Torbay
'Torbay, unknown to the Aonian Quire,
Nothing oblig'd to any Poet's lyre ...
The Muses had no Matter from thy Bay,
To make thee famous till great William's Day....
To _Orange_ only and _Batavia's_ Seed
Remain'd this glory, as of old decreed,
To make thy Name immortal, and thy Shore
More famous and renown'd than heretofore....
O happy, happy Bay! All future times
Shall speak of thee renown'd in foreign Climes!...
Muses have matter now, enough to make
Poets of Peasants for Torbaia's sake....
King _David's_ Deeds were sung, and Triumphs too,
And why should not Great _Orange_ have his due?
Supream in Earth, Dread Sovereign thou art;
Long may'st thou reign, we pray with all our heart.'
AVANT: _Torbaia digna Camoensis_.
It is impossible for those who have had no better fortune than to see
Torbay only in prints or photographs to gather more than a very
imperfect idea of what its best can be. The cliffs near Paignton are
red, nearer Torquay they are a warm russet, alternating with a rosy grey
where limestone comes to the surface; and some of the rocks beneath,
shining with salt water, are pink, interlined with white veins. In fair
weather the warm tints of these cliffs, chequered by a green
lattice-work of plants and bushes, and the rich, full colours of the
sea, make a picture that is more easily remembered than described.
The great promontories of Hope's Nose and Berry Head stand between three
and four miles apart at the northern and southern points of this
rounded, shallow bay. Torquay itself is a new town, and only developed
into being one in the early part of the last century. At the time that
there was real fear of Napoleon making a descent on this coast,
fortifications were built on Berry Head, and houses were wanted for the
officers in charge. One authority suggests that Torquay was brought into
general notice by serving as a lodging for the families of officers in
the Channel Fleet under Lord St Vincent, who used Torbay as an
anchorage. But in any case its existence is really due to Napoleon.
Certainly the growth was rapid, for Lysons, writing about 1820, speaks
of Torquay as having been till lately a hamlet,--and even its name is
modern.
The one important building was the Abbey, founded in 1196 by William,
Lord Briwere, and endowed by him with the whole of the Manor of
Wolborough and part of the Manor of Torre. The probable origin of this
great gift is interesting. The Abbey was founded soon after the return
from Austria of the hostages who had been kept there till the ransom of
King Richard I was paid, and it has been generally supposed that, as the
eldest sons of the greatest noblemen were sent, Lord Briwere's only son
was among the number, and that the Abbey was a thank-offering, the fruit
of a vow made by the father in regard to his son's happy return. Lord
Briwere installed in the Abbey seven monks of the Premonstratensian
Order. Alicia, daughter of Lord Briwere, married Reginald de Mohun, and
as, on the death of her brother, she inherited the Torre property, it is
easily seen how Tor-Mohun came to be the name of the parish. Successive
bequests to the monastery made it the richest house of the Order in
England, though at the time of its dissolution there were only fifteen
monks besides the Abbot. The peace and prosperity of the Abbey were once
broken, Dr Oliver tells us in his 'Monasticon Dioecesis Exoniensis,'
by a painful incident: 'In 1390, notwithstanding the Abbot's
irreproachable life and manners, some malicious person spread a rumour
that he had beheaded one of the Canons of Tor called Simon Hastings.'
The Abbot was 'greatly distressed,' and the Bishop pronounced the
accusation to be a falsehood of the 'blackest dye,' and, besides,
declared that he, the said Canon, was _alive and well_. But that it
should be possible to bring such a charge against an 'irreproachable'
Abbot in this casual way, and that the accusation should for a moment
be listened to, is a view of those days not often opened to one.
After changing hands several times, the Abbey became the property of the
Carys (in 1662), and their descendants still live in it. Many
alterations have been inevitable, but much of the character of the
building still remains. Parts of the walls of the original church are
still standing, and enough of the masonry is left to show the exact
plan. It was longer than any other church that has since been built in
Torquay, and wanted only seven feet to equal the length of Exeter
Cathedral between the west end and the organ-screen. The refectory
stretches towards the west; it has been converted into a chapel, and a
stone cross rises from the roof. The embattled gateway and the whole of
the building near it are of a soft rose colour; beyond stands a tower,
duller in tint, and at right angles the old grange, known since
Elizabethan days as the Spanish Barn. For the _Capitana_, the first ship
of the Armada to be taken, fell to Sir Francis Drake off Torbay, and the
four hundred men captured on her were brought to Tor Abbey and
imprisoned in the grange.
