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ROUND ABOUT
THE UPPER THAMES
BY THE SAME AUTHOR
A WILTSHIRE VILLAGE
A Study of English Rural Life
The Reader's Library. Crown 8vo, 5s. net
VILLAGES OF THE WHITE HORSE
The Reader's Library. Crown 8vo, 5s. net
LIFE IN A RAILWAY FACTORY
The Reader s Library. Crown 8vo, 5s. net
" Mr. Williams puts into words what he
sees as well as he can ; and since he is
a born observer with a gift of words and
a love of truth, and since his subject is
real life, the result is admirable."
The Times.
DUCKWORTH & CO., 3 Henrietta St., W.C. 2
//". Dennis Moss, Cirencester]
The Round House, and Junction of the Coin with the upper Thames, near Lechlade.
[Frontispiece]
k ROUND ABOUT
THE UPPER THAMES
BY
ALFRED WILLIAMS
AUTHOR OF "A WILTSHIRE VILLAGE"
"VILLAGES OF THE WHITE HORSE"
SONGS IN WILTSHIRE" "POEMS IN WILTSHIRE'
ETC. ETC.
WITH FOUR PHOTOGRAPHS AND A MAP
LONDON
DUCKWORTH & CO.
3 HENRIETTA STREET, COVENT GARDEN
First Published in 1Q22
All Rights Reserved
TO
REUBEN AND LOU
IN MEMORY OF
MANY PLEASANT EVENINGS
SPENT TOGETHER IN THE VILLAGE
WITH THE FLOWERS AND BIRDS
AND THE OLD FOLKS
Oft, as we waited for the nightingale,
We passed the peaceful hours with jocund tale,
Till all Heaven's starry eyes beamed in the blue,
And the young rose drank deep the fragrant dew ;
Then through the scented dusk you stole away
Like Youth, light-hearted on a holiday.
PREFACE
THE following chapters were written in the
early part of 1914, and were serialised in the
Wilts and Gloucestershire Standard in 1915. Since
then many changes have taken place, which must
have a permanent effect upon the life of the country-
side. At the same time, such changes are not entirely
radical. Work and wages are the principal things
affected ; the fundamental spirit remains much the
same as formerly.
There had already been a decay of village folklore
and tradition. The discontinuance of farm festivals
and fairs had much to do with this. They had pro-
vided the people with convenient means of asso-
ciation. The ballad-singers with their bundles of
broadsides, travelling players, in fact any who could
tell a good story and provide entertainment at the
inns never failed to attend, and were listened to by
an appreciative audience. By the process of natural
development, or evolution, that condition of things
came to an end, and none now wish to see it restored.
It had its evils ; I nevertheless imagine that rural
characteristics were stronger and sturdier, and the
8 PREFACE
village provided better physical material than it
does to-day. When the smallholder tilled his land
with the breast-plough, and the hook and the scythe
did the work of the mowing and reaping machines,
and the threshing was done with flails, the exertions
conduced to make men tough and muscular. This
accounted for the astonishing number of healthy, aged
men throughout the Thames villages, some of whom
followed their occupations and did useful work to
the age of ninety, and even ninety-six years.
Village people are healthy now, but the farm
labourer lacks the power of endurance possessed by
his forerunners of two generations ago. Who now
would have the strength — to say nothing of the
courage — of " Old Jonathan " of Highworth, who
laboured with the bricklayers at London and walked
home, a distance of nearly 80 miles, and returned
every week-end ? Or who could compare with
Giles Draper, of Hannington, who mowed two acres of
grass a day, and kept up the effort for a week ; with
Tom Fowler, another local champion, who, at the
end of a day's mowing, could lift a heavy farm waggon
unaided ; or Gabriel Zillard, who, at the singing
contests held at the inn, could sing continuously
for eighteen hours ?
The ground covered by the chapters is, roughly
speaking, that lying between the Thames Head and
Radcot Bridge, i.e. the first twenty-five miles of the
river's course, and it embraces portions of three
counties — Wiltshire, Berkshire, and Gloucestershire.
This represents a distinct locality, with a common
PREFACE 9
speech and folklore. The river Thames brought about
this, for it had through the ages a unifying effect on
those dwelling within the sphere of its influence. As
the rainfall between the Cotswolds and the Wilts
and Berks uplands is gathered into the channel of the
Thames, so the principal life and commerce of both
sides of the valley flowed down to the river's banks,
and people differing in several respects came to be
blended and united in their characteristics by the
processes of intercommunion and close association.
The scope of the book is principally nature and life,
speech, story, tradition, and humorous incident.
Whatever of this is contained in the chapters was
gleaned on the ground, and is, I believe, for the most
part original. In traversing the circle of villages
in the area I have attempted to avoid historical
references, which are often tedious, though it was
obviously impossible to eliminate them altogether.
The question always is whether a particular locality
is in itself sufficiently interesting to merit attention.
This I leave for the reader to decide ; his judgment
and not mine must determine the issue.
Since my object was to portray as much life as
possible — not its sufferings and tragedy — I have
made free use of persons, and these not fictitious,
but real, who inhabited the villages within the
memory of those yet living, believing that such
records can never become stale or valueless, and that
here, as elsewhere, a little fact is more convincing
than a goodly array of fiction. It was in support of
this that I have retained the account of Squire Archer,
10 PREFACE
of Castle Eaton, and have given the extraordinary
list of worthies of the villages of Blunsdon and
Hannington, with the prevalent beliefs in sorcery and
witchcraft.
I suppose that one locality is not much superior
to another in the interest of its life and traditions,
since that district which is most thoroughly explored
usually exhibits the richest treasures, both as regards
the human element and wild nature also. At the
same time, no one can pretend to be the discoverer
of life, but only its interpreter ; and however great
may be the amount which he has succeeded in setting
forth in any given locality it could be no more than
an infinitesimal fraction of the whole comprised
therein.
My thanks are due to Mr. W. Scotford Harmer,
editor of the Wilts and Gloucestershire Standard,
for his ready assistance at all times ; and to Mr. Dennis
Moss, of Cirencester, who kindly provided me with
the photographs for use in the book.
A. W.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I
The Haymakers — The Thames Valley — The River Coin —
Scenery of the Thames — Sketch of the Ground — Local
Opinions — "John and Sally" . . . 17
CHAPTER II
High worth — The Town and Church — Mixed Features —
Harvest Chant— "Tib Day" — The Eccentric Squire —
John Drew and " Peggy" Tawnley . . 32
CHAPTER III
The Avenue — Shrivenham Village — "Admiral of the White"
— Court Leet — Beckett House — Weather Signs — Local
Tales— Lord Craven and the Farm Boy . . -45
CHAPTER IV
Watchfield— The Stolen Church— Blackbirds— Tales and
Gossip — Coleshill — The Luck of the House — The Lord
Radnor — Anecdotes — " Mose " and the Farmer — " Old
Polebrook" ....... 62
12 CONTENTS
CHAPTER V
PAGE
Crossing the Ford — Discoveries in the Field — The Hawk
and the Blackbird — Inglesham Church and Village
—The Round House— The " Grand Old Man of Ingles-
ham"— Steam Ploughing— A Storm in the Vale . . 79
CHAPTER VI
The " Ha'penny Bridge" — Buscot — Squire Campbell's Works
— The "Water Gardens" — Herons— Visitors to the Lake
— The Woodman Naturalist — Eaton Weir — Floods at
Kelmscott . . . . . . 95
CHAPTER VII
The Journey up the River — The Rat and Kingfisher — St.
John's Bridge and Priory — Lechlade "Flea Fair" —
Holders of the Manor — Curious Items of Church Ex-
penditure — Local Witchcraft Tales . . . in
CHAPTER VIII
The Cotswolds near Northleach — Carl the Carter — Valley of
the Coin — The Mill Pool — Fairford Church and Windows
— Hard Fare— Gipsies — Harvest Home Healths— Sheep
Stealing— "Cotswold Ale"— "Tig" . . .129
CHAPTER IX
A Cotswold Ploughing Match — Old Acquaintances — The
Carter's Criticism — Progress of the Ploughing — The
Prize-Winner ...... 148
CONTENTS 13
CHAPTER X
PAGE
A Cotswold Carter's Cottage — " Chasing the Cock " — Native
Wit and Humour — On the Coin — Whelford — The Smithy
—The Mill— Old Elijah's Tale . . . .165
CHAPTER XI
The Fatal Jackdaw Nesting — Hannington Wick — Kempsford
—"The Lady of the Mist"— The Boatman— A Trip by
Water — The Home-made Loaves — Rustic Medicines —
Rhyme of the Shorthorn — Tales at the Inn . .182
CHAPTER XII
Squire Archer, of Lushill — The Vanishing Stag — Castle Eaton
— Tragedy of the Roach, Heron, and Fox — " Darby and
Joan" — Queen Victoria's Coronation Dialogue — The
Trout Stream — The Landlord and the Farm Boy . 200
CHAPTER XIII
Source of the Thames — Water Shortage — " Wassail " Song
— Thames Head Villages — Cricklade — Election Scenes
— " Open House " Expenses — A Local Execution — " Bark
Harvest" — " Looking through the Rafters " . .218
CHAPTER XIV
The Upper Thames Valley in the Making — The Youth and
the Traveller — The British Camp — " Slan " Feast —
"Rat-Catcher Joe" — Jack and the Squire — "Joe the
Marine"— Moll W T ilkins and Tom Hancock— Bet Hyde,
the Witch of Cold Harbour .... 234
14 CONTENTS
CHAPTER XV
PAGE
Roman Remains at Bury Town — Stanton— Fulk Fitz-Warrene
—Burial of the Dead— The Lake and Woods— " Moll
Taw's Corner" — "Man-Traps" — The Wood Sale — Tom
Fowler's Feat — Tricks and Conundrums . . . 254
CHAPTER XVI
Bide Mill Brook and Wood — Wych-Elms — Hannington
Village — Giles Draper and the Cobbler Clerk — Farmer
Baden's Courtship — Whistling Joe, the Blacksmith —
Lye-Droppers, Potato Starch, and Rush-Lights — "Bang-
Belly" and "Frog-Water" — Wooding Rhyme — A
"Journeyman Farmer" — Riddles — Rustic Lore — "Oby"
and " Scamp "...... 273
CHAPTER XVII
A Retrospect — The Thames in Flood — Gramp's Cottage —
"Farmer Bernard and Yellow-Breeches the Lawyer"
— Healths and Toasts — " Parson Jingle-Jaw's Adven-
ture " — " Sweet Peggy, O " — Skit on the Fast ordered
by Parliament at the Time of the Cotton Famine — The
Mumming Play of Robin Hood and Little John . . 292
Index ........ . 317
ILLUSTRATIONS
The Round House, and Junction of the Coin with the
Upper Thames, near Lechlade . . . Frontispiece
Inglesham Church : date, Twelfth Century .
Kempsford Church and Porch
Saint Sampson's Church and Cross, Cricklade
Map . ....
FACING PAGE
. 86
. 1 86
. 226
page 315
15
ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER
THAMES
CHAPTER I
The Haymakers — The Thames Valley — The River Coin —
Scenery of the Thames— Sketch of the Ground — Local
Opinions — " John and Sally."
THER\ ther', ther'. Pat it down. Pat it
down. A little bit more on the fer far
corner. Put on a thunderin' good load but don'
strain the 'osses. We be in for a wet un to-morra, as
sure as thy name's Jack Robbut."
" Aa, zur. The owl' zun bin a-zuckin' an't up all
th' aat'noon awver Castle Yetton yander."
" An' the cows be moonin' about, an' the martins
be clawss to the ground, an' tha's a sure zign o'
casulty weather, as my owl' faather used to zaay."
" Aa, an' the dew's a-vaallin', an' this aay '11 soon
be as wet as muck, an' the rick's a-yettin now, an'
us shan't a done bi doomsday if ya don' look sprack.
Go farrud, bwoy, an' pull towwerd a bit. Coom e 1
Gip now ! "
" Lar ! dwunt chaestise the poor craturs, maester.
The little mer's a-tired. A bin in the shafes all day,
ver' nigh."
" Hello ! Jin. Hast thee found thy tongue ?
Wher's thy man got to to-day ? "
2
u
18 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
" A yent very well, zur."
" Aw ! Wha's the matter wi' he, then ? "
" Got a naesty cowld on 'in."
" 'Ev a bin to the chimist ? "
" Ae ! A went to Hyvuth tha smarnin', awhever.
Tha telled un a'd got the I caen't tell 'e what
tha zed."
" What is it ? "
" I caen't tell 'e. You'd oni laaf at ma if e was
to't."
" Come on. Out wi't."
I caen't zaay't."
Yes, tha cast."
" Tha telled un a'd got the infli — zummat."
" The what ? "
" The infli winzy cowld. Yellacks ! I zed you'd oni
laugh at ma."
" What ! 'Ev a bin sleepin' out under the aay-
cocks agyen ? Thee must kip un a-twhum o' nights,
Jin."
" Lar ! Chent no use to tell 'e nothin'. A takes
no moore notice o' I than a crow do o' Zunday."
" Tell tha what, Jin. Go down to the kitchen,
an' missis ull gi' tha a bif bwun. Bile 'e up wi'
some suety dumplins. That'll cure 'is cowld, as
sure as God made little apples ! "
" Sartintly, zur, an' thenk 'e. Tha's what I'll do,
when us a done."
" An' 'ow's that you byent 'elpin' yer father wi'
tha ship to-night, artful ? Ood you sooner be
along wi' tha 'osses ? What be us to make on in,
Dannul ? "
" 'E don' keer for tha 'osses. It striks I 'e's a-veerd
an 'em. 'E can get an wi' tha ship tha yezziest."
" Aa. 'E's like I. 'E can 'andle the ship better
THE HAYFIELD 19
when tha bin under the pot-lid. Never mind, sonny.
Tha't be a man now afore thi mother ! "
Enter, by the gate, a rustic, with a note in his
hand.
" Be you the maester ? "
" I be zummat, awhever."
" Was to gi' ya this, then."
" Wher' d'ye come from ? "
" Hyvuth."
" Wha's yer name ? "
" Mister Ferris."
" An' wha's yer maaster's name ? "
" John Whitful."
" Well ! You can tell Maaster Whitful I'll meet
'e at 'Anninton, bi the Jolly Tar, at two o'clock
to-morra."
There were six toilers engaged with the waggon
gathering up the hay. First were the two pitchers
— always considered the principal men of the field ;
next was the loader ; then the two rakers, Jin, the
fogger's wife, and Aaron, the odd man, and, last, the
youngster to lead the horses, and feed them with
handfuls of sweet hay from the wake. A small green
elm bough, cut from the tree, was hung over the
mare's forehead, half veiling her eyes, to protect her
from the troublesome insects. In the middle of the
field, beside a haycock, was a large wooden bottle
containing the ale, with a tin cup turned upside
down over the handle of a spare fork thrust into the
earth to render its whereabouts visible.
The hayfield was situated about half-way between
Lushill and Castle Eaton, in the valley of the Upper
Thames, near to where the four counties of Wiltshire,
Berkshire, Gloucestershire, and Oxfordshire come
into conjunction. A hard road ran through the
20 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
field, bordered by a high hedge on one side. Here
the beautiful wild rose, shell-pink and creamy-white,
with sweet crimson-pointed buds and wax-like petals,
infolded, or curved outwards underneath, expanded
like a saucer, or depressed like an umbrella, hung
in luxuriant trusses and clusters from the top of the
hedge down to the ground, shedding a soft radiance,
and emitting a faint tea perfume. Between the rose
boughs, along the shallow ditch, crept the dewberry
with occasional blossoms and exquisite bluish fruit ;
here a teasel, light green in foliage, with prickly
buds and thin rings of purple flowers growing from
tiny cells like honeycomb, stood boldly up alongside
a stately thistle, to the large head of which a drowsy
humble-bee was clinging, though all her companions
had long ago departed homewards to their nest in
the mossy bank.
Running along at the bottom of the field was a
deep ditch, like a brook, one of those made to conduct
the water readily into the Thames, and relieve the
river in flood-time. Here, bordering the tall flags,
and shaded with boughs of guelder rose laden with
milk-white flowers, were banks of forget-me-not and
brooklime ; the snow-white watercress leapt out of
the ditch upon the bank, while here and there shone
a yellow iris, or a tall spike of pink valerian showed
above the reeds and added to the beauty of the
border. In the bed of the ditch, if you could have
peered through the dense flags, plants, and grasses,
you would have seen the moorhen with her brood
of tiny young wading and swimming in the shallow
water. As it was, they were out of sight, and their
presence would have been unsuspected if the mother
bird had not indiscreetly uttered a loud " cirr-rr-rr,"
thereby discovering their whereabouts. In the oak-
THE THAMES VALLEY 21
tree, standing down the hedgerow, a trim-looking
magpie hopped deftly in and out among the branches.
On one side the tall taper top of the rick, nearly
completed, was visible in the farmyard ; on the other
the stately tower of Kempsford church rose above
the elm-trees and peered majestically over all the
valley round about.
Now a large dark cloud, like a bat, with head
distinct and wings outstretched, rose slowly out of
the west, covering the sky, and causing the interiors
of the elms to show blue-black. The moist night
wind, laden with the warm scents of the hay and
the stronger smell of the ricks heating in the farm-
yard, came puffing up from the river, and the hay-
makers hung their rakes on the hedge and left the
field, the rumbling of the heavy waggon echoing
loudly down the road in the twilight.
The Upper Thames Valley, roughly speaking,
comprehends the whole of the ground between the
base of the Cotswolds and the northern extremities
of the Wiltshire and Berkshire Downs, running from
Swindon to Wantage. This tract of country is more
commonly known as the Vale of White Horse, since
it is dominated by the huge chalk hill upon which
the ancient figure of the White Horse is graven at
Uffington. But the actual bed of the Upper Thames,
or Isis, is really much smaller in extent, and covers
no more than half that ground. This begins near
Cirencester and continues eastward towards Oxford,
bounded on the north, past Burford and Witney, by
the Cotswolds, and, on the south, by a low ridge of
stone hills running in an almost direct line from
Purton, past Highworth and Faringdon, to Cumnor
and Hinksey.
The part of the valley in which our scene chiefly
22 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
lies is that between Cricklade and Lechlade, and
the small conical-shaped Lushill occupies the centre
of the field. There are five conspicuous landmarks
in the locality. First is the splendid tower of Saint
Sampson's at Cricklade ; next is that of Kempsford
church, on the Gloucestershire side of the river ;
then Highworth tower, perched high upon the hill,
and visible for many miles distant. After this comes
Lechlade steeple, rising like a needle from the river's
side, and, last of all, and higher than any, though not
as permanent as the rest, is Faringdon Folly, a lofty
clump of trees upon a high mound outside the
Berkshire town, where, as tradition says, King
Alfred laid down the crushing burden of life eleven
centuries ago.
The waters of the Thames, in the neighbourhood
of Inglesham and Lechlade, are augmented with the
addition of several tributary streams that flow down
from the north and south, draining the localities
through which they pass. The principal of these
are the Coin, the Cole, and the Leach. The Coin is
a swift-flowing trout stream rising in the Cotswolds
and joining the Thames at the Round House, near
Inglesham church. The Cole has its origin at the
foot of the Wiltshire Downs, and flows by way of
Sevenhampton and Coleshill ; and the small river
Leach, also a trout stream, bubbles out of the
rock near Northleach, twelve miles distant to the
north-west.
Of these tributaries the Coin is the most beautiful.
It is like a lovely laughing bride, crowned with
flowers on her marriage morning, fresh, sweet, and
pure, radiant with happiness, whose face, kissed with
the morning sunshine, sends a gleam through the
world and rejuvenates everything, shedding a new
A COTSWOLD RIVER 23
glory—" the light that never was " — on all around
her, and adding an unspeakable gift — a moment of
immortality. And how lightly and gaily she trips
along, with feet that seem not to tread the ground,
moving half on earth and half in the air, with a grace-
ful, jaunty, bird-like motion that only blithe-hearted
youth could execute, bewitching in her exquisite
ease and simple natural loveliness ! Even so beautiful
is the Coin, swimming along over her stony bed
through the fields, laughing aloud in the sunlight,
flowing, flowing, ever flowing, clear and pure as
though composed of nothing but freshest dew-drops,
each one resplendent with the morning, twinkling
in the glorious light of the unutterable dawn hours.
The smile on her face, the musical ripple of her voice,
the sweet pouting of her lips where the stones oppose
her passage, the shadow no sooner received than
dispelled, the snow-white foam flakes borne like
bunches of lilies on her breast, her long flowing hair
streaming in the crystal, the graceful and voluptuous
sweep of her skirts at yonder curve, the silver sandals
of her restless gliding feet, her gauze-like garments
of the summer fields, green and gold, white, opal,
and purple, the flash of multicoloured light reflected
from the plumage of her attendant kingfishers, her
joy and bloom and perfect beauty are all-powerful
and irresistible. Heaven is in her eyes ; Laughter
is in her soul ; the spirit of eternal Youth is about
her and within her, and she has no secrets. She is a
symbol of Life at its earliest and holiest hours, when
the earth is newly awake and full of sunshine and
song, and all things are freely and easily fathomable,
before Sorrow's fruit hangs on the bough, the heavens
are overcast, and we draw near to the depths that
conceal who knows how many pains and afflictions,
24 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
filled as they are with the doom of ourselves and all
other earthly things.
The origin of the Thames is said locally to be in
the neighbourhood of Cricklade, which error may
easily have arisen since the river is not usually
identified until it reaches the vicinity of that small
town. This view of the inhabitants is quaintly and
tersely expressed by the old man who keeps the tiny
shop at the top of Blunsdon Hill, overlooking the
valley, and to whom I applied for a glass of refreshing
drink after climbing up the steep slope one broiling
day in midsummer.
" This hill is very steep, and the sun scalds like a
furnace to-day," said I.
" Yes," he replied slowly, and then galloped away
with: "This is Broad Blunsdon '111, Noth Wilts.
You be close to Gloucestershire here. All this below
is the Thames Valley, and you be jest come through
Cricklet. The Thames rises in the meadas close to
Cricklet, an' runs away, an' gets bigger an' bigger,
an' jines the sea at Greenwich, an' don' mix wi' the
salt water for miles out, an' the skipper ull tell 'e when
you gets into salt water."
Everything about the valley — pasture, tillage and
crops, vegetation, birds, and animals, the keeping
of flocks and herds, work, business, pleasure, re-
creation, the whole life, in fact, is governed by the
river, that operates in a hundred ways, openly and
secretly, determining all things, and whose decrees
are absolute and irrevocable. The invisible processes
of draining, flushing, and exhalation go on year after
year, producing a luxuriant growth of plants and
foliage, unequalled on the hills and plains, or thirsty
downlands stretching away to the south. On the
hottest day of summer, when the down air is exceed-
AGE OF THE THAMES 25
ingly dry, the whole valley will be full of vapours
exhaled by the river. They float like a sea over the
warm fields, enveloping everything — a spiritual food
for leaf and flower, an invisible heavenly dew for the
nourishment of Nature's garden ; and at night the
thick mist rises and condenses on the leaves of
the trees and hedgerows, and makes the meadows
" sopping " wet, and so waters and feeds every form
of vegetation. The existence of vapours may have
something to do with the prevalence of thunder-
storms in the vale, that develop along the course of
the river in the summer months. The hills on the
one side and the river-bed on the other attract the
greater part of the summer rains, leaving the inter-
mediate region comparatively bare and dry.
How old is the river, and what first determined its
zig-zag course through the level bed of the valley, so
slowly and dreamily it wanders on, turning this way
and that, doubling and redoubling, traversing the
same ground over and over, lengthening out its
sinuous coil for very fantasy, mocking at the mad
haste and impetuosity of man, yet, by that very
deliberateness of motion, figuring out lines of rarest
and gentlest beauty ? Perhaps the hills could answer
the first question, for they were the earlier born.
The second is more difficult to decide, since the com-
position of the river-bed is fairly uniform, and there
was not likely to be serious opposition to the passage
of the waters in any one direction. But Nature sees
not with the eyes of man ; she dreams out her plans
and designs with more than mortal wisdom. Little
by little, as the mighty stream that once filled the
valley subsided, the remaining waters resolved on
their course and slowly sank into their channel,
determined to loiter, having no object but to prolong
26 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
their stay in the heart of the island and lengthen out
their journey to the inevitable sea.
There is a delightful irregularity in the course the
Thames takes, and a sweet confusion and uncertainty
in the signs by which one is wont to trace and locate
the stream from a distance. The round clumps of
hawthorn standing down the fields and along the
banks of the river are strikingly beautiful, and especi-
ally if you chance to view them in the spring, in their
first greenness, after a shower, when the sun peers
from behind great masses of woolly clouds and sheds
.a soft light upon them, causing them to stand out
in gentle relief against the more sober background of
the shade- wrapt trees and woods. But the lines of
willows and poplars, which the stranger immediately
concludes to mark the course of the river, are often
some distance from it, standing along the margin of a
small brook, or back-water. Even the hawthorn clumps
are not infallible evidence of the river's nearness, but
may be ranged along some half-dry course in the field.
Very often, in one's first pilgrimage in the vale, one
happens suddenly upon the river, when one felt certain
it was a mile or two away in another direction.
Two series of small towns, villages, and hamlets
are scattered throughout the Upper Thames Valley.
Of these some follow the course of the river ; others
are perched upon the stone hills running parallel with
the stream at a distance of four miles to the south.
Beginning with the river, a few miles from its source,
are Ashton Keynes, Cricklade, Castle Eaton, Kemps-
ford, Whelford, Fairford, Inglesham, Lechlade,
Buscot, Eaton Hastings, and Kelmscott ; along the
ridge, and winding to the south-east towards the
Berkshire Downs, are Blunsdon, Stanton Fitzwarren,
Hannington, Highworth, Coleshill, and Shrivenham.
PREHISTORIC RESIDENTS 27
Of these the hill villages are the more ancient, having
been occupied long before those were built by the
river and in the level bed of the valley, while, in fact,
all the country below was dense forest and swamp,
swarming with big game and wild-fowl. At Blunsdon,
besides its Roman ruins, the remains of an ancient
camp or prehistoric village exist, high above the
valley ; Roman and British occupation is evidenced
at Watchfield, Coleshill, Stanton Fitzwarren, and
Highworth.
The Belgce, who settled in Britain several centuries
before Caesar came to the island, are said to have
held the land south of the Thames. They were
noted for their skill in building and in agriculture.
They were also more highly civilised than were the
majority of the Gallic tribes, and it is not to be
doubted but that they taught the natives useful arts,
as how to till the land well and make butter and
cheese, for which the locality was famed down to
a few years ago.
In times still more remote, before the^knowledge
of agriculture, the inhabitants of the valley subsisted
on raw fish from the river, and tender roots obtained
from the swamps — of bulrush, reeds, and flags. They
also ate the wild carrot and parsnip, young twigs
and buds of trees, wild apples, beech-nuts, walnuts,
and acorns. The eating of the last-named, in later
historical times, may have been responsible for the
custom of making an acorn pie every year at a
village feast celebrated on the downs to the south
of Highworth.
The hunters of the valley, who belonged to an
age more recent than that of the root-eaters, slept
sometimes in the trees, and sometimes in houses
made of fir-boughs interlaced, similar to those
28 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
fashioned by the woodmen in the coverts and planta-
tions. They used the goat's horn, heavy clubs,
spears of wood sharply pointed and with tips hardened
in the fire, sharp stones and darts for weapons, hiding
in the boughs and leaping out upon the beasts as
they came to drink at the pools. They saved the
skins of the animals taken and used them for cloth-
ing and bedding ; and when they had been un-
fortunate in their hunting and were hard pressed
for a meal, they well washed the newest of the skins,
burnt off the hair, roasted them over the fire, and
shared them out among the hungry multitude. The
young male children were trained to the hunt and
taught to hit the mark exactly, and if they missed
they were punished with the loss of their dinner or
supper, and were packed off to bed in the trees at an
early hour.
Old Aaron and Daniel, the haymakers of Lushill,
are sceptical when mention is made of prehistoric
times. For the physical features of the earth and the
fossil remains discovered in the quarries, and ofttimes
built into the walls of their houses, they hold Noah's
Flood responsible. They believe that stones and
minerals grow, and affirm that the sarsens in the
meadow get visibly bigger year by year : some of
them, they say, are as large again as when they were
boys. They are, moreover, positive that bones grow
when they are buried in the earth, and that the
skeleton of a man or animal will ultimately be en-
larged to very much more than its original size.
They consider that the prehistoric camp at Blunsdon
was made by Oliver Cromwell. The first hunters,
according to their idea, were Robin Hood and his
merry men. The earliest battles fought were those
between King Alfred and the Danes ; and they
THE ROADMENDER'S TALE 29
believe that man sprang direct from the Biblical
Adam — there can be no doubt whatever about all
these things.
But neither Daniel nor Aaron is given to deep
and speculative thinking. They love, most of all,
during haymaking, and at dinner-time, sitting
beneath the thick hedge, fragrant with blossom, or
around the trunk of the shady elm or willow beside
the sunny river, to talk about past toils and con-
quests in the field, or divers experiences here and
there. Daniel's chief diversion is to tell of the
suspicious old farmer who always took a loaded gun
to bed with him ; the Inglesham Ghost, that appeared
in the shape of a black dog, or old Bet Hyde, the
witch of Cold Harbour ; while Aaron's foi te is the
unromantic tale of John and Sally, first told by the
local roadmender.
John worked on the road for many years, and
Sally was his wife. By and by John got old and
tired of his work. John said to Sally :
" Zally, I thinks I shall gie mi job up."
" Well, if 'e caan't get on wi't, a know, John,
gie 't out," Sally said.
John said : " I'll gie mi nowtice in to-marra."
" Aa, zo do," said Sally.
In the morning John went to master. " I must
jack it up, maester. I caan't manage it no longer."
" Well, if you caan't manage it, John, you must
gie 't out," said master.
John went home to Sally. " I chocked it up,
you ! " exclaimed he.
" Aw right, Jacky. We shall get on zum'ow,
mun."
The next day John walked about and seemed
very miserable.
30 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
Sally says to John : " Whyever dossent make
thizelf contented ? "
" I caan't, you ! I must get another job."
" What should 'e like to do, then, John ? "
" Thinks 'e should like to go to school agyen."
Sally says : " I'll go an' zee schoolmaester about
it."
This she did, and said to him : " My owl' chap
wants to come to school agyen, you ! "
" All right," said the schoolmaster. " Tell John
he can come ; we'll see what we can do for him."
Accordingly John went to school. When he came
home at night Sally said : " 'Ow dist get on at
school ? "
" Didn't get on at all, you."
" 'Ow's that, then ? " *
" All the bwoys pinted at ma, an' called ma girt
'ed, an' thick 'ed. Byen a gwain ther' na moore."
The next day John was as miserable as before.
" Zally," says he, "I ull go an' ax gaffer to let ma
go back to mi job agyen."
" Well, zo do, if tha cassent make thizelf con-
tented," replies Sally.
Then John went to master and told him about it.
" Yes, John," said he, " you can go to your work
again."
John went back with the shovel. Passing along
he saw something lying on the road. When he came
to it he found it was a small leather bag. John said
to himself : " This'll do aw right vor Zally," and
took the bag home.
" Now, Zally, I got zummat var tha. This'll
do djawwsid [deucid] well to kip thi candles in.
Durzay thee cast awpen in, Zally, but I caan't."
After dinner Sally opened the bag, but did not
TRULY RURAL 31
tell John what it contained. It was full of money
and notes.
The next day John was out on the road again
when a traveller came by. " Old man, how long
have you worked on the road ? " said he.
" Aw, zum time, you," John replied.
" Did you find a bag ? "
" Aa-a ! "
" Where is it ? "
" Too-am. I gied un to Zally to kip 'er candles
in."
" Could I go home and have a look at it ? "
" Aa-a ! smine foot."
They went home together.
" Zally, this vella wants to zee the bag what I
vound."
Sally produced the bag.
" Looks very much like my bag. How long have
you worked on the road, old man ? "
" Aw, gwain in vifty year an' more."
" And when did you find the bag ? "
" The vust day I started to work on the rawd."
" Well, that can't be mine, then," said the traveller,
and took his departure.
" Aa ! but 'twas the zecond time as I worked on
the rawd, Zally, ye zee," John said afterwards.
CHAPTER II
Highworth — The Town and Church — Mixed Features —
Harvest Chant — " Tib Day " — The Eccentric Squire —
John Drew and " Peggy " Tawnley.
THE town of Highworth is perched upon an
eminence, half-way between the Cotswolds and
the Wiltshire Downs. The hill commands a series
of pleasing views, not all of equal extensiveness, but
of such a variety as to fit in with the several moods
of the inhabitants, being changed and modified
according to the light and atmosphere — strong and
clear, soft and tender, pale blue, greenish blue, or
indigo, magnificently distant, or charmingly near,
full of detail, or indistinct and mystical, calling into
play the spirits of fancy and imagination. To the
south, ten miles distant, are the exquisitely graven
downs, with ever-varying hues, from the gleaming
chalk fallow-land to the tender green of the corn
springing, the bright yellow charlock, or vivid red
of the poppies, purple sainfoin, or autumnal gold
of the wheat crops. Eastward, opening out from
behind high avenues of elms, is the charming valley
of the Cole ; to the west, through a gap in the stone
hills, is a view of the Cotswolds beyond Cirencester ;
while, stretching from west to east, by the north,
in an unbroken panorama, is the Thames Valley and
hills beyond, extending to Cheltenham, past Witney,
and into Worcestershire.
Four main roads lead from the hill town, in as
PRIVILEGES OF A HILL 33
many directions, and connecting it with other towns
situated to the right and left, at various distances.
Each road, where it climbs the slope, bears the name
of a particular hill, as though there were many of
them, while, as a matter of fact, there is only one.
But accurate localisation is a characteristic of rural
people : every slope, angle of the road, field, dell,
uncommon tree, or other outstanding feature is
given a name, to ensure its immediate identification,
and also to provide some small pleasure for the
nominators and inhabitants at large.
There is a double advantage in dwelling upon a
hill, especially such a one as this, where the mound
is isolated and in an independent position. There
is a greater share in the scenery of the earth and of
the heavens. Here one may view both sunrise
and sunset ; catch the first red gleam of morning
and the last gold of evening, and follow the course
of the sun from east to west without a moment's
interruption. And at night, when the stars come
out, he may watch them rise over the low downs,
or see the pale moon steal up the sky and sink again
to her bed of silver saffron in the early morning hours.
Or, if the night be dark and stormy, and the wind
rushes madly up the steeps and howls along the
roofs and among the chimney-tops, one may yet be
interested in counting the number of towns indicated
by the ruddy glow of their street-lights reflected on
the skyline. In addition to this, the day itself is
longer and the night shorter on the hill ; there is
more light, air, freedom, vigour, and power, and
consequently more life than about the valley and
lowlands.
In prehistoric times the site of the town was
occupied by a British village. When the Romans
3
34 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
came, they used the hill as an outpost for the observa-
tion and defence of their territory along the Thames ;
then it fell into the hands of the Saxons, who built
a high wall around it and called it the " High warded
enclosure," from which the name of High worth is
derived. The Danes seized upon it for strategical
reasons ; later it was a Royal Manor, and when the
town grew and became commercially important it
was presented with a Charter and styled the Borough
of St. John. The Danish occupation is certified
in the names Eastrop and Westrop — " trop " from
"thorpe," Danish for village — and, if this is incon-
clusive, there is the evidence of the danewort, or
dwarf elder, which grows in profusion in the locality,
and which is said to have been introduced by the
Danes and never to be met with but in the regions
they occupied.
The church is of Norman foundation. The building
bears witness to several architectural periods, but is
chiefly Perpendicular in style. In the stonework of
the tower is a round hole, caused by a shot from
the cannon of Oliver Cromwell, when he besieged
the church after the battle of Naseby. Here he was
defied by a garrison of troops, under one Major Hen,
for three hours, at the expiration of which time the
gallant defender " took down his bloody colours,"
and surrendered, handing over prisoners and arms.
The missile that struck the tower is preserved, hanging
in chains within the church. The common report
is that the shot was fired from Blunsdon Hill, three
miles off, but Cromwell's cannon were not sufficiently
powerful to inflict damage at such a distance.
There is a charming confusion in the arrangement
of houses and shops in the principal street and about
the market square, which is in pleasing contrast to
PICTURESQUE CONFUSION 35
the formal and monotonous regularity observed in
more modern towns. The roofs are an extraordinary
medley. Some are very high and others low, with
gable end towards the street, or sloping sideways, or
having an end wall covered with stone tiles over-
lapping like a " tortoise " — a military formation of
shields used by the Romans in an attack upon an
entrenched position. These are narrow and pointed,
those are broad and square, with an indescribable
outline, and nearly all have tiny gables and windows
inset, quaint and picturesque. The chimneys are
tall and rakish, with parts superadded at different
times, and they possess a certain gracefulness of
outline. The grey colours of the stone walls and the
darker brown of the tiles on the roofs match well
together. The green and blue of the distant vale,
visible through the gap at the end of the street,
harmonises with the town itself and reminds one of
its position and surroundings.
How knowingly and wisely the old tower, black
with age, peers down from above the roofs and
chimney-tops, looking at you with a kind of arch
countenance, as though half amused at your in-
significance, pitying your condition and the limita-
tion of your knowledge, as though it should say : ' I
know something," and " I could tell you if I would,"
and " I have seen that which would surprise you."
Standing in its shadow, with gaze averted, you have
that indubitable feeling of being watched by someone,
and you instinctively look up at the tower and seem
to catch an upward motion of the stonework, as
though you had really felt a person's gaze upon you,
and, glancing up quickly, were in time to see the
other's eyes suddenly raised, and catch the look of
stolid indifference and unconcern immediately affected.
86 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
But though the old tower seems always about to tell
you something, and whisper some secrets of its
mysterious past and the scenes enacted in the hoary
church and round about the shadow of its high walls,
it comes to no more than nearly, and always dis-
appoints one of the utterance.
Yet stirring times have certainly been around the
pile, of high days, festivals, and civic functions :
when the town was in its prime ; when the mayor
and aldermen, clad in their robes and followed by
an enthusiastic multitude, attended in state ; when
the bells rang out and the people were on holiday
to celebrate the termination of a mighty war and the
blessings of peace ; or at election times, when con-
tending factions surged to and fro and came into
collision, and made a dash for the belfry to get
possession of the ropes and clash out a derisive peal,
provoking to fury the hearts of their opponents.
There were two high wooden galleries in the church.
In one of these, opposite the parson, sat the musicians,
like " Timotheus up on high," and provided harmony
for the worshippers. Their instruments were — the
violin, the key bugle, clarionette, baritone, bass viol,
the " horse's leg," and the big wavy trumpet, com-
monly called " the Serpent," from its resemblance to
that beast. A difficulty was often experienced in
getting away with a hymn, as the two clerks were
at loggerheads, and could not suppress their rivalry,
even within the sacred building itself and during the
service. " Peggy " Tawnley, the weird little woman,
accounted a witch, started the singing ; there was
no surpliced choir, trained with hymn-book and
psalter. " Peggy " also made pilgrimages to the
village churches, and led the singing ; that duty
devolved upon one of the congregation. The church-
OBSOLETE CHURCH MUSIC 37
warden's aged aunt undertook the pulling of the
" ting-tang " before the services ; the paupers from
the local workhouse stood or sat upon the floor, up
the middle of the nave. The tunes were arranged to
suit the instruments, and the Serpent had pieces
specially composed for itself, and called " Trumpet
Notes," the style of which is indicated in the following
refrain :
" Soon shall the trumpet sound :
Soon shall the trumpet sound :
And we shall rise, shall rise to immortality ;
Shall rise to immortality."
At Harvest Festival the people of Highworth
observed a partial fast, and ate nothing more
sumptuous than a rice pudding. The special harvest
chant used at the church was as follows :
HARVEST THANKSGIVING CHANT
O bless the God of Harvest, praise Him through the land,
Thank Him for His precious gifts, His help and liberal
love :
Praise Him for the fields, that have rendered up their
riches,
And, drest in sunny stubbles, take their sabbath after toil :
Praise Him for the close-shorne plains and uplands lying
bare,
And meadows where the sweet-breathed hay was stacked
in early summer :
Praise Him for the wheat sheaves, gathered safely into
barn,
And scattering now their golden drops beneath the sounding
flail :
For mercies on the home, and for comforts on the hearth,
O happy heart of this broad land, praise the God of Harvest.
The vicar — a plain, outspoken man, and a friend of
the people — attended the domestic feasts — weddings
38 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
and baptisms — and frequently entertained members
of the congregation at his house. There the tables
were laden with homely fare and an abundance of
the nut-brown liquor. " Now, gentlemen, we've
nothing to drink but beer ! Pass round your jorams,"
the parson would cry, and the company responded
with alacrity.
Markets and fairs were held periodically. There
were no steam roundabouts or electric switchbacks
then, but there was a large assemblage of shows and
booths, with boxing and wrestling, comic acting and
plays, such as The Tragedy of Maria Martin, a ghost
piece on the subject of Hamlet, and another play
called The Flying Virgin. In the booths was step-
dancing to the tunes of " Charlie over the Water,"
"The White Cock Hen," "Triumph," and "The
Old Woman tossed in the Blanket," with entertain-
ments by the strolling Ballad Singers. A tribe of
gipsies, thieves, and fortune-tellers attended the
fair, and were soberly engaged making money in one
way or another. On the morrow — called Tib Day —
they got drunk and disgraced themselves, and were
promptly hurried off into the gaol hard by and
confined there. The town possessed its market-
house, and it also retained its " Jury " and public
Ale-taster down to the year 1850, or thereabout.
For a long time the old Bull Inn was remarkable
for a large human skull that had been dug up with
skeletons near by, and which was preserved upon
the shelf among the mugs and bowls as a curio. But
giants did not only exist in olden times, for it is said
of a local corn merchant, one John Hall, who lived
in the town fifty years ago, that he was as big as
four ordinary men ; that in conversation his voice
could be heard half a mile away, and that his grave
A TYPE OF LABOURER 39
was wide enough to hold a fat ox. Over the breasts
of some of the skeletons large flat stones were laid,
which caused the local wits to suggest that they had
been placed there in order to prevent the corpses
from walking in their last sleep.
" Ther's nar a road neether comin' in, ner it gwain
out o' Hywuth, but what carpses laays at," says
" Old Jonathan." He dwells in the most ancient
cottage in the town, and is tended by a middle-aged
deaf-and-dumb daughter, who is unable to communi-
cate with her father except by the primitive methods
of nodding and pointing. He is aged ninety-two, is
minus an eye, and very grey, but he is of robust
health and indomitable spirit. As a young man he
worked with the masons at London, and walked to
and fro at week-ends, covering the distance — seventy-
eight miles — in about twenty-two hours. He had
many experiences on the road, and was often robbed
of his earnings and forced to beg his food on the
way home. The roads were very rough at that time.
The railways were not made, and the stage-coaches
and waggons passed him regularly on the way. He
often stepped aside to view executions at different
places. At one time the death sentence was for
farm firing, and at another for " sheen-breakin' " ;
the hanging took place in the open, before a crowd
of spectators. He reckoned to walk nine hundred
miles with one pair of boots.
The industries of the town were important. The
principal were — bell-casting, soap and candle making,
saddlery, coach and waggon building, rope-making,
and straw-plaiting. The town was also noted for
the excellence of its wooden ploughs. Of the
industries nothing now remains but the rope-making
and coach-building, but there is a modern cocoa-nut
40 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
fibre mat factory, which employs over a hundred
hands.
The coach-building yards have long been famed
for the excellence of the work made, and especially
for the high quality of the wheels. It is astonish-
ing to learn the great age of some of the vehicles
in for repairs. Here is a waggon nearly a hundred
years old, with wheels still more ancient, and which
are good for another century, if the coach-builder
is worthy of belief. The boxes of the wheels are
nearly two feet in diameter, and the spokes are
secured with round oak pegs, invisible from the
outside. It was by these signs that the age of the
wheels was proved ; none of that pattern are made
nowadays. A peculiarity of the waggon is that it
has wooden axles, which run inside narrow liners
within the box, and the farmer, who has looked in
to inquire as to the progress of the work, says it
is the most easily running vehicle he has ever known.
He has no waggon less than seventy years old. He
still calls the more recently made of them — exactly
threescore and ten years in age — his new waggon ;
a little paint and a few slight repairs are all it has
needed up to the present. The coach-builder used
to accept payment in kind for his work. At one time
he made a new cart for a sack of flour and a side of
bacon ; at another he exchanged a waggon for a
quantity of corn, cheese, hay, or straw, and so helped
the farmer out of a difficulty.
The local squire was noted for his eccentric
behaviour. It is said that when he had done anything
amiss privately he used to walk about the streets
wearing a halter around his neck, with the rope
trailing on the ground, as a token of self-abasement
and humiliation.
THE CHAIR OF GOLD 41
On one occasion he lent his half-peck measure to
a neighbour, who omitted to return it. Thereupon
the waggish squire paid a visit to the town crier and
had the matter published abroad. The next day
the townsfolk were startled to hear the following
announcement :
" Lost ! Mr. Crowdy lent his half-peck measure
to an unknown man. This is to give notice that if
the said unknown person doesn't bring it back, Mr.
Crowdy will never lend it to him any more."
At that time there was a " wise man " of High-
worth, who was given to star-gazing and fortune-
telling. Meeting him one day, the squire thought
to have a joke at his expense.
" Well, and what have you been dreaming about
now ? " said he.
" I dreamt I was in hell," the other soberly replied.
