Wells-next-the-Sea, on the north coast of Norfolk, sounds attractive,
and looks attractive on the map; but that is about all that can be said
in its favour, for a more depressing place would be difficult to find.
Even Holkham, with all its art treasures, leaves a pervading impression
of chill and gloom. The architects of the middle of the eighteenth
century had no partiality for nooks and corners in the mansions they
designed. Vastness and discomfort seems to have been their principal
aim. Well might the noble earl for whom it was built have observed, "It
is a melancholy thing to stand alone in one's own country." The advent
of the motor car must indeed be welcome, to bring the place in touch
with life.
We were attracted to the village of Stiffkey, to the east of Wells,
mainly by a magazine article fresh in our memory, of some of its
peculiarities, conspicuous among which was its weird red-headed
inhabitants. The race of people, however, must have died out, for what
few villagers we encountered were very ordinary ones: far from
ill-favoured. Possibly they still invoke the aid of the local "wise
woman," as they do in many other parts of Norfolk, so therein they are
no further behind the times than their neighbours.
We heard of an instance farther south, for example, where the head of an
establishment, as was his wont, having disposed of his crop of potatoes,
disappeared for a week with the proceeds; and returning at length in a
very merry condition, his good wife, in the hopes of frightening him,
unknown to him removed his watch from his pocket. Next morning in sober
earnest he went with his sole remaining sixpence to consult the wise
woman of the village, who promptly told him the thief was in his own
house. Consequently the watch was produced, and the lady who had
purloined it, instead of teaching a lesson, was soundly belaboured with
a broom-handle!
[Illustration: EAST BARSHAM MANOR.]
Stiffkey Hall is a curious Elizabethan gabled building with a massive
flint tower, built, it is said, by Sir Nathaniel Bacon, the brother of
the philosopher, but it never was completed. Far more picturesque and
interesting are the remains of East Barsham manor-house, some seven
miles to the south of Wells. Although it contained some of the finest
ornamental Tudor brickwork in England when we were there, and possibly
still, the old place could have been had for a song. It had the
reputation of being haunted, and was held in awe. The gatehouse, bearing
the arms and ensigns of Henry VIII., reminds one of a bit of Hampton
Court, and the chimneys upon the buildings on the northern side of the
Court are as fine as those at Compton Wyniates. The wonder is that in
these days of appreciation of beautiful architecture nobody has restored
it back into a habitable mansion. That such ruins as this or Kirby Hall
or Burford Priory should remain to drop to pieces, seems a positive sin.
A couple of miles to the west of Barsham is Great Snoring, whose
turreted parsonage is also rich in early-Tudor moulded brickwork, as is
also the case at Thorpland Hall to the south.
One grieves to think that the old Hall of the Townshends on the other
side of Fakenham has been shorn of its ancestral portraits. What a
splendid collection, indeed, was this, and how far more dignified did
the full-length Elizabethan warriors by Janssen look here than upon the
walls at Christie's a year or so ago. The famous haunted chambers have a
far less awe-inspiring appearance than some other of the bedrooms with
their hearse-like beds and nodding plumes. We do not know when the
"Brown Lady" last made her appearance, but there are rumours that she
was visible before the decease of the late Marquis Townshend. Until then
the stately lady in her rich brown brocade had absented herself for half
a century. She had last introduced herself unbecoming a modest ghost, to
two gentlemen visitors of a house party who were sitting up late at
night. One of these gentlemen, a Colonel Loftus, afterwards made a
sketch of her from memory which possibly is still in existence.
[Illustration: WALSINGHAM.]
[Illustration: WALSINGHAM.]
