[11] The Miss Hobart who figures in de Gramont's _Memoirs_ was Sir
John's sister, one of the first baronet's sixteen children.
[12] There is an illustration of the room that Monmouth slept in at
Raynham upon this occasion in _King Monmouth_.
[13] _A Narrative of the Visit of His Majesty King Charles the Second to
Norwich, 1671_ (1846).
[14] See _Secret Chambers and Hiding-Places_.
[15] See _Memoirs of the Martyr King_.
NOOKS IN WARWICKSHIRE AND
BORDERLAND
The outline of Warwickshire is something in the form of a turnip, and
the stem of it, which, like an isthmus, projects into Gloucestershire
and Oxfordshire, contains many old-world places.
Long Compton, the most southern village of all, is grey and straggling
and picturesque, with orchards on all sides, and a fine old church, amid
a group of thatched cottages, whose interior was restored or mangled at
a period when these things were not done with much antiquarian taste. We
have pleasant recollections of a sojourn at the "Old Red Lion," where
mine host in 1880, a typical Warwickshire farmer, was the most
hospitable and cheery to be found in this or any other county: an
innkeeper of the old school that it did one's heart good to see.
But this welcome house of call is by no means the only Lion of the
neighbourhood, for on the ridge of the high land which forms the
boundary of Oxfordshire are the "Whispering Knights," the "King's
Stone," and a weird Druidical circle. These are the famous Rollright
Stones, about which there is a story that a Danish prince came over to
invade England, and when at Dover he consulted the oracle as to the
chances of success. He was told that
"When Long Compton you shall see,
You shall King of England be."
Naturally he and his soldiers made a bee-line for Long Compton, and,
arriving at the spot where the circle is now marked by huge boulders, he
was so elated that he stepped in advance of his followers, who stood
round him, saying, "It is not meet that I should remain among my
subjects, I will go before." But for his conceit some unkind spirit
turned the whole party into stone, which doesn't seem quite fair.
"King's Stone" stands conspicuous from the rest on the other side of the
road, and, being very erect, looks as if the prince still prided himself
upon his folly. The diameter of the circle is over a hundred feet. In an
adjoining field is a cluster of five great stones. These are the
"Whispering Knights"; and the secret among themselves is that they will
not consent to budge an inch, and woe to the farmer who attempts to
remove them. The story goes that one of the five was once carted off to
make a bridge; but the offender had such a warm time of it that he
speedily repented his folly and reinstated it.
There is a delightful walk across the fields from Long Compton to Little
Compton, with a glorious prospect of the Gloucestershire and
Warwickshire hills. This village used to be in the former county, but
now belongs to Warwickshire. Close to the quaint saddle-back towered
church stands the gabled Elizabethan manor-house, with the Juxon arms
carved over the entrance. Its exterior has been but little altered since
the prelate lived here in retirement after the execution of Charles I. A
gruesome relic was kept in one of the rooms, the block upon which the
poor monarch's head was severed. This and King Charles' chair and some
of the archbishop's treasured books disappeared from the manor-house
after the death of his descendant Lady Fane. Internally the house has
been much altered, but there are many nooks and corners to carry the
memory back to the hunting bishop, for his pack of hounds was one of the
best managed in the country. Upon one occasion a complaint was made to
the Lord Protector that Juxon's hounds had followed the scent through
Chipping Norton churchyard at the time of a puritanical assembly there.
But Oliver would hear none of it, and only replied, "Let the bishop
enjoy his hunting unmolested."
[Illustration: CHASTLETON.]
When Little Compton church had an Independent minister to hold forth to
the congregation, the prelate held divine service every Sunday at
Chastleton, the grand old home of the loyalist family of Jones. This
stately Jacobean mansion is close to Little Compton, but is really in
Oxfordshire. It has an old-world charm about it entirely its own; and
few ancestral homes can take us back to the days of Cavalier and
Roundhead with such realism, for the old furniture and pictures and
relics have never been disturbed since the house was built by Walter
Jones between the years 1603 and 1630. He purchased the estate from
Robert Catesby, the projector of the Gunpowder Plot, who sold the manor
to provide funds for carrying on that notorious conspiracy.
