum of money left by

Lupton and another Provost.

Eton, like that other and older seat of learning to which many Etonians

make the journey up the valley, gains much from its nearness to the

River, for swimming and rowing are two favourite pastimes with the boys

of this school. The latter pastime reaches its zenith on the “fourth

of June”—the great day which Eton keeps in honour of George III.’s

birthday. Then the College is besieged by hundreds of relatives and

friends, and there is a fine water-carnival on the River.

CHAPTER EIGHT

_Hampton Court_

Nearly twenty miles below Windsor we come upon the ancient palace of

Hampton, better known in these days as Hampton Court, beautifully

situated among tall trees not far from the river bank. It is a

wonderful old place—one of the nation’s priceless possessions—and once

inside we are loth to leave it, for there is something attractive about

its quaint old courtyards and its restful, bird-haunted gardens.

Certainly it is the largest royal palace in England, and in some

respects it is the finest. Yet, strangely enough, it was not built for

a King, nor has any sovereign lived in it since the days of George II.

Wolsey, the proud Cardinal of Henry VIII.’s days, erected it for his

own private mansion, and it is still the Cardinal’s fabric which we

look upon as we pass through the older portions of the great pile of

buildings.

[Illustration: HAMPTON COURT, GARDEN FRONT.]

Wolsey was, as you probably know, the son of a comparatively poor man,

yet he was possessed of great gifts, and when he left Oxford he soon

rose to a position of eminence. The Kings, first of all Henry VII.,

then “bluff King Hal,” showered honours and gifts on him. The Pope

created him a Cardinal, and Henry VIII. gave him the powerful position

of Lord Chancellor of England. Wolsey, as befitted his high station,

lived a life of great splendour, the pomp and show of his household

rivalling even that of the King. Naturally such a man would have the

best, even of palaces.

As we pass through the wonderful old courts of the Cardinal’s dwelling

we can imagine the vast amount of money which it must have cost to

build, for it was magnificent in those days quite beyond parallel; and

we cannot wonder that King Henry thought that such a building ought to

be nothing less than a royal residence.

Little differences soon arose. Wolsey, indeed, had not lived long at

Hampton Court when there came an open breach between the King and

himself. The trouble increased, and he fell from his high place very

rapidly. When in 1526 he presented Hampton Court Palace to the King

something other than generosity must have prompted the gift.

Henry VIII. at once proceeded to make the palace more magnificent

still. He pulled down the Cardinal’s banqueting hall and erected a

more sumptuous one in its place; and this we can see to-day. Built in

the style known to architects as Tudor, it is one of the finest halls

in the whole of our land. Many huge beams of oak, beautifully fitted,

carved, and ornamented, support a magnificent panelled and decorated

roof, while glorious stained-glass windows (copies of the original ones

fitted under Henry VIII.’s directions) fill the place with subdued

light. The Great Gatehouse also belongs to Henry’s additions, and,

with its octagonal towers and great pointed arch, has a very royal and

imposing appearance.

Though no sovereign has dwelt in the palace for a century or more, it

was for nearly two hundred years a favourite residence of our Kings

and Queens, and many famous events have taken place within its walls.

Queen Mary and Queen Elizabeth were both very partial to the palace

and its delightful gardens, and they spent much time there. Indeed, it

is said that the latter was dining at Hampton when the glorious news

of Drake’s defeat of the Spanish Armada was carried to her. James I.

resided at the palace after his succession to the throne, and there, in

addition to selling quite openly any number of knighthoods and peerages

in order that he might add to his scanty means, he held the famous

conference which decided that a uniform and authorized translation of

the Bible should be made. In the great hall countless plays and masques

were performed, and probably the mighty Shakespeare himself visited the

place. King Charles I. spent many days at the Court, some of them as a

prisoner of the Parliamentary soldiers; and here too Cromwell made a

home until shortly before the time of his death. After the Restoration

Charles II. and his Court settled at the palace, and in the surrounding

parks indulged their fondness for the chase.

Immediately Mary and her husband, William of Orange, came to the

throne they commenced the alterations which have largely given us the

palace of to-day. The old State apartments were pulled down and, under

the direction of Sir Christopher Wren, larger and more magnificent

ones were erected, something on the lines of the famous French royal

palace at Versailles. At the same time William ordered the grounds to

be laid out in the style of the famous Dutch gardens. The next three

sovereigns, Anne, and the first and second Georges, all lived at the

Court; but from that time onwards it ceased to be a royal residence.

George III. would not go near the place. The story is told that on

one occasion at Hampton Court his grandfather boxed his ears soundly,

and he vowed never again to live on the scene of such an indignity.

At any rate, he divided up its thousand rooms into private suites of

apartments, which were given as residences to persons of high social

position whose incomes were not large enough to keep them. And to this

day a very considerable portion of the palace is shut off from public

view for the same purpose.

However, the parts which we can visit are extremely interesting.

Entering at the main gate by Molesey Bridge, we cross the outer Green

Court and come to the Moat. In Wolsey’s time this was crossed by a

drawbridge of the sort in use when palaces were fortresses as well

as dwelling-places. We now pass into the buildings over a fine old

battlemented Tudor bridge.