Walsingham, midway between Fakenham and Wells, is a quaint old town; its
timber houses and its combined Gothic well, lock-up, and cross in the
market-place giving it quite a mediaeval aspect. Before the image of Our
Lady of Walsingham was consigned to the flames by Wolsey's confidential
servant Cromwell, the pilgrimages to the Priory were in every respect as
great as those to Canterbury, and the "way" through Brandon and
Newmarket may be traced like that in Kent. Notwithstanding the fact that
Henry VIII. himself had been a barefoot pilgrim, and had bestowed a
costly necklace on the image, his gift as well as a host of other riches
from the shrine came in very handy at the Dissolution. A relic of Our
Lady's milk enclosed in crystal, says Erasmus, was occasionally like
chalk mixed with the white of eggs. It had been brought from
Constantinople in the tenth century; but this and a huge bone of St
Peter's finger, of course, did not survive. The site of the chapel,
containing the altar where the pilgrims knelt, stood somewhere to the
north-west of the ruins of the Priory. These are approached from the
street through a fine old early fifteenth-century gateway. The
picturesque remains of the refectory date from the previous century, the
western window being a good example of the purest Gothic. The old
pilgrims' entrance was in "Knight Street," which derives its name from
the miracle of a horseman who had sought sanctuary passing through the
extraordinarily narrow limits of the wicket. Henry III. is said to have
set the fashion for walking to Walsingham, and we strongly recommend
the tourists of to-day, who may find themselves stranded at
Wells-next-the-Sea, to do likewise.
[Illustration: FONT CANOPY, TRUNCH.]
The little seaside resort Mundesley is an improvement on Wells; but dull
as it is now, what must it have been in Cowper's time: surely a place
ill-calculated to improve the poor poet's melancholia! There is little
of interest beyond the ruined church on the cliffs and the Rookery Farm
incorporated in the remains of the old monastery. A priest's hole is, or
was not long since, to be seen in one of the gabled roofs. The churches
of Trunch and Knapton to the south-west both are worth a visit for their
fine timber roofs. The font at Trunch is enclosed by a remarkable canopy
of oak supported by graceful wooden pillars from the floor. It is
probably of early-Elizabethan date, and is certainly one of the most
remarkable baptistries in the country. Here and in other parts of
Norfolk when there are several babies to be christened the ceremony is
usually performed on the girls last, as otherwise when they grew up they
would develop beards!
Ten miles to the south-west as the crow flies is historic Blickling, one
of the reputed birthplaces of the ill-fated Anne Boleyn. By some
accounts Luton Hoo in Bedfordshire claims her nativity as well as
Rochford Hall in Essex and Hever Castle in Kent; but, though Hever is
the only building that will go back to that date, she probably was born
in the older Hall of Blickling, the present mansion dating only from the
reign of James I.
Upon the occasion of our visit the house was closed, so we can only
speak of the exterior, and of the very extensive gardens, where in vain
we sought the steward, who was said to be somewhere on the premises.
The rampant bulls, bearing shields, perched on the solid piers that
guard the drawbridge across the moat, duly impress one with the
ancestral importance of the Hobarts, whose arms and quarterings,
surmounted by the helmet and ancient crest, adorn the principal
entrance. Like Hatfield and Bramshill, the mellowed red-brick gives it a
charm of colour which only the lapse of centuries will give; and though
not so old as Knole or Hatfield, the main entrance is quite as
picturesque. The gardens, however, immediately surrounding the Hall look
somewhat flat in comparison.
Although Henry VIII. did the principal part of his courting at Hever, it
was at Blickling that he claimed his bride, and by some accounts was
married to her there and not at Calais. The old earl, the unfortunate
queen's father, survived her only two years; and after his death the
estate was purchased by Sir Henry Hobart,[11] who built the present
noble house. Among the relics preserved at Blickling of the unhappy
queen are her morning-gown and a set of night-caps, and her toilet case
containing mirrors, combs, etc. Sir John the third baronet entertained
Charles II. and his queen here in 1671, upon which occasion the host's
son and heir, then aged thirteen, was knighted. The royal visit is duly
recorded in the parish register as follows: "King Charles the Second,
with Queene Katherine, and James, Duke of Yorke, accompanied with the
Dukes of Monmouth, Richmond, and Buckingham, and with divers Lords,
