Late in the afternoon we left York over the Great North Road for
Retford, from whence we expected to make the "Dukeries" circuit. The
road runs through a beautiful section and passes many of the finest of
the English country estates. It leads through Doncaster, noted for its
magnificent church, and Bawtry, from whence came many of the Pilgrim
Fathers who sailed in the Mayflower. This road is almost level
throughout, and although it rained continuously, the run of fifty miles
was made in record time--that is, as we reckoned record time.
At Retford we were comfortably housed at the White Hart Hotel, a well
conducted hostelry for a town of ten thousand. The "White Hart" must be
a favorite among English innkeepers, for I recollect that we stopped at
no fewer than seven hotels bearing this name during our tour and saw the
familiar sign on many others. On our arrival we learned that the
Dukeries trip must be made by carriage and that the fifty miles would
consume two days. We felt averse to subtracting so much from our already
short remaining time, and when we found still further that admission
was denied for the time at two of the most important estates, we decided
to proceed without delay. The motor would be of no advantage to us in
visiting the Dukeries, for the circuit must be made in a staid and
leisurely English victoria.
Since this chronicle was written, however, I have learned that the
embargo on motoring through the Dukeries is at least partially
raised--another step showing the trend in England in favor of the motor
car. By prearrangement with the stewards of the various estates,
permission may be obtained to take a car through the main private roads.
Thus the tourist will be enabled in half a day to accomplish what has
previously required at least two days driving with horse and carriage.
In this vicinity is Newstead Abbey, the ancestral home of Byron, and one
of our greatest disappointments was our inability to gain access to it.
Perhaps we might have done so if we had made arrangements sufficiently
in advance, since visitors are admitted, they told us, on certain days
by special permission. There has, however, been an increasing tendency
on the part of the owner to greatly limit the number of visitors. The
coal mines discovered on the lands have become a great source of wealth
and the abbey has been transformed into a modern palace in one of the
finest private parks in England. The rooms occupied by Byron, it is
said, are kept exactly as they were when he finally left Newstead and
there are many interesting relics of the poet carefully preserved by the
present proprietor.
It would be a bad thing for England if the tendency on the part of
private owners of historic places, to exclude visitors from their
premises, should become general. The disposition seems somewhat on the
increase, and not without cause. Indeed, I was told that in a number of
instances the privileges given had been greatly abused; that gardens had
been stripped of their flowers and relics of various kinds carried away.
This vandalism was not often charged against Americans, but rather
against local English "trippers," as they are called--people who go to
these places merely for a picnic or holiday. No doubt this could be
overcome--it has been overcome in a number of instances, notably Warwick
Castle and Knole House--by the charge of a moderate admission fee.
People who are willing to pay are not generally of the class who commit
acts of vandalism. That this practice is not adopted to a greater extent
is doubtless due to the fact that numbers of aristocratic owners think
there is something degrading in the appearance of making a commercial
enterprise out of the historic places which they possess.
It is only twenty miles from Retford to Lincoln, and long before we
reached the latter town we saw the towers of its great cathedral, which
crowns a steep hill rising sharply from the almost level surrounding
country. It is not strange that the cathedral-builders, always with an
eye to the spectacular and imposing, should have fixed on this
remarkable hill as a site for one of their churches. For miles from
every direction the three massive towers form a landmark as they rise
above the tile roofs of the town in sharp outline against the sky. To
reach Lincoln we followed a broad, beautiful highway, almost level until
it comes to the town, when it abruptly ascends the hill, which is so
steep as to tax the average motor. The cathedral in some respects is the
most remarkable and imposing in England. The distinctive feature is the
great towers of equal size and height, something similar to those of
Durham, though higher and more beautifully proportioned. The interior
shows some of the finest Norman architecture in the Kingdom and the
great Norman doorway is said to be the most perfect of its kind. Near
the chapel in the cathedral close is a bronze statue of Tennyson
accompanied by his favorite dog. This reminded us that we were in the
vicinity of the poet's birthplace, and we determined that the next point
in our pilgrimage should be Somersby, where the church and rectory of
Tennyson's father still stand.