This was built by Henry VIII. in honour of Anne Boleyn; but for

centuries it lay buried and forgotten. Then one day, just before the

War, workmen came upon it quite accidentally as they were cleaning out

the old Moat.

Once through the gateway we come straight into the first of the

old-world courtyards—the Base Court—and we feel almost as if we had

stepped back several hundred years into a bygone age. The deep red

brickwork of the battlements and the walls, the quaint chimneys,

doorways, windows, and turrets, all belong to the distant past; they

make on us an impression which not even the splendour of Wren’s

additions can remove. Passing through another gateway—Anne Boleyn’s—we

come into the Clock Court, so called because of the curious old

timepiece above the archway. This clock was specially constructed for

Henry VIII., and for centuries it has gone on telling the minute of the

hour, the hour of the day, the day of the month, and the month of the

year.

The Great Hall, which we may approach by a stairway leading up from

Anne Boleyn’s Gateway is, as we have already said, a magnificent

apartment. The glory of its elaborate roof can never be forgotten.

Hanging on its walls are some very famous tapestries which have been

at Hampton Court since the days of Henry VIII. Among these are “tenne

pieces of new arras of the Historie of Abraham,” made in Brussels—some

of the richest and most beautiful examples of the art of weaving

ever produced. From the Great Hall we pass into what is known as the

Watching Chamber or the Great Guard Room—the apartment in which the

guards assembled when the monarch was at dinner, and through which

passed all who desired audience of their sovereign. On its walls are

wonderful old Flemish tapestries which once belonged to Wolsey himself.

From the Watching Chamber we pass to another chamber through which the

dishes were taken to the tables which stood on the dais at the end of

the Hall.

Returning once more to the ground floor we go through a hall and find

ourselves in Fountain Court. Here we enter another world entirely.

Behind us are the quaint, old-fashioned courtyards, and the beautiful,

restful Tudor buildings. The sudden change to Wren’s architecture

has an effect almost startling. Yet when once we have forgotten the

older buildings and become used to the very different style we see

that Wren’s work has a beauty of its own. The newer buildings are

very extensive, and the State apartments are filled with pictures and

furniture of great interest. Entrance is obtained by what is called

the King’s Great Staircase. The first room, entered by a fine doorway,

is the Guard Room, a fine, lofty chamber with the upper part of its

wall decorated with thousands of old weapons—guns, bayonets, pistols,

swords, etc. From thence we pass to the round of the magnificent

royal apartments—King’s rooms, Queen’s rooms, and so on, some thirty

or more of them—all filled with priceless treasures—beautiful and

rare paintings, delightful carvings from the master hand of Grinling

Gibbons, so delicate and natural that it is difficult to believe they

are made of wood, furniture of great historical interest and beauty.

Here are the famous pictures—the “Triumph of Julius Cæsar,” nine

large canvases showing the Roman emperor returning in triumph from

one of his many wars. These were painted by Mantegna, the celebrated

Italian artist, and originally formed part of the great collection

brought together at Hampton Court by Charles I. They are a priceless

possession. Here, too, are the famous “Hampton Court Beauties” and

“Windsor Beauties,” the first painted by Sir Godfrey Kneller, the

second by Sir Peter Lely, each portraying a number of famous beauties

of the Court. Walking leisurely round these apartments we can obtain

an excellent idea of the elaborate style of furnishing which was

fashionable two or three centuries ago.

Yet, despite all these most valuable relics of the past, which many

people come half across the world to view, for some folk the supreme

attraction of Hampton Court will always be the gardens. Very beautiful

they are too—the result of centuries of loving care by those, Kings

and commoners, who had time and inclination to think of garden making.

Perhaps to William of Orange must be given greatest credit in the

matter, for it was he who ordered the setting-out of the long, shady

avenues and alleys, and the velvety lawns and orderly paths. But we

must not forget our debt of gratitude to Henry for the wonderful little

sunken garden on the south side of the palace, perhaps one of the

finest little old English gardens still in existence; and to Charles I.

for the Canal, over a mile long, with its shady walk, and its birds and

fishes, and its air of dreamy contentment.

Tens of thousands visit these grounds in the summer months, and the

old grape-vine is always one of the chief attractions. Planted as long

ago as 1768, it still flourishes and bears an abundant crop each year,

sometimes as many as 2,500 bunches, all of fine quality. Its main stem

is now over four feet in circumference, and its longest branch about

one hundred and twenty feet in length. On the east front, stretching

in one unbroken line across the Home Park for three-quarters of a mile

towards Kingston, is the Long Water, an ornamental lake made by Charles

II. North of the buildings is another garden, known as the Wilderness,

and here we may find the celebrated Maze, constructed in the time of

William and Mary. This consists of a great number of winding and

zig-zag paths, hedged on each side with yew and other shrubs; and the

puzzle is to find the way into the little open space in the centre.

On almost any day in the summer can be heard the merry laughter of

visitors who have lost their way in the labyrinth of paths.

Still farther north lies Bushey Park, with its famous Chestnut Avenue,

stretching over a mile in the direction of Teddington. Here are more

than a thousand acres of the finest English parkland; and this,

together with the large riverside stretch known as the Home Park,

formed the royal demesne in which the monarchs and their followers

hunted the deer.