Leaving Torquay, and going some miles to the north, and slightly inland,
one arrives at Haccombe, the smallest parish in England. This year
(1908) the population numbers nine. It is also conspicuous for having as
its Rector the sole 'Arch-priest' in the kingdom, and for its
independence, for though Haccombe Church is subject to the jurisdiction
of the Bishop, it claims to be free from any ruling of the Archdeacon. A
college or arch-presbytery was founded there in 1341, 'which college,'
says Lysons, 'consisted of an arch-priest and five other priests, who
lived together in community.' The Arch-priest, or Rector, as he is
usually called, is the only remaining member of the college.
Haccombe passed by a succession of heiresses from the Haccombes, who
held it in the time of William I, to the Carews, during the fourteenth
century, to which family it still belongs. On the church door hang two
horseshoes, commemorating a victory that George Carew, Earl of Totnes,
wrested from his cousin, Sir Arthur Champernowne. A wager was laid as
to whose horse could swim farthest into the sea, and the horse of 'the
bold Carew' won. The story is told in the following ballad:
'The feast was over in Haccombe Hall,
And the wassail-cup had been served to all,
When the Earl of Totnes rose in his place,
And the chanters came in to say the grace.
'But scarce was ended the holy rite,
When there stepped from the crowd a valiant knight;
His armour bright and his visage brown,
And his name Sir Arthur Champernowne.
'"Good Earl of Totnes, I've brought with me
My fleetest courser of Barbary;
And whether good or ill betide,
A wager with thee I mean to ride."
'"No Barbary courser do I own;
But I have," quoth the Earl, "a Devonshire roan;
And I'll ride for a wager by land or sea,
The roan 'gainst the courser of Barbary."
'"'Tis done," said Sir Arthur, "already I've won;
And I'll stake my manor of Dartington
'Gainst Haccombe Hall and its rich domain."
So the Earl of Totnes the wager hath ta'en.
* * * * *
The land is for men of low degree;
But the knight and the Earl they ride by sea.
'"To horse! to horse!" resounds through the hall
Each warrior steed is led from its stall;
And with gallant train over Milburn Down
Ride the bold Carew and the Champernowne.
'But when they came to the Abbey of Tor,
The Abbot came forth from the western door,
And much he prayed them to stay and dine,
But the Earl took naught save a goblet of wine.
'Sir Arthur he raised the bowl on high,
And prayed to the Giver of victory;
Then drank success to himself in the course,
And the sops of the wine he gave to his horse.
'Away they rode from the Abbey of Tor,
Till they reached the inlet's curving shore;
The Earl plunged first in the foaming wave,
And was followed straight by Sir Arthur the brave.
'The wind blew hard and the waves beat high,
And the horses strove for the mastery;
Till Sir Arthur cried, "Help, thou bold Carew!
Help, if thou art a Christian true!
'"Oh, save for the sake of that lady of mine!
Good Earl of Totnes, the manor is thine;
The Barbary courser must yield to the roan,
And thou art the Lord of Dartington."
'The Earl his steed began to restrain,
And he seized Sir Arthur's horse by the rein;
He cheered him with words, and gave him his hand,
And he brought Sir Arthur safe to land.
'Then Sir Arthur, with sickness and grief oppressed,
Lay down in the Abbey chambers to rest;
But the Earl he rode from the Abbey of Tor
Straight forward to Haccombe Chapel door.
'And there he fell on his knees and prayed,
And many an Ave Maria he said;
Bread and money he gave to the poor,
And he nailed the roan's shoes to the chapel door.'
How far this account is accurate it is difficult to say, but the
Champernownes are still at Dartington.
Some miles south, and a little to the west, about midway between
Haccombe and Torquay, lies Kingskerswell, a village not very much heard
of nowadays, but once the property of a very distinguished soldier and
statesman. 'The Lord Nicolas de Mules (or Meoles, or Molis), a
counsellor of estate, had this manor in the time of Henry III, to whom
the King granted other lands to hold by knightly service.... He was
Sheriff of Hampshire and Governor of Winchester Castle, and held the
islands of Guernsey, Jersey, Serke, and Aureney committed to his trust.
