Old English houses, the record of a random itinerary

I

I

OLD ENGLISH
HOUSES

sr THE s^me jtvrH0\

Nooks and Corners of Old
England

Secret Chambers and Hiding-
Places

The Flight of the King

After Worcester Fight

King Monmouth

Etc.

OLD ENGLISH

: : HOUSES : :

THE RECORD OF A RANDOM ITINERARY

Sj/ ALLAN FEA ^ ^ ^

WITH A FRONTISPIECE IN PHOTOGRAVURE
AND OVER ONE HUNDRED ILLUSTRATIONS
FROM PHOTOGRAPHS BY THE AUTHOR

I

CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS

NEW YORK

MCMX

ARCHil'ECTURE

^UrHO%'S OiOTE

THE last twenty years or so has shown a
universal advance in taste, especially regard-
ing the appreciation and preservation of old
buildings in which our country fortunately is still so
rich. Compare for example the restoration of a church
in the 'seventies or 'eighties, with the careful and
judicious restoration of to-day ; or the adaptation of
modern requirements to an old house thirty or forty
years ago.

But the word "restoration,*' however modified, does
not harmonise with ancient buildings, and though the
busy wheels of progress travel rapidly, there are still
out-of-the-way nooks and corners in old England
where, like the slower movements of a clock,
things proceed as tardily as they did a century or
more ago.

It is for those who delight in such old-world places
that I have attempted to describe a few impressions

5

ivi60a6;25

Author's Note

collected from casual notes. The present volume,

enlarged and amplified has been reconstructed out

of a former one on the same subject long since out

of print.

A. F.

C0U^T63^S

PAGE

BUCKINGHAMSHIRE 15

BERKSHIRE AND OXFORDSHIRE 69
BEDFORD, HERTFORD, AND MIDDLESEX 109

EAST HERTFORD AND ESSEX 145

KENT 163

SUSSEX 217

SURREY AND HAMPSHIRE 243

INDEX 267

1^^

LIST OF ILLUSTIi^riO^Ji^S

To face

Creslow Manor House Frontispiece ^"s^

Bridgefoot, Iver 24

Parlem Park 24

HuNTSMOOR 25

Ostrich Inn, Colnbrook 25

Langley Almshouses 32

BuRNHAM Abbey 32

The Kederminster Tomb, Langley 33

Hill House, Denham 56

Denham Place 56

The Savoy, Denham 57

Frescoes at the Savoy 57

OcKWELLs 72

ockwells 72

Porch at Ockwells 73

Almshouses at Bray 73

Mapledurham Mill 80

Gaunt House 80

NoRTHMooR Rectory House 81

Old Dovecote, Northmoor 81

AsTHALL Manor House 88

Crown Inn, Shipton-under-Wychwood 88

BuRFORD Priory 89

BuRFORD Priory 89

BuRFORD 96

BuRFORD Priory before Restoration 96

The Wilmot Pew, Adderbury 97

Water Eaton Manor House 97

Fritwell Manor House 104

9

List of Illustrations ^^^^^^

page

Canons Ashby 105

Wroxton Abbey 105

White Horse Inn, Hockliffe 120

Helmets at Harefield 120

Houghton Conquest 121

Aston Bury 121

Moor Hall, Harefield 136

Almshouses at Harefield 136

Cedar House, Hillingdon 137

Swakeleys 137

Old House, Newport 148

Nell Gwyn's House, Newport 148

Little Hadham Hall 149

Spains Hall 149

MoYNS 152

Little Leighs Priory 152

Beckington 153

Eastbury House 153

Gateway, Davington Court 164

The Calico 164

The Calico 165

Interior of The Calico 165

Champion Court 168

Old House, Throwley 168

Seed Farm 169

Old House, Eastling 169

Old House near Linsted 176

Old House near Linsted 176

Old House, Linsted 177

Old House, Linsted 177

Bell Inn, Hollingbourne 180

Godfrey House, Hollingbourne 180

Old House, Hollingbourne 181

Old House near Bredgar 181
10

List of Illustrations ^^,

1 0 face
page

Bexon Manor House 184

Grove End Farm 184

Old House near Ashford 185

Old House, Lenham 188

Old House near Teynham 188

Charity House, Lenham 189

Old House, Harrietsham 189

Old House, Leeds 192

Old House, Leeds 192

Old House, Langley 193

Old House, Bromfield 193

Old House, Charing 196

Speaking Trumpet, Charing 197

Acton Farm 200

WiCKENs 200

RoLLESTON Farm 201

Biddenden 208

Old House, Biddenden 208

Old House near Biddenden 209

The Monkey House 209

Old House, Smarden 212

Old House, Smarden 212

Smarden Manor House 213

Smarden Manor House 213

holmshurst 220

Tanners 221

bolebrook 224

bolebrook • 224

Old House, East Grinstead 225

Sackville College 228

Brambletye House 228

Old House, West Hoathly 229

Wakehurst 229

East Mascalls 232

II

List of Illustrations ^„,„^^

page

Broadhurst 232

East Mascalls 233

Porch House, Chiddingstone 248

Hever Castle 249

Crittenden 249

OsBRooK 256

Bonnets 256

Old House, Alford 257

Blockfield 257

12

/

S UCKLXgH^MSHITiS

EVERYBODY nowadays is more or less of
an antiquary. There is an innate love of
the past in our composition, although
perhaps we do not all care to acknowledge it.
When an old landmark disappears, who does not
feel a pang of regret at parting with something
which linked us with the past ? An old house
is seldom threatened with demolition but there
is some protest, more, perhaps, from the old asso-
ciations than from any particular architectural merit
the building may have. A great writer has likened an
old house to a human heart, with a life of its own, full
of sad and sweet reminiscences. Truly these remini-
scences may be buried in obscurity, but even if they
are it is a pleasure to speculate upon the past
memories, grave and gay.

As it is only recently that the railway has *^ opened
up " the beauties of Bucks, so close at hand for

15

'*' old English Houses

Londoners, the rustic character of its nooks and corners
has so far been but little disturbed, and let us hope
that many of them will not " develop," but remain as
they are for years to come. This, I know, is not the
wish of many of the villagers who are brought in touch
with the world. The more " improvements," the more
they rejoice. It is usually the stranger in the land
who laments these things.

I will name one place as an example — Gerrard's
Cross. But, looking at those hideous rows of modern
dwellings which have recently sprung up like mush-
rooms, surely also there must be many of the original
inhabitants who long to get deeper into the country
now that their land is raided by the Cockney. The
suburban tentacles of the octopus London are for
ever stretching further, and the tramway lines of
provincial towns are extended like welcoming hands to
meet them. But at the same time it is gratifying to
observe a growing tendency towards the appreciation
of ancient houses, both on account of their architecture
and of their past associations.

Some years ago I remember seeing in a newspaper
the outline of a triangle drawn between three places in
South Bucks. The rusticity of the country lying between
these points was commented upon, and unfortunately
i6

Buckinghamshire

also the old furniture belonging to the cottagers
— the warming-pans and other things dear to the
collector.

I will not specify the points of this triangle, but for
my own purpose draw another, for within its limits
lie the places 1 have to tell about. Roughly speaking,
these limits will be Colnbrook to the south, Beaconsfield
to the west, and Amersham to the north. Let us set out
from Uxbridge and walk to Cowley, the last village in
Middlesex. Beyond Cowley a long stretch of park-
skirted road, refreshing to the eye after the monotonous
outskirts of Uxbridge, heralds us into Buckingham-
shire. This straight road from Cowley is modern.
The older one leads to a ford across the stream, which
in those days was much wider. Hidden behind the
trees is Huntsmoor, where lived Pepys' friend, William
Bowyer, who, riding home one dark night along the
old serpentine road, which may still be traced within
the park fences, fell into the river Colne and was
drowned. Here the diarist's wife stopped during his
absence abroad in 1660, where he was preparing for
the triumphal return of the King. The water running
round Huntsmoor gives the house a moated appearance.
The older gabled part of the mansion preserves much
of its original character. The addition of a taller wing

B 17

Old English Houses

in the time of William III., or perhaps later, makes
it rather puzzling at first to detect the original
design.

Returning to the road, there is a sharp turn by the
little bridge over the weed-grown tributary of the river,
and we face, close to the waterside, a typical Queen
Anne house, with formal iron gate of quaint design.

Often have I halted before this solitary old house to
admire its unaltered character and solid compactness.
Upon one of these occasions the drawn blinds and
closed shutters of the small-paned windows facing the
road prompted me, not with burglarious intent, to try
whether a glimpse could be obtained of the old garden
beyond. It was the month of roses, and the sweetest
of all scents pervaded the air. The old house was
**To let,'' so I learned — a golden opportunity for a
peep within.

And to step within was to step back to the days
of the good Queen whose demise might not yet have
reached the ears of its inmates, judging by appearances,
for nothing was out of character. Queen Anne was
everywhere. Panelling, tables, chairs, cabinets, mirrors,
clocks, all were of the period beloved by the collector.
To look out of the narrow white casements through
glass panes more than two centuries old upon the orna-
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Buckinghamshire

mental ironwork in front and the meadow-skirted,
winding road, was to picture at one's elbow some
Kit-kat dandy, or lady in ample and rustling flowered
silk, yawning with ennui at being so far away from the
the gaiety of town.

But having visited all these old rooms was by no
means to have arrived at the end of the ancient furni-
ture, for the stables and lofts above were literally packed.
If South Kensington became possessed of such a mine
it would have to open a wing wherein to house it all. In
astonishment I had almost forgotten the old garden,
until some festoons of roses nodding over the stable
wall drew me forth to admire the wealth of colour
wasting its beauty when garden-party admiration should
have been pouring forth on such a lovely day in June.
But how many beautiful gardens are not thus abandoned
when at their best ! The reason is simple — the London
" season."

A former tenant of this old place — Bridgefoot —
Mr. G. F. Bodley, the well-known architect, planted
an avenue of trees to form a carriage approach across the
stream, but as he was not permitted to build a bridge
sufficiently wide to accommodate vehicular traffic the
idea had to be abandoned. At this side of the house and
from the further bank, the eye, satiated with every shade

19

■

old English Houses

of red, felt relieved by the cool green vistas between
the trees. Nature seemed to have run wild at this
particular spot, as if to form a contrast to the trim
paths and level lawns. There was the ever-attractive
sound of running water, for an old mill used to stand
there many years ago.

Again on the winding uphill road, and one comes in
sight of Iver village, with the church finely perched at the
corner of the cross-roads. A nice old timbered inn, the
Swan (the timbers spoiled somewhat with drab paint),
stands opposite, and near the church are two very neat,
ivy-covered Georgian houses, which have a peculiar
dignity of their own. The cream-white window
casements are vastly wide in comparison with those at
Bridgefoot, and the panelled walls and china-cupboards
of their interiors impress one at a glance with a feeling
of restful comfort, so different from the ostentation of
an up-to-date *' desirable '* villa. Both these houses
have delightfully secluded gardens, with smooth lawns
and beds of gay perennials, in which old-fashioned
foxgloves, lilies, and Canterbury bells flourish with
incomparable grace.

Iver church, like the old church of Uxbridge, has
suffered restoration under Sir Gilbert Scott, but there
is a fine Jacobean tomb that has survived the ordeal.
20

Buckinghamshire

It represents Lady Salter, the wife of the "carver
to two kings," rising from her grave. An admirable
early Tudor brass gives a faithful representation of
the quaint costume of the day.

Going southwards towards Colnbrook we pass
Thorney Farm, where, tradition says, Cromwell slept
when his army occupied the town. Richings Park is
close by. It is a square, ugly building of George III.'s
time. The older house belonged to the first Lord
Bathurst, a great patron of genius — a proof of which
could be seen some years ago in an old secluded bench
near *' the Abbey Walk," upon which were written
verses by Congreve, Addison, Pope, Prior, Gay, and
Swift.

An old moated house where it is said Queen
Elizabeth was nursed while her vindictive sire held
sway at Windsor Castle, some three miles away as
the crow flies, stands back from the road on the
outskirts of the park. It is known as Parlem Park
(corrupted into " Parlaunt "), and once belonged to
the Stanleys, whose coat of arms and quarterings
remained in one of the old window-frames, now open
to the sky. This part of the building is a sad picture
of ruin. The greater portion of the huge timbers of
the roof have fallen, and lie in a confused heap upon

21

old English Houses

the ground, though some of them remain suspended.
The old timbered walls are still equal to a battle
with the elements, and the luxurious mantle of ivy-
lends support as to a friend in distress ; for if no longer
this is habitation for the lords of creation it is a
very comfortable one for owls and the feathered tribe
in general. There is a curious open corridor beneath
the projecting upper storey, with oaken supports,
suggestive of the ^' Rows " of Chester, or the entrance
to Ockwells. It is the communication between the
habitable and the ruinous parts of the house. One
of the most interesting features, however, lies concealed
beneath a tangled mass of box and yew — a dismal
dungeon-chamber,"" with rounded roof and walls of
immense thickness. Overhead dangles an ominous-
looking iron ring, suggestive of unfortunate victims
starved to death in "the good old days." One's
fancy may ramble far away, for in a corner is a hole,
blocked with rubbish, the bottom of which the good
farmer told me had never been touched. Moreover,
there are traditions of secret passages running to
Windsor, Burnham Abbey, and the Parsonage Farm
(mentioned later) ; not entirely unauthenticated either,
for in ploughing the land in a level line with Windsor
the hoofs of the farm-horses frequently ring forth a
a2

Buckinghamshire

hollow sound, and at a considerable distance from the
house. The moat is broad, but within memory was
double the width across. An old farm-hand who died
some twenty years ago remembered when, in place of
the present brick bridge, the water was spanned by a
drawbridge, which was raised as regularly as those of
to-day at Sherborne Castle in the adjoining county
of Oxon.

Not far from Parlem is another old house asso-
ciated with the masterful maiden queen. This is
the Ostrich Inn, at Colnbrook, a typical Tudor hos-
telry, whose sturdy black timbers, some of which are
said to date back seven hundred years, look good for
another period just as long. The highway in which it
stands is narrow, and it is as much as one can do now-
adays to dodge the incessant motors, more than ever
like express trains now they are provided with whistles.
The mention of these raised the indignation of mine
host. They were no good to him^ he said ; nor was the
gasometer which somebody had stuck up at the back
of his pretty garden. .And one can understand the
feelings of an ancient coaching house of distinction
suffering such indignities. A gable with sun-dial and
carved oak twisted pillars faces this monster over-
topping the trees, and makes it blush crimson at the

23

Old English Houses

unseemly intrusion, for in these old corridors, once
open to the yard, has walked a Tudor queen — nay, more,
another celebrity, Dick Turpin. If you doubt the
fact, there on the wall of the great staircase, hang^ing
close to the twisted oak newels supporting the roof, at
one time also open to the yard, hangs the pistol of the
notorious gentleman of the road. Moreover, Turpin's
tall four-poster may be seen, and the trapdoor in the
roof of a deep cupboard, by which he made his exit in
the event of unwelcome inquiries being made for him
below-stairs. The old Chandos Arms at Edgware
shows similar facilities in the way of a window, which
looks as if the landlords of his time were rather
proud of the accommodation they could provide in
this way.

There is another bedroom at the Ostrich which
possesses associations of a more gruesome character.
Some centuries ago, when mine host found honest
business too slow to fill his coffers (notwithstanding the
absence of motor traffic), an ingenious device was planned
by which guests putting up for the night could be
relieved of their cash. Nothing could have been
simpler. In the dead of night a trapdoor in the
bottom of the bed opened, and the unfortunate sleeper
was precipitated into boiling water ! To doubt the
24

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p. 21

HUXTSMOOR

OSTUICH INN, COLNBUOOK

p. 23

Buckinghamshire

story would be out of the question, for there are people
living who have seen the very tank, and perchance
can fill it in imagination rather with boiling oil than
water.

On the opposite side of the road is another nice old
inn, which also lays claim to having entertained Queen
Elizabeth. Further along, just across the bridge
(dated 1777), which divides Middlesex from Bucks,
stands an old house, also probably an inn at one time,
judging by the size of its entrance-gate. It is called
King John's Palace. There is nothing older about it
than the seventeenth century, but here, by repute,
King John signed the Magna Charta. Runnymede is
not far away, and is a formidable rival, but Colnbrook
adheres firmly to its rights.

A certain amount of rivalry also exists on Magna
Charta Island itself, for there are two tables upon which
that famous document, which swept away traditional
rights for written legislation, was signed. The one of
oak doubtless has as much claim to the honour as the
bed at Berkeley Castle to the distinction of Edward II.
dying upon it. The other claimant is a stone slab on the
ground, which it is easier to date back to 1215. After
signing the great charter which gave Englishmen their
freedom King John retired to Windsor for a day or so,

25

i

old English Houses

and may have visited his hunting lodge, about a mile to
the north of the island, before he started on a restless
progress through the country which ended in his death
at Newark. The old hunting lodge, otherwise Place
Farm, may possess some timbers or stones ot John's
time, but the general character of the house is of Tudor
date. It is a picturesque old building, with projecting
gable and porch beneath. There is a good deal of
timber about the low-ceilinged rooms. There was some
oak carving too, and heraldic glass, when I was there
many years ago. But if the house is not contemporary
with the great event on the island, there is every likelihood
that a grand old yew-tree close by, at Ankerwyke, was
then alive. And it is said to have witnessed another
historical event a little over three centuries afterwards,
for here, according to local tradition, Henry VIII.
courted Anne Boleyn ; as he is said to have done at'
Hever Castle, West Wickham Court, and many other
places. There are some scanty ruins of the original
priory, but the present house does not date further
back than the beginning of the last century.

Of recent years the village of Wraysbury has
developed considerably, but it is still, fortunately, very
different from Datchet, where Victorian mediaeval
houses are conspicuous. Wraysbury, or Wyrardisbury,
26

Buckinghamshire

could boast its tapering may-pole opposite the village
inn. I remember a curious experience at this inn.
Having tramped the country with a friend, we here
partook of tea, and were upon the point of consulting
time-tables when to our astonishment somebody came
in to announce that our brougham was at the door !
Issuing forth, true enough there was a carriage and
pair, with a liveried footman, who, touching his hat as we
entered, mounted the box-seat. We were too aston-
ished to speak. Arriving at the station, we were respect-
fully set down, a tip was politely refused, and the
brougham drove away. To this day the episode
remains a mystery. The interior of Wraysbury Church
has been painfully restored, as has also that of Horton,
to the north, but the latter has a good Norman door,
with zigzag pattern, and Tudor porch of fine propor-
tions— a porch that the restorers of Chalfont St. Giles
might have copied with advantage. Milton's parents
lived at Horton, but the cottage pointed out as their
residence, like King John's wooden table, is a standing
contradiction to the association. A stone in the
chancel records : " Beneath this stone lie the remains
of Sarah the wife of John Milton." She died in 1637,
and John, the poet's father, in 1646, being buried at
St. Giles, Cripplegate. The poet's granddaughter, Mrs.

27

Old English Houses

Foster, it is curious to note, kept a chandler's shop
in Pelham Street, Spitalfields.

Leaving Datchet to the left, the road goes north-
wards to Ditton Park. The old house built in the
reign of James I. was burnt down about a century
ago, and with it perished many valuable pictures once
in the possession of the Winwood family. A portion of
the original chapel remains. Further north is Langley,
where the interesting old church and almshouses are
well worth a visit ; indeed, it will reward a journey of
many miles to see the remarkable Kederminster pew
and library. The latter is a curious old room, with
gorgeously painted panels forming a series of cupboards
or bookshelves for holding leather-bound tomes of very
ancient appearance, — rather heavy literature, apparently.
The fireplace is also richly painted. There are two
deep-set windows, and a massive-legged oak table and
some old chairs complete the furnishing of the room.

Tradition says that Royalist conferences were held
here at the time of the Civil War. The lady in charge,
an inmate of the adjacent almshouses, was proud of its
kingly associations, and assigned to one of the chairs
with a crown on the back the honour of having be-
longed to Charles I. Then there were two Georgian
chairs which " once belonged to Cromwell," and Queen
28

Buckinghamshire

Anne's prayer-book. She was a little uncertain, how-
ever, which monarch should have possessed the quaint
embroidered cushions of the Kederminster pew. The
bewigged portraits worked upon them might be meant
either for George I. or his rival Prince James Francis
Stuart. Strange to say, she forgot to point out good
Queen Bess, who is represented upon one of the panels.
The pew is approached from the library by some steps,
and is decorated on all sides, including the ceiling, with
mysterious mottoes, eyes, saintly figures, and armorial
designs. It is long and narrow, the seats far too
cramped to have permitted the Kederminsters of old to
have slept with comfort, and, when the latticed oriental
looking windows are closed, somewhat stuffy. Above
the screen, in front, is elaborate early Jacobean orna-
mentation in woodwork painted like the rest. The
immediate look-out is upon the Kederminster- Parsons-
Seymour - Masham - M arlborough - Harvey aisle, with
tattered banners aloft, and an empty iron bracket where,
if I remember rightly, not so very many years ago used
to hang a fine old helmet. What becomes of these
church helmets ? Thanks to his Grace of Norfolk, the
one belonging to his ancestor at Framlingham was
not permitted to be removed, though a very substantial
sum was offered for it recently. But in many case?

29

old English Houses

the families to whom old tombs rightly belong, and
by whom they should be preserved, have become
extinct, and then somehow or other the old helmets
disappear.

The tomb of Sir John Kederminster, his spouse and
family, is in the chancel. Their kneeling figures are
represented, and give a good idea of the costume of
the latter part of the sixteenth or early part of the
seventeenth century. The female headdress is par-
ticularly quaint.

The rest of Langley Church has quite an old-world
look, if it is not architecturally pleasing to the eye,
for the stone pillars are thrown out of balance by the
introduction of wooden columns of the Renaissance
period. The screens are Jacobean and Georgian, and
the windows belong to the Decorated period.

But the gem of Langley is to be found at the
back of the churchyard, for there stands the most
picturesque block of seventeenth-century almshouses, in
that delightfully unrestored condition that nowadays is
so rarely to be found, at least within this distance from
London. One almost hesitates to breathe the fact lest
to-morrow may see masons on the spot destroying the
perfect harmony, the poetry which nothing but time
and unassisted nature can give. An artist happening

30

Buckinghamshire

to come across this ancient building in the twilight of
a summer's day must surely be unhappy if unprovided
with materials for making a few notes in line and
colour. There are no straight lines anywhere; the
chimneys even expand in size towards the summit,
giving them a peculiarly massive appearance. The
lines of the central porch, the narrow doorways and
stone-mullioned windows, are exceptionally graceful.
The chief charm, however, lies in the colour — the
mellowed red brick, covered here and there with warm-
toned plaster, the yellow lichen of the roof, the
ramblers and creepers climbing here, there, and every-
where, with brilliant dashes of scarlet in the very places
where they show to best advantage. The little low-
walled garden in front was a mass of bloom, with
dragon-mouths sprouting from the very wall itself
like a fiery fountain.

On the other side of the churchyard is another
block of red-brick almshouses, but it lacks the colour
so lavishly bestowed by nature on the other — the happy
abandonment of climbing roses.

Langley Park lies some little distance to the north,
and on the way we may notice the Parsonage Farm
on the right, which, with its ancient timbered barn,
makes a very pleasing picture. As the moat may still

31

old English Houses

be traced, I think the present name was not the original
one, and this house must be the moated house of
Rycots which was once honoured by the presence of
Queen Elizabeth.

Langley Park and Black Park are near neighbours.
The gloom beneath the sombre trees recalls those dark
forests in the Harz Mountains where it is always
twilight, and where I remember seeing wild boars
assembling in one particular spot, and at a given hour,
to be fed on biscuits ! This tamed the romance of
the thing. But as winter advances I was told the boar
becomes more crotchety, like a livery Army pensioner
from the East. Then is the time, not to spear him as
of old, but to shoot the poor beast at a safe distance.

The Duchess Sarah at one time lived at Langley, and
built a temple beneath the trees, from which she could
see the distant towers of her royal mistress's castle.
When the great Duke purchased Langley Manor
he pulled down the old house built by Sir John
Kederminster, but fortunately did not demolish the
family pew and library. There are in the house, I am
told, two large paintings of his famous victories.

The village of Upton lies to the west of Langley,
just off the Great Bath Road, and, considering its
proximity to Slough, bravely preserves its rural
32

T.ANGLKY ALMSHOUSKS

J^. -30

BUBNHAM ABBEY

p. 34

THE KEDEEMINSTER TOMB, liANGLEY p. 30

Buckinghamshire

character. The pretty little church, with ivy-clad grey
Norman tower standing out against a background of
trees, has a very peaceful look. A little over half a
century ago it had been suiFered to go too much to
decay for services to be held there and must have
presented as melancholy a scene as the old church of
Chingford.

Upton Court, close by but buried in trees, is well in
harmony with the old church. The gables, porch, and
lattice windows of this once religious house have a
snug and hospitable appearance. It is just the sort of
manor house one sees in Christmas periodicals, with
deep snow on the roof and window-sills, and cheery
lights in the windows. In one of the chimneys there
is a hiding-place. It has a separate shaft to give it
ventilation, but as the fireplace has now a modern
grate, there is no means of reaching it excepting by
that rather uncomfortable approach.

To the west of Slough, a little to the south of the
road, is another spot nestling in peaceful seclusion.
Behind an old wall we get a glimpse of gables and then
an old walled garden. This is Huntercombe, and the
house looks as if it has a history.

Near, on the other side of the road, is another old
wall, a very remarkable one, following the bend of

c 33

Old English Houses

the road without an angle. The top is roofed with
weathered red tiles and in its way is unique. One
naturally expects that something interesting must lie
within that enclosure, and there stand, incorporated
in farm buildings, the remains of Burnham Abbey.
The principal part is occupied as a stable, and to see
cart-horses feeding within the mysterious gloom of an
early English doorway looks incongruous if picturesque.
Various bits of moulded stone columns, doorways,
and windows may be seen here and there built up in
more modern masonry. An old barn, supported by huge
oaken beams, stands close by, but is an infant compared
with the Benedictine abbey.

The village of Burnham to the north on the other
side of the Bath road is of no great interest — the
church very much restored like its neighbour Farnham.
At the latter 1 noticed one or two strikingly original
modern-antique residences, of which the less said the
better.

Of Stoke Poges and the famous Beeches so much
has been written that I will not attempt to cover this
ground, sacred to the poet Gray. The sylvan glades
of the popular-excursion resort are indeed lovely, but
I must own to being disappointed at their stunted
appearance after seeing the noble beeches of Knole, or
34

Buckinghamshire

Up Park. But a place where wholesale teas are provided
puts one out of countenance with beautiful surroundings.
The distractions of wailing babies and mechanical
barrel-organ melodies perhaps tend towards the drawing
of comparisons ; however, I feel sure the Elegy in a
Churchyard could never have been inspired here under
present-day conditions.

Northwards, in the direction of Beaconsfield, the
modern church of Hedgerley may be mentioned as
possessing a portion of Charles II. *s cloak. One day,
journeying northwards, perhaps to visit the poet Waller,
he found the altar here without proper covering, and
promptly placed his cloak upon it ; a thoughtful and
graceful act of this much maligned monarch.

The first thing that strikes one upon entering
Beaconsfield is its expansiveness. The space, for
example, from the church to the over-restored
Saracen's Head at one corner, and the less pretentious
White Hart at another, is in striking contrast to
the confined limits to be found in many a cathedral
town. The old chimneys surmounting some of the
more ancient houses may be examined without the
craning of necks.

There is a clean, airy look about the wide roads,
and the red brick houses on either side are mostly

35

old English Houses

Georgian. One white stuccoed building with pro-
jecting bays is a puzzling mixture of seventeenth
and eighteenth- century architecture, with windows of
nondescript character inserted between the heavy
muUions.

One need not wander far without being convinced
that the town is fortunate in the possession of a liberal
benefactor. There are evidences on all sides, from the
comfortable rustic seats beneath the trees, to the luxury
provided in the old Rectory House for the instruc-
tion and amusement of everybody . Meetings of all sorts
are held here, art classes are provided, and useful trades
taught. It must be a pleasure to be instructed in such
delightful old rooms.

This house is a good example of the lavish use of
timber in a Gothic building. The internal as well as the
external walls are an array of huge beams. A broad
spiral staircase leads up to the room of state, fittingly set
out with fine old furniture, carved cabinets, and some
uncommon stamped-leather chairs, said at one time to
have been in the possession of the Dukes of Richmond.
The courtyard, with two projecting wings, faces the
churchyard, but the most picturesque side faces the
Rectory garden, the style of architecture recalling
somewhat Eastgate House at Rochester. There is

36

Buckinghamshire

another old timber house in the churchyard worth
notice.

The church has been very much burnished up inside
— the case with so many churches in the county — per-
chance because Sir Gilbert Scott was a native. There is
plenty of colour in the chancel, the admixture of green
and blue cooling down the more brilliant tones of the
roof. A graceful side screen remains, but very little
else of ancient date. A sword hanging beneath a mural
tablet to Lieutenant Grenfell is a sad memento of the
battle of Khartoum.

Beneath an aged walnut-tree stands the steepled
sarcophagus of the seventeenth-century poet and states-
man, Edmund Waller, who, Bishop Burnet says, at
the age of eighty could entertain the House better than
any other member. But he was manifestly a time-
server, for he made himself equally agreeable to
Cromwell, Charles II., and James II. His ready wit,
however, helped him out of difficulties, for when Charles
asked how it was that his verses upon the " Happy
Restoration '' could not be compared in point of merit
with his eulogy on the Lord Protector, he replied,
" Your Majesty must remember the pen of the poet is
ever brightest when it deals with fiction."

The mansion, Hall Barn, where he lived has been

37

Old English Houses

succeeded by a later building. This dates from Queen
Anne's time and contains a good staircase. The
gardens are old fashioned and there is a maze ; in a
part called The Grove Milton as well as Waller are
said to have written poetry. There is a tradition that
the Entrance Lodge, or part of it, is contemporary with
Waller, but this is difficult to believe, for it looks as if
it had been made in Wardour Street. Lord Percival,
who visited Hall Barn when Waller's grandson was in
possession (1724), speaks of the improvements made by
him saying : " There is a great deal more still to be done
which will cost a prodigious sum '* — and a great deal has
been done since then. He saw a seat of the famous
grandfather poet, "which is so reverenced that, old
as it is, it is never to be removed, but constantly
repaired, like Sir Francis Drake's ship.'' The seat, I
am told, is still well cared for.

Another celebrity of whom the town is proud is the
statesman Burke, to whose memory two monuments
may be found in the church. Stories are still told of the
tall, old, spectacled man — dressed in a tightly-fitting
brown coat with little bob-wig, and his coach drawn by
four black horses — and his guests at Gregories, including
the great Sir Joshua, who took for model of his
" Infant Hercules " the baby of his host's bailiff.

38

Buckinghamshire

Midway between Beaconsfield and Amersham an
inviting wood-skirted lane turns off to the left, and
a sign-post points to Penn. We shall do well to
turn off here, for that little village is one of the most
charmingly situated in the county. It is perched up
on a hill, and at a distance the low towered church
and little cluster of buildings round it make a very
picturesque group. It is, perhaps, a good thing that
William Penn cannot be directly traced back to the
Penns of this village, otherwise our cousins over the
water would have attempted to annex the whole village
long before now. It is scarcely necessary to state the
Quaker's ancestors came from Wiltshire, a county that
did not appreciate him sufficiently to preserve his pew,
for, if I remember rightly, this was put up for sale in
London not so very long ago.

The Penns of Penn died out in George II. *s reign,
and there are monuments from the time of Elizabeth
to the last representative. The brasses, the chief point
of interest, are worth study for the details of sixteenth
and seventeenth-century .costume.

Northward the lane again dips into the woods, and
at length joins that fine old road high up in the hills
running between Reading, St. Albans, and Ware.

Considering Amersham is only twenty-six miles

39

old English Houses

from London, it has preserved its ancient character in
a remarkable manner. There is a sleepy, old-world
dignity about it that one would expect to find a
hundred miles or so from the metropolis. It might be
likened to the Cotswold town of Chipping Camden
were not the pervading colour red instead of grey,
and brick being less gloomy than stone the town looks
prosperous. As at Beaconsfield, one is struck by the
width of the main street, principally to the north of
the old town hall, which, by the way, is the only thing
suggestive of a town.

As you enter from the south, the old lettering of
a notice posted on an ancient house on the left strikes
the eye, to the effect that the local authorities make
short work of ballad singers. This was put up a
century ago, but one is glad to see Amersham still
wishes its repose to be undisturbed. Between the
pillars that support the town hall there is a grim
lock-up, where presumably refractory ballad singers
are provided with a lodging. A bell, aloft in the open
turret, has tolled forth the hour since Charles II. 's
time ; and looking at the stone-faced brick walls, the
quaint windows and open piazza, one would imagine
his sacred majesty was still upon the throne.

There are numerous old inns, their signs stretching
40

Buckinghamshire

far nto the road from elaborate ornamented iron-
work. The Crown, for example, whose subdued
tint of blue is as welcome a touch of colour amidst
the pervading red, as the juxtaposition of primary
colours in an " old master." The street is narrow
just here and, looking southwards, makes a pretty
picture. The church stands away to the left, behind a
block of buildings, and at close quarters is marred by the
proximity of a brewery. It has been far too much reno-
vated inside, but there are some interesting fifteenth-
century brasses nailed to the walls. At the foot of a
modern pulpit a tombstone has been suffered to remain,
and here one may see the cavity where one of them
belongs.

