Ten miles north of Oxford is Woodstock, near which is Blenheim Palace,
the seat of the Dukes of Marlborough. This great estate and imposing
mansion was presented by Act of Parliament to the first Duke of
Marlborough in recognition of the victory which he won over the French
at Blenheim. The architect who prepared the plans for the great
structure was the famous Sir John Vanbrugh, who was so noted for the
generally low heavy effect of his creations. While he was still alive a
wit proposed a satirical epitaph in the couplet,
"Lie heavy on him, Earth, for he
Laid many a heavy load on thee."
So enormous was the cost of the palace and estate that the half million
pounds sterling voted by parliament was not sufficient and more than
sixty thousand pounds of the great Duke's private fortune went into it
as well. In his fondness for state and display, he was quite the
opposite of the other great national hero, the Duke of Wellington, who
was satisfied with the greatest simplicity and preferred cash to
expensive palaces and great estates. As a consequence, the Dukes of
Marlborough have been land-poor for several generations and until
recently Blenheim Palace seemed in a fair way to be added to the already
long list of ruins in Britain. Something has lately been done in the way
of repair and restoration, but there are many evidences of decay still
apparent.
[Illustration: RINGWOOD CHURCH.]
Blenheim Palace has been shorn of many of its treasures, among them the
great Sunderland Library of 80,000 volumes, sold at auction some years
ago. Many valuable objects of art still remain, especially family
portraits by nearly every great artist from Gainsborough to Sargent, and
there is much fine statuary. The tapestries, in the state rooms,
illustrating the achievements of the first Duke, are especially
remarkable and were made in Belgium under his directions. But from the
English view-point, no doubt the original documents pertaining to the
Duke are most notable; among these is the modest note which he addressed
to Queen Anne from Blenheim, announcing his "famous victory."
The park is one of the largest in England, but it showed many evidences
of neglect and slovenly care. Some of the worst looking cattle I saw in
England obstructed the ornamental stone bridge that crosses the stream
flowing into a large artificial lake within the park. The driveways were
not kept in the perfect manner that is characteristic of the English
private park. Despite these evidences of neglect, the beauty of the
place was little impaired. There are some of the finest oak trees in
England and down by the lake are groups of magnificent cedars through
whose branches the bright water shimmered in the sunshine. As we circled
about the park, the distant views of the palace well bore out its
reputation of being one of the stateliest private homes in the Kingdom.
Our guide pointed out the spot where once stood the manor-house of
Woodstock, torn down about a hundred years ago. In this house Princess
Elizabeth was held a prisoner for a time by her sister, Queen Mary, but
it is best known from the story of Walter Scott, who located here the
principal scenes of "Woodstock."
The town of Woodstock has a long line of traditions, but shows little
evidence of modern progress. It is a quiet, old-world little place with
clean streets and many fine trees. Tradition asserts that the father of
English poetry, Geoffrey Chaucer, was born here and the old house,
alleged to be his birthplace, still stands in Park Street. However, the
poet himself declares that London was his native city and the confiding
tourist is left with the necessity of balancing the poet's own assertion
on this important point against that of the Woodstock guide books. In
any event, Chaucer certainly lived in Woodstock--very likely in the
house assigned to him today. The town was also a residence of the Saxon
kings, and here are many legends of Henry II and Fair Rosamond. Perhaps
its most distinguished resident, however, was Oliver Cromwell, who put
up at an inn, now a private house, while his army battered down the old
palace as described by Scott.
We returned from Woodstock to Oxford and from there directed our course
to Wantage, the birthplace of King Alfred the Great and, I might
incidentally remark, at that time the residence of a well known
expatriated New York City politician. This latter distinction did not
occur to us until after we had left the town, and therefore we failed to
make inquiries as to how this gentleman was regarded by his
fellow-citizens of Oxfordshire. In this connection, soon afterwards I
saw an amusing report in the newspapers stating that a libel suit had
been brought against a British magazine for having published an article
in which the ex-boss was spoken of in an uncomplimentary manner. The
report stated that the case had been settled, the magazine editor paying
the legal costs and retracting what he had said, as well as publishing
an apology for the attack. Here we have an example of the British idea
of the sacredness of private character. This politician while in America
was almost daily accused by the newspapers of every crime in the
calendar and never thought it worth while to enter a denial. No sooner
is he fairly established in England than he brings suit against a
magazine whose charges appear to have been of the mildest character. One
seldom sees in English newspapers the violent attacks on individuals and
the severe denunciations of public men so common in American journals.
If the editor forgets himself, as in the case cited, suit for libel is
sure to be brought and often proves a serious thing. While this to some
extent may obstruct the freedom of the press, it is nevertheless a
relief to miss the disgraceful and unwarranted attacks on public men
that continually fill the columns of many American newspapers.