In 23 Henry III he was Sheriff of Yorkshire, and afterwards sent
Ambassador to denounce war against France, and, being an expert
soldier, was upon the King's return to England appointed Seneschal of
Gascoigne, being held in such esteem by Henry III that he admitted
James, his son and heir, to have education with Prince Edward at the
King's charge. Continuing still in Gascoigne, he obtained a signal
victory over the King of Navarre.' Risdon adds the information that Sir
Nicolas took the King 'prisoner in the field.' On his return he took
part in the 'War against the Welsh,' and must have acquitted himself
brilliantly, since hereafter honours were showered upon him. He was made
Governor of the Castles of Carmarthen and Cardigan, then 'Constable of
Dover Castle and Warden of the Cinque-ports, and the same year Sheriff
of Kent, also Governor of the Castles of Canterbury and Rochester; and
of Sherborne and Corfe Castle,' in the county of Dorset. It is almost
bewildering to follow his rapid plunges from one sphere of action to
another, and it certainly emphasizes the fact that the strenuous life is
no novelty. It contradicts, too, a view rather generally held, that the
spirit of restless daring and love of adventure that have distinguished
innumerable men of Devon belonged solely to Elizabethan days--a view
that has, no doubt, sprung up because the great lights that shone in
that glorious reign have eclipsed all lesser ones.
But the poppy of oblivion has fallen on the name of Sir Nicolas, and he
is no conspicuous figure in the most local histories; even Prince does
not count him among his 'Worthies.'
From Kingskerswell one passes through a fertile and pleasant country,
which suggests to the passer-by that the time and labour needed in
weeding and chopping down must be almost greater than that spent in
sowing and growing plants. The number of orchards here has perhaps given
rise to a proverb, said to be peculiar to South Devon, but calling to
mind Tusser's treatise on Husbandry:
'If good apples you would have,
The leaves must go into the grave.'
This explanation of the rhyme has been suggested: 'Rather, perhaps, be
in the grave--_i.e._, You must plant your leaves in the fall of the
leaf.'
A road leading south, then to the east, reaches Paignton, which stands
almost midway between north and south in the bay. The old town was at a
little distance from the sea, but latterly new houses have been built in
all directions, and have brought it close to the water's edge. Paignton
has a fine church, chiefly Perpendicular, but parts are of earlier work,
and there is a most beautiful carved screen.
The adventures of a native of Paignton--a certain Will Adams, born about
1612, 'of mean and obscure parentage'--are not to be forgotten. He was,
says Mr Norway, 'one of those "Turkish captives" of whom so many were
languishing in Algiers two centuries ago, and who, there is little
doubt, were specially in the minds of the authors of the petition in our
Litany, "For all poor prisoners and captives" ... and it may very well
be that Adams' name was coupled with this prayer on many a Sunday in
Paignton Church, for the agony of his captivity lasted full five years.'
At the end of that time he and his companions, despairing of rescue, set
to work on what would indeed have seemed to most people a hopeless
venture. They began to make a boat with a keel twelve feet long, but
'because it was impossible to convey a piece that length out of the
city, but it must be seen and suspected, they cut it in two and fitted
it for joyning, just in the middle.' Then 'because boards would require
much hammering and that noise would be like to betray them, they bought
as much canvas as would cover their boat twice over.' With as much
'pitch, tar, and tallow, as would serve to make a kind of tarpauling
cloth, two pipe staves saw'd across ... for oars, a little bread and two
leather bottles full of fresh water, and as much canvas as would serve
for a sail,' their preparations before 'launching out into the deep'
were complete. But even their courage was not the most splendid in the
affair. When the prisoners had actually started, they found that the
boat was overloaded, so 'two were content to stay on shore.' They were
'content' to return to toil and slavery indefinitely, and to face the
bitter wrath and vengeance of their captors, enraged by the loss of so
many prisoners.
Those who escaped had much to endure. Their boat leaked, and the salt
water spoiled their bread. 'Pale famine stared them in the face' writes
Prince, and they suffered even greater tortures from thirst and heat.
'On the fifth day, as they lay hulling up and down, God sent them some
relief, viz., a tortois,' which they came upon asleep in the sea and
caught. With strength almost gone, they reached Majorca, where, luckily,
the Viceroy was kindly disposed towards them, and they started home in
one of 'the King of Spain's gallies.'
Adams died at a good old age in his native place.