The Drakes are the great people here, as may be
seen from the elaborate Jacobean tomb in the chancel.
Sir William Drake of Shardeloes built the pretty little
almshouses in the north of the town (to be mentioned
later). There is a tomb to his son Montagu (who
died in William III.*s reign), with medallion portraits
of himself and wife. A- brass in memory of John
Drake (1623) tells us that :

Nowe is hee past all feare of paine
'Twere sinn to wish him heere againe.
Vewe but the way by w*'^ wee come
Thow'l say hee's best that's first at home.

41

old English H ouses

Other conspicuous tombs are of Lady Isabella
Curwen (about 1636) whose marble statue poses to-
wards the altar ; opposite are William Bent and his wife
in Georgian costume, but, being cut off at the knees,
they have lost much of their dignity.

Beyond the northern extremity of the town in a
park stands Shardeloes, the seat of the Drakes, a heavy
Georgian structure with classic columned front. The
mansion, of Elizabeth's time (for the queen stopped
there once), came to the Drakes by intermarriage with
the family of Tothill, the last representative of which
had thirty-three children but failed a male heir !
Little Shardeloes is nearer the town's end. It is older
and much more picturesque, being a gabled Jacobean
red brick house with massive porch and narrow
windows. The creeper-clad gables peep over a high
wall at an old mill opposite, the more modern and
habitable part of which has windows similar to those
of the town hall.

Strolling back in this direction beyond the cosy bay-
windows of the Swan, are the almshouses, with the usual
knarled trunks of pollard trees in front, erected, so
says a tablet on the central gable, in 1657. On the
same side of the road a little further along is a very
fine Tudor house, with octagonal chimneys and dormer

42

Buckinghamshire

windows. It is cased in stucco, doubtless concealing a
good half-timbered front, perhaps similar to another
old house close by with timber beams forming narrow
Gothic arches.

Many delightful peeps may be had into the great
doorways of old inns. The Griffin, for example,
has a typical gabled yard, and within, that comfortable
yet formal air of aristocratic patronage. I lunched
here many years ago, and have not forgotten the stately
way in which mine host carved a huge sirloin. I vividly
recall also the wide dusty road leading to the Chalfonts,
the wealth of dog-roses and white splashes of elderberry
in the hedges, the air laden with the scent of honey-
suckle and new-mown hay.

About midway between Amersham and Chalfont
St. Giles, off the main road to the right and the other
side of a little stream, is a secluded farm — a good
Stuart house, whose panelled rooms and doorways are
as perfect as when built.

Everybody, of course, knows Milton's village and
cottage, and therefore to speak of it is almost superfluous,
but a few impressions may be noted. Much of the
harmony is destroyed by the entrance to the grounds of
some mansion in the middle of the village. It looks as
out of place as the modern porch stuck on the church. A

43

old English Houses

very up-to-date mediaeval tea-shop immediately opposite
Milton's modest cottage now stares it out of countenance.
Its heavy buttresses and dazzling plaster will, I trust,
in time be relieved by a creeper of some sort. Milton's
cottage looks humbled by this presence. Its lattice
windows look rather new and tidy, but otherwise
the house has not been restored and scraped like
Shakespeare's birthplace. The poetry of the surround-
ings was in a measure spoiled by an array of linen
upon a clothes-line in the garden. But the day was
Monday, so there was no way of avoiding that, nor for
that matter, the five-finger exercises which some budding
musician was performing on a relaxed piano ! There is
another old cottage in the village far more picturesque
than Milton's house. It stands at cross-roads leading
to very unheard-of places specified upon the corner
facing the angle of the road : Three Households, Seer ^
Green, Bowstridge, and Outfields. We are indeed in the
heart of the country. The name of no familiar town
or village and only twenty-two miles from London !

There is the quaintest entrance to the churchyard
beneath the first story of an old Tudor cottage. It
has a swinging oaken gate worked by a pulley running
on massive oaken wheels. The mechanism has recently
come to a standstill by the removal of the rope and

44

Buckinghamshire

weight ; the result, maybe, of the device affording a too
happy hunting, or rather playing, ground for the youth
of the village.

The remains of the great poet would turn in his
grave were he to see the new porch of this church.
The last of the poor old benches near the belfry
meekly hide their fleur-de-lis heads behind an array
of new pews. The arches of the roof are good, and
there is an interesting mural decoration above the
chancel arch. These, and an altar tomb and a few
sixteenth-century brasses, are about all that is old.
Upon a window-sill close by the former, two cherubs
are weeping, possibly bewailing the loss of their tomb,
of which, perhaps, the carved stone brackets now
supporting a cistern in the vestry, formed a part. At
the back of the organ, among other discarded things, is
a fine oak table with modern leaf attached which,
without that embellishment might figure in the vestry
or elsewhere with advantage. Some brief instructions
regarding the organ, in red type, caught my eye,
composed seemingly in a rather sarcastic vein.
*' Movable brackets," it was stated, " can be placed so
that the flames touch the woodwork. This done once
and the whole is set on fire." There were but few
words : nothing was said as to how to put it out again,

45

Old English Houses

The meeting-house of Jordans and Penn's modest
burial-place are only a short distance from the village,
up the hill past Milton's cottage. One rarely goes
there without encountering American pilgrims. The
deaf old lady who does the honours fails not to show
you how the ladies' gallery could be shut off, by raising
stout wooden shutters, in the event of an alarm. It
is a pity this excellent idea has not been adopted in
the House as a preventive measure against suffragette
attacks. It might be a little elaborated so that by
pressing a button the Prime Minister could avoid
interruption.

The plain, square, Dutch-looking house and simple
burial ground of the founder of Pennsylvania is
surrounded by trees, and close by are the stables where
the Friends of old put up their horses.

The Misbourne stream, which we crossed before^
continues along the valley, skirting the road between
the two Chalfonts. After heavy rains the stretches
of water and wild reed-grown foreground make
a most attractive picture, viewed from the road
above. In a direct line you look across to distant
beech-woods and the rising ground of Penn and
Wycombe.

Chalfont St. Peter can in no way be compared with

46

Buckinghamshire

its twin-brother St. Giles. The church is in the main
modern, and a new bridge over the Misbourne spoils
the former rustic appearance of the wooden footways.
There are a few old houses dotted here and there, one
particularly worth notice, with steep gables and massive
oak bargeboards. Just outside the village stands the
successor to Judge Jeffreys' house. He is said to have
lived here before he rebuilt Bulstrode, and one would
have thought the peaceful beauty of Buckinghamshire
would have in some measure soothed his savage and
heartless nature. The house was originally built by
Fleetwood, Cromwell's son-in-law (Ireton*s widow
became his second wife), one of the many regicides
whose names crop up in this county. At the Restora-
tion he was pardoned, mainly because his father had
been cupbearer to the king's father and grandfather,
and retired to Stoke Newington, where he died
in William III.'s reign.

Bulstrode is about a couple of miles to the south-
west, but the present building is modern. The old
house was famous for its pictures, which were dispersed
in 1786, the sale lasting nearly as long as that of the
famous Stowe collection. Previous to this, a few of
the portraits were transferred to Strawberry Hill ; for
Walpole records they merely served the purpose of

47

Old English Houses

targets for the youthful members of the Bentincks to
shoot at.

We will avoid the Oxford road, running south-east-
wards towards Denham, on account of the everlasting
motors and dust ; the latter must invite many travellers
to halt at a very homely looking inn half-way down the
hill on the left.

The pretty village of Fulmer, to the south of
Gerrards Cross, will well repay a little detour. It is
small and compact, its houses and old church placed
in a hollow amidst beautifully wooded country. The
latter contains a magnificent Jacobean tomb to Sir
Marmaduke and Lady Dayrell, an important Bucking-
hamshire family, as may be seen from other interesting
tombs at Lillingstone Dayrell, near Buckingham.

The inscription at Fulmer fully sets forth the royal
patronage the Knight enjoyed : —

" Heere in a vault in the South He of this church
lye ye bodies of Sir Marmaduke Darrell Knight,
sometimes Lord of this Man nor and Anne his wife,
daughter of John Lennard of Knoll in ye Countie of
Kent Esquire, which Sir Marmaduke was Servant to
ye famous Queene Elizabeth in her warres both by
Sea and Land, and after in her Household. He was
Cofferer to King James of blessed memory and dyed

48

Buckinghamshire

CoiFerer to that excellent Prince King Charles. He
was favoured by all these renowned Princes and em-
ployed in matters of great trust for ye space of fifty
yeares, in all which he acquitted himselfe with Creditt
and Commendation. He was eminent for Devotion
towards God, Charitie and Humilitie towards his
Neighbour, and Mortification of himselfe. He built
this church at his own charge and gave a yearly
Exhibition to ye Poore of this Parishe, for ever, and
did both in his lifetime. He left two Sonnes behind
him, Sir Sampson Darrell Knight who married Eliza-
beth, daughter and heir of Christopher Hampden of
Wendover in ye Countie of Bucks Esquire, and
Marmaduke his second sonne to whom he gave ye
Lordship of Horstow in ye Countie of Lyncolne, who

married Elizabeth daughter to Fitch, Gent. His

daughter Mary was married to Sir Robert Georges
of Wraxall in ye Countie of Somerset Knight, who
died before Sir Marmaduke and lies in ye same vault.
After ye death of his said first wife. Sir Marmaduke
married Anne, daughter to Edmund Kederminster of
Langley Esquire by whom he had no issue. He died
ye 22th of March Ann. Dni. 1631.*'

Peter, another of the Dayrells, followed the mis-
fortunes of Charles I. and lived to see the throne

D 49

Old English Houses

restored to his son. Among chanties left by Sir Marma-
duke was a sum for his tomb to be kept in order.

It is a pity more monuments are not thus endowed.
The rector of a parish is not always interested in their
proper preservation, when no funds are forthcoming
from the family who should be mainly interested. Only
recently I heard an instance of this. The living
representatives of an ancient family, residing many
miles away from the parish where their ancestors were
interred, were appealed to. Funds were lacking, or
perhaps, as is sometimes the case, the whirl of modern
life did not allow sufficient time to think of " mouldy
tombs " ; at any rate no response coming, the monument,
— a cross-legged crusader or recumbent ^^gy of some
description — being, as it happened, somewhat of an
encumbrance in the scheme of restoration, was promptly
carried into the churchyard ajid buried I

The village of Denham is an ideal one, full of pretty
timber and red brick cottages, upon many of which
cling graceful creepers, and there is a gigantic wisteria
covering the front of the old inn which is quite a
picture in the summer. Beyond this are the rounded
gables of Hill House, a compact late Jacobean building,
and farther on the grey church tower may be seen
embosomed in trees. Among the old monuments in the
50

Buckinghamshire

church are some to the family of Peckham, to whose
house, the predecessor of Denham Place, fugitive priests
used to resort in the days of religious persecution.
Denham Court preserves an erroneous tradition that
Charles II. was concealed there by Lady Bowyer (who
was a Weld in her maiden days). Some panel pictures
here are in some unaccountable way connected with the
tradition ; but far from representing any episodes in the
king's escape, they appear to be merely pastoral scenes
and studies in still life. Besides a few old windows,
there is nothing to carry us back to the seventeenth
century.

Between the house and the church is a magnificent
avenue ; indeed, avenues of aged elms line the roads in
all directions, and on the outskirts of the village is one
of those time-mellowed red-brick garden walls which
suggest the proximity of a good old house within.
This is Denham Place, which was built in Charles II. 's
reign — a peaceful-looking house, with an air of ances-
tral dignity about it. The interior is quite in keeping.
One old tapestried rooni has a remarkable frieze
representing houses, castles, churches, and windmills
in vivid colours and bold relief. There is also an old
chapel full of richly gilt linenfold panelling. Near the
house stretches a wide reach of the picturesque weed-

51

Old English Houses

grown river — an ideal spot to lounge away an hour on
a hot summer day, for fortunately one may enjoy this
pretty spot from the high road. The village pound,
not far away, has been cleverly converted into a fowl-
run for an adjacent cottage. Though a new railway
line has recently penetrated this country, the pervading
peace and harmony of Denham, I rejoice to say, have in
no way been destroyed. By and by, perchance, rows
of jerry-built eyesores will spring up like toadstools
to destroy the scene. But sufficient for the day is the
evil thereof ; let us enjoy the rural bliss while it lasts.
Denham is fortunate in the possession of a learned
antiquarian as a rector. He kindly showed me the
manuscript of the exhaustive history of the parish which
he has since published.

Close by the pretty Colne is the Savoy, a charming
and secluded old farmstead surrounded by the sweetest
of gardens. Little streamlets run here and there
through the grounds, crossed by small rustic bridges.
In the summer the banks of the river are one mass of
roses, which hang in festoons in all directions, and fill
the air with their sweet perfume. Inside the house are
dark-panelled rooms, with ceilings of ponderous beams,
a fine old staircase, and all kinds of rambling corridors.
Some very curious mural paintings in one of the bed-

Buckinghamshire

rooms represent incidents from the second chapter of
Exodus. The costumes are somewhat incongruous,
but give one a capital idea of the mode of dress of the
early part of James I.'s reign. The colours, though
rather crude, are as vivid and fresh as when they were
first laid on. Moses, burying the Egyptian, is in an
attitude strangely suggestive of a game of golf. The
accompanying landscape is scarcely so realistic : the blue
of the sky and the perspective are the artist's weak
points. A vanishing point of a queer-looking structure
is centred in the spectator, and if followed in the
opposite direction would lead one into everlasting
space. Three sides of the room are covered by similar
paintings.

Middle, Steeple, and East Claydon, Rve miles
to the south of Buckingham, must be familiar to
those who have perused the pages of the delightful
Verney Memoirs, drawn from the voluminous
manuscripts at Claydon House. Nothing could be
more realistic than the description of country life
of the time of Charles I., which may be gathered
from the correspondence of the good old cavalier,
Sir Edmund Verney, who fell at Edgehill bearing
the King's standard. The details of the simple
home-life read almost as if they had been penned

S3

Old English Houses

in the present time. I have not been inside the
house, but I believe it is full of interest.

Some curious superstitions still linger in this
part of Buckinghamshire. A remarkable instance is
recorded of Quainton. Many years ago there was a
tree here which was reputed to bud and bloom only
on Christmas Day, and the villagers had such faith
in the belief that they would sooner acknowledge
that the new style of the almanac was in error than
that the tree could fail in performing the miracle.
Quainton turned out en masse one Christmas Eve to
witness what would happen ; but as nothing did
happen, they refused to acknowledge the next day
as Christmas Day, and would not keep it as a
holiday.

Of all the old houses in Buckinghamshire, Cres-
low Manor House, some six miles to the north
of Aylesbury, is the most picturesque. Creslow
Pastures, as it is sometimes called, stands a little
way off the main road, and its old chapel, barns,
and out-buildings together make a charming group.
To ascribe a date to the house would be impossible,
for it is a harmonious mixture of many periods.

The walls of the tower, for example, are six feet
thick and date from the fourteenth century, while the

54

Buckinghamshire

character of some of the rooms belongs entirely to
the time of Charles I .

At the Dissolution, the manor degenerated from
the possession of the Knights Templars and Hospitallers
to " the Keeper of the Royal Cows ! " Cornelius
Holland, a poor youth about the court of the first
Charles, when he grew up was promoted to this
post, and a few years afterwards showed his gratitude
to the King by signing his death warrant. After the
Restoration the manor was granted to one of the Cabal
Ministers, Lord Clifford of Chudleigh, who succeeded
Arlington, the patron who had pitch-forked him into
favour, as Lord High Treasurer.

The name Clifford is responsible for the story that
Creslow is haunted by the ghost of Fair Rosamond who,
of course, belonged to the more ancient baronetage
of De Clifford, and whose proper haunting ground
should be Godstow Nunnery in the adjoining county.
Methinks the most likely ghost for Creslow should be
the regicide Keeper of the Cows, but the rustling of
silken skirts proves the restless spirit to belong to
the gentler sex ; moreover it is a mediaeval ghost, for
it invariably selects a Gothic doorway for gliding
through.

It is recorded that about the year 1850 (these

ss

Old English Houses

vague dates are rather exasperating), a guest, for
want of better accommodation, slept in the haunted
chamber, a room above the crypt and connected
therewith by a newel staircase. Having locked the
doors so as to be secure from practical jokes he got
into bed and was soon wrapped in slumber. This,
by the way, is the preliminary to most ghost stories.
We will continue in Mr. A or Mr. B's own words:
" Suddenly I was aroused, and on raising my head
to listen, I heard a sound certainly resembling the light
soft tread of a lady's footsteps accompanied by the
rustling of a silk gown. I sprang out of bed and
lighted a candle. There was nothing to be seen, and
nothing now to be heard. I carefully examined the
whole room, I looked under the bed, into the fireplace,
up the chimney, and at both the doors which were
fastened, as I had left them. I looked at my watch
and found it was a few minutes past twelve. As all
was now perfectly quiet, I extinguished the candle and
entered my bed and soon fell asleep. I was again
aroused. The noise was now louder than before, it
appeared like the violent rustling of a stiff silk dress.
I sprang out of bed, darted to the spot where the
noise was, and tried to grasp the intruder in my arms.
My arms met together but enclosed nothing. The

56

p. 50

DENHAM fliACE

p. 51

THJC SAVOY, DENHAM

p. 52

rKESCO AT THK SAVOY

p. 5-2

Buckinghamshire

noise passed to another part of the room and I
followed it, groping near the floor to prevent anything
passing under my arms. It was in vain, I could feel
nothing — the noise had passed away through the
Gothic door, and all was still as death ! "

After this, Rosamond CliflFord did not further
disturb the gentleman's repose.

The tower with octagonal turret, perhaps, is the
oldest portion of Creslow, and dates back to the time
of Edward III., or earlier. The gentleman farmer
whose family has resided there for some generations
kindly took me round, from the vaults up to the roof,
where a glorious view may be obtained.

The old crypt has a very graceful groined roof
supported by four columns. From here a subterranean
passage is said to run a couple of miles at least.

Another passage led to the dungeon which still
contains the suitable accompaniment of human remains.

I casually picked up a thigh-bone, and, ruminating
upon the possibilities of its past, like Hamlet over
Yorick's skull, was horrified on looking round to
observe that the dog who had followed us about the
premises was actually begging for it.

Of the " Pastures " of Creslow I can say nothing,
beyond the fact that one meadow is locally said to

57

Old English Houses

be one of the largest in England. They were
white with snow, as were the roofs ot the
picturesque old houses at the adjacent village of
Whitchurch. The remainder of the impressions
of this visit are the cold drive and a cosy tea at
the Old King's Head at Aylesbury — an ancient
hostelry containing a large dining-hall with an immense
Tudor diamond-paned oak mullioned window. A
cheerful wood fire was reflected in the old rafters
of the roof, and, adding to the snugness of the
room, only made one dread the more the hour for
turning out into the biting east wind.

Aylesbury Church has some good monuments and
a fine array of miserere seats ; but what interested me
most was the rough old oak Gothic wardrobe for
the vestments. The almshouses near the church un-
fortunately have been restored — and spoiled. There
are many places of interest to the west of Aylesbury.
In a drive of about ten miles one may include Hart-
well, Dinton, Winchendon, Dorton, and Boarstall.

The mansion house of Hartwell is, of course, one
of the finest in the county. It has an imposing
Elizabethan front with lofty mullioned bays and a fine
porch, over which is a very peculiar corbel supporting
an oriel window. Opposite this north front extends
S8

Buckinghamshire

a magnificent avenue. I intended to have asked to
see the staircase here — a remarkable one, I believe,
with the carved figures in oak of heroes, biblical,
heathen, historial, and otherwise ; but the great
white front of the mansion struck me with awe, or
perhaps it was a sight of the butler — at any rate,
my courage failed, and I contented myself with having
seen the exterior.

A little way off the main road, a mile or so
farther south-west, is Dinton. Over a high wall
peep the pretty red-brick gables of the hall — a
stately pile erected, I believe, in the reign of James I.
In the porch of the church is one of the finest
Norman doorways I have ever seen (excepting Ifiley).
The interior is entirely spoiled by a hideous organ,
painted blue, red, and gold, stuck right in front of
the altar. The glaring colours kill everything else
in the church, excepting, by the way, some live but
sleepy bats, which an old woman was sweeping out
of the door with her broom. I know nothing of
natural history, but presume these little creatures are
helpless in the daylight, for they didn't attempt to
fly away. I, however, handled them with caution, for
they seemed inclined to bite, and had remarkable
muscular strength in the jaw.

59

Old English Houses

The furniture of the church is particularly fine,
though one splendid oak table had been painted all
over a hideous buff colour. There was a grand oak
chest with the graceful linen-panelling, an Elizabethan
pulpit, and a Jacobean wardrobe for the choristers'
garments, opposite to which hung an old helmet of
the time of Charles I. Some little distance from
the church and hall of Dinton are the ruins of an
old castle with very strangely shaped windows, but
about this I could learn nothing ; nor could I ascer-
tain where was the underground residence of the
hermit who traditionally is said to have been
Charles I.'s executioner. He was the secretary to
the regicide Simon Mayne, who died in the Tower
of London, and lies buried in the church at Dinton.
The hiding-place in the hall where he hid himself
prior to his capture has been destroyed.

Lower Winchendon, farther to the north-west, ^
might belong to Warwickshire. Its timber cottages
and orchards have very much the character of a
village in the midlands.

The old manor house, near the church, has been
spoiled by the restorer, who, by the addition of
laths and cement, has done his best to make it look
as new as possible. The church was locked, but in
60

Buckinghamshire

the churchyard I found the old parish clerk, who,
as he trimmed up the graves, remarked that in the
old days people had to look after their own graves
— meaning, I presume, the graves of their late
lamented relatives. He evidently was very proud
of the church and the position he occupied on
Sundays in the " three-decker." The top story was
a good carved-oak pulpit, but painted yellow and
grained. Most of the pews were those high
Georgian boxes, but there were also a good many
of the original benches, with massive but very
narrow seats. As the church is being restored bit
by bit, I said, '' I suppose you will remove these
old pews " — pointing to the latter. " Oh, dear, no ! '*
said he ; " Mrs. Higgins (I think that was the name)
wouldn't have them touched for the world." I
feel grateful to Mrs. Higgins, for not long since I
saw a church in the midlands where the original
pews, including some beautifully carved bench-ends,
had been sold to a builder in New York to pro-
vide funds towards the restoration. But I know a
worse case of vandalism, where an elaborately carved
Jacobean pulpit was removed to make place for a
brand new one, and the old carving was put up
on the sides of the cabin of the private yacht of

6i

Old English Houses

the vicar ! Under a tree outside the church wall is
a stump of wood, the last vestige of the whipping-
post. Close by is the village school, which fact is
quite enough to account for its destruction. I
noticed a novel support, or rather, post, to a
wicket gate in one of the cottages — the newel of
a Jacobean staircase ; possibly it came out of the
manor house when that building was submitted to
the restorer's tender mercy. The Priory, the old
seat of the Goodwyns, Tyringhams, and Whartons is
also an interesting house. At the Dissolution it was
leased to Sir John Daunce (the father-in-law of Sir
Thomas More's daughter), whose name carved in oak
may still be seen in one of the rooms.

Dorton, to the north-west, is a little more in
touch with the world; indeed, when people talk of
taking " the tramway," it sounds quite civilised ;
but this light railway is far from a modern insti-
tution, and has somewhat the appearance of
a deserted line I had seen in Northamptonshire.
I did not see the train or tram, but one or the
stations I saw, and that had a most antiquated
look.

Dorton House is a spacious mansion of Charles I.'s
time, the exterior of which would be vastly improved
62

Buckinghamshire

if the coating of cement with which it is entirely
cased were removed. This cement is weather-worn
and stained, and gives the house a dilapidated
appearance. The Georgian goth who destroyed the
exterior of the house is also in evidence in the
interior, for all the oak carvings have been daubed
over with yellow and white paint. A really careful
restoration would make this house one of the most
interesting in the county. There are two magnificent
oak staircases, some elaborate ceilings, a beautiful
Jacobean screen in the hall, carved mantelpieces, and
last, but not least, Queen Elizabeth's bedroom, with
the bed upon which her Majesty is said to have
slept. The house, when I visited it, had not been used
as a residence for years. The last of a long line of
Aubreys was the owner, though he never lived there,
and I hear has since died, so perhaps by now the
objectionable paint and cement have been removed.
A tiny little church embosomed in trees, near the
hall, is quite a typical one. As a picture it is
perfect, but architecturally it is not remarkable.

Boarstall Tower, some two miles to the west, was
the last stronghold in the county which held out for
the king, but eventually surrendered to Fairfax in
June 1646. Judging from the existing remains, it

63

Old English Houses

must have been an important house, such as Basing —
a massive gatehouse of stone, with corner embattled
turrets, and a large room over the entrance. At a
farmhouse close by (originally part of the offices, I
should imagine) I was told I should find a caretaker
within, so I crossed the moat, which is still supplied
by a stream, and entered a little courtyard, where I
found an old gentleman, but, as I was addressing him,
a young woman came forward, and, touching her
forehead with her hand, led me aside towards the
moat; but I was further mystified when the father
did the same and led me in the opposite direction.
I was contemplating flight when he told me that his
daughter was mentally afflicted, so I followed him
up a winding turret staircase to a spacious apartment
with a wide Tudor fireplace and a ceiling crossed
with great oak beams. In the casements of a large
bay window was some good stained glass, showing
the arms of the various possessors of Boarstall, from
De Lazures of the fourteenth, to Aubrey of the
seventeenth century. The wrought-iron fastenings
to these window casements were both graceful in
design and ingenious in construction ; a combined
spring bolt and latch in as good a state of preserva-
tion as when inserted. As the old-fashioned lattice

64

Buckinghamshire

windows are now so frequently introduced into our
modern dwellings, similar fastenings might be adopted
with advantage.

Over the rude Gothic entrance doorway was
a very indifferent painting which, though pointed
out to me as King Charles, was certainly more
like Cromwell — it is a sort of compromise be-
tween the two, and very suitable to the old place,
for by no means did the Royalists hold the
house all through the Civil Wars, though they
first garrisoned it. The Parliamentary army held the
stronghold for some time under Lady Dynham, who
at length was forced to seek flight by means of a
subterranean passage under the moat ; but after
Fairfax had reduced it she again took up possession.
We learn from Lady Fanshawe's memoirs that her
(Lady Fanshawe's) husband passed through Boarstall
as a prisoner after Worcester fight upon his way
from Oxford up to London, and that Lady Dynham
showed her sympathy and kindness of heart by
offering him all the money she had in the house ;
but this he refused, though he willingly accepted
some of her ladyship's ' shifts and handkerchiefs, for
all the prisoners were in a ragged and woe- begone
condition.

E 65

Old English Houses

Further acquaintance with the somewhat eccentric
old caretaker at Boarstall proved him to be a man of
refinement. At first I took him to be a German
by his peculiar accent, but he afterwards explained
he came from Caemarthen. A lonely life it must
be, to be immured in that solitary tower, half-
dependent upon the sightseers who came that way
(principally, I was told, from Oxford). The glimpse
I had had of the sad affliction in his home, and
his pathetic and anxious expression, left an impression
not easily to be effaced. Certainly he was a character
from whom Dickens might have drawn a powerful
study.

66

'B6T{KSHI1i8 &> OXFOTipSHniS

WE will not at present go into the western
counties, but will strike northwards
through parts of Berkshire and Oxford-
shire, keeping more or less to the course of the
beautiful river Thames. The old river is fast
losing its primitive character, and great fashionable
hotels are rapidly taking the place of the cosy little
riverside inns. Before very long I suppose the banks
as far up as Oxford will present quite a suburban
appearance, except where the grounds of private estates
have not been cut up for building purposes.

My first impression as a boating-man — or rather,
youth — was going up the river from Kingston to
Maidenhead with an old and enthusiastic oarsman, an
athlete with not the faintest trace of timidity or
nervousness in his composition, and therefore a striking
contrast to myself. They say friendships originate
through the juxtaposition of the most opposite and

69

Old English Houses

contrary qualities. Perhaps that is why he and I
struck up companionship. He did the rowing in
thoroughly professional style, and with a swing which
would have been approved by the picked men of either
university.

At Maidenhead my friend left me ; he was bound
for Oxford, while I had to get back that night to
town ; but, as the days were long, I had a couple of
hours to spare, so I set out in search of Ockwells
Manor House, of which I had seen some fascinating
drawings in Nash's Old English Mansions. This fine old
fifteenth-century house was then comparatively little
known, and I had some difficulty in finding its situa-
tion, but after hunting about and making various
inquiries, at length I espied some old roofs and
chimneys in the midst of a clump of lofty poplar and
chestnut trees. Closer to the road were great bushes
of syringa, which filled the air with their sweet
fragrance. I approached the old house with mis-
givings, for I could recognise in it none of the beauti-
fully carved barge -boards of the drawing; but
wandering round by some old barns and out-buildings
1 came suddenly upon the front, and shall never
forget the impression it made upon me. Part was in
deep shadow, while the upper portion was brilliantly
70

Berkshire and Oxfordshire

lighted by the last rays of the setting sun, which
brought out all the fantastic carvings in bold relief.
Long I stood in the grass-grown courtyard, peopling
the silent house with the gaily bedecked lords and
ladies dead and forgotten for centuries, who once
frequented the now deserted rooms and corridors.
Never had I seen such a picture of sad but dignified
solitude.

All this side of the house was unoccupied and
crumbling to decay, but in a most poetic state
from an artistic point of view. A delightful old
carved porch, with great dragons upon the spandrils
above, led by the quaintest old corridor or " entrie "
to the great hall. Here dilapidation reigned supreme
— dust and debris everywhere. The oak panelling,
bleached with age, was crumbling off the walls.
In the wide expanse of diamond-paned windows all
along one side of the hall and in the great bay by
the raised da'ls were apertures through which heavy
festoons of ivy had found their way. Upon the
walls above the panelling was a strange medley of
things — a great pair of Cromwellian jack-boots, a
dilapidated Elizabethan saddle of green velvet, a
fragment of chain mail, a rusty sword or two, and
some hoops of iron which once served as stirrups.

71

old English Houses

The boots, I was informed by a farm labourer, were
once the property of no less a personage than Oliver
Cromwell. He was surprised here (so went the
story) by a party of Royalists, and had to get off as
best he could without his boots.

One really learns some valuable bits of history
travelling about the country. A friend of mine
was once shown the identical inn yard where
'' Henry VIII. addressed the Romans," and in the
same village the residence of '* Queen Dowger.'* He
suggested " Dowager," but was immediately crushed.
" Dowger was the woman's name," his informant
was sure. I have been shown also the house of
*' Guy Fawkes, the first Quaker," or if something
more sensational were required, could point out where
the original block may be seen upon which Queen
Elizabeth was beheaded !

The part of Ockwells which pleased me best was^
a glazed corridor upon the upper landing of the
staircase, which led on to the minstrels' gallery. At
the time when the staircase became an important
feature of a house, space was found in the little
interior quadrangle, around which the glazed corridor
runs, for erecting an imposing Jacobean staircase.
From an old room at the back of the screen, or
72

Berkshire and Oxfordshire

minstrels' gallery, was a little opening through which
the lord of the manor could keep watch upon
his retainers, if necessary ; though upon occasions
when the flowing bowl was conspicuous, I expect
it was equally necessary for the lady of the manor
to keep an eye upon her lord and master.

In the passage leading ^into the hall was the
old buttery hatch, with enormous hinges and iron
supports. It conjured up visions of veal pasties,
roasted peacocks, soused gurnet, and the tempting
viands one reads about in the romances of Harrison
Ainsworth. Such visions are all very well in their
way, but they are tantalising upon an empty stomach,
as was the case in this instance.

Since the occasion of my first trip to Ockwells
there have been many changes. The old house and
some adjoining land changed hands, and rumours got
about that it was going to be pulled down — indeed
I have since heard that transactions had already been
entered upon for selling the carved oak tracery in
the gables and elsewhere, and that some of these were
eventually going to America. Letters written to the
newspapers as a rule do not attract much attention,
or do much practical good, but the result of one
which I wrote to the Standard was particularly

73

old English Houses

gratifying. Other papers promptly took up the cause.
Pictures of the doomed manor house appeared in the
illustrated journals. This gratuitous advertisement,
I suppose, suggested a financial speculation, for ere
long the property again changed owners — for the
better. Since then, from time to time, a small fortune
has been spent in the most careful and complete
restoration. As a rule I tremble at the very word,
for have not hundreds of houses and churches been
entirely destroyed by ignorant and unsympathetic
workmen ? In the case of Ockwells, however, I
believe their mode of procedure has been rigidly
watched from first to last.

Quite recently I accepted an invitation to com-
pare the past with the present, and indeed there
was a metamorphosis. The flat ceiling had been
removed and the open timber roof revealed. All
the original heraldic glass (which fortunately had
been taken out years before) had been replaced to
its original position in the windows of the great hall,
a display of colour that it would be difficult to
rival. Suits of armour and ancient weapons of all
descriptions stood and hung in every direction, and
carved Gothic cabinets, antique chairs and tables, fitted
into their several corners as if they had stood there

74

Berkshire and Oxfordshire

for a couple of centuries at least. In additional
contrast also to my previous visit, a table was laid for
lunch, which, amidst such environment, it is needless
to state, was most acceptable. I had heard rumours
that the quaint old glazed corridors had been removed,
but greatly rejoiced to find them untouched, and
improved tenfold by the walls being lined with ancient
tapestry. Linen-fold oak panelling and elaborately
carved mantelpieces from other old houses have
found a most suitable home here, as have many
exceptionally fine Elizabethan chests and bedsteads.