The road from Oxford to Wantage is a splendid one, running through a
beautiful country and bordered much of the way with ancient trees.
Wantage is a quiet town, lying at the foot of the hills, and is chiefly
noted as the birthplace of the great Saxon king. A granite statute of
Alfred stands in the market square, representing the king with the
charter of English liberties in one hand and a battle-ax in the other.
As he was born more than a thousand years ago, there are no buildings
now standing that were connected with his history. The church is
probably the oldest building--a fine example of early English
architecture. Near it is buried the wife of Whittington, "Lord Mayor of
Londontown." Dr. Butler, the theologian and author of "The Analogy," was
born in the town and this house is still to be seen.
Leaving Wantage, the road to Reading runs along the crest of the hills,
and on either side from the breezy uplands, the green fields, dashed
with the gold of the ripening harvest, stretched away for many miles.
This was one of the few spots in England where the view was unobstructed
by fences of any kind, and while the average English hedge-row is not
unpleasing, the beauty of the landscape in this instance certainly did
not suffer by its absence. From Kingston-on-Thames, the perfectly kept
road closely follows the river. Reading has a population of about one
hundred and twenty thousand and is a place of considerable business
activity. Though the city has a history stretching back to ancient
times, most of the evidences of antiquity have disappeared in modern
progress. It was chosen as the seat of Elizabeth's parliament when the
plague was devastating London. Fragments of the old abbey hall in which
this parliament met still remain and the gateway was restored a few
years ago. Reading offered a stout resistance to the Commonwealth and
suffered severely at Cromwell's hands. Its chief industries today are
biscuit making and seed farming, which give employment to ten thousand
people.
From Reading, a few miles through byways brought us to Eversley, a
retired village five miles from a railway station, where the church and
rectory of Charles Kingsley may be seen. The church is picturesquely
situated on the hillside, with an avenue of fine yew trees leading from
the gate to the door. The building has been altered a good deal since
Kingsley was rector, but the pulpit from which he preached is
practically the same. The rectory, which is directly by the church, is a
very old building, though it has been modernized on the side fronting
the road. It stands in the midst of a group of Scotch firs which were
great favorites with Kingsley. Their branches almost touch the earth,
while their huge trunks form a strong contrast with the dense green of
the foliage. Kingsley and his wife are buried in the churchyard on the
side nearest the firs. The graves are marked by a simple Runic cross in
white marble bearing the names, the date, and the legend, "God is Love."
Eversley and its surroundings are thoroughly typical of rural England. A
quieter and more retired little place could hardly be imagined. One
wonders why the great novelist and preacher spent so many years of his
life here. It may have been that the seclusion was not a little
conducive to his successful literary labors.
Thirty miles farther over main-traveled highways brought us for a second
time to Winchester. Here we stopped for the night after an unusually
long run. An early start soon brought us to Southampton, which is known
everywhere as a port of arrival and departure of great merchant steamers
and which, aside from its commercial importance, is one of the most
ancient and interesting cities in the Kingdom. The most notable relic is
a portion of the Saxon wall, the part known as the "Arcade," built in a
series of arches, being the most remarkable. Close by, in a little
street called Blue Anchor Lane, is a house reputed to have been the
palace of King John and said to be the oldest in England, although
several others contest that distinction. At the head of Blue Anchor Lane
is a picturesque Tudor house, once the residence of Henry VIII and his
queen, Anne Boleyn. This is open to visitors and we were shown every
part of the house by the tenant, who is also custodian. With all its
magnificence of carved oak and wide fireplaces, it must have been a
comfortless dwelling measured by more modern ideas.
Leaving the city, we crossed Southampton Water on a steam ferry which
was guided by a chain stretched from bank to bank. Two or three miles to
the southward lies Netley, a small village with the remains of an abbey
dating from the reign of Henry I. The road to Netley followed the shore
closely, but on nearing the village suddenly entered an avenue of fine
trees which so effectually concealed the ruin that we stopped directly
opposite the abbey to inquire its whereabouts. Leaving the car standing
in the road, we spent a quarter of an hour wandering about the ruin and
trying to locate the various apartments from a hand-book. The custodian
here did not act as a guide, and we were left to figure out for
ourselves the intricacies of nave, refectory, cloister, etc. Only the
ivy-covered walls of the building are now standing, but these are in an
unusual state of completeness. The chapel or church was cruciform in
shape and built in the early English style. The walls of the west end
have practically disappeared, but the great east window is fairly well
preserved and its most remarkable feature is its two beautifully
proportioned lights, the stone tracery of which remains almost intact. A
legend in connection with this abbey no doubt grew out of the desire of
some of the people to prevent the destruction of the beautiful building.