The fine cliff called Berry Head runs far out into the sea at the
southern edge of Tor Bay, and standing back, within the bay, is the
small and pretty town of Brixham--celebrated for its trawlers, and for
being the landing-place of William III. The red and brown sails of
'Brixham trawlers' scattered over the blue-grey waters of the bay seem
very familiar, and it is a question for consideration how many
exhibitions at the Royal Academy have _not_ included a picture bearing
that title. The fishery is an old one, and in the reign of Henry VIII
the Vicar could claim personal tithes in fish equal in value to L340 of
our money.
Fishermen and others gave a very cordial welcome to the Prince of Orange
when he arrived on November 5, 1688. But by no one can he have been more
vehemently applauded than by the author of the lines I have quoted at
the head of the present chapter--the Rev Philip Avant, Vicar of
Salcombe. The poem, originally written in Latin, and translated by the
author, takes up almost the whole of his small and rather rare volume,
_Torbaia digna Camoensis_. It is in parts unintentionally amusing, and
is interesting as showing how far the frenzied fervour of bigotry may
carry a naturally amiable person, for in the narrow intervals between
his torrents of denunciation it is clear that Mr Avant was, in ordinary
matters, a kindly-disposed man.
A pamphlet graphically describing the 'Expedition from Torbay to
Whitehall' was written by another clergyman, John Whittle by name, a
'Minister Chaplain in the Army,' and from this pamphlet long extracts
are given in a paper on this subject by the late Mr Windeatt. Some of
these quotations I am now venturing to repeat: 'The morning was very
obscure with the Fog and Mist, and withal it was so calm that the
Vessels now as 'twere touch'd each other, every ship coming as near unto
the ship wherein the Prince of Orange was, as the Schipper thereof would
permit them.... His Highness the Prince of Orange gave orders that his
Standard should be put up, and accordingly it was done, the White Flag
being put uppermost, signifying his most gracious offer of Peace unto
all such as would live peaceably. And under that, the Red or Bloody Flag
was set up, signifying War unto all such as did oppose his designs. The
Sun, recovering strength, soon dissipated the Fog, and dispers'd the
Mist, insomuch that it prov'd a very pleasant Day. By this time the
people of Devonshire thereabout had discovered the Fleet, the one
telling the other thereof; they came flocking in droves to the side or
brow of the Hills to view us. Some guess'd we were French because they
saw divers White Flags; but the standard of the Prince, the Motto of
which was, For the Protestant Religion and Liberty, soon undeceived
them.... Bells were ringing as we were sailing towards the Bay, and as
we landed, which many judged to be a good omen.' A little later, when
they had landed, people 'came running out at their doors to see this
happy sight. So the Prince with Marschal Schomberg, and divers Lords,
Knights and Gentlemen, marched up the Hill, which all the Fleet could
see over the Houses, the Colours flying and flourishing before his
Highness, the Trumpets sounding, the Haut-boys played, the Drums beat,
and the Lords, Knights and Gentlemen shouted; and sundry Huzzas did now
echo in the Fleet, from off the Hill, insomuch that our very hearts
below in the water were even ravish'd for going thereof.'
There is an absurd story, here quoted with mild ridicule, that on the
Prince's landing he was received by the inhabitants of Brixham with this
address:
'And please your Majesty King William,
You're welcome to Brixham Quay,
To eat buck-horn and drink bohea,
Along with me,
And please your Majesty King William.'
The 'And please' must be a corruption of 'An it please,' which does make
sense, but the rhyme cannot have been invented until later, for it
certainly was not within the power of a fisherman to offer 'bohea,' or
any other kind of tea, in those days. 'Buck-horn' is rather puzzling,
for it gives no clue as to what it might be. Anybody who has heard of
edible buck-horn (or buck's-horn) at all, would probably think of an
obscure and humble salad herb, now practically forgotten, and at no time
a dainty to be pressed on 'King William's' notice in this manner. The
English Dialect Dictionary comes to the rescue by explaining that in
Cornwall, Devon, and Cumberland, 'buck-horn' is a name for 'salted and
dried whiting.' 'Bok horn' also appears in the Receiver's accounts at
Exeter (about 1488), when the citizens, having a quarrel with the
Bishop, tactfully sent successive presents of fish to the Lord
Chancellor while the case lay before him. Buck-horn is still sold in
Brixham.
The soldiers' first experiences in England were not agreeable, as 'they
were marching into Camp all hours in the Night'; and some having been
unlucky enough to get astray from their companies, 'it was no easy
matter to find them in the dark amongst so many thousands. It was a
cold, frosty night, and the stars twinkl'd exceedingly; besides the
Ground was very wet after so much Rain and ill Weather; the Souldiers
were to stand to their arms the whole Night, at least to be in readiness
if anything should happen, or the enemy make an Assault, and therefore
sundry Souldiers were to fetch some old Hedges and cut down green Wood
to burn these with, to make some Fire.'