The great hall is a noble apartment, with raised dais and carved screen;
and the Royalist Joneses looking down upon you on all sides, conspicuous
among whom is Thomas Jones and valiant Captain Arthur Jones, whose sword
beside him shows the good service he did at Worcester fight. When the
day was lost, and Charles was journeying towards Boscobel, the captain
managed to ride his tired horse back to Chastleton. But a party of
Cromwellian soldiers were at his heels, and his wife had only just time
to hurry him into an ingeniously contrived hiding-place when the enemy
confronted her, and refused to budge from the very bedroom behind whose
panelled walls the fugitive was secreted. But Mrs. Arthur Jones had her
share of tact, and in preparing her unwelcome guests some refreshment,
she added a narcotic to the wine, which in time had effect. Her husband
was then released, and with a fresh horse he was soon beyond danger. The
little oak wainscoted chamber and the adjoining bedroom may still be
seen where this exciting episode took place. The drawing-room is very
rich in oak carvings, and the lofty marble chimney-piece bears in the
centre the Jones' arms. The ceiling with its massive pendants is a fine
example of the period.[16] The bedrooms are all hung with the original
tapestry and arras that was made for them. One of them contains the
State bed from old Woodstock Palace; and there are everywhere antique
dressing-tables, mirrors, and quaint embroidered coverlets, and old
chests and cabinets innumerable containing queer old dresses and coats
of the Georgian period, and, what is more remarkable, the identical
Jacobean ruffs and frills which are depicted in the old portraits in the
hall. Then there are cupboards full of delightful old china, and
decanters and wine glasses which were often produced to drink a health
to the "King over the water." But of more direct historic interest is
Charles I.'s Bible, which was given by the widow of the last baronet of
the Juxon family--a grand-nephew of the archbishop--to the then
proprietor of Chastleton, John Jones. It is bound in gold stamped
leather, and bears the Royal arms with the initials C. R. It is dated
1629, and is full of queer old maps and illustrations, and upon the
fly-leaf is written--"Juxon, Compton, Gloucestershire."
Some of the ancient cabinets at Chastleton are full of secret drawers,
and in one of them some years ago a very curious miniature of the martyr
king was discovered. It is painted on copper, and represents Charles I.
with the Order of St. George, and a set of designs drawn on talc,
illustrating the life of the ill-fated monarch from his coronation to
his execution. They are thus described by one of the past owners of
Chastleton: "They consist of a face and bust in one miniature, in a case
accompanied with a set of eight or nine pictures drawn on talc, being
different scenes or dresses, which are to be laid on the miniature so
that the face of the miniature appears through a hole left for that
purpose: and thus the one miniature does duty in every one of the talc
pictures. These were accidentally discovered some twenty years ago.[17]
The miniature was well known, and was supposed to be complete in itself;
but one day whilst being handled by one of the family, then quite a
child, it fell to the ground, and being in that way forced open at the
back, those talc pictures were brought to light. The careful manner in
which they had been concealed, and the miniature thereby made to appear
no more than an ordinary portrait, seems to warrant the suggestion that
they were in the first instance the property of some affectionate
adherent of Charles, whose prudence persuaded him to conceal what his
loyalty no doubt taught him to value very highly. There is no direct
evidence to show that they belonged to Bishop Juxon; nor is there any
tradition that I ever heard connected with them. The two concluding
pictures of the series represent the decapitated head in the hand of the
executioner, and a hand placing the martyr's crown upon the brows."
There are two huge oak staircases running up to the top of the house,
where is the old gallery or ballroom, with a coved ceiling of ornamented
plaster-work, and above the mullioned windows grotesque monster heads
devised in the pargeting.
The grounds and gardens are quite in character: not made to harmonise,
as are so many gardens nowadays, but the original quaint cut box hedges
and trim walks. The grand old house in the centre with its rusty roof of
lichen, and hard by the little church nestling by its side with the
picturesque entrance gateway and dovecot, form together a delightful
group. Chastleton church contains some good brasses. The tower is oddly
placed over the south porch.
A couple of miles to the north, and the same distance beyond, are two
other interesting manor-houses, Barton-on-the-Heath and Little Woolford.