The exterior restoration has been as careful and
complete as the interior — indeed, it is almost impossible
to detect where the old masonry ends and where
the new begins. The porch has been widened to
its original dimensions, and the carved portions of
oak cleverly fitted into their original positions like
the most ingenious of puzzles. The new buildings
which have been added are quite in keeping with
the rest, and the amount of oak lavished upon the
ceilings and walls is as extensive as in the original part
of the house.

Of the once important family of Norreys who
originally lived at Ockwells, there were, not many
years ago, living representatives in the neighbourhood,

75

old English Houses

but, as in the case of so many similar vicissitudes of
ancient families, they had degenerated into common
labourers.

From the Norreys (of whom there are monu-
mental and genealogical records in Bray Church),
Ockwells passed to the Fettiplaces and the Days.
Sir Thomas Day, the keenest hunter and hardest
drinker in Berkshire, was, according to local tradition,
knighted by Queen Anne for his attention in open-
ing a gate for her Majesty to pass through. The
identical spot is, or was recently, pointed out; but
with due respect to tradition, I cannot help thinking
the queen must have had some better cause for
conferring a knighthood.

The secluded villages of White Waltham and
Shottesbrooke, not far from Ockwells, are well worth
a visit, both on account of their natural beauty and
antiquities. At the former may be seen the remains
of a moated manor house, where, according to the
antiquary Hearne (who, by the way, was born at
White Waltham), Henry VII.'s son. Prince Arthur,
lived for a time. On a bank not far from the
church stand the stocks and the whipping-post, in a
good state of preservation.

The interior of the cruciform church at Shottes-

76

Berkshire and Oxfordshire

brooke is of exceptional interest, though I have only
a hazy recollection of some good brasses and a fine
old chest.

Of the picturesque almshouses at Bray and an
old house called Philberts I also can record but a
vague impression. The latter was the residence of
William Chiffinch, the keeper of the back-stairs and
boon companion of Charles II. , who is said to have
been a frequent visitor ; the proximity of the house
to Windsor affording the Merry Monarch convenient
relaxation when he wished to throw aside his kingly
dignity. Formerly there was here a fine bust of
Nell Gwyn : it would be interesting to know what
has become of it.

Opposite Bray, on the Buckinghamshire side of the
water, is the old seat of the Palmer family, Dorney,
a secluded Jacobean house buried in a grove of elms.
This was another favourite resort of Charles II. — so
much so that it is painted as the background of one
of his best portraits; but it was more the beauty of
its inmate than of the mansion or grounds which
formed the attraction, as here for a time resided
the beautiful Mrs. Palmer, who later on was created
Countess of Castlemaine and Duchess of Cleveland,
and of whom one reads so much in the court annals

11

Old English Houses

of the time. The royal visitor was probably not so
welcome to the lady's husband, for the king became
so much attached to her, and, as a natural consequence,
she became so much attached to Whitehall Palace,
that the result was a separation. Those who have
perused Pepys's inimitable diary will have observed
what an important figure this handsome and im-
perious woman cut in the gay court. The following
extract gives one a vivid impression of the strained
relationships between Mr. and Mrs. Palmer — one
of those little sidelights which so add to the
fascinations of semi-historical episodes. I wonder no
painter has selected a subject from this paragraph
in the diary. The new queen had recently arrived
from Portugal, and Westminster was gaily bedecked
and thronged with loyal citizens anxious to get a
glimpse of her. Pepys, usually to the fore upon
such occasions, was busily engaged in making mental
notes which were to be placed on record at the
close of the day in his famous cipher. From the
top of the present existing portion of the Palace
he could get a magnificent view of the pageantry on
the river.

"All the show," he says, "consisted chiefly in
the number of boats and barges and two pageants —

78

Berkshire and Oxfordshire

one of a king and another of a queen, with her
maydes of Honour sitting at her feet very prettily;
and they tell me the queen is Sir Richard Ford's
daughter. Anon came the King and Queen in a
barge under a canopy with ten thousand barges and
boats, I think, for we could see no water for them,
nor discern the King nor Queen. And so they
landed at White Hall Bridge [the landing stage or
stairs of the Palace], and the great guns on the other
side went off. But that which pleased me best was
that my lady Castlemaine stood over against us on
a piece of White Hall, where I glutted myself with
looking on her. But methought it was strange to
see her Lord and her upon the same place walking
up and down without taking notice one of another,
only at first entry he put off his hat and she made
him a very civil salute, but afterwards took no
notice one of another ; but both of them now and
then would take their child which the nurse held
in her arms and dandle it. One thing more :
there happened a scaffold below to fall and we
feared some hurt, but there was none, but she of
all the great ladies only run down among the common
rabble to see what hurt was done, and did take
care of a child that received some little hurt, which

79

Old English Houses

methought was so noble. Anon there came one
there booted and spurred that she talked long with.
And by and by, she being in her hair, she put on
his hat, which was but an ordinary one, to keep the
wind off. But methinks it became her mightily, as
everything else do.''

Of Medmenham and Bisham Abbeys, beyond the
famous Cliveden Woods of which Lord Ronald Gower
writes so poetically in his Reminiscences, so much
has been written that perhaps the less I have to
say the better about these picturesque buildings, so
familiar to frequenters of the river. The ghost of
Lady Hoby at the latter — that learned sister of
the Ladies Bacon, Burleigh, and Killigrew, who
thrashed her little boy so unmercifully that he died
in consequence — is said to walk the grounds in
widow's weeds as an everlasting penalty for her
cruelty. " Spirits from the vasty deep " ever were
unrestful, and surely judging from local tradition
those of Lord le Despenser, Sir William Stanhope, Sir-
John King, and other members of the notorious
Hell Fire Club at Medmenham ought to haunt those
ruins.

The secluded village of Hurley, like that of Med-
menham, has some quaint old timber-framed cottages.
80

MAPLEDURHAM MILL

P.S2

GAUNT HOUSE

NORTHMOOR RECTORY HOUSE

p.iSS

OLD DOVECOTE, NOBTHMOOR

p. 88

OCKWELLS

OCKWELLS

PORCH AT OCKWELLS

p. 70

ALMSHOUSES AT BRAY

p. 77

Berkshire and Oxfordshire

The Bell also is a picturesque gabled hostelry of
Elizabeth^s time, which somehow or other recalls the
opening chapter of that delightful romance Kenilworth,
though the actual scene, of course, was supposed to
have taken place at Cumnor, some miles to the
north. There are, however, other historical associa-
tions at Hurley lingering around the scanty remains
of the once magnificent mansion, Lady Place. The
third lord of the now extinct Lovelace family of
Hurley was one of the handsome Monmouth's patrons
and companions ; — moreover, a scheming politician, like
Shaftesbury, ever ready to embroil others and save
himself The young Duke, upon his quasi-Royal
progresses, was a frequent guest at the house of this
spendthrift Whig, and probably was here introduced
to Lovelace's handsome cousin, the romantic young
Baroness Wentworth of Toddington. She became so
enamoured that when Monmouth was disgraced and
had to quit the country, she must needs throw in
her lot with his and follow him to Holland, and
eventually to the grave, for she survived her lover
but a few months/ Towards the termination of
James II. 's brief reign we find Lovelace in the spacious
vaults beneath his house receiving secret messages
* Vide King Monmouth.

F Si

old English Houses

from the spies of William of Orange, and when that
monarch had intimidated his father-in-law to such an
extent that James sought refuge in flight, he failed
not to acknowledge his indebtedness to the under-
ground chambers of Lady Place by paying them a
special visit.

The superb contents of the old house were dis-
persed soon after the death of the third Lord
Lovelace, and I believe some of the family portraits
now in Dulwich Gallery originally came from there.
The property changed hands once or twice, and the
house, after much neglect, was at length pulled down
in the early part of last century, and all that now
is to be seen is an old dovecote and the piers of an
entrance gate, and the underground chambers before
alluded to.

Mapledurham is one more picturesque spot on
the river which I cannot pass without a word of
admiration. The quaint old mill here has some-
thing about it far more fascinating than any other old
water-mill I have seen, and yet it has no architectural
points to recommend it, neither can the situation
be compared with one I remember down by the river
Avon and close against the walls of the romantic
castle of Warwick. As a youngster, 1 recollect it

Berkshire and Oxfordshire

was somewhat of a penance to be taken daily to the
Warwick mill, while the elder members of the party
made sketches and read novels. At that tender age,
when it is practically impossible to keep quiet or sit
still for a moment, 1 suppose the impression was an
unpleasant one, but it was lasting, for I can recall
vividly to my memory the dreamy blending of sounds
— the churning of the wheel, the rushing of the
water, and the rustling of the tall trees overhead.
Though I now look back with pleasure to the daily
visits to Warwick mill, undoubtedly it was a hard-
ship at the time ; in the same way, I suppose, one
looks back with a certain amount of affection to
the unpleasant occurrences at school, excepting the
caning, however, which is never a pleasing reminis-
cence.

In the mass of trees beyond the mill of Maple-
durham stands the old hall where the Blounts have
lived for three centuries or more. There is a
grim-looking side entrance with wrought-iron gates
leading from the churchyard, which has a very un-
canny appearance, but why, I cannot undertake to say.
I had heard many rumours of the impenetrableness
of this mansion, and had reason to congratulate
myself on being shown round by a member of the

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old English Houses

Blount family. The interior, however, can nowhere
compare with the exterior in point of interest, for
it is gloomy, to say the least of it; this impression,
however, may have been left by the long stone
corridors and passages in the basement, and from
the general bareness of the apartments, which at one
time must have contained fine panelling, ceilings, and
fireplaces. It is one of those houses like Charlecote,
in Warwickshire, that have been spoiled by injudicious
restoration as regards its interior. The main front
facing the great avenue has also lost a good deal of
its original character owing to the insertion of plate-
glass windows, which is of course disastrous to a
Tudor house, otherwise picturesque with step gables
and twisted chimneys.

There are numerous picturesque spots between
Mapledurham and Abingdon where, if space per-
mitted, I should like to linger — at the smooth lawns
and terraces of old Hardwick House, where the
unfortunate Charles I. used to wander and ruminate
over his ill-fortunes (with the exception of Ham
House this is certainly the most interesting historical
mansion on the river, and I understand the interior
contains some grand old rooms); — at Ewelme, also
a quaint little place a few miles from the river

84

Berkshire and Oxfordshire

to the east, between the old-world towns of Walling-
ford and Watlington, where the fifteenth-century
almshouses are as fine as anything of their kind in
England ; — at the pretty village of Long Wittenham,
where stands an old stone cross, intact, and not, as
is so often the case, with its summit knocked off. It
His quite a popular error, by the way, to suppose
that this wholesale destruction was the work of
Cromwell, the Parliamentarian general, for the great
havoc was principally done a century before his time,
by his namesake in Henry VIII. 's reign. Ecclesiastical
buildings were certainly damaged considerably during
the civil wars, but not to the extent, I think, that is
usually supposed. It was the old fortified baronial halls
which principally suffered under Oliver Cromwell.

Another fine cross may be seen at Dorchester,
a decayed town which shows many evidences of its
former importance. Quaint " bits " are to be found
among the old houses and inns ; and the monuments,
the font, and brasses in the church are exceptionally
fine. Here is that extraordinary Jesse window, whose
mullions form the branches of a genealogical tree.

Nearer Abingdon is Sutton Courtney, where there
are also many sixteenth- and seventeenth-century
cottages. Of all riverside towns I think Abingdon

85

old English Houses

is the most picturesque. Those who have ap-
proached it by water cannot but have been struck
with the group of ancient buildings, with the old
bridge and the graceful steeple of the church reflected
in the river. The almshouses, Christ's Hospital, are
of later date than those at Ewelme, but are also
wonderfully quaint. A long wooden cloister runs
all along the front, and in the centre over the
entrance gable are some curious paintings, which
give it a richness of colour that is very pleasing to
the eye. Another portion of the building is later
in date, but the contrast only improves the general
effect. Abingdon Abbey must have been of great
extent. There are several remains : the refectory is
now used as a granary, and fortunately has not been
spoiled by modern " improvements."

Those in search of the picturesque might do
worse than tramp the country between Abingdon
and Burford, in Oxfordshire. I have before me
some reminiscences of such a journey, in the shape
of photographs, sketches, and an ordnance map which
was used upon the occasion. I do not know
whether it is peculiar to myself, but I always find
enjoyment in perusing a map which has done service
on a trip like this. The place-names, and even
86

Berkshire and Oxfordshire

pencil marks upon it, will often recall little incidents
long since forgotten. As an instance of how the
memory is refreshed, at the moment I glance at
the name of Appleton, to the west of Abingdon,
I become conscious of a monotonous air, which was
here drummed into my head whether I would or no,
by one of those infernal machines, a musical box.
While I partook of tea at the little inn, in the next
room was being performed, over and over again, one
of those aggravating operatic airs which are full of
flourishes — charming, no doubt, in the opera house or
upon an orchestra, but when each twiddle and twirl
is repeated with the exactness, the hair-breadth
accuracy, of the balance at the Bank of England
which throws aside the light sovereigns, it palls
upon one to a degree. Whether the musical box
could play other tunes I do not know, but it harped
for ever upon this melancholy dirge, until I had to
abandon my repast and cram my fingers in my ears.
I had never heard the air before, nor do I ever want
to hear it again ; indeed, that would be quite un-
necessary, for at this moment I could repeat it with
its original accuracy. 1 wonder, at those inns where
they have automatic music nowadays, whether the
proprietors ever feel inclined to disable the machinery

87

Old English Houses

for ever. I fear I should, were 1 the unhappy pos-
sessor. But the idea of taking music to Appleton
savours of taking coals to Newcastle, for nothing
could be more melodious than its peal of bells.
Those who have heard the chimes will, I think, be
of my opinion.

Northmoor, to the north-west of Appleton,
possesses a curious sixteenth-century rectory house,
with a remarkably picturesque dovecote by the side
of it. These, with the church tower, make an
attractive group. Further to the west, near Standlake,
is a moated farmhouse, called Gaunt House, with
the remains of a drawbridge. Farther north is the
sequestered village of Stanton Harcourt, where
descendants of the ancient family of Harcourt have
lived since the reign of Stephen. The remains of
the manor house date principally from the time of
Henry IV. The kitchen is the most remarkable
portion, being in many respects similar to that at
Glastonbury — its extinguisher roof rising out of the
trees looks very peculiar in the distance. There are
no shafts or flues by which the smoke from fires
lighted within the building can escape. The kitchen
itself is nothing more than a great square chimney
with a conical top, where the smoke ascends unchecked,
88

ASTHALL MANOR HOUSK

p. 92

CEOWN INN, SHTPTON-UNDER-WTCHWOOD

BUBFOED PRIOBY

BUBFOBD PRIORY

p. 94

Berkshire and Oxfordshire

as it does in the baronial hall at Penshurst. The
inside of the extinguisher and the inside walls of
this primitive apartment are black with the soot of
centuries. One cannot help thinking that the cook
of Henry IV/s time did not have a very good time
of it in this atmosphere of smoke — an arduous task,
moreover, for in the event of the wind changing,
unless he cared to be smoke-dried like a haddock,
he would have to ascend to the roof by a precipitous
turret staircase to adjust the ventilators, opening those
at the opposite side whence the wind came.

The domestic of to-day, who invariably finds
fault with our modern kitcheners, should pay a visit
to Stanton Harcourt. I think it would engender a
more contented frame of mind, for do not philosophers
say there is nothing so soothing as to contemplate
worse conditions than our own ?

In a little room at the top of another portion of
the building Pope found congenial seclusion for trans-
lating the fifth book of Homer. The Harcourts
had deserted the old place many years before, so the
poet had the ruinous house all to himself. The
parish stocks must not pass unnoticed, standing by the
side of the road. I am glad to see that in many
places care is now taken of these instruments of an

89

Old English Houses

obsolete punishment — indeed, it is very necessary to
place them in some enclosure to prevent wanton
destruction.

Only just in time have the local authorities
placed railings around the remains of the stocks on
Hadley Common, near Barnet ; for, becoming dilapi-
dated, they soon make their way to the cottager's
fire-grate. At a village in Essex some years ago I
thought I was very chivalrous in championing the
cause of a bad case. I noticed that the stocks were
on their last legs, so to speak — having nobody else's
to fall back upon, I suppose — so I repaired to the
local blacksmith with the request that he should
repair the stocks. A small coin changed hands,
but he did not take the tip in the manner
that I had wished, for when I next visited the
village, the portion which had been loose had dis-
appeared— gone for ever. By now, perhaps, the lower
plank has followed its mate, and the whipping-
post will next be uprooted. If the stocks had
been made of iron instead of wood, as is the
case at Ninfield, in Sussex, they could defy the
onslaughts of such vandals. The modern yokel
has a strange idea as to how his ancestors were
inserted in the stocks. I once had it explained to
90

Berkshire and Oxfordshire

me how the wrists and the feet were pinned down
parallel, the hands on one side of the post and the
feet on the other, and it is not uncommonly believed
that the legs were placed in the manacles at the top
of the pole. Upon one of these instruments (a
portable one now preserved in a church) I have seen
tiny hoops of iron to encircle the wrists of a child.
If a parish could not run to the expense of a whipping-
post and stocks combined, the difficulty was got over
by making a signpost serve a double purpose.
Such an example may be seen at the remote parish
of Stondon Massey, in Essex.

Of Witney I remember but little beyond the old
" Butter Cross " and a fine, but restored, cruciform
church with a lofty spire ; the former was partially
destroyed a few years ago but has been carefully
restored. Following the course of the willow-girt
Windrush river, we reach the ruins of Minster Lovel,
of historic and romantic associations. In a secret vault
beneath the massive walls one of its ancient lords
secreted himself so as to avert the penalty of treason ;
only, however, to meet a far more terrible fate, for
the portion of solid masonry which gave him admit-
tance for some reason or other could not be opened
again, and not until two centuries had elapsed and

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old English Houses

the house was demolished was the unfortunate man's
premature tomb discovered.

Still fcrilowing the course of the pretty Windrush,
we pass through Asthall, with its Elizabethan manor
house near the church, and presently enter the
old town of Burford. This is one of the oldest
places imaginable; anything up-to-date or even com-
paratively modern is quite out of place here, and since
the old coaching days it has not advanced, but gone
entirely to sleep, for the railway has given it a
wide berth, and left the town to get on as best it
can. But I forgot : there is one sign of civilisation
in evidence — the Salvation Army, who, when I was
there, seemed to have taken the place by storm.
On the Sunday evening that I made my entry the
noble army had the whole place to themselves, and
were making night melodious with their song. But
horror ! they had taken possession of the Old Bear
Inn — a fine old hostelry, with quaint oriel windows
and a round tower in the yard — for barracks ! I
expect by now they have pulled it down and rebuilt
it. With the exception of the Salvationists, every-
thing is in keeping. There is nothing to mar the
general harmony. The Burfordites have not even
built a Jubilee clock tower, I rejoice to say ; they
92

Berkshire and Oxfordshire

are content with one by the Tollsey, surmounting
a kind of combination town hall and lock-up. Even
the maid of the inn where I stopped was in keeping
with the rest, for she cannot have been far short of
an octogenarian. " It don't seem so long ago," said
she, '* since I saw a drunken man lying in the stocks
at the Tollsey." "Are the stocks still there.?" I
questioned. *' Yes," she said, *' unless they have
moved them." She went out to see if they were
there ; but they had been taken away — twenty years
before ! I merely give this as an instance of how
slowly things move here. Twenty years, or fifty, or
a hundred makes no perceptible difference at Burford.
The shops — or, rather, shop, I should say, for I
don't remember more than one — was lighted by a
solitary " dip," and the old man who kept the shop
weighed out tobacco in enormous scales which might
have come out of the ark.

Looking up or down the great wide street one
can see nothing but picturesque pointed gables and
deep-set mullioned windows. The beautiful old church
is more like a small cathedral, and is full of interest
externally and internally. The old Priory, not far off,
was a sad spectacle of neglect and decay ; a great
fissure ran from roof to basement, and masses of

93

Old English Houses

stone appeared to be on the verge of falling. The
carved oak of the chapel was open to the ravages of
the weather, and fast crumbling into dust.

Within the last two years or so great changes have
taken place at the Priory. The lease of Lenthall's
curse has expired, and the old building, like Faust,
become rejuvenated; it has proved that its good old
walls are still worthy of habitation for centuries to
come. It is an example of what can be done in the
way of sympathetic restoration when such dilapidated
places fall into the right hands.

That alarming fissure in the front masonry has
entirely disappeared, and lights again flicker in the
cosy window casements, where not so long ago were
gaping chasms between the stone muUions. The stone-
paved quadrangle is no longer weed grown, but trim
with level grass borders and flower-beds. The
sculptured arms of James I., which had obviously
been removed to the north end of the chapel of
Charles II.'s time, now show to better advantage
in their less cramped position between the windows
of the south front.

Restoration has brought to light a series of arches
belonging to the original Priory, for there is little
doubt that the dwelling-house was rebuilt in a great

94

Berkshire and Oxfordshire

measure out of the demolished ecclesiastical building.
This faced south-west, with garden and bowling-green
between it and the road, proving the earlier architects
to be wiser than those of the Renaissance period, for so
many examples of the latter, this house included,
face east.

The south wing was actually the south aisle of the
Priory in Elizabeth's time, the remains of the original
building dating back nearly three centuries. Altera-
tions and additions were subsequently made by Lord
Falkland (about 1625) and Speaker Lenthall. The
hall now contains a fine Tudor fireplace, which was
discovered in an outhouse.^

In the seventeenth century the Priory was the
seat of Lenthall, the Speaker, upon whom, since he
took the cause of the Commons against the King,
a curse is said to have fallen. The old house looked
the very embodiment of that curse. I remember
seeing Lenthall's portrait — the original which formerly
hung in the drawing-room at Burford — at a sale at
Christie's. The face was firm, and looked as if its
owner had the strength of his own convictions, and
this Lenthall evidently had.

1 I am much indebted to Col. B. de Sales La Terri^re for some of
the above information.

95

fMYriWIfflTflllWmmifl-

Old English Houses

Though I am much tempted to cross the border
into Gloucestershire, the present range of my rambles
must be limited. I will therefore work my way in the
direction of Banbury, and thence go eastwards, that I
may recall impressions in certain parts of Northamp-
tonshire, Bedfordshire, Hertfordshire, Middlesex, and
Essex, working my way afterwards through Kent,
parts of Surrey and Sussex to Hampshire where for
the present I must close my wanderings.

At Shipton-under-Wychwood, to the north of
Burford, there is a fine old roadside inn with stone
Early Tudor entrance gate and windows. This
house doubtless was standing long before Shipton
Court was built in Elizabeth's reign. Less pre-
tentious than the Court is the adjacent manor
house of Ascott-under-Wychwood, a long, low ramb-
ling building of stone, with a weather-worn aspect
about it which must have induced many artists who
have noticed it from the windows of the train to
alight at the next station upon some future occasion.

In the pretty little church of Spilsbury, some
four miles to the north-east, lie the remains of that
well-known character of Charles II. 's court — the
brilliant but notoriously profligate Earl of Rochester.
No tablet, however, records his interment. He was

96

BURFOllD

p. 93

'*"' .^^j^S^K

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9

BURFOBD PRIORY (BKFORE RESTORATION) p. 9^

THE WILMOT PEW, ADDERBTJRY p. 97

WATEH EATON MAXOU HOUSIs p. .Vy

Berkshire and Oxfordshire

born in the mansion, Ditchley Park, close by, but
lived principally at Adderbury, a village to the south
of Banbury. In the grand old church there may
be seen the memorial pew of the Wilmots, though
the family have been extinct for over a couple of
centuries ; at least it was pointed out to me as
*' Rochester's pew," but I should think it very doubt-
ful whether he had ever been seen within it. Local
tradition, though silent upon this point, has many
stories to recount of his lordship's wild and eccentric
proceedings when he came into Oxfordshire for change
^of air and scene, or when disgrace at Court enforced
a temporary retirement.

Adderbury House, where he lived upon these
occasions, retains but few vestiges of the building of
that day, though the Wilmot arms may still be seen
upon a water-pipe. The furniture and pictures also
have been long since dispersed, but Rochester's mirror
remained until recently, though that also has now
disappeared. A far more interesting relic may still
be seen in one of the lodges at Woodstock Park,
otherwise Blenheim, of which he was ranger — the
tattered and faded bed upon which the Earl died.
I need scarcely refer to Burnet's well-known account
of the penitent's last hours. There is pathetic

G ^']

Old English Houses

interest in this old relic. Looking at it, one can
almost picture reclining upon it the emaciated form
of the prematurely aged debauchee, listening intently
to the grave solicitations of the bishop.

"I do verily believe," says Dr. Burnet in his
History of My Own Time, " he was then so entirely
changed that if he had recovered he would have made
good all his resolutions."

Ditchley is mainly interesting for its splendid
collection of portraits, and I had the good fortune
to have these fully described to me by the owner.
Viscount Dillon, who has a marvellous knowledge of
all things ancient, from flint arrow-heads to Crom-
wellian helmets.

Some of Lely's best works may be seen in this
house, the portraits of Charles II. and the beautiful
Duchess of Cleveland (of whom I have previously
spoken) being particularly noticeable. Their daughter
Charlotte, the young Countess of Lichfield, was a
great favourite of the king ; after good dinners at
Ditchley, she is said to have soothed him to sleep by
tickling his royal nose with a feather. Here may
also be seen the portrait of Sir Henry Lee and his
faithful dog, from whom Scott got his idea of the
typical old cavalier in his romance, Woodstock,

98

Berkshire and Oxfordshire

Though classical, the exterior of Ditchley has
not the ponderous formality and depressing severity
of Blenheim. The wonders of that palace I will
leave to others more competent than myself to
describe. I must own these lofty, comfortless,
sarcophagus-like saloons leave a frigid impression
upon me. They strike one with a chill even in
the dog-days. Altogether these magnificent palaces
appeal to me far less than the unpretentious little
manor house which has degenerated into a farm ;
a place such, for instance, as Hampton Gay, to the
east of Woodstock. I shall always regret that I
did not carry away with me any mementos of my
visit there, either in the shape of sketches or snap-
shots, for unhappily the old place was burned down
shortly afterwards. I remember one very fine
panelled room, with a great bay window and a
splendid carved mantelpiece. Not far from Hampton
Gay is the very pretty little village of Wood Eaton,
where stands the shaft of an old cross upon the
village green, and beyond, in an isolated position,
with seemingly no direct roads leading to it, the very
compact little Jacobean manor house of Water Eaton.

Even the gloomy manor house of Fritwell, some
eight miles to the north of Hampton Gay, is more

99

Old English Houses

cheerful than Blenheim. The house had been un-
occupied for some considerable time save by a
caretaker, and the timid little woman who at length
appeared in answer to continual hammerings at the
door looked as if her nervous system had been
shattered by the loneliness of the house and the
continual fear of burglars.

I was admitted after considerable unbarring and
unbolting, and in the dark panelled chambers was
told some of the most creepy stories of a human
kennel up in the garrets, and how a former lord of
the manor had imprisoned his brother in it for years ;
but why he should have selected a kennel I could not
gather, for space was not limited by any means in the
upper regions of the house. A discoloration on a
plaster wall was said to resemble the profile of some
unfortunate nun, but as I could make neither head
out of this nor tail out of the kennel, both remain
unfathomed mysteries, as far as my comprehension
goes. I fear I was not sufficiently awe-struck. There
used to be a typical showman at the Rye House, an
old Scotchman who told blood-curdling stories by the
light of a torch in '* the dungeons and caves." The
" stalactites " were impressive, but on my way to the
railway station after leaving the ** Castle,'* somebody

lOO

Berkshire and Oxfordshire

in the secret pointed out the man who had manu-
factured them !

A new branch of the Great Western Railway
(which shortens the route on that line to Birmingham)
passing in the vicinity of Fritwell, will bring it more in
touch with the world.

Adderbury, of which I have already spoken, is
about eight miles to the north-west. Farther in the
same direction are two of the finest old mansions
in Oxfordshire — Broughton Castle and Wroxton
Abbey. But it is difficult to determine which is the
more picturesque of the two, or to draw a com-
parison ; for the one has a wide clear moat, in which
the gables and battlements are reflected, whereas there
is no water in close proximity to the other. Wroxton
is embosomed in trees, and its Jacobean architecture
is more elaborate and ornamental. It has, perhaps,
suffered less from restoration than Broughton, but
both contain fine carvings and interesting pictures and
furniture. There are also many beautiful miniatures
at Wroxton, but it is one of those collections where,
unfortunately, the names have not been preserved, and
some well-known historical faces are merely classified
as " the portrait of a gentleman " or " the portrait of a
lady," as the case may be.

loi

old English Houses

At a little village equi-distant from both
Wroxton and Broughton I once found comfortable
quarters for a summer — or, rather, autumn — holiday.
I had cycled over a stretch of country with which
I had been anxious to become re-acquainted — the
corner of Northamptonshire which borders the
northern extremity of Oxfordshire — and by the time
I arrived within a mile or so of my destination it
was getting dark. Having dismounted owing to
the steepness of the road, I was ascending a hill
when I passed an old man with a long white beard
who looked very hard at me. There was nothing
very remarkable in this, nor in the fact that as he
passed I noticed he was carrying behind him a
very ugly-looking stick; but I did think it some-
what remarkable that after walking twenty yards or
so he should turn round and follow me. I certainly
began to feel doubtful as to his intentions. In the
deepening shade, on we walked, always with the
same space of road between us. If I quickened my
pace, so did my mysterious companion ; if I slackened
it, he did likewise. Presently, however, he began
to gain ground ; the road was still uphill and I
couldn't ride, so I thought it best to bring the
matter to a climax. I stopped dead. On he came
102

Berkshire and Oxfordshire

stealthily. I put myself upon the defensive. He
was now close at hand. He looked fixedly at me. I
felt inclined to strike first, but did not. He raised
his arm and then — his hat. ''Excuse me," he said
" might you be the gent who has taken apartments ? "
Then it dawned upon me this was my future host.
Fearing I might miss the turning which led to his
house, he had walked on a couple of miles in the
direction whence I had said I was coming, and, passing
me, was doubtful as to whether I was his man. So
he kept an eye upon my movements, that I might not
lose my way. But why didn't he speak ? A word
would have explained everything.

The proximity of Compton Wynyates made this
country retreat most delightful. To see that wonder-
ful old house under every aspect of light and shade,
and to study it from every conceivable point of
view, was to me, at any rate, an enormous treat.
But the mansion belongs to Warwickshire, and if
once I step across the border there are too many
attractions to resist. Therefore, I will keep to my
plan of going eastwards.

The railway which . now runs between Blisworth
and Stratford-on-Avon some years ago presented a
very desolate appearance. One occasionally comes

103

old English Houses

across these disused railroads. What a woc-begone,
forlorn aspect they have ! Excepting the barren,
blighted country adjacent to a worked-out coal-mine
nothing looks so unprosperous.

I was stopping at the tiny village of Slapton, and
was anxious to visit the old house of Canons Ashby,
and having heard that there was a sort of apology
for a train which traversed the grass-grown line once
a weeky I lay in wait for it at the then disused
station of Blakesley. Within an hour or so of the
allotted time the train arrived, and the engine-driver
got down to ask where I should like to alight. There
was no hurry. I took out my map and pointed
out the spot. But he had had no dealings with maps
and didn't understand their bearings ; so he said
he would pull up in the course of a few miles to
receive fresh instructions. The medley of luggage
trucks and one obsolete passenger carriage crawled
off, bumping its way over stones and sunken sleepers
in a manner which should have proved efficacious
to any one with a disordered liver. We travelled
so slowly at times that I felt inclined to get out and
push, but presently down got the engine-driver again,
and pointed out the church of Moreton Pinkney.
1 referred to the map and found that would do,
104

I

FRITWELL JIAXOR HOU8K

CANONS ASHBY

p 104

WKOXTON ABBEY

p. 101

Berkshire and Oxfordshire

so jumped down, tipped the man, and thanking
him for his kind offer to bring me back next
week, said that I intended to walk back that day
along the line. Then I climbed over a hedge, and
made a bee-line for the landmark, while the pre-
historic conveyance jolted on its weary way to
Shakespeare-land.

Presently my progress was impeded by a
remarkable wall with tall pointed Elizabethan orna-
ments at every corner. Out came my sketch-book,
and I set to work. But I did not know that I was
observed. On the other side of the wall stood an
old gentleman in the costume of the early 'fifties,
with a high white stock up to his ears. " What
are you drawing, my lad ? " said he, coming forward.
I trembled in my shoes, and held out the book.
" Good ! " said he. ** Where d'ye come from ? " I
said I was stopping at Slapton Rectory. This,
I suppose, confirmed my respectability, for he gave
me a sounding slap on the back, and told me to
come in and have some bread and cheese. I
followed him into one of the quaintest old court-
yards imaginable, not unlike one of the old moss-
grown quadrangles at Haddon, and from there into
old panelled rooms of black oak with coved

los

Old English Houses

ceilings and enormous pendants, beautifully carved
mantelpieces, Jacobean tables and chairs, old portraits,
armour — everything, in fact, in keeping — "nothing
new!'* Lunch was evidently over, but the table
was groaning with good things. I was told to
" tuck in," which I did forthwith. " This is Lady
Dryden," said mine host, as his wife came into the
room. "We're going to drive to Fawsley. It's
a better old place than this — will you come with us,
or stop here and do your sketching ? " I preferred
the latter, and was supremely happy in having so
glorious an old house all to myself. Towards the
evening I wandered back to the ruinous railway
line, and had no difficulty in finding my way back
to Slapton, with a vivid and lasting impression of a
typical old English squire.