" Ho ! Ho ! And what was it like there ? " asked
the squire.
" All they that had most money sat nearest the
fire," the dreamer answered.
" Is that all ? " the other inquired.
" Not quite," said the dreamer. " I walked about
and found a beautiful golden seat and was going to
sit down when somebody took hold of my shoulder
and said : ' You mustn't sit there ! You mustn't
sit there.' * And why not ? ' said I. ' That's
reserved for old Crowdy of High worth,' the other
quickly answered."
When the squire died his spirit returned and
continued to haunt the drives, as is seriously believed
by the townspeople. Sometimes he appeared hold-
ing the shafts of the coach and drawing that noisily
up and down the yard and before the house ; at
other times he walked the streets at midnight, with
42 ROUND ABOUT THE^UPPER THAMES
the halter around his neck, and struck fear into those
who happened to be abroad at that hour. At last
it was decided to lay the ghost. The Vicar, bailiff,
and jurymen were approached, and one dark night
they set out for the squire's house — locked up and
deserted — and attempted to carry out the rite. But it
proved a difficult matter, for the spirit was sulky, and
resisted the efforts of the parson to pacify it. Finally,
however, it consented to be laid on one condition,
namely, that it might be allowed to enter a barrel of
cider and remain there. So they proceeded to the
cellar, where stood a large barrel full of apple juice.
Someone took out the bung, the spirit entered, and
the hole was securely stopped up again. Then the
mason and his men were fetched out of their beds
and the door of the cellar was bricked up ; that was
the last ever seen or heard of the squire's spirit.
" Peggy " Tawnley, accounted a witch, was be-
lieved to be half-man and half-woman. She used
to be dressed in a tight-fitting black jacket with big
green buttons and a blue gown, and she wore a
quaint little bonnet on her head. A good many folks
discredited the tales told about her, but her strange
and sudden disappearance seemed to confirm the
report of her being a witch. One Saturday night
a rustic saw " Peggy," who stopped him on the road
and tried to bring him under her spell, but without
avail. He accordingly left her there and went on
up the hill ; but when he got to the town, behold !
there was " Peggy," down on her knees, scrubbing
her doorstep. By that he knew for certain that she
was a witch, so he ran up to her, and was about to
give her a good kick, when she coiled herself up like
a football and went rolling down the hill and was
never seen after that night.
THE COBBLER COBBLED 43
Another local " character " was the old apothecary.
Every Lent he used to sit on the step of his door,
clad in sackcloth and ashes, doing penance for his
sins committed since the last Easter.
John Drew, the shoemaker, was a religious man,
and a Methodist preacher. He had a big business,
and employed several apprentices, whom he kept at
work till a very late hour at night. At last the
apprentices became dissatisfied and contrived to find
means of redress.
Once every week the shoemaker went to Hanning-
ton to preach in the little chapel at night ; his way
back lay beneath a dense avenue of elms that made
the road very dark. They agreed to wait for him there
and accost him out of the darkness. Accordingly, as
the old man was coming home late at night and passing
beneath the avenue, he was suddenly hailed in a loud,
deep tone of voice from the trees above his head.
" John Drew ! John Drew ! "
" Speak, Lord, for Thy servant heareth," replied he
fearfully.
" Don't keep your apprentices at work so late
nights," said the voice.
" No, my Lord ! I won't, never more," he
answered, and, proceeding on his way, reached home
in safety.
The next afternoon, before tea-time, he called his
apprentices together and told them how, as he was
coming home from chapel the night before, the Lord
spoke to him out of heaven and told him not to keep
his apprentices at work so late nights. " And now,
henceforward, all you young men will go home at
six o'clock," said he.
Another Highworth preacher was giving his con-
gregation a few points on geography.
44 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
" This earth of ourn," said he, speaking in a
solemn tone of voice and clutching the pulpit rail,
" is as round — let me see, what shall I say ? " " As
round as a 'oss's 'ed," shouted someone at the rear,
very irreverently. " Aa-a ! as round as a 'oss's 'ed,"
repeated the preacher. This caused the congrega-
tion to smile, when someone on the other side quietly
interposed with : " You couldn't mean 'is 'ed, could
'e, John ? " to which the other promptly replied :
" No ; I meant as round as the eye in a 'oss's 'ed."
CHAPTER III
The Avenue — Shrivenham Village — " Admiral of the White "
— Court Leet — Beckett House — Weather Signs — Local
Tales — Lord Craven and the Farm Boy.
EAST of the town the road enters an avenue of
elms planted along the greensward and con-
tinuing for a considerable distance, refreshing the
traveller with pleasant shade and cooling sweetness
on the hot summer days, and affording a refuge
from the heavy autumn showers or biting blast that
blows across the vale from the north-east in the
winter. The heavy branches overarch and interlace
with graceful symmetry and almost architectural
exactness, producing a noble effect, like that of a
cathedral aisle. However hot and blinding the sun's
rays and calm the air without may be, there is yet
a gentle motion beneath the trees — a soft breath of
the clover blooms in the field, or the fresh, invigora-
ting scent of the young leaves. Along the banks
and around the bases of the tree-trunks the fragrant
violet peeps forth in earliest spring ; in autumn the
open spaces of the roadside are beautiful with the
pure gold of the fleabane, St. John's wort, or yellow
bedstraw. In the field, on the sunny side, is a pen
for the sheep with the shepherd's house on wheels
adjoining ; here and there is a disused stone quarry
overgrown with bushes and protected with a wooden
fence — a welcome refuge for the rabbits and pheasants
that stray from the plantations and coverts.
45
46 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
A short way down beneath the trees a second
branching of the road takes place. Here, also, is
the entrance to another and more magnificent avenue,
half a mile long, leading to Warneford Place, out
of sight behind densest foliage of elms and beeches.
The entrance to the avenue is barred with a high
gate, for the road is private. The huge brown
trunks of the trees dwindle in size and finally lose
their individual shape down the avenue, assuming
the form and aspect of masonry at the far end, with
a vault of richest green and a shade of umber above.
Immediately within the gate is a pretty lodge with
quaint windows, porch, and tiled roof. The high
elms provide perpetual shade and overarch the
wide road to the far bank, where stands a tall grey
stone, and informs the traveller, and whoever else
cares to learn, that he is seventy-six miles from
London. The under-keeper lives at the lodge.
Here he is close to the preserves and breeding-pens
and the woods at the rear, and is able to see all who
pass that way and prevent trespassers from encroach-
ing upon the plantations or crossing through the
avenue.
The grand avenue has been planted for about
two hundred years. The trees are of a gigantic
size, uniform in trunk and limb, and general growth.
A very few out of the whole number have been lost ;
in their place others have been planted, but they
will never overtake the rest in growth and match
with them in venerable stateliness. One of the
large elms by the roadside was recently struck by
lightning, which left a perfectly formed groove,
an inch wide and two inches deep, running from the
topmost part of the main limb down the trunk
to the roots beneath the ground. A large oak,
INSTABILITY OF THE ELM 47
similarly struck in a field some distance away, fared
much worse. There a piece of bark, twelve feet
long and one and a half feet wide, was torn off, but
the tree withstood the shock and thrives apace.
The roots of the elm are very shallow ; they are
seldom more than one or two feet deep in the earth.
Over in the field a large limb recently broke away
from an elm by its own weight, which could not
have been less than five or six tons. The wood was
old and very brittle ; the wonder is that such a
ponderous mass of timber should have remained so
long projected at full length from the trunk of the
tree.
Below the lodge gate the road drops steeply down
into a winding dell through which the small river
Cole flows on its way from the towering downs to
the Thames near Lechlade. A small wood of beech
and poplar covers the slope on the right-hand side,
and extends beside a rich green meadow rendered
luxuriant with the waters of the river, that over-
flows its banks every winter. Across the river, on
the opposite slope, is a large rambling farmhouse,
and, by the water's side, a stone cottage, all that is
left of the ancient mill. The water, through being
bayed up to form the mill-head farther down, is
almost motionless. Some of the pools are deep and
swarm with roach, but there are shallower parts to
which the old heron delights to come, watching in
silence for hours by the bank, by and by to seize
on his prey and carry it off to eat in the open field.
The edge of the river is fringed with mint and hemp
agrimony. White sneezewort grows in the meadow,
and the old stone wall by the roadside is adorned
with the pretty and diminutive flowers of the rue-
leaved saxifrage.
48 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
Shrivenham, or " Shrinam " — as it is called by
the rustics — lies a little outside the actual Thames
Valley. The river, with its broad sunlit face, deep
shady pools and currents full of silent whirling eddies,
is seven miles off, and the blue line of the Cotswolds
is effectively shut out behind the lofty avenues
away back on the road. Southward rise the graceful,
sweeping downs, with their hues of green and yellow,
gold, crimson, or purple, varying according to the
season of the year, the time of day, the light or
shade, the cultivation of the slopes and the arrange-
ment and disposition of the crops. To the right is
the exquisitely shaped Charlbury Tump, and, east
of that, the Russley Down, looking like a mighty
heave of the sea or a huge green wave for ever about
to break upon the shore, with the " One o'clock
bush " showing against the skyline. Straight in
front is the mysterious-looking beechen clump sur-
rounding Wayland Smith's Cave ; to the left is the
towering hill of the White Horse — the classic spot
of the neighbourhood — with the graven outline
showing clearly on the western slope and the huge
fortifications frowning over the wide vale beneath.
The village is ancient, and, besides being of great
beauty, it was noted for the sturdy characteristics
of its population, from the fighting Lord of the
Manor of Beckett adjoining, down to the old arch-
deacon of the church and the hardy farm labourers.
While Lord Samuel Barrington, " Admiral of the
White," in command of H.M.S. Achilles, was batter-
ing the French and sinking their ships at St. Lucia,
and the archdeacon, in his capacity of local magis-
trate, was giving practical advice to would-be
litigants at his house, the village teams of gamesters,
trained to perform creditable feats with the single-
THE IMPRISONED WITHIES 49
sticks, and great in the wrestling contests, were
slashing away at their inveterate enemies and break-
ing their heads at Ashbury, Uffington, or Stratton
St. Margaret. The large tattered white flag (captured
from the French battleship St. Florentine), discoloured
with age and full of shot holes and rents, hangs in
the roof of the chancel at the church, and the village
gamesters are immortalised in Judge Hughes' account
of the White Horse Revels of 1857.
At the entrance to the village are the remains of
the pound, formerly used to confine lost or straying
cattle. The rival inhabitants of the neighbouring
hamlet reproach the Shrivenham people for some-
thing that happened in respect of the enclosure.
A couple of newly felled withy trees were one day
discovered within it, and it was promptly noised
abroad that they had been put there as being guilty
of a serious offence. What the fault really was is
not known, but it is suggested in the taunt levelled
at the inhabitants by outsiders, who declared that
" Tha shet thum withy trees up in the poun' 'cos
tha 'oodn't swer to the parish." In the early part
of the nineteenth century an Act was passed requir-
ing all paupers to swear to their parish in order to
facilitate the granting of relief, so that probably
accounts for the jibe. The ancient stocks, the terror
of evil-doers, stood near. The last offender to sit in
them was a carter of the village who had stolen saffron
to give to his horses.
The church stands back from the street. Its
style is " debased classic," and it is almost square
in shape. The interior is chaste and pure. The
inner walls are of chalk — obtained from the downs —
beautifully prepared and shaped into squares. This
is of a soft milky white, and, though it has stood for
4
50 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
centuries, it looks clean and new. The chalk stone
receives and reflects the light from the numerous
great windows ; the interior is never dark or dull
while daylight lasts. Several fine brasses, including
one to the memory of Disraeli, adorn the walls of
the aisles and chancel, and a tablet records, in a poem,
the virtues and fame of Samuel Barrington, Admiral
of the White and General of Marines, who died in
the year 1800.
" Here rests the hero, who, in glory's page
Wrote his fair deeds for more than half an age.
Here rests the patriot, who, for England's good,
Each toil encountered and each clime withstood.
Here rests the Christian, his the loftier claim,
To seize the conquest yet renounce the fame.
He, when his arm St. Lucia's trophies boasts,
Ascribes the glory to the Lord of Hosts ;
And, when the harder task remained behind,
The passive courage and the will resigned,
Patient the veteran victor yields his breath,
Secure in him who conquered sin and death."
The archdeacon was a tactful man, very courteous
to and popular with the villagers. Besides being
magistrate he was skilled in the laying of spirits ;
it is still told how he laid a notorious one single-
handed. The parson at a neighbouring village used
always, in walking, to jerk his heels up so as to
touch his thighs behind, and he urgently advised all
his parishioners to do likewise, in order to exercise
the muscles of the legs. Another habit of his was to
walk backwards, which he sometimes did for a mile
or more ; and he often lay on his back on the floor
of the cottages and gave an exhibition of acrobatic
feats before the astounded villagers.
The quaint old sexton, with wooden leg and piercing
REPRISALS AT THE INNS 51
eye, knew every stone of the church tower and could
tell the names of nearly all the dead buried in the
churchyard. He was noted for his aristocratic
tendencies and lack of sympathy towards the poorest
of the villagers. When they were filling in the grave
of one well-to-do the earth was thrown down lightly,
but when a pauper came to be interred he hardened
his heart against the corpse, and, setting the example
himself, told his mates to " Hit it in ! "
The village, though small, can boast of a fair.
This falls in April, and though it is insignificant now,
it was once a more considerable event. Any cottager,
by placing a thorn bush outside his door, could sell
ale on fair-days. When the rustics had been served
with a short measure of ale at the inns they bit the
earthenware cup into small pieces. Brandy was
periodically smuggled into all the villages around
the downs by " commercial travellers " and packmen.
They carried the spirit in bladders concealed in their
bundles of calicoes and woollens, and regularly sold it
to the cottagers.
After the fair came the feast and revels, which
lasted a week. Every cottager, to start the feast,
on the first day of the week cooked a quantity of
food in the boiler — a gammon of bacon and ten or a
dozen plum puddings — so as to be in a position to
entertain his friends and kindred from the villages
round about. The revels began on Monday. There
were skittling and bowling, grinning through the
horse's collar, dancing, boxing, back-swording,
wrestling, cock-fighting, and prize-fighting. It was
not uncommon to have a fatal accident at the games,
but that was looked upon almost as a matter of
course, and the law concerning a death was not as
stringent then as it is now. Though the inhabitants
52 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
of a village seldom interfered with one another they
banded themselves together against outsiders ; thus
the men of Shrivenham, Watchfield, and Highworth
met and fought every week on the Sabbath.
Bull-baiting was also indulged in from time to
time in the village and throughout the locality.
First a strong rope, six yards long, was fixed to the
ring in the bull's nose and the other end secured
to a stake driven into the ground. Trained dogs
were now set to worry the animal, that went nearly
mad with rage, leaping from side to side, while the
owners of the dogs stood near to catch them as they
fell after being tossed by the bull. Sometimes the
bull broke the rope and fiercely charged the crowd ;
more than one spectator met his death at the game.
It was the rule to " bait " a bull before slaughtering
it for food. It is even said that the baiting was
required by law, but for what reason is not evident,
unless it was to ensure a better bleeding of the
carcass.
It was customary to hold a public harvest-home at
Shrivenham. This was kept in the park, after all
the corn was gathered in. Lord Barrington and the
local farmers contributed and provided food, tea, and
ale. There the rustics regaled themselves and after-
wards indulged in sports and games. Before hiring
a man the local farmers used to take him into the
barn and require him to lift a sack of wheat from the
floor standing in an empty bushel measure. Many
of the labourers could accomplish this feat with one
hand.
Besides the ancient whipping-stocks, the village
had a place of incarceration called the Blind House,
used for shutting up offenders until such time that
they could be removed to the central stations and
THE " BLIND HOUSE " 53
gaols at the county towns. The " blind houses "
were dungeon-like places, built without windows,
having merely small apertures secured with stout
iron bars for admitting air and light. The prisoners
were usually relieved of their handcuffs and allowed
the liberty of the cells, though sometimes they were
kept chained and only permitted to lie down on a
straw bed upon the floor. If a villager had indulged
in too much of the nut-brown liquor and became
troublesome he was quickly placed in the " blind
house," there to stay according to the pleasure of
the local magistrate. It was a common practice
for the prisoner's friends to visit the " blind house "
after dark and carry ale in a pot. This the inmate
was able to drink by sucking it in with a long pipe
or straw through the aperture.
Drunkards were also put in the stocks and made
to sit in them from sunrise till sunset, exposed to
the jeers and laughter of the rest of the villagers.
Though the prisoner was under the supervision of
the constable, he was not debarred the privilege of
receiving food from sympathisers. In the afternoon
the cottagers' wives brought provisions — bread and
butter and a mug of tea — but alcoholic drinks were
forbidden. If the boys had been guilty of stealing
apples and were taken they, too, were put in the
stocks and given a few stripes. Sunday nutting in
the copses by juveniles was also punished in the same
manner.
The Manor of Shrivenham is one of the few that
still hold annual Courts, in accordance with an ancient
custom, to do homage to the Lord of the Manor and
to grant Surrenders and Admissions of Copyhold
property by the old symbol of "The Rod." Six
Copyholders are required for " The Homage," and
54 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
twenty-four nesciants of the Manor are summoned by
the Court Bailiff to constitute "The Jury." The
attendance of a full Jury was at one time imperative,
and if a member failed to appear he was fined, or a
part of his goods was confiscated. We learn, for
instance, that one John Mills, shopkeeper, refusing
to attend as Juryman, had his scales seized from
the counter, and others suffered penalties of different
kinds.
In the case of transference of Copyhold the vendor
surrenders the property to the Lord of the Manor
by handing the Rod to the Steward, who then admits
the purchaser by passing it to him with the customary
formula, comprising the Oath of Fealty : " You shall
swear to become a true tenant of the Lord of the
Manor of Shrivenham for the estate to which you
are now admitted. You shall from time to time bear,
pay, and do all such rents, duties, services, and
customs therefore due and of right accustomed, and
you shall from time to time be ordered and justified
in all things at the Lord's Courts to be holden in and
for the said Manor as other the tenants of the said
Manor, and you shall in all things demean yourself
as a faithful tenant ought to do. So help me God."
Taking the oath is optional now : it may be avoided
on payment of the sum of 6s. 8d.
On the death of a Copyholder or surrender of the
property heriots are due to the Lord of the Manor,
that is, the best beast or goods belonging to the
tenant. In times past, failing payment of the heriot,
the beast or piece of goods was actually seized. Now,
however, a monetary payment is made, varying in
amount according to the position of the parties.
After a repast, the health of the Lord of the Manor
is drunk from a silver cup, and the Court dissolves.
RAPACITY OF THE PIKE 55
The business of the Jury now principally consists in
appointing the annual officers and in the formal
observance of the old feudal rites and traditions per-
taining to the Manor.
A modern mansion, Elizabethan in style, occupies
the site of the old manorial residence. This was
built by a former Lord Barrington, one of whose
ancestors, the Honourable Daines Barrington, is
celebrated as having been the intimate friend of
Gilbert White, the naturalist, while another was the
victor of St. Lucia. An inscription on a monument
in the church informs the stranger that one John
Wildman formerly held the Manor of Beckett. He,
in company with his father, suffered a long term of
imprisonment in the Island of Scilly, consequent on
his devotion to the Royal cause at the time of the
Commonwealth. Being a believer in the Roman
form of adoption he disowned his relations and
appointed a stranger to be his heir and succeed to
his estate.
The lake before the house contains a small stock
of fish — roach, perch, pike, and a few eels. The
greedy pikes play havoc with the other occupants
of the water. They devour everything they meet
with in the pool, and finally prey on one another.
Besides eating other fish, the pike devours frogs, rats,
snakes, eels, young ducks, moorhens, and other wild-
fowl. One reason why moorhens and wild ducks
leave the lake to breed in the spring is in order to be
out of the reach of the voracious jaws of the pikes
when they begin to move ; half the broods of little
ones would otherwise be swallowed as they swam
about in the water. Accordingly, if the tame ducklings
stray into the lake, the keeper, or one of his men,
gets into a boat, and, armed with a large wooden
56 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
spoon made for the purpose, lifts them out of the
water and carries them ashore.
A few widgeons and teals visit the lake in the
winter, but do not stay long; Rare birds are not
often seen in the woods ; they prefer to dwell upon
the slopes of the downs in the south. An otter
recently had her litter of five on the shores of the
lake and was allowed to go unmolested. She had
travelled up the small stream from the Cole, making
her way under cover of darkness. The green wood-
pecker nests in the fir plantations ; the local name
for this is " the gallibird."
The inhabitants of every locality have special
means of foretelling the weather, and are able to
make a fairly accurate forecast without having resort
to barometers and to the studying of meteorological
items in the daily papers. The condition and loca-
tion of mist at morning and evening are common
indicators of what the weather is likely to be within
the following twelve hours ; by a careful observa-
tion of this the farmers know how to provide for the
day's work about the fields. Alongside the Thames
it is held that a fine evening with mist denotes fine
weather, and a dull evening with mist denotes wet
weather. The condition of mist on the downs, and
especially around White Horse Hill, indicates to the
occupants of the country below what the weather
is likely to be. If the morning mist hangs over the
hill that is a sign of wet, but if the summit is clear
and the mist is drawn along in lines about the base,
that is a sure sign of a fine day.
" When the mist goes up the hill,
Then the rain runs down the drill,"
the ploughmen say. " Now, chaps, the owl' White
Oss is a-blowin' 'is bacca off this mornin'. We shall
THE RUSTIC APPETITE 57
ae't wet afoore night," cries the carter, and before
the afternoon is over the rain pelts down in torrents
and drives the toilers home from the fields. After
a heavy drenching rain in summer — in otherwise
clear weather — when the downpour has ceased the
hollow spaces of the wood on the hill are filled with
dense mist — fragments of clouds that were en-
tangled by the trees and detained when the main
body had gone by and was dissipated.
"Missis," said old Ike Giles of " Fyas " to his
young wife one day — who secretly kept her mother
in food — " I caan't make out why our mate bill is
so high. A gets 'eavier aitch wik. Whatever
becomes an't all ? "
" Why, our Jack " — the under-carter who lived
in — " is sich a one to et," said she.
" I'll jest ev 'e in to dinner along o' I to-day, then,
an' see what a does wi't all," the farmer replied.
This frightened the good wife ; so she saw the
youth and explained the situation to him, and urged
him not to have any lunch, in order to be the better
able to eat an extra big dinner.
" Lar, missis," said he, " if I don' 'ae no lunch I
shaan' want no dinner ! "
When dinner-time came he was brought into the
kitchen and placed next to master : a mug of ale
was set beside his plate. He fell to and devoured
three platefuls of meat and vegetables, to the con-
sternation of old Ike.
" When bist gwain to drenk thi beer ? " inquired he
presently.
" I never thinks o' drenkin' till I 'aaf finished mi
dinner," the other responded.
A neighbouring squire was a notable " character "
and much given to out-of-door sports, especially
58 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
hunting and hare coursing. He was a giant in
stature, and he weighed thirty stone. According to
local accounts he was a thorough blackguard, pro-
ficient in the use of oaths, but very good-natured.
No one ever applied to him for help and was refused,
and he made many generous gifts of food and clothes
to the poor round about the neighbourhood. A
farmer dwelling near detested the squire, and often
took him to task for his uncivil behaviour, but he
laughed loudly and passed off the other's remarks
good-humouredly.
" Whenever you die you'll go to hell," the farmer
insisted.
" Bent gone to hell yet ! " said the squire, with a
laugh, meeting him one day on horseback.
" But you're on the way, right enough," replied
the farmer.
By and by the squire fell sick and was like to die.
When the end seemed to be drawing near he went
into a trance, and all thought he was dead. There-
upon the usual offices were performed, and the
old woman of the village began laying him out.
Presently, however, the supposed corpse revived,
and the squire sat upright on the bed. He cursed
and raved and ran off, just as he was, and, seizing
his gun, shot hard at the old woman, who quickly
scrambled out of the way and barely escaped with
her life.
It is said by the villagers that when the squire
died and came to be buried the coffin and body were
so heavy they had to be removed on rollers.
Farmer Jonson used to bet heavily and attend the
principal race meetings in the country. He was
tall and square-shouldered, with big, round belly
and fat, chubby head, and he always wore a suit of
AN ARTFUL STRATAGEM 59
big check and carried two crab-sticks, one in each
hand. Being pestered with rats, he periodically
hunted them indoors with ferrets and shot them in
the kitchen and dining-room, ofttimes shivering the
crockery ware to atoms and filling the house from
top to bottom with the reeking smoke of the powder.
His temper was not of the sweetest. There was a
near neighbour to whom he had not spoken for thirty
years. One day, however, on approaching the farm,
the horse shied and overturned the high cart, and he
was thrown into the ditch and pinned beneath. His
inveterate enemy happened to pass that way at the
same time, and,fseeing his condition, went and released
him from his unfortunate plight.
" So you thawt you'd pull me out then, Robbut ! '
said he, laughing.
" Aw, aa ! thawt I'd better spake to tha to-day,
maester," the rustic replied.
The Lord Craven lived at Ashdown Park, situated
over the hill to the south of Shrivenham. One day
he was walking down the hill into Ashbury and came
upon a short, fat farm-boy lying on his belly in the
road, and working his arms and legs about like a frog.
When the noble lord drew near the youngster began :
" As black as a rook,
As black as a raven,
As black as the devil,
And so is Lord Craven."
" Ho ! Ho ! What's that ? What's that ? " cried
Craven, stopping short and raising his stick to strike
the youngster. Then the artful one began again :
" As black as a rook,
As black as a raven,
As bright as the sun,
And so is Lord Craven."
60 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
" Well done, boy ! Well done, boy ! " cried
Craven ; then, taking a crown piece and a half-
sovereign from his pocket, he laid them on the palm
of his hand and said :
" Here, boy ! Have which you like."
" I wunt be covechus, I'll 'ae the little un," the
youngster replied, and promptly pocketed the golden
coin.
On another occasion the old lord addressed his
valet, who also acted as jester, after being dressed
previous to coming down to dinner.
" How do I look ? " said he.
" As noble as a lion, mi lord," answered the valet.
" You've never seen a lion," said Craven.
" Yes, I have, mi lord," replied the other.
" Where did you see it, then ? " said he.
" Down in Stubbs's yard," answered the valet.
" You fool ! That was not a lion. That was a
jackass," replied Craven.
" Can't help it, mi lord. You're just like him," the
valet answered.
After the line was laid to Hay Lane a rustic went
on the platform in smock-frock and top hat, wanting
to go to Shrivenham. When the train came in he
saw it was crowded with " fine folks," and came
to the conclusion it was not for him : he could not
think he had to ride with such grand people. After
the train had left he quietly asked the porter when
the next would be in.
" To-morrow morning. Why didn't you get in
this one ? " answered he.
" 1 didn't like to get in wi' the fine gentlefolks ;
but s'pose you'll let me walk ! " returned the rustic.
Stronger is the story told of the Irishman — a
navvy — who came to the local railway station one
LEGS OLDER THAN WHEELS 61
Saturday night wanting to travel to Bath, and found
the last train gone.
" Well," said he, with an oath, alluding to the line
or the train, and turning to depart, " I thramped it
before he was born and I'll thramp it again."
CHAPTER IV
Watchfield — The Stolen Church — Blackbirds — Tales and
Gossip — Coleshill — The Luck of the House — The Lord
Radnor — Anecdotes — " Mose " and the Farmer — " Old
Polebrook."
WATCHFIELD lies to the north of Shrivenham,
on the edge of a large tract of open country
that extends beyond Faringdon to Abingdon. The
village is small and compact. Of its past history
very little is known, though it is held by the inhabitants
that a great battle was fought on the site in olden
times. They say that the modern name of the place
originated in the battle, and that from the military
injunction, " Watch the field," the present name was
derived.
It is not often that a church is stolen, but that
was most certainly the fate of the ancient church
of Watchfield at some time during the latter half
of the eighteenth century. It is said that the small
building, left in the care of the parishioners, and
sadly needing repairs, was sacrilegiously pulled down
at night by the churchwardens and the stones carted
off to make cowsheds and to fill up the farmyards.
It is also related that the impudent churchwardens
continued to report to the bishop that the church
was in good condition for twenty-two years after
it had been demolished. By and by, however, the
truth leaked out, but before steps could be taken to
punish the guilty churchwardens each died a violent
62
MANDRAKES 63
death. One was found below a bridge with his neck
broken, and the other was struck with a " thunder-
bolt " in the hayfield.
Beyond the village the road is open, and the way
lonely. Here we are on the stone, as is evidenced
by the colour of the cornfields and the great profusion
of wild flowers. Immediately we leave the clay for
chalk, or brash, we are made aware of a complete
change in the flora and vegetation. There are fewer
flowers upon the clay than are to be found on chalk
and brash, though certain kinds, such as celandine
and crowfoot, are seldom found off the clay. On
the chalk and brash there is less vegetation, a smaller
quantity of leaf and stem, and more blossom. The
corn, also, yields less straw but a heavier ear. The
elms are richer and tougher grown upon clay. They
appear to thrive very well upon brash, but the wood
is short and brittle.
No birds ever venture to eat the berries of the
bryony, for they are poisonous, though the village
children obtain both the long green vines in summer
and the chains of brilliant ripe berries in autumn
and make them into wreaths or wind them about
their bodies. The bryony is also known as the
mandrake, and its roots are still sought by herbalists
and used for medicinal purposes. It was formerly
held that the mandrake uttered a loud shriek on
being taken from the earth, which belief was related
by Shakespeare in Romeo and Juliet :
" And shrieks like mandrakes' torn out of the earth,
That living mortals, hearing them, run mad."
The singular phenomenon of a shrieking mandrake
was probably met with in what the rustics call
" them old witchcraft times " ; the plant has lost
its vocal powers in our day.
64 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
The root of the bryony is thought closely to re-
semble the human body ; it is common for a rustic
to dig one up and exhibit it to strangers.
" Yellacks ! dist ever zee arn like that afoore ?
Yer's 'is yed an' body, arms an' legs, navel an' all
an't, as plain as any mortal thing you ever zet eyes
an. A oni wants life put into 'n an' a'd walk about."
" Code ! en 'e naeterral ! As naeterral as I be,
that 'e is," the other replies.
Underneath the hedge are two cock blackbirds
fighting furiously, though the nesting is over for
this year and the young birds are grown up and
scattered abroad, each one to look out for itself.
Jealousy, no doubt, is the cause of the combat,
either by reason of some present vaunting or trespass,
or something remembered from the past season ;
or they are already looking forward to the next
spring, both intent on obtaining the favours of the
same delightful mistress. Begone ! uncivil creatures.
How dare you stab at each other with those beautiful
gold daggers of bills ? Inhabit the hedgerow peace-
ably together, or But they have taken to flight,
one this way and one that, uttering indignant cries
of protest at being disturbed in their duel.
Is there another bird in all nature more engaging,
amusing, and generally delightful than the black-
bird ? Better singers there may be — in sustained
effort, at least — and there are many of a more
brilliant plumage, but for richness of form, luscious
sensuousness, voluptuous movement, and exquisite
pertinacity it certainly has no equal. The blackbird's
appearance is best in early spring, in the courting
season, and especially in the early morning hours
and in showery weather. Then the male bird puts
on his most glossy coat and studied feature, like a
A BLACKBIRD'S FEAT 65
young beau seeking to engage the attentions of the
fairest of the fair and triumph over all competitors
and rivals. Lazy, indolent bird ! with delicious
curve of head and neck, breast and back, whose
whole form is of inexpressible sweetness, whose
motion suggests the rustling of silks and the scatter-
ing of the richest perfumes, whose life is one perpetual
round of joy, ease, and idleness, and whose flute-
like notes are purer than gold and mellower than
the mellowest autumn fruits — for thy beauty I love
thee, for thy roguish cunning I condemn thee,
but for the liquid outpouring of thy melodious soul
I forgive thee and wish thee safe of thy feathered
foes and the fowler's nets, ever to dwell in the
beautiful fields, secure among the thickets and stoles
of the heavy-blossoming hawthorn.
The blackbird — though to a less extent than the
thrush — is a frequenter of the haunts and habita-
tions of men. Like the chaffinch it is fond of the
highways ; there is often a pair of birds to every
eighty or a hundred yards of hedgerow by the road-
side. Much food may be gathered with little effort
upon and near the roads, but there is not the same
security for the eggs and young, though the old
birds manage to rear their offspring and keep the
hedgerows tenanted. They utter their song for the
most part from a low position, perched in the haw-
thorn, on the bottom boughs of a tree, or on a
rail, though they are not very particular as to the
site they choose. Sometimes they sing from the
roof of a house, or sitting upon the telegraph wires,
or they may warble their notes on the wing as they
fly from hedgerow to hedgerow. For ten weeks
during the spring of this year a blackbird sat in an
elm-tree over the road and repeated six notes, cor-
5
66 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
responding to the chimes of the church bells near,
daily, with great accuracy till towards the end of
spring, when it became careless and confused the
scale.
Near the wall of a farm on the roadside is a large
board containing the words :
NOTICE
Dangerous Bog
warning off pedestrians and others who might be
led on to the greensward where they would be
swallowed up in a pit of bluish mud concealed from
the eye with a covering of treacherous green turf.
Higher up the dell are several other of these bog-
pits which are probably relics of the primeval swamp,
witnesses to a condition of things once general in
the hollow of the valley. In depth they are nearly
twenty feet. No draining would carry off the water,
for that is far below the river-bed, and the hottest
summer has no effect upon the surface of the pits.
One Sir Charles Wetherell formerly resided at
Warneford Place. He was noted for his eccentric
behaviour and especially for his slovenly attire.
It was said that no Jew would have given five
shillings for his wardrobe. He had a seat in the
House of Commons, where he debated with energy.
He never wore braces, and while he was addressing
the House he kept pulling up his trousers at the
waist, that promptly slipped down again, to the
amusement of members present.
While walking in the grounds of Warneford Place
one day he met a tramp going to the house, who
stopped him and asked him if he thought it was of
any use to try the place.
PLIGHT OF THE CHOIRMAN 67
" Oh, I should go and try. You might get some-
thing," said Wetherell, and, walking round the
house, he met the tramp at the door and gave him
a sovereign.
At another time his butler asked leave to spend
an evening with a friend.
" A friend. Ah ! Then I think I will come with
you, for that is what I have never had in my life,"
said Sir Charles.
Many ridiculous things happen in the villages
and are talked about and laughed at by the rustics,
but are unknown to the outside world. There is
the tale of a villager whose wife sent him to the
little shop for needles, cotton, and thread. The
old fellow, being unable to read, and of weak memory,
was forced to repeat the names of the articles aloud
upon the way to the shop. As he was passing down
the hill repeating the words, " Needles, cotton,
thread. Needles, cotton, thread," he stepped on a
slide that the children had made in the road, slipped,
and fell upon his back. In the confusion he forgot
his needles, cotton, thread, and went on his way
and burst into the shop, crying : " Rasm, pitch, and
tar. Rasm, pitch, and tar."
A few years ago the village choir was out
" Christmasing " at the farmhouses. On going
across a paddock in the darkness one of the number
stumbled and fell over a donkey that sprang up with
the chorister on his back and scampered off with
him. The choirman thought he was being carried
off by the Evil One, and cried : " Please, Mister
Devil, put me down. I'm a religious man and a
Psalm-singer."
" ]\£aester, maester," cried the farm-boy one day,
rushing into the kitchen in a state of great excite-
68 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
ment, " the caaf got 'is yed droo the gyet an' caan't
get un out agyen."
" Get the zaa, bwoy. Get the zaa, an' zaa 'n
out," the farmer answered. Thereupon the boy got
the saw and started to saw off the calf's head.
" Dang the bwoy ! Why dissent zaa the gyet ? '
the farmer cried. Then, turning to his wife, he said :
" Never mind, missis, we shall hae plenty o' bif
now."
John, the carter, is in a desperate hurry this morn-
ing, for he has a lot to do, i.e. " to shave an' 'ev a
nap." Some farm-hands never use a looking-glass
for shaving, but lather their face and shave with
the razor as they walk about the stable.
" Please, sir, father bin an' killed mother," cried
the youngster, weeping, to the old white horse one
dark night in the meadow, running up to him with
a naked rushlight in his hand.
" Phoo-oo-oo-oo," returned the horse, blowing
out the light with a mighty puff of his nose and
causing the youngster to scamper off in terror. He
thought it was the farmer in white milking-smock.
It is said of an old labourer, who had been kicked
by a horse in the back, that his skin was so hard the
doctor had to punch holes in it with iron tools in
order to get his needle through to sew up the wound.
" Amber," a clumsy young foxhound, was the
squire's dog and a great favourite with the village
children, though he was clownishly mischievous and
committed many depredations. One day he came
running up the street carrying by the cloth a large
pudding made in a basin, which he had taken from
the table of a cottager. At another time he stole a
baby out of the cradle and was making off with it,
carrying it by the waistband.
A DARING OUTRAGE 69
Sometimes, when a young calf dies, novel means
have to be adopted in order to induce the mother
to change her domicile or to get her to market.
Recently, when the dead calf had been skinned and
the carcass disposed of, the cow refused to budge,
and the boy had to put the skin over his head and
shoulders and walk on before ; then she followed him.
On another occasion the boy had to ride concealed
in the high cart and cry " Bar-r-r," now and then,
before the bereaved cow could be prevailed upon to
leave the farmyard.
" Martha, our Jack " — the donkey — " bin an'
jumped over the girt 'igh wall an' got out o' the
pound. Fust a put 'is far fit up, then a draad back a
bit an' over a come, right into the road," said the
villager to his wife one day. But the donkey did
not leap over the wall : it was lifted over by a couple
of yokels intent on a little amusement. Perhaps the
jest is of a more senseless, or even of a cruel kind, as
when a pair of villagers raided a cottage one Sunday
at dinner-time, seized the pot, full of food, and hung
it high in an elm-tree and left it dangling there at
the end of a rope.
Belief in ghosts dies hard in the hamlets and out-
of-the-way places of the countryside. Besides the
spirit of the hunting squire, laid in the fish-pond
at Sevenhampton, there was another notable local
one that refused to be laid without the sacrifice and
offering of human blood. This is reminiscent of the
earliest times, for did not the ghost of Achilles refuse
to be laid without a human sacrifice, and was not
the beautiful Polyxena slain by the superstitious
Greeks to appease his clamourings ?
The village of Coleshill, which bore the proud title
" The Flower of Berks," lies along the western slope
70 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
of a graceful hill immediately opposite Highworth,
two miles away on the skyline. To the foot of the
hill comes the river, winding round the small dell,
as though it knew in the beginning that there would
be work to do and a mill to turn at some future time.
Coleshill House, visible for many miles in its setting
of elms and beeches, stands near the top of the hill
overlooking the vale towards the faint blue downs.
This is a moderate-sized mansion, built in the year
1660, to the plans of Inigo Jones, and representing
that architect's skill at its best. A mysterious and
jealously guarded tradition is associated with the
house, though particulars of it have leaked out and
are known to the villagers and others in the locality
around. It is said that, concealed in a secret chamber
in the inner parts of the house, is the embalmed body
of a baby or of a young woman, which has been
preserved there for several centuries, and upon the
preservation of which the luck and security of the
house depends. So long as the embalmed body
remains, the house and property are assured to the
family in possession, but should it ever be stolen or
removed from the room in which it is concealed, then
the luck of the house would fail and the estate would
pass into other hands. Some, eager to shatter the
romance of the embalmed child, say it is a wax doll,
and not a human body, that is concealed in the secret
chamber, but the belief of the villagers on the point
is not to be shaken.
The villagers are very proud of their church, and
consider it to be of great antiquity. " Sir," says
the sexton enthusiastically, " this church is one of
the howldest in the land. Why, the Romins builded
this church, sir, when they was about 'ere, as I've
hallus bin told bi they as hought to know." Doubt-
THE CLERK'S DILEMMA 71
less there are those who would not be inclined to
favour the view, but village people cling to their
cherished opinions.
The sexton of nearly every village comes in for
attention, and it is well-nigh impossible to overlook
him. Sometimes he is made the subject of a rhyme,
or he is famed for his shrewd wit and humour, or he
may be remarkable for his oddness, or for the sharp-
ness of his temper. In a village close at hand the
sexton was a cobbler, and was celebrated by the
cowman in the following lines :
" As I walked along and looked over the wall
I saw the sexton diggin' a hawl,
A left-handed cobbler just backwards at work,
He wore his waistcoat a-top of his shirt.
Between the living and the dead,
That's how the sexton got his bread."
Another used to sleep and snore loudly during the
sermon, and sometimes he woke up and shocked the
worshippers with irreverent expressions, or disturbed
the service by hurling the coal-hammer across the
church at the children talking and laughing in the
gallery.
On one occasion the board containing the numbers
of the hymns was inadvertently placed hind-before,
and after the clerk had several times called out,
" Hymn number — hymn number " waiting to
proceed, he cried loudly to a worshipper near : ' Jest
turn that boord round, young man, wool 'e ? '
Here at Coleshill the sexton — whose name happened
to be Sexton — used to imbibe too much of the home-
made liquor, and when he came to church he was
incapable of performing his duties and made inex-
cusable blunders. Accordingly he was dismissed and
the village blacksmith preferred for the post, but he
72 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
was soon afterwards removed. A carter near Coles-
hill bore the nickname of " Blackbird," which he
received in consequence of his having fallen asleep
at church one Sunday morning. Half-way through
the sermon he began to snore, and very soon the
people were startled with a loud cry of " Come idder,
Blackbird ! " The carter was dreaming that he was
in the field ploughing up the wheat stubble.
There was never an inn at Coleshill, so the villagers
were forced to provide ale for their own use. Ac-
cordingly, they grew their own barley, threshed it
out at home, or in a barn lent for the purpose, made
their own malt, gathered wild hops from the hedges,
and brewed their own beer in the cottages. This
they did in a large copper pot of twenty gallons hung
from chains over a wood fire. The vessel — named
the " Parish Kettle " — was given to the villagers by
the Lord Radnor, and was used alternately by the
cottagers. His Lordship also paid the duty on one
sack of malt per annum for each labourer on his
estate.
The ancient game of back-swording was practised
at the feast. At one time two heads were broken
simultaneously, which was a very rare occurrence,
and a notable event. A swaggering professional
back-sworder, unbeaten with the sticks, used to
visit the feast and overawe the local men with the
" cocksureness " of his attitude and behaviour. At
last a young carter determined to make a supreme
effort to humble his pride and carry off the prize of
thirty shillings offered by the champion. Accord-
ingly, when the swaggerer cried out : " Will any
young gamester come upon the platform ? " the
carter responded : " Yes, I ool," and leapt nimbly
upon the stage. Seizing the single-stick firmly, he
THE GAMESTER HUMBLED 73
turned to the crowd and cried : " Well, gentlemen !
What be I to do wi' this owl' man ? Be I to break
'is 'ed or no ? " " Ef 'e ool be obstinate, go at un,"
they cried, whereupon the young carter began fencing,
and presently broke the head of the old gamester, who
wept at his disgrace and never more showed himself
in the neighbourhood. After that the carter was
pressed off to fight against the French at Waterloo,
and on returning to the village he introduced the
game known as " Prisoner's Base," or " Crossing the
Line," which was for some years popular with the
youths of the countryside.
Several amusing tales are told of the old Lord
Radnor, who, although a stern man in some respects,
had the welfare of the village at heart, and did his
best to provide employment for the workpeople and
keep them in a prosperous condition. The clothes
he wore about the farms and grounds were extremely
plain, and his old white top-hat and threadbare coat
were more fitting for a beggar than an aristocrat.
He was rather eccentric, and he caused some amuse-
ment around the neighbourhood by reason of his
singular behaviour and his weakness for wanting to
know how he was regarded by his workpeople. On
the passing of the Reform Bill he entertained the
rustics to dinner at Coleshill House and feasted them
on the lawn to commemorate the event. He ran
about in the marquee carrying the plates of meat
and shouted loudly to the carvers to cut thick slices
" Now, Pinnegar," cried he to a farmer who was
carving, " put that knife into it, and give the men
some victuals, and don't be frightened of a bit of
meat."
He had a bullock killed once a fortnight and five
sheep every week for use at the house, and he gave
74 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
the inferior parts and gallons of good soup to the
villagers.
It greatly amused old Angel, the rustic, to learn
that his lord and master sat in a chair on runners
in front of a fire on the hearth and had a long staff
with a spike and " cruckle " (crook) on the end of
it to push himself farther back or draw himself nearer
to the fire.
One day he came upon some men sorting over a
pile of stones.
" That's a nice little job, men. I think I could do
that," said he.
" Come on, then, an' have a go, if you wants to,"
said an unsuspecting workman, who took him to be
a stranger at one of the farms.
Thereupon Radnor threw off his coat, and began
to load the wheelbarrow with stones. Very soon
he began to question them. " What sort of a man
is this old Lord Radnor ? " said he.
" Oh," said they, " ther's two ways to take un
— the right way er the wrong way. If you takes un
the right way you'll find he yent much amiss."
" Oh, I'm glad to hear there's a bit of good
about him," he replied, and, giving them half a
crown each, he put on his coat and departed.
While he was presiding at Faringdon Police Court
a case came forward in which a poacher was the
defendant. He pleaded not guilty.
" What were you doing in the wood ? ' asked
Radnor.
" I only went in to cut a stick, my lord," replied
the defendant.
" How would you like me to go into your garden
and cut a cabbage ? " promptly returned Radnor.
While he was talking to two labourers one morn-
A SHOCK FOR RADNOR 75
ing, several others, dressed in Sunday best, went by
on their way to Highworth Fair.
