ABOUT CHERTSEY AND WEYBRIDGE
[Illustration]
Between Chertsey and Penton Hook is Laleham, where the tiny ivy-covered
church is too much hidden away to be seen easily. An old red brick
moss-grown wall is the chief object near the river, and with the
bending trees and quiet fields there is a sense of brooding peace which
only remains in places off the main roads. Matthew Arnold was born at
Laleham and is buried in the churchyard. His father, Dr. Arnold of
Rugby, came here in 1819, but he left when Matthew was only six, to
take the head-mastership of Rugby.
Between Laleham and Chertsey there is some open, rather untidy ground
on which gypsies are wont to camp. It cannot be said that the river
looks its best above Chertsey. The country is too flat and open, and on
a summer day one is too often scorched. Yet there is always some beauty
to be found, and it is certainly in open spaces like these that we see
best reflected "heaven's own blue." Away to the west the tiny Abbey
river flows in past a mill. By Chertsey bridge a triumphant victory in
regard to right-of-way over the Thames Conservancy in 1902, is recorded
on two newly built villas. Opposite is the Bridge Hotel, which, with
its little bay, its Lombardy poplars and green lawn, is a pleasant
oasis.
Chertsey Abbey, which was of great fame, lay between the town and the
river. It was founded in 666, and some Saxon tiles from the flooring
may be seen in the British Museum. The buildings were destroyed by the
Danes, but it was re-established in 964 as a Benedictine Monastery.
Nothing shows more the immense power of the monks in England than
these mighty abbeys which studded the country. We have come across so
many, even in our short journey between Oxford and London, that the
fact cannot escape notice; though they probably were more thickly set
beside the river than elsewhere, because, as I have said, flowing water
attracted these old monks for more than one reason. There is hardly
anything left of Chertsey Abbey now, yet in its prime it was like a
small town, giving employment to hundreds of people. There are a few
ivy-covered steps near the back of the church and an old bit of wall
doubtfully supposed to have been part of the boundary; this is near
the Abbey river. Henry VI. was buried at Chertsey, and his funeral is
referred to in Shakespeare's play of _Richard III._:
... after I have solemnly interr'd
At Chertsey monast'ry this noble king,
And wet his grave with my repentant tears.
So he makes the hypocritical Duke of Gloucester speak. Cowley, the
poet, lived in Chertsey for two years before his death. The house
still stands; it has an overhanging storey and is covered with rough
stucco. Charles James Fox was born in a house near, and this probably
decided him in making choice of a residence many years later, for he
chose St. Anne's Hill, only two miles away, which can be seen far and
wide around. There he settled to indulge in the delightful hobby of
improving his grounds.
Below Chertsey Bridge is an excellent punting reach, where the
championship punting competition is held every year in the beginning
of August. This is, doubtless, the reason why Chertsey is crowded
with visitors in the summer, when out of all the innumerable lodgings
scarcely a room is to be had.
The river about Weybridge and Shepperton is much more varied than
at Chertsey, and to my mind variety is a direct element of beauty in
river scenery. We have passed through flat meadows lined with straight
ranks of Lombardy poplars that might belong to northern France, and
then suddenly, at Weybridge, we begin once more curves and twists and
unexpected islands and snug corners. There is a ferry across the river,
and the place seems to get along wonderfully well without a bridge.
In the middle of the stream is a well-kept island which belonged to
the late Mr. D'Oyly Carte; it is hedged about with an exclusive wall,
enclosing a pretty garden. In the centre is a neat white house with
projecting tiles.
In every direction there are numerous boat-building establishments.
The lock island is large and has other buildings on it besides the
lock-keeper's cottage. It is a favourite camping ground in summer, and
has rather an untidy appearance. The wide-mouthed Wey flows in beside
a couple of other islands, and is itself a very attractive place to
explore, winding away through meadows and beneath overhanging trees.
It is, however, not free from locks, though of a somewhat simpler kind
than those on the Thames. Weybridge is a fresh and pleasant place,
rapidly growing in all directions, and in its gorsy common land and
masses of pine woods it reminds one of the parts of Surrey about
Camberley. On the green stands the column which once presented seven
faces to the seven streets in London, called after it Seven Dials.
Since then it has risen in life, having been bought and surmounted with
a coronet instead of the dial stone; this was in honour of the Duchess
of York, who died in 1820. She lived at Oatlands Park and was very
popular.