As was said at the beginning of the chapter, only with reluctance do we

leave Hampton Court, partly because of its very great beauty, partly

because of its enthralling historical associations. As we turn our

backs on the great Chancellor’s memorial, we think perhaps a trifle

sadly of all that the place must have meant to Wolsey, and there

come to mind those resounding words which Shakespeare put into his

mouth—“Farewell, a long farewell, to all my greatness.”

CHAPTER NINE

_Kingston_

Already we have seen that in many cases, if not in most, the River has

founded the towns on its banks. These have sprung up originally to

guard either an important crossing or the junction of a tributary with

the main stream or a “gate” where the River has found a way through the

hills; and then, outliving the period of their military usefulness,

they have developed later into centres of some commercial importance.

Thus it has been with Kingston-upon-Thames, a place of ancient fame,

for, according to the geology of the district, there must have been at

this spot one of the lowest fords of the River.

That there was on Kingston Hill a Roman station guarding that ford

there can be very little doubt; and there are evidences that a

considerable Roman town was situated here, for the Roman remains

brought to light have been fairly abundant.

Workmen digging or ploughing on the hillside up towards Coombe Warren

have, at various times in the past, discovered the foundations of Roman

villas, with gold, silver, and bronze coins of the fourth century, and

numerous household goods, and in one place a cemetery full of funeral

urns.

But it was not till Saxon times that Kingston came to the heyday of its

existence. Then it was a place of the greatest possible importance,

for here England was united into one country under one King. Prior

to the union England was divided off into a number of states, which

found amusement in fighting each other when they were not fighting

the ancient Britons in their western fastnesses. These states were

Northumbria, in the north; Mercia in the Midlands; Wessex in the

south-west; and, in addition, the smaller areas of East Anglia, Essex,

and Kent. When any one chieftain or king was sufficiently strong to

defeat the others, and make them do his will, he became for the time

being the “bretwalda,” or overlord; but it was a very precarious

honour. The kings in turn won the distinction, but the greater ones

emerged from the struggle, and in the end Egbert, king of Wessex, by

subduing the Mercians, became so powerful that all the other kings

submitted to him. Thus Egbert became the first king or overlord of all

the English (827), and picked on Kingston as the place for his great

council or witenagemot.

Then followed the terrible years of the Danish invasions, and England

was once more split up into sections; but the trouble passed, and

Edward the Elder, elected and crowned king of Wessex at Kingston,

eventually became the real King of England, the first to be addressed

in those terms by the Pope of Rome.

Thence onward Kingston was the recognized place of coronation for the

English Kings, till Edward the Confessor allotted that distinction to

his new Abbey at Westminster. In addition, it was one of the royal

residences and the home of the Bishops of Winchester, whose palace was

situated where now a narrow street, called Bishop’s Hall, runs down

from Thames Street to the River. So that Kingston’s position as one of

the chief towns of Wessex was acknowledged.

The stone on which the Saxon Kings were crowned stands now quite close

to the market-place, jealously guarded by proper railings, as such a

treasure should be. Originally it was housed in a little chapel, called

the Chapel of St. Mary, close to the Parish Church, and with it were

preserved effigies of the sovereigns crowned; but unfortunately in the

year 1730 the chapel collapsed, killing the foolish sexton who had been

digging too close to the foundations. Then for years the stone was

left out in the market-place, unhonoured and almost unrecognized, till

in the year 1850 it was rescued and mounted in its present position.

According to the inscription round the base, the English Kings crowned

at Kingston included Edward the Elder (902), Athelstan (924), Edmund I.

(940), Edred (946), Edwy the Fair (955), Edward the Martyr (975), and

Ethelred II. (979).

That most wretched of monarchs, King John, gave the town its first

charter, and for a time at least resided here. In the High Street

there is now shown a quaint old building to which the title of “King

John’s Dairy” has been given, and this possibly marks the situation of

the King’s dwelling-place.

There was a castle here from quite early days, for we read that in

1263, when Henry III. was fighting against his barons, Kingston Castle

fell into the hands of de Montfort’s colleagues, who captured and held

the young Prince Edward; and that Henry returned in the following year

and won the castle back again. At the spot where Eden Street joins the

London Road were found the remains of walls of great thickness, and

these, which are still to be seen in the cellars of houses there, are

commonly supposed to be the foundations of a castle held by the Earls

of Warwick at the time of the Wars of the Roses, and possibly of an

even earlier structure.

Right down through history Kingston, probably by reason of its

important river crossing, has had its peaceful life disturbed at

intervals by the various national struggles. Armies have descended on

it suddenly, stayed the night, taken their fill, and gone on their

way; a few have come and stayed. Monarchs have broken their journeys

at this convenient spot, or have dined here in state to show their

favour. For Kingston, as the King’s “tun” or town should, has always

been a distinctly Royalist town, has invariably declared for the

sovereign—right or wrong.

[Illustration: KINGSTON.]

Thus in 1554, when young Sir Thomas Wyatt raised his army of ten

thousand to attack London, and found the Bridge too strong to force,

he made his way westwards to the convenient crossing at Kingston; but

the inhabitants broke down their bridge to delay his progress, and so

enabled Mary to get together a force; for which act of devotion the

citizens were rewarded with a free charter by Queen Mary.