The former, a gabled Jacobean house, was once the seat of the
unfortunate Sir Thomas Overbury, who was done to death in the Tower by
the machinations of that evil couple, Carr, Earl of Somerset, and his
countess. Overbury, it will be remembered, had written the Court
favourite's love letters and poems, and knew too much of that guilty
courtship.
There are some good monuments to the Overburys in the church: a Norman
one with saddle-back tower. Near here is the Four-Shire Stone, described
by Leland as "a large bigge stone; a Three-Mile-Stone from Rollerich
Stones, which is a very mark or line of Gloucestershire, Whichester
(Worcestershire), Warwickshire, and Oxfordshire."
Little Woolford manor-house, the old seat of the Ingrams, is now, or was
some years ago, used as a school. It is very picturesque, and its gables
of half-timber, facing the little courtyard, remind one of the
quadrangle of Ightham Mote. Opposite the Tudor entrance-gate is the
hall, with its open timber roof, minstrels' gallery, panelled walls, and
tall windows, still containing their ancient painted glass. Barton,
which properly should have its ghost, presumably is not so favoured; but
here there are two at least,--a certain "White Lady," who, fortunately
for the juvenile scholars, does not appear until midnight; and the last
of the Ingrams, who has a restless way of tearing about on horseback in
the adjacent fields. This gentleman could not die decently in his bed,
but must needs, upon the point of dying, rush into the stable, mount his
favourite steed, and plunge into the raging tempest to meet his
adversary Death. What a pity there are not more educational
establishments like this. They might possibly make the pupils less
matter-of-fact and more imaginative. But we had almost forgotten a
moral lesson that is to be learned from a rude projection in the masonry
on the left-hand side of the entrance gateway. This is the oven, which
opens at the back of a wide hearth; and here some seventeenth-century
I O U's are said to have been found for money lost at play; while some
Cavaliers were concealed there in the time of the Civil Wars. But the
punishment for gambling was providentially arranged. Some Cromwellian
soldiers dropping in at the manor-house, lighted a tremendous fire, and
gave the unfortunate fugitives a roasting which they did not readily
forget. This is roughly as the story goes; indeed it goes further, for
by local report King Charles himself was one of the victims.
Brailes, a few miles to the north-east, is famous for its church, the
cathedral of southern Warwickshire; but it is principally interesting
exteriorly, the old benches having been long since cleared away and many
nineteenth-century "improvements" made. Still there are parts of the
fourteenth-century roof and a fine font, some ancient monuments,
particularly melodious old bells; and the lofty embattled
fifteenth-century tower is exceptionally graceful.
Buried in a hollow, and hidden from view by encircling trees and hills,
is that wonderful old mansion Compton Wyniates. The name (derived from
the ancient family of Compton and Wyniates, a corruption of vineyard,
for at an early period the vine was here cultivated) is suggestive of
something quaint, and indeed a more curious old house could not be
found. Its innumerable gables and twisted chimneys seem to be heaped up
in the most delightful confusion, in abandoned opposition to any
architectural regularity. The eye wanders from tower and turret until it
becomes bewildered by so many twists and angles. Look at the square box
of a house like Moor Park, for example, and wonder how it is that having
arrived at such picturesque perfection, taste should so degenerate. But
half the fascination of Compton Wyniates is its colour; its time-worn
dark-red brick and the grey-green lichens of ancient roofs. Upon one
side the curious gables and countless chimney clusters are reflected in
the moat, part of which now does service as a sunken garden.
Passing through the bullet-battered door of the main entrance, over
which are the Royal arms of England supported by a griffin and a dog, we
enter a quadrangular court and thence pass into the great hall, with its
open timber roof black with the smoke of centuries. The screen beneath
the music gallery is elaborately carved with leaf tracery, grotesque
figures of mounted knights, and the escutcheon of the Compton arms.
Above the gallery we notice the huge oak beams which form the
half-timber portion of one of the principal gables, and cannot help
comparing these tremendous oak trunks with the modern laths plastered in
front of houses: a futile attempt to imitate this popular style, without
aiming at its _object_--strength.