Oatlands Park is the great place of the neighbourhood. It was once
a hunting ground of King Henry VIII., but now belongs to a large
residential hotel. Nothing remains of the building, which was used
by many of our English monarchs. George IV. entertained here the
Emperor of Russia, the King of Prussia, and all the princes and
generals who visited England after Waterloo. In 1790 the Duke of
York, who is commemorated by the column in Waterloo Place, bought and
rebuilt the house, and still later it was in the possession of the
Earl of Ellesmere. Remodelled, the house still stands as the hotel. A
large piece of ornamental water in the grounds is almost as great an
attraction as Virginia Water. Just where the park touches the river is
the place known as Cowey Stakes. It is said that here Cæsar crossed the
river when in pursuit of Cassivelaunus, in 54 B.C. The stakes, which
are no longer to be seen, are supposed to have been placed there to
obstruct his use of the ford. They had been so long under water, that
when found they were like ebony; they were about six feet long and
shod with iron. They appear to have been too imposing and carefully
formed to have been put in for the mere purpose of a river weir or for
fishing; but, on the other hand, instead of running with the axis of
the river, as would appear reasonable if they were meant to obstruct
the passage of men, they were planted across it like a weir. They have
afforded matter for endless discussion among antiquaries.
[Illustration: WALTON BRIDGE]
What we know is that Cæsar, having landed at Pevensey, marched inland
and came to the Thames at about eighty miles from the sea. The river
was fordable only at one place, and here natives were drawn up to
oppose him, and the ford fortified with sharp stakes. So the evidence
certainly seems in favour of this place.
Near Cowey Stakes is Walton Bridge, on the far side of which is a large
pool connected with the river by a channel; here are constantly to be
found punt fishers. Turner painted Walton Bridge, and certainly, in
some aspects, the place is worthy of being painted. The present bridge
is of brick and iron, but the old one was of oak. Walton, like every
other place on the Thames, depends greatly on the weather. On days
when the cedars are seen against a vivid blue sky and the songs of a
thousand birds are heard, when the meadows are lined with flowers, it
is beautiful.
Now rings the woodland loud and long,
The distance takes a lovelier hue,
And drown'd in yonder living blue
The lark becomes a sightless song.
There are other days when the whole is curiously like a platinotype
photograph; when the steel-grey water reflects a white sun, and all the
countless twigs of the trees are seen in one feathery mass. All colours
seem drawn out of the picture, even the green of the grass is turned
to dun. Light is everything in estimating beauty, but it is sometimes
difficult to realise quite how much one owes to it. We might quote from
Cowley's _Hymn to the Light_:
Thou in the moon's bright chariot proud and gay
Dost thy bright wood of stars survey,
And all the year dost with thee bring
Of thousand flow'ry lights thine own nocturnal spring.
When, goddess, thou lift'st up thy waken'd head
Out of the morning's purple bed,
Thy quire of birds about thee play,
And all the joyful world salutes the rising day.
In Walton Church is a small brass with, _inter alia_, a man riding
on a stag's back. The story goes that this man, John Selwyn, was an
under-keeper in Oatlands Park in Queen Elizabeth's time, and that when
she was present at the "chace," he leapt from his own horse's back
straight on to that of the driven stag, when "he not only kept his
seat gracefully in spite of every effort of the affrighted beast, but,
drawing his sword, with it guided him toward the Queen, and coming near
her presence plunged it into his throat, so that the animal fell dead
at her feet."
[Illustration: SUNBURY]
In the vestry is a Scolds' or Gossips' bridle, designed in the old days
of witch-hunting and other atrocities to torture poor women.
Admiral Rodney was a native of Walton, and an old and quaintly built
house which belonged to the regicide Bradshaw is still in existence.
Below Walton is Sunbury with its long, long weirs, and its little
houses spread beside the edge of the water. But with Hampton we reach
the Londoner's zone, which is for another chapter. At present Halliford
and Shepperton, two little places opposite Oatlands, are far too pretty
to be passed by without remark. The Manor House at Shepperton has one
of the finest lawns on the river, which is no small thing. Shepperton
is a scattered place and lies low; the meadows all around are often
flooded for miles and miles, looking like an inland sea. A tiny river
called the Exe finds its way into the Thames near Halliford. A glimpse
of the quaint church of Shepperton should not be missed. The tower is
very lean and narrow; it looks rather as if bricks had run short. It
was added later than the rest, which was built in 1614. Tradition says
that the previous church was destroyed by a Thames flood, though it
stood on piles to raise it from the marshy ground. The old rectory,
with its dormer windows and projecting wings, is really built of oak,
though it has been faced with tiles which look like brick. It is about
four hundred years old, and is one of the most delightful rectory
houses imaginable. The list of rectors goes back to before 1330.