Similarly, in the Civil War the town stood firmly by Charles, despite

the fact that the town was occupied by cavaliers and roundheads in

turn. Thus in October, 1642, the Earl of Essex settled down with

several thousand men; while in November Sir Richard Onslow came to

defend the crossing. But the inhabitants showed themselves extremely

“malignant”; though when, just after, the King came to the town with

his army he was greeted with every sign of joyous welcome.

Also at Kingston occurred one of the numerous risings which happened

during the year 1648. All over the land the Royalists gathered men

and raised the King’s standard, hoping that Parliament would not be

able to cope with so many simultaneous insurrections. In July the

Earl of Holland, High Steward of Kingston, the Duke of Buckingham,

and his brother Lord Francis Villiers, got together a force of

several hundred horsemen, but they were heavily defeated by a force of

Parliamentarians, and Lord Villiers was killed.

[Illustration: Teddington Weir]

Nowadays, despite the fact that the town has held its own through

a thousand years, neither losing in fame a great deal nor gaining,

Kingston does not give one any impression of age. True, it has some

ancient dwellings here and there, but for the most part they are hidden

away behind unsightly commercial frontages.

Between Kingston and Richmond the River sweeps round in an inverted

=S=-bend, passing on the way Teddington and Twickenham, formerly

two very pretty riverside villages. The former possess the lowest

pound-lock on the River (with the exception of that of the half-tide

lock at Richmond), and also a considerable weir. It is the point at

which the tide reaches its limit, and thereby gets its name Teddington,

or Tide-ending-town.

CHAPTER TEN

_Richmond_

Richmond is an old place with a new name, for though its history goes

back to Saxon times, it did not get its present name till the reign of

Henry VII., when “Harry of Richmond” rechristened it in allusion to the

title which he received from the Yorkshire town. Prior to that it had

always been called Sheen, and the name still survives in an outlying

part of the town.

Sheen Manor House had been right from Saxon days a hunting lodge and

an occasional dwelling for the Sovereigns, but Edward III. built a

substantial palace, and, absolutely deserted by all his friends, died

in it in the year 1377. He was succeeded by his young grandson, the

Black Prince’s child Richard, who spent most of his childhood with his

mother Joan at Kingston Castle, just a mile or two higher upstream.

Richard’s wife, Queen Anne of Bohemia, died in Sheen Palace in the

year 1394, and Richard was so upset that he had the palace pulled down,

and never visited Sheen again.

[Illustration: Richmond Hill from Petersham Meadows]

This, however, by no means ended the life of Sheen as a royal

residence, for Henry V. built a new house, and when, in 1498, this was

burned down, Henry VII. built a new palace on a much grander scale,

and at the same time gave it the name which it still bears. With the

Tudor kings and queens Richmond was a very great favourite. “Bluff King

Hal” loved to hunt in its woodland, and here, in 1603, “good Queen

Bess” died, after forty-five years of a troublous but prosperous and

progressive reign. Charles I. spent much of his time here, and he it

was who added Richmond Park to the royal domain in the year 1637.

After the Civil War the palace was set aside for the use of the

widowed Queen Henrietta Maria, but by that time it had got into a very

dilapidated condition; and little or nothing was done to improve it.

So that before long this once stately palace fell to pieces and was

removed piecemeal. Now all that remains of it is a gateway by Richmond

Green.

Richmond to-day is merely a suburb of London, one of the pleasure

grounds of the city’s countless workers, who come hither on Saturdays

and Sundays either to find exercise and enjoyment on the River, or

to breathe the pure air of the park. This New Park, so called to

distinguish it from the Old Deer Park, which lies at the other end of

the town, is a very fine place indeed. Surrounded by a wall about

eleven miles long, it covers 2,250 acres of splendid park and woodland,

with glorious views in all directions. In it are to be found numerous

deer which spend their young days here, and later are transferred to

Windsor Park. The Old Deer Park, of which about a hundred acres are

open to the public for football, golf, tennis, and other pastimes, lies

by the riverside between the town and Kew Gardens.

[Illustration: From the Terrace Richmond]

The view of the River Thames from the Terrace on Richmond Hill is

world-famous. Countless artists have painted it, and many writers have

described it; and probably it has deserved all the good things said

about it, for even now, spoiled as it is by odd factory chimneys and

unsightly buildings dotted about, it still remains one of the most

delightful vistas of the silvery, winding River. Those of you who

have read Scott’s “Heart of Midlothian” will probably remember the

passage (chapter xxxvi.) which describes it: “The equipage stopped

on a commanding eminence, where the beauty of English landscape was

displayed in its utmost luxuriance. Here the Duke alighted and desired

Jeanie to follow him. They paused for a moment on the brow of a hill,

to gaze on the unrivalled landscape which it presented. A huge sea

of verdure, with crossing and intersecting promontories of massive

and tufted groves, was tenanted by numberless flocks and herds, which

seemed to wander unrestrained and unbounded through the rich pastures.

The Thames, here turreted with villas and there garlanded with

forests, moved on slowly and placidly, like the mighty monarch of the

scene, to whom all its other beauties were but accessories, and bore

on its bosom a hundred barks and skiffs, whose white sails and gaily

fluttering pennons gave life to the whole. The Duke was, of course,

familiar with this scene; but to a man of taste it must be always new.”