The screen of the chapel, like that of the hall, is ornamented with
grotesque carvings, including a battle royal between some monks and his
Satanic Majesty, who by the way has one of the ninety rooms all to
himself, and reached by a special spiral staircase. Near the "Devil's
chamber" is another small room whose ghostly occupant is evidently a
member of the fresh-air league, for he will persist in having the window
open, and no matter how often it is closed it is always found to be
open. What a pity this sanitary ghost does not take up his abode where
oxygen is scarcer. But these are by no means the only mysterious rooms
at Compton Wyniates, for not a few have secret entrances and exits, and
one dark corridor is provided with a movable floor, which when removed,
drawbridge fashion, makes an excellent provision for safety so long as
you are on the right side of the chasm. Such ingenious arrangements were
as necessary in a private residence, miles from anywhere, as the
bathroom is in a suburban villa. There are secret "barracks" in the
roof, with storage for a regiment of soldiers, if necessary. The popish
chapel, too, has ample provision for the security of its priest. There
are four staircases leading up to it, and a regular rabbit-warren
between the beams of the roof and the wainscoting, where if needs be he
could run in case of danger.
"Henry VIII.'s room," and "Charles I.'s room," are both pointed out.
The latter slept a night here prior to the battle of Edgehill, and the
bluff king honoured the builder of the mansion, Sir William Compton,
with a visit in memory of old days, when his host as a boy had been his
page. Dugdale tells us that Sir William got his building material from
the ruinous castle of Fulbrooke, so his bricks were mellowed with time
when the house was first erected. The knight's grandson became Baron
Compton in Elizabeth's reign, and his son William, Earl of Northampton
in 1618. A romantic episode in the life of this nobleman was his
elopement with Elizabeth Spencer of Canonbury Tower, Islington. The lady
was a very desirable match, being the only daughter of Sir John Spencer,
the richest heiress of her time. Notwithstanding her strict seclusion at
Canonbury, Lord William Compton, of whom she was enamoured, succeeded in
the absence of her father in gaining admission to the house in the
disguise of a baker, and carried her off in his basket. To perform so
muscular a feat was proof enough of his devotion, so at the end of a
year all was forgotten and forgiven. Their son, the valiant second earl,
Spencer Compton, won his spurs and lost his life fighting for the king
at Hopton Heath. His portrait by Janssen may be seen at Castle Ashby.
His son James, the third earl, also fought for Charles, and attended his
son at the Restoration; but his younger brother Henry, Bishop of London,
aided the Revolution, and crowned Dutch William and his queen.
Only within the last half-century has the mansion been occupied as a
residence. For nearly a century before it was neglected and deserted.
The rooms were bare of furniture, for, alas! its contents, including
Henry VIII.'s State bed, had been removed or sold. That delightful
writer William Howitt in 1840 said the house had not been inhabited for
ninety years, with the exception of a portion of the east front, which
was used by the bailiff. The rooms were empty and the walls were naked.
His concluding wish fortunately long since has been realised--namely,
that its noble owner would yet cause the restoration and refitting of
Compton Wyniates to all its ancient state.
Warwickshire is rich in ancestral houses and mediaeval castles. Take, for
example, the fortresses of Kenilworth, Warwick, Maxstoke, and Tamworth,
or the fine old houses Coombe Abbey, Charlecote, and Baddesley Clinton.
The last named perhaps is least known of these, but by no means the
least interesting. This old moated Hall of the Ferrers family is buried
in the thickly wooded country on the high tableland which occupies the
very heart of England. As to the actual centre, there are two places
which claim this distinction; but oddly enough they are quite twelve
miles apart. The one between Leamington and Warwick, the other to the
west of Coventry. The latter spot is marked by the village cross of
Meriden, and the former by an old oak tree by the main road. Baddesley
Clinton is nearly equidistant from both, south of Meriden and north-west
of Leamington and Warwick.
Few houses so thoroughly retain their ancient appearance as Baddesley.