arrived and dined at Sir John Hubart's, at Blicklinge Hall, the King,
Queene, Duke of Yorke, and Duchesse of Richmond, of Buckingham etc., in
the great dining-roomes, the others in the great parloure beneath it,
upon Michmasday 1671. From whence they went, the Queene to Norwich, the
King to Oxneads and lodged there, and came through Blicklinge the next
day about one of the clock, going to Rainham to the Lord Townsends."[12]
Queen Catherine slept that night and the following in the Duke's Palace
at Norwich, but joined her royal spouse at lunch at Oxnead, which fine
Elizabethan house has, alas! been pulled down, and the statues and
fountain from there are now at Blickling. "Next morne (being Saterday),"
writes a local scribe in 1671, "her Maty parted so early from Norwich
as to meet ye King againe at Oxnead ere noone; Sr Robt Paston haveing
got a vast dinner so early ready, in regard that his Maty was to goe
that same afternoone (as he did) twenty myles to supper to the Ld
Townshend's, wher he stayd all yesterday, and as I suppose, is this
evening already return'd to Newmarket, extremely well satisfied with our
Lord Lieuts reception.... Her Maty haveinge but seven myles back to
Norwich that night from Sr Robt Pastons was pleased for about two
houres after dinner to divert herselfe at cards with the Court ladies
and my Lady Paston, who had treated her so well and yet returned early
to Norwich that eveninge to the same quarters as formerly; and on Sunday
morne (after her devotions perform'd and a plentifull breakfast) shee
tooke coach, extreamely satisfied with the dutifull observances of all
this countie and city, and was conducted by the Ld Howard and his
sonnes as far as Attleburough where fresh coaches atended to carry her
back to the Rt Hoble the Ld Arlington's at Euston."[13]
Sidelights of this royal progress are obtained from the diarist Evelyn
and Lord Dartmouth. Among the attractions provided for the king's
amusement at Euston was the future Duchess of Portsmouth. The Duchess of
Richmond (La belle Stuart), in the queen's train, must have been
reminded how difficult had been her position before she eloped with her
husband four years previously. For the duke's sake let us hope he was as
overcome as his Majesty when the latter let his tongue wag with more
than usual freedom during the feast at Raynham. "After her marriage,"
says Dartmouth, speaking of the duchess, "she had more complaisance than
before, as King Charles could not forbear telling the Duke of Richmond,
when he was drunk at Lord Townshend's in Norfolk." Evelyn did not think
much of the queen's lodgings at Norwich, which he describes as "an old
wretched building," partly rebuilt in brick, standing in the
market-place, which in his opinion would have been better had it been
demolished and erected somewhere else.
Not far from Blickling to the north-east is Mannington Hall, a mansion
built in the reign of Henry VI., which possesses one of the best
authenticated ghost stories of modern times. The story is the more
interesting as it is recorded by that learned and delightful chronicler
Dr. Jessop, chaplain to His Majesty the King. The strange experiences of
his visit in October 1879 are duly recorded in the _Athenaeeum_ of the
following January. The rest of the household had retired to rest, and
Dr. Jessop was sitting up making extracts from some rare books in an
apartment adjoining the library. Absorbed in his study, time had slipped
away and it was after one o'clock. "I was just beginning to think that
my work was drawing to a close," says the doctor, "when, as I was
actually writing, I saw a large white hand within a foot of my elbow.
Turning my head, there sat a figure of a somewhat large man, with his
back to the fire, bending slightly over the table, and apparently
examining the pile of books that I had been at work upon. The man's face
was turned away from me, but I saw his closely-cut, reddish brown hair,
his ear and shaved cheek, the eyebrow, the corner of his right eye, the
side of the forehead, and the large high cheekbone. He was dressed in
what I can only describe as a kind of ecclesiastical habit of thick
corded silk, or some such material, close up to the throat, and a narrow
rim or edging of about an inch broad of satin or velvet serving as a
stand-up collar and fitting close to the chin. The right hand, which had
first attracted my attention, was clasping, without any great pressure,
the left hand; both hands were in perfect repose, and the large blue
veins of the right hand were conspicuous. I remember thinking that the
hand was like the hand of Velasquez's magnificent 'Dead Knight' in the
National Gallery. I looked at my visitor for some seconds, and was
perfectly sure that he was a reality. A thousand thoughts came crowding
upon me, but not the least feeling of alarm or even of uneasiness.