Mr Windeatt, writing in 1880, gives an astonishing instance of how few
links a chain may sometimes need in order to stretch from century to
century. He says a gentleman gave him the following account: 'There are
few now left who can say, as I can, that they have heard their father
and their wife's father talking together of the men who saw the landing
of William III at Torbay. I have heard Captain Clements say he as a boy
heard as many as seven or eight old men each giving the particulars of
what he saw then. One saw a shipload of horses hauled up to the quay,
and the horses walked out all harnessed, and the quickness with which
each man knew his horse and mounted it surprised them. Another old man
said: "I helped to get on shore the horses that were thrown overboard,
and swam on shore guided by only a single rope running from the ship to
the shore"; and another would describe the rigging and build of the
ships, but all appeared to welcome them as friends.
'My father remembered only one--"Gaffer Will Webber," of Staverton, who
served his apprenticeship with one of his ancestors, and who lived to a
great age--say that he went from Staverton as a boy with his father, who
took a cartload of apples from Staverton to the highroad from Brixham to
Exeter, that the soldiers might help themselves to them, and to wish
them "Godspeed."'
The gentlemen of the county were more tardy in their welcome, and
perhaps this is not very surprising, when one considers that they can
scarcely have recovered from the terrible vengeance that seared all who
had followed Monmouth only three years before.
Sir Edward Seymour, formerly Speaker of the House of Commons, was one of
the first and, says Macaulay, the most important of the great landowners
who joined the Prince at Exeter. He was 'in birth, in political
influence, and in parliamentary abilities ... beyond comparison the
foremost among the Tory gentlemen of England.'
Sir Edward evidently rode in great state, for the Duke of Somerset, his
descendant, still has a very imposing red velvet saddle, elaborately
embroidered with heraldic and other designs in silver, that 'Mr Speaker
Seymour' used on this occasion.
The march was continued in the most miserable discomfort. Six hundred
horses had died either at sea or from the effects of the storm, and the
men, still suffering from a 'dissiness in the Heads after they had been
so long toss'd at Sea,' had extra burdens to carry. The weather was wet
and stormy, the roads were 'extreme rough and stony,' and when they
encamped and lay down for the night, 'their Heads, Backs and Arms sank
deep into the Clay.' Further, their rations were so spare that when
they came on an inclosure with turnips they felt they had found a feast.
'Some roasted them and others eat them raw, and made a brave Banquet.'
However, matters improved the next day as they drew nearer to Newton
Abbot. People came in crowds to see them. 'Now they began to give us
applause and pray for our Success.' Hitherto they had but wavered as
they said, 'the Irish would come and cut them in pieces if it should be
known.' On approaching Newton, 'a certain Divine went before the Army,
and finding 'twas their Market day, he went unto the Cross, or Town
hall,' and read the Declaration of the Prince of Orange. 'To which the
people with one Heart and Voice answered Amen: Amen, and forthwith
shouted for Joy, and made the Town ring with their echoing Huzzas.'
Such was the auspicious reception of the 'Deliverer of the Nation from
Popery, Slavery, Brass Money and Wooden Shoes.'
A very different note, jarring against this triumphal strain, is struck
by a Jacobite ballad on the same event, too long to quote entirely here.
It bears the conciliatory title of
THE BELGICK BOAR.
God prosper long our noble King,
Our hopes and wishes all:
A fatal landing late there did
In Devonshire befall.
To drive our Monarch from his throne
Prince Naso took his way.
The babe may rue that's newly-born
The landing at Torbay.
The stubborn Tarquin, void of grace,
A vow to Hell does make,
To force his father abdicate
And then his crown to take.
* * * * *
Then declarations flew about,
As thick as any hail,
Who, tho' no word was e'er made good,
Did mightily prevail.
We must be Papists or be slaves,
Was then the gen'ral cry,
But we'll do anything to save
Our darling liberty.
We'll all join with a foreign prince,
Against our lawful king;
For he from all our fancy'd fears
Deliverance doth bring.
* * * * *
Then our allegiance let's cast off,
James shall no longer guide us;
And tho' the French would bridle us,
None but the Dutch shall ride us.