We planned to reach Boston that evening, and as there were a good many
miles before us we were not able to give the time that really should be
spent in Lincoln. It has many ancient landmarks, the most remarkable
being a section of the Roman wall that surrounded the town about 15 A.D.
and in which the arch of one of the gateways is still entire. It now
appears to have been a very low gateway, but we were informed that
excavations had shown that in the many centuries since it was built the
earth had risen no less than eight feet in the archway and along the
wall. Lincoln Castle, much decayed and ruinous, is an appropriate
feature of one of the public parks. Along the streets leading up
Cathedral Hill are rows of quaint houses, no doubt full of interest; but
a motor tour often does not permit one to go much into detail.
So we bade farewell to Lincoln, only stopping to ask the hostler for
directions to the next town on our way. Generally such directions are
something like this: "Turn to the right around the next corner, pass two
streets, then turn to the left, then turn to the right again and keep
right along until you come to the town hall"--clock tower, or something
of the kind--"and then straight away." After you inquire two or three
more times and finally come to the landmark, you find three or four
streets, any one of which seems quite as "straight away" as the others,
and a consultation with a nearby policeman is necessary, after all, to
make sure you are right. When once well into the country, the
milestones, together with the finger-boards at nearly every parting of
the ways, can be depended on to keep you right. These conveniences,
however, are by no means evenly distributed and in some sections a
careful study of the map and road-book is necessary to keep from going
astray.
[Illustration: SOMERSBY RECTORY, BIRTHPLACE OF TENNYSON.]
The twenty miles to Somersby went by without special incident. This
quaint little hamlet--it can hardly be called a village--is almost
hidden among the hills, well off the main-traveled roads and railway. We
dashed through the narrow lanes, shaded in many places by great
over-arching trees and the road finally led across the clear little
brook made famous by Tennyson's verse. After crossing the bridge we were
in Somersby--if such an expression is allowable. Nothing is there except
the rectory, the church just across the way, the grange, and half a
dozen thatched cottages. A discouraging notice in front of the Tennyson
house stated positively that the place would not be shown under any
conditions except on a certain hour of a certain day of the week--which
was by no means the day nor the hour of our arrival. A party of English
teachers came toward us, having just met with a refusal, but one of them
said that Americans might have an exception made in their favor. Anyway,
it was worth trying.
Our efforts proved successful and a neat, courteous young woman showed
us over the rambling house. It is quite large--and had to be, in fact,
to accommodate the rector's family of no fewer than twelve children, of
whom the poet was the fourth. The oddest feature is the large dining
room, which has an arched roof and narrow, stained-glass windows, and
the ceiling is broken by several black-oak arches. At the base of each
of these is a queer little face carved in stone and the mantel is
curiously carved in black oak--all of this being the work of the elder
Tennyson himself. There is some dispute as to the poet's birthroom. Our
fair guide showed us all the rooms and said we might take our choice. We
liked the one which opened on the old-fashioned garden at the rear of
the house, for as is often the case in England, the garden side was more
attractive than the front. Just across the road stands the tiny church
of which the Rev. Tennyson was rector for many years. This was one of
the very smallest that we visited and would hardly seat more than fifty
people altogether. It is several hundred years old, and in the
churchyard is a tall, Norman cross, as old as the church itself.
[Illustration: SOMERSBY CHURCH.]
A rare thing it is to find the burying-ground around a church in England
quite neglected, but the one at Somersby is the exception to the rule.
The graves of the poet's father and brother were overgrown with grass
and showed evidences of long neglect. We expressed surprise at this, and
the old woman who kept the key to the church replied with some
bitterness that the Tennysons "were ashamed to own Somersby since they
had become great folks." Anyway, it seems that the poet never visited
the place after the family left in 1837. Near the church door was a box
with a notice stating that the congregation was small and the people
poor, and asking for contributions to be used in keeping the church in
repair. The grange, near the rectory, is occupied by the squire who owns
the birthplace, it is a weatherbeaten building of brick and gray stone
and perhaps the "gray old grange" referred to in "In Memoriam."
