It is still a matter of dispute whether the oak tree still standing is
the original tree which gave shelter to the king, or one grown from an
acorn planted where the old tree stood. An old work says:—
“King Charles II. took refuge in the Boscobel Oak in September, 1651.
The tidings of his majesty’s restoration, and of his entry into
London on the 29th of May, 1660, reached this county early in June.
‘Hundreds of people’ now flocked to see the oak; and such was the
destruction of ‘its young boughs’ during the summer that within six
months after the mischief commenced the proprietor, Mr. Fitzherbert,
judiciously pruned it ‘for its preservation’, and fenced it with a
‘high’ paling. (Blount’s ‘Boscobel’, printed in 1660.) Thirty years
afterwards it is recorded by the Rev. G. Plaxton, rector of
Donington, that the paling had been superseded—he does not say in
what year—by a handsome brick wall, built also at the charge of Mr.
Fitzherbert (Basil and Jane), which brings us to the year 1690.
Twenty-one years later, in 1711, Dr. Stukeley visited the oak; and
again, thirteen years afterwards, Dr. Stukeley says—‘The tree is now
inclosed with a brick wall,’ bringing the safe custody of the tree
down to 1724. Sixty-three years later we learn from the old
inscription that Basil and Eliza Fitzherbert rebuilt the old wall of
their ancestors, recording that ‘Felicissimam Arborem Muro cinctam
posteris commendarunt Basilins et Jana Fitzherbert,’ bringing us to
the year 1787. This wall was eight or nine feet high, and
injuriously close to the tree; and after thirty years, that is in the
year 1817, the present palisades were erected, freely admitting light
and air to the hole, and affording a clear view of the whole tree,
with the holes in it carefully covered to keep out the wet.”
The king’s account of his visit to Madeley from “an authentic edition of
Pepys’ narrative,” published from the original MS. in the library of
Magdalene College, Cambridge, as given in the Boscobel Tracts, is as
follows:—
“As soon as I was disguised I took with me a country fellow, whose
name was Richard Penderell, whom Mr. Giffard had undertaken to answer
for to be an honest man. He was a Roman Catholic, and I chose to
trust them, because I knew they had hiding holes for priests, that I
thought I might make use of in case of need.
“I was no sooner gone (being the next morning after the battle, and
then broad day) out of the house with this country fellow, but being
in a great wood, I set myself at the edge of the wood, near the
highway that was there, the better to see who came after us, and
whether they made any search after the runaways, and I immediately
saw a troop of horse coming by, which I conceived to be the same
troop that beat our three thousand horse; but it did not look like a
troop of the army’s, but of the militia, for the fellow before it did
not look at all like a soldier.
“In this wood I staid all day, without meat or drink; and by great
good fortune it rained all the time, which hindered them, as I
believe, from coming into the wood to search for men that might be
fled thither. And one thing is remarkable enough, that those with
whom I have since spoken, of them that joined with the horse upon the
heath, did say that it rained little or nothing with them all the
day, but only in the wood where I was, this contributing to my
safety.
“As I was in the wood I talked with the fellow about getting towards
London: and asking him many questions about what gentlemen he knew, I
did not find he knew any man of quality in the way towards London.
And the truth is, my mind changed as I lay in the wood, and I
resolved of another way of making my escape; which was, to get over
the Severn into Wales, and so to get either to Swansey, or some other
of the sea-towns that I knew had commerce with France, to the end I
might get over that way as being a way that I thought none would
suspect my taking; besides that, I remembered several honest
gentlemen that were of my acquaintance in Wales.
“So that night, as soon as it was dark, Richard Penderell and I took
our journey on foot towards the Severn, intending to pass over a
ferry, halfway between Bridgenorth and Shrewsbury. But as we were
going in the night, we came by a mill where I heard some people
talking (memorandum, that I had got some bread and cheese the night
before at one of the Penderell’s houses, I not going in), and as we
conceived it was about twelve or one o’clock at night; and the
country fellow desired me not to answer if any body should ask me any
questions, because I had not the accent of the country.