1 06

///

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MIT>T>LSSBX

B6T>F0Tip, H61{TF01ip
MIT>T)L6S6X

ON the eastern border of Bucks a narrow
strip of Hertfordshire projects to within
about four miles of Aylesbury. Close to
the border, and to the north-east of Tring, is the
little village of Aldbury, situated in the midst of
most picturesque scenery. Old-fashioned brick and
timber cottages are scattered round an extensive green,
in the midst of which is a large pond, and near the
brink of the pond still stand the time-worn stocks
and whipping-post. It is a more formidable looking
instrument of torture than most I have seen, and
from its conspicuous position the unfortunate victims
who did penance therein were open to assaults on all
sides. On the high ground above the village is the
extensive park of Ashridge, some five miles round,
famous for its magnificent oak, ash, and beech-trees ;

109

old English Houses

famous, moreover, for its palatial mansion, a successor
to an older one which was erected out of the ruins
of a monastery. It is a pity that this combination
of Gothic and Elizabethan architecture should have
passed away.

Queen Elizabeth, when she was princess, fre-
quently stopped here, and there is very substantial
evidence to prove this is not one of those mythical
places of her Majesty's sojourn, for there is still
preserved an extraordinary collection of relics,
including not only her bed, but her shoes and
stockings and a complete toilet set, with two
enormous hair-brushes which, if put upon poles,
might well serve as brooms. How the queen
came to leave behind all her goods and chattels is
accounted for by the fact that during her sojourn it
was suspected she was implicated in Wyatt's rebellion,
so with more speed than ceremony she was taken
from a sick-bed and carried up to London.
There is another relic which gives a pathetic side-
light to a chapter in Froude. To quote the great
historian, in April 1555, Queen Mary ** withdrew to
Hampton Court for entire quiet. The rockers and
the nurses were in readiness, and a cradle stood open
to receive the royal infant ; priests and bishops sang
no

Bedford, Hertford and Middlesex

litanies through the London streets ; a procession of
ecclesiastics in cloths of gold and tissue marched
round Hampton Court Palace headed by Philip in
person ; Gardner walked at his side, while Mary
gazed from a window. Not only was the child
assuredly coming, but its sex was decided on, and
circulars were drawn and signed both by the king
and queen, with blanks also for the month and
the day, announcing to ministers of State, to
ambassadors, and to foreign sovereigns the birth of
a prince. . . . The bells were set ringing in all the
churches; Te Deum was sung in St. PauFs ; priests
wrote sermons ; bonfires were piled ready for light-
ing, and tables were laid out in the streets. The
news crossed the channel to Antwerp, and had grown
in the transit. The great bell of the cathedral
was rung for the actual birth."

The relic to which I refer is the baby-linen
which was made by Princess Elizabeth for her rival
sister upon this much-looked-forward-to occasion,
which was fated to end in disappointment. More
mementos of Elizabeth may be seen in the old
manor house of Little Gaddesden, close at hand.
Here is a curious mural painting representing her
and her suite. The principal figure (of the queen),

III

Old English Houses

having been painted upon a cupboard door, afforded
every excuse for its removal into the mansion ;
doubtless it will be better preserved there, but one
cannot help regretting that it was taken from its
original position.

Going northwards by Eddlesborough, in whose
church there is a wonderfully fine fifteenth-century
screen and canopy to the pulpit, a journey of about
nine miles will bring us to Hockliffe in Bedfordshire,
on the great main road to Coventry, and three miles
to the north-east is Toddington. At the old manor
house of the latter place — or, rather, the remains of
it, for at one time it was one of the largest mansions
in Bedfordshire — linger sad memories of the young
heiress of the noble house of Wentworth. The
fine old church is full of interest. There are
recumbent effigies of knights in armour, and the
roof is one of the finest in the county, with grace-
fully carved bosses, figures of angels, etc. A hand-
some but dilapidated monument to Lady Wentworth
naturally enough is silent about the pathetic history
of her liaison with the handsome Duke of Mon-
mouth, who, at the time there was a warrant out for
his arrest on the charge of high treason, remained
for some months secreted at Toddington. But
JI2

Bedford, Hertford and Middlesex

here, as elsewhere, he courted disaster, as well as
his hostess. Lord Bruce, who lived in'the neighbour-
hood, and fortunately was friendlily disposed towards
the fugitive, recognised him at a local hunt in the
garb of a gipsy, but kept a silent tongue in his head.

Two years after this, when the brief reign of
Monmouth as King of Taunton was over and the
headsman's axe had terminated his luckless career,
the fatal news, being carried to Lady Wentworth,
proved also her death-blow. One of the bishops
who attended the duke in his last moments had the
heart-wrenching task of taking to her a memento
in the shape of a ring which had been handed to
him on the scaifFold. At the sight of it the poor
girl swooned, and upon regaining consciousness sobbed,
" Good God, had that poor man nothing to think
of but me ? " A month or so after this, and the
bell of Toddington church was toUing. The villagers
had congregated to pay their last tribute of love and
respect. But the past was not to be buried with
the last earthly remains. Some evil-disposed person
ascended the tower and cut the bell-ropes — in the
hopes, perhaps, that by so doing the soul of the
departed would not reach heaven. I fancy there is
such a superstition.

H 113

Old English Houses

The figure of a cupld on the monument stands
headless, as if symbolical of the unhappy love story,
and the bust of the heroine of it has fallen and
lies in pieces upon another tomb.

What remains of the mansion is interesting, but
it is only a fragment. From some old documents,
maps, and sketches preserved there, one may get a
good idea of the original dimensions. On the back
of an old fire-screen also there is a ground plan
showing the part of the house which was set aside
for Monmouth's use. This (retaining the original
furniture) was kept locked up for years, while the
remainder of the house was dismantled and tumbling
to pieces, but it was eventually pulled down. Some
of the oak carvings from Toddington Place were
removed to HocklifFe, where they may still be
seen incorporated in the White Horse Inn — an old
hostelry where in years gone by there was a notice
stuck up to the effect that its customers had the
privilege of seeing the newspaper there every day in
the week I

At the now ruinous Inigo Jones mansion of
Houghton Conquest, a few miles to the north of
Toddington, lived Lord Bruce, afterwards Earl
of Ailesbury, who once upon a time was the suitor
114

Bedford, Hertford and Middlesex

for the hand of the heiress of Toddington . It is
a picturesque pile of red brick of James I.'s time,
with stone facings and classic arches and arcades,
like the ruin of Slaugham Place in Sussex. A fine
house it must have been, with formal terraces and
gardens, of which nothing is now visible in the
surrounding meadow-land. Before the Earl of
Ailesbury came into possession it was the property
of Sidney's sister, the Countess of Pembroke, but
the story that Sir Philip wrote his Arcadia there is
erroneous. The arms and quarterings of the Sidneys
formerly surmounted the main entrance, and their
various monograms may still be seen upon a frieze.
"It's been an old ancient place in its time,"
observed a farm labourer, who, hidden from view,
had been watching my cautious manoeuvres round
some very shaky looking walls. I agreed with
him, though I thought by appearances it was still
"an old ancient place." "Folks sometimes come
and paint it," continued he, and he might have added,
" carve it as well," for there were deep-cut mementoes
of the visits of the 'Arrys and 'Arriets of present
and past generations. The gentleman was evidently
thirsty — for there was nothing more accommodating
than a disused pump, securely railed in, as if water

IIS

Old English Houses

were scarce in those parts — so I handed over two-
pence.

The allusion to Houghton ruins forming a good
subject for the brush suggests to my mind the
experiences of an artist friend who, revisiting one
of his old haunts, told a cottager that he had painted
his house some ^ve years previously. ''Sure, that
ye didn't," said the yokel with some spirit ; " nothing
ain't been done to it this twenty year or more, and
then it warn't painted, but whitewashed, *cos the squire
said that was good enough for a house o' the likes
o' mine.'*

Not far from Houghton ruins stood the old castle
of Ampthill, where Queen Catherine of Arragon lived
in retirement previous to her trial.

Clophill and Silsoe are as poetic in appearance as
their names sound. These pretty villages, which lie
to the east of Ampthill, have a more prosperous
look than the majority hereabouts, for the generality
have a poverty-stricken air. This is perhaps owing
to the proximity of the large estate, Wrest Park, in
the same way that the village of Woburn, some miles
to the west, owes its flourishing condition to the
ducal house of Bedford. By the way, when I went
through that extensive park some years ago, I was
ii6

Bedford, Hertford and Middlesex

not aware that there is a kind of private Zoological
Gardens kept on the premises. I met now and again
some most alarming-looking animals, who filled me
with awe, but I presume they were tame, or they
would not be allowed to prowl about in that casual
sort of way.

At Over and Lower Gravenhurst, to the west of
Wrest Park, one may get an object-lesson respecting
church restoration. The first thing that greets one
upon entering the holy edifice of the latter village
is a contribution box for funds, and, unkind as it
may appear, I trust they will not be forthcoming, if
one may judge of the impending havoc from the
over-scraped and varnished church. Here, lying in
a corner, I noticed the wreck of the old oak pulpit
and one of the original pews — the latter the remnant
of others which have been chopped up to be fitted
here and there in the new seats. They have the
appearance of being neither one thing nor the other.
Whether funds would not admit of the roof being
attacked, I do not know ; but that, fortunately, has
not been touched — a splendid roof, with great figures
representing angels with extended wings, and beauti-
fully moulded bosses at the intersections of the
beams.

117

Old English Houses

Far less pretentious is the other little unrestored
church, with its original pews almost intact, a simple
decorated rood-screen, retaining in part its original
colouring, and the old pulpit. A monument to one
Benjamin Pigott represents him, his three wives,
and fourteen children — in various instalments. First
comes a brass of Benjamin, then a wife, a child,
another wife, four children, the third wife, and,
finally, nine more children — a goodly array in all.
Here also may be seen an hour-glass stand, which
carries us back to the days when sermons were
measured out to the parishioners according to the
running sand. There are some churches that I
know of where I believe this custom would be
welcome if the glass was one of those modern
ones — for boiling eggs.

Meppershall, a mile or so to the east, has also
a good cruciform church, in close proximity to which
is the manor house, coated with yellow wash over
possibly ornamental pargetting. Conspicuous on the
gable over the porch is a large bas relief of a crown
and thistle. I asked the inmate for information,
which was not forthcoming. It was supposed to be
the manor house, and the badge was supposed to be a
crown and a thistle (which was evident on the face
ii8

Bedford, Hertford and Middlesex

of it). Shillington was the next place on my pro-
gramme. Here I was enforced to take things leisurely,
for on my way my machine (I was cycling on this
journey) was incapacitated by a great plug of wood
running completely through the tyre. A deliberate
case of suicide, such as this, should properly have
been buried at the next cross-roads, but I dragged
the mangled remains onwards in the hope of finding
a doctor. 1 have always noticed that the worst
punctures usually happen in the most outlandish
places, miles from the nearest railway, miles from
help or sympathy. But I might have fared worse
and been " hung up " entirely, for my outfit was
far from equal to the occasion. At Shillington I
discovered a bootmaker, who was accustomed not only
to set people on their legs, but on their wheels.
When I say " discovered," I mean I heard that such a
person existed, but to find him was another matter,
for his shop was locked up and he was — heaven knows
where ! In a rural district I usually find the people
are callous, but here the whole population voluntarily
went to scour the country.

Meanwhile, I sauntered round the old church.
From the distance as I approached the village, the
church standing above the old thatched roofs looked

"9

Old English Houses

more like some massive mediaeval castle, and, sil-
houetted against the evening sky, it had a strange,
romantic appearance. The key of the church,
as is usually the case, was kept some considerable
distance avi^ay, but when at length I ran the lady
in charge to earth, it was a satisfaction to learn
that she could " always be found " in the same spot,
which certainly was not the case with the bootmaker.
The key and the custodian could not be parted
— an admirable plan where there are possibilities
of tips — so the lady honoured me with her com-
pany. No sooner was the door open than some
mysterious person, who I had not noticed before,
slipped in. Like myself, he was a stranger in
the land, and, judging from appearances, wanted
to see all that was to be seen — possibly gratis, for
which I do not blame him. *' A good brass," I ejacu-
lated, half to myself and half to the lady in charge.
The gentleman brought his eyes and nose to bear on
the monument and exclaimed, " A treat ! " I admired
the old oak benches and the most graceful tracery
of the screen. They were also " A treat ! " I expect
the view from the church tower was likewise, for he
mounted the ladder to explore the heights while I
remained below, and, preparing to depart, was reminded

120

•

WHITE HORSK INN, HOC'KLIFFE

;). 112

HELMETS AT HA1{

HOUGHTON CONQUEST p. 114

ASTON BUKY

p. 122

j Bedford, Hertford and Middlesex

-hat my friend would not be long. This hastened
my exit.

Upon my return to the shoemaker's shop I found
that the inhabitants of the village had returned, and
that the object of their search was looming in the
distance covered in dust and perspiration. Another
quarter of an hour and I was speeding towards
Hitchin, where I arrived just three minutes too late
for the up express. It is the fashion to abuse that
wonderful publication Bradshaw, but I think a
cyclist on tour might do worse than carry one with
him ; occasionally it would save both time and
anxiety. Much as Bradshaw is maligned, it is not
nearly so exasperating as the official time-table books
published by the various companies. You are in
a hurry to get to a place and refer to the index, and
find this sort of thing : Muddleton^ pages i, 3, 6,
7, 10, 14, 18, 23, 27, 35, 49, 51, 62, 63, 77, 81,
87, 90, 97, 105, 116, 123, 132, 143. It is years
since I read that excellent parody, A Guide to
Bradshaw^ by Sir F. C. Burnand, and do not re-
member whether this system of indexing is commented
upon, and if so, whether there is any suggestion how
to alight upon the page that you want.

If a straight line were ruled from Shillington

121

old English Houses

through Hitchin and continued to about the same
distance on the other side of that bright little town,
it would terminate at Aston Bury.

I visited this ghostly old manor house on a
dreary winter's day some years ago ; one of those
mild, muggy days when the moisture is dripping
from the skeleton trees, and everything is half hidden
in a shroud of white penetrating mist — a day of which
the most pleasant part is the recollection of the
various discomforts when one is seated by a bright
fire in a cosy inn parlour at the termination of one's
journey. To traverse ploughed fields on such a
day means, of course, carrying the weight of half the
field on your feet or leaving your boots behind in
the mud ; but it is wonderful what one will undergo
for the sake of a short cut. I have a recollection
of arriving at Aston enveloped in clay from head to^
foot. There is a village some miles to the north-
west in the adjoining county called Barton-in-the-
Clay, so why not call this place Aston-in-the-Clay —
in the winter months, that is to say ? Fortunately the
manor house was empty, otherwise I never could have
been admitted. The building stands bare and bleak
(a portion only of the original Elizabethan house), and
has some very good twisted chimneys. Inside are

122

Bedford, Hertford and Middlesex

panelled rooms, Tudor doorways and fireplaces, and
two remarkable carved staircases with giant tapering
newels. The latter occupy the chief portion of the
house, excepting a gallery over a hundred feet in
length on the top story, stretching from one end
of the building to the other. The weather, doubt-
less, had a good deal to do with it, but it looked
far from a cheerful abode — one, moreover, calculated
to arouse suspicion of uncanny forms lurking in the
dark corners of the deserted chambers.

Knebworth, with its strange medley of turrets,
pinnacles, chimneys, and griffins, and other Strawberry
Hill Gothic embellishments, is not far off. It is
difficult to imagine that the wing of the original
quadrangular Tudor structure is encased in this
curious but certainly picturesque exterior. The
great hall, with its fine screen and open timber roof,
arms and banners, is intact, as is also the portrait
gallery. Here the Stuart period is well represented.
Over the carved oak mantelpiece is a fine painting
of the hard-featured Prince Rupert, with his natural
son Dudley Bard, who, like his father, was distin-
guished for his valour. He was shot in storming
a breach at the siege of Buda in 1686. Among the
beauties is pretty Nell Gwyn, who here has dark

123

old English Houses

brown hair, as we see her in the National Portrait
Gallery. I presume she dyed her naturally fair
tresses to suit the fashion, as the gentlemen of the
court occasionally changed the colour of their wigs.

More fascinating is handsome Lucy Walter, whose
large expressive eyes follow you wherever you go.
This portrait is one of the finest I have seen from
Lely's brush. One day I hope this great artist's
work may be valued at its proper worth. No
portrait painter had so many bad imitators, for he
could not possibly have turned out a tenth part of
the pictures attributed to him. Rubbish which would
make Lely turn in his coffin is constantly being
passed off as his work, and his name suffers in con-
sequence. Though the popular painter had in-
numerable imitators and copyists, the fact is never
recognised at an auction room. Is it likely? A'
beauty of Charles II.'s court, if not signed by
Mary Beale, must be by Lely, no matter how in-
different the artistic merit of the picture. Why do
not the organisers of one-man exhibitions, such as
we have had of Vandyck, Romney and Reynolds,
give us a representative collection of this old master ?
The everlasting interest in the Stuart period alone
should make such an exhibition popular.
124

Bedford, Hertford and Middlesex

Not far from the retired little village of Tewin
Green, to the south-east of Knebworth, stands
Queen Hoo Hall (locally pronounced Queenie-'ooo),
a curious red-brick Tudor house with ornamental
pinnacles surmounting its two principal gables, lofty
mullioned windows, and massive chimney-stacks. At
the back is a little walled-in courtyard, and from this
you enter the house over a doorstep of red bricks
encased in a bordering of oak, like the hearths one
occasionally sees in old houses. By this primitive
entrance Queen Elizabeth is traditionally said to
have come upon the occasion of her visit, for she
certainly honoured the house with her presence during
one of her progresses. Most of the rooms have been
stripped of the oak wainscoting with which they were
covered not many years ago, but the old stone Tudor
fireplaces remain, and there is also the original well
staircase intact.

On my first visit, it was occupied as a farm, and
house and garden appeared to be in a most neglected
condition, but restorations have taken place of
recent years, and there are now level tennis-courts
and luxurious flower-beds. Over a fireplace in one
of the upper rooms is a strange mural painting,
the subject of which was a mystery. The costumes

Old English Houses

represented show it to be coeval with the house,
but presumably the fresco was never finished, and
a great portion of it is only in outline ; or perhaps
it was nearly obliterated in removing the coats
of whitewash they were so lavish with about a
hundred years ago. The principal figures in robes
and ruffs are kneeling, but most conspicuous of all
is the standing figure of a negro, with a sort of
club in his hand, bearing a strong resemblance to a
Mother Gamp umbrella. The rooms were unusually
dark and gloomy, as there was an impending thunder-
storm when I was there. In a better light I might
have arrived at a more satisfactory conclusion as to
what the picture was about. The angry appearance
of the sky hastened my departure. For three hours
before there had been brilliant sunshine, though when
I had particularly wanted it earlier in the day for
a snapshot, 1 had waited and waited in vain for a
convenient gap in the clouds.

On arriving at Queen Hoo the black mantle had
again obscured the sun, but this time it meant business.
I put on speed for the nearest station, but down
came the deluge before I was half-way there. With
"buckets" coming down, trees afford not the least
protection. Oh ! for the Mother Gamp on the fresco.
126

I

Bedford, Hertford and Middlesex

I can feel the rain coming through my hat, passing
down my neck and filling my shoes even now. The
prevailing impression of " Queenie-'ooo " is, as
Mr. Mantalini would say, '* a demmed damp moist
unpleasant one."

Years before this expedition I had come out
somewhere in these Hertfordshire wilds with my
camera. Nowadays one may wander into the inner-
most corners of the earth with a detective camera
and not be detected, or, in other words, not excite the
least curiosity ; but at the time I speak of the
instrument was regarded with suspicion. As I was
carrying the formidable apparatus of those days on
my shoulder, I passed a farm labourer and his son.
*' Be e burd-catching, faather ? " I overheard the boy
address his sire. The father evidently knew better,
for he approached and asked me to **take a draft"
of his " dawg." Unwillingly I had to refuse, as I
had exposed all my plates. This I tried to explain,
but he only thought it was an evasion, for said he,
" I don't mind giving yer sixpence, mister, if ye'U
potograph 'im." I shook my head. "A shillin',
then," he persisted, putting his hand in his pocket,
I remained firm. " Well, ye ain't 'ard up for money,
anyhow,'' he grumbled, as he trudged off, and even

127

Old English Houses

then father, son, and dog looked back occasionally in
the hopes that I should change my mind.

Some of the most rustic country folk have a clever
way of turning things to account. The inmate of an
old cottage I once photographed near Dorking was
a thorough business man. Yes, I might take '' a
likeness" of his house if I paid a shilling. I did
so, and the worthy gentleman threw himself in for
the money — posed in the porch — and remarked if I
had half a dozen or so of the result to spare, I
might give them to him !

In Tewin Church there are tombs to the Botelers,
who once upon a time possessed both Aston Bury
and Queen Hoo Hall. In the churchyard may be
seen one of those tombs which have been lifted
bodily from its position by the growth of a tree,
or rather in this instance by several. Great
branches of ash and sycamore have embraced the
iron railings in such a way that they are wrenched
out of their positions. The usual story is told — that
it is the grave of an unbeliever, which, I think,
does not go for much, as these discoveries are never
made until a century or so after the person's
interment.

In a ramble of some fifteen miles from Tewin
128

Bedford, Hertford and Middlesex

one may include the historic mansions of Hatfield,
Tittenhanger, The Grove, Cassiobury, and Gorhambury
(at the last of which resided the occupant of the
Tewin tomb, Lady Anne Grimston). Hatfield, of
course, is one of the most perfect Elizabethan
mansions extant, and its art treasures are world
famed. Vastly interesting as are these, as at
Chatsworth one comes away with the predominant
impression of the beauty of the delightful old
gardens, groves, and avenues. Even over two and a
half centuries ago Evelyn came away with the same
impression, as did Pepys (in 1661), who admired,
above all, the gardens, "such," says he, "as I
never saw in all my life." But in his rounds there
was also a pretty little dog which he admired, and,
with extraordinary candour, he says, "I would fain
have stolen — but I could not, which troubled me."
The approach to the old vineyard by the quaintest
of yew avenues, with branches interlaced into a
thousand arches, and with terraces sloping down
to the river, is quite- unique. The Elizabethan
garden, the Jacobean garden, and the Privy garden
also have each of them their distinct beauties and
characteristics.

Like Hatfield, Tittenhanger contains some superb

I 129

Old English Houses

art treasures. It is a queer-looking red-brick Jacobean
house with tall French chateau-like roof. Among
the miniatures here is a very beautiful one of Lady
Castlemaine, by Cooper, in which that lady's usual
self-conscious and imperious expression is entirely
absent. I may note for those who are interested in
such matters that there was a replica of this miniature
in the Propert collection, but misnamed La Valliere.
Their features were not unlike — the eyes in par-
ticular, which had that dreamy expression half the
ladies of the court tried to imitate.

At Gorhambury, Cassiobury, and The Grove
(Watford) one may study the faces of nearly all
the celebrities and notorieties of the seventeenth
century, as well as characters who only figure in the
sidelights of history. Among the latter is Mrs.
Hyde, the old widow lady who concealed Charles II:
upon his hazardous flight from Worcester. This
stern old lady, as she peers out of her circular frame
at The Grove, looks as if she could keep a secret.
Those who were ignorant of the rank of her guest
surely must have been scandalised by this good widow's
assiduous attentions to the pseudo serving-man, whose
health she could not refrain from drinking in a
special bumper. Of more romantic interest is a full-
130

Bedford, Hertford and Middlesex

length in armour of the handsome, weak, and super-
stitious son of the possessor of those life-like eyes
which follow us up and down the picture gallery at
Kneb worth. At his side stands another figure, with
a rather sinister expression, who points with his finger
to a spot on the globe, perhaps to the south coast
of England, towards which the duke was shortly to
set sail from Amsterdam. Monmouth looks gloomy ;
perhaps he is weighing in his mind a visionary
crown against the peaceful bliss of his secluded
retreat at picturesque Gouda. But gloomier still
is his face at Cassiobury ; this was painted just
a couple of years before the final scene on
Tower Hill. It is difficult to realise that it is the
melancholy maturity of the "vaulting, leaping,
clambering " youth who was the liveliest figure in
the liveliest of courts.^ In the same year that this
portrait was painted, a detachment of soldiers under
Colonel Oglethorp arrived at the house where it
hangs to arrest the owner for his share in the Rye
House Plot. He had sought refuge in flight, and
was occupied at his favourite hobby, devising and
planting the present picturesque walks and avenues.
Essex received the colonel courteously, took him round
1 Vide King Monmouth.

131

Old English Houses

the grounds, and refreshed him with the fruit for
which Cassiobury was, and is still, famous. How the
earl evaded the headsman by committing suicide in
the Tower (which act was one of the many misdeeds
afterwards put down to James's account) need not
be detailed here.

Gorhambury, like Cassiobury, is architecturally not
attractive to the antiquarian, but the pictures arc
exceptionally fine. Here is the best portrait I have
ever seen of George Villiers, first Duke of Bucking-
ham, by Mytens. Hilliard's portrait of the Virgin
Queen was given by her august Majesty to her
host. Lord Chancellor Bacon, upon the occasion of
one of her visits. The collection at The Grove is
rich in Vandycks, and there are many good Lelys
and Knellers.

But enough of pictures. Let us follow the
boundary line between Hertfordshire, Buckingham-
shire, and Middlesex. Considering the proximity to
London, the country is still wonderfully primitive
hereabouts. Around Sarratt and Chipperfield, to
the north of Rickmansworth, there are some queer
old cottages, and the scenery, particularly near the
latter village and common, is exceedingly beautiful.

The village of Sarratt may have been pretty
132

Bedford, Hertford and Middlesex

some years ago, but ugly modern buildings round
the green have sprung up and spoiled its primitive
character; in the centre of the green, moreover,
there is a hideous iron well or pump, which looks
more like a gigantic knife-cleaning machine than
anything else. I think even a Jubilee clock tower
would not be such an eyesore. Near the village
there is a famous haunted house, which is
mentioned in Mrs. Crowe's Night Side of Nature.
The ghostly visitor is said to be a headless man
in a blue coat, with brass buttons. Whether he
wears other garments I do not know, but they
are not specified. A guest who was stopping at
the house, to whom the spectre appeared, knew
nothing of the visitations before he gained his own
experience. He had retired to rest and dropped
off to sleep in the ordinary way, when he was
awakened by an extraordinary pressure on his feet.
Probably *' blue-coat '' had been sitting on them,
for on opening his eyes he observed a stooping
figure supporting himself by the bedclothes at the
foot of the bed, in the act of picking up some-
thing— his head, presumably, for that was missing
from his shoulders. Under the circumstances, it
is hardly to be wondered that the guest at the

133

Old English Houses

house did not accept a pressing invitation to continue
his visit.

Some years ago, in exploring this part of Hert-
fordshire, I was severely handicapped, for all the
names of the signposts for miles around had been
painted out. Presumably the man who was renovating
them went his rounds until his white paint was
exhausted, and then made a fresh start with his
black paint ; but as this was a matter of time, the
unfortunate traveller meanwhile was left to his own
resources. At one place where there were three roads
a local wit had stepped in with some red paint and
filled in the names — ** To Heaven," " To Purgatory,"

and " To " the other place. But that was better

than the work of some malicious person who upon one
of my wanderings had turned a loose signpost round.
Arriving at a village about five miles from this sign-
post, I discovered to my dismay that I was exactly
ten miles in the opposite direction from where I
should have been.

To the east of Sarratt is the delightful village
of Chenies (Bucks). Here let us hope the railway
will never get nearer than it is at present, to spoil
the surrounding beauty. One would imagine this an
ideal place for honeymoon couples — the shady beech

134

r

Bedford, Hertford and Middlesex

walks, the avenues of elms, and the old mill bridge
commanding a beautiful view up the Chess valley.
There are but few houses, but what timber cottages
there are look pretty, and their trim gardens are
well cared for. Chenies church is famous as the burial-
place of the house of Russell, and their splendid tombs
recall a corner of Westminster Abbey. The remains
of the manor house near the church is a many-
gabled Tudor building, with high-pitched roof and
twisted chimneys, built by John, first Duke of Bedford
on the site of an old castle of the Plantagenets.

Following the course of the river to the west past
Flaunden church (in Hertfordshire) stands Latimers
(in Buckinghamshire) high up on a wooded slope
overlooking the river. It is a much-restored Eliza-
bethan house, particularly famous for affording
Charles I. a night's lodging on two occasions in July,
1647. At that time it belonged to Lord Cavendish,
Earl of Devonshire, who acted as the king's host.

Let us now turn to the south-east, and keep close
to the county border until we reach West Hyde, in
Hertfordshire, thence turn eastwards across the
Colne river to Harefield, just in Middlesex, in parts
of which one might imagine oneself to be a couple
of hundred miles from the metropolis instead of only

13s

old English Houses

some seventeen. In and about the village green
ugly rows of labourers' cottages have sprung up
within the last few years, which give the place a
squalid appearance, but on the Uxbridge side the
country is wonderfully primitive and untouched.
The picturesque gabled almshouses, with their tall
chimneys, stand high above the church and site of
Harefield Place. Until the year of the Restoration,
when this historical mansion was burned to the
ground (owing, it is said, to the carelessness of that
disreputable poet and courtier. Sir Charles Sedley,
reading in bed), Harefield Place was one of the finest
houses in Middlesex. The Virgin Queen was enter-
tained here for three days when, by some accounts,
Othello was performed before her Majesty, for which
the company received ^^64 i8j. 10^., which, even
taking into account the value of money at that time,
was not lavish pay. I fear the London stars of to-day
would think twice before they journeyed down to
Harefield at the same rate of remuneration. Upon
this occasion it has been surmised that Shakespeare
was present, but of this there is no proof. Neither
is there any documentary evidence to support the
statement that the entertainment selected was nothing
more cheerful than the dismal tragedy; in fact, the
136

MOOR HALL, HABEFIELD

p. 138

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Bedford, Hertford and Middlesex

above-mentioned expenses include the " vaulters and
dancers," and I doubt whether Othello, lago,
or Desdemona, or any other of the characters of
the play, did much in that way. That Milton
used to visit Harefield there is no doubt, nor that
his Arcades was performed there before the fifth
Countess of Derby, whose gorgeous dome-canopied
monument, surmounted by the Stanley arms, stands
in the chancel of the church.

The first thing that strikes one upon enter-
ing the holy edifice is its wealth of seventeenth-
century monuments, and their rich colouring.
These give the church a highly decorative and
very picturesque appearance, and though some
of the fittings are late and not architecturally
beautiful, the effect of the whole, and the
blending of Jacobean and Georgian woodwork,
has a quaint and fanciful charm about it. It
is just the sort of church one associates with the
early days of David Copperfield. By all appearances
the generation of restorers who were last called in
are extinct. The *' three-decker " and the great
high-backed pews of one or two distinguished
families recall the days when our grandfathers used
to go to church, though perhaps they may, like

137

Old English Houses

these isolated boxes, have been few and far between.
The largest pew still retains three enormous cushions
upon which formerly rested three equally enormous
prayer books of ancient date ; they are meaningless
now, but there is still a manorial dignity about
them. The elaborately carved semi-circular altar-
rail savours of the handiwork of '*Sir Grundling
Gubbings," as I once heard the artist named.
There is also a range of stalls, a rusty array of
helmets, and there are some very good brasses to the
Newdigate and Ashby families.

Harefield Place stood at the back of the church,
where may be seen a remnant of the stables of the
mansion which succeeded it, and also some of the
old garden walls. Of Moor Hall and its adjacent
Early English chapel there are considerable remains.
The house externally is nothing more than a
picturesque cottage (or cottages, for it is divided into
two), but the original Gothic roof is intact, though
it is risky to one's life, not to mention one's
clothes, to obtain a view of it. I was personally
conducted on a tour — or, rather, crawl — round these
upper regions by an enthusiast in such matters — one
of those hazardous journeys such as Dante made, in the
opposite direction, where a wrong step taken would

138

Bedford, Hertford and Middlesex

prove disastrous. There being but a small candle
as an illuminant, I once or twice nearly " put my foot
in it " — not the candle, but the plaster between the
joists — and had I done so I should have descended
into the lower regions with more speed than ceremony.
There is also a good fireplace, not painted white, as is
usual, but black.

There are some good old houses on the Middlesex
side of Uxbridge — at Swakeleys, near Ickenham, for
instance, which is much the same as it was when Pepys
was there in 1665, though the mummified black boy
which the owner of the house of those days prepared
in his own oven (!) is now missing. The king sent the
diarist to Swakeleys to probe the extent and accessi-
bility of the Lord Mayor's privy purse, who pleaded
poverty, which is scarcely to be wondered at. The
screen in the great hall was erected by Sir James
Harrington, one of the judges who passed sentence
upon Charles I. " Pretty to see over the screene
of the hall," says Pepys, " the King's head and my
Lord of Essex on one side, and Fairfax on the
other, and upon the other side of the screene the
parson of the parish and the lord of the manor and
his sisters."

At Ickenham, close to the new railway, stands

139

Old English Houses

an old farmhouse whose moat can be distinctly
traced. It contains a large room lined with linen-
fold panelling.

One of the most picturesque old houses anywhere
hereabouts is the Cedar House at Hillingdon — a
peep of it that you get from the road, with the giant
arms of the ancient tree which gives the name
sweeping the lawn, makes a delightful picture. The
interior contains much that is interesting in the way
of panelled rooms and heraldic glass.