Nor have the poets been behindhand with their appreciation, as the

following extract from James Thomson’s “Seasons” shows:

“Heavens! what a goodly prospect spreads around, Of hills, and dales,

and woods, and lawns, and spires, And glittering towers, and gilded

streams, till all The stretching landscape into smoke decays.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

_Richmond to Westminster_

Just below Richmond, on the borders of the Middlesex village of

Isleworth, there is a foot-passenger toll-bridge, with what is known as

a half-tide lock. The arches of this bridge are open to river traffic

during the first half of the ebb-tide and the second half of the flow,

but the River is dammed for the remainder of the day in order that

sufficient water may be kept in the stretch immediately above. This,

for the present, is the last obstruction on the journey seawards.

Isleworth, with its riverside church, its ancient inn, “The London

Apprentice,” and its great flour-mill, is a typical riverside village

which has lived on out of the past. Between it and Brentford lies the

magnificent seat of the Dukes of Northumberland—Sion House—a fine

dwelling situated in a delightful expanse of parkland facing Kew

Gardens on the Surrey shore.

Of Kew Gardens, which stretch beside the River from the Old Deer Park

almost to Kew Bridge, it is difficult for one who loves nature to speak

in moderate terms, for it is one of the most delightful places in the

whole of our land. At every season of the year, almost every day, there

is some fresh enchantment, some glory of tree or flower unfolding

itself, so that one can go there year after year, week in and week out,

without exhausting its treasure-house of wonders, even though there is

only a matter of 350 acres to explore.

[Illustration:

KEW PALACE AND KEW GARDENS.]

The Royal Botanical Gardens, as their proper name is, were first

laid out by George III. in the year 1760, and were presented to the

nation by Queen Victoria in the year 1840. Since then the authorities

have planned and worked assiduously and wisely to bring together a

botanical collection of such scope and admirable arrangement that

it is practically without rival in the world. Here may be seen,

flourishing in various huge glasshouses, the most beautiful of tropical

and semi-tropical plants—palms, ferns, cacti, orchids, giant lilies,

etc.; while in the magnificently laid out grounds are to be found

flowers, trees, and shrubs of all kinds growing in a delightful

profusion. There is not a dull spot anywhere; while the rhododendron

dell, the azalea garden, the rock garden, and the rose walks are

indescribably beautiful. Nor is beauty the only consideration, for the

carefully planned gardens, with their splendid museum, are of untold

value to the gardener and the botanist.

Nor must we forget that Kew had its palace. Frederick, Prince of Wales,

father of George III. and great patron of Surrey cricket, resided at

Kew House, as did his son after him. The son pulled down the mansion in

1803 and erected another in its place; and, not to be outdone, George

IV. in turn demolished this. The smaller dwelling-house—dignified now

by the title of palace—a homely red-brick building, known in Queen

Anne’s time as the “Dutch House,” was built in the reign of James I. In

it died Queen Charlotte.

If we speak with unstinting praise of Kew, what shall we say of

Brentford, opposite it on the Middlesex side of the stream? Surely no

county in England has a more untidy and squalid little county town. Its

long main street is narrow to the point of danger, so that it has been

necessary to construct at great cost a new arterial road which will

avoid Brentford altogether; while many of its byways can be dignified

by no better word than slums. Yet Brentford in the past was a place of

some note in Middlesex, and had its share of history. Indeed, in recent

times it has laid claim to be the “ford” where Julius Cæsar crossed on

his way to Verulam, a claim which for years was held undisputedly by

Cowey Stakes, near Walton.

Now the Great Western Railway Company’s extensive docks, where numerous

barges discharge and receive their cargoes, and the incidental sidings

and warehouses, the gas-works, the various factories and commercial

buildings, make riverside Brentford a thing of positive ugliness.

On the bank above the ferry, close to the spot where the little Brent

River joins the main stream, the inhabitants, proud of their share

in the nation’s struggles, have erected a granite pillar with the

following brief recital of the town’s claims to notoriety:

54 B.C.—At this ancient fortified ford the British tribesmen, under

Cassivelaunus, bravely opposed Julius Cæsar on his march to Verulamium.

A.D. 780-1.—Near by Offa, King of Mercia, with his Queen, the bishops,

and principal officers, held a Council of the Church.

A.D. 1016.—Here Edmund Ironside, King of England, drove Cnut and his

defeated Danes across the Thames.

A.D. 1640.—Close by was fought the Battle of Brentford between the

forces of King Charles I. and the Parliament.

From Kew Bridge onwards the River loses steadily in charm if it gains

somewhat in importance. The beauty which has clung to it practically

all the way from the Cotswolds now almost entirely disappears, giving

place to a generally depressing aspect, relieved here and there with

just faint suggestions of the receding charm.

A short distance downstream is Mortlake, once a pretty little riverside

village, now almost a suburb of London, and quite uninteresting save

that it marks the finish of the University Boatrace. This, as all folk

in the Thames Valley (and many out of it) are aware, is rowed each year

upstream from Putney to Mortlake, usually on the flood-tide.

[Illustration:

PUTNEY to MORTLAKE Championship Course]

Barnes, on the Surrey shore, is a very ancient place. The Manor of

Barn Elmes was presented by Athelstan (925-940) to the canons of St.