After the abbey had been dismantled, the church was sold to a
contractor, who proceeded to tear it down for the material. He was
warned in a dream by the appearance of a monk not to proceed with the
work, but disregarded the warning and was killed by the falling of a
portion of the wall. If incidents of this kind had happened more
frequently England would no doubt be richer in historic buildings.
We were preparing to leave Netley when a man in plain clothes
approached us, and civilly touching his hat, inquired if I were the
owner of the motor car. I confessed that I was and he stated he was an
officer and regretted that he would have to report me to the police
captain for leaving the car standing on a public walk. I had
inadvertantly left the machine so that it partially obstructed the
narrow gravel walk alongside the road, and some of the citizens had no
doubt complained to the officer. We were naturally enough much
chagrined, not knowing how much inconvenience and delay this incident
might cause. The constable took my name and the number of the car and
said I could report the circumstance myself to the captain of the
police. I desired him to accompany me to call on this dignitary, but he
did not seem at all anxious for the job.
This is the general procedure in England. An arrest is very seldom made
in a case of this kind. The officer simply takes the name and number and
the motorist can call on the proper official himself. The police system
is so perfect that it would be quite useless to attempt to run away, as
would happen if such a system were pursued in this country. If, in the
judgment of the police official, the case should come to trial, a
summons is served on the offender and the date is set. This is what I
feared might happen in this case, and as it was within a week of our
sailing time, I could imagine that it might cause a great deal of
inconvenience.
I found the police captain's office in a neatly kept public building
with a flower garden in front of it. I put the case to the captain, and
after he had learned all the particulars he hastened to assure me that
he would waive prosecution of the offense. He said some of the people in
Netley were prejudiced against motors and no doubt were annoyed by the
numerous tourists who came there to visit the abbey. Thus all the
difficulties I had conjured up faded away and I had a pleasant
conversation with the captain, who was a thorough gentleman. He said
that the motor car was detested by many people, and no doubt with reason
in some cases; but it had come to stay and forbearance and common sense
were needed on part of motorist and the public generally. Much of the
trouble, he stated, is due to reckless motorists who disregard the
rights of other people. The week previous they had considerable
difficulty in his district with an American who drove his car recklessly
and defied regulations, and it was such performances that were
responsible for the prejudice against the motor. This incident was my
only personal experience with the British police in official capacity,
barring a friendly admonition or two in London when I managed to get on
the right side of the road--which is literally the wrong side in
Britain.
The English police, taken as a whole, is unquestionably the most
efficient and best disciplined in the world. A policeman's authority is
never questioned in England and his raised hand is a signal that never
goes unheeded. He has neither club nor revolver and seldom has need for
these weapons. He is an encyclopedia of information, and the cases where
he lent us assistance both in directing us on our road and informing us
as to places of interest, literally numbered hundreds. He is a believer
in fair play and seldom starts out of his own accord to make anyone
trouble. It is not the policeman, but the civil officials who are
responsible for the police traps which in many places are conducted in a
positively disreputable manner, the idea being simply to raise revenue
regardless of justice and without discrimination among the offenders.
Graft among British policemen is unknown and bribery altogether unheard
of. Of course their task is easier than that of the average American
policeman, on account of the greater prevalence of the law-abiding
spirit among the people. One finds policemen everywhere. Even the
country districts are carefully patrolled. The escape of a law-breaker
is a difficult if not impossible thing. One seldom hears in England of a
motorist running away and leaving the scene of an accident that he has
caused. Another thing that greatly helps the English policeman in his
work is that a captured criminal is not turned loose again as is often
the case in this country. Justice is surer and swifter in England, and
as a consequence crime averages less than in most parts of the States.
The murders committed yearly in Chicago outnumber many times those of
London, which is three times as large. The British system of
administering justice is one that in many particulars we could imitate
to advantage in this country.
After bidding farewell to my friend the police captain and assuring him
I was glad that our acquaintance terminated so quickly and happily, we
proceeded on our way towards Chichester. The road for a distance of
twenty-five miles led through an almost constant succession of towns and
was frightfully dusty. The weather was what the natives call "beastly
hot," and really was as near an approach to summer as we had experienced
so far.
The predominating feature of Chichester is its cathedral, which dates
from about 1100. It suffered repeatedly from fires and finally underwent
complete restoration, beginning in 1848. The detached bell-tower is
peculiar to the cathedral. This, although the most recent part of the
building, appeared to be crumbling away and was undergoing extensive
repairs. The cathedral is one of lesser importance among the great
English churches, though on the whole it is an imposing edifice.
[Illustration: A SURREY LANDSCAPE.