Curiosity and a strong interest were uppermost. For an instant I felt
eager to make a sketch of my friend, and I looked at a tray on my right
for a pencil: then thought, 'Upstairs I have a sketch-book; shall I
fetch it?' There he sat and I was fascinated, afraid not of his staying,
but lest he should go. Stopping in my writing, I lifted my left hand
from the paper, stretched it out to a pile of books and moved the top
one. I cannot explain why I did this. My arm passed in front of the
figure, and it vanished. Much astonished, I went on with my writing
perhaps for another five minutes, and had actually got to the last few
words of the extract when the figure appeared again, exactly in the same
place and attitude as before. I saw the hand close to my own; I turned
my head again to examine him more closely, and I was framing a sentence
to address to him when I discovered that I did not dare to speak. I was
afraid of the sound of my own voice! There he sat, and there sat I. I
turned my head again to my work, and finished the two or three words
still remaining to be written. The paper and my notes are at this moment
before me, and exhibit not the slightest tremor or nervousness. I could
point out the words I was writing when the phantom came, and when he
disappeared. Having finished my task I shut the book and threw it on the
table: it made a slight noise as it fell--the figure vanished." Not
until now did the doctor feel nervous, but it was only for a second. He
replaced the books in the adjoining room, blew out the candles on the
table, and retired to his rooms marvelling at his calmness under such
strange circumstances.
[Illustration: WYMONDHAM.]
The old-fashioned town Wymondham, to the south-west of Norwich, contains
an interesting church and market-cross, and one or two fine Gothic
houses, all in good preservation. But stay, the quaint octagonal
Jacobean timber structure in the market-place was holding forth a
petition for contributions, as it was feeling somewhat decrepit. This
was six or seven years ago, so probably by now it has entered upon a new
lease of life. How much more picturesque are these old timbered
structures than the jubilee clock-towers which have sprung up in many
old-fashioned towns, putting everything out of harmony. But few towns
are proud of their old buildings. They must be up to date with flaring
red-brick, and electric tramways, and down comes everything with any
claim to antiquity, without a thought of its past associations or
picturesque value. But let us hope that Wymondham may be exempt from
these terrible tramways for many years to come, as its population is, or
was, decreasing.
The abbey and the church appear to have got rather mixed up; but having
come to a satisfactory arrangement, present a most pleasing group, and,
in the twilight, with two lofty towers and a ruined archway, it looks
far more like a castle on the Rhine than a church in Norfolk. The effect
doubtless would be heightened if we could see the rebel Kett dangling in
chains from the tower as he did in the reign of Bloody Mary. The timber
roof is exceptionally fine, with its long array of carved oak bosses and
projecting angels.
Near Wymondham is the moated Hall of Stanfield, picturesque with its
numerous pinnacles. Here the heroine of the delightful romance
_Kenilworth_ was born in 1532; but poor Amy's marriage, far from being
secret, was celebrated with great pomp at Sheen in Surrey in 1550, and
is recorded in the _Diary of Edward VI._ now in the British Museum.
"Lydcote," the old house in North Devon where she lived for some
years, was pulled down not many years ago. Her bedstead from there we
believe is still preserved at Great Torrington Rectory.
[Illustration: HAUTBOYS HALL.
(_Photo by W. B. Redfern, Esq._)]
Somewhat similar to Stanfield, though now only a farmhouse, is the very
pretty old Tudor house Hautboys Hall. It stands a few miles to the
south-east of Oxnead.
Of all the moated mansions in Norfolk, Oxburgh Hall, near Stoke Ferry,
is the most interesting, and is a splendid example of the fortified
manor-house of the end of the fifteenth century, and it is one of the
few houses in England that have always been occupied by one family. Sir
Edmund Bedingfield built it in the reign of Richard III., and Sir
Richard Bedingfield resides there at the present time. The octagonal
towers which flank the entrance gate rise from the broad moat to a
considerable height. There is a quaint projecting turret on the eastern
side which adds considerably to the picturesque outline of stepped
gables and quaint battlements. High above the ponderous oak gates the
machicolation behind the arch that joins the towers shows ample
provision for a liberal supply of molten lead, and in an old guard-room
may be seen the ancient armour and weapons to which the retainers of the
Hall were wont to have recourse in case of siege. The room recalls
somehow the defence of the tower of Tillietudlem in _Old Mortality_, and
one can picture the little household guard running the old culverins
and sakers into position on the battlements.