Paul’s, and by them it has been held ever since. The name possibly came

from the great barn or spicarium, which the canons had on the spot. The

place is now the home of the Ranelagh Club—a famous club for outdoor

pursuits, notably polo, golf, and tennis.

Fulham Palace, on the Middlesex bank, not far from Putney Bridge, is

the “country residence” of the Bishops of London. For nine centuries

the Bishops have held the manor of Fulham, and during most of the time

have had their domicile in the village. In these days, when Fulham is

one of the utterly dreary districts of London, with acres and acres

of dull, commonplace streets, it is hard indeed to think of it as a

fresh riverside village with fine old mansions and a wide expanse of

market-gardens and a moat-surrounded palace hidden among the tall trees.

[Illustration:

Fulham Palace The Quadrangle Fitz James Gateway.]

The River now begins to run through London proper, and from its banks

rise wharves, warehouses, factories, and numerous other indications

of its manifold commercial activities. Thus it continues on past

Wandsworth, where the tiny river Wandle joins forces and where there

is talk of erecting another half-tide lock, past Fulham, Chelsea,

Battersea, Pimlico, Vauxhall, and Lambeth, on to Westminster.

[Illustration: RANELAGH.]

At Chelsea and Vauxhall were situated those famous pleasure-gardens—the

Ranelagh and Cremorne Gardens at the former, and the Spring Gardens

at the latter—which during the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries

provided London with so much in the way of entertainment. Vauxhall

Gardens were opened to the public some time after the Restoration, and

at once became popular, so that folk of all sorts, rich and poor alike,

came to pass a pleasant evening. An account written in 1751 speaks of

the gardens as “laid out in so grand a taste that they are frequented

in the three summer months by most of the nobility and gentry then

in or near London.” The following passage from Smollett’s “Humphrey

Clinker” aptly describes the dazzling scene: “A spacious garden, part

laid out in delightful walks, bounded with high hedges and trees, and

paved with gravel; part exhibiting a wonderful assemblage of the most

picturesque and striking objects, pavilions, lodges, graves, grottos,

lawns, temples, and cascades; porticoes, colonnades, rotundas; adorned

with pillars, statues, and paintings; the whole illuminated with an

infinite number of lamps, disposed in different figures of suns, stars,

and constellations; the place crowded with the gayest company, ranging

through those blissful shades, and supping in different lodges on

cold collations, enlivened with mirth, freedom, and good humour, and

animated by an excellent band of music.”

In the early days most of the folk came by water, and the river was

gay with boatloads of revellers Barges and boats waited each evening

at Westminster and Whitehall Stairs in readiness for passengers; and

similarly at various places along the city front craft plied for hire

to convey the citizens, their wives and daughters, and even their

apprentices.

Ranelagh was not quite so ancient, and it encouraged a slightly better

class of visitor: otherwise it was the counterpart of Vauxhall, as was

Cremorne. It was famous, among other things, for its regatta. In 1775

this was a tremendous water-carnival. The River from London Bridge

westwards was covered with boats of all sorts, and stands were erected

on the banks for the convenience of spectators.

Ranelagh was demolished in 1805, but Vauxhall persisted right on till

1859, when it too came under the auctioneer’s hammer. Where Cremorne

once stood is now the huge power-station so prominent in this stretch

of the river; and the famous coffee-house kept by “Don Saltero” in the

early eighteenth century was in Cheyne Walk.

Chelsea in its day has achieved fame in quite a variety of ways.

Apart from its pleasure gardens it has come to be well-known for its

beautiful old physic-garden; its hospital for aged soldiers, part

of the gardens of which were included in Ranelagh; its bun-house;

its pottery; and last, but by no means least, for its association

with literary celebrities. Here have lived, and worked, and, in some

cases, died, writers of such different types as Sir Thomas More,

whose headless body was buried in the church, John Locke, Addison,

Swift, Smollett, Carlyle—the “sage of Chelsea”—Leigh Hunt, Rossetti,

Swinburne, and Kingsley. Artists, too, have congregated in these quiet

streets, and the names of Turner and Whistler will never be forgotten.

[Illustration: THE POWER-STATION, CHELSEA.]

At Lambeth may still be seen the famous palace of the Archbishops of

Canterbury, a beautiful building of red-brick and stone, standing in

an old-world garden. Some parts of it are very old: one, the Lollards’

Tower, is an exceedingly fine relic of medieval building. Close at

hand stands the huge pile of buildings which house the pottery works

of Messrs. Doulton. For some reason or other Lambeth has long been

associated with this industry.

[Illustration: THE LOLLARDS’ TOWER, LAMBETH PALACE.]

As early as 1670 one Edward Warner sold potters’ clay here, and

exported it in huge quantities to Holland and other countries, and

various potters, some Dutch, settled in the district. All this stretch

of the River seems to have been famous for its china-works in the past,

for there were celebrated potteries at Fulham, Chelsea, and Battersea

as well. Of these Battersea has passed away, and its productions are

eagerly sought after by collectors, but Fulham and Lambeth remain,

while Chelsea, after a long interval, is reviving this ancient craft.