" H'm ! Looks as if they are going to enjoy them-
selves," said he. Then, putting his hand into his
pocket and taking out a crown he gave it to the men
and continued : " Well, you go and enjoy your-
selves, then, but don't drink too much of that beer."
He used to declare to one of his tenant-farmers
that every pheasant reared on the estate cost him a
pound, and he was furious when a party of young
sportsmen, whom he had invited to Coleshill Woods,
went out and shot nine hundred birds in one day
around Badbury Hill.
His desire to know how he was regarded by the
villagers exposed him to certain dangers, and he did
not always escape scot-free. Meeting with an old
woman who was gathering wood in the field one day
he addressed the usual questions to her.
" And whose field might this be, my good woman ? "
inquired he.
" Aw ! this belongs to owld Lard Radner," she
replied.
" Ah ! And what sort of a man is he ? " asked Radnor.
" A crafty, covechus owld bagger, as ull never
be satisfied till 'is mouth's chock full o' dust," she
answered spitefully.
" Ah ! Is that so ? Good-day, my good woman,"
said he, and went his way.
The next morning the old woman was sent for
to the house, and was met at the door by Radnor,
who gave her a sovereign and a bundle of clothing.
" I'm very sorry to hear such a poor account of
Lord Radnor. I didn't know he was quite so bad,
and I hope you'll think a little better of him in the
future," said he to the bewildered dame.
76 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
Notwithstanding Radnor's fair reputation he was
severely handled once or twice at the Cricklade
elections ; the last time he appeared there his carriage
was smashed, and he was fortunate to escape without
injury.
One of Lord Radnor's tenants was a rich farmer
who was noted for a remarkably keen eye in looking
up and down the drills. He was driven everywhere
in a small carriage drawn by two horses, and he
crossed the rough ploughed land or young crops at
any time of the year. If he found a small portion
of land missed by the drill he discharged the carter
and put him on again within the hour.
One day he was arranging with Moses, the day
man, about the hoeing of a patch of beans.
" Now, Mose ! What ca'st do this for ? "
" Aw ! I don' know, maester. What can you
gie ? "
'* I'll gi' tha 'aaf a crown " — i.e. an acre.
" Aw ! Aaf a crown. Well, I'll show 'e 'ow I
can do't for 'aaf a crown. Like this, look ! "
Here he put the handle of the hoe between his
knees and dragged it behind him up the drills.
" Daal ! That wunt do. " I'll gie tha sixpence
more," said the farmer.
" Must still trot wi' the 'ow, maester," Mose
replied.
" I'll make it another shillin'."
" I'll gie one blow yer an' another ther'," Mose
answered, indicating his meaning with the hoe.
" S'pose I must gie tha five shillin's," said the
farmer.
" Tha's more like business, maester. Now I can
do't, an' do't well," Mose replied.
The village of Coleshill was unmolested with
THE TABLE RETALIATES 77
witches, but it is said that one Robert Polebrook,
who lived not far off, was in league with the Evil
One. Robert had been cowman for the greater part
of his life, and when he got old he left the herd and
did a little odd work on the road. He it was who went
to Longworth Lodge, that was haunted and deserted
of its tenants, at midnight, and attempted to carry
off a table for use in his cottage. Clutching the table,
and hoisting it upon his shoulders, he succeeded in
getting it outside when a terrific contest began. The
table struggled violently and overthrew Robert, who
got up again and tried hard to master it, but the
table hopped and jumped about around him and
struck him on the head once or twice and finally
overpowered him, and he was constrained to carry
it back to the Lodge and replace it in the room.
The operation took him all night to perform ; he
just managed to get it over by daybreak and met
the shepherd coming to work on his way back home.
But the old fellow was cheerful at times, and sang
merrily as he pushed his wheelbarrow along the road
or clipped the edges of the green turf :
" My pack at my back, and they all wish me well."
Often in winter, when it was bitterly cold and the
snow fell, he would be out at work, whistling cheerily,
with no hat, and only half dressed. One morning,
when the snow was falling in thick, heavy flakes,
Robert was out stone-breaking, with his hat tossed
in the hedge, full of snow, and his clothes nearly
buried on the ground. Then Brown, the fogger, came
past on his way back from breakfast.
" Good morning, John Brown ! Very muggy
warm this morning, John Brown ! " said Polebrook.
" Aa, 'tis, Robbut, an' thee't very zoon be buried
78 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
out o' zight, 'ammer, stwuns, an' all, if thee dossent
lave it an' get along whum wi' tha," the cowman
answered.
When at length the old man became very sick and
felt that death was drawing near he addressed a
final entreaty to his lifelong friend and neighbour.
" Betty," said he, " plaaze to put the owl zythe an'
shart-'andled hoe into the coffin wi' ma, for I dwunt
know what tha'll put ma at when e gets to t'other
country. I'll lose a bucketful o' sweat wi that owl'
hoe." '
After he was dead his two sons, who lived afar off,
came with a waggon, put up the coffin first, then
piled the furniture of the cottage, the garden tools,
wheelbarrow, and clothes-props on top and carted
them all off together.
CHAPTER V
Crossing the Ford — Discoveries in the Field — The Hawk and
the Blackbird — Inglesham Church and Village — The
Round House — The " Grand Old Man of Inglesham " —
Steam-ploughing — A Storm in the Vale.
BEFORE the days of the old Lord Radnor the
Cole was crossed by a ford and the road was
diverted from its original course in order to approach
the bridge. Even after the bridge was made the
carters continued to use the ford. The horses were
accustomed to wade through the river and to take a
drink of water, while the carters liked to wash the
wheels of the waggons or to soak them if the weather
was hot and dry.
Fording the river at deep water was dangerous,
however, and accidents occasionally happened. One
day a Cheap Jack with his stock of jewellery was
being driven in a coach to Highworth Fair and came
to the river, that was swollen with recent rains. The
driver thought he would take the ford and drove his
horse into the river, but the current was strong, and
the coach was washed downstream and smashed
against the bridge. The Cheap Jack escaped by
climbing through the window and clinging to the
roof of the battered coach. " I'm a ruined man,
but save my life," cried he to the villagers who
had assembled to give assistance on hearing of the
accident.
When the workmen were clearing a flam out of
79
80 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
the river in order to make the bridge they found
embedded in the sand several human skeletons,
probably the remains of gipsies, which had been dis-
posed of secretly. The old Lord Radnor's French
valet is said to have been buried on the roadside.
This was in accordance with his private wish : he
objected to being interred with the Protestant
villagers.
While the carter was at plough one day near the
river the front mare of the team stumbled and her
fore-legs sank into the earth up to her knees. Upon
examination it was found that she had stepped into
a stone coffin buried just below the surface ; though
the field had been in cultivation for untold years no
one had made the discovery before. Inside the coffin
were the bones and dust of a corpse, and a small urn
full of ancient coins, which were claimed by the
bailiff of the farm, while the carter received the bones
for his share of the booty. These he carried home
with solemn care and reverence, intending to keep
them, but the house was immediately disturbed
with ghostly sounds and unaccountable happen-
ings, and the carter was compelled to leave the
cottage.
Many attempts were made to unearth the coffin
but to no purpose ; even the two strongest horses
on the farm could not move it from its low bed.
Then the carters were doubly assured of the super-
natural agency and declared that the coffin was
never intended to be moved. Accordingly it was
left in the field, where it still lies beneath the yellow
wheat stubble. I have been confidentially informed
of an old farm labourer — a very quiet and unobtrusive
individual — who is said to possess a sackful of ancient
gold and silver coins which he dug up with skeletons
SIN LIKE COUCH 81
in one place and another. Whether it is true or
not I am unable to say ; the whole matter may be
no more than a romantic fabrication.
At one time the sermons at the church lasted an
hour, and the parson frequently criticised the farmers'
methods of cultivating their land and took them to
task about the couch. He told them that sin was
just like couch, and if any of the congregation did
not know what that was they could see plenty of it
by just going outside and looking over the wall into
farmer Gosling's field.
Beyond the mill the stream, that before had been
but a few yards wide, assumes greater dimensions
and puts on the dignity of a real river. Here its
course is more open and direct. The willows and
poplars have been left behind and the hawthorn
clumps are fewer and smaller in size than they are
farther back towards the head. A great part of
the charm has gone, too ; the sweet mystery of the
pools beneath the boughs is laid bare under the
searching light of the open heavens. The haunting
spiritual presence is no longer felt and the spell is
broken, for we have almost reached the consummation
of the river's course and learned that which before
was beautifully hidden from us.
As well as the greater beauty of the upper river
in the almost continuous lines and massive round
clumps of white and pink blossoming hawthorn,
and the richer profusion of flowers growing in mid-
stream and along the borders, there is the incom-
parable delight of exploring all the crooks and
crannies, the twistings and windings of the channel,
and peering down through the dense bushes into
the quiet holes beneath. Very often the high bushes,
interlaced together, completely cover the water.
6
82 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
The thick blackthorn, laden with purple fruit, has
grown like a wall along the edge. Wild rose and
woody nightshade intertangled clamber along the top
of this, or hang down to the bottom of the bank,
or trail for several yards in the quietly flowing
stream. Here a bank of sand, thickly overgrown
with flags and reeds, projects out and almost cuts
off the current. Beyond this is a pretty pool, with
the beautiful ovate leaves of the yellow water-lily
calmly floating on the surface, and, a little farther
on, a large bed of sky-sweet forget-me-nots softly
glimmering beside the dark green bank.
In the spaces between the hawthorns the river is
fringed with a luxuriant growth of creamy meadow-
sweet and fragrant pink willow-herb, with an
occasional spike of purple nettle or tall hemp agri-
mony. At the drinking-place are sure to be several
clumps of brilliant marsh marigold, plants of the
water persicaria, and one or two roots of celery-
leaved crowfoot growing out of the soft mud and
bursting into bloom. Above the stream flits the
blue-bodied May-fly, now and then alighting on the
reeds and grasses ; the dragon-fly, or " horse stinger,"
whizzes by overhead in the bright sunshine. In the
shallows the caddis worm and destructive water-
beetle are busily engaged. On the grass, a short
way off, is a large roach freshly caught and half
eaten by the old heron, whose footprints are visible
in the soft mud of the drinking-place and along the
shallow stream-bed.
There is more bird-life, too, higher up the stream
than towards its end, where it draws near to the
Thames. The closeness of the banks, the continuous
boughs, and the forests of reeds and grasses give the
birds much protection. There the wild ducks and
ON THE RIVER'S BRINK 83
moorhens build their nests and hatch their young
in safety and lead them up and down the shallow
waters, or about the silent pools, running over the
broad lily leaves expanded on the surface.
If you come to the river's edge when the grass is
newly cut in the large field and, falling on your
hands and knees, creep quietly along in the shade of
the hawthorn or withy boughs, you may see pretty
sights on the waters of the stream. There you may
easily surprise the wild ducks, motionless under the
roots projecting from the bank, or see the mother
sailing gracefully along, surrounded with her tiny
brood, nibbling at the edges of the lily leaves, and
sipping the water with their small bills ; or behold
the moorhen, with red bill and white tail, and a
flock of little sooty followers paddling behind.
Occasionally, too, you may come upon the gaunt old
heron himself fishing in the shallow, and be nearly
struck with his wing as he rises and immediately
soars high up, hovering near to see what your inten-
tions may be about the place.
Of fish there are not so many, except in the pools
lower down, and where the water has been bayed
up for the mills. Being confined with the flams and
shallows they fall an easy prey to the heron, and
also to the otter, that leaves the deeper water of the
Thames and works its way up to the stream's head
under cover of the bushes and reeds. The otter
also plays havoc with the wild fowls, though it is
often discovered and shot by the farmer whose fields
lie alongside the river. A favourite lurking-place
of the otter, by day, is a hollow withy tree ; the
farmer's dog occasionally scents out one there. If
it is disturbed and surprised out of the water it is
easily taken. The shortness of its legs prevents it
84 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
from running away, though it is very fierce when
attacked by the dogs.
Below Coleshill the course of the river is inter-
rupted and the water turned aside and led away
at right angles to meet the Thames a mile above
the original junction. This is effected by means of a
strong wall built across the bed and provided with
a hatch to regulate the water for the cattle in the
meadows beyond. The bed was dug out and the
course so conducted as to procure sufficient fall for
the water to turn the wheel of Inglesham mill. This
was done centuries ago, when Inglesham — at this
time a ruined place and almost deserted, except for
the very ancient and interesting church — was a
prosperous and flourishing village, proud in its position
alongside the undulating Thames. But evil days fell
upon the place and brought about its overthrow ;
only a heap of ruins remains to mark the site upon
which the village formerly stood. The site of the
mill is marked by a set of hatches and a broad pool
— formerly the " whirly hole." The long, spreading
branches of the water-hemlock half cover the surface,
and the wild rose blooms profusely on the bank
and stoops over the margin, blushing to see her
beautiful image reflected in the clear depths beneath.
Numbers of eels pass the hatches every year and
many are trapped on their way through the gate.
The miller used to take eels by means of a " twig
budget " ; that is, a bent willow wand with a long
net attached. This was set through the hatch and
the eels fell into it and became entangled. After
taking them from the net, in order to keep them alive
until such time as they should be required for the
table, they were put into a large perforated box,
which was placed in the pool and kept there, secured
THE MILLER'S WELL 85
with a rope. Hundreds of eels are taken at the
weirs on the Thames and sold at a shilling a pound
by the lock-keepers : an eel-pie is a favourite and
highly esteemed dish in the Thames Valley.
In the midst of the withy bed alongside the stream
— once the site of the miller's house and garden —
is a pit-like place, formerly used as a fish-pond. At
one time every miller had one, and sometimes several
small ponds and wells in which he stored live fish
according to their kind. If anyone was ill, or other-
wise in need of a fish diet, instead of resorting to
the angle he merely applied to the miller, who, with
the aid of a net fixed on a pole, obtained a fish from
his pond and sold it to the applicant. Now the dry
pond, overgrown with dense bushes and reeds,
affords a cover for the great old fox that leaps out
at your approach and bounds across the meadow,
several times stopping and turning round to watch
your intentions before he gallops off and disappears
through the thick hedge into the green field beyond.
Out in the meadows alongside the river the hay-
makers are busy. Here the mowing machines,
drawn by stout horses, are going round and round
the piece, tinkling merrily, while the tall grass, full
of sorrel and crowfoot, staggers and totters for a
moment and then falls, to be finally disposed into
neat rows by the swath-board, that fetches the cut
over as the turn-furrow of a plough gives shape to
the stubborn soil in the cornfield. The corncrake
runs swiftly from side to side of the patch, crying
loudly, while crowds of finches, wagtails, and star-
lings flock behind the machine and stalk proudly
over the swaths, gorging themselves with grass-
hoppers and other insects that had their home in
the thick herbage. On the other hand are the
86 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
machines tedding the half-dried grass or waking up
the hay ; beyond, the loaders are busy gathering it
up from the field and hauling it into the farmyard
to place it upon the rick.
On the grass a little way in front of me the shadow
of a bird falls with a fluttering motion. Looking
up I perceive a hawk hovering in the air on the
other side of the brook. Presently he swoops down
towards the hedge and is immediately met and
assailed by a cock blackbird, that flies boldly at him
and buffets him with his wings, at the same time
uttering loud cries and a series of quick, chattering
notes. Disconcerted with the unexpected opposition
of the blackbird, the hawk wheels round and mounts
up again, and prepares for a second attack on the
hedge. Again he swoops and again he is repelled,
and so on till the third time, after which, coward
that he is, he flies off and the blackbird sits upon
the limb of a neighbouring ash-tree and pours out
a flood of triumphant song at the retreat of the
enemy. Tiptoeing to the hedge I see a nest of
young with the hen bird perched trembling near :
great was the danger from which she had been de-
livered by the bravery of her devoted mate and
husband warbling in the tree-top.
The quaint old church lies off the main road, but
a few yards from the Thames. The building dates
from the twelfth century : in the year 1205 it was
given by King John to the Monks of Beaulieu, in
the New Forest. Its length is no more than forty-
nine feet. It has north and south aisles, with trans-
Norman and Early English features, and a little
bell-cot at the west end. Part of the original oak
of the roof is yet intact. Built into the walls are
several crude figures of great antiquity ; the old
L_
/
//', Dennis Moss, Cirencester.]
Inglesham Church ; date, Twelfth Century.
"A lovely little building, like Kelmscott in size and style, but handsomer, and with more
old things left in it."— William Morkis.
[86]
THE ROUND HOUSE 87
hour-glass, used formerly by the preacher to regulate
the length of his discourse, is preserved, a relic of
days long past and of methods no more to be
employed.
Below the church, shaded by a group of Lombardy
poplars, is a building called the Round House,
guarding the entrance to the old Thames and Severn
Canal, which was once a great highway for those
trading between the ports of London, Bristol, and
Gloucester. Here, too, the Coin, flowing from the
stony Cotswolds, is received into the bosom of her
lover the Thames, and the two go dreaming away
in mystic union towards the eternal ocean. Broad
meadows, the home of the fritillaries, and dotted
with clumps of hawthorn, stretch alongside the river.
The tall spire of Lechlade church rises beyond the
grey stone bridge and above the clustering roofs
of the houses in the town.
The canal, with its once broad and deep channel
and elaborate system of locks, after being in use
for over a century, is neglected now. Its construc-
tion was formerly looked upon as a great engineering
feat. Hopes were entertained of an endless period
of usefulness and prosperity for the waterway ; but
the possibilities of the steam-engine had not then
been entertained, nor could any foretell the wondrous
inventions and revolutions to be effected through-
out the globe within less than a century from that
time.
The Round House is much frequented by tourists
and holiday parties during the summer months.
The very name of the place excites a pleasing curiosity
and impels one to go and see it. There is, moreover,
the joy of rambling along the shores of the deep,
wise river, of watching for otters and kingfishers,
88 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
or plucking the flowers that bloom on the bank or
about the deep-trenched meadows.
Formerly the house was occupied by the lock-
keeper, who superintended the traffic passing through
the gates and received the tolls. Now the old black-
smith has taken up his abode there and lives in semi-
retirement. He still keeps a small tin of borax,
begged from the bargeman who piloted the last load
through the locks, in memory of that event. Some
of this he occasionally uses for welding steel tackle,
such as grains ©f forks and pickaxes.
Spinning and weaving, though not on a large
scale, were carried on in the cottages at Inglesham
in olden times ; agriculture was the principal in-
dustry alongside the Thames banks and round about
the valley.
Old Elijah, the " Grand Old Man of Inglesham,"
lives in a house fronting the road and overlooking
the Thames opposite Kempsford church, three miles
away, the grey tower of which rises magnificently
above the dark tree-tops and beats back the strong
rays of the morning sun. His widowed daughter
tends him in his age — he is nearly ninety-five. The
farmer has assured them the use of the cottage at a
nominal rent as long as they have need of it : their
anxiety for the future is reduced to the minimum.
Seeing the old man outside, I addressed him,
standing near the gate.
" I'm come to have a chat with you," said I.
" An' very plaazed to zee 'e. I likes a bit o' good
company," returned he.
" Oh, sir, he's very dull of understanding ! " cried
the middle-aged daughter, appearing in the doorway.
There was no need of the apology. A man of
ninety-five, and a rustic, of no school education,
GRAMP'S MISTAKE 89
who can talk intelligently for hours about the farm,
the passing of Laws and Acts, electioneering, historical
events, and great national movements, who can
explain many of the phenomena of the heavens and
describe the equinox, discuss local topics, from the
old Priory of St. John to the British village on
Badbury Hill and the Hannington " Liberty," and
finish up with singing a score of songs remembered
for sixty or seventy years, is not dull of understanding.
As a matter of fact — I tell it as a confidence —
Gramp thought at first I was a curate come to make
the usual call and was inclined to be formal, but
when I had discovered myself as a very common
sort of mortal he became friendly and familiar.
Gramp is really a splendid figure — a delightful and
congenial soul. He is of medium height, is broad
and well made, and as erect as many a man at sixty.
His head is massive and his features are typically
English, with heavy brows, expressive eyes, aristo-
cratic nose, and clean-shaven lips and chin. His
long, silky, snow-white hair hangs nearly to his
shoulders and adds reverence to his appearance.
Every day, when it is dry and fine, with his feet
inside a pair of large slippers, and gripping a stout
stick in his hand, Gramp walks down the road to
the old pound and chats with his neighbour. When
it is wet and cold he sits by the fire, hat on head,
and smokes his pipe, or hums over the airs he learned
as a youth.
Until he was over ninety Gramp gathered flags
and bulrushes from the river and made baskets,
chair-bottoms, and other articles. He also made the
hassocks in use at the quaint little church by the
Thames' side. He would have gone this year and
got more rushes, but his daughter would not allow
90 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
him to walk so far ; accordingly he has to be content
with looking over the garden or sitting and thinking
about old times. One of the men with whom he
worked on the farm as a boy fought at Trafalgar
and amused them with his tales of the battle. When
the fight was at its hottest a Sergeant of marines
was very despondent.
" Oh dear," said he, " we shall never see England
nor the old folks any more, for we can't stand this
much longer."
While he was thinking of death, a jolly tar came
running up from below and shouted : " What cheer !
What cheer ! Duck for dinner ! Duck for dinner !
There's hundreds on the water," and, looking over,
they spied scores of wild fowls that had got in the
way of the guns, being washed against the ship's
side and seized by the sailors.
Another local recruit fought at the battle of
Waterloo. During the battle he got cut off from
his company and was isolated and surrounded by
the Frenchmen, but he fought and killed seven of
them single-handed before he himself was over-
powered and slain.
The scarcity of men and the difficulty of obtaining
recruits at that time is well known. The sum of
thirty pounds was paid to volunteers, and Gramp
had heard it said that a bold sergeant sat before a
drum in the market-place, upon which was placed
thirty sovereigns in gold, and that every time he
beat the drum the coins sprang into the air, which
feat was practised in order to attract the attention
of the rustics and induce them to enlist. Towards
the end of the war local farmers subscribed the
sum of fifty pounds and gave to a villager to procure
his enlistment. Before he had got far on his journey
A SEVERE FROST 91
peace was proclaimed, and he came home with the
money and did no more work for two years.
Gramp has seen many great floods in the Vale.
" The water ull cut out o' that owl' Thames an'
bust out o' the bank, an' be all over everything in
'aaf a' hour, an' zumtimes be gone agyen in forty
minutes," he says. He remembers when there were
many more weirs on the Thames than there are now,
and when the stream was navigable up to Cricklade.
" But the sprengs be wakened in thaay owl' 'ills,
an' ther yent so much water comes down as 'twas
when I was a bwoy," he tells you. The winter of
1788-89 was unusually severe. The frost lasted
continually for thirteen weeks, and the Thames,
in many places, was frozen to the bottom. This
Elijah had learned of his grandfather, and the matter
was also celebrated in a short rhyme sung by the
fiddlers who came to the feasts :
" The frost began in eighty-eight
And ended in eighty-nine."
Now the summer is over. All the haymaking
is done. The ricks have been tucked and thatched.
The mowing machines and horse-rakes have been
gathered together and safely stowed in the sheds,
and the fields are green with the fresh young after-
math. The sun, that looked down day after day
from an almost tropical sky, strikes not so fiercely
now. In the evening the mists thicken. Purple
shades steal up out of the east and creep early around
the north and south, dimming the splendour of sun-
set and putting the glory to flight. Autumn treads
on the heels of weary, jaded summer and paints
her beautiful image in the earth. The hills, fields,
and valley put on their robes of radiant gold and
await the sacrifice, when the high priest of the
92 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
heavens shall have finished his yearly office and
delivered up his burning seal into the hands of all-
provident Time. Soon the reapers will enter the
wheat, and the proud harvest will be laid low. Soon
the sheaves will be ingathered, the smooth, clear
grain threshed out, and the winter toils begin.
Already the steam-plough is at work in the field,
breaking up the dry, stubborn soil and preparing it
to receive the seed, when the kindly rain has fallen
and powdered the surface of the earth. The huge
engines, one on each side of the field, are puffing
and panting alternately, rocking, trembling, and
straining like giants to draw the mighty cultivator
that staggers and stumbles, jumps and jolts, and
plunges headlong on its rough course across the
patch. How hard the ground is ! How fearful the
effort required to force a way through it ! And
how doggedly the green-painted wizard persists in
the toil ! The dense black smoke and cinders shoot
high into the air. The bright, smooth piston-rod
shoots in and out like lightning, and the heavy fly-
wheel whirls rapidly round, enveloped in a halo of
light. The heavy steel cable, well polished with
trailing the implement, flashes like silver in the
sunshine. At one time this is straight and taut.
Now it leaps into the air, now plunges down, lashing
the earth furiously ; now it sways to and fro side-
ways, jerking and tugging, and now it lies prone on
the earth, half the length of the patch, its glittering,
snake-like coil creeping silently along the surface of
the ground. A cloud of brownish dust encircles the
plough, half concealing the steersman perched upon
his iron seat. He holds fast and grips hard on the
wheel and pilots the machine skilfully from end to
end.
A THUNDERSTORM 93
Now the first engine stops, for the plough has reached
the end, and the other begins, steadily at first ; the
ponderous implement turns clumsily round and goes
plunging back across the piece. Meanwhile the
vacant engine takes advantage of the respite to go
forward several paces and patiently awaits the
plough's arrival on the other side. The driver leaps
down from the engine and pours oil into the lubri-
cators, or chats with the farmer who has come out
to see the finishing up of the work, for there is not
much more to be done. A few more journeys and
several half-turns completes the ploughing ; then the
engine farthest from the entrance turns round and
rushes powerfully across the rough piece, leaving
the implement to follow behind and plough out the
tracks of the ribbed wheels. This is no sooner done
than with a bright flash and a sharp clap overhead
the heavens break and a light thunder shower falls,
causing the heavy wheels to skid round and bringing
the engine to a standstill, with the machinery in full
motion.
For several hours a storm had been brewing along
the Cotswolds. At noon the sun smote down from
the hazy sky with a sultry, humid heat, making
one feel faint and powerless and preventing great
physical exertion. The small wind that blew over
the river died away ; a deep hush fell upon the
fields, broken only by the kuh-kuh of the ploughing
engines. A few light, copper-tinted clouds, with
burning silver rims, sprang suddenly into mid-air,
while lower down on the horizon a dense bank of
bluish-white vapour arose and spread along the low-
lying hills. The storm made no progress, however,
but hovered, phantom-like, in the distance, as fearing
to approach until the sun should lose something of
94 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
his fiery strength and glittering brightness. With
the sun's decline the cloud advanced steadily, pushing
out its armed squadrons into the air and frowning
terribly. By mid-afternoon the outbreak was im-
minent, and the first warning clap came and the
first swift drops of rain fell as the ploughing engines
finished their work and proceeded out of the field.
Then the storm broke in earnest. To the north,
the sky was blue-black. The pitchy clouds came
rolling up, over and over, like huge waves underneath.
The zigzag lightning flashed and played about the
heavens, and the thunder crashed and boomed,
rolled and muttered, and crashed and boomed again
incessantly. The rain fell in sheets, dashing on the
hard clods of earth in the field and causing them
to smoke, while the water ran in streams, flooding
the roads and ditches and half drowning the pretty
orange-tipped ox-tongue blooming sweetly beside the
bank.
Southward, towards the downs, the purple clouds
hang in heavy folds, like a half-lowered curtain,
showing an exquisite sky beneath. There the near
hills wear tints of tenderest green, and all behind is
of loveliest gold, from deep to pale, showing like an
enchanted land, surpassing the imagination. Now
the storm wheels, drawing over the White Horse,
which is soon obliterated with torrential rain. Charl-
bury Hill is ink black, while Liddington Hill, but a
mile away, is still robed in unspeakable gold. This
lasts not long, however. Presently that, too, is
enveloped. The whole heaven is as dark as night ;
everything is blotted out and the deluge is incessant.
CHAPTER VI
The " Ha'penny Bridge " — Buscot — Squire Campbell's Works
— The "Water Gardens" — Herons — Visitors to the
Lake — The Woodman Naturalist — Eaton Weir — Floods
at Kelmscott.
THE straight-as-a-line raised road, bordered with
deep ditches full of meadow-sweet, loose-strife,
and valerian, that runs down to the picturesque
steeple town beyond the river, has not existed for
much more than a century. Formerly a bridle-
track through green fields led to the Thames, wide
and deep at this point, and travellers and others
wishing to go by that way were ferried across into
the Gloucestershire town. At length, on the com-
pletion of the Canal, the inhabitants decided to build
a bridge over the stream and to construct a hard
road in place of the green track. Accordingly, after
many difficulties, the work was completed. The
huge span of the bridge was made and a pike house
built to take tolls from those crossing into the town.
The amount of the toll was fixed at a halfpenny, and
the bridge came to be known far and wide as the
Ha'penny Bridge. There is a local tradition to the
effect that when the bridge was about to undergo
the first severe test the master mason ran and climbed
one of the high poplar-trees at the Round House and
declared that if the bridge gave way he would leap
into the river and be drowned.
Below the bridge the river, that was flowing serenely
95
96 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
down the deep green fields, suddenly turns and forms
a double loop, sweeping majestically round and after-
wards resuming its course between lines of silvery
willows. Running beneath the road is a long tunnel
to assist in carrying off the water in flood-time ;
several other shorter arches, made for the same
purpose, support the highway. Pools of stagnant
water, half concealed with tall flags and rushes, lie
around and below the arches throughout the summer
and afford a secure refuge for the water-fowl. Here
also the otters love to come and fish in the shallows
and chase the half-grown pikes that were borne
out of the river during the floods and left behind
when the waters sank.
The frequent rising of the water in the winter has
washed the mortar out of the stones in the wall and
left many deep holes running within. In these crevices
a colony of sand-martins have their lodging and
rear their offspring, out of the reach of mischievous
boys and others, who are unable to climb down the
wall and interfere with the eggs and young. Here
also the pretty blue titmice build, and hatch their
numerous brood, darting in and out of the wall like
sunbeams and becoming extraordinarily excited and
impatient if you chance to remain near the mouth
of the nest for a few moments. In the lower boughs
of the large withy trees projecting over the river the
moorhens roost ; the old heron perches in the scrub
at the top of the trunk and sleeps during the night,
ready to leap up at daybreak and take his prey,
watching patiently beside the pools in the glistening
meadows. The graceful swans float beautifully beside
the reeds, plunging their long necks deep down into
the bluish water, and retire with dignity to the
farthest shore in the bend to escape the boat that
A PATTERN OF INDUSTRY 97
with much knocking and splashing of oars shoots
into sight from behind the tall flags at the curve.
The pink flowering-rush shows beside the shaded
hemp-nettle ; sneezewort and loose-strife, with spikes
of blossom often sixteen inches in length, grow along
the edge of the water. Tall bulrushes, round and
smooth, with a tuft of rich brown blossom growing
near the spear-like point, stand amid the pools and
along the river-bank, motionless, or gently swaying
and stooping beneath the weight of the little sedge-
warbler that hops to and fro and perches sideways on
the quivering stems.
The village of Buscot, though insignificant in size,
is famed throughout the Upper Thames Valley.
This, in the first place, is owing to the beauty of its
surroundings, its woods and grounds, and, secondly,
by reason of the remarkable energy and prodigality
of a former occupant of the mansion in the park,
whose name became familiar for many miles around.
The doings of Squire Campbell, of Buscot Park, were
told far and near, and many people came to the little
riverside village in order to obtain employment at
one or other of the great works he took in hand.
He brought into cultivation hundreds of acres
of land that before had been useless, dug lakes and
reservoirs at the cost of many thousands of pounds,
and turned what had been a wilderness into a beautiful
and fertile paradise. Money flowed like water, and
the workmen were as the squire swore he would have
them to be, i.e. " as thick as flies " ; there was no
limit to the outpouring of gold till the Crimean War
arose and ruined the well-intentioned but imprudent
speculator.
Formerly Buscot had its medical practitioner, who
did something for suffering humanity, as is proved
7
98 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
by his records unwittingly left behind, in which we
read the frequently occurring and significant phrase :
" For bleeding old Betty Martin, one shilling." With
the doctor's records is preserved a leather label
formerly nailed to a package consigned to the Vicar
from London, and which is reminiscent of other days :
To
Burscot Parsonage,
Near Leachlade,
Gloucestershire.
By Waggon to Oxford. To be forwarded by
Caravan No. i.
The road through the village is one of the chief high-
ways from Gloucester to London and was regularly
traversed by the heavy lumbering waggons and stage-
coaches before the railways were made.
The grey silent church stands but a few paces
from the river's brink, upon a small terrace suffi-
ciently high to prevent its being flooded after the
heavy winter rains. The building dates from the
twelfth century, though no part of the original
survives, with the exception of the trans-Norman
chancel arch, resting upon its clustered pillars, and
this was altered to a pointed shape and spoiled about
the year 1180. The interior is simple. The walls
and roof are cemented over and there is little of
interest besides the east window — painted by Burne-
Jones during his sojourn with the poet Morris at
Kelmscott — the old Spanish lectern, and an oak
pulpit, with three panels painted by the Flemish
artist, Mabuse. The centre panel, representing the
Adoration of the Magi, is remarkable in that the
black king is painted with white legs. There is a
legend that the black king's knees were worn white
with kneeling ; a more probable solution is that the
HARVEST FESTIVAL 99
king's legs had to be made white before he could adore
the Saviour.
To-day the church is strewn with cuttings of
flowers and leaves and is generally untidy, for it is
being decorated for Harvest Festival. All the morn-
ing the farmers' wives have been employed arranging
fruits, flowers, and vegetables in the windows and
twining the golden corn around the pulpit and choir-
stalls. In the corner is a sheaf of wheat with heavy
ears ; here the pure white or bronze chrysanthemums
mingle with the modest Michaelmas daisies, or the
great gold-faced sunflower smiles broadly upon the
richly coloured dahlias. Village maidens pass noise-
lessly to and fro, disposing the bright-tinted leaves
and inter-setting the blossoms and fruits, while others
arrive with offerings of various kinds — oats and barley
from the field, and the largest apples and vegetables
from the garden. The vegetables are piled upon
the floor, while the orchard fruits are set in the
windows ; a large home-made loaf is fixed con-
spicuously upon the lectern. One thing alone is
wanting to the picture, that is, a large shock or stook
of a dozen or twenty sheaves set up in the middle of
the church or a heap of threshed grain, such as
the Greek poet Theocritus tells us they had at their
harvest festival held in honour of Ceres, with the
great winnowing shovel thrust down into it, while
the goddess, crowned with garlands and holding
handfuls of wheat and poppies, looked benignly down
upon them at the celebrations.
A water-wheel, twelve feet high and sixteen feet
wide, stands on the river. The weight of this is over
twenty-five tons, and it has a driving capacity equi-
valent to twenty-one horse-power. It is fitted with
a number of iron shell-like blades ; the water, flow-
/
100 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
ing swiftly down a chute beneath a heavy cast-iron
plate, rushes upon these and forces them round,
enabling the wheel to revolve four or five times a
minute. Alongside is a shed containing powerful
pumps which are operated by means of a system of
cogs and gear. The teeth of the cogs around the
great wheel are worn as thin as pennies, for they have
been in constant use for twenty years. A special
Act of Parliament was needed to sanction the build-
ing of the wheel on the Thames ; upon its continued
exertions depends the success and welfare of all the
farms on the estate, which would be deprived of water
if the pumps were stopped.
A spirit factory stood on the bank of the river
above the lock-gate. This was the largest and most
expensive jof all the experimental works undertaken
by the squire, but though it cost a hundred thousand
pounds to build and equip, and was superintended by
French experts, it was doomed to failure after ten
years' working. The villagers who worked at the
distillery say that excessive duties killed the industry ;
whatever the cause of its demise there was no lack
of energy on the part of the squire to make the
concern profitable.
Nevertheless, in spite of his failures, the squire
was a remarkable man. Whatever he attempted
was on a grand scale, and if one scheme failed he
immediately embraced another and was undaunted
by difficulties, however great they might have been.
The men on his estate worked nine hours a day and
received fair wages. He staggered all the other
farmers and landowners in the neighbourhood by
reason of his profuseness, his unheard-of experiments,
and his tremendous energies.
Beet was the material from which the spirit was
PLOUGHING BY LIMELIGHT 101
extracted. A system of artificial irrigation was
contrived to fertilise the hill ground ; the water was
pumped up from the river by the wheel. The squire
manufactured his own manures for growing the beet,
grinding up immense quantities of coprolite. Besides
this he had quarries opened and limekilns built to
produce lime for dressing the land. The hauling was
done by steam - power. The whole countryside
throbbed with life, and the earth quivered beneath
the iron wheels of the heavy traction engines.
To cultivate his land he had several sets of steam-
ploughing tackle of considerable dimensions. The
engines were of thirty horse-power each, and each
weighed thirty tons, that is, more than double the
weight and three times the power of those ordinarily
in use to-day. They ploughed night and day through-
out the autumn and winter, until the whole of the
land had been well broken up and cleaned ready to
take the seed in the following spring. To enable
the steam-ploughing to proceed by night a system
of limelight was installed on the plant. If the ground
was very wet the engines moved on timbers. The
squire visited the field at all hours of the night, and
provided relief gangs ; he could brook no delays in
getting forward with the work of cultivation. The
squire's wife was as energetic as her husband. She
was often to be seen striding through the fields with
the tail of her skirt drawn through her knees and
buckled to her waistband in front.
The first method of steam-ploughing differed from
that followed in our own time, or even in Squire
Campbell's early days. Then only one engine was
employed. This was a portable machine, and was
drawn out to the field by horses. If the field was of
a moderate size the engine stood on one side, but if
102 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
it was very large it was set in the middle. Near the
engine was a heavy double windlass, with which the
cables were wound, and which was driven by means
of a belt from the engine. Situated at several points
about the field were " porters," containing small
pulley wheels through which the cables ran. These
were attached to a large iron anchor which dug deeply
into the earth as the engine was pulling from the
windlass. When the plough reached the end of the
field the cable was switched off on to another pulley
and the implement went plunging back across the
piece. The anchor was released from the earth and
shifted with levers ; several assistants, besides the
engineman and steersman, were required to look after
the tackle.
When the traction engine first made its appear-
ance on the road it was provided with a set of shafts
fixed in front and a horse, as it were, to draw the
machine. This, curious as it may seem, was com-
pulsory, in order not to frighten the horses attached
to other vehicles on the highway.
A notable feature of the great house is its scheme
of water-gardens. They are a series of fountains
and their basins, constructed in terraces and con-
nected by a tiny stream that flows down the centre.
Lines of tall trees stand back from the arcade. Along-
side the fountains are garden plots adorned with
statues, sculptures, and massive carved Italian urns
and pottery ware. Beautiful wax-like water-lilies
float on the surface of the pools beneath the fountains ;
clumps of iris grow along the margin of the stones.
In the open pools the goldfish sport and play and
float with languid ease, or stand on their heads above
the stone bottom. Big, lumbering carps wriggle
about and hide beneath the lily leaves and
A UNIQUE ARCH 103
among the gauze-like weeds, out of sight of the
stranger.
At the end of the terrace garden is a curious arch
made of the jawbone of a whale, and which is said
to have been standing in its present position for
more than a century. The length of the jaw is
fifteen feet, by twelve feet wide at the base, and
six feet near the nose — the swallowing capacity of
the animal must have been enormous. In eastern
maritime countries the ancient peoples, in building
their houses, used fish-bones instead of timber, which
must have been a valuable substitute. Although the
arch has stood for a hundred years in rain, frost, and
sunshine, it is practically unimpaired, and the bone
is almost as hard as iron.
Besides the few carps kept in the fountains there
are large numbers in the waters of the lake. They
have their homes in the deep pools, and are seldom
tempted to take the deceitful bait of the angler, though
now and then one may lose its wariness and become
fixed upon the sharp hook. Carps live to a great
age, even for as long a time as a hundred, or a hundred
and fifty years, as has been proved by trustworthy
evidence. Carps will live longer out of their element
than will any other fish. They have been kept alive
out of water for a month and fed with bread and
milk during that period.
Many small birds dwell in the wood under the
protection of the keepers, who have charge of the
lake and fish. Here also, in the lofty spruces and
poplars, the herons rear their young close to the
shallow waters of the lake, where they may be seen
watching patiently beside the bank ready to stab
their unsuspecting prey when it swims near. The
nest of the heron is large and rather flat, resembling
104 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
that of a pigeon, with this distinction, that it is pro-
vided with two deep holes, one on each side, for
containing the legs of the bird when sitting upon the
eggs. From this it is seen that the heron does not
sit upon the nest with folded legs, as do other birds
and wild-fowls, but while its body rests above the
eggs its legs are in the holes. Accordingly, when a
heron rises from the nest its legs are seen to be sus-
pended and are folded afterwards, while other birds
rise with the aid of their wings, being cramped in the
legs with long sitting.
The heron lays from five to seven eggs, and takes
great care of her offspring, bringing home large
quantities of fish from the shallow waters. The
heron's plan is to conceal itself on the bank, or amid
reeds, and wait the approach of a fish. Immediately
one comes into view the heron stabs it behind the
gills and stuns it, and the fish, rising to the surface, is
quickly seized and thrown out upon dry land. The
heron is highly destructive ; it is estimated that one
bird will destroy nine or ten thousand fish in a year.
One way of taking it is with line and hook, baited with
a minnow. By noting a regular haunt of the bird and
carefully setting a line, it may be caught in this
manner. The Romans were acquainted with the
heron, and, with characteristic resourcefulness, turned
it to some account, making musical pipes out of its
leg bones.
The lake has recently been cleaned out and freed
from mud and weeds that had been steadily accumu-
lating for nearly a century. This was done with
steam-engines, and it took a year and a half to com-
plete the work. First the water was drawn off and
the fish removed into other pools. Then a platform
of timber was made to enable one engine to enter
THE RESERVOIR 105
the bed of the lake, while the other took its position
in the meadow opposite. The two engines were
connected with a steel cable, to which was attached
a large scoop capable of holding five tons of mud.
One engine drew this empty across the bed of the
lake and the other dragged it back, when it auto-
matically adjusted itself and scooped up the mud,
lifting when full, and being then drawn to the bank.
The engines engaged at the task worked from day-
light till dark ; eight hundred or a thousand tons of
mud were removed in one day.
The reservoir, into which the water for the farms
is pumped by the wheel on the Thames, stands high
above the lake. This is of twenty acres in extent,
with an oval bed seventy-five feet deep in the middle.
The digging of the reservoir was an expensive under-
taking ; its construction is said to have cost the
squire between £80,000 and £90,000. This is looked
upon, and justly so, as the most valuable work he
did ; the farmer declares bluntly that ' ' the 'state
wouldn't be worth tuppence without the reservoy."
To make the basin the entire side of the hill had to
be removed and carried back a quarter of a mile in
order to form the outer bank and the two ends.
These had to be built up firmly from the bottom
and the inside " puddled " with clay to make them
watertight.
The lake and reservoir, by reason of their remote-
ness and privacy, form an ideal retreat for the water-
fowls. Pleasure-seekers on the river frighten away
from there all but the brazen-hearted moorhens and
a few dabchicks ; the rarer kinds flock to the reservoir,
where they are encouraged and protected by the
gamekeepers. Most wild-fowls are on the lakes in
the winter, though during the summer there are
106 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
many visitors swimming about among the reeds, and
on the middle of the broad pool. Here, besides the
more common kinds, are to be found widgeons, teals,
grebes, wild geese, tufted ducks, muscovy ducks,
shelducks, golden-eye ducks, sea-swallows, seagulls,
divers, jack-snipes, summer snipes, a winter bird of
passage locally called a " kerr," and, now and then,
a bittern.
The woodcock and the peregrin falcon nest in the
plantations. Woodpeckers are in great evidence ;
the large green one, elsewhere called the " ya-ha,"
and " eke-aw," is here named the " yaffel " and
' yukel." The seagulls, driven inland by stormy
weather during the winter months, become com-
paratively tame and sometimes follow the plough
in the field, feeding with the rooks and starlings.
Not long ago a farm hand found one with its wing
broken and took it home. The gull became very
tame and fond of its protector, eating out of his
hand and perching upon his shoulder.
The little sea-swallow is a daring bird. This dives
into the water for five or six feet, seizes on its prey,
and darts up and into the open air again. In ap-
pearance it resembles the land-swallow, the chief
difference being that one branch of its tail is shorter
than the other.
The reservoir on the hill is fringed with a growth of
dark green bulrushes, standing in the water, and con-
cealing the straight, artificially formed banks. Both
bulrush and flag come into bloom in late summer.
The former puts forth a small cluster of purplish
brown blossom a few inches below the point ; the latter
unsheathes a long green head which soon becomes
a deep rich brown, showing conspicuously among the
tops of the graceful sword-like leaves. Bulrushes,
THE WOODMAN'S HOBBIES 107
gathered not later than the beginning of September,
are used for weaving baskets, seats of chairs, and
mattresses. They are also used by the coopers, who
lay a rush between the sections of wood to fill up the
crevices and keep their barrels watertight when the
iron hoops are put round.
At the woodman's house many curios are to be
seen. He is an enthusiastic student of birds, and,
though unable to read or write, he has collected many
rare specimens which he has stuffed and sold to
naturalists. In addition to this he has been a breeder
of moths and butterflies. These he hatched in
thousands, by means of glass cases built against the
walls of his cottage, and afterwards sold them to
students and collectors. He has often taken the eggs
of the kingfisher and reared the young, feeding them
with minnows from the brook. The tiny birds eat
from three to six minnows a day, though the old
ones devour many more than this.