The great mullioned window beneath the Tudor arch and over the entrance
gate belongs to the "King's room," a fine old tapestried chamber
containing the bed, with green and gold hangings, where Henry VII.
slept; and it is no difficult matter to repeople it in the imagination
with the inhabitants of that time in their picturesque costumes. There
is a richness in the colouring of the faded tapestry and hangings in
contrast with the red-brick Tudor fireplace far more striking than if
the restorer had been allowed a liberal hand. It is like a bit of
Haddon, and such rooms are as rarely met with nowadays as unrestored
churches. The remarkable hiding-place at Oxburgh we have described in
detail elsewhere.[14] It is situated in the little projecting turret of
the eastern tower, and is so cleverly constructed beneath the solid
brick floor, that no one would believe until they saw the solid masonry
move upwards that there was sufficient space beneath to conceal a man.
The Bedingfields are an old Roman Catholic family, and it is usually in
the mansions of those of that faith that these ingenious contrivances
are to be seen.
A priest's hole was discovered quite recently in Snowre Hall, a curious
Tudor house some ten miles to the west of Oxburgh. It is entered through
a shaft from the roof, and measures five feet by six feet and four feet
high, and beneath it is an inner and smaller hiding-place. Mr. Pratt (in
whose family the house has been for two centuries) when he made the
discovery had to remove four barrow-loads of jackdaws' nests. The
discovery of this secret room is an interesting sequel to the fact that
on April 29, 1646, Charles I. slept at Snowre Hall. It will be
remembered that before he delivered himself up to the Scots army, he
spent some days wandering about the eastern counties in disguise, like
his son did in the western counties five years later. The owner of the
house in those days was a Mr. Ralph Skipwith, who, to put the spies that
were lurking about the vicinity off the track, provided the king with
his own grey riding-jacket in place of the clergyman's black coat he was
wearing, for that disguise had been widely advertised by his enemies.
Dr. Hudson, who was acting as scout, joined Charles and his companion,
Mr. Ashburnham, at Downham Market, where the "King's Walk" by the town
side, where they met, may still be seen. It is recorded by Dr. Stukeley
that Charles scratched some motto or secret instructions to his friends
on a pane of glass in the Swan Inn, where he put up awaiting Hudson's
return from Southwell. The fugitives proceeded thence to the Cherry Inn
at Mundford, some fourteen miles from Downham, and back to Crimplesham,
where they halted at an inn to effect the disguise above referred to.
The regicide Miles Corbet, who was on the track with Valentine Walton,
gave information as follows:
"Since our coming to Lyn we have done what service we were able. We have
taken some examinations, and it doth appeare to us that Mr. Hudson, the
parson that came from Oxford with the king, was at Downham in Norfolk
with two other gentlemen upon Thursday the last of April. We cannot yet
learn where they were Friday night; but Saturday morning, the 2 of May
they came to a blind alehouse at Crimplesham, about 8 miles from Lyn.
From thence Mr. Hudson did ride on Saturday to Downham again, and there
two soldiers met with him, and had private speech with him. Hudson was
then in a scarlet coat. Ther he met with Mr. Ralf Skipwith of his former
acquaintance, and with him he did exchange his horse; and Skipwith and
the said Hudson did ride to Southrie ferrie a privat way to go towards
Ely; and went by the way to Crimplesham, and ther were the other
two--one in a parsons habit, which by all description was the king.
Hudson procured the said Skipwith to get a gray coat for the Dr. (as he
called the king), which he did. And ther the king put off his black coat
and long cassock, and put on Mr. Skipwith his gray coat. The king bought
a new hat at Downham, and on Saturday went into the Isle of Ely.
Wherever they came they were very private and always writing. Hudson
tore some papers when they came out of the house. Hudson did enquire for
a ship to go to the north or Newcastel, but could get none. We hear at
the same time there were 6 soldiers and officers as is thought at
Oxborough at another blind alehouse."[15]
It is worthy of remark that Miles Corbet, whom Pepys saw on the morning
of April 19, 1662, looking "very cheerful" upon his way to Tyburn, was a
native of Norfolk, and his monument may be seen in Sprowston Church near
Norwich.
The "Swan" at Downham still exists, but it was modernised some fifteen
years ago. It would be interesting to know what became of the historical
pane of glass.