Thus we have traversed in fancy the whole of this wonderful

River—so fascinating to both young and old, to both studious and

pleasure-seeking. The more we learn of it the more we are enthralled by

its story, by the immense share it has had in the shaping of England’s

destinies.

We started with a consideration of what those wonderful people the

geologists could tell us of the River in dim, prehistoric days; and we

feel inclined to turn once more to them in conclusion. For they tell

us now that the Thames is growing less; that, just as in times past

it captured the waters of other streams and reduced them to trickling

nothings, so in turn it is succumbing day by day to the depredations

of the River Ouse, which is slowly cutting off its head. Some day,

perhaps, the Thames will be just a tiny rivulet, and the Port of London

will be no more; but I think the tides will ebb and flow under London

Bridge many times before it comes to pass.

INDEX

Abingdon, 263-5

Alfred, King, 141, 249

All Hallows, Barking, 75

Ancient Britons, 120-6

Arnold, Matthew, 261

Arthur, King, 287

Barking, 71-6 Abbey, 72-5 Sewage Works, 75-6

Barnes, 338-9

Battersea, 340, 347

Baynards Castle, 160

Becket, Thomas, 145, 151, 274

Benfleet, 39

Besant, Sir Walter, 162-3, 184

Big Ben, 225

Billingsgate, 101-2

Black Death, 161

Blackfriars, 195-7

Blackwall, 112-3 Tunnel, 113

Boatrace, Universities, 259, 338

Boleyn, Anne, 175-7, 310-11

Brentford, 336

Bridges, 205, 230, 232, 242

Buckingham Palace, 208

Bushey Park, 316

Canning Town, 114

Canute, 141-2

Canvey Island, 38-9

Cement, 49, 55-6

Chatham, 46-7

Chaucer, Geoffrey, 162, 294

Chelsea, 341, 343-4, 347

Cherwell, 257-8

Chilterns, 10, 268-70

Cholsey, 284

Churn, River, 240

Cleopatra’s Needle, 228

Cliveden Woods, 282-3

Coal, 114-5, 164-5

Coldharbour Palace, 160

Colne, River, 240

Cookham, 279

Cooling Castle, 52-3

County Hall, 232-3

Cremorne Gardens, 343

Cricklade, 240

Crosby Hall, 159

Culham, 284

Cumnor, 243

Customs Officers, 115-6

Dagenham Breach, 70

Dagenham Dock, 71 Marshes, 68-71

Danes, 18, 33, 140-1

Defoe, Daniel, 36, 183-4

Dene-holes at Grays, 67-8

De Ruyter, 41

Dickens, Charles, 51, 52

Dockland, 24-6

Docks: Blackwall, 112-3 East India, 104 Execution, 102, 110 London,

110-1 Millwall, 112 Regent’s Canal, 111 Royal Albert, 113-4 St.