Altogether, Somersby is one of the quietest and most charming of places.
Aside from its connection with the great poet, it would be well worthy
of a visit as a bit of rural England. Scattered about are several great
English elms, which were no doubt large trees during the poet's boyhood,
a hundred years ago.
For a long distance our road from Somersby to Boston ran on the crest of
a hill, from which we had a far-reaching view over the lovely
Lincolnshire country. Shortly after, we left the hills and found
ourselves again in the fen country. Many miles before we reached Boston
we saw the great tower of St. Botolph's Church, in some respects the
most remarkable in England. They give it the inartistic and
inappropriate appellation of "The Stump," due to the fact that it rises
throughout its height of more than three hundred feet without much
diminution in size. So greatly does this tower dominate the
old-fashioned city that one is in danger of forgetting that there is
anything else in Boston, and though it is a place little frequented by
Americans, there are few quainter towns in England. Several hundred
years ago it was one of the important seaports, but it lost its position
because the river on which it is situated is navigable only by small
vessels at high tide.
Boston is of especial interest to Americans on account of its great
namesake in this country and because it was the point from which the
Pilgrim Fathers made their first attempt to reach America. Owing to
pestilence and shipwreck, they were compelled to return, and later they
sailed in the Mayflower on a more successful voyage from Plymouth. We
can get a pretty good idea of the reasons which led the Pilgrim Fathers
to brave everything to get away from their home land. One may still see
in the old town hall of Boston the small, windowless stone cells where
the Fathers were confined during the period of persecution against the
Puritans. Evidently they did not lay their sufferings against the town
itself, or they would hardly have given the name to the one they
founded in the New World. Boston is full of ancient structures, among
them Shodfriars Hall, one of the most elaborate half-timbered buildings
in the Kingdom. The hotels are quite in keeping with the dilapidation
and unprogressiveness of the town and there is no temptation to linger
longer than necessary to get an idea of the old Boston and its
traditions.
The country through which we traveled next day is level and apparently
productive fanning land. The season had been unusually dry and favorable
to the fen land, as this section is called. The whole country between
Boston and Norwich has scarcely a hill and the numerous drains showed
that it is really a reclaimed marsh. In this section English farming
appeared at its best. The crops raised in England and Scotland consist
principally of wheat, oats and various kinds of grasses. Our Indian corn
will not ripen and all I saw of it was a few little garden patches. The
fen country faintly reminds one of Holland, lying low and dotted here
and there with huge windmills. As a matter of curiosity, we visited one
of the latter. The miller was a woman, and with characteristic English
courtesy she made us acquainted with the mysteries of the ancient mill,
which was used for grinding Indian corn for cattle-feed.
Our route for the day was a circuitous one, as there were numerous
points that we wished to visit before coming to Norwich for the night.
A broad, level road leads from Boston to King's Lynn, a place of
considerable size. Its beginning is lost in antiquity, and a recent
French writer has undertaken to prove that the first settlement of
civilized man in Britain was made at this point. We entered the town
through one of the gateways, which has no doubt been obstructing the
main highway for several hundred years. It is a common thing in the
English towns to find on the main street one of the old gates, the
opening through which will admit but one vehicle at a time, often making
it necessary to station a policeman on each side to see that there are
no collisions. But the gateways have been standing for ages and it would
be sacrilege to think of tearing them down to facilitate traffic. Just
outside King's Lynn we passed Sandringham Palace, a spacious modern
country house and one of the favorite homes of the Royal Family.
[Illustration: ST. BOTOLPH'S CHURCH FROM THE RIVER, BOSTON.]
A few hours through winding byways brought us to the village of Burnham
Thorpe, the birthplace of Admiral Nelson. It is a tiny hamlet, whose
mean-looking, straggling cottages with red tiles lack the artistic
beauty of the average English village--the picturesque, thatched roofs
and brilliant flower gardens were entirely wanting. The admiral was the
son of the village rector, but the parsonage in which he was born was
pulled down many years ago. Still standing, and kept in good repair,
is the church where his father preached. The lectern, as the
pulpit-stand in English churches is called, was fashioned of oak taken
from Nelson's flagship, the Victory. The father is buried in the
churchyard and a memorial to Nelson has been erected in the church. The
tomb of the admiral is in St. Paul's Cathedral in London.