Here again we are on historical ground, for at
Hillingdon Charles I., subsequent to his escape from
Oxford in 1 646, determined after much indecision to
turn his steps northwards, instead of boldly showing
himself among the citizens of London, which at that
critical time certainly would have been the wiser plan.
But the man who hesitates is lost, and so it was with
the unfortunate king. The inn where he halted to
consider the weighty possibilities of life and death is
still in situ, but it has been much restored from time
to time, so that one can get but a very hazy im-
pression of what the building was like as it stood in
the middle of the seventeenth century.

Notwithstanding the recent introduction of electric
tramways into Uxbridge, the old town still looks
140

Bedford, Hertford and Middlesex

quite half a century behind the times. Some of the
old inns have gone, but there are others, the Chequers,
for example, and the Treaty House, to carry us back
to the days when the Commissioners were sitting in
the latter house drawing up terms with the king,
then at Oxford — the Parliamentary party lodging at
the George, — the Royalists making merry at the
Crown. Both these last have now disappeared, but
the huge sign of the latter may now be seen in the
famous room of the house that has adopted the name
as a prefix — the Crown and Treaty House. In
the seventeenth century it was a private residence with
grounds, and the high road further distant than at
present. The quaint panelled rooms are fine examples
of seventeenth-century woodwork. At the back of
the house one gets by far the best idea of the mansion
as it was.

The inn where Rochester waited until the wealthy
heiress, Mistress Mallet, was within easy reach for
him to pounce upon her and carry her off, may
have been one of the before-mentioned hostelries,
but, so far as I am aware, tradition has not recorded
which.

Just off the High Street, in Belmont Road, there is
a compact little Tudor timber house, which has lived to

141

old English Houses

see more than most of the buildings in Uxbridge. It
is edged in by other houses and seems to do its best to
evade observation. This and another little house with
large overhanging diamond-paned windows, a little
to the south of the Treaty House, are the gems of
the town.

IF

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SUPPOSE we now journey into the north-east
corner of Hertfordshire, and work our way
thence into parts of Essex.
I have a remarkably vivid impression of the
road between the village of Barkway and Newsells
House, to the south-east of Royston. Vivid, how-
ever, is hardly the name — a lightning impression in
this case would perhaps better convey my meaning ;
for when I was a youngster, in an ill-advised moment
I was persuaded to take a mount upon a very spirited
mare named " Flash o' Light " ; and a most appro-
priate name it proved to be, for no sooner was I seated
than off the animal dashed as if bound for the
winning-post on the Epsom course. My riding
experiences hitherto had been confined to the donkeys
on Hampstead Heath, so it is needless to state my
experience was a novel one. Reins and stirrups
vanished in a moment, and holding on, I might say,

K HS

Old English Houses

by main force, my body was making prodigious
bounds in the air. Each contact with the saddle
was like an earthquake. Presently a five-barred gate
loomed at the end of a beech avenue, and I gave
myself up for lost, but my steed did not take it in
the same light that I anticipated — quite the reverse.
She pulled up dead, and off I went spinning in a
double somersault that would have brought down
the house at a country circus. But oh ! the relief to
be off the back of that fiery mare even in such an
unceremonious fashion.

In those days the occupant of Newsells was the
military commander who sits astride another of his
'* Flashes o' Light '* at the corner of Knightsbridge
and Sloane Street. A soldier to the backbone, his
lordship lived a kind of rigid camp life, and, though
an octogenarian, would work from sunrise — not till
sunset — but midnight. I have sat writing out speeches
about the Long and Short Service until my head
reeled and I became convinced that the latter term
was most assuredly the best for a private secretary
under a military commander.

I could recount many strange impressions of my
experiences at Newsells. The mansion is old, but
not architecturally beautiful, and though many of the
146

East Hertford and Essex

rooms point to the reign of good Queen Anne, some
of them date back to an earlier period. The family
of Scales was seated at Newsells for centuries since
the year 1250. By a strange coincidence, when I was
there the name of the housekeeper was Scales —
possibly the wife of a descendant of the original
stock. The best part about the estate is the park,
which has lovely beech avenues right round its
boundary. Many a solitary walk have I taken in the
late autumn beneath those stately trees, enjoying the
gorgeous colours overhead and the fascinating crack-
ling beneath one's feet of the dead leaves of other
autumns — disturbing the colony of rooks aloft and
the al fresco assemblies of rabbits below. But one
is apt to grow prosy in recounting these things.

About nine miles (as the crow flies) due east
of Newsells stands the ancestral mansion of Audley
End, which, though but a portion of the original
house, proved even too big for a regal palace. In
some respects the house is like Hatfield, externally
and internally — the great hall in particular. Some of
the finest ornamental ceilings in England may be seen
here, and one of the most striking features of the
mansion is a beautifully carved Early Jacobean staircase
with a succession of lofty pillars forming a continuous

H7

old English Houses

arcade. When Pepys was there, he was impressed
with these things more or less, but the cellars were
more to his taste, the contents of which he sampled
with entire satisfaction. As the Merry Monarch kept
court here, it is quite in keeping to find many fine
portraits of the period. Upon one occasion during
the sojourn of royalty, the queen and the Duchesses
of Richmond and Buckingham went in disguise to the
fair at Newport (some three miles away), disguised
as country damsels, and riding pillion behind three
gentlemen. " They had all so overdone it in their
disguise, '' says a contemporary account, " and looked
so much more like antiques than country folk, that
as soon as they came to the fair the people began to
go after them ; but the Queen, going to a booth,
to buy a pair of yellow stockings for her sweetheart,
and Sir Bernard [one of the gentlemen] asking for
a pair of gloves stitched with blue for his sweet-
heart, they were soon, by their gibberish, found to
be strangers, which drew a bigger flock about them.
One amongst them had seen the Queen at dinner,
knew her, and was proud of her knowledge. This
soon brought all the fair into a crowd to stare at
the Queen. Being thus discovered, they, as soon
as they could, got to their horses ; but as many
148

OLD HOUSE, NEWPORT

p. 149

NEIL GWYN S HOUSE, NEWPORT

p. 1-jy

LITTLE HADHAM HALL

p. 150

SPAIN S HALL

East Hertford and Essex

of the fair as had horses got up, with their wives,
children, sweethearts, or neighbours behind them,
to get as much gape as they could till they brought
them to the court gate. Thus by ill conduct was
a merry frolic turned into a penance."^

One of Nell Gwyn's reputed residences is at
Newport — a long house with a hooded doorway.
It is covered with ornamental pargeting, upon
which is a bas-relief of a crown. In the High Street
is a more interesting brick and timber house with
a fine Tudor oriel window, bearing upon it some
grotesque wooden carvings. The church has a
fine rood-screen and some good stalls and brasses.

Of the old house of Braddocks, near Wimbish, and
its resources for hiding priests in the days of religious
persecution, I have spoken at length elsewhere.^

Thaxted, about seven miles from Newport, is
the queerest old town imaginable. In the centre
of the market place stands the Moot Hall with
overhanging stories and pillar supports. This
contains '* The Cage," or lock-up, like the Tollsey
at Burford. Here a couple of primitive-looking
implements or elongated pitch-forks are still

1 Ives' Select Papers, p. 39.

2 See Secret Chambers and Hiding-Places,

149

old English Houses

kept handy for pulling off the thatched roofs of
houses in the case of a fire. The cathedral-like
cruciform church is the finest in the county. The
exterior is very ornamental, with canopied niches
and graceful pinnacles, and a noble assembly of
gargoyles pulling all kinds of extraordinary grimaces.
In the interior is much carved oak, especially about
the ceiling, which is one of the best in Essex.
In place of the old seats are rows of chairs which,
though they add to the cathedral effect, give the
whole a modern appearance.

A mile or so away is Horeham Hall, a good but
rather too much restored mansion, with step gables
and twisted chimneys. I prefer the smaller house
of Little Hadham, a fine old house with hexagonal
towers to the west of Bishop's Stortford, which
altogether has been less tampered with. Here lived
that gallant Royalist, Lord Capel, who, after the
surrender of Colchester in 1641, although his safety
was guaranteed by Fairfax, soon followed his com-
panions. Sir Charles Lucas and Sir George Lisle, to
the grave. Some fifty years after his execution,
when his descendants removed from their old seat
to Cassiobury, a silver casket was discovered con-
taining the heart of the cavalier, with instructions
150

East Hertford and Essex

that it should be presented to Charles II. if he should
ever come to the throne, as a testimony of his attach-
ment to the royal cause.

Spains Hall and Moyns, away to the north-east of
Thaxted, are both fine Elizabethan mansions. The
former is a little too much mantled in ivy to show
the beauty of its architectural details. The tomb of
one of the Kemps, who once lived at Spains, states
that he was voluntarily silent for seven years. It
is an out-of-the-way place — even nowadays some
eight or nine miles from the railway — so possibly
there was nobody to speak to two or three centuries
back. But I forgot : Mr. Kemp had a wife. How
then? Perhaps they were competitors for the flitch
at neighbouring Dunmow, and that was the only
way to secure it. Now, had the tomb specified that
Mrs. Kemp was silent for seven years, that, indeed,
would have been one of the seven wonders of the
world !

At High and Good Easter, to the south of
Dunmow, we are again miles from anywhere. The
inhabitants of the latter village cannot have all
been immaculate, for the local authorities had to
erect a whipping-post. Though comparatively modern,
it is not unlike one I remember to have seen at

old English Houses

Waltham Cross — a carved one of the time of
Elizabeth, which, to my grief, I hear has been stolen.
Fortunately I had photographed it. This and the
pillory (one of the very few examples remaining)
formerly stood in the market square, but they had
been removed and fenced in by iron rails. I believe
the pillory still remains.

Little Leighs Priory, to the north-east of the
Easters, includes a beautiful red-brick quadrangular
Tudor gateway, with stone mullioned windows and
ornamented chimneys. One would like to see this
old place restored with care to its pristine glory; it
is well worth it, and the interior contains a lot of
good linen panelling.

The historic mansion, New Hall, near Chelmsford,
for many years past has been a nunnery. It is to
be hoped the interior has not been altered, as I
hear has been the fate of that of Rawdon House, at
Hoddesdon (also now a nunnery) — where I remember
to have seen some magnificent oak carvings — or
Littleberries, at Mill Hill, Hendon — another of the
reputed residences of Nell Gwyn, where, before it
became a religious establishment, I have seen very
fantastical mural decorations, panel paintings and
oak carvings. The Villiers, first and second Dukes
152

p. 151

LITTLE LEIGHS PRIORY p. 152

BECKINGTON

p. 155

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p. 156

East Hertford and Essex

of Buckingham, and the Monks, first and second
Dukes of Albemarle, lived at New Hall in great
splendour, and before them it was an occasional
royal residence of Henry VIII. (who became possessed
of it through his father-in-law, Sir Thomas Boleyn,
of Hever Castle and Rochford Hall in Essex), Mary,
and Elizabeth. We get a good peep of the mansion
as it appeared in the year 1656 from Evelyn. "I
return'd homeward," says that diarist, " passing againe
thro' Colchester; and by the way, neere the antient
towne of Chelmsford, saw New Hall, built in a
parke by Henry 7 and 8, and given by Queen
Elizabeth to the Earle of Sussex, who sold it to
the late greate Duke of Buckingham, and since seiz'd
on by O. Cromwell (pretended protector). It is a
faire old house built with brick, low, being only of
2 stories, as the manner then was ; the gatehouse
better ; the court large and pretty ; the staire-case
of extraordinary widnessc, with a piece representing
Sir F. Drake's action in the year 1580, an excellent
sea-piece ; the galleries are trifling ; the hall is noble ;
the gardens a faire plot, and the whole seate well
accommodated with water ; but above all I admir'd
the faire avenue planted with stately lime-trees in
4 rowes for neere a mile in length. It has three

IS3

Old English Houses

descents, which is the only fault, and may be reform'd.
There is another faire walk of the same at the
mall and wildernesse, with a tennis court and pleasant
terrace towards the park, which was well stored with
deere and ponds."^

There is an old house at Blackmore, some miles
to the south-west of New Hall in the direction of
Ongar, called Jericho House, where, according to
tradition, the much-married monarch (or "professional
widower" as a schoolboy called him), when at his
Essex palace, used to keep a supplementary reserve
of would-be wives ; and when the king's whereabouts
were not known, the expression that he had " gone to
Jericho " had scarcely the vague meaning that it has
nowadays. Another house with a reputation about as
good, or bad, as Jericho, was Killigrews, at Margaret-
ting, on the other side of Ingatestone, but this has
been pulled down long since.

Another Essex mansion, once of almost equal
importance to New Hall, was Layer Marney, of
which the graceful tower remains — a remarkable
example of Early Tudor brickwork, with terra-cotta
moulding. The church close by contains some
grand old monuments to the Lords Marney, a screen,
1 Evelyn's Diary f July lO, 1656.

154

East Hertford and Essex

curious frescoes, and good carvings in the pulpit
and pews. The village inn of Peering, to the north-
west, could formerly boast of one of the finest
panelled rooms in Essex, but now all the oak
carvings are gone, I know not whither. An equally
beautiful room may still be seen at the moated
manor house of Tolleshunt D'Arcy, to the south of
Layer Marney. The other two Tolleshunts — Major
and Knights — are queer, out- of-t he- world places. At
the former stand the walls and tower of Becking-
ton Hall, a grim fragment of mediaeval architecture
with singular extinguisher turrets. In the village of
Tolleshunt D'Arcy is a maypole, but I do not know
whether the good folk there turn out in overcoats
and shawls to foot it on the first of May, for my
experience of the early part of "the merry month"
is not inviting, though to dance round the maypole
would be a good excuse for getting up one's circulation
when biting east winds are rampant. I believe until
the last — to the bitter end, we might call it — the
custom was kept up at Aldermaston, near Reading.
I say to the last, for the tapering gilt-ball-surmounted
maypole that I saw there a few years back has now fallen
a victim to one of the many gales it had weathered.
The pretty village of Ickwell, in Bedfordshire, still

old English Houses

retains its lofty maypole, as well as the custom of
dancing around it in due form, and I trust it
may still survive in the present century.

Before bringing these Essex wanderings to a
close, a word must be said about Eastbury and
Belhus. The first of these can scarcely be said to
be off the beaten track, for it stands close to the
railway line, near the busy and densely populated
suburb of Barking. This extensive Elizabethan
mansion has three sides of a quadrangle and one of
its towers intact — that is to say, as far as the outside
is concerned, for the interior has been stripped of
all its fittings, and the greater part of the rooms
are untenanted. Here, according to tradition, Lord
Monteagle received the anonymous letter, as is
supposed, from his sister-in-law, Mrs. Abingdon, of
Hindlip Hall, in Worcestershire.^ Other accounts
say that Eastbury was a meeting- place of the
plotters, which is also possible, for there is no
actual proof that this house was Monteagle*s
residence at Barking. The unpicturesque surround-
ings, I fear, will prevent this fine old building from
ever being occupied other than as a farmhouse.

Belhus (about the same distance from the
1 Vide Secret Chambers,

156

East Hertford and Essex

Thames, but lower down in the direction of
Purfleet) stands in the midst of an extensive park.
This also is a fine old Tudor structure. It is
earlier in date than Eastbury, but has been some-
what spoiled by Strawberry Hill Gothic embellish-
ments ; many of the rooms are, however, little altered,
and the walls are lined with the original tapestry and
silken hangings, and numerous interesting portraits.
The name of Lennard, Lord Dacre, is an important
one, as may be judged from a prodigious pedigree
on vellum, which only brings us as far as the
sixteenth century. It was owing to the extrava-
gance of Thomas, Lord Dacre, Earl of Sussex, that
the fine old mansion, Hurstmonceaux, was sold,
and afterwards allowed to fall into ruin. Doubtless
the beautiful countess had her share in bringing
about these monetary difficulties, for she inherited a
taste for luxurious living both from her mother, the
Duchess of Cleveland, and her (reputed) royal father.
On the wall of the great staircase at Belhus
hang side by side the portraits of this ill-assorted
pair, who in their lifetime were seldom seen together.
Married at the ages of thirteen and fourteen, they
soon drifted apart. The husband naturally enough
objected to the company into which his wife was

157

Old English Houses

thrown in the society of that lovely Italian beauty,
the notorious Duchess of Mazarin, who, to win the
good graces (not that her good looks went against
her, for that matter) of the countess's august father,
took the young lady under her wing. A scribe
interested in the chit-chat of the day records, among
the other mad-cap freaks of these two ladies, that
''they went downe into St. James Parke the other
day with drawne swords under their night gownes,
which they drew out and made severall fine passes
with to the admiration of severall men that was
lookers on in the Parke.'' At length the Earl's
flighty spouse was placed under strict supervision in
a nunnery at Paris, where she may have amused
herself, as did her boon companion when similarly
situated, by pouring water through the floor-boards
of her room upon the beds of the unfortunate nuns
beneath. The Countess of Sussex on obtaining her
liberty returned to her husband, but the reunion was
only temporary; they lived and died apart, the earl
at Chevening (which in those days did not belong
to the Stanhopes), the countess at Linsted, the
quaint old village I mention in the following section.

In the drawing-room at Belhus is one of tht
finest portraits I have ever seen of James II.

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East Hertford and Essex

Arrayed in a gorgeous suit of steel inlaid with gold,
the abdicated monarch, old, worn, and haggard,
looks as if his mind was dwelling upon his mis-
fortunes. Poor James ! Will any writer ever spare
him a coat of whitewash, for surely, with all his
faults, he was not worse than Judge Jeffreys ?

Among the numerous curiosities of the seven-
teenth century are casques, breastplates, guns, swords,
and jack-boots, besides a pillion saddle, which last
I do not remember to have seen elsewhere. One of
the bedrooms looks the picture of a haunted
chamber, and, indeed, report says there is a ghost
who occasionally makes himself audible, though not
visible. Perhaps it is the shade of some luckless inmate
of a long-forgotten hiding-place within the thickness
of the massive walls.

IS9

V

I

FEW counties are so generally popular as
Kent. So accessible from town, one would
naturally suppose every nook and corner was
familiar ground and had been done to death by the
tourist ; but it is not so, by any means. To find
a genuine bit of old England, one cannot do better
than explore certain portions of north-east Kent.

Comparatively few of the countless thousands who
yearly flock to the popular holiday resorts on the
coast of this county have broken the journey at the
quaint old town of Faversham. I propose to alight
here and wend my way in the direction of Holling-
bourne, where at present no railway supervenes to
destroy the impression of a thoroughly old-world
country.

The irregular outline of the overhanging gables
of the main street and market square of Faversham
gives one a typical picture of an ancient town.

163

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Old English Houses

Many of the houses are, indeed, much older than a
first glance would lead one to suppose. Not a few
of them are re-cased Gothic buildings. In a rather
squalid part of the town there is an old shop front,
with a low roof supported by an open arcade of
massive oak pillars, grimy and generally dilapidated,
still a very good example of a shop of the Middle
Ages. One broad street, paved with cobbles, leading
nowhere in particular, except towards the river, has
many interesting " bits " to delight the artist, and I
could state an instance where one of the fraternity
became so enamoured of some old Dutch-looking
roofs by the waterside that he totally forgot the fact
that he had left his wife in another remote part
of the town, seeking for him in vain for upwards of
an hour. I shall presently give an instance of s.
similar separation, by which a happy pair were
brought to the most desperate straits, for the drama
happened at Lenham upon the occasion of my
visit.

Faversham Church has been much spoiled by
restorations, but there are some interesting brasses,
monuments, mural paintings, and two very early
Gothic chests.

About a mile outside the town of Faversham
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THE CALICO

p. 167

THE CALICO

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Kent

stands the much-restored Davington Priory, a famous
old building, once ruinous, but now ruined by having
had too much money expended upon it. The
remains of the old Court House, to my mind, are
far more interesting — or, rather, I should say the re-
mains of the outbuildings of Davington Court, for the
house itself was demolished in the days of Charles II.
In the old wall of the kitchen garden is a very
imposing Jacobean entrance, with the original folding
oak-panelled gates, having the motto above, Deus
nobis hcec otia fecit, and the date 1624. A long,
narrow enclosure at the base of a steep sloping
bank is by tradition said to have been the tilting-
ground in the good old days of chivalry. It still
goes by the name of " The Knights' Field."
During the repairs to the priory about fifty years
ago, a curious helmet was discovered built into
the wall, which, judging from the date of the
masonry, must have been placed there in Queen
Elizabeth's time.

To the north of Davington is the little village of
Oare, near the mouth of the river Swale, where are
some quaint old houses worth notice. At a creek,
called the " Stool " in old records, the last of the
crowned Stuarts was brought ashore after his capture

i6s

Old English Houses

by the Kentish fishermen/ I merely mention this to
keep alive the spot as a historical landmark. In
hunting up some of the places thus associated some
time ago, I found local tradition had with time
expanded certain facts. The ferryman at Elmley
insisted that King James landed at that spot " with all
his fleet " ! Argument was useless. I departed worsted.
But I have diverged somewhat out of my proposed
course. The road to Hollingbourne runs in a south-
westerly direction, branching out of the old London
and Canterbury highway at historical Ospringe. The
general appearance of this place, immortalised by
Froissart and other chroniclers, leaves an impression
of ugliness and squalor. But there are some pictur-
esque houses for all that ; a corner house, in particular,
by the now dry "waterway'' (a half-timber house,^
having inside an elaborate moulded ceiling). A little
beyond Ospringe, walking westwards, we turn to the
left, following the boundary of the pretty grounds
which surround the residence of the Rural Dean of
Faversham. We now enter a somewhat desolate and
monotonous country, for the most part void of
hedges, with occasional woods, hop-gardens, gravel-
pits, and turnip-fields.

^ Vide Secnt Chambers and Hiding-Places.

i66

Kent

At a distance of about three and a half miles from
our starting-point we find a signpost bearing the
cheerful intelligence, " To Faversham Workhouse."
The weary traveller making his way to the north-
east must be considerably comforted by this promise
of a haven of rest, and pilgrims to Canterbury who
come from the Weald of Kent ought inwardly to
offer up thanks to the local authorities, whoever they
may be, for resuscitating their flagging spirits.

Onwards for another mile and a half, past an
incongruous collection of traction-engines and trucks,
we enter the village of Newnham, with its church
of cold grey flint and a Swiss-looking spire, a
row of uninteresting tenements, the village smithy,
a sleepy-looking inn, and last, but not least, an old
house which goes by the name of The Calico.
The name probably originated from a sign which
it may have borne at the time when calico printing
was first introduced into this country, in the early
part of the eighteenth century; or perhaps it may
have been derived from the ornamental design worked
upon the pargeting with which a portion of the house
was cased in the year 1710, if we may judge by the
date upon it. The pattern is certainly suggestive of
printed calico, and is both pleasing in colour and

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Old English Houses

line — indeed, an architect of the present day might
do worse than reproduce the design in facsimile upon
the facade of some of our modern houses.

I have seen other cottages with somewhat similar
decoration, but in black and white — never in this
pleasing warm red- brick colour. Where the plaster
work has crumbled away may be seen the oak beams
of the original structure. The combination of wood
and plaster, with the cosy casement windows and
a massy porch projecting into the street, shading a
mighty nail-studded oak door, presents altogether a
most charming result. At the back of the house we
find a delightful grouping of gables and chimneys,
the timber beams between the plaster here being
painted black, like some of the old Cheshire houses.
Fine panelled rooms may be seen within ; ceilings
with black oak rafters, and elaborate stone Jacobean
fireplaces, carved upon which are heads encircled by
those uncomfortable ruffs still in vogue in James I.'s
time, griffins, the fleur-de-lis, and all kinds of strange
embellishments. One of the fireplaces has a good
fireback bearing the Commonwealth date of 1650,
surmounted by a regal crown — a curious combination
which looks as if the occupant of those days had the
strength of his own convictions, and was not afraid
168

CHAMPION COUBT

P.J69

OLD HOUSE, THROWLET

SEED FAIIM

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OLD HOUSE, BASTLINa

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Kent

to acknowledge his royalist sympathies. Not many
years since an interesting discovery was made in
the attics : a helmet and double-handled broadsword
were brought to light. These, I understand, have
been removed to Sharsted Court, the seat of the
Delaunes. It is not unlikely other things are yet
to be discovered in this curious old building, for
there are many stories of smuggled goods having
been brought here a couple of generations ago. Little
is known of The Calico beyond the fact that a
family of some importance named Hulse lived there
some three centuries back. They have long since
migrated to other counties, and the name would be
forgotten were it not for a mural tablet in the church
of Newnham.

There is but little to interest us in the church.
It has slight pretensions to Norman and Early
Decorated architecture and a good " king-post," but
that is about all. Upon the higher ground above
the village is Champion Court, the old home of the
De Champions, and Sharsted Court. Both are worth
inspection — the former for its fourteenth-century pis-
cina in *' the chapel " — or cellar — and the latter for
its pleasing medley of gables, chimneys, and dormer
windows, and a quaint garden with formal clipped yew

169

Old English Houses

hedges. One who has been there in the early summer
would never forget the scent of the roses clustering
over the garden walls, and that of the lime-trees
beyond, or the solemnity of the great beech avenue
known as Sharsted Walk.

Keeping upon the high ground, we have cherry
orchards on all sides. Tourists going through this
part of Kent in the cherry-picking season will find
the villages absolutely uninhabited. Children, mothers,
fathers, grandparents, are all, so to speak, "up a
tree." If you want the pew opener or the village
clerk to open a church door for you, you must seek
for that personage in a cherry-tree — at least, that is
my experience. This depopulation of villages is not
remarkable, however, when we consider the amount
of labour required to pick a good crop. On the
Sharsted estate alone it is by no means out of the
way to send up to London twenty tons of cherries
in a week, and this continues on the average for
about six weeks.

Those light sleepers who have the misfortune to
pass their nights in a village of north-east Kent at
this season of the year — that is to say, to retire and
to rise at the ordinary and sensible hours of town
residents — will not readily forget their experiences.
170

Kent

At the first dawn of day there are gun reports on
all sides, as if the whole country was in a state of
siege. But this is not the only noise, for it is supple-
mented with a kind of tin-tray arrangement, by which
those of too tender an age to use firearms may earn
both their living and the everlasting hatred of those
who are not inflicted (blessed, perhaps, in this instance)
with stone deafness.

There are other memories, however, of the cherry
orchards — the result of having permission to eat
of the luscious and indigestible fruit ad lib, I will
not draw a comparison between the experiences of a
bad sailor on a sea voyage, for one grows out of that
as time goes on ; whereas if one perseveres in the
cherry orchards he will never overcome the ill-effects —
that is to say, if he survives. The cherry-pickers, as
a rule, may consume as much fruit as they like at the
outset, for the very good reason that they gain their
experience, and abstain for ever after. But enough
of cherry orchards. Enough is said to be as good as
a feast, and a feast of cherries, as I have explained,
is scarcely good enough to be ventured upon a
second time.

Ere we continue our journey towards Holling-
bourne, we must explore a little to the various points

171

Old English Houses

of the compass, for we are in a centre teeming with
the most charming old houses and churches. At
Eastling, for instance, which lies about a mile to
the south of Newnham, is one of the quaintest old
farmhouses imaginable. The porch, with its char-
acteristic Early Jacobean windows, is entirely different
from The Calico, but is equally interesting, and
the side of the building faced with red Sussex tiling
would tempt the most exacting artist to halt and
make a sketch — indeed, I would recommend him
to hurry there ere the restorer sets to work and
destroys it.

We might yet go farther afield in this direction
to see other fine old timber houses at Throwley and
Leaveland, or to Badlesmere, away from everywhere,
and where, as a sort of practical joke, sightseers at
Faversham are sent to do penance.

Seed Farm, near Eastling, and more in our direct
way, is another quaint old house, all out of the per-
pendicular and horizontal, leaning in such a way that
it would be no easy matter to speculate upon the
direction in which it would fall if its basement gave
way. Doddington village, the farthest point from the
railway, north and south, will probably soon be brought
in touch with the world by a light railway, but to-day
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Kent

it is scarcely kept alive by the intermittent visits of
a local carrier crawling between Faversham and Maid-
stone. The Chequers Inn recalls one of Prout's
drawings — recalls also, I believe, certain smuggling
memories.

To the north is the pretty little village of Kings-
down, endeared to me, I may add, by some pf my
earliest memories. The old Court Farm, long since
pulled down, still remains an impression on my
memory, though I can have been no more than three
years old when I slept within its walls ; but the place
is more endeared to me from the fact that my father
used to relate his juvenile recollections of happy days
spent there — recollections of the generation which was
then passing away — a fairly long link if one considers
the date when those old people were born.

It is strange how some trivial landmarks assume
an importance when they are associated with the doings
of one's father when he was a boy 1 A farm where
perhaps a child was hospitably entertained by Farmer
Smith or Jones, leaves so great an impression that the
tradition is handed down from father to son, inso-
much that for ever after such a landmark is looked
upon as a place of vast importance. Perhaps this is
merely the result of the reverence one used to have

173

old English Houses

for one's parents. Some people say that the senti-
ment is as extinct as the dodo ; though I will not go
so far as to accept that. But it is certain that '' the
gov'nor" or "the old man" of to-day has to take
a back seat, and is not looked upon with the same
reverence that used to be considered natural and
proper.

To the north of Kingsdown is Linsted, the most
antiquated village under the sun, or, as an old villager
once said to me, *'It be'ant only ancient, sir, but it's
a bit of antiquity." The houses, the church, the
people all seem to belong to centuries ago (still, let
it be said in bated breath, there is a School Board
not very far away). But I must pause awhile to
renew the plates of my camera, collect my views, and
perhaps the reader will say — judging from the above
digression — my thoughts also.

The nearest and the prettiest way from Newnham
to Linsted is through Sharsted Park. Just at the
back of old Calico House there is a steep lane, with
the hedges on either side meeting overhead, and
forming a veritable cloister walk — a fairy glade in the
daytime, a pitchy black tunnel at night.

Skirting the mansion and some colossal beech-
trees, and taking a path beneath some sombre firs,

174

Kent

we presently emerge upon a road by one of those
snug and enviable little wooden lodges peculiar to
this part of Kent. A field-path, reached by a stile
on the opposite side of the road, dips down into a
hollow, and again ascends in the direction of a little
church tower, which peeps out among the trees on
the brow of the hill. This is Linsted; and as we
get nearer, the general impression is that of its anti-
quity. It looks like a village left behind in "the
steady march of progress,'' and long since forgotten.
The church is flanked on one side by an old inn,
and on the other by a remarkably picturesque Gothic
house, which at one time was also a roadside hostelry.

It is astonishing the amount of timber the old
architects and builders lavished upon the less important
houses of the Middle Ages. Little wonder that these
structures stand so well the wear and tear of time.
Some fifty yards away is a tiny timber cottage, so
small that it would be certainly easier for a reasonably
sized man to enter by one of the first-story windows
in preference to the doll's-house entrance porch, which
leans over the road as if it were contemplating a dive
upon some hapless pedestrian.

Over the porch of the inn and also of the door
of a cottage near the village may be seen plaster

^7S

old English Houses

medallions representing the profiles of Roman warriors.
They were removed years ago from the ancient seat
of the Lords Teynham. The church is in a sad state
of repair. Here are still those old cumbersome
high-backed Georgian pews — unsightly, it is true, but
not uncomfortable, and certainly convenient during
a dreary sermon. The tombs of the Teynham and
Roper families are particularly fine. Upon one of
them are bas-reliefs in alabaster of the sons and
daughters of a worthy knight and his dame — a really
fine work of art, and most interesting from the
grotesque costumes. The recumbent effigies of the
stately parents are above, surmounted by a canopy
worthy of their dignity. There is much to be seen
in the church besides ^he monuments, not forget-
ting an elaborate brass candelabrum of Charles II. 's
time, and one of those early helmets with peaked
vizors which connoisseurs are wont to rave about.

Northwards from Linsted, in the direction of
Teynham (of which I shall speak presently), there is
a group of old houses — one with a deep thatch
roof, all angles and corners ; another, a typical
Jacobean house, with the date 1643 over the entrance
porch of '^ herring-bone " brickwork and oak beams.
To make the picture complete, there is a great
176

OLD HOUSE NEAR LINSTED

p. 174

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J

^^

OLD HOUSE NEAR LINSTED

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OLD HOUSE, MNSTKD

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LI) HOUSK, LINSTKD

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Kent

tithe barn close by, and a ball-surmounted entrance-
gate with the usual " upping-stock '' or mounting-
block accompaniment.

A few hundred yards farther (in the direction
of Teynham) stands another most charming old
farmstead, with some of those curved black beams
which harmonise so well with the perpendicular and
horizontal lines of a timber building. But the old
houses hereabouts are too numerous to particularise
without becoming tedious. Suffice it to say Ludgate
Farm to the south, and a half-timber house a little
to the north of the Sittingbourne road^ should not
pass unnoticed.

Returning to Doddington, we now continue our
journey towards Hollingbourne through a densely
wooded and sparsely inhabited country. Save here
and there an isolated habitation, there are no signs
of life beyond the continual warble of birds and
the scamper of rabbits. To see this country at its
best is to see it in the spring, when the ground is
literally carpeted with violets and primroses. What
a feast for the youngsters from the slums of London
to be brought here for a week or so at this season
of the year ! Later, however, except in the nutting
and blackberry time, there are not so many attrac-

M 177

old English Houses

tions for children as other parts of the county could
provide. Water, for instance, is conspicuous by its
absence — that most essential of elements to complete
the joys of a rural existence, from a juvenile point
of view as well as that of an adult, whether sports-
man or not.