Of late years the woodman-naturalist has been
afflicted with rheumatism and is prevented from
following his vocation as taxidermist, but the cottage
still contains a few specimens of rare birds, though
they are not treasured as formerly. The splendid
peregrin falcon, shot with a pigeon in its claws, is
fixed upon a post in the garden to frighten the mis-
chievous sparrows from the peas and cress, and the
badger skins are nailed over the roof of the pigsty
to prevent the wet from dropping on the swine
beneath.
A narrow track branches off from the road and
leads through a plantation of spruces and black firs.
Within the plantation, half concealed with the dark
boughs, is a notice-board containing the words, in
large letters— TO EATON WEIR. Farther down,
108 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
in a small opening, is a pretty lodge and, below that,
a tiny stream winds down to the calm-flowing river,
half a mile distant. The old village of Eaton Hastings
stood close to the river's bank. It has now disap-
peared, with the exception of the small church and
several cottages, though its site is indicated by the
enclosure called Town Meadow.
There is no lock alongside the weir, for the fall
of water is no more than two feet. Consequently,
small boats coming up or going down stream have
to be drawn over the barrier on rollers, and large
craft, such as steamers and barges, have to " shoot
the weir." To enable them to do this the paddles
on one side are taken out. The sinking of the water
on the high side and the rising on the low side produce
a level, and the boat passes through on its journey.
Immediately the paddles are again fixed into the
stout frame ; the water is dammed back and flows
over the top in a pellucid sheet.
The weir, officially named Eaton Weir, is called
Hart's Weir by the local inhabitants. Thus, if you
inquire of a rustic the way to Eaton Weir, he looks
at you in silence for a moment and exclaims : " Eaton
Wire, sir ! You means Hart's Wire, don' 'e, sir ? "
This came about by reason of the inn upon the
bank having been kept for several generations by a
family named Hart. In time the name Hart's Weir
was adopted as being shorter, and, perhaps, because
it afforded more ready and significant means of
identification.
The innkeeper, according to the account of the
villagers, was a notorious smuggler. He obtained
his kegs of spirit from the bargemen who came up
from London and concealed them in the bed of the
river. To the kegs he attached ropes or chains ;
FLOOD RECORDS 109
when he wanted one he took a long-handled iron rake
and groped on the bottom till he struck the chain
and so got it ashore. Whoever wanted whisky or
brandy came down to the Weir after dark and] was
supplied by the innkeeper. The spot is lonely and
difficult of access in the winter ; there was little fear
of being surprised by the Customs officers.
Over the wooden bridge above the weir a foot-
path runs through level fields intersected with a dike
full of forget-me-not and loose-strife. On one side of
the dike is a bank, three feet high, constructed to
contain the water at high flood and save the country
round about from being inundated. The wild
rabbits, by continually tunnelling in the soft mould,
have impaired the bank, though it still serves to hold
back the bulk of the water. While digging for gravel
recently in a field near the river the men unearthed
several skeletons and a number of silver buttons.
They were probably the remains of soldiers or officers
slain either in the year 1387, when Robert de Vere
was defeated by the Earl of Derby, or during the
fighting between the troops of Cromwell and King
Charles.
So deep were the floods at Kelmscott before the
construction of the bank that the cows swam over
the tops of the walls bordering the road, and the
inhabitants were compelled to live upstairs for six
weeks at a stretch, where they were served with
loaves handed up to them on pitch-forks by relief-
men in boats.
The average quantity of water leaping through the
weir paddles every twenty-four hours is 203 million
gallons. In dry weather the amount of water falls
considerably below this figure, and the average daily
flow in September — which is usually the driest month
110 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
of the year — declines to 79 million gallons. During
the heavy flood in January 1915, on the highest day
approximately 1760 million gallons of water passed
Eaton Weir.
The greatest flood in the valley in modern times
happened in November of the year 1894, and the
greatest summer flood on record took place in the
June of 1903. Then the hay crops were totally
destroyed, and the youthful population of the village
amused themselves with diving above the hard road
from the ancient market-cross standing before the
inn.
CHAPTER VII
The Journey up the River — The Rat and Kingfisher — St.
John's Bridge and Priory — Lechlade " Flea Fair " —
Holders of the Manor — Curious Items of Church Ex-
penditure — Local Witchcraft Tales.
AT the weir a boat is waiting ready to proceed
up the river to St. John's Bridge, passing
on to the steeple town beyond. Accordingly we
take our place at the oars and push out gently from
the small landing-stage, avoiding the suction of the
weir current, then lie to and creep along some distance
beneath the low bank and so into the open.
To-day the river is glorious. The sun, looking
down from the cloudless blue upon the quivering
fields, has touched them with radiant beauty.
Ahead the surface of the water is dazzling silver ;
behind, above the weir, it is as blue as the empyrean,
broken only by a bunch of tangled weeds or a large
yellow dockleaf that floats down soon to be carried
over the paddles and pitched into the seething whirl-
pool beneath. Up from the river to the south along
the ridge lies the dark fir-wood with the delicate green
of the smooth beeches and poplars beyond ; on the
other hand, level cornfields stretch away to the gently
rising Cotswolds. The foliage of the elms is so
luxuriant it seems as though the boughs must break
with the weight. The lines of pollard willows, the
long rakish tops of which are lightly clad with silvery
leaves, look cool and unperturbed standing alongside
the reedy margin of the river. Behind the hawthorn
in
112 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
clump lurks the fisherman, rod in hand, and with
cap stuck full of artificial flies, hoping to take the
wily trout or great chub basking in the sun's rays
at the top of the water. Another is angling in the
deep pool for perch and tench, or whatever may
chance to be attracted by the wriggling bait impaled
upon the barbed hook. Half-way up the field are
two hares at play, running round and round and
doubling to and fro amid the withering grasses. A
fine cock pheasant, straying from the wood on the
hill, has flown across the river and now struts proudly
and confidently upon the short green turf of the close-
cropped meadow.
Smoothly and easily we glide upstream, winding
round between walls of high reeds and beneath the
green and grey willows. At every dip of the oar a
tiny sedge-warbler or reed-bunting shoots out of the
flags along the margin ; the moorhen, suddenly
startled from her late-built nest, flies above the stream,
her feet dipping in the water till she settles again
higher up. Little waves push out on each side and
tremble to the shore ; the floating leaves of the water-
plants lift gently and sway up and down as the frail
barque, prow high and stern low, cleaves a way through
the limpid water. Deep down the bed of the river
is now and then discovered by means of the grey
sand or a cluster of wrinkled lily leaves. Here a
large pike, sunning under the bank, swirls round and
shoots out of sight, or a great trout or chub, swimming
heavily, makes its way beneath the dense weeds.
Alongside a shallow backwater, grown round with
flags, and overhung with ash and willow boughs, is
one taking up a trap that was set for an otter. This
is a large iron gin with sharp steel teeth and stout
spring like those of a rat-trap. The presence of the
A CURIOUS INSTINCT 113
animal was discovered by its tracks. Three times
the gin was set and left through the night ; on the
fourth night the unhappy animal was gripped by a
hind foot. By dint of hard struggling, however, the
otter succeeded in getting free at the expense of its
limb, which it left in the trap. Doubtless it will seek
other quarters now, though it will certainly be hunted
again, so great is the antipathy of anglers and others
to this beautiful and interesting but destructive
creature.
Here we pass two lovers in a small boat moored
to a torn withy-tree that stands in a tiny recess,
half concealed with meadow-sweet and loose-strife,
and soon after a brilliant kingfisher flies out of a hole
in the bank and darts like a flash of light along the
face of the stream. There it probably has its nest
made of fish-bones, or of the rib-bones of rats, which,
from their curved shape, are well fitted for the pur-
pose. The rat is the deadly enemy of the kingfisher,
and is perhaps the chief cause of its comparative
scarcity. The nests, built in holes along the bank,
are almost sure to be found by the rats that swarm
near the river. They devour the eggs, or the young,
and very often the parent bird, too, sitting closely
over her brood in the dark night. Snakes also destroy
the eggs of the kingfisher and play havoc with the
young water-fowls, before they have become suffici-
ently large to take care of themselves. Thus, the
kingfisher eats the fish, the rat devours the king-
fisher, the pike and eel swallow the rat, and the balance
of nature is to some extent maintained. Perhaps
the instinct of retaliation prompts the kingfisher to
line its nest with the rib-bones of the rat, as though
it took delight in sitting above the remains of its most
persistent and dreaded enemy.
8
114 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
St. John's Bridge is one of the most ancient on the
Thames and has existed for seven centuries, though
a more modern arch has been built upon the old
foundations. Previous to the opening of the thir-
teenth century there appear to have been no stone
bridges over the rivers in England. At that time
the Thames was spanned by wooden structures.
Huge rough piers and piles were fixed in the bed,
with baulks of timber overlaid, and the road was
conducted above them. The bridges were often
destroyed or seriously damaged by the terrible floods
that befell in the winter, which was a source of great
inconvenience to travellers and expense to those
upon whom devolved their upkeeping. At length
deliberations were held and it was decided to build
stone bridges over the rivers. The old wooden piles
and piers were doomed ; a new era was dawning.
In the year 1209 London Bridge was built, and St.
John's Bridge at Lechlade was soon afterwards con-
structed. King John encouraged the work and
contributed twenty marks towards the cost of the
Lechlade bridge. The old wooden structures dis-
appeared and the bed of the river was cleaned and
improved, though the devastating floods from time
to time still swept the vale, washing away the crops
and buildings and drowning the cattle alongside the
banks.
A nunnery, and afterwards a Hospital or Priory,
stood near the bridge in olden times. Nearly every
town had its Hospital, at which the aged and sick
were tended and poor travellers entertained and
relieved in their journeyings from place to place.
The Hospital of St. John seems to have been originally
founded in order to shelter the workmen building the
bridge, some of whom afterwards settled and remained
WAR ON CHUBS 115
there for the rest of their days. In course of time
the Hospital or Priory undertook the care of the
pile, and was endowed with lands and empowered
to take tolls for that purpose.
The rules of the Priory were quaint and curious.
It was imperative that the brethren should be dressed
in russet-coloured garments, and that no one should
possess anything of his own or have a locked chest.
All clothing, food, and drink were held in common.
The beds were in one dormitory, and the brethren
were required to sleep in shirts and breeches. If a
member of the community died the others were bound
to say five hundred paternosters within thirty days,
and one hundred paternosters were to be said for
the brethren and benefactors of the hospital each
week. After the dissolution of the Priory the building
was turned into an inn and called St. John Baptist's
Head. Now the Trout Inn occupies the site and is a
favourite haunt of anglers that come to exercise the
gentle craft and kill time and trout upon the banks
of the beautiful river.
The Trout is first and foremost an inn for fisher-
men. The angling rights for some distance along
the river go with the house, so that it is imperative
to have the landlord's consent to take the finny
inhabitants of the deep waters. It is furthermore
expedient, if you are a stranger, to have taken up
your quarters at the inn ; then you will be the better
treated and admitted to the most likely spots for
catching good trouts, perches, chubs, or barbels.
Chubs are very numerous in the deep pools of the
river. They interfere with the sport and often dis-
appoint the angler wanting to take better specimens.
Accordingly, towards the close of every season, war
is waged upon them and their numbers diminished.
116 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
In order to do this special baitings are made at
intervals of several days, after which the members
of the local Angling Associations go out with their
rods and take them by the hundred. As the chub
is a coarse fish it is seldom cooked and eaten by any
but the poorest people.
Poaching for trouts and eels with nightlines is
common throughout the summer. The poachers set
their lines about midnight and take them up before
dawn ; many of the finest fish are taken in this
manner. As a farmer was walking beside the river,
where the water was shallow, his spaniel, seeing a
trout, leapt down upon it for a space of five feet and
brought it to shore. The fish was a fine specimen and
weighed four pounds. Thames trout grow to a large
size ; they have been taken up to ten pounds in weight.
To-day the steeple town is full of bustle and ex-
citement, for it is September Horse Fair. This is
usually called " Flea Fair," or it should be " Harvest
Bug Fair," because about this time harvest bugs
disappear from the grass and stubble, and the farm
hands and gleaners are no longer tormented with the
troublesome insects.
The broad market-place in front of the inn and
beneath the shade of the spire is packed with horses
and people. Farmers and dealers, hands in pockets,
stand in groups or saunter round the square, viewing
the animals. Here a prospective purchaser opens
the mouth of a well-groomed horse to examine its
teeth ; another lifts up a fore-foot and scrutinises
that, or feels the fetlocks and knees. He is in want
of a couple of good horses, for Poppet is getting a
little ancient, and Colonel has a nasty limp on the
near hind leg, and there is extra work to be done this
autumn. But the bidding will be keen, and the
TYPES OF YEOMEN 117
farmer is considering whether or not he will be
justified in making the outlay, though he knows
something must be done.
There are several types of yeomen about the
square and some individuals who have come from
afar off, for the horse fair is attended by breeders
and dealers from many of the Western Counties.
There is the tall bronzed son of Somersetshire, with
highly distinctive dialect ; the bluff and hearty
moonraker, dwelling near the breezy downs, spruce
and clean shaven, or with stiff, bristling moustache
and side-beard ; the comfortable-looking Berkshire
man ; the thin-featured, gentlemanly Oxonian, and
the short, sturdy, thick-set man of Gloucestershire,
whose home is upon the strong-blowing Cotswolds.
In addition to them are the loiterers and sightseers —
the wooden-legged pensioner rigged in Sunday best ;
the town tailor, crippled in both feet ; and, to be sure,
the old blacksmith of ninety years, who has absented
himself from the forge to-day in order to note the
condition of the horses and the fashion in which they
are shod.
Higher up the broad street are vans and vehicles
with materials for constructing the merry-go-rounds,
cocoa-nut shies, and stalls for gingerbreads and
knick-knacks. They stand in lines, waiting for the
horses to be sold, which will be by noon or soon after.
When the dealers have finished they will occupy
the square and the space before the inns, and the
travellers will exhibit their wares for the young
men, women, and children to buy. The afternoon
and evening will be devoted to pleasure. Then the
people will flock in from the villages round about
and the streets will be full to overflowing.
It was a happy decision that fixed the site of the
118 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
church alongside the market-place in the centre of the
town. This was most convenient in former days,
for the fairs and festivals of the people were then
more closely associated with the church than they
are at this time. When the strolling players came
to act their crude dramas they had their stage built
close to the walls of the sacred pile, usually in the
churchyard itself, or if the church abutted on the
street, there they erected the scena, and, assisted by
the monks and priests, proceeded to act their pieces.
The travelling minstrels and ballad-singers, fiddlers,
dancers, and wrestlers assembled and made merry,
while the image of the good Saint Lawrence, with
book and gridiron, looked down upon the mirth
from above the lofty window. The stocks stood
near to warn the people to be of good behaviour.
The last to suffer the ignominy of them was a tippler
of the town nicknamed " Billy the Bold un," he having
been duly apprehended and imprisoned by one Robert
Constable, constable of Lechlade at that time.
A more important fair was held near the river on
St. John the Baptist's day. This was attended by
a crowd of merchants, traders, and purchasers, who
came, as to a universal mart, to supply their domestic
wants for the following year. The merchants were
classified according to the wares they had for disposal,
and streets bearing such names as " The Drapery,"
' The Pottery," " The Spicery," and so on, were
formed in the meadow. The monks, nuns, and
priests of the churches and priories, the Lords of the
Manors and their tenants came to buy plate, pottery,
armour, cutlery, wine, wax, spices, linens, woollens,
provisions, and other necessaries. With the rise and
increase of shops in the towns, the pedlars' and
merchants' fairs decayed and soon ceased to be held.
LOCAL PRODUCE 119
Floods also interfered with the emporium in the
meadow, and it was moreover said to interrupt the
harvest work, for doubtless the rustics were not
content to labour in the silent fields far from the
noise and hubbub of the fair.
To supplement the fairs there were the regular
weekly markets, held within the town from the
beginning of the thirteenth century downwards.
They began about noon on Sunday and were continued
until the following Monday night. The market
comprised local produce, such as fresh meats, fish
fried or baked, pullets, geese, pigs, green cheeses,
curds, cream, oaten cakes, and loaves of bean flour
and bran — eaten by the labourers.
The Black Death and the Peasant Revolt brought
about a scarcity of agricultural labourers. Much
land that had grown corn crops was consequently
laid down and converted into sheep farms, and no
part of the country was better adapted for this than
were the stony Cotswolds, lying high and dry above
the half-drained marshes and swamps of the Valley.
During the seventeenth century agriculture im-
proved again and cheese and malt became the chief
products of the country between the Thames and the
Cotswolds. The channel of the Thames was cleaned
out from Abingdon to Cricklade and weirs were made
in order to allow the boats to pass freely upstream.
Barges with a carrying capacity of eighty tons came
alongside the Lechlade wharves, and no less than
three thousand tons of prime cheese were brought
into the town from the villages and farms annually
in waggons and conveyed by water to Oxford and
London.
Now all the horses are sold and led away from the
market-place, with the halter of each one following
120 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
fastened to the tail of the near one preceding. A few
farmers only remain, chatting outside the ancient inn,
in which they have partaken of a light luncheon.
Presently they depart, some by motor, this one by
the high market trap, or on horseback. The pro-
prietors of the merry-go-rounds and cocoa-nut shies
make haste to occupy the square with their para-
phernalia and get ready for the afternoon and even-
ing sports. Several aged inhabitants of the town
loiter in the locality of the inns, eager to talk of the
fair, as it is, and as it used to be.
" What d'ye thenk an't to-day, Anngel ? " in-
quires the old shepherd of the carter standing near.
"I sin better an' I sin wuss. 'Tis a very good lot
o' 'ossen, takin' on 'em all together, but the faayer
yent nothin' like so good as it used to be, an' Bamp-
ton comin' sa nigh 'andy this un 'tis oni the riff-raff
yer to-day, like. Tha be a leetle smaller than I 'ev
a knowed 'em, but, as I ses, I sin wuss. Tha be
tarblish good, considerin' the dry saazon we've hed,"
the carter replies.
It is tedious to stand and watch the erecting of
the merry-go-rounds and booths for the fair, and
there is much to be seen and learned around the old
riverside town. It is claimed that King Alfred pos-
sessed the place and had a university here, which
may very well have been, since Lechlade is but six
miles from Faringdon, where the great king had a
residence, and where both he and his son Edward are
believed to have died. Then there was the famous
old Manor, with its list of illustrious holders, among
the earliest of whom was Richard Plantagenet, Earl
of Cornwall, the only Englishman who had the honour
of wearing the Imperial purple, and who contributed
largely to the building of Cologne Cathedral. After
WEALTH OF THE MANORS 121
him were Hugh de Spencer, who was hanged and
quartered at Hereford ; Edward Mortimer, Earl of
March ; Richard, Duke of York, the father of Edward
iv. and Richard in. ; and Cicely, his wife, doomed to
witness more appalling calamities than are to be
found in the authentic history of any other individual.
When King Edward was marching with his troops
from Abingdon to Tewkesbury, his road lay through
Lechlade. Here, at his mother's Manor, he probably
rested his troops and then pressed rapidly forward and
won the battle of Tewkesbury in less than a week.
The wealth of the De Spencers, Lords of the Manor
of Lechlade, was enormous ; the following is a list
of their possessions at the time of the execution of
Hugh de Spencer, in 1326 : " Fifty-nine Lordships in
Sundry Counties ; 28,000 sheep ; 1000 Oxen and
Steers ; 1200 Kine, with their calves ; 40 Mares,
with their Colts of two years old ; 160 drawing horses ;
2000 Hogs ; 3000 Bullocks. In the Larder : 600 sides
of Bacon ; 80 Carcases of Martinmas Beef ; 600 Car-
cases of Mutton ; 10,080 Galls, of Wine ; 2520 Galls,
of Cider ; 36 Sacks of Wool ; a Library of Books ;
Armour, Plate, Jewels, and Ready Money better than
£10,000."
The vast quantity of salt flesh discovered in the
larders so late in the year as 2nd May — the date upon
which the list was compiled — bears witness to the
imperfect system of tillage then in vogue. As there
were no enclosures, and no sown grasses, roots, or
hay to store for winter use, the cattle were fattened
and killed in the summer and autumn only. Those
beasts not required for the slaughter were turned out
to shift for themselves, and no fresh meat could be
had during the winter and spring.
The church of St. Lawrence — known as the " Grid-
122 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
iron Saint " — dates from the latter part of the fifteenth
century. The architecture is Early Perpendicular,
and the absence of structural decorative work gives
to the interior a chasteness bordering on severity.
The steeple was added to the tower some time during
the sixteenth century. Local smugglers are said to
have concealed their spirits and dried their malt upon
the leaden roof of the building down to the end of the
eighteenth century.
The Churchwardens' books discover several curious
items of expenditure, and incidentally recall to our
mind a notable occurrence in British naval history.
1795. — Ye Bread for ye Communion
Ye Bottles of Wine
Paid for Sparrows
For casting the little bell and postage of a
letter
For 3 Pole Cats
1797. — 82 doz. Sparrows' Heads
2 Pole Cats
Beer for the Ringers
Coal for Man to clean Church Clock
1798. — For two Prayers for Victory over Dutch
Fleet
l 799- — 134 doz. Sparrows' Heads at 2d. . .
2 Pole Cats
2 Weazles
1802. — Expenses for Beer for Churchwardens and
Ringers .. .. .. .. .. 1176
Now the busiest time of the fair is fast drawing
on, for it is evening in the Thames Valley. The sun
has set in a sea of gold beyond the Cotswolds, and
the sky has changed from crimson to Indian red and
deep purple. Over the Round House the faint young
moon reclines on a bed of azure ; the stars peep
out and are reflected in the still deep waters of the
i
s.
d.
1
3
12
7
4
1
6
2
13
8
1
4
5
f*
2
1
1
8
1
4
8
THE FUN OF THE FAIR 123
river below the bridge. Down the road a stream of
pleasure-seekers continues to arrive, while through
the trees and above the housetops the sound of the
organ and shriek of the siren, mingled with the shouts
and cries of the children, are heard.
A great crowd has gathered in the market-place
and along the street in front of the inns. This is
chiefly composed of Cotswold people, with a few from
the Wiltshire and Berkshire side of the river. The
cheerful shepherd from the downs, the carters and
cowmen with their wives from the farms, the plough-
boys with their sweethearts, and all the youth of the
town are there. What matter now the long labours
of the field in burning heat and rain, the dark hours
of winter approaching, the hardships of everyday
life ? All are forgotten amid the noise of the street
and the pleasure of meeting with acquaintances.
And to-night all are cheerful. The harvest money
has been paid ; the pockets of all are jingling. Every-
one is equipped with means to take his pleasure and
to make purchases for personal use, or to adorn the
walls of the cottage.
The strangest things are offered for sale by the
Cheap Jacks, who dispose their goods on the ground
and stand in the centre with smoky, flaring paraffin
lamps. Here are gaudy-coloured pictures and painted
ornaments, green and blue umbrellas large enough
to cover a summer-rick, bright gay handkerchiefs,
mufflers and ties, preposterous jewellery, with
hundreds of alarm-clocks and cheap watches, all
warranted to be the finest obtainable. It might be
thought that no one would purchase these articles,
but John and William, Jane and Mary, are out to buy,
and will not go empty away from the fair.
One wonders what would Shelley have thought of
124 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
the strange scene beneath the windows of the New Inn,
at which he stayed after his walk through the church-
yard in the shadow of the tall spire and the Grid-
iron Saint ? Standing amid the graves he felt the
influence of the Cotswold sunset, the calm beauty of
the river gliding through the fields, and the peaceful
eloquent evening ; when the spirit of Apollo is most
powerfully and prophetically awake, the dead speak
from their sepulchres, and messages from the dim
beyond arrive linking up the invisible universe.
But little change is appreciable in the churchyard
since the most spiritual of English poets trod there.
The tall elms, in which the rooks build, the yews,
and sycamores still stand around the thickly massed
tombs, and the fiercely grinning figures of the gar-
goyles and the Assyrian-like heads on the buttress
of the tower yet remain, though they have become
darker with the passage of time.
The greatest changes that have taken place are in
things pertaining to the river. The wharves are
deserted ; no barges, laden with produce, ever come
to enter the old canal at the Round House and glide
away to the Severn and Avon cities. The ancient
rhyme :
" Ai, O, the boatmen row
Up and down the river O.
The boatmen dance and the boatmen sing,
The boatman 's up to everything,"
sufficiently appropriate formerly, is not so applicable
now, though the river, throughout the summer and
autumn months, is crowded with small craft full of
those on pleasure bent. During the severe frosts of
the winter 1788-89 a festival was held on the river
opposite the wharf. A fat ox was roasted upon the
ice — protected with sods — and fifteen hundred people
A TALE OF CROWS 125
took part in the feast and games. At that time the
bargemen carried firearms in order to be in a position
to protect their cargoes, for thieves infested the
countryside and lay in wait at night to steal corn,
cheese, or coal from the boats.
The inns are full to-night, and more than the usual
good feeling is evident among the ploughmen and
farm hands, who beam at each other at the Red Lion,
or engage in a long confidential chat on the year's
happenings, the crops and harvest, lambs and foals,
and draw comparisons between this and that time
or season. Meanwhile Jonas and Dobbin, Shadrach
and Angel, seriously enumerate how many to their
knowledge have met the Inglesham ghost, or tell of
Betty the witch who lies buried on the roadside, three
miles distant.
Old Betty was famed for many acts and was a sore
trouble to the carters, cowmen, and shepherds round
about, bringing the flocks and herds and pregnant
mares under her powerful spell and working incal-
culable mischief upon all and sundry. At one time
the lambs, calves, and foals were stillborn. The
gates and doors would fall off the hinges ; the pumps
would not draw water and the cream would not set
in the broad pans. The cobbler could not work his
wax while she was near, and half the people of the
countryside fell sick, while she danced in the streets
at midnight and spat up hundreds of pins and young
crows, as the villagers confidently believed.
Jonas, the ox-carter, had heard of a witch who
had tampered with a neighbour's pig and caused it
to go mad in the sty. The owner of the animal, a
farm labourer, was distressed at the occurrence and
uncertain what to do. At length it occurred to him
to bleed the pig. Accordingly he took the scissors
126 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
and snipped a piece out of its ear, causing it to bleed
profusely, when, behold ! out of her house ran the
old woman, grasping her fingers, which were stream-
ing with blood. It appears that when the swine's
ear was cut the witch, being in spirit within the pig,
was also injured. The pig recovered, but the villagers
left the old woman alone, and she soon bled to
death.
A witch was in the habit of stopping every team that
passed the road near her dwelling. This she did with
her magic, simply by drawing a line across the road
with her enchanted staff. One day, however, the
carter, after stroking his horses and speaking kindly
to them, cracked his whip loudly and fell upon the
witch, striking her violently. Thereupon she ran
and crept into a culvert and died there, and the
teams were never afterwards molested.
Then Angel must relate what he had heard from
his mother concerning a farm labourer who wedded
a beautiful young woman, of whom he was very
proud, and who proved to be a witch. Before they
had long been married the husband discovered that
his bride arose from bed at midnight and left him
alone in the darkness. Not knowing how to account
for her disappearance, he determined to say nothing
but to watch her movements. Accordingly, when
night came, he lay very still and pretended to be
asleep. A little before midnight his wife arose and
dressed, and was going downstairs. Then the
husband sprang out of bed, seized her by the arm,
and demanded an explanation of her conduct. As
she insisted upon going out he announced his inten-
tion of accompanying her, to which she agreed, on
condition that he should by no means utter a word,
for if he did evil would certainly follow, said she.
A GOOD JUMP 127
Then, without another syllable, like young Hermes,
she slipped through the keyhole of the door and
drew her husband after her. Two milk-white calves
were waiting outside. These they mounted and then
flew off in the darkness, unimpeded by any obstacles.
The husband thought it was an extraordinary ad-
venture, but he said nothing till they came to the
river, dimly seen in the starlight. Surely, thought
he, the calves would not leap over that. They did
so, however, with a mighty bound, and were just
coming to earth on the other side when the bride-
groom, who was a cowman, amazed at the feat, lost
his self-possession and cried : " That's a good jump
for a calf to make ! " A moment afterwards the calf
shot from under him and he found himself in water up
to his waist and alone in the stillness, for the others
had vanished. His wife, however, with loving kind-
ness, called for him on her way back and took him
out with her on the white calves many times after-
wards, but he had the ijood sense to observe her
injunctions and never to break the silence with any
incautious remark.
So the hours pass quickly away. Night draws
on ; it is time to close the fair. The moon has set
long ago. The heavens are strewn with countless
myriads of stars, and there is a nip of frost in the
air. The meadows by the river are covered with
a low layer of mist that lies flat on the ground, look-
ing exactly like an inundation of the fields. The
light at the Round House glitters brightly across the
imaginary waste, like the lantern hung from a ship's
mast over the harbour. The tall steeple stands
weird and ghostly in the starlight, and the lamps are
out in the market-place. Soon the clock in the tower
will strike the hour of midnight and the town will
128 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
be buried in slumber, till the day breaks above the
glimmering river and the shepherds and carters leave
their beds and trudge up the lane to bring in their
horses from the field or attend to the flocks on the
open down-lands.
CHAPTER VIII
The Cotswolds near Northleach — Carl the Carter — Valley of
the Coin — The Mill -Pool — Fairford Church and Windows
— Hard Fare — Gipsies — Harvest Home Healths — Sheep-
stealing—" Cotswold Ale "—" Tig! "
ON the windswept hill overlooking the town
of Northleach, with its great church and lofty
imposing tower, a noble view of the surrounding
country may be had. Here we are in the heart of
the Cotswolds, that cannot properly be understood
from without but only by penetrating to the interior.
For the Cotswolds differ widely from the chalk hills
and downs of Wiltshire, Berkshire, and Hampshire.
In the case of them the lines and ridges are diversified
and distinct, sometimes rising to a height of nine
hundred or a thousand feet above sea-level. The
ascent of the Cotswolds, on the other hand, is gradual,
and the face of the country is more uniformly con-
similar. There are no very imposing heights to
attract the vision and infix themselves in the mind,
but vast stretches of almost level cornfields and sheep
downs divided with a network of brown stone walls,
with here and there a solitary wood or plantation, or
a long row of spruce trees standing out boldly against
the skyline. One also misses, on the Gloucester-
shire uplands, the graceful and harmonious sweep
and curve of hill and dale, the terraces and coombs,
the warm colours of the chalk ground showing in
patches amid the pasture, or gleaming like snow on
9
130 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
the cultivated fields of the hillside, the friendly clumps
of hawthorn inviting one to rest in the shade, and the
fiery intensity of the glittering flint roads.
One is sometimes inclined to wonder at the ex-
penditure of labour that was required to construct so
many scores of miles of stone walls in the country of
the Cotswolds. Could it all have been necessary ?
Notwithstanding the abundance of materials every-
where the operation must have been tedious. What
need was there of all those millions of stones, quarried,
hauled, and stacked in interminable lines, crossing
and recrossing, ducking and dipping, and rearing
up again to divide mere cornfields and sheep downs ?
On the chalk downs of Wiltshire and Hampshire a
much more simple plan was adopted. Shallow
trenches divide the cornfields, and plain low ridges
or banks run alongside the roads. Boundaries are
not so much fixed as implied ; there all is large and
open, free and generous.
On coming up from Fairford I was saluted by no
less than eighteen persons, chiefly carters and shep-
herds in company with their teams and flocks, either
on the road or in the fields and farmyards adjoining
the highway. This speaks for itself, and discovers
the warm-heartedness and sociability of the Cotswold
peasant folk. Theirs is a lonely life, and doubtless
they love to see a fresh face now and then, and take
comfort in exchanging a few words with a sym-
pathetic stranger. It is pleasant also for you to
converse with these genuine children of the soil.
Your pains are not lost ; you will gain some little
insight into life and character that will interest or
amuse you for many months afterwards.
As I was leaning on the wall, chatting with a carter
who was at plough in the field, a middle-aged woman,
THE HOMESICK SWAIN 131
bearing a basket of goods bought in the town, came
up the hill and, after a respectful nod to me, addressed
the carter in a shrill, piping voice :
" 'Ev you a-yerd from Car-rl ? "
" No," replied he.
" We 'ev ed a letter," she continued. " 'E yent
agwain on at all well. A no business to a left Calcutt.
A was barn ther' an' brought up ther', an' a'd never
bin away afoore till a tuk this fit in is 'ed. But a
wunt stop away long. A'U break 'is 'eart if a do.
Poor Car-rl ! A cried all the way ther', an' a bin
that miserable ever since a don' know what to do wi'
'isself. A'll never finish the twelve months out."
" Poor Carl," as I learned, was a Cotswold carter
who had been at one situation all his life and had
only recently shifted to another village, with the
result intimated in the good- wife's conversation.
But we are out to view the Downs, and to trace
the valley of the little Coin that flows from the heart
of the limestone region and, taking its final leap from
the Cots wolds at Fairford, joins the Thames opposite
the Round House at Inglesham.
" Out of the hills of Habersham,
Down the valleys of Hall,
I hurry amain to reach the plain,
Run the rapid and leap the fall.
The dry fields burn, and the mills are to turn,
And a myriad flowers mortally yearn,
And the lordly main from beyond the plain
Calls o'er the hills of Habersham,
Calls through the valleys of Hall."
The Chattahoochee, of which the American poet
Lanier sang, is larger and swifter than our river, but
there are yet many points of resemblance in the
two streams. In the case of each " the dry fields
132 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
burn, and the mills are to turn," and the lordly main
awaits both, far from the spring-head, to clasp them
finally in its eternal embrace.
The source of the Coin is near Charlton Abbots,
about twelve miles to the north of Cirencester. From
that point the river runs murmuring past the richly
wooded slopes of Chedworth, a little below the famous
Roman Villa. Now it takes an easterly course,
winding round through the old-fashioned villages of
Coin St. Denis, Coin Rogers, and Winson, and pre-
sently reaches the picturesque hamlet of Ablington,
with its grand old Manor House and the quiet beauty
of its farms and cottages.
Bibury is the next village on the stream. Here
the river is joined by a considerable spring that leaps
out of the hillside, the waters of which scarcely
vary, even after the driest summer. Near this is a
commodious inn and a trout fishery, at which young
fish for stocking the river are hatched and reared.
Two large mills stand on the stream, and the ruins of
a woollen factory are visible in a meadow not far from
the banks.
The upper mill is silent now, but the one lower
down, at Bibury, is still active and does a moderate
amount of work, though only grist, and no wheaten
flour. Twenty years ago the miller employed four
assistants, whereas to-day he has but one, and he
usually had fifteen hundred sacks of wheat shot out
loose in the great loft waiting to run through to the
stones that turned night and day grinding the golden
grain into flour for use about the near countryside.
The walls of the mill are very strongly built. The
beams within are as large as trees, which was necessary
to enable them to carry such a great weight of corn
and plant.
INQUISITIVE TROUTS 133
The large " under-shot " wheel that turns the
stones is half of iron and half of wood. The beautiful
water sings sweetly at its task, and the tame trouts
come close up to the mill-head and thrust their noses
against the iron grating, as though curious to see the
wheel at work and to know what is going on within
the cavern-like place.
The poet Morris considered Bibury the prettiest
village in England. The scenery is Swiss in kind,
though it has a softness and tenderness which are
quite English. On one side of the small valley
the road runs down gently for several hundred feet ;
on the other side the steep bank, clothed with beeches,
elms, and spruces, rises almost perpendicularly, over-
topping the Court, the church, the gabled farm-
houses, and cottages. The tiny Coin, after running
parallel with the street for a quarter of a mile, leaps
down a cascade and curves round in the centre of
the dale, showing like a band of silver between banks
of sweet forget-me-not and willow-herb.
Presently Coin St. Aldwyns is reached — what a
beautiful name 1 — and then, winding below the walls
of Hatherop Castle, we come to Quenington, famed
for its quaint Norman Church and Refectory, and,
formerly, for its paper-mills, driven by the spouting
river. From Quenington the Coin runs rippling in
and out among the shadows of high elms, till, passing
a green hill, it widens into a crescent-shaped lake,
and then pauses, as though to gather strength, before
it rushes down the cascade into the broad mill-pool
behind the church at Fairford.
Above the noise of the plashing river, where it
leaps and foams adown the cascade, a silvery note
is heard echoing through the tree-tops :
" Ting-tang, ting-tang, ting-tang."
134 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
This is the small bell in the tower ringing for vespers.
Immediately one thinks of Moreau's poem, " Le
Tocsin," and its haunting refrain :
" Tintin, tintin, tintin, rlintintin,
Tintin, c'est le tocsin."
By the richly adorned porch the worshippers enter
and pass up the aisle, with the colours of sunset —
crimson, golden, and amethystine — streaming through
the gorgeously stained windows, emblazoning wall,
floor, and pillar with the image of prophet, saint, king,
and hero. There are not many going in. Doubtless
the evening is too delicious. The sweet sky, the
fragrant air, and the cool river rippling through the
fields, the beauty that is felt, as well as seen, are irre-
sistible, and the silvery note of the bell sounds very
far away and pacifies the soul, rather than stirs it up
to any sense of religious duty.
What is that little patch of pure yellow close by the
edge of the water there ? Why ! it is the mimulus, for
which I have sought so long and hitherto in vain beside
the Coin, though I always thought I must find it some-
where. Beautiful mimulus, that sippest the crystal water
from the brink and shelterest the gentle trout lurking
beneath thy much-branching foliage, what joy it is
to have found thee ! I love thee more dearly than
the rose, for thy beauty is rarer to be met with, and
thou wilt thrive nowhere but by the purest streams
and fountains with thy companions the graceful
flowering-rush, noble loose-strife, purple hemp-nettle,
and sky-sweet forget-me-nots. But no sooner do
I pluck thee than, lo ! thou art fled, fallen from thy
stem for very modesty, fearing to be sullied with the
rudeness of hands, when nothing but lips would have
tenderly touched thee,
THE MILL-POOL 135
Though the great church were full to overflowing
and the organ should peal forth never so loudly, or
utter its " Linked sweetness long drawn out," bringing
all heaven before the eyes of the worshippers, I would
not leave the river to-night. The sound of the water
rushing down the mill-stairs, the whisper of leaves,
and the tiny linnet and black-cap piping in the tree-
top, have filled me with an unspeakable joy. The
sound of the water becomes fainter and fainter.
I am borne out of the world to a land of beauty and
rest, where the crimson sunset swims over vine-
laden fields, the ocean breezes blow, and every care is
forgotten.
What noise was that ? A trout, that rose under
the wall, close by my side here ? Yes, and there is
another, and now another. The water seems alive
with them as they come from their lurking-places
among the stones and weeds and snap at the flies that
skim along the surface of the pool. The shadow of
the elms and poplars is darker on the river. The
grey tower is fading in the twilight, and the tall,
slender trunks of the silver birches are becoming in-
distinct. The few worshippers have left the church
and filed out into the street, yet here I lie — and
would lie — beside the foaming river, watching
the last light fade and the twinkling stars show-
ing through the spaces of the poplar boughs
above me.
Nearly all interest in the tiny town centres around
the grand old church and its splendid windows,
some of the most perfect specimens of Christian
art extant. The church was built by John Tame,
about the year 1500, and is considered to be a nearly
perfect structure in Tudor Gothic. Throughout the
summer and autumn visitors arrive from all quar-
136 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
ters of the country, and from this and that
continent, to view the
" Storied windows richly dight
Casting a dim religious light,"
and to dream upon the glory and solemnity of long-
gone-by but never-to-be-forgotten things.
Several interesting traditions pertain to the
windows. One is to the effect that John Tame took
them from a prize ship that was on its way to Rome.
This probably originated in the fact of the glass
having been brought from abroad in merchant
vessels. Another account declares them to have
been the work of the famous artist, Albert Durer ;
and a third states that at the time of the Common-
wealth the glass of the windows was removed and
buried in a field at some distance from the town
and replaced after the Restoration. The truth seems
to be that John Tame bought the windows, or had
them specially made, during his visits to the Nether-
lands ; that they were painted by a Flemish artist
named Aaps, and that, notwithstanding anxieties
entertained for their safety during the disturbances
of the Puritan period, they were not materially
damaged at that time, though a great tempest in
1703 severely shattered the most noble of all — that
of the west front.
Responsible critics differ in their opinions as to
the supreme quality of the windows, and the visitor
who is not a veritable enthusiast may feel disappoint-
ment on first entering the church and standing face
to face with the seemingly bewildering confusion
of images and allegorical details. It is difficult for
the inexpert, and more so for the inartistic, to
determine their most excellent beauties. They are
HORSE-THRESHING 137
neither mediaeval nor modern, but stand midway
between the two styles, lacking the perfect shades
and coloration of the former and, at the same
time, discovering a superiority over the too striking
and " splashing " characteristics of the latter. The
Flemish master, Van Dyck, considered the portraiture
to be so exquisitely done that it could not have been
excelled by the cleverest pencil.
The cottage industries of spinning and weaving,
wool-carding, and straw-plaiting, flourished in the
town, and supplemented the earnings of those em-
ployed on the land. The woollens, when finished,
were taken to the various centres for disposal, and
the plaited straw was conveyed to London in the
road-waggons and there sold to the manufacturers.
The men of Fairford were skilled in the use of the
flails, and they travelled for many miles during the
winter months, threshing out wheat and barley.
When the machine threshers were invented the
lively Coin was harnessed to the toil and threshed
out the corn as well as grinding flour for the loaves.
The Fairford horse-threshing teams also traversed
the country around for a great distance. Four
horses, attached to as many levers, supplied the
power for the thresher. They were outside the barn,
while the machine was set within. In the centre,
from which the levers radiated, was a cage in which
a boy stood to drive the animals ; there he must
stay in rain or snow, ofttimes drenched to the skin,
and half-perished with the cold.
" Many's the time I squat in that owl' cage an'
drev thaay 'osses round," the aged carter says.
" Warn thees jest about fancied thiself, dissent ? '
his wife replies, with a sly wink and a knowing nod
of the head.
138 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
But there were hard times around Fairford and
in the Cots wold villages during the " Hungry
Forties," and the poor found it difficult to subsist
even on the rudest fare. With wheaten flour at a
prohibitive price and barley meal costing a guinea
a bushel, what were the labouring classes to do ?
Yet live they must, and it is not to be wondered at
if they took to poaching and stole a sheep now and
then in order to satisfy the raging hunger within
them. Hedgehogs were a common article of food.
Badgers, also, were eagerly hunted and devoured,
and the nimble squirrel was frequently trapped,
cooked, and eaten by the woodmen and labourers.
The local squire was surprised at the carter's eating
a squirrel. He thought the dish to be unclean, but
the carter grinned broadly and replied : " Aa, zur,
you don' know the vally of a squirrel. Tha be as
dainty mate as ever you tasted, an' good anuff for
the king to aat."
As to the eating of badgers, squirrels, and hedge-
hogs, that is not surprising to those acquainted with
village conditions. One sometimes hears of the
practice of eating fried mice and snails, and there is
a labourer in the village in which I am writing who
will eat live mice whole for, or without, a wager.
Of the eating of rats I have not heard except when
two young ploughmen cooked one in the brew-house,
and, by a ruse, induced their mate to eat it. Having
formed the plan they caught a fat rat, " cut 'is yed,
paas an' tayul off, well weshed un, an' rawsted un
an a stick a-vrunt o' the vire." When it was nicely
cooked, and they heard Henry coming, they fell
a-wrestling and quarrelling as to who should have
the " bird," and while they were so engaged Henry
quietly took the rat from the stick and ate it with
" PEGGY-WIGGY PIE " 139
a good relish, grinning at his supposed smartness.
He felt sure it was a blackbird, and when his mates
laughed at him and asked him how he liked " the
rat," he still grinned and said it was " very good
mate."
There is a story of two dealers who called at the
inn on their way to fair, after an all-night ride, and
found the house almost destitute of viands.
" Ane 'e got nar a bit o' mate, mother ? " inquired
one.
" Lar, no ! Who'd a thawt o' seein' you ? "
replied she.
" Nam a mossel o' bacon, neether, ner it a
egg ? "
" No ! But ther's that peggy-wiggy pie. I for-
got that. You be welcome to a bit o' he. I oni
made un the day afore yesterday."
" Fetch it along, mother, whatever 'tis, an' we'll
pay ya for't," said they.
Accordingly the " peggy-wiggy " pie was brought
out and the dealers liked it so well that they ate
the whole of it, to learn of the old woman afterwards
that it was made of the stillborn young of the
long-eared white sow. She had made it for the
children, who, she said, were very fond of it : she
thought it would be " something for them to get
down." Outrageous as this appears, it may have
been true. It is certain that stillborn calves were
sometimes eaten by the poorest labourers when
other food was unobtainable, and the same kind of
thing is done to-day, though people generally are
not aware of it. More than one farmer, when his
cow is delivered of a stillborn calf — provided it has
not been too long dead — skins and dresses it, blows
up the flesh with a pipe-stem, and hurries off with it
140 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
to the nearest butcher to exchange it with him for a
choice cut or a joint from another beast.
Gipsies swarmed about the Cotswolds during the
fore part of the nineteenth century. They lived
chiefly by poaching, stealing, and fortune-telling.
In the summer and autumn they cut rushes and
flags from the Coin and plaited them into baskets,
or obtained withes and hazel-wood from the copses
and wove them into wickerwork for chairs. To
take the trouts they made " hoop-nets " and set
them in the stream, and then stirred the weeds with
light poles and drove the fish into them.
One cold day in January a dark-looking gipsy
hailed the shepherd, who was attending to his flock
near the wood.