It dates from the latter part of the fifteenth century, and is a
singularly well-preserved specimen of a moated and fortified manor-house
of that period. Like Compton Wyniates, its situation is very secluded in
its densely wooded park, and formerly there was a double moat for extra
defence; but for all its retiredness and security, the old house has a
kindly greeting for those who are interested in such monuments of the
past. A stone bridge across the moat leads to a projecting embattled
tower with a wide depressed archway, showing provision for a portcullis
with a large mullioned window over it. In general appearance the front
resembles the moated house of Ightham, with which it is coeval, and the
half-timbered gables of the courtyard are somewhat similar. Unlike
Charlecote, the interior is as untouched as the exterior. Everywhere
there are quaint old "linen" panelled rooms and richly carved
chimney-pieces--windows of ancient heraldic glass, and old furniture,
tapestry, and paintings. The hall is not like some, that never look cosy
unless there is a blazing log fire in the hearth. There is something
particularly inviting in this old room, with its deep-recessed mullioned
window by the great freestone Jacobean fireplace. What pictures could
not the imagination conjure up in this cosy corner in the twilight of an
autumn day! On the first floor over the entrance archway is the
"banqueting-room," with high coved ceiling and tapestry-lined walls.
Beyond this is "Lord Charles' room," haunted, it is said, by a handsome
youth with raven hair. Many years ago this spectre was seen by two of
the late Mr. Marmion Ferrers' aunts when they were children, and they
long remembered his face and steadfast gaze. A mysterious lady dressed
in rich black brocade is occasionally encountered in the corridors in
broad daylight, like the famous "Brown Lady" of Raynham Hall.
The ancient chapel was set up by Sir Edward Ferrers when the little
parish church was taken from the family at the Reformation. In the
thickness of the wall close at hand there is a secret passage which
leads down to a little water-gate by the moat beneath which a narrow
passage runs, so that there were two ready means of escape in troublous
times; and in the roof on the east side of the house there is a priest's
hole provided with a fixed bench. Marmion Ferrers above alluded to, who
died in 1884, was the eighth in descent from father to son from Henry
Ferrers of Elizabeth's time. Both were learned antiquarians. Marmion
Ferrers was a typical squire of the old school, and we well remember
with what pride he showed us round his ancestral home. But his pride
ended there, as is shown by the following anecdote. One day he
encountered an old woman in the park who had been gathering sticks
without permission. She dropped her heavy bundle and was about to offer
apologies for trespassing, when the good old squire, seeing that her
load was too much for her strength, without a word slung the burden on
his shoulder and carried it to the woman's humble dwelling.
This calls to mind a story of a contemporary squire who lived some fifty
miles away in the adjoining county, an antiquary who was also known for
his acts of kindness and hospitality. In the vicinity of his ancient
Hall a tramp had found a job, and the baronet was anxious to test his
butler's honesty. He therefore offered to lend the man a hand and help
him carry some bundles of faggots into an adjacent yard, if he would
share profits. This was agreed upon, and when the work was done the
tramp went off to the Hall to ask for his money, promising to join his
assistant in a lane at the back of the house. Meanwhile the squire
hurried to his study, and when the butler made his appearance handed him
five shillings. Then donning his shabby coat and hat he hastened back.
Presently the tramp came up with beaming countenance and held out half a
crown, saying they were both well rewarded with one and threepence each.
But the assistant grumbled, and said it was miserable pay, and at length
persuaded the man to return and ask to see the squire and explain the
amount of work that had been done. Again he returned to his sanctum, and
hearing the bell ring told the butler to admit the man, and he would
hear what he had to say. Having enjoyed the fun--the tramp's surprise
and the butler's discomfort, he dismissed them both--one with half a
guinea, the other from his service.
Baddesley Clinton church, shut in by tall trees a bow-shot from the
Hall, is famous for its eastern window of heraldic glass, which shows
the various noble families with whom the Ferrers intermarried. By the
union of Marmion Ferrers' father with the Lady Harriet Anne, daughter of
the second Marquis Townshend, the Chartley and Tamworth lines of the
family were united with that of Baddesley. The altar tomb of Sir Edward
Ferrers, Knight, the founder of the family at Baddesley, his wife Dame
Constance, and son who predeceased him, has above shields of the
alliances with the Bromes, Hampdens, etc. He was the son of Sir Henry
Ferrers, Knight, of Tamworth Castle, and grandson of William, Lord
Ferrers of Groby. Marmion was the thirteenth in descent from this Sir
Edward, not many links between the fifteenth and end of the nineteenth
century. The day of the good old squire's burial on August 25, 1884,
fell upon the three hundred and forty-ninth anniversary of the death of
the first Ferrers of Baddesley.