From Burnham Thorpe on the way to Norwich are the scant ruins of the
priory of Walsingham. In its palmy days this was one of the richest in
the world, and it is said that it was visited by more pilgrims than was
the shrine of Becket at Canterbury. In every instance a gift was
expected from the visitor, and as a consequence the monks fared
sumptuously. Among these pilgrims were many of the nobility and even
kings, including Henry VIII, who, after visiting the priory as a votary
in the early part of his reign, ordered its complete destruction in
1539. This order was evidently carried out, for only shattered fragments
of the ruins remain to show how splendid the buildings must once have
been.
Walsingham is an unusually quaint little village, with a wonderful,
ancient town pump of prodigious height and a curious church with a tall
spire bent several degrees from the perpendicular. Near the priory are
two springs, styled Wishing Wells, which were believed to have
miraculous power, the legend being that they sprang into existence at
the command of the Virgin. This illustrates one of the queer and not
unpleasing features of motoring in England. In almost every
out-of-the-way village, no matter how remote or small and how seldom
visited by tourists, one runs across no end of quaint landmarks and
historic spots with accompanying incidents and legends. Twenty miles
more through a beautiful country brought us in sight of the cathedral
spire of Norwich. This city has a population of about one hundred and
twenty thousand and there is a unique charm in its blending of the
mediaeval and modern. It is a progressive city with large business and
manufacturing interests, but these have not swept away the charm of the
old-time town. The cathedral is one of the most imposing in England,
being mainly of Norman architecture and surmounted by a graceful spire
more than three hundred feet in height. Norwich also presents the
spectacle of a modern cathedral in course of building, a thing that we
did not see elsewhere in England. The Roman Catholic Church is
especially strong in this section, and under the leadership of the Duke
of Norfolk has undertaken to build a structure that will rival in size
and splendor those of the olden time. No doubt the modern Catholics bear
in mind that their ancestors built all the great English churches and
cathedrals and that these were lost to them at the time of the
so-called Reformation of Henry VIII. Religious toleration does not
prevail to any such extent in England as in the United States and there
is considerable bitterness between the various sects.
Speaking of new cathedrals, while several are being built by the Roman
Catholics, only one is under construction by the Church of England--the
first since the days of the Stuarts. This is at Liverpool and the
foundations have barely been begun. The design for the cathedral was a
competitive one selected from many submitted by the greatest architects
in the world. The award was made to Gilbert Scott, a young man of only
twenty-one and a grandson of the famous architect of the same name who
had so much to do with the restoration of several of the cathedrals. The
Liverpool church is to be the greatest in the Kingdom, even exceeding
York Minster and St. Paul's in size. No attempt is made to fix the time
when the building will be completed, but the work will undoubtedly
occupy several generations.
In Norwich we stopped at the Maid's Head Hotel, one of the noted
old-time English hostelries. It has been in business as a hotel nearly
five hundred years and Queen Elizabeth was its guest while on one of her
visits to the city of Norwich. Despite its antiquity, it is thoroughly
up-to-date and was one of the most comfortable inns that we found
anywhere. No doubt this is considerably due to a large modern addition,
which has been built along the same lines as the older portion. Near the
cathedral are other ancient structures among which are the two gateways,
whose ruins still faintly indicate their pristine splendor of carving
and intricate design. The castle, at one time a formidable fortress, has
almost disappeared. "Tombland" and "Strangers' Hall" are the
appellations of two of the finest half-timbered buildings that we saw.
The newer portions of Norwich indicate a prosperous business town and it
is supplied with an unusually good street-car system. Most of the larger
English cities are badly off in this particular. York, for instance, a
place of seventy-five thousand, has but one street-car line, three or
four miles in length, on which antiquated horse-cars are run at
irregular intervals.