" Hey ! owld man, ood 'e like a basin o' sup ? "
" Don' mind if 'e do. 'Tis a cowld blow this
mornin'," the shepherd replied.
" Come on, then," answered the gipsy, and poured
out a basin of liquor from the smoky pot.
After the shepherd had swallowed the broth, the
gipsy addressed him :
" Do you know what you've had ? "
" No, I don't. But 'twas uncommon good, what-
ever 'twas," replied he.
" That was house-rabbit, generally known as cat,"
the gipsy returned, walking away to the camp beneath
the high oak-trees.
A gipsy funeral was an interesting event and
attracted crowds of visitors to the grand old church.
The gipsies often concealed a death in the camp.
They buried the corpse in a wood or withy-bed,
where the bones would not be disturbed, but when
the Burial Laws came to be enforced they were
compelled to inter their dead more decently. The
A GIPSY FUNERAL 141
last gipsy funeral at Fairford took place but a few
years ago. There were about a hundred mourners,
the majority of whom came clad in odd suits of black
which they had begged, borrowed, or hired from the
townspeople.
At the funeral of a true gipsy the corpse was
dressed in its best clothes. Coins of copper and
silver were placed in the coffin and bread and meat
were set beside the dead person. It was the custom
to have a hole bored in the lid of the coffin, in order
to allow the spirit to have free access to its old abode.
The next of kin to the dead person, carrying a bottle
of wine, headed the procession. When the coffin
had been lowered into the grave he poured the wine
upon it and prayed in the Romany tongue. On
returning to the camp the elders sat around the fire,
muttering chants and incantations for the spirit of
the departed, and continued so till midnight. For a
week they repeated the ceremony ; then they held
a feast that ended in dancing and singing.
The toilers on the farms — not only on the Cots-
wolds but throughout the Thames Valley — had
four feasts a year, namely, after sowing, shearing,
haymaking, and harvest. The seed -feast — called
" Sidcyek " (Seed-cake) — was kept at the end of
April. This was held in the barn or brew-house,
and was only attended by those who worked on
the farm.
" Sherrin' " feast was on a somewhat different
scale. A select body of shearers was chosen from
a village. They took the farms around, one by one,
and when they had finished all the flocks they were
entertained at a public feast provided by the farmers
collectively, who invited as many others as they
thought fit. Games and songs followed the feast,
142 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
and appropriate toasts were made by the shepherds
and responded to by the farmers.
Harvest-home was the most important and the
best-loved festival. The whole of the toilers — men,
women, and children — attended this ; the brew-
house and kitchen, too, were needed to hold the
company. Besides the farm hands, the blacksmiths
and wheelwrights came, invited by the farmer.
The parson frequently attended, and the village
constable managed to creep in and mingle with the
rest. Both the farmer and his wife were well toasted,
usually in the following rhymes, which were common
throughout the Thames Valley :
TO THE MASTER
" Here's a health unto our master, the founder of the feast,
I hope to God with all my heart his soul in heaven may
rest,
And all his works may prosper, whatever he takes in hand,
For we are all his servants and are at his command.
Then drink, boys, drink, and see you do not spill,
For if you do, you shall drink two, it is our master's will."
TO THE MISTRESS
" Here's a health unto our master, our mistress shan't go
free,
For she's a good provider, provides as well as he ;
For she's a good provider, and bids us all to come,
So take this cup and sip it up, for it is our harvest-home."
Sometimes the toast to the mistress took a different
form.
" Here's a health unto our mistress, prosperity and happiness,
Prosperity and happiness and plenty of store ;
And he that doth refuse the same,
To drink a health unto our dame,
We'll turn him out of doors for shame,
And own him no more."
GRACE BEFORE MEAT 143
The breezy carter — of fourscore and five years —
has fond recollections of the old harvest - feast.
" Ther' was maaster an' missis a-hippin' an't up
in front an us, an' owl' Moll Fry a-skippatin' about
wi' the cups. Presently all an us fell to. ' Lar' !
faather, byent 'e gwain to saay graace,' missis ses.
Then maaster stood up, shet 'is eyes, an' put 'is
'ands together an' said :
" ' O Lard, make us able
To aat all on the table.'"
1 Oh, dad, you wicked fella ! ' cried missis, an' all
the young uns baaled out ' Amen.' The paason
purty nigh chokked 'isself wi' a lump o' bif an' 'ed
to wesh it down wi' a cup o' ale, an' when tha sung
' Drenk, bwoys, drenk,' a sed 'twas no need to tell
'em that for tha could do that very well wi'out bein'
telled. Tha alius reckoned to sip twice when tha
toasted, but I chocked mine down at once an' maaster
hollered out : ' Make haste an' put Willum out an-
other, else a'll get all behind wi't.' "
Serious rioting took place in the riverside town
during the disturbances of 1830. Threatened with
the loss of their employment, and resenting the in-
trusion of the new-fangled machinery, a party of
five hundred labourers, armed with scythes, hooks,
axes, and sledge-hammers, marched through the town
and proceeded to smash up the implements. The
next day the military arrived and order was restored.
This was effected not so much by a demonstration
of force as by an accidental discovery made by the
Captain of the Troop. He, on coming face to face
with the mob, happened to glance down and perceive
that one of his gaiters was only partly buttoned.
Thereupon he turned to one of the rioters, formidably
144 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
armed with a scythe fastened to a pole, and cried :
" Hi, there ! You fellow ! Put that thing down and
come and button up my gaiter, will you ? " The
rioter, taken by surprise, threw down his weapon
and approached the Captain ; he stretched out his leg
and the gaiter was duly buttoned. The incident had
a good effect on the crowd. There was no more
fighting, and the rioters dispersed to their homes.
A story is told of a Cotswold labourer who stole
a sheep and was strangled in the act of carrying it
home. He had the sheep slung at his back and
secured with a cord which he had put round his neck.
On coming to a gate he attempted to climb over it
but slipped, and as he fell, feet foremost, on one side
of the gate the sheep, hanging by the rope round his
neck, dropped back on the other and quickly strangled
him. At another time, a hungry labourer stole a
fat ewe, killed it, and carried it for six miles on his
back and disposed of the carcass, but was arrested
three months afterwards when he tried to sell the
skin, that bore the private mark of the farmer.
In Shakespeare's day it was customary to brand
a sheep-stealer in the palm with a hot iron, as the
slaves of the Greeks and Romans were branded on
the forehead.
" Goo an up the 'ill, else I'll zend the devul aater
'e," cried the Quenington shepherd boy to his flock
one day, not perceiving the village pastor, who was
close behind him.
" And who is the sheep's devil, my boy ? " inquired
the cleric.
" That owl' dog yander, locks I " answered he.
"And who is the dog's devil?" the vicar pro-
ceeded.
" I be," the boy replied.
HARD ON THE BISHOP 145
" And who is your devil, pray ? "
" Why, mi maester, to be sure."
" And who is your master's ? "
" You needn't ax I that, zur. A yent very fer
awaay vrom I, an' the Biship's 'is 'n, an' the Biship's
is the very owld un 'isself, fer 'tis what I bin lamed
ever since I tuk to ship-caddlin'," the youngster
replied.
" A Cotswold Shepherd's Scolding," dating from
the early part of the seventeenth century, is interest-
ing, though the language may savour more of the
skilled writer than of the rustic sheep-farmer.
" Come heere, you idle lubber, you lazie fellow ;
a rope shall touch thine hyde. Heere be sheep in a
trim pickle indeede. Thou commest cloaked and
hooded, as if thou didst watch among them day and
night, armed for all stormes and tempests, and thou
carryest thy Tarre-boxe to dingle and dangle upon
thy hooke. The bowe of thy sheeres peepes out
of thy script as though thou wouldst do a great act :
but look upon these sheep heere, dost not see what a
wrigling they make, and how oft they lye downe,
by ting and gnawing where they are payned. Put
off your cumbersome cloake ; you lyther Mharrhant !
lay hands on these poor sheepe ; serch them well ;
shed the wooll, and where thou findest any scurfe,
scrape it off ; cut away those dirty dag-lockes with
the sheeres, and doe not tarre them as if thou wert
afrayde to hurt them, but make it goe to the skinne,
and labour by dilligence to save that which is ready to
perish by thy negligence."
A pleasant story is told of the Cotswold ale. One
day a waggish Oxford scholar proposed, for a noble,
to teach the landlord of the Bibury inn how he might
draw mild ale and strong beer from the same cask.
IO
146 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
The offer seemed reasonably fair and was accepted.
Proceeding to the cellar the scholar bored a hole in a
full cask and desired the landlord to stop it with his
finger. This was for the mild ale. Then, boring
another hole, from which the strong beer was to run,
he told him to stop that with the other hand. Having
the landlord now fully engaged with the cask, the
scholar left on pretence of fetching pegs, then, pocket-
ing the noble, he mounted his horse and rode off,
leaving mine host a prisoner in his cellar. Thus it
was that, in the words of the poet :
" From the selfsame cask,
Mild and October flow just as we ask,
In limpid Coin, where trout and minnow swarm."
" Then tha didn't kip 'e at Fairford along o' the
wowardy," remarks grandfather Elijah, with a sly
wink and an artful nod of the head. He is refer-
ring to the Retreat for feeble-minded, and by the
" wowardy " he means the " waywardy." Even
of this place the rustics tell a cheerful story. One
evening, as a carpenter, with his basket of tools, was
coming past the grounds of the Retreat, he saw an
inmate climb down from the high fence and begin
running towards him. He took to his heels, with the
madman in hot pursuit and gaining ground every
moment. Encumbered with his tools — there was a
large sharp axe, a saw, and a bill-hook among them —
he could not compete with the lunatic, and a deadly
fear came upon him. At last, after running till he
became exhausted, he threw down his basket and,
with a groan, sank to the earth. Then the madman,
with an exultant yell, dashed up to him, stooped
down, and, touching him lightly on the shoulder,
cried " tig ! "
VEILED RUSTICITY 147
There is furthermore the story of the Cotswold
housewife who had never seen one wearing a veil.
One day a young lady neighbour, who was dressed
for a journey, came in to wish her good-bye. She,
happening to be in her garden, was sent for to the
house. Seeing the young woman wearing a spotted
veil for the first time, she held up her hands in
amazement and cried : " Lar', you ! Whatever's the
matter ? Thees got a lot o' girt vlies craalin' all over
thy vace."
CHAPTER IX
A Cotswold Ploughing Match — Old Acquaintances — The
Carter's Criticism — Progress of the Ploughing — The
Prize-Winner.
" For oh, the honest countryman
Speaks truly from his heart ;
His pride is in his tillage,
His horses and his cart.
The ploughman, though he labour hard,
Yet, on a holiday,
No emperor so merrily
Doth pass the time away."
Old Song.
WHAT means this uncommon bustle and anima-
tion in and around the little riverside town,
and where are all the men and horses going at such
an early hour, for it is scarcely yet breakfast-time ?
To-day the most fateful of contests is to be decided.
For this is the date of the Ploughing Match. To-day
half a hundred ploughmen will compete for the
coveted palm and will put forth their best efforts
and show their greatest skill and pride in the grandest
of all trades, and afterwards await the judge's award
with a coolness truly admirable, heroic in a simple
spontaneous people.
For weeks past interest in the competition has
been steadily increasing for miles around the Thames
Valley. In the field, in the stable, at home in the
cottage, and in the snug little rooms at the Pig and
Whistle, and the Red Lion, where the carters assemble
i 4 8
PREPARING FOR THE FRAY 149
at least every week-end, the talk has been of little
but the coming ploughing match. The young men
have been making mental lists of all the veterans
and those famed for a straight, even furrow they
can think of, and weighing their own chances.
Similarly, the champions have taken a survey of the
field and singled out their most dangerous rivals
among the younger ploughmen, and made careful
note of fresh-comers to the farms, gleaning whatever
intelligence they could of their skill in guiding the
plough and turning up the stubborn glebe. In
addition to this, the ploughs have been overhauled
and put into condition after lying idle during hay-
cart and wheat harvest ; the favourite and most
easily manipulated implement has been singled out
upon which to stake the prestige of the farm and its
ploughing staff. The horses, too, have been chosen
and are being well looked after. The harness has
been cleaned and oiled, the brasses brightly polished,
the ribbons, rosettes, and ear-caps produced from
the carter's private chest or drawer, or new ones
bought at the saddler's and harness-maker's shop.
And now the long and eagerly expected day is
here. The clock in the stately tower has struck
eight. Some of the teams and ploughs passed
through the broad market-place nearly an hour ago,
and others are still arriving. It is noteworthy that
those who were situated at the greatest distance
came first, and those whose farms are near at hand
will be the last to reach the field. But there is a
reason for everything. Those horses that came from
afar will need food and a rest before being harnessed
to the plough, while the others, by reason of their
nearness to the site, will come forth fresh and untired
by a long journey on the road. The morning opened
150 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
dull and close. A heavy thunder-shower fell early
in the night, watering the fields. The land lies
steaming in the sun that now and then peeps through
the clouds and smiles on the rain-sweetened earth
and the lively company assembling to take part in
or be spectators of the competition.
" That drap o' raain couldn't a come at a better
time. It jest mystened the ground fer the shers,
an' 't ull 'elp the turmuts farrud. Our'n used to
decler sich raain was wuth a pound a drap. 'Tis
jest right fer ploughin'. That owl' clawver ood a
turned up akkerd else if us 'adn' 'ad a drap," remarks
the carter to his near mate.
There are two kinds of ploughing — with the
double and single ploughs. The single ploughs are
allocated to the clover-patch that has been carefully
measured out into plots of half an acre. The double
ploughs are given wheat stubble, as being easier to
turn, for the clover has not been ploughed for two
years, and has been well trodden down by the sheep
and the haymakers. The competitors are of two
classes — over and under twenty years of age. In
several cases father and son, too, are competing,
the one in the senior and the other in the junior
class. The youthful ploughmen have a portion of
the field expressly allotted to them, but adjoining
the other, so that they can exchange a few words
with their fathers when they come to turn round
in the middle of the field.
Jingle, jingle, jingle. Merrily the bells sound and
brightly the brasses shine, as the horses, plump
and sleek, with tails and manes plaited and inter-
woven with bright wheat straw and decorated with
streaming ribbons and ear-caps, proudly enter the
field, nodding their heads and neighing softly at the
THE EXPERT PLOUGHMAN 151
sight of so many of their kind. Surely they must
all be here now, for it is past nine o'clock, and it is
time a start was made. But no ! There is one
more team to come, from Aldsworth, four miles
away, and it has been decided to wait for that.
At the same time there is no sign of impatience
about the field. No one is in a hurry, for it is a holiday.
The old carters walk up and down steadily, eyeing
the youngsters' ploughs, and giving sundry words
of advice. The young ploughman, with silver ring
on his finger and surrounded by several mates who
have come to witness the match and give encourage-
ment to their comrade, calmly smokes a cigarette,
and, with the touch and skill of a trained mechanic,
screws up first one nut and then another, and takes
careful note of the wheels, to have them secure when
a start is made. The skim and coulter must be
fitted after the signal is given. They are usually
set with the aid of a new horse-nail, and the operation
is performed with care, for it is of the utmost import-
ance to have them correctly fixed. If the skim and
coulter are not properly set a thin edge of green
will show in the ploughing, and this will tell against
the competitor. Most of the ploughmen carry an
extra share, and some have a spare skim, too, fastened
to the frame of the implement in case they should
lose or break one. To do so would be a great mis-
fortune, and would promptly settle their chances of
winning a prize, and would moreover expose them
to the laughter of all the rest on the field.
Here is a young ploughman singing by himself :
" My owld 'oss died wi' the toothache,
And left me here a-sorrowin'.
Good-bye, Kit, and good-bye, Dan,
I'm just goin' over the mountain.
152 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
So I dug a hole and hit 'im in,
Fare thee well, owld dar-ar-lin',
Good-bye, Kit, and good-bye, Dan,
I'm just goin' over the mountain."
Along comes a carter with critical eye.
" Yellocks ! "
" What ? "
" One trace is sharter than t'other, my bwoy."
" Which un ? "
" That outside un yander."
" A yen much odds, is a ? "
" A's a lenk difference. Let un go one. Tha's
got un twisted, too, essent ? Tha's better, locks ! '
" Never tried mi luck afore. Can but try."
" Kip thi eye an the flag, and dwunt caddie
thiself."
" If I caan't strik out a line straight away, I be
done."
" Dwunt go too fast, ner it too slow. Dwunt
get steam up too quick. Ther's a lot of stwuns in
this piece. If tha dossent kip thi plough stiddy
thaay'll uck un out an't."
"Now, Vylet! Stan' up, Vylet. Woa ! Way!
Tha's more at it. 'Tis no good to odds it when ya
got it ready."
Here is a merry-looking! little -man, with pilot
coat, small boxer hat, and stout ground-ash stick
in his right hand, and an old blue umbrella with
handle broken off under his left arm, nodding to every-
one, and examining the horses and ploughs. Seeing
the carter, he stops short ; his eyes twinkle, and his
face lights up, for he recognises an old acquaintance.
" Good marnin' to 'e, Robbut. 'Tis Robbut, yent
it?"
Yes. But I dwunt zim to call you to mind."
a
A FAIR MASTER 153
" Dwunt you know I ? "
" Can't zim to recollect 'e."
" Why, you knows Quininton, dwunt 'e ? "
" I was barned ther, awhever."
" To be sure ! I know'd you as soon as I sid 'e.
An' 'ow be 'e all this time ? "
" Tarble well, e s'pose, considerin'. Caan't run
awver very many."
" An' 'ow's yer missis ? "
" A got the rheumatics. We byent so young as
us used to be, nam an us."
" Aa ! if 'tis thaay rheumatics, God bless 'e. I
be yer for a day's pleasure, I be."
" Warn you jacked out work now ? "
" Nat it. Still kips muddlin' on. I bin an one
lot o' land fifty year, an' bin wi' our maester forty
out on't. 'E's a good un, 'e is. All that time that
I worked wi' our maester I never yerd 'e swer once —
never ! "
" Phe-e-e-e-ew ! " There goes the secretary's
whistle at last, calling the attention of the plough-
men and preluding the hoisting of the flag for the
start. The Aldsworth team was so late in coming
that special provision had to be made for it ; to
that has been accorded the privilege of beginning
and finishing ten minutes later than the others.
At the sound of the whistle there is a general
movement throughout the field. The young plough-
man's mates fall back and stand clear of the imple-
ment, while he prepares to fix the skim and coulter
as soon as the signal is given. The wise and cautious
veteran, with great outward unconcern, gives a last
glance round his traces and whipples. The spectators
gather in groups and wait expectantly, and the
horses, unmoved by the strangeness of the scene
154 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
and the voices around, stand like statues, ready to go
forward at the bidding of the ploughmen. The
land no longer steams, for the surface of the field
is dry. The mist has lifted from the woods, and the
sun shines warm through the fleecy clouds rimmed
with brightest silver.
Now the secretary, standing in mid-field, waves
the flag and notes the time with his watch, held open
in the other hand. In a jiffy skim and coulter are
set ; the carters take the reins and shake them clear
of the harness and, gripping the handles of the plough,
point the share and speak to the horses, and the
whole phalanx moves forward, some with a smart
rush, some with a more dignified pace, and others
creeping like snails. These are chiefly the veterans,
who never make the mistake of starting off too
quickly, but take things quietly at first, while the
younger ploughmen, thinking speed to be the first
essential, dash straight away and trust to luck rather
than judgment to strike out a good furrow.
" You'll zee marks as straight as a arra, dareckly,"
the merry little carter exclaims.
" Aa ! an' as crucked as a anchor, too, from thase
young uns," replies another.
One lean, middle-aged carter has met with an
accident already, within a few seconds of the start.
His skim, that was none too tight, has struck a stone
and been wrenched out of place. In less than half
a minute it is right again and on he goes, though
somewhat behind the rest.
As soon as the teams have got well away a rush
is made from point to point in order to see the first
furrows. The bow-legged carter runs as fast as he
can, stoops down and squints with one eye along each
furrow and, with the other, winks at the bystanders.
A FIELD OF CRITICS 155
All sorts of remarks, accompanied with merry laughter
and playful sarcasm, are passed by the youths and old
men.
" Yellocks ! "
"Ha! ha! ha!"
" 'E got a smartish bend ther'."
" What did I tell 'e ? "
11 'E'll 'ef to pull towwerd a bit. 'E'll 'ev a job
to get that out."
" That ull squer up bad, that ull."
" 'E'll never get that out."
" 'E got to show 'is rudge."
'Matey got a good mark ther', locks ! "
" Thase be the two best furras."
" Well, done, Benjimun ! "
" If 'e'd a got 'es chestnut along wi' that owl' brown
un. Benjimun ood 'ev it."
" Aa ! tha's cyapitul ploughin'. Ther's a lot
about everything, yent it ? "
" That yunt deep anuf."
" Ther's plenty wuss than that."
" That wunt do. Tha's too much of a 'olla."
" Coom-e ! Woa-utt ! Wug-tt-a ! Stand back,
ther', an' let the 'osses turn round, ool 'e ! "
" Thee bist nervous, owl' man."
" No, I byent."
" Yes, thee bist."
" It don' trouble I which way it goes."
" Tha bist main white about the gills."
" 'Tis a pity Benjimun's turn-vurra dwunt shine
a bit ! A got a new plough an' fresh 'osses."
" That drap o' raayn jest tuk the polish off the
rudge."
" 'Tis too many stwuns in 't. It makes a differ-
ence wer 'tis sandy sile, er claayey, er brash. We
156 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
ent a bin about all thase years fer nothin', ev us,
Robbut ? "
" Look at Willum yander ! A got a mark like a
rip-'ook."
" Dost thee want to get awver to Quininton ? Tha
bist gwain a long way round at it."
" I got the wrong 'oss. I wanted my owl' Jinny."
" Kip thi eye an that tree yander, an' get that
cruk out, else tha't be zumwher' presently."
And so the ploughing proceeds amid the clatter
of tongues, the laughter and jests of the young men,
and the sage and witty observations of the elder
carters. Here and there a youth accompanies his
mate the length of the plot, walking alongside the
plough to encourage him with his presence, though
that will certainly not improve the furrow.
The old carter is very quiet and scarcely speaks
to his horses, but they fully understand what is
required of them and plod along at a steady rate,
leaning slightly towards each other. As he turns
round he half sits on the plough handles, halts a
moment to tighten the skim and clean the turn-
furrow with the paddle, and quietly resumes his
way. The polished brasses and turn-furrows gleam
brightly in the sunshine ; the scene is one of great
animation. The field is rapidly turning from fresh
green to a rich brown ; it is surprising how much
land can be ploughed up in a short space by so many
teams at once.
" Ther's one man as ull benefit bi the match, if
nob'dy else dwunt. 'E'll get 'e's ground ploughed
fer nothin', an' that ull save 'e's 'osses a main bit o'
labour," a bystander remarks.
Now Prince Erik of Denmark, cousin to King
George, a tall young man dressed in a light suit and
HOPE AND DESPAIR 157
wearing a grey cap, comes stalking along, chatting
with a farmer with whom he is staying at Fairford
in order to get experience of agriculture as it is carried
on in the Cotswolds, and the spectators fall back a few
yards and allow them to pass by. The merry little
carter and his friends continue to walk up and down,
viewing the progress made by the teams and examining
the furrows, giving a word of encouragement, or ex-
pressing sympathy where that is necessary.
" 'E yander's 'aein' all the bad luck, simly. A
lost one skim an' brawk t'other. The green shows
along 'is rudge. That ull tell agyenst un."
" 'E's a good ploughman else."
" Anybody can see that."
" Tha's a girt baffle to the man."
" 'Tis no good. I shall be diskallified. Knows 'e
shall ! "
" Chent no use to caddie thiself about it now. Go
into't."
" Tha's a good furra, that is."
" Aa ! cyapitul."
" Ther's some good ploughin' yer."
" No mistake about that."
" 'Tis as I ses. Ther's a purty deal belongs to
everything, yent it ? I was jest a tellin' Willum,
ther' yent a bin a ploughin' match in Fayreferd fer
sixty year. The last as was was in aishen tree ground.
That was my fust, but 'e never gained nothin'. Was
but a young un then, ya know."
" What ! bist thee a minin' ? "
" Minin', aa ! "
" Tha't get down out of zight, 'osses an' all,
dareckly. Tha dossent want to deg thi grave yer,
dost ? "
All the time there is a steady movement of the
158 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
spectators, a continual coming and going, to and
fro, and backwards and forwards, around the field.
Some saunter this way and some that, these to watch
the juniors and see how they are shaping, while those
go through the gateway into the adjoining section
to view the double ploughs. They are drawn by
three horses, walking abreast, and as well as turning
up double the space of ground they move much more
quickly, for the stubble land is softer and more porous
than the clover, and offers little resistance to the
keen-edged share and coulter. The soil, as it is
brought over with the turn-furrow, breaks to pieces :
it is useless to think of getting anything like an even,
polished ridge here.
The pretty pimpernel, fumitory, and speedwell
are ruthlessly torn up and buried beneath the rough
clods of earth, though they have done their work and
scattered their seeds, which will come up thicker
than ever next spring when the warm winds blow
and the sweet showers fall from the April skies.
The low hedge that divides the fields has been cut, the
ditch and bank cleared, and the croppings burnt.
The white ashes, saturated with last night's rain,
emit a strong scent which, however, is not unpleasant.
This, together with the rich smell of the newly
ploughed earth, fills the air around and is carried out
beyond on the wings of the faintly fluttering wind.
For once the rooks are baffled, and dare not lodge
upon the fallow with so many strangers about, though
they frequently fly overhead and wheel round in
great rings, presently to take their departure and
settle in the next field, or in the boughs of the elm
trees standing alongside the park.
" 'Ow be gettin' an wi't, Robbut ? "
" Fairish, like."
THE TEST OF A FURROW 159
" Tha's got a good per o' 'ossen ! "
" Thaay owl' stwuns keps ketchin' an in, an'
jabbin' an in out on't."
" Wher's our Tom ? "
" Up a t'other zide. Go up yander you can zin."
" What do you do now, then, sonny ? "
" I be awver at Castle Aeton at it."
" An' 'ow's young Maester ? "
" Aw ! 'e's a larnin'. 'Evin a bit of a flash in the
pan. 'E got a lot to lam yet."
" Aa ! 'E got to find that out. You can farm
fer the farm, er you can farm fer the pocket. 'E's
faather was a good un. 'E looked round the outside
an't, 'e did."
" Take that bit off thi turn-vurra, bwoy ! Tha
bist too wide an' too deep. The 'arra wunt shek
the zid down. If the whate yent deep-rooted, the
fust bit of a cowld nip ull cut it all to pieces. Tha
essent got no rudge at all."
" This owl' man got a good furra. A's as straight
as a gun-barrel."
" A couldn't a done't much better ef a'd a-tried at
it, could a ? "
" 'E could shoot up 'e very well."
" 'Tis the 'osses as doos it."
So the conversation is maintained as the spectators
pass from point to point. All is bustle and anima-
tion. The ploughs glide along, and the toil proceeds.
More than half the ploughing is done now, for the
match has been in progress above two hours. Some
of the younger competitors have made great head-
way with their plots. A few of them will soon have
finished, but then they were bound to hurry ; no
matter how hard they had tried, they could not have
gone about it steadily. The old carters are more
160 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
backward and have not done nearly as much, but
they are aiming to win. At all events, they occupy
the chief attention of the judges and are the only
ones in the running in the senior class, excepting the
Aids worth man, who arrived last on the field. He is
said to be shaping best of all, though he has not done
much yet, for he is extraordinarily cautious and
deliberate.
After two hours of hard ploughing in the hot sun-
shine — for the clouds have melted away and left a
clear, delicious sky, such as October alone can give
us — the horses foam and steam with the perspiration.
Their nostrils are distended with hard breathing, and
they require more words of exhortation or reproof
from the man at the plough-tail. Some of the animals
perspire much more freely than do the others. This
may be the result of the day's feeling, of fitness or
otherwise, though it usually depends upon what they
have had for breakfast, and the kind of food they have
been eating during the week previous.
" Tha's all accordin' to what ya gies 'em to aat.
Ef thaay 'aes nothin' but graas, tha'll sweat like
raayn. Put plenty o' wuts into the mannger.
That'll mek ther ribs firmer," the carter says.
The brilliant colours of the autumn foliage in the
noonday light are very striking. The long line of
beeches shows in the distance like a blood-red flame,
eager to consume the light green of the ash and the
dark coloured elms ranged along behind. The brasses
on the harness, the shares and turn-furrows gleam
more brightly in the sunshine. Every particle of
mist has disappeared above the woods and along the
line of the White Horse Down, now radiant in the
distance.
There is not much farther to go now. The clock
EXPERIENCE WINS 161
in the church tower has chimed out the four quarters
and the heavy bell has followed and struck one,
which was plainly heard all over the field. Another
half an hour and the contest will be over and the
fates of the ploughmen decided. The prizes will
have been won, and, with them, the title to the
championship for the ensuing twelve months. One
or two of the young men, as heedless now as when
they began, are already on their last journey. Start-
ing at a fast rate, they continued the pace right
through the match and are finishing up at the same
speed. Those whose furrows were out at the start
and were not rectified by the time the middle of the
plot was reached, find they will have to make one,
or perhaps several half-turns in order to finish up.
This leads them to think that the plot was not
measured correctly and was consequently out of
square, but the old carters soon tell them that the
measurement was right.
" Ef thee'st a kipt thi eye an that owl' elm yander,
same as I telled tha, thee'st a 'ed un right. 'Tis
no good to caddie thiself about it now, an' blame
the mizhurment. Jest tread that bit o' green in
yander, an' kick thaay uts a one zide. Tha bist
all up an' down like a dog's 'ind leg."
The older ploughmen are not as far advanced
and have quite a wide strip to do yet. The nearer
they get to the end the more slowly they proceed,
ofttimes stopping half-way up the piece and taking
a careful survey of the furrow, before and behind.
When they come to the headland they measure the
remaining portion with the handle of the paddle,
then re-set the wheels, skim, and coulter, to fit in
with the reduced width of the strip.
" Ther's two as be a long waay a'ed o' t'othern,
ii
162 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
tha's the owl' man in the middle, an' 'e at the fer
end yander. One o' thaay ull 'ae the fust," remarks
the carter.
" The young uns ane't a done so bad, neether,
considerin'. The ground's tarble akkerd fer thaay,
wi' so many stwuns in't."
" Wher's Benjimun got to ? "
" Essent thee purty nigh done thy bit, Benjimun ?
'Ow much longer bist a-gwain to be at it ? '
" One more go ull finish it."
" I should thenk so, too. Tha's bin long anuff
about it."
" Yellacks ! 'E's a-gwain to uck that all to pieces
an' spile the lot an't."
" A might a bin commended else, if a'd a gone a
bit stiddy, but you caan't tell the young uns nothin'.
Tha got to find it out fer ther selves."
By a quarter past one all have finished, with the
exception of the Aldsworth man. He has several
more journeys to make yet, and is exceedingly
tardy ; even with his additional ten minutes to go
it seems that he will have enough to do to finish it
in time. But he is cool and collected, and behaves
as though he had all the afternoon in which to finish
the piece. The other ploughmen have withdrawn
their horses from the plots and stationed them along-
side the hedge, where they stand cropping the leaves
and twigs. The conversation, except for a steady
stream of compliments, quietly expressed, on the
Aldsworth man's work, has died down. There is
little excitement or speculation as to the result, for
everyone is agreed that his is by far the best piece
of ploughing.
The committee men and judges, pocket-books in
hand, take a final survey of the furrows and make
A WELL-EARNED VICTORY 163
notes by the way, then come and take a stand with
the rest and patiently await the return of the plough,
that has gone to the other end for the last time.
Arrived there, the carter unhitches one of the horses
and makes the return journey with but one animal.
This gives him more room and a clearer view of the
furrow ; he can both see and manage the plough
better with but one horse in front of him. Once or
twice down the piece he stops to tread in a rough
clod of earth, or to kick a stone aside, then resumes
his way and, punctual to time, reaches the headland
and draws his plough on to the green and coolly
surveys his piece. Young and old view him with
admiration and hasten to examine the plough, to
ascertain its make, age, and general features, for all
feel certain that this is the prize-winner.
" Why ! this is a main owl' plough," remarks a
committee man to the carter.
" Yes. 'E bin about a few years," the ploughman
replies.
" How long 'ev you bin a-ploughin' wi' this un ? "
"A bit over a twelvemonth. A led out in the
ground a rustin' for dree er vower year till I fetched
un out on't."
" Well ! 'twas a good resurrection, at any rate,"
the committee man replies, and all the spectators
show their agreement by various remarks and com-
ments, while the carters stoop down and squint
round the implement, feeling the skim, the coulter,
the turn-furrow, and the whipples, and pat the
horses on the neck or hip.
Now the carter boys come to relieve the plough-
men and take charge of the horses, and lead them
back to the carts in the next field, where a supply
of hay and corn is awaiting them. The spectators
164 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
depart, and those who have taken part in the com-
petition file off and make their way to the marquee
in the park opposite, there to partake of a hearty
meal and afterwards hear the speeches and the names
of the winners announced. These will also be pub-
lished in the local newspapers for the edification of
all and sundry round about, while the prize-winners'
certificates will be framed and hung upon the cottage
walls, precious mementoes of victories honourably
achieved and an example for the juniors, to stir
them up to similar feats of skill and fine workman-
ship.
All the talk at the inns and elsewhere this week-
end will be of the ploughing match and its result,
as to the winners and those commended. The
veterans will go steadily on with their accustomed
toils, while the young men will pay greater attention
to skim, share, and coulter, determined to be avenged
for their defeat and to turn the tables at the very
next contest that comes round.
CHAPTER X
A Cotswold Carter's Cottage — " Chasing the Cock " — Native
Wit and Humour— On the Coin— Whelford— The Smithy
—The Mill— Old Elijah's Tale.
NOW the match is over and the teams and ploughs
and crowds of sightseers are gone, the field
seems strangely deserted. Never before had such
a lively scene, with so much laughter and merry-
making, been enacted there, and probably it never
will be again. Next year the site of the match will
be fixed elsewhere, perhaps many miles away, and
so changed from place to place until the cycle of
towns and villages in the area is completed. The
carters and farmers, too, would complain if the match
were confined to one locality ; they count it a great
compliment to any village to have the competition
decided there.
Everyone was agreed that the prizes were fairly
awarded, though one greybeard thought the Aids-
worth man was fortunate in not being penalised for
his late arrival. " If 'e'd a bin a-ploughin' along o'
we in my time, an' 'ad come a minute aater the
start, 'e'd a 'ad to a stood o' one zide. Tha'd a
diskallified un, right anuff. Tha was moore perticler
then than tha be now. But a's a cyapital plough-
man, for all that, an' we dwun' know what pervented
un on the road," said he.
The carter's cottage may be held as a fair type of
the average home of the Cotswold labourer. The
165
166 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
house is of moderate size, with two rooms down-
stairs and two above. One of the downstairs rooms
is set aside as a summer apartment, for when the
sun shines hot against the front of the house the
temperature within is raised to an uncomfortable
pitch. The other is the general living-room, con-
stituting dining- and sitting-room and kitchen
together. The furniture of the room consists of a
large deal table, an ancient sofa covered with faded
red cloth, a chest of drawers, and half a dozen chairs,
including the arm-chair by the fireside, in which no
one else must presume to sit when the carter is at
home. Standing within the door is an old-fashioned
oak folding table, the envy of the dealers who pass
by, who constantly make advances to the carter's
wife and implore her to sell it, but to no purpose.
" Do you want to get rid o' that owl' table,
mother ? " the dealers ask.
" No. Shan't sell 'e. 'E's years an' years owld,
'e is, if anybody knowed the ins an' outs o' that owld
table. Ther'd be jest about a 'ow d'e do if I was
to get rid on in. 'E was left to mine bi 'e's grand-
mother, an' I knows 'e'll never pert wi'n," she replies.
As is usually the case in the poor man's cottage,
what is lacking in furniture is made up for in pictures
and ornaments. There are no less than fifty orna-
ments on the mantelpiece. They are of all sorts
and dimensions, but are chiefly old-fashioned stone
figures and pieces of quaint chinaware, many of
them interesting, and some highly valuable. Fore-
most among them are two fine old images of Tom
King and Dick Turpin, the robbers, which the
dealers have often tried in vain to buy ; the modest
sum of eleven shillings for the two was not enough
to tempt the carter's wife to sell them.
FAMILY FEATURES 167
As with ornaments, so with pictures and photo-
graph i ; there are nearly a hundred hanging upon
the walls of the living-room. Of these the most
conspicuous are a reproduction of " The Stolen
Duchess," in colours, and two old Scriptural prints —
" The Finding of Moses " and " Moses in the Land of
Midian." The mirror, before which the carter has
his weekly shave, is marked with the name of a certain
Embrocation, warranted " Good for Cattle," and the
covering over the back of the good-wife's chair is a
piece of hand-wrought embroidery depicting Joseph's
flight with the infant Christ into Egypt. Hanging
up are a hempen halter and a great horn lantern for
use in the stables ; upon the floor are a long brass-
handled whip and a flag dinner basket.
The carter is a strong-made man, with broad
shoulders, short, thick neck, massive head, and square
face, and he has a loud, deep voice, just the kind to
terrify the ploughboys when they have been guilty
of any misdemeanour. His wife is a portly dame,
honest and homely, whose chief pride is in keeping
a clean house and having everything ready for her
" man " when he comes home at meal- times and in
the evening.
Their family is twelve in number — six sons and
six daughters — though they are all grown up and
away from home now. Of the sons one is a sailor,
three are soldiers, and the others railwaymen. The
daughters are either married or in situations, and
do not come home very often. As neither the carter
nor his wife can read or write there is little correspond-
ence between them. The eldest son writes them a
letter once a year — at Christmas ; then they get one
of the neighbours to come in and read it to them and
write out a reply. Yet, in spite of many hardships
168 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
suffered during a laborious life, the carter is 1 tight
and cheerful, and is able to tell a merry tab and
recount several quaint customs of which he had heard
his father speak, but which have been discontinued
of late years.
One of these was that of " Chasing the Cock."
It was the practice, on New Year's Day, for all the
ploughmen to come home from the field at noon and
stable their horses. Then the head carter, carrying
the plough-spanner and a wooden wedge in his hand,
and followed by the under ploughman and boys, pro-
ceeded to the kitchen, and laid them on the table
before the mistress with the remark, " Now for the
owl' cock, Missis ! " or
" Rain or shine, the cock's mine."
After that the carter and his mates went outside
and chased the cock round the farmyard for ten
or fifteen minutes and then came into the kitchen
and sat down to a substantial meal. There was no
more ploughing that day. The afternoon was spent
in the stables, cleaning the harness. On the morrow
they went out, stronger and braver, to plough the
regulation acre, provided the weather and land were
favourable.
There is a conundrum many carters love to propose
to you, if you are on friendly terms with them and
have time to give to their simple requests. This is —
" How much will it cost to shoe a horse, starting at a
farthing a nail and doubling it each time to the end,
counting seven nails to each shoe ? " At first sight
it seems that quite a modest sum would be sufficient
to settle the bill, but those who care to work the matter
out will find that a considerable figure will be needed
to pay off the score.
FLAVOURING THE BROTH 169
At one place where the carter worked as a boy the
old farmer was very eccentric. When harvest-home
came round one year and the fires were burning
brightly in the brewhouse aiad beneath the big copper
boiler, he peeped through the shutters and was
astonished to see the master throw an old pair of
boots into the boiler among the meat and vegetables.
Accordingly, when supper-time came and all the men
were busy at table, he alone would not touch any-
thing, but pretended to be sick, and lay on the ground
during the meal. The next day he told the men
what he had seen, and they gave him a good thrash-
ing for not speaking about it earlier.
A rustic, notorious for his appetite, was accredited
with eating a monstrous quantity of fat bacon ; it
was said that he could devour four pounds at a meal.
To test the veracity of the report two farmers deter-
mined to put his appetite to the test. They arranged
for him to go a journey of eight miles ; at each end
he was to be given four pounds of bacon with bread.
It says something for his digestive ability that he ate the
whole and then had a good tea on reaching the cottage.
At another time a teamster came home with a
load of ashes the worse for liquor. Thereupon the
farmer scolded him for his indulgence. Nettled by
the master's remarks, the carter seized the bridle,
led the horse quickly into the narrow barn, turned
the waggon round sharply, and came out again.
" Yellock ! Thee coussent do that," said he.
" No more coussent thee, if tha hassent bin drunk,"
the other replied.
Old Ambrose Archer, of Quenington, had three
hoes which he used according to the price he was being
paid for the job. One of these was for 2s. 6d. an
acre, one for 3s., and the other for 5s. an acre.
170 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
" Good morning, David ! Raw air this morning ! "
said the visitor to a rustic.
" Aa, 'tis, you ! Dwun suppose a bin biled aw-
hever," he replied.
And again — " Fine morning, John ! "
" Marnin's all right ef thee't let un alone ! '
So also with the farmer who addressed the labourer
one cold winter's morning :
" Mornin', James ! Fine mornin', James ! '
" Fine marnin's no good wi' no bren cheese in the
cubberd, maester," James answered.
A villager was going to the workhouse to obtain
relief there, when someone addressed him :
" Good morning, Etherd ! "
" Oy ! Oy ! I'm a-gwoin on yander. Some on
'em got girt sticks in ther faggots, but I got none in
mine," replied he, meaning some people had meat in
their broth, but he had none in his.
" Now thee zee I knock that owl' cow into tha mill-
bruk," said the foolhardy young ploughman to his
senior one day, when they came to a cow standing
on the edge of the river. So he took off his hat and
rushed straight at the cow. Immediately she shot
forward and the inevitable happened — head first
went the foolhardy yokel into the stream, out of sight
beneath the eddying water.
" Well ! 'Ow tha dist knock un in, you. Tha
coussent a done't better ef tha'st a-tried at it," his
mate exclaimed.
A few evenings since John came in early from work
and took off his boots, " to rest 'is vit," as he said.
It is no wonder they were tired, for his boots weighed
over twelve pounds. Asked what he had been doing, he
said he had been on Fuzzy Hill ploughing with " one
bull single."
A DISPUTED PASSAGE 171
The carter on the farm where John worked as a
boy was " a very steern man," and the ploughboys
were sure of a thrashing when they came late to the
stables. Many a time John had stopped on the road
and fought with his youthful mate to see which should
" have it first " when they got to the farm.
One carter would never descend to the thrashing
business, though the boys were never so late. Instead,
he made them sit down till breakfast-time and then
loaded them with the heaviest set of trace-harness
he could find, and made them carry it to and fro in
the stables during the meal-hour.
Another teamster was singular in never using a
lantern in the stable, not even on the darkest night.
When he went to " wrap his horses up " he felt his
way about the stalls. As for his horses, he could
recognise them anywhere simply by feeling their
tails !
One day a travelling salt, on his way from
Gloucester to London, was taking a short cut across
Farmer B 's field. When he was half-way over
the farmer galloped up behind him and cried :
" 'Owld on ! Ther's no road yer acraas my land."
" Oh ! Thy land, is it ? And how comes it to be
thy land ? " said the salt.
" 'Twas left to ma bi mi faather," the farmer
answered.
" And how did he come by't ? " the sailor inquired.
" 'Ad it from 'es foorefaathers afoore 'e."
" And where did they get it ? "
" Why ! fowt for't, 'e s'pose," the farmer replied.
" Very good ! If thee't get off that 'oss I'll fight
thee for't, but I shan't go back for nobody," the salt
answered.
Hearing the story told of the rustic who stole the
172 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
butter and hid it in his hat and was then forced to
sit in the chimney corner till it melted and ran down
his head and face, the old carter grinned and said,
" 'A'd better bi 'aaf to a put it in 'is britches pocket."
This is how John and Harry cured father's pig of
jumping out of the sty when they were boys. First
they took it, one by the fore and the other by the hind
legs, and stood still a moment.
" Gie 'n a swing, 'Arry, an' knock 'is owl' yed agyen
the wall," said Jonathan.
" No ! Mustn't do that," Harry replied.
" Come on ! One, two, three, and away," cried
John, and with a swing they let go the porker and
dashed it against the wall. For a moment the pig lay
on the ground, shaking its forefeet convulsively ;
then it became very still.
" Bin an' done for'n now. We be in for a dreshin'
dareckly," said Harry. The porker was only stunned,
however, and it soon revived, but it never climbed
out of the sty afterwards.
The carter had been seriously told by a waggish
blacksmith that the foundations of Fairford Church
were built of bricks made with stubble by the
Israelites in King Pharaoh's time and brought from
Egypt to England in the days of the Romans, which
account he sincerely believes, notwithstanding the
laughter of his wife and family.
From Fairford the crystal Coin, leaping merrily
over the large stones that lie along the bed and
shelter the wily trouts, flows down to Whelford,
where it pauses a moment to turn the machinery of
the mill and then hurries off beneath lines of graceful
willows and aspens. At about every half a mile is
a foot-bridge, made of stout planks thrown across
the stream, with a small ash or withy pole affixed
THE WATER-MEADS 173
as a hand-rail. They are construeted chiefly for
the convenience of anglers, in order to allow them to
pass from side to side, though they are also used
by the rustics to cut off a corner, or to attend to
the hatches placed at intervals to flood the fields
in the winter and spring of the year.