Katherine’s, 102, 105 St. Saviour’s, 102, 108 Surrey Commercial, 112

Victoria, 113 West India, 112

“Don Saltero,” 343

Dorchester, 265-6

Duke of Buckingham, 205

Dumouriez, 53

Durham Palace, 207

Dutch in the Medway, 42-5

Eastchurch, 35

East Ham, 113-4

East India Docks, 104

Edward the Confessor, 211

Eleanor of Provence, 153, 223

Embankment, The, 227-8

Estuary, The, 16-19, 31-39 defence of, 52

Eton College, 298-304

Evelyn, John, 41, 61-2, 186-90

Evenlode, River, 243

Execution Dock, 110-1

Fire of London, the Great, 159

FitzStephen, 145-7

Flamsteed, 99

Fleet River, 193-5 Street, 195

Fobbing, 60

Fort Grain, 35

Franklin, Sir John, 66

Frindsbury, 49

Fulham, 339

Godstow, 243

Goring Gap, 267-8

Gravesend, 52-6 proposed dam, 62-3

Grays, 67

Great Marlow, 281-2

Greenhithe, 21, 66

Greenwich, 87-100 Hospital, 92-7 Ministerial dinners at, 91

Observatory, 98-100 Royal births at, 89

Grey, Lady Jane, 175

Hakluyt, 90-1

Halley, 100

Hampton Court, 305-16

Harold, King, 143, 288

Henley, 280-1

Holiday Thames, 279-284

Houses of Parliament, 220-6

Howard, Katherine, 175-7

“Humphrey Clinker,” 342

Humphrey, Duke, 88

Hungerford House, 206

Iffley, 262

Isis, 239, 259

Isle of Dogs, 112 Grain, 35

Isleworth, 332

Jack Straw, 60

John Ball, 60

Jones, Inigo, 92

Kelmscott, 241

Kennet, River, 277

Kew Gardens, 333-5 Palace, 335

Kingston, 317-25

Knights of the Garter, 296-7

Knights Templar, 199-202

Lambeth, 344-7

Lechlade, 239

Legal quays, 102

Limehouse, 111-2 Basin, 111 Reach, Medway, 49

Llyndin Hill, 125, 130

London, a city of palaces, 157 and the Danes, 140-2 Fire of, 181-192

fires in, 25, 151, 181 fogs, 23 foundation of, 123-9 Friars in, 195-8

Hospitals, 233 in Norman days, 143-6 in Middle Ages, 157-65 in Roman

days, 130-6 in Saxon days, 137-40 Plague in, 183-4 reasons for position

of, 126-9 remains of Roman Wall, 133-6 Tower of, 166-80

London Bridge, 147-156 a great procession on, 155 a tournament on, 154

its dangers, 151 its relation to the City, 128-9

L.C.C. County Hall, 232

London Dock, 110-1

London Stone, Yantlet Creek, 35

Lower Reaches, 19-23

Macfarlane, Charles, 42

Maidenhead, 46

Marshes on banks, 16, 64-76

Mandeville, Geoffrey de, 171-2

Matilda, Empress, 170-2

Maud of Boulogne, 105, 171

Medway, River, 40-51

Merton, Walter de, 251

Millwall Dock, 112

Minster-in-Sheppey, 32

Monument, The, 181-2

Morris, William, 241-2

Mortlake, 338

New Bridge, 242

Nore Lightship, 15, 118

Northfleet, 65-6

Northumberland House, 207

Old Windsor, 287

Oxford, 246-262 Bodleian Library, 255 Castle, 256 Colleges, 251-5

founding of the University, 249-51 its origin, 247-8 Tom Tower, 254

Pangbourne, 279

Peasants’ Revolt, 60

Pepys, Samuel, 34, 77, 186

Peter of Colechurch, 148

Pett, Peter, 47

Pilots, 55

Placentia, Palace of, 89

Plague, the Great, 183-4

Pool, The, 26-8

Port Meadow, 243

Port of London, 23-6, 101-19 Authority, 15, 118-19

Port Victoria, 35

Princes in Tower, 171

Purfleet, 68

Putney, 338-9

Queenborough, 35

Queenhithe, 101

Radley, 284

Ranelagh Gardens, 343

Reading, 271-8 Abbey, 272-6 and the Civil War, 275 modern, 277-8

Regent’s Canal Dock, 111

Richmond, 326-31

River police, 116-8

Rochester, 49-51

Roding, River, 71-2

Roman remains in London, 132-5

Rosherville Gardens, 65

Rotherhithe, 113

Royal Albert Dock, 113-4 Victoria Dock, 113-4

Savoy Palace, 204-5

Saxon Kings crowned at Kingston, 319-20

“Scholar Gypsy,” 261-2

Scotland Yard, 207

Shadwell, 105

Sheen, 327

Sheerness, 34

Sheppey, 31-3

Shoeburyness, 37-8

Shooter’s Hill, 77-9

Silvertown, 114

Sion House, 332

Somerset House, 203

Sonning, 279-80

Southend, 36-7

St. James’s Park, 207

St. Katherine’s Dock, 102, 105

St. Paul’s Cathedral, 124, 188, 191, 211

St. Saviour’s Dock, 102, 108

St. Thomas’s Hospital, 233

Staple Inn, 159

Stephen, King, 170, 256, 267

Stow, 161, 179

Strand, The, 193

Streatley, 268

“Stripling Thames,” 237-45

Stroud, 49

Surrey Commercial Dock, 112

Swale, The, 41

Tea, 106

Teddington, 325

Temple Bar, 232 Church, 201 Gardens, 202

Temple, The, 199-203

Thame, River, 265

Thames Haven, 68

Thames Head, 237

Thames River, early tributaries of, 239 geology of, 267-70 locks

on, 243-5 material brought down by, 64-5 origin of, 2-5 reasons for

importance, 11-14 terraces of bed, 283-4 the basin of, 7-10 the

sources, 237-9 tunnels under, 113

Thorney Island, 130, 211-2

Tilbury, 57-63 Docks, 71, 104 Fort, 57 Elizabeth at, 57-8

Tower Bridge, 231

Tower of London, 166-80

Trewsbury Mead, 237-9

Twickenham, 325

Upnor Castle, 4

Vale of the White Horse, 241

Vauxhall Gardens, 341-3

Wallingford, 144, 266-7

Wandle, River, 340

Wandsworth, 339

Wapping, 108-10 Old Stairs, 108-10

Watling Street, 126, 130, 132, 144

Wat Tyler, 60, 156, 204

Waynflete, William, 299

West Ham, 113-4

West India Dock, 104, 112

Westminster, 209-226 the founding of, 210

Westminster Abbey, 212-9 Chapter House, 218 Confessor’s Chapel, 213

founding of, 212 Henry VII. Chapel, 215 Poets’ Corner, 215 Remains of

Old Abbey, 213 Tomb of Unknown Warrior, 218

Westminster Hall, 222 Palace, 220

Whitefriars, 197-9

Whitehall Palace, 207-8

Whittington, Dick, 165

Widths of the Thames, 15, 26

William and Mary, 92, 309

William the Conqueror, 73, 143, 256, 266, 285, 288

Windrush, River, 242

Windsor, 285-304 growth of Castle, 288-95 origin of, 287 Round Tower,

297 St. George’s Chapel, 296

Wolsey, Cardinal, 207, 253, 305

Woolwich, 77-86 Arsenal, 81-6 Dockyard, 80-1

Wren, Sir Christopher, 92, 228, 309, 312

Wykeham, William, 35, 293, 298

Yantlet Creek, 35

York House, 205

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[Illustration:

Map of the River Thames from Windsor to the Nore]

[Illustration:

Map of the River Thames to the Nore]