I have seen youngsters, sent down from London
to this part of the country for a summer holiday,
wandering about aimlessly along the dusty roads,
instead of occupying their time, as one would
imagine they would, in the woods and meadows.
Perhaps the monotony of the country palls upon
them, as it did upon that town-bred little girl who,
returning to the great metropolis after such an
uneventful holiday, and exhilarated by being a
witness to a fight, a fire, and a cab accident, was
heard to soliloquise, ** Gimme London ! " For the
moment I forget who tells the story, but it is true,
however morally sad it may be.

Wending our way upwards, we presently pass
the ruinous lodge of Torry Hill (once the seat of
the dormant peerage of Kingsdown), which looks
forlorn in its dishevelled environment of nettles and
broken fencing. Here the road dips again, then
rises steadily as it winds between the high hedgerows.

178

Kent

At length we come into a wide cross-road, and,
bearing to the left, approach the summit of Hol-
lingbourne HilJ, where a gorgeous panorama of the
Weald of Kent opens out before us.

The first part of the descent into the village is
precipitous, with hanging woods on either side. A
notice-board warns cyclists of impending danger ;
still, there have been numerous accidents, owing,
doubtless, to the fact that when the steep part of the
descent is over, a rider thinks that the danger is past,
whereas it really still looms in the distance in the
form of a sudden twist in the road, with which a
reckless rider running at a good pace would be
unable to cope, the result being that he would run
like a battering ram into the side wall of the
village forge. I wonder whether it has ever occurred
to the Cyclists' Touring Club that certain hills
ought to have a second danger signal-post placed
in positions such as the above, where the road has
become comparatively level after a steep dip, showing
that there are still "breakers ahead.*'

The entrance into HoUingbourne is picturesque
in the extreme. The forge I have just mentioned
is an old building with a carved barge-board in its
little dormer gable. The inn opposite is also of

179

old English Houses

very respectable antiquity, and next to it is a fine
old Tudor timber house, with a good corner-post
and the original dull green glass in its window
casements.

Farther down the hill, the Manor House, with
its ponderous deep -red stone-faced gables, comes
in view, towering above the smaller tenements as if
self-conscious of its own importance. It has been
restored of recent years, and to a certain extent
spoiled by the insertion of plate-glass windows. I
remember it many years ago when it was practically
untouched, and had a particularly ghostly air about
its tapestried chambers.

Still descending, we come to another quaint group
of old cottages. One of them has just undergone
a process of cleaning, scraping, and varnishing, but
altogether it has come out very well, and, weather-
beaten for a few years, it may again prove a tempting
morsel for the artist's brush. Doubtless the cottage
to its left will follow suit, if not found too dilapidated.
The old sign of the Bell still creaks on its rusty
hinges to delude the thirsty traveller, for should he
succeed after sundry knocks in obtaining admittance,
he will discover that it has long since ceased to be
an inn.
J 80

BELL INN, HOLLINGBOUENE

V-180

5^

1 i) 1

1 Nlll

'^ llilllii"

GODFREY HOUSE, HOLLINGBOtJBNE

p.lSi

OLD HOUSE, HOLLINGBOUBNE

p. 180

OLD HOUSE NEAK BUEDGAlt

p. 163

Ken^t

r

P^ Close by is the church of All Saints (of the
Perpendicular period in particular), containing some
fine monuments of the Culpeppers, who built the
Manor House, the lady representatives of which family
worked the embroidered velvet coverlets of the pulpit
and communion table in honour of the Restoration.
One of the tombs has a beautifully sculptured effigy
of a lady. Those who examine the graceful modelling
of the hands will observe the old custom of having
the wedding-ring attached to the wrist by a silken
cord.

How delightful it is to saunter leisurely in an
old village church, reading the queer inscriptions and
dreaming of the flesh and blood realities of those
silent stone impersonations lying in state ! But the
enjoyment is greatly enhanced when the harmonies
of the organ — a good organ, moreover, played by a
good organist — come to aid the imagination. Such
was my good fortune here. The performer, all

bunconcious of the pleasure he was giving, was
certainly a musician of no ordinary merit ; well, at
least that was my impression.

The next house of importance to the Manor
House is Godfrey House, a remarkable pile of oak
beams and yellow plaster, with overhanging stories

i8i

old English Houses

and countless diamond window-panes. The porch
bears the date 1587. Those who have leisure to
roam about will find many other things of interest,
not forgetting the old pilgrims' way to Canterbury,
which passes through here and Lenham.

A few words may be said of Hucking and
Bearsted, both equi-distant from Hollingbourne —
about two miles as the crow flies (what a misleading
bird, by the way, when one comes to measure out
his feats by the pedometer !). Between the latter
village and the main road there are some extra-
ordinary old cottages, leaning in all sorts and
conditions of angles. Bearsted Green is as cheerful
a little place as one could wish to see, evidently
much given to local cricket matches. To reach
Hucking we must again ascend to the high ground
to the north-east, but a climb amid such pretty
country as here surrounds us on all sides can never
be wearying. Once more on the " backbone of
Kent," should the inner man demand attention,
we could not do better than partake of bread and
cheese in the cosy little parlour of the Hook and
Hatchet, a tiny isolated inn, where one would
imagine business could scarcely ever be brisk. The
old-fashioned little apartment reminds one of the
182

Kent

Maypole of Dickens on a miniature scale — a huge
chimney, with corner seats and a high-backed settle,
where one could plant one's back on a winter's night
and defy the most penetrating of north-easterly gales.
Given but some blazing faggots in the ample grate, and
who could differ with Dr. Johnson as to the comforts
that are to be found away from one's own fireside ?

Before exploring the country to the south of
Hollingbourne, I propose to introduce the reader to
some of the old-world places to the north-west, and
to reach these it will be the best plan to strike into
the main road to Sittingbourne, and go thence back
to Faversham, thus completing a triangle.

Beyond one or two good Tudor-built cottages,
there is nothing particularly interesting to arrest our
attention till we approach Bredgar — a sleepy-looking
place, with a fine grey old church, standing as if
placidly contemplating the surrounding tombstones.
Within may be seen one of those obsolete pre-
Victorian barrel organs, out of which they used to
grind the hymns with a handle, and in the tower
there are instructions (put up at the Commonwealth)
that the bellringers must not perform their duties
with their hats on, and if they should swear, the
fine will be a penny.

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old English Houses

There are some old houses worth notice, but
one of particular interest and charm calls us about
a mile away in a secluded nook, where it hides itself
as if it were not desirous of courting observation.

Bexon Manor House is a perfect picture of a
compact little Elizabethan farmhouse. There are no
incongruous additions to mar the complete harmony
of this peaceful old homestead. To see it in the
twilight with the warm glow of the western sky
reflected in its myriad diamond-paned windows, with
the tits darting in and out from beneath the deep
projections of its eaves, is to see it at its best.

I visited Bexon on one of those glorious summer
evenings when the whole of nature seems to rejoice
in the warm bath of golden light. At such a time
as this it seems impossible to conceive aught but
universal harmony, or to associate humanity with
any of its harsher traits. In the same way, it would
be difficult to imagine that the reminiscences of
which this old house could speak could be other
than happy ones. Possibly if one came across Bexon
on a dreary November day, it might be otherwise,
and one might associate it with its recollections of
sadder days. Perhaps it was the mellow light causing
this general impression of cheerfulness or hospitality
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BEXON MANOR HOUSE

p. 184

GROVE END FARM

p. 186

OLD HOUSE NEAR ASHFORD

Kent

which prompted me with courage. I cannot say ; but
I advanced towards the curious oak-carved porch to
ask admittance.

It must be one of the penalties of living in
a dwelling which has attractions for the antiquary
to be thus intruded upon. One is quite aware —
indeed, guiltily conscious — of the violation of that
privacy which every Englishman is entitled to. Yet
one does not scruple to ignore the promptings of
etiquette. After repeated knocks it became pretty
evident the house was empty, but, thinking that it
would be as well to make a final onslaught at the
back of the premises before abandoning all hope of
viewing the interior, I wandered round by some old
barns, where I succeeded in finding a caretaker, who
willingly escorted me through the rambling corridors
and dark panelled rooms. In the hall stood a
splendid inlaid oak " shovel-board " table, coeval with
the house.. It was rescued not long ago from one
of the farm buildings, where the labourers used to
congregate for their mid-day meal.

Far from being one of those dismal crones whom
one so often finds haunting an old house like an
owl in a ruin, the caretaker of Bexon carried out
my original impression as far as the house was

i8s

old English Houses

concerned, and was the embodiment of cheerfulness
and hospitality, and a bit of a wit into the
bargain ; so altogether I had no cause to regret my
intrusion.

From Bexon let us now steer our way to
Tunstall, a couple of miles or so away to the
north. It is a very pretty village, with some good
old houses. One charming red-brick Jacobean house
stands back from the road, the gables and clock-
tower peeping over a high wall and imposing entrance
gate. Grove End Farm, not far off, probably dates
from the reign of Henry VII., or perhaps earlier.
Inside may be seen an old kitchen, with hooded
chimney and open roof to the rafters, black with
age and soot — a primitive apartment, very much in
the same condition (save its blackness) as when it
was built. In this building formerly lived the
Hales, an old royalist Kentish family, the last repre-
sentative of which — an aged maiden lady — died a few
years ago. There are some good monuments to the
Hales in the church ; one, particularly fine, was
rescued by the present vicar, who discovered it lying
in fragments in a stonemason's yard.

To the north-west of Tunstall is Borden, where
the famous antiquary and naturalist, Dr. Plot, lies
1 86

Kent

buried. In the church are preserved a curious pair
of seventeenth-century collection trays with handles.
The inscriptions upon them read very much after the
style of that upon the stone which was discovered
by Mr. Pickwick. They run : " Give — willin — gly —
give — chirev — Hie." Sutton Barn and Heart's De-
light, in this vicinity, are both picturesque old
farmhouses. The peculiarity of the latter name led
me to inquire of a yokel its significance. " Sure
I don't know," said he ; " but it's a very old place,
and ought to be pulled down ! "

The immediate surroundings of Sittingbourne are
not attractive. Brickmaking and other industries
prevent the country from looking inviting. We will
avoid the town, notwithstanding the fact that that
great king, Henry V., was once entertained at the
Rose Inn. Keeping to the lanes and bearing to
the left, a very ancient cottage near Rodmersham
is worth seeing for its Early Gothic entrance porch.
Near Green Street also are some good old farms.
One in particular, down by the railway, is quite a
unique example of early sixteenth-century lath-and-
plaster work, not unlike some of the old " magpie "
houses of Lancashire and Cheshire.

The churches of Tonge and Teynham, to the

187

old English Houses

north-east and north-west of Green Street, are both
interesting. At the latter place the first cherry
orchards are said to have been planted by one
Richard Harris, fruiterer to King Henry VIII.
Following the main road back to Faversham, there
is not much to detain us. Round about Norton
and Rushett, however, are some old inns and farms,
which will repay one the trouble of going in search
of them.

I now propose to explore the road which runs
between Maidstone and Ashford, . and to pick out
the plums (as far as picturesque " bits " are con-
cerned) which are to be found lying between that
road and the level piece of railway which extends
to the south of it — the " bee-line *' that is said to have^
been passed by Parliament as it lay wet on the
map fresh from the pen and ruler. Taking Lenham
as a centre, we will follow the main road first in
the direction of Maidstone, and then towards Ash-
ford ; after which we will work our way to the
south, south-east, south-west, and west.

Lenham is certainly an old-world place, every inch
of it. If one approaches it from the north, by
Doddington (where the road branches oflF from that
to Hollingbourne), there is a steady climb for
i88

OLD HOUSE, LENHAM

p. 1S8

OLD HOUSE NEAB TEYNHAM

p. 188

CHARITY HOUSE, LENHAM

p. 190

OLD HOUSE, HA1UUET8HAM

2) W2

Kent

some miles, until the welcome dip comes. The
first thing that greets one at the foot of the
chalk hills is a grim stone lock-up, which, judging
by appearances, would aiford far from comfortable
accommodation, I should imagine. We now emerge
upon a queer old square, which opens out to view
by a curious old timber house at the corner. At
another part of the square the churchyard is
entered through a ponderous lych-gate. The Early
English church of St. Mary has a good interior,
including a fine roof, some interesting tombs, and
a very uncommon stone sedille, or confessional chair,
with projecting elbows. There is also a range of
wooden stalls and a richly carved Jacobean pulpit
bearing the date 1622.

An inscription on a tomb at Lenham records
that a proud mother died with the satisfaction of
knowing she left behind 367 children "lawfully
descended " from her ! Startling, certainly ; but we
read afterwards these included four generations. This
may have been a great comfort in days when the
census report had not reached its present gigantic
proportions, but nowadays surely the knowledge of
such a fact would be enough to make the poor
woman turn in her grave.

189

old English Houses

If we continue our way through the square
westwards for a couple of hundred yards or so, we
shall find a wonderfully perfect little timber house
with carved brackets and a massive, though squat,
chimney-stack in the centre. It is called The Charity
House, and well deserves all the admiration that is
lavished upon it by passers-by.

My first introduction to Lenham, by the way,
was marked by an incident quite unique as far as
my experience goes. I had just crossed the little
river Len (which rises in this parish and flows into the
Med way) when a very prosperous-looking individual
(whom at first I took to be an American millionaire
who resides at Pluckley, a few miles away), driving
a particularly smart turn-out, pulled up his high
stepper and with breathless anxiety inquired if I had
seen — his wife ! For the moment I was staggered,
but, regaining my composure, I learnt that the lady
in question had been instructed to follow the road
I had been traversing, while her husband went else-
where upon some mission which would occupy about
an hour ; and that when the gentleman returned, he
discovered to his alarm that his spouse had vanished.
She evidently had taken the wrong turning, and was
then — heaven knows where. Moreover, she was
190

Kent

purseless and a stranger in the land. The couple
hailed from miles away, and had to catch a return
train from somewhere, with scarcely a minute to spare
to catch that train.

What could one do in such a situation but offer
one's poor services ? It was hastily decided that each
should beat up the country in different directions,
and return to a particular signpost at the cross-
roads.

I hunted for half an hour in vain, but at length
I espied the distinguishing " blue blouse " for which I
had been straining my eyes. It was centred in a
small group of school-children, who were undergoing
a cross-examination as to whether they had seen a
certain trap that way. I rushed to the rescue.
" Pardon me, madam," said I ; " have you lost your
husband ? " " Yes," she cried with tears in her eyes ;
" where is he ? " " If you will confide yourself to
my care for a moment," I replied, " I will restore
him to you." Further details are superfluous. Suffice
it to say that the dilemma wound up like the con-
clusion to an old-fashioned novel.

Never did one receive such an ovation of gratitude !
I had it impressed upon me that if ever I visited
such and such a town I should be greeted with a

191

old English Houses

right royal reception. I doubt not that I should,
but I have never been.

Keeping to the main road from Lenham towards
Maidstone, the next village is Harrietsham, whose
fine church stands isolated at the foot of a steep hill
leading to the old seat of the Stede family (a lonely
looking Georgian mansion, with barns and stables of a
much earlier period). The Perpendicular tower of
Harrietsham Church is lofty and peculiarly graceful.
The interior, with the exception of a beautiful screen,
has been much restored, and, to my mind, spoiled.
Part of the village — that lying just off the high road
— is as typical an old village street as one could wish
to see, and one old timber house in particular is in
a remarkable state of preservation. Still bearing
to the west, we presently get a glimpse, among the
dense foliage to the left, of the historical castle of
Leeds, which, though modernised, dates from the
reign of Edward I., with additions of Henry VIII. 's
time, suggestive, in parts, of Haddon. The stately
looking mass of towers and turrets is reflected in
a wide moat as clear as crystal, across which
stretches an Edwardian bridge leading to the most
picturesque of old red-roofed gatehouses. Not a
few tragic events have happened within the walls of
192

OLD HOUSE, LEEDS

p. 193

I

OLD HOUSE, LEEDS

]). 193

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OLD HOUSE, LANGLEY

p. 194

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this peaceful-looking feudal castle, for here it was
that the queen of King Henry IV. was imprisoned
for a supposed conspiracy against the life of her
stepson ; and the wife of Humphrey Plantagenet,
Duke of Gloucester, tried for practising witchcraft.

At a part of the main road that skirts the
park the scenery is most beautiful, especially by
a clump of graceful firs with a forest of feathery
bracken beneath.

A little to the left of the road, nearer to Holling-
bourne, is the village of Leeds, one of the prettiest
villages in Kent, and exceptionally rich in old houses.
By a turn of the lane and beyond a little brook
is a large cottage of five gables, a good specimen
of a Jacobean brick and timber house, but one of
those tantalising subjects which so often defy the
efforts of the amateur photographer. It stands in
the shade of overhanging trees, and when the sun
shines, with patches of light all over it, is beautiful to
the eye, but confusing when reproduced by the
camera. And how often does not one find, that a
particularly pleasing " bit " that one would give any-
thing to secure, is rendered impossible by a strong
light being immediately behind it ? Certainly, in many
instances, one may get between the object and the

N 193

old English Houses

eastern or western sky, whichever may be the case,
without trespassing ; but invariably it has been my
experience that, having gained that vantage-ground
the " bit *' has lost all its attractiveness from a
picturesque or architectural point of view.

Passing an older house with stone Gothic windows,
we next come to the church of St. Nicholas, with
its very broad, squat, extinguisher-surmounted tower
that can boast of the finest peal of bells (so I was
informed) in the county. Farther on in the village
street, down in the hollow, is another old cottage
of timber with gracefully carved oak tracery in
the windows ; and at the back of it stands an
ancient mill, even more picturesque, with two great
overhanging gables looking into a stream-girt orchard
on the opposite side of the road. The most re-
markable old house, however, anywhere in this
district, is one at Langley, about two miles from
Leeds. I took a photograph of this some years ago,
but upon a recent visit I searched for it in vain,
and at length came to the conclusion that fire or
house-breakers had wiped it off the face of the earth.
There were on all sides new roads, new walls, and
new lodge gates. The land adjoining the old house
certainly had been bought up and enclosed. Depart-
194

Kent

ing in sorrow and ruminating at the fate of my old
house, what was my delight when I caught a
glimpse of one of lits quaint timber gables. Yes,
there it stood intact, but with additions expanding
it into quite double its original size, as far as I
could make out from my side of the new boundary
wall. As is now the case with so many of our
smaller houses with any pretensions to ancient archi-
tecture, it had been converted into a mansion — raised,
like many a beautiful village maiden, to a high social
position.

Before going eastwards along the main road
from Lenham and Charing, we may give a passing
glance at Bromfield, rambling up the side of a
hill and having one of those primitive pathways
of slabs of stone, such as are seen in the old
Somersetshire villages.

At Charing there is plenty to see in the shape
of antiquities, from the ruins of the Episcopal Palace
to the enormous trumpet through which the parish
clerk used to announce the hymns. There is a
good Elizabethan roof in the church (which is
cruciform), some carved bench-ends, and interesting
monuments. The vicar happened to be in the
church when I was strolling round, and courteously

old English Houses

pointed out some of its distinguishing features, and
I can well understand the evident pride he takes
in it. The ivy-grown remains of the palace are
close to the church. Part of it is occupied as a
farmhouse and is strikingly picturesque. In the
irregular line of the old gables and chimneys of the
village street, many subjects may be found for a
" snapshot " — the Swan Inn, for example, or an old
timber butcher's shop, or another gabled house with
wide Tudor entrance gate and carved oak spandrils.

The remainder of the high road between Charing
and Ashford is not particularly attractive, but there are
one or two good old farmhouses — Acton, of brick,
and Wickens, of half-timber, being especially worth
notice. In a park off to the right is Godington, the
old seat of the Jokes, a fine old mansion with quaint
oak carvings, including some extraordinary monsters
guarding the several landings of a wide oak staircase.

Turning now to the west and keeping to the lanes,
we may visit Pluckley and the ancient seat of the
Derings, a very important Kentish family. The stately
red-brick gabled house, with its velvety lawns and
terraces, conjures up visionary forms of gaily-clad
cavaliers and damsels in full-sleeved silken gowns, and
gives one a general impression of ancestral grandeur.
196

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p. 195

SPEAKING TRUMPET, CHARING V. 195

Kent

Even the gorgeously plumed peacocks strut about as
if self-conscious of long lineage. To be further im-
pressed with the importance of the owners of the house
one has but to look at the ancestral pew in the church.
Never have I seen in a holy edifice such luxurious
accommodation.

Pluckley stands high and commands a lovely view
over the surrounding country. I have recollections
left of a comfortable inn, with an attractive old-
fashioned garden ; moreover, of a very excellent tea.

Not far away is the church of Little Chart, where
one is struck by the peculiarity that, though the rest
of the interior is in a good state of repair, an old
chapel of the Darells in the side aisle is in a most
grievous state of damp and mildew, and this is the
more to be deplored because the monuments here are
particularly interesting.

To the north-west we pass through Egerton,
a sleepy place with a good church perched up on a
little knoll, but there are few old buildings, save
one with a pretty gable end and a rather good late
seventeenth-century house. Continuing in the same
direction through a stretch of genuinely beautiful rural
country, a couple of miles or so will bring us to
Boughton Malherbe, a secluded manor house, church,

197

old English Houses

and vicarage, and a few scattered cottages, which can
scarcely be classified as a village.

Coming by the road from Harrietsham with the
object of finding Boughton, a tourist would imagine
that the signpost pointing to Boughton Church was a
kind of mild practical joke, for he most certainly
would miss his mark and find himself at a place
called Grafton Green (where the parish stocks may
be seen), a mile beyond. He would have passed a
turning, to be sure, but the signpost at that spot
is silent as far as Boughton is concerned.

The roof, the bench-ends, the fifteenth-century
pulpit in the church, are all good — the brasses, too,
depicting ladies in their pointed head-dresses and
brave knights in their elaborate Gothic armour. A
mural tablet to Dr. Lionel Sharpe explains that he
was chaplain to the Earl of Essex, and afterwards
to Queen Elizabeth and King James. The font-
cover and the poor-box are also worth notice.
There is one thing, however, about Boughton church
which I do not admire — its highly coloured porch,
decorated by the late vicar with blue, white, red,
and yellow in the Italian style. Whether this
ecclesiastical artist belonged to the " impressionist
school," I cannot say. He was certainly not a
198

Kent

realist. To those who would know the distinction
between these schools, I may quote a very good rule
to bear in mind, which I read somewhere. An artist
who paints the sky blue and the grass green is a
" realist," whereas an artist who paints the sky green
and the grass blue is an "impressionist" ; moreover,
an artist who paints the sky black and the grass
red is a "decorative artist." But I doubt whether
the porch of Boughton church can be classified
under any of these. It certainly is neither a
" harmony " nor a " symphony " in blue, white, red,
and yellow.

The Manor House, near the church, is a curious
old building, with great Elizabethan bay windows.
Formerly there was a grand old panelled drawing-
room, with a coved ornamental ceiling — alas ! now
divided up into several apartments, though it may still
be seen in sections. Queen Elizabeth's bedroom, with
carvings and tapestry, is also here ; not one of those
mythical so-called halting-places of her Majesty one
so often comes across, for I believe the queen really
did come here on one of her progresses. The park
which once belonged to the house is now incorporated
in the vicarage demesne. Here are some gigantic
trees, — ash, chestnut, and Turkish oak, — trees of

199

old English Houses

great age and immense girth. The vicarage is a
quaint old house, cased in early weather-tiling, with
a circular and a square tower, and gables and corners
everywhere.

The rector, who kindly showed me the various
points of interest in the house and park, evidently
has a thorough knowledge and keen appreciation of
all matters relating to the study of natural history
and botany, and for one with such tastes to live
in such a beautiful spot as this must give a par-
ticular charm to existence.

From Boughton Malherbe it is an easy walk to
Ulcomb, whose church, prominently situated on
very high ground, should be visited for its splendid
early brasses, a good screen, and some curious
fourteenth-century frescoes. Sir Ralph Sentleger and
his wife Anne are represented in two very fine
brasses, giving one a good idea of the costume and
armour of the middle of the fifteenth century. An
earlier brass, with elaborate canopy, is that of Sir
William Maydeston, and is one of the finest examples
extant.

Headcorn, a few miles away to the south, is
situated in the wide expanse of level country to the
south of the second range of hills that one crosses

200

/

ACTON FARM

p. 196

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ROIiliESTON FARM

Kent

coming from Sittingbourne. It is a pretty little
place, surrounded by orchards and hop-gardens, and
is rich in examples of early domestic architecture.
To the north of the village, on the road to
Maidstone, is an old farmstead called Moat-in-
den (corrupted to Mutton-den), once upon a time
a monastery. I i stopped here when I was a
youngster, and have a vivid recollection of the
mystery which the weed-grown moat inspired, and
of the ghostly effect of owls screeching in the dead
of night.

Everything ends with den in this part of Kent.
There are Devil's-dens and Chickendens, Hunger-
den, Bletchenden, Frittenden, and many other dens
which I shall visit ere I say good-bye to the
county.

Continuing on the road to Maidstone, about
three and a half miles from Headcorn is the most
beautiful village of Sutton Valence. Fortunately the
railway has not yet reached this most attractive
and healthy district, otherwise I doubt not Sutton
Valence would be one of those popular resorts which
grow with rapid strides. Ulcomb, which we have
just visited, now lies to the east of us, about two miles,
and between is East Sutton, which has a picturesque

201

old English Houses

grey old church of the fourteenth century, enclosed
by a ruinous ivy-grown stone wall forming a charm-
ing foreground. There are some good tombs here
to the Filmer and Argall families. Upon one of
these are represented the brass effigies of the eighteen
children of Sir Edmund Filmer — a noble array of sons
and daughters in the costume of Charles I.'s time.
A family likeness, or rather want of expression, is well
sustained through the whole group.

East Sutton is one of those churches where you
have to go a considerable journey for the key if
you wish to get inside. It is not to be procured at the
vicarage, or, as is sometimes the case, at the school-
rooms, but at the windmill situated about a mile away.
Any one, however, will be well repaid for the trouble
of going there, for it is a model mill placed in a
charming garden — or, rather, grounds I should say
— of the miller's residence, the prettiest of cottages.
Who would not be a miller under such circum-
stances ? The prevailing cheerfulness of the house and
garden found a harmonious accompaniment in its
occupant, for a more jolly, light-hearted young
miller it would be difficult to conceive. A mill,
whether water or wind be the locomotive power (I
won't include steam), has always had a great attraction
20Z

Kent

for me. There is such a clean smell about its bins
of grain and its atmosphere of flour.

"Won't you come up and have a look round,"
said the custodian of the church key, from a lofty
eminence in his wooden castle. 1 clambered up a
precipitous staircase and had the ingenious and
intricate machinery explained to me. The sieves for
the finest flour were bags of silk, through which one
would think it impossible for any substance to pass.
This may be nothing new to my readers, but as it
was something of a mystery to me, I record the fact.

Ascending to an external platform, we stood to
admire the lovely view, and at the same time to
speculate upon the prospect of the wind, it having some
time before dropped to a dead calm. Returning
to the inside of the cone, my host picked up a
novel, and observed that occasionally he had time
for recreation. "Though," said he, "when a good
wind is blowing, we're pretty busy." Presently came
a complication of rumbling, straining, creaking noises,
and everything was in motion, but only for a
moment. The puff^ of wind died away, and I left
my companion wrapped in the plot of his story.

East Sutton Place is a well-restored Elizabethan
mansion in a large park ; its red, pointed gables

203

old English Houses

peep over the wall of the churchyard and light up
the prevailing grey. Charlton Court, about a mile
to the east, is another old house — Jacobean — with
very uncommon projecting angular windows, standing
in the trimmest of trim gardens. The good lady
of the house, who showed me an elaborately carved
oak staircase, was not a little indignant that some
archaeological society had recently visited the locality
without honouring her with a visit. The members
of the society were the losers, surely, to miss so inter-
esting an item from their programme. But I have
known places where those of antiquarian tastes would
have met with a different reception. A nervous but
enthusiastic friend of mine once knocked at a cottage
door in South Devon, and, hat in hand, meekly
observed to the strong-minded-looking lady who
answered the summons, " Madam, I understand you
have some ancient carving in your bedroom ? "
"No, I ain't," she indignantly responded, and banged
the door in his face in a manner as much as to
imply that even the thought of such a possession cast
reflections upon her moral character. My friend, never
so successful as myself in missions of this nature,
satirically suggests that I should issue a handbook
called Trespassing made Easy,
204

Kent

Bordering the road near Charlton is the loftiest
thorn hedge I have ever seen. It is quite twenty feet
high and looks so narrow and slender that one would
think that a good stiff breeze would blow it down.
But it must have mastered a good many storms in
its day.

We have been to Langley, to the north of
Sutton Valence, so we will now strike westwards,
cross-country, to another Boughton — Boughton Mon-
chelsea. Though the name is a good mouthful, like
the other Boughton, there is scarcely any village to
speak of save a great ancient barn, with tall dormer
windows, near the church. A fine old lych-gate
leads into the churchyard. The entrance even in
summer is almost perpetually in the shade, and in
the twilight there is something ghoulish about the
crumbling array of moss-grown tombstones. But
there is a wonderful contrast when we get to the
back of the churchyard. All is sunshine here, and
a great profusion of flowers, one blaze of colour ;
and beyond, over the tree-tops of some park adjacent,
such a glorious view.

I am not at all given to ruminating in church-
yards. To me, the majority have a depressing
effect ; but this one was an exception, and I can

205

old English Houses

hardly imagine a more cheerful spot than the back
of this garden-like burial-ground. On the low
boundary wall (which twines here and there like the
body of a huge snake) I sat for half an hour enjoy-
ing the scene and the delicious scent of the old-
fashioned red roses with which the air was filled.

How strange it is that a scent like this, coming
upon one unawares, can bring back to one's memory
an impression of some incident with which it is
connected in some mysterious way ! — a long-forgotten
recollection vivid as lightning, but gone as instan-
taneously— gone before the brain has had time to
model the impression into shape. It is some strange
association which, during its hundredth part of a
second's existence, was replete with the minutest
detail, yet which has vanished as instantaneously
beyond recall. One tries as hopelessly to get some
clue to it as a freshly awakened sleeper endeavours
to recount the vivid incidents of a dream. In passing
along the country lanes in summer time, I have
often noticed that a sudden scent of honeysuckle, or
perhaps of a lime-tree, has had this strange effect ;
but I have also observed that the snapshot, revival,
or impression, whatever we may call it, invariably
comes unawares^ and that, like an over-exposed
206

Kent

negative, the more we try to develop it by coaxing,
the denser it becomes.
y 1 do not propose to journey much farther in a
westerly direction, much as I should like to revisit
such places as Ightham and Knole ; but these are
far-famed, and the country round has been well
trodden by the tourist.

The villages of Aylesford, AUington, Mailing, and
Oifham have also each their several attractions in
point of picturesqueness and antiquarian interest.

The quintain on Offham Green is unique, though
it is only a copy of the original which some years
ago was -to be seen embedded much deeper into the
ground than in the present instance. Perhaps it is
unnecessary to state that the game was introduced into
these islands by the Romans, and became a recog-
nised sport about the reign of Henry III. I need
scarcely add that the horseman's object, running full
tilt at it, was to break the broad cross-piece of the
swinging top without receiving a stunning blow on
the back by the sand-bag hung at its other end.
The most skilful at this obsolete pastime received a
peacock as his prize. Formerly there was another
quintain at Deddington, in Oxfordshire, but this has
been done away with many years.

207

old English Houses

To the south of Mailing and OiFham are the
remains of St. Leonard's Castle, beyond which stretch
the beautiful Mereworth woods, and, still farther
south, East and West Peckham. I recently visited
these last two villages, with the object of localising
a spot mentioned in the well-known {Memoirs of the
Count de Gramont. The neighbourhood is there
described as the most solitary and dreary, and the
lapse of nearly two centuries and a half has not
made any perceptible difference to it in this respect ;
indeed, one can hardly wonder that the beautiful
Mrs. Wetenhall found life almost unbearable in such
a lonely place.

The churches of East and West Peckham look
close enough together on the map, but to get frpm
one to the other is no easy matter, for the roads turn
and twist here, there, and everywhere but where
one wants them to turn ; and if one would travel
cross-country, the way is equally difficult. A sort of
wild, primaeval bridle-path certainly leads from the
main road in the direction of West Peckham, but it
appears to be the exclusive property of gipsies, who
resent intrusion.

The little church of the latter village contains a
good example of a memorial Jacobean pew, from
208

BIDDKNDKN

p. 212

oiiD HOUSK, bij)I)j;m)kn:

p. 212

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OLD HOUSK NEAR BIDDENDEN

THE MONKEY HOUSE

213

tp

Kent

which the squire and his family could look down
upon the rest of the congregation with superior
complacency. The East Peckham folk have to climb
to a considerable elevation to reach their place of
worship, so there is some excuse if the attendance is
not very great.

To return for a short space to the dens of
which I have spoken, we shall have to strike in
a south-easterly direction from the Peckhams, through
Yalding. I had heard much of the beauty of this
place, and expected great things, but must confess
I was sadly disappointed — doubtless mainly owing
to the fact that, after a long drought, the river,
its most attractive feature, was nearly dry, and the
fine old bridge, for which Yalding is famous, did
not look at its best by any means. Another thing
which did not improve the peacefulness of the scene
was that the village was full of noisy hoppers, so
I got out of it as speedily as possible, after having
a look at the old Court Lodge — a red Jacobean
house, with windows shaded by the gigantic limbs
of a cedar-tree. There were evidences of a recent
sale, and, an open gate inviting inspection, I took
the opportunity of doing a little harmless trespassing
in the old garden and orchard.

o 209

old English Houses

Marden is about five miles from Yalding, and
Horsmonden, another four. There are many ancient
buildings in and about these villages, the adjacent
farmsteads of Pattenden, Spelmonden, and Twissenden
being particularly worth notice.