At the division of the fields a barrier is usually
set to prevent the cattle from wading through and
trespassing on the adjoining lands. In several cases
the barriers are made of parts of an old steam-plough
cable, drawn across from side to side and fixed to
posts at a height of about two feet above the face
of the water. If the heifers standing in the river
should place their heads beneath these and lift them
up, they might easily enter the next field, but they
never do so, preferring to stand with their heads
held over and the wire pressing hard against the
dewlap.
Water-meadows extend to a distance of a mile
from the stream. The land lies low, while the river,
supported by banks of earth and gravel, is conducted
at an elevation, with the object of forming a bay
and obtaining sufficient fall to drive the machinery
of the mill half a mile farther down. Trouts — they
may be of a good size — occasionally escape through
the hatches and work their way to the extremity
of the field in the winter, when the meads are flooded.
This is their spawning-time and the close season :
they would not be able to get through the gates at
any other part of the year.
Every autumn, while the springs are low, the
coarsest of the weeds are cut, the gravel flams dragged
out of the river-bed, and the materials piled along
the banks to strengthen them during the winter
floods. In order to sever the weeds scythe-blades
174 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
are riveted together and a rope is affixed to each
end. Two men, standing one on each side, manipu-
late these, drawing them backwards and forwards
and proceeding steadily up-stream. Sometimes a
trout, heedless of the commotion in the weeds, and
slow of movement, is cut in two by the sharp blades
and becomes the prey of the workmen, though this
does not often happen.
Otters, though not uncommon in the Coin, are
seldom taken with gin or trap upon the banks.
Moving as they do for the most part in the night,
and concealing themselves by day in hollow trees
and inaccessible places, they easily escape the notice
of passers-by.
Otter-hounds come and beat up the Coin and
Leach, and work round the small brooks three or
four times a year, and usually kill a few animals.
Occasionally, when the hounds are hard on the
tracks of an otter, they start a hare out of the
long grass or rushes and leave the otter to chase
that through the fields. Though constantly diving
in the sharp clear water and brushing through reeds,
flags, and grasses, the otter is yet tormented with
parasites ; there are usually several large tics clinging
to the back of its head and neck when it is captured
by the dogs in the river.
Snipes and wild ducks frequent the water-meadows.
Kingfishers are numerous and may be seen flying
up and down the village street among the houses at
almost any hour of the day, or watching for minnows
in the feeder that runs parallel with the road.
Another bird, a little larger than the bullfinch, with
white underparts and rump, occasionally visits the
banks of the Coin and Upper Thames during the
winter. This is locally known as the " ossmatch."
AN ORDERLY BLACKSMITH 175
The auriole is another visitor ; this I have seen at
Inglesham, in the summer-time.
Whelford lies a short way back from the Coin.
The hamlet, never very lively — for the population
is small and the situation is on a narrow by-road —
seems more than usually quiet to-day. The teams
are all afield, getting ahead with the tillage ; the
shepherd is busy with his flock among the sainfoin ;
and the cowmen are gone to milking. The good-
wives are indoors, kindling the fire and preparing
the evening meal against the return of the toilers,
and the children are not yet come from school.
Every few minutes the brilliant kingfisher darts
across and disappears through a gap low down in
th<" hedge, and the pretty dace shoot to and fro, or
make little rings on the surface of the rivulet.
Only the sound of the blacksmith's hammer on the
tinkling anvil, the hum of the mill machinery, and
the musical rippling of water beneath the river-arch
are heard.
The village smithy, though small, is not pokey
within, as is sometimes the case with the rustic forge.
This is because of the blacksmith's sense of order,
and his dislike of having things in a muddle. He
likes to see everything in its proper place and neatly
arranged, so that he can find his tools and uses on
the shortest notice, and not be compelled to turn
out several corners and rummage among heaps of
rubbish in search of them. But it is remarkable
what self-possession most blacksmiths have, and how
patient they are under circumstances that would
drive many people to distraction. No matter in
what frenzied haste the farmer may be to have his
horses shod, or the traces mended, he must abide
the smith's own time and not attempt to hurry him.
176 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
If he does, he will only hinder matters. The man
with the hammer has one pace at which to work,
and will not be hustled, but is calm and unmoved
and master of the situation.
Conspicuous in one corner is a stock of old bicycle
wheels, spindles, cranks, and brake levers, and a
bunch of cones held on a wire suspended from the
wall. These testify to the variety of work the
country smith is called upon to do nowadays ; he
must be prepared for anything that comes his way.
Sometimes the ploughing engines stop to have a
chain welded and the gear set right. Perhaps the
motor lorry is out of condition and wants seeing to,
and, though the chauffeur of the rich man's motor
is usually able to keep his own machinery in order,
he is sometimes glad of the blacksmith's help to
heave the car out of the deep ditch at the sharp
corner just below the forge.
Another interesting collection is half a hundred
keys, of all shapes and sizes, threaded upon a long
wire and hung from a nail in the wall. These the
blacksmith keeps in case of emergency ; it some-
times happens that a cottager breaks or loses the
key of his door and cannot get inside the house.
In such a case he goes to the smith and searches
among his stock of keys till he finds one that will
fit his lock, and so saves himself further trouble and
expense. To him the woodman brings his axe in
order to have it tempered and a new shaft fitted ;
the quarryman fetches his picks to have them pointed
and hardened ; the churns and milk-pails come from
the farm to be soldered, and the cottager's fender,
fire-irons, or bedstead are brought along to be welded
or riveted. In future the local blacksmith will be
required to exercise his skill upon yet more compli-
FALSE ECONOMY 177
cated machinery, of which some are beginning to be
aware : I recently stopped before a jobbing establish-
ment in a neighbouring town to take a second look
at a notice board fixed high upon the roof, and con-
taining the significant words, painted in big letters :
AEROPLANES REPAIRED.
The Greeks did not shoe their horses, nor do very
many farmers in our own country to-day if they
can get along without it. Very often they have
the fore-feet shod and leave the hind ones, especially
in the case of horses that only work on the land,
and have no occasion to use the hard roads. This
is a sign of the times, and is done to curtail expenses,
though it is an experiment that often fails and one
that may cost the farmer double and treble in the
end, through injury to the feet and subsequent
lameness of the animal.
Not all horses like being shod. Very often it
proves both a difficult and a dangerous proceeding
to supply a new set of irons to a mettlesome animal ;
but the smith is used to their behaviour and usually
finds means to finish the task. A tripod stands
beside the anvil : upon this the hind leg is set while
the smith fits the shoe and drives in and clenches
the nails. " If you treats the horses well they'll
treat you well ; but if you're rough wi' they an'
knocks 'em about, you can be sure they will kick
out an' land you one on the sly some day or other,"
says the smith.
Here the conversation is cut short by the arrival
of one who has an urgent job for the smith to do,
which is to come to his premises and ring a couple
of young pigs. They are just beginning to throw
12
178 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
the troughs about and are become otherwise trouble-
some with their snouts, and so much nasal activity-
must be checked ; there is no other way of doing it
but by presenting each with a ring.
Who would have thought the fire had gone out
in such a short space of time ? But it is a small
matter to light it ; a bit of newspaper and half a
match-box will kindle it again. Accordingly the
smith rakes away the dead coals from the nose of
the bellows, lights the paper, and covers the whole
with half-burnt cinders. Now he grasps the handle
of the bellows — a large curved cow's horn worn very
smooth — and puffs away : in a moment he has a
bright fire burning. To make the rings he takes
two new horse-nails, heats them, flattens the heads
on the anvil and makes them concave. Then he
rounds off the stems and files them smooth, holding
them in the vice and making the tips nice and sharp
to accelerate their passage through the gristly snout.
In less than ten minutes the rings are ready, and the
smith, after damping the fire with a mop, takes a
stout rope provided with a slip to hold the pig by
the mouth and departs with the cottager. In the
evening after tea, he will come back and hammer
out a few new shoes by fire-light, or do a little
soldering, not that the job is urgent, but because
he is happy in doing it, for he is his own master,
and independent.
The mill is of ancient foundation, dating from
before the time of the Domesday survey. In years
past a monastery stood at one end and was* inhabited
by the friars, who had charge of the'grinding : monks
and mills seem to have been very closely associated
during the Middle Ages. Four hatches bay back the
stream. Behind are four conduits, fitted with iron
AN UP-TO-DATE MILL 179
gratings, which are raised by day and lowered by
night. They serve to catch the slippery eels that
sometimes come down the stream and swim over the
hatches. Once over the doors and on to the grating
there is no chance of escape for them : down they
slide clear of the water and fall wriggling into the
trap, to be taken out by the miller in the morning.
To-day the trouts are very busy in the shallows,
where the water is not more than several inches deep
now that the stream is low. They are preparing to
spawn, and are leaping and wriggling about, with
their backs and tails out of water, lying first on one
side and then on the other, and making such a merry
splashing noise as to astonish the pert-looking black-
bird that has come on to the flam yonder to pick up
a few sweet mouthfuls. The redbreast and wagtail
keep him company on the flam and gather up the
insects ; there is no lack of food for them at any time
of the year.
The machinery and fittings of the mill are modern
and up-to-date. The old wooden water-wheels have
been removed, and in place of them a turbine is in-
stalled. This is altogether better ; it turns more rapidly,
wastes less water, and it occupies considerably less
space. In the case of the two old wheels, nearly the
whole of the ground floor was taken up with gear,
which was necessary in order to obtain the requisite
speed for the stones. Now, however, one upright
steel shaft from the turbine, fitted with a single cog at
the top, is sufficient.
The mill has been in the occupation of the same
family for more than two centuries, and is one of
the busiest in the locality of the Upper Thames.
When every other mill-wheel for miles around was
stopped at the end of a hot, dry summer those on the
180 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
Coin could still go merrily round, so inexhaustible is
the supply of water that leaps from the heart of the
stony Cotswolds.
"It is an amusing thing
To see a mill in full swing ;
The wheels they run so fast,
And they caught a miff at last."
This is a rude rhyme told me by old Elijah when
we chanced to be discussing the subject of the mill,
sitting before a piled-up fire at his house one wintry
night. I was bound to confess that I could not see
the point of allusion in the lines, and as for a " miff,"
I had never heard of such a thing before. That was
just what Gramp wanted me to say ; afterwards he
set about an explanation of the matter.
Down by the river, in a cottage not far from the
mill, lived the cowman, his wife, and grown-up
daughter. It chanced that the miller, a man of
nearly forty years, fell in love with the young woman,
who frequently went to the mill in company with her
mother for a gossip and stayed late. Then the
husband and father, a senseless clown, fell into a fit
of jealousy and breathed dire threats against the
miller, and abused his wife and daughter, who never-
theless continued their visits to the mill. One day
he overheard his daughter say, " Mother, I shall
never forget the miller." Then he denounced them
both, and said he would go and see the miller himself.
He accordingly went to the mill and began to
bluster, but the miller easily beguiled the rustic.
" I can soon tell you what they gets at," said he.
" If you knows anything about a mill, you know
as there's a big wheel in a little house, and then a
door, and some steps going up to a loft. In that
THE FOOL'S REWARD 181
loft there's another big wheel, and a roller fits the
cogs, and your two women likes to get hold of he and
hae a good swing all round un." Then the yokel
went up the steps — he had never been inside a mill
before — and when he saw the big wheel he thought he,
too, would like to swing round it, which he attempted
to do and got his hand crushed in the cogs. Immedi-
ately he put his fingers in his mouth, and, bolting
out of the mill, made for home. His wife and daughter
between them tied up his fingers and condoled with
the victim. Then he said he should never forget the
miller. That is what is meant in the rhyme by catch-
ing a " miff " (fool) at last.
CHAPTER XI
The Fatal Jackdaw Nesting — Hannington Wick — Kempsford
— " The Lady of the Mist "—The Boatman— A Trip by
Water — The Home-made Loaves — Rustic Medicines —
Rhyme of the Shorthorn — Tales at the Inn.
OLD Elijah's cottage at Inglesham commands
a pleasing view of the Vale above the Coin,
looking west to Kempsford four miles distant. The
scene is one of considerable charm, calmly and quietly
beautiful. The winding river bordered with haw-
thorn clumps and the water showing in silvery patches,
the broad meadows beyond, and the stately tower of
Kempsford Church rising above the tree-tops in the
distance form a delightfully harmonious landscape.
Some things we admire and others we love. Grand
mountains there are whose tops threat the sky, and
whose broad bases form extensive valleys and give
birth to many a cataract and mighty river ; but the
summits are stark and cold, the slopes and bases,
where little or no life exists, are often barren and
unbeautiful, and the rivers, foaming amid shattered
rocks that look like the ruins of a world that has
passed away, and strike terror into the heart of the
beholder, are fierce and rude, icy, sterile, desolate
and dangerous.
" My visit still but never my abode."
Gramp, though admiring the outlook as well as
any, has his appreciation of it marred by the re-
THE FATAL ARGUMENT 183
membrance of something that happened when he
was a boy. " I alius thenks o' the jackdaas when
I ketches zight o' that owl' tower," says he. Then
he goes on to relate how two farm boys climbed
to the top of Kempsford tower in search of young
jackdaws. When they reached the top— a hundred
feet high — they looked over and discovered a nest
in one of the gargoyles. Being unable to reach it by
leaning over, one boy took the other's hand and
supported him while he got through the battlement
and stepped down to the nest, which contained six
young birds. Then, in that perilous position, they
began to argue over the division of the spoils.
" 'Aaf an 'em be mine. I shall have 'aaf an 'em,"
said the one above.
" I knows tha ootn't have 'aaf an 'em, neether,"
the other replied.
" If I don' have 'aaf an 'em I'll let tha down," said
the first.
" Let ma down, then, if thas likes, but tha ootn't
have 'aaf an 'em," answered the other, and his crazy
mate, not realising his crime, loosed his hand and he
fell and was dashed to pieces on the hard stones
beneath.
A bridge spans the river at Hannington Wick. Up
to this point the stream is both wide and deep, but
beyond the depth varies from ten feet to as many
inches, and in the summer time " the bruk," as it is
now called, is nearly dry in places. Formerly there
were weirs at intervals up to Cricklade, but when
the traffic in butter and cheese came to an end they
were removed. The farmers said they kept the land
wet and injured the pasture, and there was no very
real need of them after the railways were made and
the local trade in dairy produce ceased.
184 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
The farmhouses at Hannington Wick are old and
picturesque buildings. They lie off the road and
are surrounded with pools and dikes that do not
become dry in the hottest summer. The deep ditches
yield a heavy growth of reeds and rushes which are
cut every autumn and used for thatching the ricks,
and as litter for the cattle.
The little house martins delight to dwell beneath
the eaves of the buildings ; last year I counted no
less than fifty nests packed as tightly as could be
along the front wall of one of the sheds.
Moorhens, ducks, and dabchicks breed among the
rushes and flags of the dikes. Here their nests are
concealed, and they are free from disturbance by
anglers and others who pass up and down the river-
banks and would interfere with the eggs and young.
During the winter the birds repair in flocks to the
Thames and are unmolested, except by an occasional
visit from the farmer. Nearly every little pond has
its pair of moorhens that hatch out two broods each
year, and yet the birds do not appear to increase in
number. A great many of the young fall victims to
rats, pikes, eels, and otters that work up the ditches
by night, which accounts for their disappearance.
During the floods widgeons, shelducks, golden-
eye ducks and divers visit the meadows near the
bridge. Not long ago a local farmer killed seven
wild fowls at one shot as they were crowded on the
shallow water. Shortly afterwards he was witness
of an exciting combat between an otter and four
herons, which was waged for the possession of a
fish. The birds followed the otter for half a mile
along the river, repeatedly beating it with their
wings and striking at it with their long, sharp bills.
The word Kempsford is derived from Kynemeres-
RIVAL CHIEFTAINS 185
ford, which was the name of the village in times
past. " Kyne " indirectly meant great, and " mere "
stood for marsh, so that Kynemeresford probably
meant " The Ford of the great Marsh." In the year
800, or thereabout, Ethelmund, King of the Wiccii,
who inhabited what is now the county of Gloucester-
shire, led his army through the river at Kynemeres-
ford to attack the Walsati under Wearistan, who
dwelt in the present county of Wiltshire. In the
engagement both chiefs were slain but victory fell
to the injured Walsati.
The church is a noble structure and is the pride
of the villagers from the vicar, squire, and farmer
to the cowman, shepherd, and ploughboys that
tend their teams in the stables immediately fronting
the walls. The building dates from the Norman
period and contains, in addition to portions of the
original walls and doorways, many specimens of
choice workmanship in the carvings and chevron
work, the ornamental columns and arches, the lofty
panelled oak roof, the lantern of the tower, and
the splayed windows.
The amazing tower is of fourteenth- century work,
with corner buttresses reaching to the top and ter-
minating in pinnacles ten feet above the leaden roof.
It is supported by pillars and arches, and the lantern
is richly decorated with the arms of the Earls of
Gloucester and Lancaster, and bosses and frescoes,
unusual in a village church, and more frequently
found adorning the interior of some stately cathedral.
Dr. Woodford, afterwards Bishop of Ely, was for
some time Vicar of Kempsford. He was remark-
able for his absent-mindedness. It is related of him
that soon after coming to Kempsford, being in con-
versation with a farmer, he heard the word " ewe "
186 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
articulated for the first time. " I am so glad to
know how to pronounce that word. I have always
read the passage ' e-wee lamb,' " said he.
Being in need of a horse he timidly approached
a churchwarden and asked him to buy one — " A
horse quiet to ride and drive and, I think, about
fourteen or fifteen feet high," explained he.
The castle of the Duke of Lancaster stood near
the river. There is a tradition to the effect that
Kempsford was the site of a Royal Palace in Saxon
times, and that John of Gaunt also resided here.
Before the Conquest the manor of Kempsford was
held by Harold ; it subsequently came into the
possession of the Earls of Lancaster. On the con-
fiscation of monastic properties it fell into the hands
of the Thynnes, and the old mansion was rebuilt
in the time of James i. Nothing of it now remains
but a solitary wall set with a large mullioned window,
and a terrace converted into a green walk and
believed to be haunted by the " Lady of the Mist,"
as she has been named by the villagers because she
usually appeared floating above the river in the pale
moonshine.
Lady Maud is said to have been the beautiful
wife of Henry of Lancaster, grandson of Henry in.
and nicknamed " The Actor," who came to Kemps-
ford and wooed her in the grand old hall where she
had dwelled with her father in the reign of Edward n.
On the resumption of the Baronial Wars, Henry,
instigated by his brother, and against the will of
his wife, joined the Barons and, with him, fought
against the king and was defeated in several minor
engagements. Day by day stragglers from the
beaten army, hungry and destitute, arrived at
Kynemeresford, crossed the river at the castle, were
• » -4qp *■ . .- W#*
//'. Dennis Afoss, Cirencester.']
Kempsford Church and Porch ; the scene of the fatal jackdaw nesting.
[186I
A MIDNIGHT TRAGEDY 187
helped to food and wine by the Lady Maud, and
went their way. At last, one stormy night, her
husband's brother, with a price on his head, came
and craved food, rest, and concealment from his
enemies that pressed hard upon his tracks. His
brother Henry, said he, had escaped in another
direction and, though safe, would not be there yet.
Accordingly the Lady Maud, who alone had recog-
nised her brother-in-law, took him and concealed
him in a room at the end of the terrace and visited
him with food and drink at midnight. For a while
this went smoothly till a jealous guest at the mansion,
coming to know of the presence of the stranger, and
having tempted the pure-souled Maud and failed in
his designs, posted off to Henry and told him of the
midnight meeting on the terrace and accused the
Lady Maud of infidelity. This brought the Earl
home in haste, fierce to avenge the supposed unfaith-
fulness of his wife. Guided by his informant, one
tempestuous night, he came secretly to the terrace
and concealed himself in the dark boughs waiting
for the supposed lovers. By and by his brother
and the Lady Maud appeared. Then he rushed
forward, struck down his brother, seized his wife,
and hurled her over the ramparts into the deep
waters of the Thames. On learning the truth, beside
himself with grief, and fearful of being captured,
he fled with his brother, put himself at the head of
the Barons and was taken and executed at Ponte-
fract, while his brother escaped to France and died
in a state of misery and penury.
After that the Lady Maud, bare-headed, her hair
floating loosely, her face pale, but clear and sweet,
her eyes like stars on a moony night, wrapped in a
thin mantle, with naked feet and sleeveless arms
188 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
folded across her young breast, appeared moving
along the face of the river in the grey mist and
singing a sad sweet song that swelled over the dew-
moist meadows and only ceased a little before dawn.
Or sometimes she appeared in full womanly beauty
and, springing gracefully upon the wall, with a
piercing shriek leapt into the river and disappeared
beneath the waters that foamed and raged along the
sedgy banks. Her betrayer, haunted by a guilty
conscience, became a monk, and when he died he
was laid to rest in the chancel of the great grey
church and a sculptured tomb erected over his
remains.
Affixed to the outside of the north door of the
church is a horse-shoe that records an interesting
item of history connected with the place. It is said
that when Henry of Lancaster, whose castle stood
near the church, was leaving Kempsford through
grief at the loss of his son, who was drowned in the
Thames, his horse dropped a shoe which was after-
wards nailed to the church door in memory of him.
It is reported that a horseshoe to which is attached
a similar story may be found in the centre of Lancaster
town itself.
The village of Kempsford is poor in appearance.
A single street runs from end to end of the place,
and the cottages, many of them little, old dilapidated
buildings, stand ranged in rows and groups, with
doors opening on to the road. Half-way down the
street is the village green, and in the centre of this
stands a large elm, called by the inhabitants " stocks
tree," and " crass tree," because it was there that
the ancient market cross and stocks were formerly
situated.
The canal, that cuts across from Inglesham to
THE BOATMAN'S VERDICT 189
Kempsford almost touches the river beyond the
church and then continues away to Cricklade. There
are several locks of great depth between Inglesham
and Kempsford, and others occur at intervals to
beyond the Thames Head. They bear witness to
the constant rise towards the river's source ; if the
fall at each lock were carefully ascertained and a
table given it would discover a declivity that would
not be guessed by merely following the channel of
the stream. The stones that compose the bases of
the bridges are ready to tumble into the shallow
water ; the wharves are ruined, the towpaths
deserted, and the bed is choked with vegetation.
" The closin' o' this canal was like takin' a link
out o' the middle of a chain," says the old bargeman
as he sits and calmly smokes his pipe, while his wife
stitches away at a new shirt for her grandson, and
looks over the top of her spectacles to note the effect
of her good-man's words. For more than half a
century they had lived in the barges. Backwards
and forwards, year after year, they travelled with
their burdens of corn, cheese, coal, stone, and timber,
at one time frozen in for weeks at a stretch, at another
aground for days in the dark tunnel, and again
washed out into the mouth of the Severn by the
boisterous tide. Yet, though they suffered hard-
ships, they were fond of the life and were never so
happy as when gliding through the beautiful
meadows, or halting for the night in some secluded
spot above the lock, where the spouting water gushes
out musically of a warm summer's evening. Both
the bargeman and his wife are stout and robust.
" It don' look as if it 'urted arn an us, do it ? "
inquires the dame, with a broad smile, again looking
up over the rims of her spectacles.
190 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
The most alarming accident that the old barge-
man had experienced occurred at Bristol Docks.
There he had his barge alongside a steamer that
was taking on board sacks of corn, when one of the
sacks, raised to a great height by the crane, slipped
from the chain and, striking him upon the breast,
threw him into the water and carried him to the
bottom of the dock, twenty-five feet deep. On
reaching the bottom he got free, however, and in
less than half a minute from the time of falling he
was on top again and was hoisted into the boat.
" Be 'e gwain to Cricklut, mother ? " inquired the
bargeman, Adam Twine, of the stout old dame
who, with basket on arm, took the towpath at
Marston bridge on her way to the town one after-
noon.
" Aa, I be," she replied.
" If you likes to jump in you can ride. We be
off directly," said he.
" Oh Lar' ! I never bin aboord ship but I'll come
wi' thee. 'Tool rest mi vit an' legs a bit," answered
the old woman.
Accordingly she got in and went below and sat
in the cabin, and the two conversed on various
subjects. Meanwhile the boat had started noise-
lessly and without a tremor. The boy was at the
rudder and the conversation was maintained. By
and by mother became fidgetty.
" 'Ow much longer bist agwain to be afoore thas
starts ? " she inquired at length.
' Afoore 'e starts ! " exclaimed old Adam.
" Aa ! cos I be tired o' waitin' yer. 'E could a
got 'aaf-way ther' bi this time," she continued.
' We shall stop in two or dree minutes, mother,"
said the boatman.
THE HOME-MADE LOAF 191
" Stop another two or dree minutes ! Why essent
a telled ma as tha wassent agwain to start afoore,
nat kip anybody yer an' make a fool an ma. I
could a got ther' bi now if I 'edna looked aater thee,"
cried she, burning with indignation.
Just then the boat gave a bump — they had come
alongside the wharf.
" Yer us be, mother. You can get out now, an'
mind not fall in an' be drownded," said Adam.
" Lark a massey ! What ! be we at Cricklut,
then ? An' I didn' know as we'd a started," ex-
claimed she, stepping out of the boat in amazement.
Although the greater part of the country adjoining
the Thames is pasture there is yet upon the slopes
and levels a considerable quantity of arable land
that produces heavy crops of wheat and barley. At
the same time, it is common knowledge that milk is
the more profitable investment in this country to-
day, though many farmers make the admission
regretfully, and think it is a pity it should be so.
One old farmer, in order to prove that a good loaf
of bread may be made from unadulterated English
flour, baked large loaves of flour ground from his
wheat, took them to market and set them in the
open mouths of the corn-sacks, which were soon
surrounded by a crowd.
" What d'ye call this thing here ? " inquired
one.
" Well ! This is a real English home-made loaf,
if you want to know," the farmer answered.
" Why didn't 'e bring some cheese ? " another
drily inquired.
" You can alius tell wh'er a man's a good maaster
er nat bi 'ow 'is work-vawk stops wi'n er le-affs
un," says old Shadrach, who lives in a roomy
192 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
cottage at the far end of the village. Though
this may be accepted as a general axiom there
are exceptions to the rule. Many farm labourers
have a natural inclination to rove from place to
place, and cannot be cured of the propensity. The
old system of fairs encouraged this tendency ; the
habit of going to be hired became ingrained in the
men and youths. As the time came round they
began to grow restless, as do birds at the season of
migration ; they were bound to obey the innate
prompting and look about for new quarters.
An almost infallible plan of getting to know
whether the men intended to stop at the farm or not
was carefully to watch their gardens. If they were
kept clean and well-stocked with cabbages and
winter greens the farmer was persuaded that Bob
or Jack intended to stay with him ; but if none of
these were planted and the plots were allowed to
become untidy, that was a sure sign that the men
would be on the move at Michaelmas.
Very often, too, the men would stop at a place
but their wives will not consent to it ; they have
the same inclination as the husbands to change their
quarters and experience " fresh fields and pastures
new." One day, a little before dinner-time, a cow-
man came to the kitchen door and asked to see
master.
" Can I 'ev 'aaf a day off, maaster ? " inquired he.
"Oh aa ! Thee cast 'ev 'aaf a day, Bob, if thas
wants one. Anything the matter ? " said the farmer,
guessing his intentions.
" No ! Don' know as 'tis, maaster."
" Anything I can do for tha ? "
" Nat as I knows on."
" Anything wrong wi' thi mates, or the cows ?
It
li
It
AN UNACCEPTED OFFER 193
Dost want more money, or what is it ? Bist dis-
satisfied at all ? "
" No ! Nat I byent, but the missis is. A dwun'
like the 'owse," he admitted hesitatingly.
Dwun' like the 'owse ? But 'tis a good 'owse."
The rooms be too big bi 'aaf. 'Er dwun' like
l. !
Well ! I tell tha what I'll do. I'll come over
an' 'ev a look round, and put some pertitions up an'
make the missis comfortable, an' gie tha another
shillin' a wik an' ten shillin's extra at Michaelmas.
Think it over an' see 'ow tha's like that."
Thereupon Bob went away, apparently satisfied,
and for a week said nothing more about leaving.
Then he came to master again and told him it was
no good, he did not feel settled, he thought he should
go to fair and get another place. The story of his
wife's dissatisfaction with the cottage in this case
was invention. The roving fit was upon him ; he
could not resist the impulse to leave and find a new
master.
The shorthorn herdsman is a clever little man, with
fine features, soft, smooth voice, and merry sparkling
eyes. He is quick of perception, is not backward
nor yet too forward, with a ready supply of words,
possessed of much useful knowledge of birds and
animals, rustic work, life and lore, and abounding
in fun and gentle humour. In stature he is but just
over five feet. His shoulders are slightly bent with
age, and he limps a little with one leg, the result of
having a contracted muscle caused by an accident
when he was a young boy. Naturally sharp and
intelligent, his position as caretaker of the prize
cattle, which brought him into contact with other
people, helped to develop those qualities. Many
J 3
194 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
strangers came to see the beasts, and the long journeys
by road and rail taught him much that he would
not have learned by staying in the village.
As well as being superintendent of the prize stock,
he acted as commander-in-chief of the ox-teams
when they were used for ploughing up the fields
alongside the winding river.
" Thaay owl' oxen went as well as any 'ossen in
the world, an' thaay was as deedy an' knowin' as
ever you or I be. When I 'ed my owl' Champion
an' Lion I didn't keer for the best 'ossen you could
put up o' zide an 'em," says he.
Besides the oxen, Champion and Lion, there was
the famous old bull Britain, that weighed a ton, and
was equal in strength to a team of horses. When
the engine and thresher were to be set, or an extra
heavy load of hay or corn brought in from the field
Britain's aid was invoked. Though all the others
failed, if he was harnessed to the shafts the heavy
weight was soon shifted. " Gee up, Britain ! Come
agyen, Britain ! " shouted the herdsman, and the
patient beast, bowing its neck to the yoke, pressed
steadily forward and overcame the difficult task.
The herdsman's cottage stands at the bottom of
the street, close beside the tiny inn. Its dull grey
walls and roof of thatch, blackened with age, give it
a dingy appearance from the outside, but the interior
is bright and cheerful, thanks to the good-wife's
cleanliness and care, and her desire to have the
" old man " comfortable. There are four fair-sized
rooms — two upstairs and two down — to the cottage.
The furniture and ornaments are above the average
for a labourer to possess, and the whole go to make
up an interesting lot, though nothing is held in higher
esteem than a certificate for rick-building, formerly
RUSTIC MEDICINES 195
gained in the local competition. As soon as the
herdsman reached home with this he took it to show
" missis " and " our young miss," and she declared
it must have a suitable frame and paid for one out
of her own pocket. A flitch of bacon, wrapped in
a newspaper, hangs on one side of the great old-
fashioned chimney mellowing in the heat of the wood
fire that smoulders beneath.
Many curious odds and ends are poked away in
the sideboard and in the old oak drawers — quaint
ornaments, photographs, and other things treasured
for memory's sake, and last, the cottage stock of
medicines, everything prepared of the mandrake, or
bryony root, and purchased at the very last cattle
show, at which the dealer — a specialist in uses of the
root — has a stall every year. Here are boxes of
pills and ointment, embrocation to be rubbed in
for sprains, rheumatism, and stiffness, tonics for
indigestion, a bottle of smelling " salts," and powders
for headache and toothache, warranted to cure in a
moment.
" Ther' yent no headache stuff ther', is it ? "
inquires the good-wife, looking up from her news-
paper, that she is reading by the aid of two candles.
" Yes 'tis, fer 'edache an' all an't," the herdsman
replies, rummaging amongst the papers in the
drawer.
" Oh Lar' ! I wish I'd a know'd that this marnin',
then, for I was purty nigh crazy wi't," says she.
" Then thee oostn't a tuk it," the cowman answers,
while the mistress smiles benignly and continues
reading the newspaper.
Presently the herdsman, after expatiating on the
subject of flocks and herds, breaks into rhyme, and
delivers the following verses, of his own composition,
196 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
upon the features and qualities of a perfect Shorthorn
beast.
THE PRIZE SHORTHORN.
" He's broad in the rib, and long in the rump,
With a straight and flat back, and never a hump,
Deep in the chest, and thick in the thighs,
Clear in the nose, and mild in the eyes ;
Full in the flank, and well up in the chine,
Straight in his joints, before and behind,
With a long silky coat, and thick in the skin,
He's a grazer without, and a butcher within."
This rhyme was composed, without pen or paper,
as the herdsman went about his work in the yards
and stalls, or as he lay a-bed at night, and was first
of all communicated to old Shadrach and the shep-
herd, sitting in the small room at the little Axe and
Compass Inn, at which they delight to meet now and
then and talk over the day's experience, and see
which can tell the quaintest item of news, jest, or
story. By far the greatest part of the talking is done
by the herdsman, however, while little Shadrach, with
white corduroy suit, clean-shaven lips, and thin
fringe of grey beard, sits smiling across the narrow
table, proud to be in the others' company and to
listen to their " oondermenting," as he calls it.
" 'Tis instinct as doos it wi' tha beyassten, else
'ow ood thaay know ? " says the herdsman, discussing
the characteristics of the animals under his charge
in the stalls. " Ther's thaay caaves ! I can gie
thaay the vly in the middle o' winter wi'out ever
touchin' an 'em."
" Gie 'em the vly in the winter ? Never yerd tell
o"' that afoore," says Shadrach.
" Tha's yezzi enuff," answers the herdsman.
" I goes out in the paddick an' carrs 'em a bit o'
A STANDING JOKE 197
'aay in one 'and. When I gets to 'em, I jest begins
buzzin' like a beg vly — ' Z-z-z-z-z,' an' drives 'em
silly. As I ses, it must be instinct, cos we all knows
as there's no vlies about in the winter."
One day the herdsman is sent for in a great hurry
to go down to a neighbouring farm, where a strange
accident has happened. A milking cow, in trying to
leap a gate, has got half-way over and is hung on
the top spar, with all four feet off the ground, and
no efforts of the farmer or his men can avail to get
her clear of the gate. But it is an easy task for the
herdsman. He goes to the cow, puts one shoulder
under her belly and gives a good grunt and a heave,
and she, straining in sympathy with it, leaps over
the gate.
One here relates the Cots wold jest of the town
youth who had come to learn dairy work. He, being
provided with a stool and appointed to milk a nice
quiet cow, went into the yard as directed. By and
by the farmer at the top end of the yard heard a
scuffling noise and went to see what was the matter.
Arrived on the scene he found the youth struggling
violently with the beast.
" What b'e got at wi' 'er ? Why don' 'e let the
cow bide ? " said he.
" I can't get the old hussey to sit down, sir," replied
the youth.
" Now get ready to yer a good lie, if you never
yerd one afore," says the herdsman, with an artful
smile, whereupon little Shadrach pricks up his ears
and the shepherd pays stricter attention, gripping his
staff firmly with both hands and leaning his chin hard
upon it.
" Is this a true lie, or a damn lie ? " inquires
Shadrach, with a wink at the shepherd.
198 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
" 'Tis true as I yerd un, but I can't vouch far'n no
further than that," replies the herdsman.
"As I was going to Romford, 'twas on a market day,
I saw the finest ram, sir, that ever was fed with hay,
The wool upon his back, sir, reached up into the sky,
And in it was a crow's nest, for I heard the young ones
cry.
'Twas there I bought a flock of sheep, the finest ewes and
wethers,
Sometimes they bring me wool, sir, and sometimes they
bring feathers,
And I swear, by good St. Oswald, at every change of the
moon
They bring me a pair of lambs, sir, each one of them full
soon.
And there I bought me a little bull, nine yards round or
more,
Such a pretty little bull, sir, you never saw before,
But when I drove him up the street he set up such a sound
That all the walls of London came tumbling to the ground."
" 'E was begger than thy owl' Brittin, then," says
Shadrach, while the shepherd, tickled with the notion
of the fine ram and ewes and the wonderful fleece
thick enough to conceal a crow's nest, laughs im-
moderately and thumps on the table with his fist
to summon the landlord with a full cup, at the same
time crying loudly : " Thaay was Cotswuls ! Thaay
was Cotswuls ! Ther's nothin' like the Cotswuls fer
big jints an' fleeces."
There is a story of two Kempsford men who set
out for Ciceter Mop, intending to put up at the inn
the night before the fair and spend a full day among
the games and shows. Arriving there early in the
evening, they drank too deeply of the home-brewed
liquor and the landlord put them to bed, over the
MULTIPLIED LIGHT 199
stables, where they slept all through the next day and
night till the following morning and woke up to find
the mop over and the streets deserted.
" Faather," said the cobbler's son to his sire one
night, on seeing a half moon in the heavens high
above the grand old tower that stands by the river,
" what is it when the moon channges ? What do
thaay do wi'n ? What becomes an in, I should like
to know ? "
" Damn tha ! Tha byets un up inta stars, dwun
'em," the irate parent replied, hammering away at
the sole and leaving his offspring with a look of great
stupidity depicted upon his countenance.
CHAPTER XII
Squire Archer, of Lushill — The Vanishing Stag— Castle Eaton
— Tragedy of the Roach, Heron, and Fox — " Darby and
Joan " — Queen Victoria's Coronation Dialogue — The
Trout Stream — The Landlord and the Farm Boy.
JOHN ARCHER, of Lushill, was the best known
of all the worthies of the Upper Thames Valley.
Men of stronger individuality than he possessed
there certainly were. Squire Campbell, of Buscot Park,
was a vigorous and indefatigable farmer and experi-
mentalist. His chief qualities, however, had a com-
mercial bent. He was essentially a man of business
and was lacking in the picturesque. Lord Radnor,
of Coleshill, though a well-known figure, was a stern
and trenchant politician, and was never on terms of
real intimacy with the farmers and villagers who were
his neighbours alongside the Cole. Squires Calley
and Akerman, of Blunsdon, were of a different order.
They quarrelled, pulled up each other's fences and
caused the cattle to stray, and strove to see which
could squander most money and gain the greater
reputation for liberality, but their estates and in-
fluence were small, and their fame never travelled far
beyond the actual village.
Squire John, however — the people invariably called
him " Jacky," which name he acknowledged good-
humouredly and often applied it to himself — com-
bined most of the qualities usually found in the
sporting lord of the manor. He was courteous and
THE VILLAGE SQUIRE 201
amiable to farmers and labourers alike, was possessed
of artistic tastes, and a naivete which was refreshing
and amusing, and which counterbalanced the few
faults he had and at the same time endeared him to
the villagers. John Archer was, in fact, a real old-
fashioned squire, a little feudal lord, if you like, the
father of his workpeople, and the pride of the neigh-
bourhood. Whether at home in the circle of his
intimate friends, in the field a-hunting, at market in
the town, or about the farmyard, he was the centre
of all attention — what John Archer said and what
he did was, rightly or wrongly, looked upon as of very
special importance.
Squire John sprang from an ancient stock. His
ancestors were a hardy race, noted for the excellence
of their farming and their passionate devotion to
fox-hunting. For four centuries they had occupied
lands round about the river, and had successively
reaped the harvests of the bounteous old earth and
steadily prospered.
John kept between forty and fifty teams of oxen
for ploughing and general work on the land, and he
paid £3500 in wages every year. He employed
nearly the whole population of two villages, besides
a small army of casual labourers, or " strappers."
Whatever the weather, he desired to have everyone
employed at some task or other. When it rained
he supplied waterproof coats for the men out of doors,
and he used to say in such circumstances : ' I wants
'e all to stop at work if 'e can, and remember, if you
can stand the weather I can stand the pocket." Farm
wages were low at that period, and Squire John paid
no more and no less than was the custom in the
locality. When his labourers had become too old to
work he pensioned them off ; he would no more
202 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
have thought of sending them to the workhouse
after their life had been spent in his service than
he would of sending his favourite hound to a dog's
home. The system was crude and economically
unsound, but it was about the best of its kind at
the time.
Squire John was a little, wizened old man, with a
clear complexion, merry, inquisitive eyes, and strong
white hair — in appearance he was about as shaggy
as a terrier. He hunted three and four days a week,
riding gaily off on his brown nag dressed in his well-
worn familiar pink jacket and velvet cap, both of
which, according to local tradition, had served him
for forty years. On every other day of the week he
rode about his farms mounted on a shambling pony
with the reins hanging loosely over its neck, or,
wearing the shabbiest of coats and hats, drove a
pony and cart through the fields and lanes. He
discovered his present mood to the workpeople by
the position of his headgear — hat on forehead meant
good humour ; hat on poll meant ill humour. Though
normally of a genial disposition he was " a okkard
man to plaaze when a body 'ad 'uffed un," but he was
easily reconciled, and it is admitted by the majority
of the old labourers that " Jacky Archer was the best
man as ever trod in Cassul Aeton." In the evening,
after a day's hunting or a ride over his farms, he
dressed for dinner in front of a fire of logs in the
dining-room, and when the meal was over he propped
himself up on the sofa and perused the Times, while
his daughters played to him on the harp. He kissed
all the young girls and pretty women openly and
publicly. This he considered to be his prerogative,
and he exercised it without taking into account the
lady's social rank and position.
PROFITABLE HUNTING 203
The residence of the Archers was at Lushill. Here
a survey could be had of the meadows and cornfields
with the busy toilers at work in the summer and
autumn. Standing on top of the hill the squire
could see the hay being gathered, the ripe corn felled
by the reapers, and the teams of mottled oxen at
plough, and could send out instructions to this or
that one as a general, posted on an eminence, over-
looks his troops and marshals them for battle on the
plain. A certain amount of country house state was
maintained, and Squire John received many visitors,
among whom was the worthy Dr. Woodward, of
Kempsford, who frequently crossed the river in his
boat and wended his way to Lushill to take dinner
and discuss theology with the farmer squire. John,
who was a staunch follower of Keble, was often
assailed in the field and the town by local leaders and
exponents of evangelicism, but he replied to them
boldly and answered all arguments with quotations
from a Bible which he carried in his pocket so as to
be equipped for any emergency.
The squire was possessed of a keen instinct for
farming, which was not at all blunted but rather
sharpened by his devotion to fox-hunting : he used
to declare that he earned fifteen shillings every time
he went out with the hounds simply by looking round
other people's farms and studying their methods.
" To be a good farmer you must look round the outside
of things and try and keep your workpeople satisfied.
I pay twenty pound a week for no return, and it's no
good for any man to think of getting on without
putting his hand deep into his pocket," he would
say. He sometimes complained to the blacksmith
about the expenses of the farms and the difficulty
of making both ends meet, but the man of the forge
204 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
answered him boldly, and told him he had so much
wealth he was unable to calculate it.
Although John was a peaceable subject and a loyal
churchman he nevertheless had a long-standing
quarrel with the Vicar of Castle Eaton. This was
concerning a piece of glebe alongside the river, to
which the squire laid claim, but the parson, fortified
with documents, stoutly opposed him. By and by
the parson took his revenge. In the middle of hay-
making rain set in, and the river, overflowing its
banks, washed a field of hay from John's side over
to the parson's glebe where it lodged, and the vicar,
when the water subsided, hired labourers to dry it
and had it carted home to make into ricks for his
own horses. That ended the dispute of the glebe.
The parson had scored a point, and John was content
to let the matter drop.
When the squire got old and feeble he grew sad
at heart, and felt concern for the welfare of his farms
and workpeople. With his companions of the hunt-
ing-field long departed this life, the conditions govern-
ing agriculture rapidly changing, and machinery
displacing hand labour on the land — though he clung
to the old methods when all others around him had
cast them aside — he became melancholy and de-
spondent. " I'm above the age of man, and when
I'm gone I've got nobody to see to it as I like to have
it done. No man will carry on my business success-
fully and keep things together when I'm gone," said
he, which remark, though it might have seemed
impertinent at the time, was justified by subsequent
events. " Give my love to my people," were the
squire's last words as he sank breathless upon the
pillow. His mortal remains were borne from Lushill
to Down Ampney, by roads which he had travelled
STAG OR DEMON ? 205
for upwards of eighty years, and the bells that rang at
his wedding, sixty years before, sounded a muffled peal
as he was laid with his forefathers of ten generations.
A century and a half before old David Archer,
John's ancestor, bought the estate the house at
Lushill was occupied by one Squire Parker — a for-
bear of Archbishop Parker — who was a great hunter
of deer that used to run wild about the vale and along
the hills lying up from the river. There was one stag
they often chased but which they never could take.
No matter how swiftly the dogs ran, the stag always
disappeared very mysteriously, baffling the efforts of
the huntsmen. Then one day Squire Parker swore a
terrible oath : to-morrow he would hunt the stag
again and would not rest until he had secured the
antlers. Accordingly the hounds and horsemen went
forth early in the morning, the squire in his merriest
mood, and all the others intent on the chase. All
through that day they ran up and down, and round
and round, over the river and back again, plunging
through the thickets and scrub, and still the stag was
untaken, though the squire swore by all the powers
in heaven that he would not desist. Presently sun-
set came, by which time everyone else, with the ex-
ception of the squire and a strange horseman, who
rode neck and neck together, had dropped out of the
chase. At last, having once more crossed the Thames,
they came up with the stag at Lushill, and the squire
seized it by the antlers, when he felt a sudden shock
and the stag and strange horseman vanished together
in a sheet of flame. In the morning Squire Parker
was discovered on his lawn grasping the antlers tightly
in his hands, but there was no sign of the stag or
tracks of the horseman, nor was anything ever seen
of them after that day.
206 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
The old early Tudor building — formerly the Manor
House of Lushill — contained numerous relics of the
deer-hunting, and the square hall was embellished
with stag's heads — trophies taken by Squire Parker
and his companions of the chase.
Castle Eaton is about a mile and a half below
Lushill. It is a small but ancient place, very com-
pact, and it lies high and dry of the river. In winter,
when the country around is buried deep beneath the
floods, the inhabitants of the village are themselves
secure, though they were often isolated from the rest
of the world. In early times the site of the village was
an island, as is indicated by the name of the place.