“Just as we came to the mill, we could see the miller, as I believe,
sitting at the mill door, he being in white clothes, it being a very
dark night. He called out, “Who goes there?” Upon which Richard
Penderell answered, “Neighbours going home,” or some such-like words.
Whereupon the miller cried out, “If you be neighbours, stand, or I
will knock you down.” Upon which, we believing there was company in
the house, the fellow bade me follow him close, and he run to a gate
that went up a dirty lane, up a hill, and opening the gate, the
miller cried out, “Rogues! rogues!” And thereupon some men came out
of the mill after us, which I believe were soldiers; so we fell
a-running, both of us up the lane, as long as we could run, it being
very deep and very dirty, till at last I bade him leap over a hedge,
and lie still to hear if anybody followed us; which we did, and
continued lying down upon the ground about half an hour, when,
hearing nobody come, we continued our way on to the village upon the
Severn, where the fellow told me there was an honest gentleman, one
Mr. Woolfe, that lived in that town, where I might be with great
safety, for that he had hiding-holes for priests. But I would not go
in till I knew a little of his mind, whether he would receive so
dangerous a guest as me, and therefore stayed in a field, under a
hedge by a great tree, commanding him not to say it was I, but only
to ask Mr. Woolfe whether he would receive an English gentleman, a
person of quality, to hide him the next day, till we could travel
again by night, for I durst not go but by night.
“Mr. Woolfe, when the country fellow told him that it was one that
had escaped from the battle of Worcester, said that, for his part, it
was so dangerous a thing to harbour any body that was known, that he
would not venture his neck for any man, unless it were the king
himself. Upon which, Richard Penderell, very indiscreetly, and
without any leave, told him that it was I. Upon which Mr. Woolfe
replied, that he should be very ready to venture all he had in the
world to secure me. Upon which Richard Penderell came and told me
what he had done, at which I was a little troubled; but then there
was no remedy, the day being just coming on, and I must either
venture that or run some greater danger.
“So I came into the house a back way, where I found Mr. Woolfe, an
old gentleman, who told me he was very sorry to see me there, because
there was two companies of the militia foot at that time in arms in
the town, and kept a guard at the ferry, to examine every body that
came that way, in expectation of catching some that might be making
their escape that way; and that he durst not put me into any of the
hiding-holes of his house, because they had been discovered, and
consequently, if any search should be made, they would certainly
repair to these holes; and that therefore I had no other way of
security but to go into his barn, and there lie behind his corn and
hay. So after he had given us some cold meat that was ready, we,
without making any bustle in the house, went and lay in the barn all
the next day; when, towards evening, his son, who had been prisoner
at Shrewsbury, an honest man, was released, and came home to his
father’s house. And as soon as ever it began to be a little darkish,
Mr. Woolfe and his son brought us meat into the barn; and there we
discoursed with them whether we might safely get over the Severn into
Wales, which they advised me by no means to adventure upon, because
of the strict guards that were kept all along the Severn, where any
passage could be found, for preventing any body’s escaping that way
into Wales.”
In Harrison Ainsworth’s “Boscobel” several inaccuracies occur, so far as
the description of the king’s visit to Madeley is concerned. He speaks
of the Court as the place of retreat, and of a moat and drawbridge, all
of which is incorrect.
In the old house, now the property of Mr. Eastwick, where Mr. Wolfe
lived, is a portrait of Dame Joan, in the curious head-dress of the
period; and among the tombstones in the chapel of White Ladies, which has
been converted into a burying-place, is, or was, one bearing the
following inscription:—
“Here lyeth The bodie of a Friende The King did call
Dame Joan But now she is Deceast and gone
Interr’d Anno: Do. 1669.”
The _Gentleman’s Magazine_ for 1809, p. 809, contains a description of
this headstone at the White Ladies, by the late Rev. T. Dale, who says:—
“The stone stood on the north side of the chancel of the chapel, on
the left as you entered the chancel door. When, however, I became
curate of Donnington, in the year 1811, it had disappeared. I made
frequent inquiries, afterwards, at intervals, of the cottagers and
others, as to the disappearance of the monument, but without
obtaining any satisfactory information.”