Goudhurst, to the south-east, is one of the
most attractively situated villages I have ever seen.
Like Sutton Valence, it should have a great future,
but I should be very sorry to hear of the speculative
builder finding his way there.

The impression left on my memory of Goudhurst
is a mountainous climb up to the church and adjacent
houses on a very brilliant Sunday morning in summer.
It was long before service, and the place appeared
to be entirely deserted. Fortunately the church was
open ; I could inspect the monuments with comfort
alone, and not under the usual supervision of the
pew-opener or parish clerk. Upon an ancient altar-
tomb was spread a snow-white tablecloth, upon which
stood a goodly array of loaves ready for some impend-
ing dole. I could not help thinking what an
opportunity this would have been for some hungry
tramp — not the ordinary thirsty tramp one so often
meets upon the roads, but a man, say, upon his last
legs for want of food. Supposing now, in such a

210

Kent

case, if a starving man did thus help himself, I
wonder if the law would call it stealing. I draw
my own conclusions from a case I saw some time
ago in the papers of a hungry man rushing into
a baker's shop and seizing a halfpenny roll, for
which crime he received a sentence of (I forget the
actual number of days or weeks) hard labour. Now,
if the magistrate had refunded the baker with his
halfpenny and let the wretched thief go free, I
suppose that would not be justice.

Goudhurst is more like a Sussex village, most of
the houses being built, in part, of the characteristic
red and black tiling one sees so much in that county.

To get to Benenden, Rolvenden, or Newenden, the
tourist would go (from Goudhurst) through Cranbrook,
one of the cleanest and most prosperous-looking
little towns imaginable, with a long hill running
down into it and a long hill leading out of it, a
cathedral-like Perpendicular church (in which are
helmets and banners) and several pretty old houses,
many of them once upon a time factories of the
clothing trade, which flourished here for centuries.

Suppose now we draw a triangle on the map of
Kent — from Staplehurst to Newenden (as the most
southerly point), and to Ashford as the farthest

211

old English Houses

point eastwards. This area would include a rich
hunting-ground for the artist and the antiquary, and
the old farms about here are particularly picturesque.
Near Benenden, for instance, is a curious fifteenth-
century thatched cottage, containing a screen and
open timber roof. It is called The Old House at
Home. Pump Farm also is a good Elizabethan
timber house. More picturesque are Rolleston Farm,
near Rolvenden, and Finchden, near the old town of
Tenterden.

Of all the village dens^ Biddenden and Smarden
are the most attractive from an antiquarian point of
view.^ The former is a typical old-world village,
containing many curious examples of cottage archi-
tecture. In the church are some good brasses and
a fine Perpendicular screen. Some centuries ago there
lived here a certain Eliza and Mary Chalkhurst,
twins who had the misfortune to be joined together
by the hips and shoulders ; and, doubtless, had they
lived in these times, they would have been exhibited.

The poor of Biddenden have cause to remember
these ladies, for they receive from their charity every

^ The recent introduction of the railway between Headcorn and
Tenterden and Robertsbridge I trust will not modernise these
places.

212

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OLD HOUSE, SMARDEN

p. 213

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SMARDKN MANOR HOUSE

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MANUll UOUbK

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Kent

Easter a plentiful supply of bread and cheese and
some flat cakes made of flour and water (certainly
not rich pastry), stamped with the grotesque figures
of their unfortunate benefactresses. But everybody
has heard of these famous Biddenden maids and cakes.

The Old Red Lion inn has a bar-parlour with
oak rafters and some nice old gables at the back.
I remember spending a very wet Whitsuntide here
many years ago with a boon companion, and how,
mackintoshed and legginged, we set forth to find
The Monkey House, Vane House, Ash House,
Park House, the Manor House of Smarden, and
many others. The various entrances to Smarden by
the church at the extreme end of the street, I
remember, gave us an impression of the stage of
a theatre. The inhabitants made their several "exits
and their entrances" in the way that the supers
appear and disappear in the scenes of a melodrama.

One little incident I recollect, which occurred
somewhere hereabouts. During the inspection of an
old cottage, the good lady who resided in it observed,
with self-conscious importance, " You might not believe
it, sir, but this house is over eighteen hundred years
old ! " I said I did not believe it. " But," said she,
"the date is on the outside." I went to look.

213

old English Houses

Yes, there were some figures and some letters, which
read, as far as I could make out, either "a. d."
or "B.C. 34." But what spoiled the whole effect
was the badge of some insurance company above it !
That these old timber houses do not more frequently
get burned to the ground is astonishing, when we
consider the risks they run. I have seen in the
very heart of one of them a chimney formed merely
of a wooden framework filled in with plaster, and
the old house is still alive to boast its recklessness.

214

VI

SUSSEX

SUSS6X

1 PROPOSE now to cross the border into the
adjoining county of Sussex, in search of some of
the more important houses, or rather mansions,
that have degenerated into farmhouses. To go syste-
matically through the county describing these in
detail would require a volume to themselves, so
I will only here make a few selections.

In a walk, say, from Hawkhurst, close upon the
border of the two counties, to Lewes, one can find
many good examples of Elizabethan domestic archi-
tecture which are rendered doubly attractive from
the beautifully wooded country in which they are
situated. Not a few are to be found in and about
the pretty village of Burwash (locally pronounced
Burrish), beyond Etchingham. Two fine old mansions
(they were farms when I saw them) are Batemans
and Holmshurst. The interiors of both are interest-
ing, particularly the latter, there being some good

217

old English Houses

stone fireplaces, ceilings, panelled rooms, and a gallery
seventy feet in length.

Around Waldron there are also many good Eliza-
bethan houses, having great chimney clusters and
deep-set mullioned windows, such as Tanners and
Possingworth, and, farther south, Shoesmiths, Friths,
and Horeham.

One of the most picturesque of all the Sussex
farmhouses, in my opinion, is Bolebrook, between
Cowden (on the northern boundary of the county)
and Hartfield. The approach to the turreted Tudor
gatehouse and adjoining group of old barns and
sheds, by a narrow winding lane from the main
road, is exceedingly fascinating. It is the colour
of these out-buildings that is so pleasing to the eye.
Nothing but age can impart to the red bricks that
purple-grey tone which harmonises so well with the
moss and lichen ; and apart from the colour, of
course it is the long narrow bricks and the wide
intersections of mortar of old masonry that so add
to the pleasing effect of the whole. Beyond the
gatehouse is the lofty gabled mansion, which, when
silhouetted against the evening light, looks like
some enchanted palace from a fairy tale. Wander-
ing about its many disused rooms at nightfall, a
2i8

Sussex

j more ghostly place it would be difficult to imagine.
As you grope your way up the wide oak staircase,
you are conscious of silent white spectres floating
about. They are, however, nothing more uncanny than
owls, who find congenial seclusion upon the upper
landings for their day-dreams after a heavy night's
debauch ; and for their food they need not go far,
as in the adjacent deserted chambers there are very
audible scamperings of mice and rats, not to mention
a small colony of bats which find their way in
through the cracks and crevices and broken diamond
panes of the old casements. No ; Bolebrook is, I
should say, not a pleasant place to spend a happy
night. I almost think I should prefer Newnham
during the cherry season.

In one of the lower rooms there is a monster
fireplace — I shouldn't like to say how many feet or
yards across. One might certainly roast within it
half a dozen whole oxen if necessary.

The good farmer who lives, or lived, here let
me go about the house much as I pleased, and it has
always been a great regret to me that a photograph
I took, or rather attempted to take, of his little boy
turned out an utter failure, so I could not even
make a slight return for his hospitality. Nothing is

219

old English Houses

more exasperating than a disaster of this sort. You
make a great flourish and give a lot of trouble all
for nothing, and I should imagine feel the same
unpleasant sensations that the artist feels who has
held a private view and finds his works rejected by
the Academy.

The country between the three towns of East
Grinstead, Cuckfield, and Uckfield is also a rich
hunting-ground for those in search of the picturesque,
and includes some of the finest examples of Elizabethan
and Jacobean architecture in the county, and that
most lovely stretch of primaeval forest, Ashdown, into
the bargain.

East Grinstead is full of old houses, with
moss-grown stone tiles and oak mullioned windows.
One lofty old timber house has at the back a
most charming little stone Jacobean porch, with
steps leading down into the garden. Opposite on
high ground stands the almshouse, Sackville College,
also of early Jacobean date, whose interior quad-
rangle, with its smooth grass plots and picturesque
gables, looks the most inviting of dwellings. The
door of the chapel has a most elaborate and com-
plicated lock, which, if it got out of order, I fancy
would puzzle the locksmiths of to-day to repair.

220

HOLMSHURST

p. 217

p. 218

Sussex

The hall is full of oak carvings and old furniture,
and has a fine screen, roof, and fireplace, and in the
old kitchen is quite a collection of ancient fire-dogs,
which I understand came from the neighbouring
mansion of Buckhurst. The curfew is still rung here
regularly at eight in the summer and seven in the
winter, after which the residents of the almshouse
are locked in for the night, but I question if the
aged inmates would get into any mischief if the doors
were left open.

Not far from the town, on the extreme outskirts
of Ashdown Forest, are the substantial ivy-clad ruins
of Brambletye House, one of the Royalist mansions
which were destroyed by the powder of the Lord
Protector. Horace Smith's old-fashioned romance,
bearing the name of this mansion, is little known in the
present day.

The impression left by West Hoathly, situated
upon high ground a few miles to the south-west,
is a vivid one to me, for here I had the misfortune
to lose a five-pound note. As a proof that I am
by no means accustomed to travel about with
such useful accompaniments, I may state that my
mind was sadly disturbed when I discovered the
crisp piece of paper was missing, and in no way

221

old English Houses

could I account for it until a few days afterwards
an inquiry at The Cat, at West Hoathly, resulted in
the missing article being found still lying upon the
floor of a dark passage, in which I afterwards re-
membered I opened a pocket-book to get out a map.

Opposite the church of West Hoathly stands a
fine old stone mansion, which once upon a time
was the seat of a family named Feldwicke. In a
lumber-room here I saw a beautifully carved over-
mantel, which, alas ! was going to be removed to
some other mansion in better circumstances. Now,
if it was to find a home in another old mansion in
the neighbourhood, one could not grumble much,
but to despoil a house like this (a house that is
not going to be demolished), that its interior decora-
tions may be removed into some jerry-built villa in
suburban London, in my humble opinion is a posi-
tive sin. But one hears of so many cases of this
kind that to be sentimental over such vandalism
would soon become chronic.

The Elizabethan mansion, Wakehurst, is about
three miles from West Hoathly, a perfect house of
its period, and what is more uncommon, an interior
to correspond, including a magnificent oak staircase
of excellent design. Another good house of about

222

Sussex

the same date is Gravetye, romantically situated on
high ground, surrounded by woods, and literally
enveloped in roses. On the upper terrace the
garden is one mass of this queen of flowers, of
all conceivable tints and shades, with a sundial in
the midst, and narrow paved walks between the beds.
One fault I have to find with Gravetye : plate-
glass windows have been inserted throughout, and
these, of course, are quite out of character with
everything else. Down in a hollow, about half a
mile distant from the mansion, is The Moat, a pretty
little timber house, with stone muUioned windows
and a compact little hall with wide, open fireplace
and ingle nook ; but its situation is too desolate
for any other than a hermit. The village of West
Hoathly is not very far away, but I pity the
traveller who takes the short cut by the meadows
and gets benighted, for the guiding spire of the
church, which may be seen for miles around in
the opposite direction, is entirely obliterated by the
woods. In such a predicament, one can see the
utility of the evening bell, which was, perhaps which
is still, rung at Cowden Church, not many miles
off, for the guidance of lost pedestrians.

Cuckfield Place — the Rookwood Hall of Ains-

223

old English Houses

worth's gruesome romance — like Wakehurst, has a
most interesting interior. It is full of oak-panelled
rooms, with elaborately carved mantelpieces and
ornamental moulded ceilings, and a ghostly looking
wide oak staircase. In the rook-haunted avenue
stands the famous tree, which drops one of its
branches across the gravel walk beneath whenever
a member of the family is going to die.

In the grounds of an old hall in Cheshire I
remember seeing a sombre-looking lake, which has
the weird faculty of presaging death by sending to
its surface a certain ghastly substance from its
weedy bed, resembling the body of a drowned
man.

I think if I possessed such a cheerful accom-
paniment to an ancestral hall I should not feel much
compunction in pocketing the family pride in such
things, and having this spectral lake filled up. By
so doing I know I should put myself upon an equal
footing with the Yankee goth, who went down on
his hands and knees, so Scott tells, to eliminate the
stain of Rizzio's blood at Holyrood Palace. But
who could live happily near such a lake as that ?
Nowadays all such things have their market value
when an estate is put up for sale. A really well-
224

%i^

h *

•
i^ j

--

BOI.KBUOOK

p. 218

BOLEBEOOK

p. 218

OLD HOUSE, EAST GRINSTEAD p. 220

Sussex

authenticated ghost fetches a big price. A few
years ago, was not the unhappy wraith of Amy
Robsart a great feature at the sale of the site
of Cumnor Hall ? The purchaser, never having
been to the spot, was under the impression that he
was buying Anthony Foster's dreary mansion just as
it is described in Kenilworth — moreover, with the
ghost of " Madam Dudley " (as she is locally termed)
thrown in for the money. A lawsuit was the result
when the plaintiff discovered that the restless shade
of Queen Elizabeth's beautiful rival had been un-
successfully "laid" in a pond, and this pond and
some adjoining land had been knocked down to him
for some two thousand pounds.

In the vicinity of Lindfield, to the east of Cuck-
field, are the houses of Broadhurst and East Mascalls.
The former is a timber-crossed structure with good
chimneys, and has a queer contrivance on the first
landing of the staircase — a kind of portcullis or
drawbridge, which secures the upper stories of the
house from burglarious intrusion. 1 have only met
with a similar arrangement once before, at an old
house at Green Street Green, near Dartford ; but I
expect the idea was not an uncommon one in the
good old days, when a country gentleman was liable

p 225

old English Houses

to have his throat cut by his neighbours upon the
slightest provocation.

The Elizabethan house. East Mascalls (once the
seat of the Norton family), is in the same neighbour-
hood. It has recently entered upon a new lease of life,
for, anybody seeing it a few years ago must have
thought its ruinous condition past repair. The last
time I was there the poor old timber house looked
a mere skeleton. It was roofless, and bits of stone,
Tudor doors and fireplaces lay about helter-skelter in
the long rank grass that had taken possession of what
was at one time a garden. Now, wonder of wonders,
it has been turned again into a comfortable residence ;
although, judging from a recent photograph before me,
the original character has not been entirely adhered
to in the restorations. In place of the addition of red
Sussex tiling one would have preferred to see a con-
tinuation of the ornamented timber frame-work, which
characterises the front of the house. It must, however,
have been a diflficult task to restore it at all, so one must
not be hypercritical but thankful the old place is saved.
Now that East Mascalls and Burford have been taken
in hand perhaps one may have hopes for Kirby. That
most beautiful ruinous house, in Northamptonshire, I
believe even now could be made habitable. I know
226

Sussex

there are many representatives of ancient families who
do not take the slightest interest or pride either in their
ancestral homes, or in the history of their long lineage.
But on the other hand, how sad it must be to those
who love the study of the past, and cherish the smallest
memento of their ancestors, to see the old seat, where
generation after generation lived and died, go to rack
and ruin without the means to hold out a helping
hand.

For a good example of admirable restoration one
has not to go far, for at Lindfield, Old Place has
been treated with such taste and skill that it is im-
possible to detect where the old part ends and the
new part begins. It has been greatly enlarged,
and, as in the instance of the old building at Langley
of which I have spoken, the road has been enclosed
and diverted in such a way that any one who visited
the place a few years ago would become bewildered.
On the other hand. Oat Hall at Wivelsfield, farther
to the south, a most picturesque timber house, has
been entirely destroyed by injudicious restoration, and
to all intents and purposes is no better than a modern
antique.

Once bound for Hurstpierpoint, of college fame,
and being directed to get out of the train at Hassocks

227

old English Houses

station and take the omnibus, I carried out these
instructions to the letter ; but presently, after a
long drive, found myself, instead of at Hurst, at
Ditchling, some miles away to the east of it. It
appears there were two " busses," two entrances to the
station, and two trains due at the same time. I had,
however, no reason to complain, for had not this
accident happened, the probability is I should never
have seen Ditchling and its curious old houses.
There is one in particular, near the church, a
charming medley of Tudor stone, brick, and timber
construction, quite unique, I should say. On Ditch-
ling Common, now surmounted by a vane, stands a
remnant of the gibbet, upon which the bones of
many a highwayman have rattled in the breeze.
Hurstpierpoint, of course, being a fashionable resort,
has been shorn of most of its original buildings to
make place for handsome modern residences, but
the lover of things ancient has still Danny to fall
back upon as a type of a stately old English
mansion.

Beyond Hurst we come to pretty little Albourn,
where are two of those timber-crossed cottages with
herring-bone brickwork and the great stone slab lichen-
grown roofing that one meets with in this part of
228

KACKVILLE COLLEGE p. 220

^VBTJETTE HOUSE

p. 221

OLD HOUSE, WEST HOATHLY

p. 221

WAKEHURST

Sussex

Sussex. At Albourn Place, a much-restored house,
one of the royalist Juxon family was sought for
in vain by the Cromwellian soldiers. Whether they
discovered the unoccupied "priest's hole" that was
found here some few years ago, I cannot say, but
tradition asserts they did not recognise the object
of their search, who, disguised as a labourer, was at
work in the adjacent church.

Bearing to the south-east from Albourn, we pass
through Edburton to Beeding and Bramber, which
villages are separated by a narrow strip of river and
joined by an equally narrow bridge, close by which
some tumble-down red roofs form a pleasing back-
ground. The principal inn at Beeding looks as cosy
and inviting as its neighbour at Bramber looks the
reverse ; but I simply go by external appearances,
for I entered neither. I can only say, if I had my
choice, the modest antiquity of the one would have
far greater attractions than the obtrusive modern
additions of the other. Such incongruous erections,
planted in the heart of a little hamlet of rustic
cottages, always seem to throw everything into dis-
cord ; in the same way that, when one of the prim
and sombre dwellings of an old-fashioned London
square is pulled down, the gap is occasionally filled

229

old English Houses

up with a glaring monstrosity in red brick and terra-
cotta, which would look all very well isolated, but
there is entirely out of place.

At the little seaside resorf, Charmouth, in the
midst of the predominating white-washed cottages in
the lower part of the street, of late there has sprung
up a mushroom growth of colossal height in staring
red — the sort of erection that would look all very
well at Brighton, or in the Finchley Road, or any-
where but here. Whether Charmouth will try to
live up to it, and in time pull down its white-washed
cottages and erect some red giants, remains to be
seen. In that case, of course, the little inn where
the fugitive Charles II. slept^ — or, rather, I should
say, was very wakeful, waiting for the boat that had
been engaged to carry him over to France — would
be wiped off the face of the earth. So let us hope
the good Charmouthites will think twice before they
clear space for " desirable villas."

Talking of Charles at Charmouth, reminds me
that it was near Bramber Bridge that he had to ride
through a body of Parliamentary soldiers who had
been stationed in the town the day before. This
little episode certainly gives a historical interest to

1 Vide Tht Flight of the King,
230

Sussex

the place, and I should be glad to see a tablet put
up commemorating the event.

The quaint old village — it can hardly be called a
town — of Steyning, to the west of Bramber, contains
many old buildings, the rectory and Brotherhood
Hall being the most interesting. Still farther west,
and we come to the tiny secluded village of Wiston.
I once found very snug quarters for a week's holiday
at the Abbot's Farm, a queer, rambling old place,
where one can take things lazily after the worries of
London life. It is astonishing the amount of work
some of these farmers' wives get through in the
day — a long day, indeed, from 4 a.m. to 12 p.m.
Besides the laborious routine of the ordinary farm
and dairy labour, the good lady here occasionally had
to cater for a family of twelve, who came down for
the summer holidays, besides doing occasional outside
needlework.

Wiston makes a very good centre for exploring.
The great feature of the place itself is, of course,
Wiston House, an Elizabethan mansion much spoiled
by the insertion of plate-glass windows and other " im-
provements," mainly in the interior of the building.
Its great hall is a noble apartment, which has lost
much of its original character by injudicious restoration.

^31

old English Houses

One of the most elaborately carved stone fireplaces I
have ever seen is now placed on the outside of the
house, against a gable facing the garden.

In some respects, the exterior of Parham Hall
(a few miles to the west) is similar to Wiston, but
the entrance porch to the latter is far more
picturesque. The interior of Parham, however,
surpasses Wiston in regard to its oak carvings,
furniture, portraits, and armour — the last-named
collection, indeed, is world-famed. The great hall,
with a very fine screen, immortalises a visit from
Queen Elizabeth by her royal arms and quarterings
in stucco upon the roof, and a mural escutcheon
bearing her favourite motto. Semper eadem. Not
the least remarkable feature of this mansion is its
long gallery, close upon i6o feet in length. Here
beneath the flooring of one of the bays of a window
is a dismal hiding-hole, constructed in the days of
religious persecution. In many respects the long
gallery resembles that at Bramshill, a more magnifi-
cent pile built about the same time by an ancestor
of the present Lord Zouche of Parham ; but I shall
speak of this house when I go into the adjoining
county of Hampshire.

The genial steward, a splendidly built fellow,
232

KAST MASCALLS

p. 226

BROADHURST

'P.225

EAST MASCALLS i>. 226

i

Sussex

evidently took great pride in the old hall and park,
especially the latter, where the great primaeval oaks are
unrivalled. There is another Parham Hall in Suffolk,
a moated house, which is often confused with the
Sussex mansion.

The still more magnificent treasure-house of
Petworth, standing in its great park of at least
fourteen miles round, is some distance away to the
north-west. In contrast to the superb pictures and
oak carvings here, is the Georgian classic exterior, of
which perhaps the less said the better. Petworth
is one of those show-houses where you try to
keep pace with the housekeeper and absorb all the
miscellaneous genealogical information she unwinds,
like the famous handle pedigree at Hatfield.

There are two species of housekeeper, those who
really understand the complications of the family tree,
having made a hobby of it since they became 'part and
parcel of their surroundings ; and, secondly, those who
know nothing beyond a few set phrases learned off
parrot style. Should you get courage and the time
to interrogate, you will be singled out from the
flock of sightseers either- as a personal friend or
as a deadly enemy ; but in either case, you will be
worsted : for if you seek for extra information

233

old English Houses

from the former class of housekeeper, she will
involve you in such a complication of the marriages
of past generations — of the intricate relationships
between the fifth earl and the dowager countess,
and of the rightful and wrongful claims to the
estate of the step-children of the third wife of
the sixth earl, and so forth, that you will be glad
to escape into the fresh air to collect the tangled
thread of your thoughts. Whereas, on the other
hand, if you venture to cross-question the second
class of housekeeper, she will respond in such a way
that the rest of the party will look upon you as
one who wants too much for his money.

Who has not noticed in these show-house parties
that there is always somebody who entirely ignores
what the housekeeper has to say, and persistently lags
behind, and who has to be waited for as one enters each
separate apartment, ere that lady can commence her
oration ; noticed also the minute details that some of the
ladies of the party are anxious to extract relative to
the social functions of the living representatives of
the house ; noticed the bated breath with which " his
lordship" or "her grace" or "the Lady Susan" is
spoken about, and finally noticed how, among the
jingling of florins at parting, some of the party

234

Sussex

slide off and softly replace their coins in their
pockets ?

To see all the pictures at Petworth properly
would take at least half a dozen visits. What a
boon it would be were it possible (which of course
it cannot be) to take one's leisure here, as one may at
the unrivalled Wallace Collection.

Of the numerous Vandycks, an impression is left
on my memory of one particularly fine full-length
of Queen Henrietta Maria, in a blue dress and a
great black hat ; certainly one of the most pleasing
portraits I have ever seen of this rather vindictive
queen. The elaborate oak carvings by Gibbons,
which surround all the portraits in this particular
room, are as fine as, if not finer than, those of
Chatsworth. The light colour of the unvarnished
oak also adds materially to the colouring of the
paintings, quite as much as the dark setting of
cedar-wood sets off the Vandycks at Warwick
Castle.

Petworth town is very rich in curious bits of
architecture. The almshouse, of Queen Anne date,
is a curious, lofty brick building, containing a pretty
little staircase.

As is well known, the country between Haslemere,

^35

old English Houses

Midhurst, and Petworth presents some of the most
beautiful scenery in the south of England. Between
the latter two are many old houses, including the
famous ruins and walks of Cowdray. The road also
between Midhurst and Petersfield runs through some
delightful scenery, and that to the south of the
railway, running parallel with it, is even more attrac-
tive. Of the villages here I have the most pleasant
recollection of Harting, and of the old seat of the
Tankervilles, Up Park, the house that was built by
Ford, Lord Grey, that reckless companion of the weak,
handsome, ill-fated Duke of Monmouth.

A certain sad and romantic interest clings to
Up Park, for here the profligate Grey abducted
his sister-in-law from her father's house of the
Durdans, near Epsom, carrying her afterwards into
Holland, where he joined his luckless friend in the
ill-advised insurrection which cost the latter his
head.^ What became of Lady Henrietta Berkeley
nobody knows. There is no record of her interment
at Cranford, the burial-place of the Berkeley family,
or here.

I was trying to get a peep at the old house when
a clergyman, suddenly emerging from an entrance

1 Vide King Monmouth.
236

Sussex

into the park, kindly oiFered his services. I had
corresponded with this gentleman, and, seeing my
interest in the place, he asked whether we had not
exchanged letters, with the result that I was invited
to put up that night at the vicarage.

This courtesy I gladly accepted, and was taken
by my kind host first to see the mansion, and after-
wards, by a gradual descent down to the village,
through the most romantic winding road in the
heart of a forest of beech-trees. I shall never
forget the beautiful effect of the golden sunset
between the tracery of the fairy canopy of green.
My hospitable friend had a kind word for every one,
and I should imagine had a very practical way of
doing good.

Being a bachelor, his house was kept as a sort
of open establishment for his parishioners. In the
pretty grounds they came to amuse themselves or to
be instructed ; a contingent of school youngsters came
to tea once a week, and the specially favoured to
breakfast with their generous pastor. He gave up
his own pretty bedroom, as a matter of course, to a
stranger — a bedroom with a sunny outlook over the
meadows, so bright and so cheerful that to awake in
it in the morning was to rejoice and feel as light-

237

Old English Houses

hearted as the lark outside carrying his song up
to the sky. Everything seemed to heighten the
universal harmony of the scene, from the sleepy
"caw" of the passing rook to the distant tinkle of
the sheep bell.

It was Sunday morning, and I had to journey on
to Chichester. My host left me making preparations
for departure ; but no sooner had he gone in the
direction of his church than I noticed a strange com-
motion up in one of the apple-trees in the orchard,
a novel sight to me, namely a swarm of bees. I have
heard somewhere that it is an old custom in Sussex
before taking possession of a swarm to play them
a kind of impromptu tattoo on the warming-
pan. Why, I cannot say ; at any rate, as far as
I am aware, this was not the mode of procedure
here. I did not, however, wait to witness the
capture.

The main attraction towards Chichester lay in the
direction of Racton, to the west, and close upon the
border of Hampshire. Here in the church are some
good tombs to the Counter family, but their old house
has long since disappeared.

Nine years before Charles II. was restored to his
throne, Colonel Counter, of Racton, was one of the
238

Sussex

chief agents in getting the king safely out of the
country, after he had been wandering about for weeks
disguised, enduring terrible hardships. The loyal
colonel has left behind him a record of the im-
portant part he played in the drama — how Lord
Wilmot (the father of the witty and debauched poet)
came to his house one night ; how the colonel's wife
was mystified, and how, like most women, she suc-
ceeded in worming out the secret ; how also, after
a hundred strange incidents, he stood on the
beach near Shoreham watching Captain Tatter salFs
little craft, with its precious cargo, growing smaller
and smaller as it sailed merrily towards the coast of
France.^

Lordington House at Racton has not shared the
fate of its neighbour, the home of the Counters.
It is a plain-looking Stuart house, but its interior
contains some good panelled rooms and a wonderfully
fine oak staircase, with great monsters supporting
shields upon the various landings. The house was
occupied by cottagers, and the rooms were most of
them disused and in a terrible state of dust and
decay. At the bottom of a weed-grown garden were
the imposing piers of an entrance gate — picturesque,

1 Vide The Flight of the King,

239

old English Houses

but like the rest, fast crumbling into ruin. A house
like this, of course, must have its ghost. The old
elm avenue is said to be haunted by the spectral
form of a woman, with a band of red around
her throat, supposed to be the aged Countess of
Salisbury.

240

VII

SUI^r &> H^3ITSHI1{6

suiter &> H^MTSHITiS

BEFORE going into Hampshire, let us return
to East Grinstead and strike northwards into
the south-east corner of beautiful Surrey.
At this junction of the three counties — Sussex, Surrey,
and Kent — each may be seen at its best, more especially
as regards picturesque old houses. It would be diffi-
cult to find a stretch of country of more general
interest to the antiquary than that between Bidborough
and Westerham in Kent, and Horley in Surrey.
This will include some of the most perfect specimens
of half-timber in the south of England, such as the
houses near Bidborough and Penshurst churches,
Chiddingstone, and a remarkable specimen at Pound's
Bridge, which is now a roadside inn, but once upon
a time was a parsonage. Upon the front are the
initials of its original owner and the date 1593. The
village street of Chiddingstone stands unrivalled as a
picture. Such a complete row of ancient houses it

243

old English Houses

would be difficult to find anywhere else in England.
Of recent years it has been a favourite resort of artists,
whose easels in the summer time are posed in all
directions. At the back of the combination village
inn and butcher's shop is the "chiding stone/' but I
cannot recall its history.

At the historic houses of Penshurst and Hever,
close by, I think I got my earliest impressions of
an ancient mansion. Upon a recent visit to the
former I was struck by the comparatively small size
of its state apartments with what I had imagined
them to be. The youthful eye is certainly prone
to magnify. The old gallery — where stands that
queer old red and gold spinnet, and where hangs
that eccentric picture of Elizabeth and her favourite,
Leicester, cutting very high capers — looked strangely
stunted. I had imagined it to be full three times
its length. These fine old rooms are rich in
portraits of the sad-faced Sidneys, and if we would
add to their realism, we may find in the private
apartments innumerable locks of hair — of Sir Philip,
of the beautiful Sacharissa^ of Algernon and his
brother, the "handsome Sidney," who, according to
De Gramont's Memoirs^ played havoc with the
hearts of the fair and frail at the court of the
244

Surrey and Hampshire

restored Charles. By no means the least attraction
at Penshurst are the old gardens, with their trim
yew hedges, fishponds, fountains, and sundials, and
the terrace steps leading to Sacharissa's Walk, an
avenue of venerable limes. Here the handsome
Dorothy Sidney was wont to walk, as was the custom
of Dorothy Vernon on the romantic terrace of
Haddon, though Waller, the poet-admirer of the
former, got but little encouragement, whereas the
other love story terminated happily.

Great changes have taken place at Hever of recent
years. When I visited this perfect specimen of a
fortified manor house it was in the picturesque
unrestored condition of Haddon, time-worn and
lichen-coloured. So little disturbed was the ancient
character of the interior quadrangle that one could
almost imagine the stalwart figure of square-shouldered
Henry advancing beneath the portcullis, and the
beautiful Anne Boleyn crossing the courtyard to
welcome her royal lover. The romance of its early
association is a little destroyed when one remembers
that poor Anne Boleyn had not only to make way
for Anne of Cleeves, but that the second Anne was
granted the castle of her predecessor.

If the shade (a very substantial one) of the royal

24s

old English Houses

Tudor still lingers here when not engaged in revisiting
the abodes of his other loves, it must surely approve
the return of the original mode of approach, across
a thoroughly mediaeval looking drawbridge, approve
also the magnificent old furniture, more regal now
than ever it was before. But a sixteenth-century
ghost would probably stare more fixedly than usual
at the luxuriance of modern requirements to be found
within these solid stone walls, as well as in the
picturesque timber buildings on the further side of
the moat. Though the latter are, of course, additions,
one cannot but be struck by their beauty of design
and construction as compared with the majority of
modern mediaeval cottage architecture ; and when
one recalls the styles to be seen at Datchet and
countless other up-to-date villages, the contrast is still
more marked.

Another thing one has to be grateful for in the.
restoration of Hever is that a really interesting room
of one period has not been sacrificed so as to carry
up the roof of the hall to its original height, as is so
often done nowadays. The old ball-room at Hever
is one of its most characteristic features, and this
remains intact, I am glad to say ; not as I remember
it, quite bare with rough oak flooring, but sumptuous
246

Surrey and Hampshire

to a degree and adorned with most costly and beauti-
ful works of art.

Nearer to Edenbridge and Lingfield are the manor
houses of Crittenden, Puttenden, and Crowhurst
The first of these contains a very compact little
panelled hall, with a fixed settle running round the
room, and a good carved oak chimney-piece. At
the moated house of Crowhurst, Henry VIII. is
traditionally said to have planted a yew hedge upon
one of his occasional visits en route for Hever.
Some of the rooms here are lined round with
horizontal beams of oak, and there are fine oak ceilings
with fluted girders and joists. The hall has been
divided, but the original timber roof is intact. To
make a short cut from Lingfield to Puttenden, I was
sent across the fields and told to go straight ahead.
1 did so, but soon found further progress impeded by
,a high thorn hedge, though, after minute scrutiny, I
' discovered a stile in the corner of the meadow.
Once more I went straight ahead, and this time was
stopped by a river. When I had wandered along
its banks for about a mile looking for a crossing, and
in desperation was making preparations for wading,
I noticed the little foot-bridge in the distance, and,
crossing this, I soon found myself at Puttenden.