Formerly this was Eiton, or Ettone, made up of the
Saxon words " ey " an island, and " ton," a dwelling
or village. A later form of the name was Eiton
Meysey. Afterwards the St. Maurs and the Zouches
held the Manor of Eiton, the last-named of whom
built a sumptuous castle upon the south bank of the
river, and the village was called first Eiton Castle,
and, subsequently, Castle Eiton. The old castle has
long since been demolished and its site eradicated.
No trace of the ruins exists in the meadows : there
the fritillaries and purple orchis thrive and bloom,
and the cattle graze quietly amid the rich pastures.
The village, viewed from the Thames' side, shows
grey and hoary. The cottages, built of local stone,
stand in little streets and squares, and the gardens
slope down to the river's brink. The wells beside
the doors are shallow, and are commonly surrounded
with a low, dry stone wall, the appearance of which
is suggestive of the Biblical East.
The church is a unique structure, Norman in design.
It dates from the twelfth century and has round-
headed doors, a font that is either early English or
FLOWERS OF THE FIELD 207
Norman, and strong square tower. Above the nave
is a fine Sanctus bell turret, roofed with stone, of
considerable age. A mixed choir of men and women
— toilers on the land — sang in the church and accom-
panied the rude orchestra. The duties of clerk
devolved upon the hoary carter, who stood in the
small gallery and announced the hymns and psalms
in choice vernacular : " Lat us zeng to the praaze an'
glary o' Gaad the 'underd an' vartieth Zaam," or
whatever it might have been. A buxom young farm
woman, who carted manure and picked stones the
workaday part of the week, was the leading treble.
In a big hollow withy tree, below the church, an
otter has had her litter of four ; they were several
times seen by the cowman as he went after his herd
in the early morning hours. Growing along the river-
banks are loose-strife, hemp-nettle, and yellow cress ;
water-pepper and persicaria expand their foliage
and float on the water, or push up their heads amid
the lush grasses on the margin. About the mead
bloom bed-straw and milk- vetch ; the purple heads
of the great burnet show conspicuous alongside the
cream and rose of the dropwort.
Above the bridge the prospect is more open. The
hawthorn clumps along the river's course are not so
frequent, but the gnarled old pollard willows, bent
and twisted, and with grotesque shapes resembling
men and beasts, supply the deficiency and mark out
the winding channel. Although comparatively near
to the river's head there is no diminution in the
breadth of the stream : it is almost as wide here as
at Buscot, fourteen miles lower down, though the
bed is shallower, and the current more swift. At
every few dozen paces is a flam of sand and gravel
that was washed up by the turbulent waters during
208 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
the winter. These are cleared out and the tangled
masses of weeds and vegetation — water-hemlock,
cresses, and brooklime — cut and removed in July, so
as to have the course clear and unobstructed against
the advent of the floods.
What is that silvery patch upon the ground close
beside the steep bank yonder ? Drawing near I
perceive it to be composed of the scales of a large
roach that was taken from the water by a heron
and devoured a few yards from a great withy-tree
that hangs over a deepish pool. Quarter of a mile
farther up-stream I discover a quantity of blue-grey
feathers scattered about, which are unmistakably
those of the heron. Gorged with its prey, it was
seized unawares by a hungry fox that promptly
devoured its victim and so saved the life of many
another finny inhabitant of the sparkling waters.
3ut a speedy fate overtook the nimble fox and
brought it low before it had time to digest the meal.
In less than half a mile I find reynard dead, and
minus the brush, lying in the midst of the thick hedge
where it had been unceremoniously thrown. On the
ground, a short distance off, are a couple of empty
cartridges that indicate the manner of its death
and complete the chain of circumstantial evidence
begun with the finding of the fish scales. Whether
it deserved the charge or not is another matter : it
was really a beautiful animal, with lovely golden
fur and glistening teeth.
In a corner of the field, in which a large pile of
loose thorn-bushes has been stacked, I chance upon
a polecat with a small bird in its mouth. Now a
large hare leaps from beneath a scrubby bush and
races across the field, and a timid stoat darts out
of the hedge and shoots back again. Out from the
IN THE FARMYARD 209
farmyard in the village, a mile distant, the sound
of the thresher is borne, and, floating along in the
wind, is an occasional thistle seed that was shaken
out with the straw as it left the rear of the machine
to fall into the box of the elevator and be hoisted
upon the high rick.
For a week the men have been busy with the
tackle in the farmyard. Rick after rick was attacked
by the sturdy labourers, who first of all cut the tar-
cord and pulled out the sprays that held the thatch
and uncovered the stack : the machine had been
set alongside and coupled up with the engine, about
ten paces to the rear. The sheaves, thrown quickly
down from such a height, fall on the deck of the
thresher with a loud flap, and sometimes strike the
feeder on the legs or shoulder, but he takes no notice
and proceeds to cut the bond and pass the sheaf
into the drum, distributing it as evenly as possible
in the short space of time allowed for the operation.
The conical top of the rick is soon removed and the
height diminished ; in two hours, with good luck, it
will be reduced nearly to the level of the machine.
An ordinary sized rick provides one day's work for
the tackle and yields from sixty to eighty sacks of
wheat, though John Archer's ricks yielded as many
as a hundred and ten sacks. The size of the straw
rick afterwards is much greater than that which
contained the sheaves, for they were stacked in
compactly and were well compressed together,
whereas the straws, after passing through the drum
of the machine, are crumpled and loose and take up
much more room. If the wheat is in good condition
a sack of grain will be run out in about four and a
half minutes ; if the ears are small and inferior the
time required to fill the sack will be correspondingly
14
210 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
longer. Yesterday the men threshed out seventy
sacks of wheat in five and a half hours. This they
considered good work ; but the sheaves were un-
usually heavy, and the yield worked out at fifteen
sacks to the acre.
The thresher is a prize model, made with the latest
improvements of drum, fans, and screens — a simple
yet beautiful piece of mechanism, running smoothly
and easily under the power of the engine that is
transmitted by means of the long heavy belt. A
father and son are in charge of the machinery. They
take the engine and thresher in turns, each alternately
feeding the sheaves into the drum and seeing to the
engine fire and boiler. The old man is very proud
of the tackle, and tends it with a parental affection ;
the son is of a different temperament and looks
upon it in the most matter-of-fact light, thereby
marking the progress of a generation. The farmer
frequently comes and stands before the sacks and
catches the beautiful grain as it rattles down from the
screen, and the workmen continually wheel away the
full bags and stack them in the crowded barn near by.
In a cottage opposite the farmyard dwell old
Thomas and Jane — the Darby and Joan of the
Thames' side — who, though both within one year
of a century, retain an active and intelligent interest
in the life and work of the village, and especially in
the threshing, which they can view sitting before
their cottage window. Very different indeed are
things now from what they were when these two
were first wed. They have seen generations come
and go and have outlived their own time, till they
have become very strangers to the village in which
they were born and to the scenes amid which they
have so long dwelt.
TOM " WUTTS " THE BULL 211
Ninety-three years is a long time for a mortal to
remember a thing, yet old Thomas's memory extends
back so far. When he was six years of age he used
to run into the farmyard to watch the men at work
with the oxen 'and horses. One day, in the presence
of old farmer Archer, the men were trying to yoke
a big bull to a manure cart, but, try as they might,
the animal would not back into the desired position.
At last young Tom became impatient and, to the
amazement of the men and the delight of the farmer,
cried : " Let I 'ev a try, an' see if I can wutt un in."
The farmer smiled at the youngster and exclaimed :
" Go on ! Let the child try."
Accordingly, young Tom, who was so tiny that a
good snort of the beast might have knocked him
down, took the halter, cried " Wutt back ! " to the
bull, and backed it into the shafts very simply and
easily. Then old Archer laughed heartily at the
youngster and told him to come into the stalls, and
thereupon appointed him master of the bull and
gave him three shillings a week in wages, which was
double the amount received by the other boys who
were older than he.
After that he took the oxen to plough, learned to
sow, reap, and thresh, and performed the hundred
and one duties of the farm. His wife's father was
a maker of baskets and sieves for winnowing the
corn in the barn after hand-threshing, and her mother
was a lace-maker at a time when the cottage industries
had not entirely disappeared from the region of the
Thames Valley. A family of twelve followed their
marriage ; they have between two and three hundred
grandchildren and great-grandchildren, and several
sons who are in receipt of the Old Age Pension.
Of the two, granny is the more active and energetic.
212 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
Clad in an old faded gown, with woollen vest, a pair
of knitted stockings, with feet cut off, drawn up
the arms, and quaint little cap on the head, she
hops to and fro with surprising agility, cleans the
grate, sweeps up the floor, dusts the ornaments
and pictures, and sees to her housework generally,
while the old man grips his fork or spade and toils
in the garden among the potatoes and cauliflowers.
" I got a goodish spirit an' tha's what kips I up,"
says granny, while Thomas smiles approvingly,
reaches his pipe, half burnt away, from the mantel-
piece, fills it with tobacco, and lights it with a spill
from the hob.
" I got to master'n now, same as 'e alius 'ed,"
granny says, with a triumphant little laugh and a
knowing wag of the head, at the same time giving
her husband a playful cuff. Gramp wears an old
pair of trousers with patches half a yard long over
each knee, a thick woollen overall, and a little brown
felt hat, which he keeps on his head indoors and out.
Their daily mode of living and general routine
are as follows : Rise at 7 a.m., breakfast at 8 ;
dinner — a little meat, broth, bread, and potatoes —
at noon ; tea at 3.30 ; supper at 6, and retire at
7 p.m. Granny's breakfast consists of a basin of
bread and water sops with a lump of butter and a
little salt and pepper added. This she prepares
every afternoon ready to heat in the saucepan the
following morning. For supper she takes a cup of
warm beer with bread ; to this habit she attributes
her long life and good health. Years ago they lived
principally on butter, milk, and " skim dick," i.e.
cheese made of skimmed milk, which form of diet
may have been the cause of their attaining to such
a great age. Old Thomas says they never felt the
THE CENTENARIANS 213
need of butcher's meat — it made them sick to
eat it.
Every Saturday the big living-room in the cottage
is subjected to an extra special turn out. The
tables and chairs are moved aside, and granny, pro-
vided with pail, brush, and house-cloth, scrubs the
stone floor and then whitens it with freestone,
rubbing it round and round and describing many
curious and fantastical figures that resemble a child's
first exercise in caligraphy. This is performed early
in the morning, before breakfast ; then grandfather
has to lie in bed an hour later so as not to obstruct
the most important operation of all the week.
" Afore I married 'e," says granny, " I used to
help missis in the dairy. I can remember 't as
well as ef 'twas but isterdi. Maaster used to go to
church every wik, an' one Sunday marnin', when us
was all set at dinner, a turned to I an' sed : ' Byen
you well to-day, Jane ? '
" ' Yes, I be all right,' I sed.
" ' Cos thaay bin talkin' about you in church.'
" ' An' a good job too ! I don' keer what tha
doos,' I sed to'n."
This was when the banns were published. After-
wards master and mistress subscribed and bought
her a wedding gown, and made them a present of
a side of bacon and a cheese that the cunning little
mice had nibbled slightly with their pretty teeth.
Their wedding took place about the time of Queen
Victoria's Coronation, which was celebrated in the
little Thames' side village, and when several droll
compositions were recited and committed to memory
by the rustics.
" I say ! Mrs. Fairplay, what do you think of
our young Queen ? I'm told she's going to do
214 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
wonders in favour of the women. My old man told
me he heard a man say another man had told him
he heard one read it in a newspaper. There's going
to be a Parliament of women. Mother Bounce is
to be Prime Minister, Mrs. Grieveling Secretary for
War, and Mother Chat-all is going to be Lady
Chancellor. Can't make a Lord of her, you know.
Every man that beats his wife has got to be locked
up in an empty garret till he begs her pardon."
" Won't that be nice ! "
" Yes ! And that's not all. Every woman in
England, Scotland, Ireland, and Wales is to have a
gallon of gin to drink the Queen's health — when
she can get it. For if the sea was all ink, the fishes
of the sea all writers, the trees all pens, and the earth
all parchment, it would not be enough to describe
the good qualities of the women.
' So maidens, wives, and widows all merrily sing :
' Long life to the petticoats and Heaven bless the
Queen.' "
Though October is nearly out, the weather is still
delightful. From the heavens the sun shines warm
and bright on the fresh meadows dotted with hawk-
bit, and on broad stretches of corn land and stubbles
marked with the wheels of the heavy reaping-machine
that levelled the golden waving crops two months
since. The foliage of the leaves and hedgerows
possesses a hundred tints — warm reds, pinks, crimsons,
yellows, and varying shades of brown and purple.
Brightest of all are the maple leaves. They fall
early and leave their bare crimson twigs that show
conspicuous in the hedgerow all the winter. St.
John's wort and knapweed are yet in bloom, and
willow-herb and hemp agrimony are to be found
upon the bank. The flowers of the meadow-sweet
THE TROUT STREAM 215
have long fallen in snowy clouds and were succeeded
by clusters of small green fruits upon which the
birds feed.
In the wall of the bridge spanning the trout stream
is a wasp's nest. Far advanced though the season
be the wasps have not yet disappeared, but still
continue to fly to and fro and sluggishly creep through
the aperture into their cells within the dark recess.
This year they have been numerous and very trouble-
some, destroying the fruit in the gardens and orchards
and working incalculable mischief. Soon after mid-
summer they attacked the early plums and forced
the farmers' wives to convert them into jam before
they were fit. Afterwards they set about the sweet
pears ripening under the warm walls, and, when
they were gone, assailed the orchards and played
havoc with the juiciest apples, stripping many of
the trees.
In the gravelly stream that flows beneath the bridge
a trout shoots like an arrow obliquely from side to
side, pausing for about a second between each rush
to obtain strength and direction for the next effort,
and making a plunging noise adown the brook.
Though the water is not deep there would be great
difficulty in taking it, and should you force it down
to the bay and think to corner it there, it might
take a sudden spring and leap over the hatch and
so escape on the other side. In and out among the
oak-trees the magpies are hopping, and on the left
are several teams at plough, creeping with a snail-
like pace up the field. Over opposite, moving amid
a sea of gossamer that gleams with a bronze tint,
are some at drill, planting early wheat that must
be up before the sharp frosts come in order to stand
the winter and yield a big crop the following harvest.
216 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
Now one on horseback comes round the bend,
walking on the greensward and taking a careful
survey of the fields each side of the road. This
looks like a steward of the estate, or it may be the
landlord himself riding over his domain, though from
the complacency depicted upon his countenance he
is in a better way than was the one of whom the
villagers speak in the story.
This landlord, as no rent was forthcoming for
several quarters, determined to take a ride round and
look up his long-winded tenants. He accordingly
mounted his nag and trotted from farm to farm, but
could not meet with anyone for some time. At last he
came up with a boy, the son of one of the defaulting
farmers, and addressed him.
" Where's thi father ? " said he.
" Oh ! He's gone to make a bad matter wuss,"
the boy replied.
" How's that, gone to make a bad matter
wuss
? "
He went to market yesterday wi' a cow, best
cow we'd a got. Was in want o' money, an' a means
to bide ther' till 'tis all gone."
" Is thi mother at home ? "
' Yes. Very busy bakin' the bread we ate
yesterday."
' How's that, bakin' the bread you ate yester-
day ? "
" Why ! 'er's bakin' some more in the place on't,
to be sure."
" Thees got a sister. Wher's she ? "
' Upstairs, cryin' for want o' calico to make her
a milkin' smock."
" Well ! " says the landlord, " if thee can'st come
to my house neither daylight nor dark, neither a
THE VIRTUE OF BRAINS 217
foot nor a hossback, neither naked nor clothed I'll
forgive thi father the rent."
When the squire had gone, the boy considered
and eventually thought out a way to do it. He
waited till the sun had set behind the wood, then took
off his clothes, wrapped a calf net around him,
jumped upon the donkey, rode up to the front door
of the manor-house and challenged the landlord.
" Well ! well ! You've beat me. There ! There !
Go on about thi business and tell thi father there's
no more rent due now till Christmas," said he good-
humouredly.
CHAPTER XIII
Source of the Thames — Water Shortage — " Wassail " Song —
Thames Head Villages — Cricklade — Election Scenes —
" Open House " Expenses — A Local Execution — " Bark
Harvest " — " Looking through the Rafters."
ALTHOUGH the Thames source is fourteen miles
above Castle Eaton the river, in a general
sense, is not recognised higher up than Cricklade.
There interest and association, except for the
enthusiast, practically cease. Navigation in any
form is at present impracticable above the junction
with the Churn. The great Roman thoroughfare
of Ermin Street forded the Thames at Cricklade.
By this road produce was brought from the Cotswolds
on the one hand, and the Wiltshire Downs on the
other, and shipped down-stream. For some miles
west of Ermin Street good roads were lacking ; it
was therefore convenient that Cricklade should be
the starting-point of the river's trade, though the
stream was traversed by small barges to within a
mile of Ashton Keynes.
There are several ways of accounting for the
shortage of water in the Upper Thames as compared
with what its supply was in earlier years. The
clearing of the woods and forests from the hills
around its source was an important factor in diminish-
ing the size of the stream. The thickness of the woods
and trees accelerated condensation, and rain fell in
greater abundance than it does now. Lack of drain-
218
THE THAMES HEAD 219
age and the prevalence of cumbersome hatches and
weirs, that were almost fixtures, also blocked back
the water. In the winter, owing to the impossibility
of lifting the hatches, they occasioned terrible floods
and were execrated, condemned, and finally abolished
through the antagonism of farmers and holders of
property on the banks. The Kemble pumps every
day divert from the Thames between three and four
million gallons of water, and sometimes the river
is quite dry at Ashton Keynes, six miles down.
This could not have happened in early times, or the
buccaneering King Canute and the doughty Alder-
man Edric would never have got up to Cricklade
with their fleet of one hundred and sixty ships to
overrun Mercia a thousand years ago.
Though the highest Thames spring is at Coates,
the potential Thames Head is at Kemble. The local
inhabitants claim that the river really begins to rise
in the neighbourhood of Culkerton, five miles to
the west of its acknowledged head, and that it is
conducted by a subterranean course to Kemble.
Culkerton represents one of the highest summits of
the western Cotswolds and is the starting-point of
two rivers. On the eastern side the waters of the
Thames springs are gathered, and on the west smaller
springs originate to supply the Bristol Avon. The
highest mill on the Thames banks stood a mile and
a half from the head. The old house, called Mill
Farm, still remains, though the wheel and machinery
have been demolished for over a hundred years.
Half a mile below its source the spring was forded
by a road, and foot passengers crossed on stepping-
stones. By daylight the journey was safe, but at
night it was attended with risks, especially when the
springs were high. Then most people waded and
220 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
ignored the stones. Will Darby, the short-sighted
old tile-digger, found them by instinct and could
usually cross in safety, though once, at least, he came
to grief. That day he had been to Ciceter Mop
and was returning in a state of mental elevation.
" I shall go into the bruk to-night, as sure as the
day," he repeated to himself on the road. When he
came to the stones he put the wrong foot forward,
missed at the second step, and went floundering
into the stream.
The Thames is born in beauty and cradled amid
scenes of considerable interest. Around its source
is clustered a group of ancient villages and hamlets
containing many imposing farmhouses and cottages,
and rich in historical traditions. The life of the
locality was breezy and boisterous, typical of the
Western Counties. From earliest times the wooded
hills that guard the birthplace of the river were
inhabited. To the south-west is the town of Malmes-
bury — one of the earliest homes of English learning
and art ; Cirencester, the ancient Corinium of the
Romans, and but little less famous, lies three miles
away to the north.
The abolition of the local inn has metamorphosed
the life of the place, and sports and games have dis-
appeared, though there were many amusements
formerly. In addition to the annual festival of
Jackiman's Club a village Wake was held at which
there was morris-dancing for ribbons, back-swording,
and wrestling. Agriculture and stone-digging com-
prised the principal out-of-doors work ; wool-spinning
was carried on in the cottages. Wassailing was the
favourite sport at Christmas-time, and the jovial
custom was observed in all the villages upon the
banks of the Thames streamlet. The wassailers
THE WASSAILERS 221
rigged themselves out in fancy dress and carried a
bowl decorated with ribbons and holly round to the
farmhouses, where they sang their merry song and
received money and ale. The effigy of an ox preceded
the company as they journeyed from house to house.
The effigy was formed of the skin of an ox set on a
skeleton frame, with the head and foreparts stuffed
with straw, and with two bottles for eyes. Two sturdy
wassailers crept inside and bore it along, imitating the
motions of the beast, to the delight of the rustics.
THAMES HEAD WASSAILERS' SONG
" Wassail, wassail, all over the town,
Our toast is white and our ale is brown,
Our bowl it is made of a maple tree,
And so is good beer of the best barley.
Here's to the ox and to his long horn,
May God send our maester a good crop o' corn !
A good crop o' corn and another o' hay,
To pass the cold wintry winds away.
Here's to the ox and to his right ear,
May God send our maester a happy New Year !
A happy New Year, as we all may see,
With our wassailing bowl we will drink unto thee.
Here's to old Jerry and to her right eye,
May God send our mistress a good Christmas pie !
A good Christmas pie, as we all may see,
And a wassailing bowl we will drink unto thee.
Here's to old Boxer and to his long tail,
I hope that our maester '11 hae nor a 'oss fail 1
Nor a 'oss fail, as we all may see,
And a wassailing bowl we will drink unto thee.
Come, pretty maidens — I suppose there are some !
Never let us poor young men stand on the cold stone.
The stones they are cold, and our shoes they are thin,
The fairest maid in the house, let us come in !
222 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
Let us come in, and see how you do.
(Maid) Yes, if you will, and welcome, too.
Here's to the maid and the rosemary tree,
The ribbons are wanted and that you can see,
The ribbons are wanted and that you can see —
With our wassailing bowl we will drink unto thee.
Now, boteler, come fill us a bowl o' the best,
And we hope that thy sowl in heaven may rest,
But if you do bring us a bowl o' the small
Then down shall go boteler, bowl, and all."
The last inn at Kemble was kept by one " Damper "
Adams, who was a maker of wooden ploughs. He
sold such notoriously bad ale that a gang of men set
upon the house, rolled out the casks, smashed in the
heads, and sent the beer tumbling down the hill into
the river.
Both Ewen and Poole Keynes together would now
make no more than a good-sized hamlet, though
Poole has been a famous place. Few country mansions
surpassed in stateliness the grand old fourteenth-
century house — the home of the Barons Plat — that
covered an acre of ground. This was almost totally
destroyed by fire early in the seventeenth century.
All that remains is one splendid room — said to have
been part of the coach-house and now used as a
kitchen for the farm that has been built on to it —
a fine octagonal stone chimney, and the gruesome
attic in which the last of the Plats hung himself in
grief for the destruction of his property.
Ewen — pronounced " Yeowin " by the rustics —
possessed neither church nor stately mansion, but
it has many picturesque farms and cottages and it
is backed with magnificent timber. No spot on the
Thames is more beautiful, and certainly none is more
SAXON REMAINS 223
healthy, to judge from the great age and appetites of
its inhabitants. Centenarians were almost as much
the rule as the exception, and for a hearty appetite
who could excel the redoubtable Cornelius Uzzle that,
in the presence of living witnesses, unostentatiously
devoured twelve pounds of bacon — six pounds raw and
six pounds parboiled — at one meal for a wager at the
old Wild Duck inn ? The thatched cottage by the
roadside yonder has had but two tenants in a hundred
and fifty years. The aged occupant's memory ex-
tends back through his father for nearly two centuries.
Three mills stand on the Thames near Somerford
Keynes. They date from the earliest times and were
founded by the Saxons, who built a beautiful church
and adorned it with sculptures and frescoes, some of
which are still preserved. Agriculture is the staple
industry of the village. " Plenty o' 'ard graft an'
nat much bezide at Zummerverd," says the rustic,
leaning on the stone wall in front of his house. North
of the village is the forgotten hamlet of Shorncote
with its quaint little Norman church ; two miles lower
down, we come to Ashton Keynes, the largest village
on the Thames above Cricklade.
It is possible that Ashton Keynes is older than
Cricklade and that it was looked upon in prehistoric
times as the highest point on the Thames for general
navigation. When the Romans came to the island
and founded Bath and Corinium, and, with char-
acteristic energy, surveyed the country and pro-
jected the great road from Cirencester to Speen, they
decided to cross the Thames at Cricklade, and, by so
doing, definitely established that as the starting-
point of the river's commerce. Whether there was a
ford or not previously mattered little to them. If
there were no means of crossing they soon made them,
224 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
for the Romans seldom deviated in order to avoid a
difficulty but overcame it boldly and scientifically.
Whether Ashton was before Cricklade or Cricklade
before Ashton may be open to question, but it is
impossible not to be impressed with the charm of the
place. The little Thames, flowing in several parts,
unites in the centre of the village and runs rippling
beside the broad street, passing through several stone
arches and leaping down a pretty cascade, washing
the foundations of the manor-house before it hurries
off beneath a line of drooping beeches. The cottages,
built on the opposite bank, are reached by foot-
bridges. Along the stones of the walls creeps the
pretty toadflax ; here and there the golden mimulus
blooms. This is rare, however ; I have never seen it
anywhere else on the Thames bank.
Glove-making was for several centuries an im-
portant industry on the banks of the Thames brook
between Cricklade and Kemble. There were local
tanyards for preparing the skins, and workshops for
cutting out the leather. This was distributed
throughout the villages and the gloves were sewed
in the cottages by the women and girls, who earned
from five shillings to seven shillings a week at the
work. Since the war the glove industry has revived
in the locality, though the cutting-out is done at
London.
Cricklade is about half-way between Ashton Keynes
and Castle Eaton, astride the famous Roman road
of Ermin Street. The place is smaller than it was
formerly. At the beginning of the tenth century,
the Danes, incited by Ethelwold, carried fire and
sword throughout Mercia, came to Cricklade, forded
the Thames, beat down the walls, and, after seizing
all they could lay hands on hereabout, retired by
TROJANS IN THE VALE 225
the same way they had come. In those days the
town was of importance, and possessed a mint, which
continued active throughout Saxon and Danish
times till the reign of Henry n. A few of the Crick-
lade coins still exist in collections, and others are
buried about the meadows.
Cricklade is said to date from a period much more
remote than that of either Dane, Saxon, or Roman.
According to monkish traditions the Trojan Brutus
came here with a party of his countrymen as long
ago as the year 1180 b.c. and founded a university
among the early Britons, who had their fortress upon
Blunsdon Hill, overlooking the Vale. What the son
of Troy taught, or in what manner his teaching was
received by the rude natives in those unenlightened
times, does not appear. He could not have brought
the Iliad in his pocket, nor yet have told the story
of Dido and iEneas, for neither the one nor the other
had been composed at that time, if, indeed, Troy had
been sacked and the eventful voyage to Carthage and
Italy made by the son of Venus and Anchises. As
for the " university," that was probably founded by
Penda, King of Mercia, long afterwards, namely,
a.d. 650. The seat of learning seems to have
flourished until it was transferred to Oxford by King
Alfred towards the end of the ninth century.
There is another striking tradition attaching to
the locality. It is said that Saint Augustine met the
Welsh Bishops and deliberated with them in the
vicinity of Cricklade. It was formerly supposed that
the meeting took place near the Old Passage on the
Severn, but it has been suggested that it was held in
the forest of Bradon, which extended to the walls of
the town. Bede says they met "at a place which
to this day is called Augustine's Oak, on the borders
J 5
226 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
of the Wiccii and the West Saxons." From the
direction, the relative distance, the site, and the
tradition, the conclusion has been drawn that the
Augustine's Oak of Bede is the Gospel Oak at Bradon
in the Cricklade parish.
The town is an old-fashioned place, rather quaint
than beautiful. It chiefly consists of one long wide
street bordered with old stone-built houses with
roofs of tiles or thatch, black with age. An ancient
Preceptory stood near the river. This was built
by the Knights Hospitallers in the time of Henry in. ;
parts of the original building still remain included
in the walls of the Priory. Cricklade is a borough
" by prescription." It sent members to Parliament
irregularly from the reign of Edward i. till that of
Henry vi. After that date the returns were con-
tinuous till the year 1782, when, by reason of bribery
and corruption, its franchise was extended to the
freeholders of Highworth and Staple.
The town possesses an ancient Charter, which was
granted by Henry n. out of gratitude for the kind-
ness shown by the townspeople to his mother, the
Empress Maud, when she fled from Stephen. By
virtue of the Charter the people of Cricklade were
to enjoy their Tole Book and all customs, be undis-
turbed in their passage throughout the kingdom,
and protected against all molestation under a penalty
of ten pounds. It was furthermore granted to them
that they should not be arrested nor have their
goods seized anywhere unless they were principal
debtors or sureties, and they had the right to sell
" toll free " in any town in Great Britain or Ireland.
This part of the Charter is still effective. Quite
recently a Cricklade dealer refused to pay the toll
demanded by the market authorities in a neighbour-
//*. Dennis Moss, Cirencester.\
Saint Sampson's Church and Cross, Cricklade.
[226)
THE FUNNEL TRICK 227
ing town and they threatened to seize his goods.
Upon making enquiries, however, they found that
the dealer was secure ; he was " toll free " by virtue
of the ancient Charter of the town.
What the early election riots and fights at Crick-
lade were like can only be imagined at this time.
Doubtless they were serious risings, attended with
bloodshed, plundering, and devastation, for Crick-
ladians had the reputation far and near of being a
most boisterous and pugnacious people. When a
stranger was located the cry went up : ' Put un in
the bruk," and the suggestion was usually no sooner
made than carried into execution.
The " funnel trick " was frequently the cause of
fighting at the inns. When a stranger came on the
scene the novelty was introduced to him, and it
usually ended in an uproar. The trick was played
as follows : First a funnel was thrust into the
stranger's garments about the waist. Then he was
required to hold back his head, lay a coin on the
middle of his forehead and, by repeated movements
of the brows, to wriggle it down his nose and so let it
fall into the funnel. The offence committed against
the stranger is obvious. While he, with his head
held back, was wriggling the coin someone dashed a
potful of ale into the funnel, and the trouble began.
In former times the Cricklade elections lasted for
eight days, which were spent by the townspeople
in feasting and drinking. Then " open house " was
kept at the inns. All voters, and any others who
might be able to influence a vote, paid frequent
visits to the inns, ate here and drank there, and
seldom declared for their candidate till the date of
the poll. Canvassing had been on for six months
before this. It was usual for the candidates to visit
228 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
the homes of the poor voters and attempt to buy
something or other, offering a fabulous price for it
in order to secure the householder's vote. " I'll
give you ten pounds for that picture," or " I'll pay
five pounds for that canary," the candidate would
say, and the bargain was made.
Another practice at the Cricklade elections was
for the candidate to lend money to probable sup-
porters without the precaution of a security. The
amount of money required in anticipation of the
vote was signified by the number of bars in a gridiron
which the voter roughly chalked on the outside of
his door. The ordinary gridiron possessed ten bars,
and a corresponding number of sovereigns was
accordingly tendered as a loan to the householder.
There is on record but one case in which the borrowed
money was repaid. Then the voter, after receiving
the money, was stricken with such remorse that he
drowned himself in the river, whereupon his widow
refunded the amount with interest.
The bill on opposite page for " open house " and
general expenses connected with the Wootton Bassett
election in 1774 proves the costliness and suggests the
depravity of the system. There were four candidates
to bear the outlay.
The price of 30 guineas for a vote was above the
average ; 20 guineas was the sum ordinarily paid.
Occasionally, however, the cost of a vote was con-
siderably increased, and in the year 1807 the local
price rose to 45 guineas. The sum of £77, 13s. for
cockades is a big item, though the ribbon bill was
invariably high. It is said that at one election in
North Wilts a candidate was pressed to sell fifty
acres of good pasture land in order to pay for ribbons
worn by his friends and supporters.
ELECTION EXPENSES
229
Squire Archer, of Lushill, was to the fore at election
times. He stood in the market-place and made
speeches in support of his candidate, while the crowd
surged round yelling " Jacky," " Jacky," and jeering
at his oratorical efforts. Elections proved both
troublesome and dangerous to the squire. He would
(For food and drink at the inns
otctr • . . . . •
King of Prussia . .
Shoulder of Mutton
Horse and Jockey
Wm. Henley's
Waggon and Horses
Three Tuns
Three Goats' Herds
Cross Keys
Hay and Corn
King's Head
For Cockades
First Canvass
Money paid for various expenses
Total of votes, then computed at
each
Money to men deserted or dead
Item
)
35» 30
guineas
52
4
7
90
10
56
10
107
4
35
O
78
II
336
O
54
47
O
90
3
16
76
17
1
77
13
152
1 1
11
4252
IO
441
1
1
£5962 7 9
11 00
£5973 7 9
have been well advised to refrain from active partici-
pation in them, and especially from speech-making,
but he boldly faced the multitude and took all inter-
ruptions, and even personal assaults, in good part.
Though his politics were distasteful to the bulk of
his workpeople they bore him no particular ill-will
on that account, though he was often taunted about
230 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
the low wages he paid to the men on the farms.
Thus, when the disturbance on polling-day was at its
height and " Jacky " was in the midst of the scrim-
mage, a witty labourer at the rear cried out lustily :
" Dossent go to 'it the owl' man. Dwun' go to 'urt
un, cos a'll alius find us plenty to do if a wunt gie us
nothin' far't." On one polling day he lost no fewer
than three top-hats, and he was finally chased home
across the fields wearing the rim of one of them round
his neck.
The custom of Court Leet, or Reeve Leet, is
observed at Cricklade. It owes its origin to the
common lands, and to the practice of letting out
some part of them every year for the feed and hay-
crops. The tithingmen have the right of turning
out their cattle on the common lands from Michael-
mas to Candlemas. This privilege does not extend
to those living within the borough. They, however,
have the right of the North Meadow — a hundred
acres — during the autumn and winter. Then every
householder of the borough, from the greatest to
the least, may turn out nine head of cattle to graze
in North Meadow from August to February, and
thirty sheep to graze from September to February.
A jury of twelve conduct the Court Leet. They
first of all meet and initiate the ceremony, then swear
in a hayward, whose duty it is to impound all horses
and cattle found straying on the common lands,
and to see that all brooks and ditches around the
borough are properly cleaned out. From the meeting-
house the jurymen march in procession to the inn,
where they sit down to a repast. Afterwards bowls
of hot punch are brought in and toasts are drunk
to the Lord of the Manor of Calcutt and Chelworth.
Clearing the room is not always an easy matter
A GHASTLY SOUVENIR 231
after the hot punch has worked upon the jurymen.
On one occasion, when the time for departure came,
the tithingman found a burly farmer making deter-
mined but fruitless efforts to get inside a small cup-
board in the room. " Come on, old man ! You
must get out of this," cried the tithingman. " You
get along an' let ma alone. I come in this way an'
I'm gwoin out this way," the husbandman replied.
Many highwaymen resorted to the neighbourhood
of Cricklade and committed deeds of plunder and
murder in the Bradon Forest. The last outrage of
the kind was perpetrated by one Watkins in the
year 1819. He waylaid and shot a salt dealer named
Rodway, who had been trading at the farms. Watkins
attempted to fix the guilt upon another, but he failed,
and was hanged at Purton Stoke. When the body
was cut down from the gallows a farm labourer
named Matthews ran forward with scissors and cut
off the dead man's ear to keep in memory of the
event. The labourer was subsequently known as
" Crop " Matthews, and his deed was mentioned in
a song composed upon the crime and execution of
Watkins.
"This barbarous man, who chanced to be there,
What a barbarous fellow! he cut off his ear,
When the rope it was severed and down he did drop,
And for this same reason we all call him 'Crop.'"
It was while Zechariah Giles was constable that
the mail van was attacked and robbed near the
borough town. Old Zechariah showed his bravery
on this occasion by climbing up a high elm-tree, but
the robber was taken, tried, and gibbeted near at
hand.
All the old sports characteristic of Wessex — bull-
232 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
baiting, back-swording, boxing, wrestling, and cock-
fighting — were carried on at Cricklade until the fairs
were abolished. For those of a more gentle turn of
mind there were other amusements, such as morris-
dancing, skittling, bowling, fiddling, and flute-playing.
At Christmas-time the mummers went about play-
ing Robin Hood or St. George, or, with a collec-
tion of old and new songs, perambulated the town
and paid visits to the villages and remote farmhouses,
where they were well received and entertained.
It was usual for those engaged at the tanyards
to observe a festival at the end of " bark harvest,"
which fell about the beginning of June. After the
bark had been dried, stacked, and thatched, the
proprietors of the tanneries gave a supper to their
employees. This resembled the harvest-home of the
farmers. Food and ale were supplied, and the hours
till midnight were spent in mirth and merriment.
Following a discussion at one of the inns concern-
ing the weight of a bushel of corn, one Will Simpson
made a wager for a guinea that he would wheel a
sack of wheat from Cricklade to Gloucester — about
twenty-five miles — within twelve hours. This feat
he straightway performed, though the time of year
was midwinter, and he had to traverse many miles
of unrolled stones upon the roads.
Poulton, the dealer, was an eccentric person, but
he was clever and witty in making a sale with the
neighbouring farmers. One of them, being in want
of a cart-horse, went to the dealer to select an animal.
Forthwith a well-groomed half-bred was led from the
stable and paraded before the prospective purchaser.
" You'll be delighted to see him work," said Poulton
to the farmer, who paid down £25 and led the horse
away. That delight he never had, however, for the
THE PUGILISTIC PARSON 233
half-bred would not work, which the dealer well
knew when he made the remark.
It is said that the parson of a village church near
the borough town was famed for boxing and pig-
killing. He boxed with the villagers — farmers and
labourers, too— and killed the poor people's pigs,
gratis, with skill and despatch.
Although civilisation is spreading and a new
spirit is pervading the countryside, there yet remain
a few old-fashioned folks who will not be reconciled
to the present methods of work and travel. It is
not many years since Betty Hall, a maiden lady,
held the farm at Water Eaton, and, with the help
of a horse and a bull, ploughed her fields and after-
wards sowed the seed, reaped and threshed the corn,
mowed her meadow, milked her cow, and managed
her affairs without the assistance of a male. At
another farm near the town dwell several ladies,
nearly four-score years in age, who have never seen
a railway, though for ^thirty years one has been laid
not a mile from their door.
The ancient manor-house was once inhabited by
a large family among whom were several maids who,
for want of space, were forced to sleep in the attic.
The roof, which was of thatch, happening to be in
a bad condition, the squire made arrangements for
the necessary repairs. The workman arrived early
in the morning and mounted the ladder. Before he
had been long engaged a portion of the decayed
thatch fell through upon the maids. They, in ignorance
of what was being done, began to scream and call
for help. " It's all right, missis," cried the thatcher,
peering down upon them, " I'm only lookin' through
the rafters."
CHAPTER XIV
The Upper Thames Valley in the Making— The Youth and
the Traveller— The British Camp—" Slan " Feast—
" Ratcatcher Joe " — Jack and the Squire — " Joe the
Marine " — Moll Wilkins and Tom Hancock — Bet Hyde,
the Witch of Cold Harbour.
LONG ago, before the existence of the most ancient
of the human race, the Cotswolds extended
over Cricklade to Purton, and had for their southern
boundary the higher valley of the White Horse.
That was ages before the birth of the Thames. Though
Nature might have been dreaming out the scheme,
she had not yet set to work to fulfil it. By and by,
however, she awoke from her cold slumber and started
into activity. First of all she loosed the mountainous
blocks of ice, breathing into the chasms and fissures
with her warm breath, and sent them sliding, for
countless centuries the same, taking care to have
them all furnished with huge projections like plough-
shares, as hard as steel underneath. These icebergs
seemed motionless, and they were years passing down
the tract of hard rock. The sun glistened gloriously
on their high tops ; in the moonlight they stood
awfully and majestically calm, like an image of
eternity. But they passed, and each one, as it went,
ploughed the solid rock and wore it lower and lower
until it came to its present level and the ice melted.
Then Nature turned in her bed, and the water from
the ocean rushed back again, covering everything, and
234
MATERIALS OF THE DOWNS 235
continued so for many ages, till finally she rose and
shook herself and gave to the sea its proper boundaries,
only reserving so much water as was necessary to
supply the river and beautify the valley, and make
the sweet flowers grow.
Both the Cotswolds and the chalk downs of Wilt-
shire, Hampshire, and Berkshire were once parts of
the floor of an ocean, and were formed in the same
way, and of almost identical materials, that is, of the
minute calcareous shells and flinty skeletons of billions
of microscopic insects that abound in every sea.
When these little animals die they sink to the bottom
of the ocean and form a deposit like that of the
Cotswolds. The very flints were obtained from the
waters of the ocean and turned into a solid form by
countless myriads of animalcules in times past.
The chalk downs were pushed up to their present
height by contraction of the earth's crust, and were
roughly treated in the process. The same plan was
tried with the Cotswolds, but the limestone rocks
were stubborn and would not be lifted so easily.
Then Nature said : " Since you will not rise, con-
tinue where you are, humble and debased, and I will
give unto the future White Horse to have dominion
over you for ever and ever." The pits and quarries
around Uffington and Bishopstone provide abundant
evidence of the upheaving of the chalk ; there it is
piled up in an almost indescribable confusion.
Whoever had stood upon Blunsdon Hill in early
times and looked across the broad valley above the
spreading expanse of water would not have admired
it as he might now. After the mountainous icebergs
had ploughed out the hollow and the sea came in,
washing the cold stone shores, there was little to
please the eye, and the loneliness and solitude would
236 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
have quelled the most courageous spirit. Even after
the sea subsided and the water shrank back north-
eastward there was no beauty visible — nothing but a
dreary, muddy waste with occasional pools and shallow
patches of water, and one broad sluggish stream
stretching away in the middle of the valley.
After many years a thick mass of vegetation —
grass, bushes, and reeds — sprang up and pushed out
from both sides to the centre, and changed the
prospect. Great monstrous animals floundered about
in the swamps and slimy pools, and crashed through
the underwood, preying upon the fish, fowl, and
other occupants of the forest, and upon each other.
Here the giant mammoth strode, causing the woods
to quake ; the rhinoceros swam in the pools or
plunged through the thorny thicket, and the scaly
ichthyosaurus lay concealed in the reed-bed, half
under water, waiting to pounce upon the fishes that
swam to and fro all too careless of their skins.
By and by strange-looking creatures, like great
apes, with round shoulders, and long hairs all over
their bodies, armed with sharp stones and pointed
stakes, appeared on the scene — from Egypt or Asia
— and began to hunt for fish and small game. They
made houses of bushes set in the forks of trees, and
haunted the hill for many generations, but gradually
died out and were seen no more. After this another
tribe appeared and took up the trade of hunting in
the forest. They were dressed in skins, and they
made houses of boughs covered with reeds on the
ground. After a stay of nearly a thousand years
they, too, disappeared from the confines of the
valley, and it seemed as though the new race of
beings — whatever they were — had become extinct.
Then one day a more numerous band arrived on the
MUNDY'S MISFORTUNE 237
hill, equipped with implements of bronze and iron —
a sturdy, noisy, cleverish set, with dark features, and
of a dauntless spirit. After a few months of hunting
and fishing, they constructed themselves a kind of
village and fortified it with an earthen wall and
palisade. There they dwelt for many generations,
and when they were attacked and driven out by a
fierce Celtic tribe, the victors took possession of the
fortress and themselves dwelt there until they were
called forth by one Cassivellaunus to fight against a
band of Italian marauders that had lately landed on
the shores of Kent.
One day, three-quarters of a century ago, as Farmer
Smith and his neighbour Mundy were riding down
the hill on their nags to Cricklade market, they saw
the poor folks at work enclosing the ground and
building cottages. Then Mundy cried : " This won't
do, Smith. We must see an' put a stop to this.
We must get that hedge shifted back an' knock they
walls down. If us don't do summat we shan't be
able to get neether up ner down."
" Damme, let 'em bide, an' dwunt interfere wi' 'em.
Ther's room enough for thee an' I," answered Smith.
The other, however, attempted to stop the opera-
tions, but was unsuccessful. By and by Mundy fell
into misfortune, and was reduced to the necessity
of working on the roads for a livelihood. Then old
Paul Hancock, who lived down the hill, ran out from
the cottage and gloated over his downfall, and
shouted : " Hello ! Hello ! Is a wide enough now
far tha ? A's wide enough now, I'll lay a penny."
" Pray, my good friend, can you tell me how far
it is to Cricklade ? " inquired the traveller on horse-
back of a tall, raw-boned youth digging potatoes by
the roadside half-way down the hill.
238 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
" Dursay I can, gaffer," replied he, with a grin.
" It used to be reckoned vower mile, but now tha
cut the 'ood away the zun shrivelled the road up an'
chent about dree. The vust 'owse as you comes to
is a barn, and the zecund is a 'aay rick. Owl' Shammel
Giles's 'owse is a good way yon' that. Tha plagues
our maester moore ner a bit, thaay do. 'Is zhip
yets our turmuts and 'is gels gets into the orcut
(orchard). Gaffer zets the dog aater the zhip an' I
aater ^the wenches, an' between us we makes the 'ool
an' the petticwuts vlee."
" Ah ! and how it is that one of your legs is longer
than the other ? " inquired the traveller.
" Well ! I never 'lows nob'dy to meddle wi' my
grass-stranglers, gaffer, but since 'tis you I don'
mind tellin' you I was born so at my perticler request,
so as when I 'owlds plough I can walk wi' one vut
in the vurra an' t'other on the land, zo's nat to lop
awver, d'e zee," the youth replied.