247

old English Houses

It may be very easy to go " straight ahead " when you
know the way. But some country folk are as lavish
with their minute directions as others are brief.
You are told to go by Mr. Giles's farm, and round
by Mr. Snooks's paddock, and keep the spinney to
the left, and you will find a gate, and so on. ^You
follow these instructions, as far as you are able, to
the letter, and you discover three gates. Then, if a
large tree, or a gap in the trees, has been pointed
out as a landmark, can one ever keep that landmark
in sight in the windings and turnings you have to
take to get to it ? Perhaps those who have the
bump of locality well defined are more successful
than myself in such matters.

The old manor house of Puttenden had recently
fallen into good hands. Its possessor was restoring
it in admirable taste ; not only was he superin-
tending the work, but he was himself busily engaged in
the carpentering department. I wish every old house
had the good fortune to fall into such sympathetic
hands. The hall is a noble apartment, with a roof of
prodigious oak beams, and one of the largest and finest
Tudor chimney-pieces to be found for miles around,
bearing the arms of the former possessors. .

Another fine old timber manor house is Block-

48

POKCH HOUSK, CHIDDINGSTONE p. 243

HEVER CASTLE

1 r'

^^^sfiSMBBBBSgg^^ ttdL__L U

CRITTENDEN

p. 247

Surrey and Hampshire

field, a few miles to the south ot Puttenden, which
externally is more picturesque than any of the
foregoing. It is moated, and the architecture points
to the latter part of the fifteenth century. The
plaster beneath the eaves of the roof h coved, like
that of the old house at Harrietsham, and there
remains on one side of the entrance door a curious
oak buttress, which was evidently balanced by a
companion on the opposite side. There is herring-
bone brickwork between the timber beams, and on
one side of the house is the original (but now
blocked up) fifteenth-century bay window. The door-
ways, back and front, are large in comparison to the
house, and presumably were added in the seventeenth
century. The farmer in occupation was on the
eve of leaving, both on account of the bad times
generally and the isolated position of the house, for
it stands a long way off the high road ; but in com-
parison to The Moat at Gravetye I think I should
prefer premature burial here of the two.

There is another old house close to Lingfield,
which, as I remember it some years ago, before the
railway got there, was as perfect a little Jacobean
stone-gabled manor house as one could wish to
see. But now in place of the diamond-paned case-

249

old English Houses

ments are those terrible plate-glass windows, and a
charming entrance gate has been taken out of the
garden wall and now forms the entrance door to the
house. This gateway may be seen in its original
position in the pathetic picture by Seymour Lucas,
"For the King and the Cause," a wounded cavalier
brought upon a litter for succour to some mansion
in the vicinity of Edgehill.

The old Guest Hall near Lingfield church has
recently been carefully restored, and the original
doorways and windows opened out. There are many
other old houses here, but since the railway has
arrived the village is assuming quite a suburban ap-
pearance. The old stone lock-up and an older obelisk
adjoining it, however, have been suffered to remain.

Among the monuments in the church is the
recumbent cffi-gy of the knight Sir Reginald of Ster-
burgh, which gives one a good idea of the costumest
and armour of the fourteenth century. The brasses
are also fine, and there are stalls with carved miserere
seats, a chained Bible, and an old helmet surmounted
by a crest of a bird.

Another fine old stone Tudor house with a good
interior is Smallfield Place, near the village of Home,
to the west of Lingfield.
250

Surrey and Hampshire

Farther south-west, below Ockley and near the

' Sussex border, are Osbrook, Bonnets, and King's Farms

— three remarkably picturesque old farmsteads, with

I gable ends, clustered chimney-stacks, oriel windows,

overhanging stories, cosy porches — in fact, everything

that is in keeping.

The description of Baynard's Hall in one of Hone's
books — the Tear Book^ I think — surely must have
, sent many lovers of picturesque old houses in quest
of it. I for one went down to Rudgwick, and as far
as beautiful country went, I was quite content, but
was greatly disappointed in Baynards. It had been
restored and "improved" at a time when restoration
and " improvement '* meant ruin.

The neighbourhood of Godalming and Guildford
abounds in ornamental timber houses such as one
sees in Cheshire and Shropshire. In the manor
houses of Bramley and Great Tangley is that
circular timber pattern of ornamentation which has
so pleasing an effect. In the by-lanes hereabouts
are several such. The stately mansions of Loseley
and Sutton Place are, of course, two of the most
interesting buildings in the county. The exterior
of Loseley fell as short of my expectations as
that of Sutton exceeded them. The rich colour

251

old English Houses

and ornamentation of the terra-cotta front of
Sutton is superb. In my opinion it is the slate
roof of Losely which spoils it. With those
large slabs of stone so common in the county the
effect would be quite different. The drawing-room,
with its elaborately carved Elizabethan fireplace,
pendant ceiling, and stained glass, is a gorgeous
apartment. There is a drawing of it in Nash's
Mansions. Among the portraits of the More and
Molineux families are some of historical interest, that
of Anne Boleyn, for instance, which may originally
have come from her former home at Hever. In the
gardens is a long raised terrace, with an old-fashioned
flower-bed running its entire length, and one of those
little pavilions or music-houses at the end, where
perchance many soft nothings have been pleaded by
faithful and faithless swains.

Alfold, Dunsfold, and Chiddingfold to the south of
Godalming, and near the border of Sussex, are, or
were ten years ago, quite old-world villages, and they
abound in half-timber and Sussex-tiled cottages. The
Crown Inn at the last may be specified as a good
example. But Chiddingfold has within the last few
years developed rapidly, and " desirable residences " I
hear are springing up like mushrooms. The stocks
252

Surrey and Hampshire

and whipping-post at Alfold are similar to those at
White Waltham, in Berkshire, of which I have already
made mention. We are here in a country o^ folds y
as we were among the dens in Kent. There is Padding-
fold, Polingfold, Frithfold, Upfold, and all other kinds
of folds. Burningfold, like Bramley and Tangley, has
the pretty circular timber ornamentation in its gable
ends.

As regards Hampshire, my impressions are very
limited. Of its principal beauty, the New Forest, I
have but a vague recollection of lovely sylvan glades and
noble avenues, for a friend carried me through it in
a racing-car at a speed I must hesitate to name. There
appeared to be some very attractive old villages, places
where one would like a little breathing space for ex-
ploration. But when cars were a novelty the distance
to be covered in a given time was the main thing, con-
sequently the head of one village appeared to be tacked
on to the tail of the next. My remarks must, there-
fore, be confined to a few places between Eversley in
the north-east of the county, Winchester, and Ems-
worth in the south-east.

The first mentioned of these boundary points, so
famous for its Charles Kingsley associations, is the
most beautifully situated old village, but the raptures

253

old English Houses

of my first impression were sadly damped as, after
a long cycle run from the north of London, I was
unable to get a bed there as I had wished. As I
was equally unfortunate at the village of Bramdean
on the night following, I naturally came to the con-
clusion that if one wants to get a night's lodging
in Hampshire, elsewhere than in the village lock-up,
it would be as well not to fix beforehand upon
any definite spot, and in any case previously to
write and charter a bed. Where I did eventually
succeed in finding a resting-place, at the nearest
point to Eversley, was at a fashionable hotel near
the Wellington College at Sandhurst, situated in a
lovely spot and literally buried in rhododendrons.

My introduction to Emsworth was on the evening
of a hot July day, one of those glorious evenings
about half an hour before the sun sinks behind
the horizon, when everything is tinged with the
soft red light. The most commonplace bit of road
is a picture at such a time, and I recollect I often
halted to enjoy the colour of things which under
ordinary circumstances would have no attraction
whatever. An ordinary tarred five-barred gate leading
into a hayfield with a high thorn hedge by it, and
a prodigious growth of nettles, does not sound as
254

Surrey and Hampshire

if it could be beautiful under any aspect, still, I
remember being struck by the wonderful harmony
of colours of this combination. The black gates
under the influence of the setting sun had the rich
colouring of the bloom on a damson, the dusty
sandy road had the delicate pink of a sea-shell, the
young shoots of the thorn hedge were so many
spikes of gold relieved by the nettles, which were
now purple. Above all, a huge poppy shone a
flame of scarlet against a distant hill of deep blue.
Possibly this attempt at description may read
ridiculously, but I remember trying to analyse the
colours upon the spot, so as to account for the har-
monious results. What are the pleasures of the
whole day in a long summer's ride compared with
the last half-hour before the sun dips down !

Had I been more sensible and practical, I should
not thus have wasted my time, but sought a resting-
place for the night ; for, after all, it is unreasonable
to suppose that any good housewife would feel inclined
to prepare an extra bed when the majority of country
folk are thinking of turning in. One most inviting-
looking old hostelry, all gable ends and cosy corners,
had, alas ! abandoned itself to a local feast of some sort,
and was up to the ears — or chimneys, rather — with

25s

old English Houses

noisy revellers, who oozed out of every window
from roof to cellar. The brass band, of course,
was there in full force, and on the village green were
cocoanut shies, shooting galleries, roundabouts which
played feverish waltzes by steam, and many another
village fair amusement. I did not wait long enough
to notice whether they ran to " a fat woman " or "a
living skeleton," nor did I seek for lodgings, but,
hastening to another inn at an adjoining hamlet,
asked if I could be accommodated there. The land-
lord seemed willing enough, but his buxom spouse
scoffed at the idea. "You'll get a bed at the
Wellington Hotel," said she, "and you'll have to
pay for it." Well, that was only natural. "People
who expect to get a bed this time o' night," she
continued, "can't get one for nothing^ That was
also true enough, but I question if they could even
if they applied for one in the middle of the day.

Many pilgrims, of course, go to Eversley for its
Kingsley associations, and much has been written
about that great writer's home and country pursuits.
My object in coming here was less to worship at
that shrine than to see the wonders of grand old
Bramshill House ; so next morning I returned to
Eversley Common, and, taking a road through a
256

p. 251

ili!'BBS#

Wi

UL,D iiUUfeK, Ai^i'OKD

P.^rl2

BLOCKFIKLU

p. :^-iS

Surrey and Hampshire

forest of magnificent Scotch firs — the finest in
England, or Scotland either for that matter — I soon
came to the moss-grown garden wall, with a little
recess for seats, and Jacobean ornaments aloft, the
most delightful of resting-places.

There is something about the exterior of Brams-
hill which surpasses almost any other old mansion
I have ever seen, but whether the greater charm
lies in its colour or picturesque architecture, I cannot
say. Along the eastern side, facing the smoothest
of bowling greens, is a raised terrace with stone
balustrade and alcoves at either end, something in
the style of that at Ham House, near Petersham.
Each wing, courtyard, or quadrangle has some
peculiarity about a gable, bay window, or porch,
and of these the west front is the most remarkable
— a curious combination of Jacobean, Grecian, and
Gothic ornamentation.

The interior of the mansion is quite in keeping
with its exterior. The old rooms have, many of
them, huge black marble chimney-pieces running up
to the ceilings, carved oak wainscoting, tapestry, and
portraits of the Copes for generations past. There
is also an old chapel, and a long gallery running the
entire length of the building. The present owner,

R 257

old English Houses

Sir Anthony Cope, like his forefathers, delights in
his ancestral home, and will allow no restorations
but such as are absolutely necessary, and these are
executed with the tenderest care, so it is impossible
to detect where the old work has been renovated.
The general appearance of the interior of Bramshill
reminds one of that most perfect of old halls. Hard-
wick, in Derbyshire. The exterior of the latter may,
perhaps, be more imposing, but in regard to colour
there is no comparison, for a house of mellowed
red brick will always compare favourably against one
of stone.

Odiham, to the south, and Old Basing, to the
south-east of Eversley, are both picturesque. By
way of extensive heaths of purple heather and velvety
turf, you strike into the road which runs between
Bagshot and Basingstoke, and take another road
running at right angles to the south. The rectory
house of Odiham is a pretty old house, and, I am
informed by the son of a late rector, contains a
ghost, which his mother has frequently seen. Un-
fortunately, I was somewhat tied for time here, and
had to content myself with a passing glance at the
old houses, and at the parish stocks, which stand
intact. I believe as recently as 1872 a man was
258

I

Surrey and Hampshire

placed in the stocks at Newbury, in Berkshire, for
drunkenness, although the punishment had fallen into
disuse some forty years before.

Anybody travelling down the South-Western line
must have noticed how pretty Old Basing looks from
the railway, and I have known many people who,
from this appetising glimpse, have got out at Basing-
stoke to explore the village. The interest, of course,
is centred in the scanty remains of the old castle,
or "house," so gallantly defended by the royalist
Marquis of Winchester against the Parliamentary
forces in 1643 and 1644. The starving garrison
received temporary relief from Colonel Gage, who
made a desperate and successful sally to take in pro-
visions. With the zeal of a true Cavalier, the old
Marquis swore he would hold out even if his house
was the last to stand for the king ; but Cromwell
at length arrived in person, and his invincible Iron-
sides were not long before they carried the day,
with booty, it is said, to the value of ;^200,ooo,
leaving behind only a smouldering mass of ruins.
Among the later Paulets interred at Basing was the
beautiful Countess of Bolton, the illegitimate daughter
of the handsome Duke of Monmouth, to whom she
bore a striking resemblance.

259

old English Houses

From Old Basing I went to Winchester, of all
the cathedral cities one of the most picturesque ; but
I was somewhat disappointed in the old buildings
around the close, after those of Salisbury. Apart
from the cathedral and the famous hospital of
St. Cross, I think I was best pleased with a quaint
line of ancient houses along the side of the river.
When I revisited Winchester a few months later, I
was sadly disappointed to find that one of these, with
delicate carved oak tracery of the fifteenth century,
had been demolished.

Winchester was a favourite resort of the court
of Charles II., where, had that monarch lived longer,
he would have completed a royal palace. His
favourites, Gwyn and Portsmouth, judging by con-
temporary gossip, very properly were housed outside
the precincts. When at Winchester the king was
a frequent visitor to Avington, an old mansion some
miles to the north-east of the city — a classic-looking
structure, the oldest part of which is now centred in
and around the stables. The old banqueting-hall,
that used to resound with the revelries of the Merry
Monarch and the select few whom he chose for
his companions, was afterwards converted into a
greenhouse or conservatory, but now has entirely
260

Surrey and Hampshire

disappeared. The king's hostess was the abandoned
Countess of Shrewsbury, the notorious woman who,
according to Horace Walpole, disguised as a page,
is said to have held Buckingham's horse while that
nobleman had a duel with her husband, in which
the latter was slain.^ I remember having seen among
the Peel heirlooms, dispersed some years ago, a very
curious portrait of this lady as Minerva. The picture
originally came from Avington, whence it was removed
to princely Stowe, and thence to Drayton. Now, I
fear, it has gone for ever, probably to America. It is
a great pity it could not have been purchased back
for its original home. Away from its associations,
surely it has lost all its romantic interest, and is merely
now an example of Lely's art.

Jack Talbot, the son of the victim of Bucking-
ham's sword, was also fated to meet his death
in the same way, falling in the duel with the son
of his mother's royal guest, the first Duke of Grafton,
who was Charles II. 's son by the Duchess of
Portsmouth. Charles Talbot, the heir to Avington,
dying without issue, the estate devolved upon his
mother's son by a second marriage. The fate of
this son was especially tragic, and, though perhaps
^ Vide The Memoirs of the Count de Gramont.

261

old English Houses

less savouring of romance, had more heroism about
it. In his vain attempts to save a favourite dog
from drowning in Avington lake, the old gentleman
got beyond his depth and was drowned.

I may mention that Pope's well-known allusion
to the association of the Duke of Buckingham's
riverside seat, Cliveden, with the Countess of
Shrewsbury, must not be accepted as fact ; for that
house was only in course of erection at the time
she married her second husband in 1680. So much
for the old memories of Avington.

On my way from here to Bramdean (which lies
about midway between Petersfield and Winchester),
I passed through Tichborne, a village whose name
will always be familiar in this country. A quiet,
cheerful little place it seemed to be. The unpre-
tentious inn — the Tichborne Arms, I think was
its name — had a particularly homely aspect, and was
kept by an equally homely hostess, who had many
stories to recount in connection with the famous
trial.

As I have said before, I wanted to put up at
Bramdean, but arriving there late was not successful,
and had to go on to West Meon. Returning
next morning, I visited the manor house of Wood-
262

Surrey and Hampshire

cote, and had the fortune to be conducted round the
old house by its then owner, the famous physician and
etcher, the late Sir Seymour Haden. Among other
things of interest he showed me a room full of his
etchings, which he said would at his decease find a
home in the British Museum. Woodcote is a com-
pact little red-brick gabled house, but does not boast
any particular architectural beauty. Various altera-
tions have, I grieve to say, swept away all signs of
some curious hiding-places which were once to be
seen.

Warnford and Hambledon are both very pretty
villages, situated far away from any railway in a
stretch of thoroughly rural England. Titchfield,
some ten miles nearer the coast, is worth a visit to
see the ruinous house to which Charles I. fled after
his escape from Hampton Court, and prior to his
captivity at Carisbrooke. The gate-house is practically
all that now remains of this once extensive mansion ot
the Earls of Southampton. Ringwood and Fording-
bridge belong to the extreme west of this county.
These favourite resorts of the angler impressed me
mainly with the beauty of the winding river Avon.
The former place I visited on account of its proximity
to Moyles Court, which is associated with sad

263

old English Houses

memories of the good Lady Lisle, who, for her com-
passion in housing two wretched fugitives from the
field of Sedgemoor, was condemned by the inhuman
Jeffreys to be burned at the stake. The trial of the
lady is a remarkable record of the licence of brutality of
the bench at the latter part of the seventeenth century.
The old house was saved some years ago from falling
into ruin and oblivion : as it appears now, however, it
bids fair for a long and prosperous future, notwith-
standing the fact that the portrait of Jeffreys reigns
supreme at the old house of his unfortunate victim.

At Ringwood a halt was made when Monmouth
was brought a captive up to London after Sedgemoor.
The room in the inn where he slept may still be
seen.

We cannot quit the county without a word about
Carisbrooke. I have visited the famous castle upon
two occasions, once when I was five and again com-
paratively lately. It is strange how one's impressions
at an early age are recalled ; particularly by the well
and the donkey (the latter a successor, but only by a
few years) and the huge flight of steps up to the
keep.

Walking on the broad ramparts or the soft turf
of the bowling-green, one can picture the unfortunate
264

>

Surrey and Hampshire

Stuart weary of solitude, and glad to converse with
the little old man who used to come and light his fire.
Picture also the poor king's little daughter on her
death-bed, looking forward to the reunion with her
father, who so recently had occupied the adjoining room.
It was, indeed, the refinement of cruelty to have kept
her in this castle.

265

if

i:^(p8x

ABINGDON, 84, 86
Abingdon, Mrs, 156
Acton (Kent), 196
Adderbury House, 97, loi
Albourn, 228
Aldbury, 109
Aldermaston, 155
Alfold, 252
Allington, 207
Amersham, 39-43
Ampthill, 1 16
Anne of Cleves, 245
Appleton, 87
Argall family, 202
Ascott-under-Wychwood, 96
Ashby family, 138
Ashridge Park, 109-III
Asthall, 92
Aston Bury, 122, 128
Aubrey, 64
Audley End, 147
Avington, 260
Aylesbury, 58
Aylesford, 207

BACON, Francis, Lord, 132-
Badlesmere, 172
Bard, Dudley, 123
Batemans, Burwash, 217
Bathurst, first Earl, 2 1
Beaconsfield, 35-38

Beale, Mary, 124

Bearsted, 182

Beckington Hall, 155

Bedford, John first Duke of, 135

B ceding, 229

Belhus, 156-159

Benenden, 212

Bent, William, 42

Berkeley, Lady Henrietta, 236

Bexon, 184

Biddenden, 212

Blackmore, 154

Blenheim, 97, 99

Blockfield, 248

Blount family, 83

Boarstall Tower, 63-66

Bodley, G. F., 19

Bolebrook, 218

Boleyn, Anne, 26, 245, 252

Boleyn, Sir Thomas, 153

Bolton, Countess of, 259

Bonnets, 251

Borden, 186

Boughton Malherbe, 197-200

Boughton Monchelsea, 205

Bowyer, William, 17

Braddocks, 149

Bramber, 229

Brambletye House, 221

Bramley, Guildford, 251

Bramshill House, 256

267

Index

Bray, -j-j

Bredgar, 183

Bridgefoot, Iver, 18

Broadhurst, 225

Bromfield, 195

Broughton Castle, loi

Bruce, Lord, Earl of Ailesbury,

114, 115
Bulstrode Park, 47
Burford, 92-95
Burke, Edmund, 38
Burnet, Bishop, 37, 97, 98
Burnham Abbey, 22, 34
Burningfold, 253
Burwash, 217

CALICO, The, 167-169, 172,
174
Canons Ashby, 104

Capel, Lord, 150

Casslobury, 129, 130, 131, 132,
150

Castlemaine, Lady. See Cleveland,
Duchess of

Carisbrooke Castle, 264

Catharine of Aragon, 116

Cavendish Lord, Earl of Devon-
shire, 135

Cedar House, Hillingdon, 140

Chalfont St. Giles, 27, 43-45

Chalfont St. Peter, 46, 47

Champion Court, Newnham, 169

Charing, 195

Charity House, The, Lenham, 1 90

Charles L, 49, 60, 135, 140,
263

Charles H., 98, 130, 148, 230,
238

Charmouth, 230

Chelmsford, 152

Chenies, 134, 1 35

Chequers, The, Doddington, 173

268

Chequers, The, Uxbridge, 141

Chevening, 158

Chiddingfold, 252

Chiddingstone, 243

Chiffinch, William, 'J'j

Chipperfield, 132

Christ's Hospital, Abingdon, 86

Claydon, 53

Cleveland, Duchess of, ']^, 78, 98,

130, 157
Clifford, Lord, of Chudleigh, 55
Clophill, 116
Colnbrook, 23
Compton Wynyates, 103
Cooper, Samuel, 130
Cope family, 257
Court Farm, Kingsdown, 173
Court Lodge, Yalding, 209
Cowdray, 236
Cranbrook, 21 1
Creslow, 54-57
Crittenden, 247
Cromwell, Oliver, 21, 85, 221
Cromwell, Thomas, 85
Crowhurst, 247
Crown Inn, Amersham, 41
Crown Inn, Chiddingfold, 252
Crown Inn, Uxbridge, 141
Cuckfield Place, 223
Culpepper family, 181
Curwen, Lady Isabella, 42

DACRE, Lennard, Lord, 157
Dacre, Thomas, Lord. See
Sussex, Earl of
Danny, Hurstpierpoint, 228
Darell family, 197
Daunce, Sir John, 62
Davington, 165
Day, Sir Thomas, '](i
Dayrell, Sir Marmaduke, 48
De Champion family, 169

Ind

ex

Deddington, 207

Delaune family, 169

De Lazure family, 64

Denham, 50-52

Derby, fifth Countess of, 137

Dering family, 196

Dillon, Viscount, 98

Dinton, 59

Ditchley Park, 97-99

Ditchling, 228

Ditton Park, 28

Doddington, 172

Dorchester, 85

Dorney, ']']

D orton, 62

Dunsfold, 252

Dynham, Lady, 65

E

ASTBURY, 156, 157
Eastgate House, Rochester,

.36

East Grinstead, 220

Eastling, 172

East Mascalls, 225, 226

East Peckham, 208

East Sutton, 201-203

Eddlesborough, 112

Egerton, 197

Elizabeth, Queen, lio, iii, 125,

132, 136, 153, I99» 232
Elmley, 166
Emsworth, 254
Essex, Earl of, 1 3 1, 132
Evelyn, John, 129, 153
Eversley, 253
Ewelme, 84, 86

FAIRFAX, Lord, 63, 65, 150
Falkland, Lord, 95
Fanshawe, Lady, 65
Farnham Royal, 34
Faversham, 163, 164

Fawsley, 106
Peering, 155
Feldwicke family, 222
Fettiplace family, 76
Filmer family, 202
Finchden, Tenterden, 212
Flaunden, 135
Fleetwood, Colonel, 47
Foster, Mrs, 27
Framlingham, 29
Froissart, 166
Fritwell, 99
F'ulmer, 48

G

AGE, Colonel, 259
Gaunt House, Standlake,

George Inn, Uxbridge, 141

Gerrards Cross, 16

Godfrey House, Hollingbourne,

181
Godington, 196
Good Easter, 151
Gorhambury, 129, 130, 132
Goudhurst, 210
Gounter family, 238
Grafton, Duke of, 261
Grafton Green, 198
Gravetye, 223
Great Tangley, 251
Green Street, 187, 225
Gregories, Beaconsfield, 38
Grenfell, Lieutenant, 37
Grey, Ford, Lord, 236
Griffin Inn, Amersham, 43
Grimston, Lady Anne, 129
Grove, The, Watford, 129, 130
Grove End Farm, Tunstall, i 86
Guest Hall, Lingfield, 250
Gwyn, Nell, -]-], 123, 149, 152,

260

269

Index

HADEN, Sir Seymour,
263
Hadley Common, 90
Hales family, i86
Hall Barn, 37
Hampton Gay, 99
Harefield, 135-138
Hardwick House, 84
Harrietsham, 192
Harrington, Sir James, 139
Harris, Richard, 188
Harting, 236
Hartwell, 58
Hatfield, 129, 147
Headcorn, 200
Hearne, Thomas, 76
Hedgerley, 35
Henry VIII., 26, 1 5 3, 245,

247
Hever Castle, 26, 152, 244-

247
High Eastei:, 151
Hill House, Denham, 50
Hilliard, Nicholas, 132
Hillingdon, 140
Hindlip Hall, 156
HocklifFe, 112, 1 14
Hoddesdon, 152
Holland, Cornelius, 5 5
Hollingbourne, 163, 179-182
Holmshurst, Burwash, 217
Horeham Hall, Thaxted, 150
Home, 250
Horsmonden, 210
Horton, 27

Houghton Conquest, 114
Hucking, 182
Hulse family, 169
Huntercombe, 33
Huntsmoor, 17
Hurley, 80
Hurstpierpoint, 227
270

I

CKENHAM, 139
Ickwell, 155
Tver, 20

JAMES II., 37, 132
Jeffreys, Judge, 47
Jericho House, Blackmore, 154
Jordans, 46

family,

KEDERMINSTER
28, 29, 30
Kemp family, 151
Killigrews, 154
Kingsdown, 173
Kingsdown peerage, 178
Kirby, Northants, 226
Knebworth, 123, 13 1
Kneller, Godfrey, 132

LADY Place, 81
Langley, Bucks, 28, 30-32
Langley, Kent, 194
Latimers, 135
Layer Marney, 154
Leaveland, 172
Lee, Sir Henry, 98
Leeds Castle, 192
Lely, Sir Peter, 98, 124, 261
Lenham, 164, 188-192
Lenthall, Speaker, 94, 95
Lichfield, Countess of, 98
Lindfield, 227
Lingfield, 249
Linsted, 158, 175
Lisle, Sir George, 150
Lisle, Lady, 264
Littleberries, 152
Little Chart, 197
Little Gaddesden, ill
Little Hadham, 150
Little Leighs Priory, 152
Little Shardeloes, 42

Index

Long Wittenham, 85
Lordington House, Racton, 239
Loseley, 251
Lovelace, third Lord, 8 1
Lower Gravenhurst, 117
Lower Winchendon, 60—62
Lucas, Sir Charles, 150
Ludgate Farm, 177

MALLETT, Mistress, 141
Mailing, 207
Mapledurham, 82
Marden, 210
Margaretting, 154
Mary, Queen, iii, 153
Maydeston, Sir William, 200
Mayne, Simon, 60
Mazarin, Duchess of, 158
Mereworth, 208
Milton, John, senior, 27
Milton, John, 27, 38, 43, 137
Milton, Sarah, 27
Minster Lovel, 91
Moat, The, Gravetye, 223
Moat-in-den, 201
Monk, Dukes of Albemarle, 153
Monmouth, Duke of, 81, 112, 113,

114, 130, 236, 259, 264
Monteagle, Lord, 156
Moor Hall, 138

Moot Hall, The, Thaxted, 149
Moyles Court, Ringwood, 263
Moyns, 151
My tens, Daniel, 132

NEWDIGATE family, 138
Newenden, 211
New Hall, Chelmsford,

152, 153
Newnham, 167, 169, 174
Newport, Essex, 149
Newsells House, Hens, 145-147

Ninfield, 90
Norreys family, 75
Northmoor, 88
Norton, 188
Norton family, 226

OARE, 165
Oat Hall, Wivelsfield, 227
Ockwells, 22, 70-76
Odiham, 258
Offham Green, 207
Oglethorp, Colonel, 131
Old Basing, 258

Old House at Home^ Benenden, 212
Old King's Head, Aylesbury, 58
Old Place, Lindfield, 227
Osbrook, 251
Ospringe, 166

Ostrich Inn, Colnbrook, 23, 24
Over Gravenhurst, 117

PALMER, Mrs. Barbara. See
Cleveland, Duchess of
Parham Hall, 232
Parlem Park (Parlaunt), 21
Parsonage Farm, Langley, 22, 31
Pattenden, 210
Paulet family, 259
Pembroke, Countess of, 115
Penn, 39

Penn, William, 39, 46
Penshurst, 244

Pepys, Samuel, 17, 78, 129, 139
Percival, Lord, 38
Petworth, 233
Philberts, ']']
Pigott, Benjamin, 118
Place Farm, 26
Pluckley, 1 96

Portsmouth, Duchess of, 260, 261
Pump Farm, Benenden, 212
Puttenden, 248

271

Index

0

UAINTON, 54
Queen Hoo Hall, 125, 128

R ACTON, 238
Rawdon House, Hoddes-
don, 152
Reynolds, Sir Joshua, 38
Richings Park, Iver, 2 1
Ringwood, 264

Rochester, Earl of, 96, 97, 141
Rochford Hall, Essex, 153
Rodmersham, 187
Rolleston Farm, Rolvenden, 212
Roper family, 176
Rupert, Prince, 123
Rushett, 188
Russell family, 135

SACKVILLE College, East
Grinstead, 220
St. Leonard's Castle, 208
Salter, Lady, 21

Saracen's Head, Beaconsfield, 35
Sarratt, 132

Savoy, The, Denham, 52
Scales family, 147
Scott, Sir Gilbert, 20, 37
Sedley, Sir Charles, 136
Seed Farm, Eastling, 172
Sentleger, Sir Ralph and Lady, 200
Shakespeare, William, 136
Shardeloes, 41, 42
Sharsted Court, 169
Shillington, 119
Shipton-under-Wychwood, 96
Shottesbrooke, 76
Shrewsbury, Countess of, 261
Sidney, Algernon, 244
Sidney, Lady Dorothy (Sacharissa),

245
Sidney, Sir Philip, 1 1 5, 244

272

Silsoe, 116
Sittingbourne, 187
Slapton, 104-106
Slaugham Place, Sussex, 1 1 5
Smallfield Place, Home, 250
Smarden, 212
Spains Hall, 151
Spelmonden, 210
Spilsbury, 96
Standlake, 88
Stanley, 21, 137
Stanton Harcourt, 88, 89
Stede family, 192
Sterburgh, Sir Reginald, 250
Steyning, 231
Stondon Massey, 91
Strawberry Hill, 47
Sutton Courtney, 85
Sutton Place, Guildford, 251
Sutton Valence, 201
Sussex, Earl of, 157, 158
Sussex, Countess of, 157, 158
Swakeleys, 139
Swan Inn, Amersham, 42
Swan Inn, Charing, 196

TALBOT family, 261
Tankerville family, 236
Tanners, 218
Tenterden, 212
Tewin, 125, 128
Teynham family, 187
Teynham, 187
Thaxted, 149
Thorney Farm, 21
Throwley, 172
Tichborne, 262
Titchfield, 263
Tittenhanger, 129
Toddington Place, 112, 114
Tolleshunt d'Arcy, 155
Tolleshunt Knights, 155

Ind

ex

Tolleshunt Major, 155^

Tollsey, The, Burford, 93, 149

Tonge, 187

Torry Hill, 178

Treaty House, Uxbridge, 140, 141

Tunstall, 186

Twissenden, 210

ULCOMB, 200
Up Park, 236
Upton Court, 33

VANDYKE, Anthony, 132,
235
Verney family, 53
Villiers, George, Duke of Bucking-
ham, 132, 152

WAKEHURST, 222
Waldron, 218
Waller, Edmund, 35, 37,
38, 245
Walter, Lucy, 124
Walpole, Horace, 47
Waltham Cross, 152
Water Eaton, 99
Watford, 129

Wentworth, Baroness, of Todding-
ton, 81, 112, 113, 115

West Hoathley, 221

West Hyde, 135

White Hart Inn, Beaconsfield, 35

White Horse Inn, Hockliffe, 114

White Waltham, 76

Wickens, 196

Wilmot family, 97

Wimbish, 149

Winchester, 260

Winchester, Marquis of, 259

Windrush, 91

Winwood family, 28

Wiston, 231

Witney, 91

Wivelsfield, 227

Woburn, 1 16

Woodcote, West Meon, 262

Wood Eaton, 99

Woodstock Park. See Blenheim

Wraysbury, 26, 27

Wrest Park, 116

Wroxton Abbey, loi

ALDING, 209

'OUCHE, Lord, 232

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