Christopher, the carter, had been and married a
wife upon the Downs and was bringing her home to
Cricklade with the horse and waggon, lent for the
occasion. On reaching the brow of the hill Christopher
drugged the wheels and mounted the waggon. Then
he shut his eyes and addressed his bride.
" Everything that I can see now's mine," said he.
" What ! all that yander ? " exclaimed his wife.
" Everything," he repeated.
Near the bottom of the hill, for several centuries,
stood an inn with a large signboard, upon each
side of which was painted a red lion, and a rude
rhyme as follows :
(On the lower side.)
" Before this hill you do go up,
Look in and take a jovial cup."
A PREHISTORIC VILLAGE 239
(On the upper side.)
" Safe down this hill, all danger past,
Call in and drink a jovial glass."
The prehistoric people that built the village on
Castle Hill were possessed of considerable tactical
skill and judgment, and were thoroughly imbued
with the instinct of defence and self-preservation.
It is probable, too, that they had a sense of the
beautiful, and loved a fine prospect as well as any,
though perhaps they placed safety first and made
the other a consideration of the second importance.
If they had chosen to construct their village upon the
highest part of the hill, though it would have been
impregnable on one side, it would have been necessary
to defend it with ramparts on the other three, and
they would not have had such a complete domina-
tion of the country round about. But by choosing a
site at the extremity of the hill — though the spot was
lower the situation was safer, as for two-thirds of the
distance around the camp the ground drops sheer, and
approach could only be had by the level on one side.
The interior of the castellum slopes considerably
towards the vale. It is about eight acres in extent,
and it has no raised earthen rampart, since it was
surrounded with a stout wall of stones and timber,
a supply of which could be obtained on the spot. A
number of the stones remained down to a few years
ago, when they were dug out to make roads to the
farms. At the lower end of the camp, beneath the
general level, is a semicircular terrace. Here, no
doubt, was some special building, it may have been
a prison, an isolation ward, or a place of execution
for such as had transgressed the law and defied the
august authority of the chiefs in council. Water was
obtainable within the camp, summer and winter :
240 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
there was no fear of a famine if they should be besieged
by an enemy.
The houses were built of stone and wood, and were
thatched with reeds obtained from the swamps
below. In addition to the dwelling-houses there
were a business thoroughfare, a market-place, a
carpenter's yard, a smithy, a repository for grain,
forage, and pelts, and, very likely, a foundry, since
several fine specimens of battle-axes and poll staves
have been found in the fields round about. The cattle
and horses, goats, hens, and geese were usually kept
outside the camp, and only brought within when there
was danger of their being stolen, or when they were
required to make a feast, or as a gift to ratify some
agreement made between members of the small
community.
The surprising roughness and disproportion of the
walls of many of the old cottages owned by labourers
along the roadside is accounted for by their having
been for the most part built at night. There was a
custom — respected till towards the middle of the
nineteenth century — which, under certain conditions,
allowed a man to enclose a piece of ground on the
roadside and claim it as his rightful possession. If
he could manage to start his walls, build the fireplace
and boil a gammon of bacon over the hearth he had
made himself secure, and no one could deprive him
of the holding. Half the old cottages down Blunsdon
Hill were built in this manner. At a later time efforts
to take the cottages were made by farmers and land-
lords, especially where the old owners had died and
the claim put forward by the new person was doubtful.
But if it could be proved that the house had stood
for twenty-one years the property could not be
interfered with.
RURAL FESTIVITIES 241
As well as being indispensable, the local blacksmith
was otherwise important, and he used to give a supper
to the carters and ploughmen every year at his own
expense. The custom was also observed by the
village carpenter; it was held common throughout
the Upper Thames Valley while the wooden ploughs
remained in use. The blacksmith gave his supper
as having to do with the ironwork of the ploughs,
shoeing, and keeping the traces in order ; the carpenter
because he supplied the woodwork — the whipples, and
so on. The ploughshares were of wrought iron and
they often wanted a new edge welded on. For this
the blacksmith charged 10d., and Id. for every new
link or broken trace repaired.
In the autumn came the church festival, known
in the locality as Blunsdon Slan Feast. At that
time it was usual for the villagers to gather ripe
slans or sloes to make a pudding. The festivities
were kept up at the inns and cottages for a week,
and while the local gamesters had a bout at back-
swording, Bob Kempster and Dick Hornblow, with
their followers, stole off to cock-fighting. Gipsy
Smith played so merrily and well that the floor at the
inn gave way and let grandfather Eggleton, who was
dancing, fall through into the next room upon the
head of old Moll Phillips, just as she was in the act
of drinking a health to her neighbour, Joe the Marine,
in a glass of home-brewed liquor.
Not many places possessed such a number of
inhabitants noted for sturdy, quaint, or eccentric
qualities as did the village of Broad Blunsdon, though
it was commonly known and spoken of as " a roughish
place," by the people round about. There were
Squire Akerman and old Moses Akerman the farmer,
Squire Calley, Farmer Snook of Bury Town, Dick
16
242 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
Ockwell and " Leather Breeches " Ockwell, " Rat-
catcher Joe," " Joe the Marine," Tom Call the
burglar, and Betty his wife, Tom Hancock and his
mother Moll, Poll Packer, and, greatest of all, old
Bet Hyde, the most famous witch that ever dwelled
in these parts.
Squire Akerman was son to Moses the farmer.
His birth was marked by a mighty brew of ale at
the farmhouse, and casks containing a couple of
hogsheads were stored up to remain till his coming
of age. When he came to be twenty-one the people
on the farms were feasted and the strong ale was
served out at the rate of a pint for each individual.
When a third of the strong beer had been consumed
other ale was poured in, and so the cask was re-
plenished.
The squire, according to the account of " Crazy
Dick," was " as tall as a Yankee herrin'," and "not
worth a cold fourpence." This description may not
be entirely reliable, however, since it was the squire
who put Dick's grandfather, " Ratcatcher Joe," in
the stocks and kept him there all one Sabbath till
the folks went to church in the evening. Squire
Akerman was both magistrate and constable at the
time, and " Ratcatcher Joe " was overfond of the
liquor, and was moreover very disorderly when he
had imbibed too much. Whether it was the fact of
Joe's having recently come into some property or
that he had secured an extraordinary haul of rats
in the farmyard is uncertain, but without doubt he
was very drunk or the squire would not have taken
the trouble to confine him. But Joseph proved to
be a greater nuisance in the stocks than as if he had
been at liberty, for he did nothing but sing and shout
and speak rudely to all who passed that way. In
A COURAGEOUS FEAT 243
the evening, when the people were going to church,
and the squire's wife and daughters were passing,
he made more noise than before and shocked them
with his rude and irreverent expressions. Then the
squire, for very shame, set him free, and no one was
afterwards put in the stocks there.
This is one of " Ratcatcher Joe's " feats. First
he drank a pint of shoe-oil. Next he ate one pound
of tallow candles, two pounds of boiled fat bacon,
hot, and a large cow cabbage cooked with it that
when cut would not go into a peck measure. Then
he swallowed the greasy pot liquor, and afterwards
drank a quart of beer, completing the whole within
half an hour.
Joe's property was of the kind described as key-
hold — that is, he was master of it who happened to
be holding the key. Joseph took possession of the
cottage by the singular rite of striking an axe into
the trunk of a large plum tree standing in front of
the house. The tree, though it had never previously
borne fruit, was scarcely known to fail afterwards.
' Ratcatcher Joe " did not long remain in possession
of the property, for a lawyer found means to make
him drunk and then induced him to sign away his
rights for a song.
In sharp, cold weather Joe used to wrap the newly
caught rats around his body, next the skin, in order
to keep himself warm.
The squire was noted for many artful devices.
He was moreover inordinately fond of his money,
but he met his match one day in Jack Sanders, the
ditcher. Jack had cut and laid a mound and cleaned
out the ditch that twirled and wriggled like a serpent,
and came to the squire to settle up the account.
' The mound's two chain long," said he.
244 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
" Daal ! He's more than that, gaffer," replied
Jack.
" Knows a yent ! I mizhured un this ten year,"
returned the squire.
" I wants un mizhured a-new, then," said Jack
again.
" Very well ! Please thiself. Who'll drag the
chain ? " said the squire.
" Thee cast drag un," cried Jack.
The squire accordingly took the chain and struck
a bee-line to the bottom.
" Yer ! That wunt do, gaffer ! The ditch is
crucked," said Jack.
" I telled tha a was but two chain," the squire
cried.
" Damme ! Ther's odds between the ditch an'
thy chayn. Thee let I 'ae'n," said Jack.
When he had correctly measured the ditch it
proved to be nearly as long again as was shown by
the previous measurement, and the squire had to own
to it and pay the extra money.
When the squire got old he used to play with
his money, and he died with a good round sum in
gold under his pillow, which circumstance caused
the rustics to remark that he had placed it there in
readiness to pay his passage down to the lower
regions.
Old Moses Akerman, the squire's father, was of a
different type. Plain and homely in his dress, manner,
and speech, he was nevertheless a fine farmer, was
generous to his workpeople and kind to strangers.
About the farm he rode a shaggy black pony ; when
he went to market it was in the old-fashioned gig
drawn by one of the plough horses. And what a
merry time was had at the harvest-home ! There
SQUIRE GALLEY'S RETORT 245
was not another such a feast in all Blunsdon. Old
Moses did the carving and the ale was so strong that
the very smell of it overcame Moll Hancock and made
her intoxicated. Dick Hornblow sang of the Fly
and the Grasshopper :
" Said the fly unto the grasshopper —
' Thee bist a hopping dog,
And let thy mother be what she will
Thy father sprang from a frog.' "
and Joe Packer followed with an ancient and ridiculous
ditty :
(Solo) " A fly stood on the steeple-top, the steeple-top, the
steeple-top,
A fly stood on the steeple-top "
(All) " Yellacks a is now ! "
Several times old Moses Akerman's sheep got
through the fence into Squire Calley's field until the
squire lost his patience and quarrelled with him
about it.
" God love the fella ! I s'pose thees thinks nobody
got money but thee. I'll tell tha what I'll do. I'll
show money wi' thee an' buy tha up," cried Moses.
" Ah ! Akerman. You can load a jackass with
money till he breaks down to the ground, but you'll
never make a gentleman of him," Galley replied.
In the end Moses left the farm that his family had
rented for a hundred years, because the landlord
would not build him a new cowshed, though he after-
wards declared that if he had known what he was
worth he could have bought the place and put a gold
fence round it.
It is said of Farmer Snook and his wife, of Lower
Bury Town, that they had twenty-one children
twice. This at first appears incredible, but it is
246 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
explained in the following manner : Their twenty-
first child died, afterwards another baby was born,
which a second time brought up the number to
twenty-one.
The old man possessed several peculiar character-
istics. The workpeople called him " Dandy " Snook,
because, as he rode about the fields on horseback, at
every few paces he stopped, took off his sleeve hat,
brushed it, and, with the aid of a small pocket mirror,
carefully combed his hair.
He rented three farms situated at a triangle and
each about a mile apart, and he shouted his orders
for all three from the top of Castle Hill. One morning,
as the boy was bushing the field, nearly two miles
away, he heard the master shout to someone : ' Tell
Eggleton to leave the bushing and go to Stanton Mill
for some grist."
Without waiting for the messenger the boy un-
hitched and left the field, and presently met the
bailiff on horseback.
" Where are you going ? " inquired he.
" I be off to Stanton Mill," the boy replied.
" Who told you to go there ? "
" Maester zed 'e was to go."
" You young liar ! I'm only just come to tell you
now."
" You needn't fret yerself. I yerd what maester
zed, plain enough," answered Eggleton.
Notwithstanding the farmer's wonderful vocal
ability, and his energy in other directions, he failed
in business and soon afterwards died, and it is said
that his corpse was arrested for debt in the street
at Highworth on the way to burial at the church,
and was only released upon one of the mourners
undertaking to pay a proportion of the amount due.
REYNARD'S CUNNING 247
Was there ever one more crafty than Dick Ockwell,
who performed the duties of cowman, hen-minder,
and egg-collector ? It is said of him that he could
pick out eggs for a sitting so cunningly that every
chicken hatched should be a cock. This he often did
for a wager, according to the account of the villagers,
whose belief in his powers is unshakable. They say
that he was able to do it merely by examination of
the eggs — by holding them up to the light.
" I fancy I can see him now,
Down in the old thatched pens,
Mixing up the barley meal for the cow,
And milking the cocks and hens."
Old Song.
A cunning old fox caused Richard much trouble
and anxiety. Time after time he had tried to take
it with a trap, but had always failed. At last, one
morning, on going to the pen he found reynard, that
had broken in and devoured several hens and could
not squeeze through the hole to safety. Upon looking
a second time the warden of the roost perceived that
the fox was stretched out stiff on the ground, as
though it were dead. He accordingly turned to open
the door more widely and shed light on the matter,
when up sprang reynard, leapt upon his shoulders,
and, darting through the door, was gone in a jiffy.
" Leather Breeches " was kinsman to the hen-
minder and was an odd man about the village. The
buckskin breeches he wore, according to a carefully
preserved tradition, had been in the family for a
hundred years, and as well as being wrinkled and
withered with age they were filthy with grease.
People said that all he had to eat with his barley bread
was fat from his breeches obtained by frizzling them
before the fire.
248 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
Then there was " Joe the Marine," Tom Call, and
Betty his wife. The first-named of these was a
tinker, while the other two were of no certified occupa-
tion, but were known for a precious pair of house-
breaking thjeves and rogues. The husband was a
notorious purloiner of corn, which he stole by getting
beneath the floors of granaries and boring holes in
the woodwork.
Betty's forte was egg-stealing, and she used to
keep a hen of her own indoors so as to be in a position
to account for any eggs she might have in her posses-
sion. But one day a dozen turkey's eggs were missing,
and on a search being made they were discovered at
Betty's house.
" Where did you get these from ? " inquired the
constable.
" Bin an' becas me little 'en led 'em," Betty
replied.
About the same time Tom Call was caught in the
act of house-breaking, and was transported, and Betty
was forced to enter the workhouse, where she ended
her days with the paupers.
" Joe the Marine " was a hero of Waterloo, and
could testify to the straight shooting of the French
soldiers. Five minutes after the battle began he was
shot through the calf, and in less than three minutes
more another bullet tore through his top lip and
carried half that away. Then he was taken to
hospital, but when he arrived there, though the
fight had only just begun, he was refused admittance,
for there were hundreds of wounded men. When he
returned to Blunsdon his mates laughed at him and
told him it was no wonder he was hit in the head, for
that was of such a size that no one could possibly
miss it, and as for the other wound, that was entirely
THE CICETER WITCH 249
his own fault — he should have put his calves out to
grass at Bury Town and not have taken them over
there to Waterloo. Then Joe grinned and cursed
Bonaparte, and said he'd learn tinkering, which he
did of Mark the Gipsy who camped in Golden Rose
Lane, and came to be a maker and mender of pots
and kettles, and constructed a " dandy horse " with
which he used to ride up and down the streets of
the village. As he grew older he lived like a hermit
and was called a " wise man " and a " dreamer," and
when the farmers lost anything they would go to him
for advice and he told them where to find the missing
property. He was also said to have commerce with
Satan, who was frequently seen in the shape of a
crow perched on the back of his chair in the firelight.
A good many deny this tale, however, and say it was
Bet Hyde, who lived below Cold Harbour, that Satan
used to visit under the guise of a crow.
Moll Wilkins was not so well known at Blunsdon,
since she had removed to Cirencester, ten miles off,
and there were other witches without going all that
distance. But Tom Hancock, " journeyman farmer,"
of Blunsdon Hill, having need of the services of a
wise woman, and distrusting the two local ones — he
really owed each of them money, one for information
as to the weather when he wanted to gather up his
haycocks, and the other for a consultation about his
white sow that was soon to farrow — made a special
visit to Ciceter and proved the infallible skill of the
witch. He had lost a white fustian coat from the
clothes-line in the garden, where he had hung it to
dry after having been out in the rain ferreting rabbits.
Accordingly he put a new fourpenny bit, to pay old
Moll, in his pocket, and tramped off to Cirencester.
When he arrived there and came to the house, she
250 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
took him into a little room that was now pitch dark
and now brightly lit, as though someone were continu-
ally switching on and off an electric light, though such
a thing as an electric lamp was unknown then.
" Canst thee see this picture ? " asked Moll at last,
opening a little black box and taking out the portrait
of a man.
" Yes," said Tom.
" Dost know who 'tis ? "
" No."
Then she showed him another.
" Dost know who this is ? "
" No."
" Well ! wait a bit. Now," said she, producing
a third card, " Hast ever seen this fella ? '
"Yes," replied Tom.
" Well ! Tha's the man as got thy coat. Thee
go to Ashton Keynes an' ther' thee't see'n werrin' thy
jacket."
So Tom gave her the fourpenny bit and went to
Ashton Keynes, and the first person he saw was a
drover wearing his fustian coat with the big pearl
buttons, just as old Moll had shown him in the
picture at Cirencester.
Tom Hancock was a " love child," and was born
in what was called the " Bastard House " at Blunsdon.
Many towns and large villages had one of these
houses in which unfortunate young women were
detained. When the child was born and the mother
had recovered she was taken before the magistrates
and committed to prison. Poor labourers could not
afford to keep their children in distress. The
" Bastard House " was administered under the
Poor Law, and the term of imprisonment was a
punishment for those who had been forced to accept
THE ENCHANTED ROPE 251
relief, and a warning to them not to transgress further.
When Moll Hancock appeared before the magistrates
to answer for her fault she took the opportunity
of passing scathing remarks on the practice of send-
ing young girls to prison for such an offence. " And
now, gentlemen," she concluded, " you can send me
to prison for as long as you like, but I'll have another
child when I come out, as sure as you're sitting
there."
Poll Packer was an inferior kind of witch, though
she was greatly dreaded by the carters and cowmen,
whose horses and herds she tampered with, stopping
the teams on the road and causing the cows to get
loose in the night and jump over the highest gates
and fences. She was able to bewitch plates and
saucers, knives, forks, and spoons, and even the very
innocent slices of bread and butter, and to make
them dance upon the tea-table. Her greatest feat
was to make a waggon-line stand straight up in the
air in the hayfleld and so tease the farmer half out of
his wits, who wanted to bind the hay on the wain and
get it down to the rickyard before the rain came on.
But poor Poll was often blamed for what she knew
nothing about, and she suffered many a curse and
execration that should rather have been levelled at her
powerful rival and neighbour, Bet Hyde, who lived in
a tiny thatched cottage below Cold Harbour.
Even titled lords and ladies came in their carriages
to see old Bet, to ask her advice, and to hear her
prognostications. When the crusty old Baron was
about to begin a lawsuit against the indomitable
Squire Q, who would not have the great grandfather
elm-trees lopped, nor yet give up to his Lordship the
little field in which he turned loose his favourite
hunting nag — to which the Baron laid some sort of
252 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
claim, though in reality the meadow should have
belonged to one of the Hancocks — he thought it best
secretly to visit the witch to hear what she had to
say about the issue of the suit. Then old Bet, sitting
on her low stool by the fireside, after hearing his
account of the matter, spat up the chimney back and
cried in a squeaking tone of voice :
" Cuss'd be the hand
That strikes at the tree,
And cussed the meadow
If it channged be ;
For the grass shall wither,
And the tree shall fall,
And the Spirit shall fetch
Squire, Baron, and all."
It is furthermore said that Satan, in the shape of
a crow, came hopping out from beneath the table
and perched on the old hag's shoulder, croaking
loudly. That was all the witch spoke in reply to the
Baron, who hurried off and allowed the suit to fall
through and did not further molest the Squire. The
big branches — some of them ten tons in weight —
have nearly all fallen off the elms, and the trunks
are rotten and hollow. The little field has been
ploughed up and is now used for the production of
potatoes, peas, and cabbages.
Ladies came to see old Bet for various reasons.
If one was in love and had a troublesome rival she
came to learn the best means of overcoming her.
If another wanted to know her neighbour's secrets
she came and bribed the old woman to discover
them. If this one wanted to get rid of warts, freckles,
or sunburn she came to have them charmed away.
All things lost, stolen, or strayed were sought for —
and that successfully, it is said — at Betty's house.
BET HYDE'S PROPHECY 253
" I wonder if the old bitch is at home," said Mary
Ann to Emm the cook, as they were going to see Bet
one Sunday afternoon to have their fortunes told.
When they came to the cottage the old woman was
standing in the doorway.
" Yes, the old bitch is at home. Walk in, my
dears. My pretty black bird told me you were
coming," said she, pointing to the crow, that was
perched upon the clothes-horse, looking very wicked
and cunning. Then she went on :
" You've got a mole on your right shoulder and a
strawberry mark under your left breast, and you've
got a bad leg that'll never be well. You had a bundle
of clothes, a letter, and a purse to take to the house-
keeper, but you hid the clothes in the box bush
coming down the lane, looked in the purse, and read
the letter. There's a new place waiting for you, but
the gentleman will die. You will marry the second
cowman, and he will run away from you the Sunday
after Michaelmas. You will both be widows and
cripples in your old age because you despised old
Betty and her pretty black bird.
" For the devil shall pinch them and scratch out their eyes,
Plague them with grasshoppers, beetles, and flies,
Strip them and rip them and on their heads ride,
That mock at the wisdom of old Bet Hyde."
CHAPTER XV
Roman Remains at Bury Town — Stanton — Fulk Fitz-Warrene
—Burial of the Dead— The Lake and Woods— " Moll
Taw's Corner "— " Man-Traps "—The Wood Sale— Tom
Fowler's Feat — Tricks and Conundrums.
WHEN Farmer Snook lived at Bury Town — the
same who shouted his orders from Castle Hill,
and whose corpse was arrested for debt in Highworth
Street — he made many discoveries of old forgotten
things on his farm, but, like a true barbarian, he
demolished them all and so deprived those coming
after him of the pleasure of their investigation. In
the meadow called Town Close he employed William
Gleed, the quarryman, at digging stones for over two
years to make a road through the fields to his farm.
There he unearthed numerous interesting relics, such
as arms, tools, and implements, a coat of mail, coins
impressed with the figures of the most august Roman
Emperors, rings, trinkets, and cartloads of mosaic
stones and " panches," or pottery ware. One day,
as they were removing some large slabs of stone the
iron bar slipped through and disappeared, and made a
noise like thunder when it struck the bottom, which
caused the quarryman to quake with fear, and he
ran off and would not return to work any more that
day. When Squire Akerman came to hear of it he
had the stones set in place again and forbade further
disturbance of the ground, and no one living now
could say where the spot is.
254
THE SAXON CONQUEST 255
Less than two miles distant was another ancient
Roman or British village. Many of these have been
brought to light throughout the Upper Thames
Valley, and there are doubtless others yet undis-
covered. They were chiefly inhabited by the Britons
who had made peace with the conquerors and, in
return, had been taught by them some of the arts
and crafts of Latin civilisation, as town planning,
building and decorating, the manufacture of arms,
tools, pottery ware, and so on. A feeling of secur-
ity was abroad in the land. This is evidenced by
the position of the new villages, that were often
built in unstrategic and indefensible places. If the
founders of Bury Town had been in any way appre-
hensive of an attack by a foe they would not have
built where they did, nor would their near neigh-
bours have chosen a site in a hollow, hemmed in with
woods and hills, and from which escape would have
been impossible if they should have been besieged
by an enemy. But, as the poet says : " We are
mortals, and know not the morrow." The greatest
happenings recorded in history have usually been
those that were least expected.
The long series of calamities that befell the Roman
Empire in the East necessitated the withdrawal of
the Roman troops from Britain a.d. 410, and the
island was left to the mercy of the Low-German
tribes. Soon the Jutes, Angles, and Saxons, bent
on conquest, came over, and the kingdom of Kent
was founded in the year 449. Step by step the
half Romanised Britons were driven back or slain
by the invaders, and their towns and villages razed
to the ground. Many of the German tribes had
served with the Roman Legions and were well ac-
quainted with the Latin civilisation. The Jutes,
256 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
Angles, and Saxons, however, knew nothing of it,
and cared not for its works, but destroyed them as
though they had been an abomination. Dearly as
we should love to know the names of the British
villages in the vernacular, that is denied us ; they
are blotted out of history.
Although the Saxons were constrained to destroy
the village in the hollow they nevertheless fell in
love with the situation and decided to found another
settlement. They chose a position on the hill, and,
setting up a tall stone for the centre, formed a circle
of other large stones around it. Then they brought
up the materials of the walls they had overthrown
and, with them, and with timber cut from the woods,
built a new village, not of beautiful and stately
houses, as the other had been, but of rude huts and
low sheds in which the Romans would have scorned
to herd their cattle. Staneton was the name given
to the new settlement. This meant the " stone
village," either from the fact of its having been built
upon a stone hill, or because of its being enclosed
with a stone boundary. A few traces of the village
still exist. The large centre stone is a greywether,
and it was once seriously believed by the villagers
to turn round every time it heard the first cock-
crow in the morning.
The family of the Fitz-Warrenes obtained posses-
sion of the village during the reign of King John,
after thrilling and romantic adventures. Fulk Fitz-
Warrene owned Whitington Castle, in Shropshire,
which his ancestors had won in a tournament. This
property was seized by the Prince of Wales, and
the King, out of hatred to Fulk — who had once
beaten him in a game of chess — confirmed the Prince's
possession. The Fitz-Warrenes demanded justice of
FITZ-WARRENE'S THANKS 257
the King and, failing to receive a favourable reply,
renounced their allegiance to him, and, with the
exception of Fulk, fled into Brittany. Then Fulk,
to be revenged, turned highwayman, and with his
followers came to Bradon Forest, near Cricklade,
and lay in wait for the King's travelling subjects.
One day a company of carriers, with a train of
waggons full of valuable goods, came through the
forest, and Fitz-Warrene and his men fell upon them
and forced them to surrender. Then Fulk led them
inside the forest and asked them who they were,
and they told him they were the King's merchants
and that the goods in their charge were destined for
His Majesty. Thereupon Fitz-Warrene, in high glee,
opened the bales of goods, unpacked rich stores of
clothes and furs and divided them among his followers,
telling the drivers of the waggons to return to London
and salute the King in the name of Fulk Fitz-
Warrene " who much thanked him for the fine ward-
robe with which he had graciously provided them."
Then the King " went nigh mad with rage," and
caused it to be cried throughout the kingdom that
whosoever would bring Fulk, alive or dead, " to
him would he give one thousand pounds of silver,
and he would besides give to him all the lands
in England which belonged to Fulk." Finding it
difficult after this proclamation to remain in Bradon
Forest, Fulk Fitz-Warrene fled into France. There
he assumed the name of Sir Amice and distinguished
himself in jousts and tournaments, and after various
romantic experiences by land and sea, and having
chivalrously rescued " certayne ladies owt of prison,"
he obtained the King's pardon. At the same time
His Majesty allowed him the peaceable possession of
Whitington Castle and furthermore granted him
'7
258 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
the Manor of Staunton in his native county of Wilt-
shire. It was Fulk Fitz-Warrene who, in the name
of the Barons of England, bade one of the much
hated Papal collectors get with haste out of these
shores. " If you tarry three days longer you and
your company shall be cut to pieces," cried he.
The village, according to local account, was not
a parish of itself formerly, but was under Highworth.
It obtained its independence very cheaply and with
little trouble compared with what is necessary to
obtain separation from another parish at this time.
It seems to have been recognised, under the old
order of things, that any village which could bring
evidence to prove that it had relieved the wants of
its own poor might claim to be a parish, independent
of that to which it was officially joined. Accordingly,
when a farm labourer, who was burdened with a
numerous family, went to one of the churchwardens
and asked for food for his children, he complied
with the request and, in addition, gave him a shilling.
Then the villagers published the fact far and wide
and declared that Stanton Fitzwarren was a parish,
which claim was duly admitted and confirmed by the
authorities.
The church is dedicated to St. Leonard, who was
known as the Forest Saint, either because of the fact
that he built an oratory in a lonely place and dwelt
there like a hermit, subsisting on wild herbs, fruits,
and berries, or because the French King gave a
part of the forest to the monastery to which he
belonged. He is said to have been the son of a
nobleman at the court of Clovis, King of the Franks,
and his life's work was chiefly to ransom prisoners
of war and to comfort and help those who were in
prison by reason of their crimes, for which good
THE FIRST BURIAL 259
offices the king would sometimes allow him to set
prisoners at liberty. William of Malmesbury, with
a zealousness characteristic of him, took advantage
of this tradition to declare that "the Saint is said
to be so especially powerful in loosing fetters that
the captive may freely carry away his chains, even
in sight of his enemies, who dare not mutter a
syllable." St. Leonard was invoked by prisoners
and slaves, and those who had been delivered hung
up their fetters in churches dedicated to him, of
which there are about one hundred and fifty in this
country.
The burial ground without the church is very
small ; it is difficult to conceive how it should have
contained the bones and dust of all who have died
in the village, even within the last two hundred
years. Possibly, however, it was once larger than
it is now. In early ages not only the strict burial
ground but all the lands contiguous to churches and,
in some instances, all the domains of a church were
comprehended under the name ccemeterium, cemetery.
The custom of burying the dead is supposed to
have originated among the Egyptians, though the
Rabbins claimed for it a greater antiquity, and
affirmed that the idea was first taken from birds.
Adam and Eve, said they, being at a loss what to
do with the body of Abel after his murder by Cain,
were relieved of their perplexity by observing a
crow in the act of throwing earth and leaves over
the body of one of its dead companions. Thereupon
the patriarch, following its example, presently went
and did the same to the corpse of his son. Both
the ancient Greeks and the Romans disposed of
their dead by earth burial ; burning was first re-
sorted to because of the savage treatment to which
260 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
the bodies of the dead soldiers were subjected after
battle by barbarian enemies, who dug up the corpses
and mutilated them.
Sea burial was not recognised by the Greeks, and
it was therefore customary for mariners and travellers
by water to fasten to some part of their bodies a
coin as a reward for whosoever might recover and
bury them in case they should be drowned and
washed ashore. Reference to this is made by Horace
in the twenty-eighth Ode of the first Book — which is
really a dialogue between the ghost of the Greek
philosopher Archytas, a friend of Plato, drowned at
sea, and a mariner in his ship. The spirit's solicitude
for its unburied casket is poignant and tragical.
Omnes una manet nox,
Et calcanda semel via led,
says the spirit, and afterwards :
Quamquam festinas, non est mora longa ; licebit
Injecto ter pulvere curras.
" One night awaits all, and the path of death must
once be trod by everybody. . . . Though you are in
a hurry you need not tarry long. You may sail as
fast as you please when you have thrown three
handfuls of dust upon my remains." The injecto ter
pulvere was a part of the burial rite and corresponds
to the modern formula : " Earth to earth, ashes to
ashes, dust to dust." According to the poem it was
not absolutely necessary for the body to be buried
provided the funeral rite had been performed.
The Arwaces, a people of Guiana, pulverised the
bones of their great men and drank them in their
liquor ; and some natives of Brazil are said to have
eaten their dead, not because of hunger, or any spirit
of unfriendliness, but out of affection and reverence.
SECURING THE CORPSE 261
Burials by choice were usually on the south side
of the church. A notion of evil was associated with
the north, originating from the idea of Gog and
Magog, or because suicides, criminals, and unbaptized
persons were buried there. It is possible, too, that
people preferred to be buried on the south because
that is the sunny side, and the north is cold, dark,
and comfortless.
The church feast, formerly held in honour of the
good Saint Leonard, has now died out. The killing
of a man at the backsword games was the prime
cause of its abandonment. I have heard, when a
boy, from my old grandmother — that, following a
quarrel, a murder was committed near the village,
and the culprit was tried, gibbeted, and buried on
the roadside, and a sharp stake driven into the earth
through his body. The news of the gibbeting
travelled far and wide and attracted a big crowd.
One venerable dame, whose boast it was that she
had witnessed every public execution in the locality
for three-quarters of a century, tramped a distance
of twenty-four miles to see it, and made the forward
and return journey each last two days, coming
equipped with money and food to supply her on the
way.
It was related to me by an aged person at Crick-
lade that when two young men, brothers, were
hung from an oak tree outside the town, and the
bodies were left suspended for the customary three
days, the mother of the culprits took her sewing and
sat beneath their bodies, apparently unconcerned.
A moderate-sized mansion and a farmhouse, several
centuries old, occupy the site of the manor of Fulk
Fitz-Warrene, the famous opponent of King John.
A singular feature of the farmhouse is its fireplaces.
262 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
They are provided with a thin iron wheel, an inch and
a half in diameter, fixed behind the chimney-piece ;
this was intended to revolve and so draw the smoke
up the chimney. Another device adopted for the
prevention of smoky chimneys was the hanging a
brass globe, filled with water and provided with a
small aperture, in the chimney at a height a little
above the point reached by the greatest flame. As
the water became hot it evaporated, and the steam
was supposed to draw up the smoke that otherwise
would loiter in the chimney.
In common with almost everything else the
chimney was called upon to support a tax, the
proceeds of which were called " chimney-money "
and " hearth-money." By a statute of Charles II.
it was decreed that the fire-hearth and stove of
every dwelling or other house in England and Wales,
except such as paid not to church and poor, should
be chargeable with two shillings per annum payable
at Michaelmas and Lady Day. The tax proved
unpopular. The people declared it to be an oppres-
sion, and it was accordingly abolished, or, rather,
exchanged for the impost on windows.
The lake below the House has been made for a
hundred years, and is replenished by the clear spring
that flows in at the upper end. The tall rushes and
reeds, growing in the shallow parts, get stronger every
year and push out, taking possession of new territory,
to the satisfaction of the moorhens, coots, and dab-
chicks. In addition there are the thousands of
white water-lilies that, with their large oval leaves,
float on the surface in matchless beauty through the
summer, and sink to the bottom, lashed and beaten
by the vicious waves, when the stormy south-west
winds blow. The water-lilies multiply with great
A DESTRUCTIVE SNAKE 263
rapidity. Fifty years ago the first two bulbs were
planted in the lake, and they have now increased to
such an extent as to cover over an acre of its bed.
At the same time — the woodman, with mathematical
nicety, informs you — there were but seven rushes
growing on the banks ; now they might be gathered
by the waggon-load.
Numerous pike inhabit the lake and grow to an
enormous size among the reeds and lily leaves.
As the water is private they are not molested, and
there are shoals of small roach for them to feed upon,
with many a sleek fat rat and frog, young water-fowl,
or snake, that finds its way into the jaws of the
monster as it swims across from yonder bank.
Snakes eat minnows and small roach, which
accounts for their frequent presence in water. In
the aviary at Stanton House there was kept a choice
collection of canaries that one by one mysteriously
disappeared. At last the owner one morning dis-
covered the cause. Inside the lattice a snake was
imprisoned by reason of its having swallowed a large
bird. Being late, and not having time to digest the
meal, it could not squeeze through the meshes to
freedom.
How quickly the kingfisher darts to and fro, and
with what precision it enters the smallest aperture
within which it has chosen to construct its nest !
For several weeks I watched a pair flying in and out
of a small drainpipe where the nest and young were
situated. With the directness and velocity of an
arrow they went whizzing into the hole ; a little
misjudgment would have caused them to be dashed
to death against the rim of the pipe.
What possessed the old heron to play such curious
pranks with the little fishes of the lake last year ?
264 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
Thrice during the season there was discovered on
the banks a perfect circle of small roach that he had
made, presumably for amusement, since all the fish
were intact.
The osprcy has once or twice been seen here, and
a pair of grebes nested amid the rushes several years
in succession.
In the woods around the lake the " yukel," " yaffel,"
" eke-aw," or "ya-ha" dwells with the doves, owls,
magpies, and sparrow-hawks. The beautiful night-
ingale sings amid the thickets and glades in early
summer, and the lordly cock pheasant struts and
crows beneath the oaks, challenging his rival to enter
the lists and try the power of his wings and spurs.
On cutting down an old pollard ash-tree recently the
woodman found fourteen " bit-bats " inside it, cling-
ing with their claws to the soft trunk, while hard by,
fast asleep in an ivy bush, sat a foolish great owl
that should have gone higher to roost. This the
woodman's mate took with a wire, slipping the noose
over its head and pulling it roughly off the perch.
Afterwards the men stopped up an owl's entrance
to the barn and were rewarded with a plague of mice,
but when they removed the obstacle and allowed
the owl to get inside the cunning little nibblers soon
disappeared.
Numbers of squirrels haunt the plantations, and a
few badgers have their home about the banks and
slopes. The marten, or martlet, survived in Stanton
woods and park down to the early part of the eighteenth
century, though it is now quite extinct in the region
of the Upper Thames. The marten was of the size
of a cat, though with longer body, shorter legs, and
claws less sharp. It was of a deep golden colour, with
white throat and bushy tail, and it had its haunt
THE GREEN WOODS 265
and gave birth to its young in the tops and hollows
of trees. It is said to have played great havoc
with poultry and game, and on this account it
was hunted like the fox, though the hounds were
not permitted to eat its flesh by reason of its
unwholesomeness.
There was a reason for the many twistings and
turnings made by the single railway line that climbs
through the wood and runs down into the hollow
above the ruins of the ancient village. If the line had
been cut straight through the meadows the cost of
land would have been much higher than it was. By
winding round the bottom alongside the little brook
and through the copses, however, and ofttimes using
no more ground than was occupied by the double
fence of hawthorn, a way was acquired more cheaply,
and the extra short distance was immaterial to the
working of the line.
Under the great oaks and along the banks of the
tiny brook that tinkles in the shade of the tall ash-
poles and soft young hazel boughs the wild flowers
bloom, drawing out their generations from earliest
spring to latest summer and lingering on into the
autumn. Scarcely has the little celandine opened
its golden eye before the primroses rush forth. The
blue and white violets awake beautifully out of sleep,
perfuming the air ; anemone and hyacinth strive
to see which shall have the mastery of the copse
and cover the open spaces between the trees with
their mantles of clear silvery white and rich deep
purple. Soon the wild cherry-tree bursts into snowy
bloom ; the laburnum hangs thick with bright golden
chains, and the red and white honeysuckle overhead
breathes its delicious fragrance abroad, intent on
overpowering the sweetness of the campions that
266 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
lift their heads high above the spreading ferns and
wild strawberries.
After the fierce midsummer sun has slain Spring's
brilliant children and the tall grasses wither, droop,
and die beneath the oaks and hazel stumps, still
the willow-herb and meadow-sweet thrive alongside
the half-dried brook. The rosebay succeeds in
masses, lighting up the interior with a lurid glow that
threatens every moment to kindle tree and under-
wood, and strew the slopes and winding dell with un-
sightly ruin. Finally, as though to recompense the
early loss, late summer brings on the hemp agrimony,
that sheds a soft radiance throughout the thickets and
groves — the last gleam before autumn comes scatter-
ing fire on every hand and the foliage of the great
beeches burns steadily away with the consuming
flame.
In a corner of the wood opposite a large cherry-
tree, the top of which was broken off by the tempest,
simple daffodils grow, blooming around a shallow
well approached by means of several stone steps
overgrown with moss, ferns, and violet. Many years
ago a stone cottage stood on the spot, out of sight
amid the trees and boughs, far from the high road
and the village. In the cottage dwelt an old woman
named Mary Taws, who might easily have been
termed of evil repute, of the class of Bet Hyde and
Moll Wilkins, but nothing is related of her by the
villagers except that she loved the little old cottage,
the well of sparkling water, the beautiful cherry-
trees and the pretty " daffy-down-dillies." These
she planted around the well and out beyond the
garden fence, and in time they spread to and fro and
filled that part of the wood with a sweeter beauty,
inducing the boys and girls to come and pluck them
MAN-CATCHERS 267
with the primroses, violets, and bluebells. Every
vestige of the cottage is gone now except the stones
of the well, though the old woman's memory survives
in the name given to that part of the wood, which is
known to the villagers as " Moll Taw's Corner."
Poaching in the woods was common, and several
kinds of gins and traps were set in the thickets to
ensnare the depredators. Most dreaded of all were
the man-traps. They were great iron gins having
strong jaws fitted with sharp steel teeth that flew up
and clutched a man about the calves and from which
he could not extricate himself without assistance.
Somewhat similar to them were the leg-traps. They
were of steel and were so contrived that when they
closed up they gripped a man firmly by the leg and
locked automatically, and none but the keepers had
keys to undo them. Spring guns were set among
the low bushes and briars, and were provided with
lines stretched across the paths at the height of a foot.
Immediately the poacher's leg struck the line the
straining of that both pointed the gun and fired it
at the trespasser.
Another plan was to fix dummy pheasants to the
branches of trees, and then to lie in wait for the
poachers. When they fired at the dummies their
whereabouts were discovered, and the keeper and
his men promptly ran out after them. One Bob
Lewis, the village sweep and a notorious poacher,
when chased to his cottage by the keepers contrived
invariably to disappear. In the wall, half-way
up the chimney, he had built a secret recess. When
he was hard pressed of a night he ran indoors, leapt
up the chimney and descended into this, completely
baffling his pursuers.
The timber of Stanton Woods is of a first-rate
268 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
quality. This value results from the properties of
the soil in the bed of the hollow, and from its swampy
nature. The waters of the lake frequently overflow,
making the floor of the wood " goggy " and " patey,"
as the villagers say. The trees thrive on the moisture
and the timber becomes extraordinarily tough.
Every species of tree — according to the woodman
— is divided into two classes, the " he " and the
" she" ; and there is a corresponding difference dis-
cernible in the timber, whether it be of oak, elm, ash,
beech, poplar, maple, or even the old stumpy haw-
thorn that grows in mid-field or by the roadside.
The timber of the " he " tree — to follow the wood-
cutter — is always harder and tougher than the other ;
that of the " she " is soft and mellow, as befits the
feminine nature. The " sexes " of the trees may
easily be ascertained in the spring-time when the
buds are opening. The female tree, bush, or bough,
always shoots first. Those loitering, as though un-
willing to put forth their velvety leaves and drink in
the fresh air and sunshine, are invariably the males.
Every spring some part of a wood is cut and the
timber sold on the spot by auction. The heaviest
ash poles, intended for the wheelwrights, are trimmed
and placed in separate piles. The lighter poles for
fencing are similarly set by themselves and the small
wood for faggots and pea-sticks is arranged in drifts.
The usual crowd invariably attends, this one to make
purchases, that one to look on : there are those who
have not missed the event for over half a century.
The wood sale possesses an irresistible attraction
for the aged roadmender, who walks forth to meet
old friends and make a few purchases of poles, pea-
sticks, or faggots, and is hailed by acquaintances
whom he has not seen for a year.
A TRADE IN TIMBER 269
" Hello ! Jacky ! Bistn't thee dead yet ? "
" No. More bistn't thee. But tha's ought to
be."
" Oh ! 'Ow's that ? "
" Never done no good to nobody."
" I'm goin' to live as long as I can purpose to
eggrivate everybody."
Here now is the auctioneer.
" Hello ! Bridges. You're got over here, then ! "
" Yes, sir. I brought a gentleman to do a bit o'
business wi' ya."
" All right, Bridges. You know your way about."
" I don't know so much about that."
Presently a move is made, and the crowd, headed
by the auctioneer, comes and stands by a pile of
timber.
" Now, Bridges I Come on 1 How much for this
lot ? A pound ? Twenty-five shillings, or what ? "
" I'll gie two shillin's."
" What ! You're getting generous, aren't you,
Bridges ? Two shillings I'm offered. Who says a
pound ? "
" Five shillings."
" Eight."
" Ten."
" Fourteen."
" Go on ! There's plenty of room yet."
" Now, sir, Jacky's goin' to gie ya one more shillin',
and only one. Fifteen. Now go on."
" All done at fifteen ? All done, I say ? Mind
you, they're worth double. Once more ; have you
all done ? Right ! There you are, Bridges ! Take
'em along. That's the cheapest lot that's been sold
in the wood. Two tons of good ash poles for fifteen
shillings, you artful old cove ! "
270 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
Yonder cottages huddled on the hillside have
sheltered a hardy stock, though their former occupants
are extinct. There you may learn half the history
of the village ; of good Aunt Betsy, mortally afraid of
a concertina, but who lived to a great age and be-
came so childish that she set the bed on fire and was
nearly roasted alive ; of old Moll Garrett, ' Kit '
Rimes, and Patty Jones, who reaped and sowed,
milked, thatched, and quarried stones as well as any
man in the village. And you will hear of Milden-
hall, the miller, so hearty and strong that he could
pick up two sacks of flour — one under each arm —
and race about with them, and, with a half -hundred-
weight hung on his thumb, reach up and write his
name on the ceiling of the mill ; of " Nobber '
Kibblewhite, the thresher, who lay in the barn with
the rats and owls and the mysterious White Lady ;
of " Stivvy " Legg, who sat on the great sar sen-
stone all night waiting for it to turn round at cock-
crow ; and, not the least famous, Tom Fowler, the
carter, noted for an extraordinary feat of strength
which he often performed for the entertainment of
the villagers. Of him it is related that he would lie
on his back beneath a farm waggon, place his feet
against the hind axle-tree, lift up the waggon with
the strength of his legs and back, and turn the two
wheels round simultaneously with his hands.
The following is a record of Father Fowler's mowing,
preserved since the summer of 1836 :
Stanton Mead. Brick Field.
Wyld's Ground. Call's Piece.
Bean Lands. Ram's Close.
Number of acres, 45 10 perch. Sum per
acre, 3s. Amount to receive, £6, 15s. 4d.
GREASING THE SCYTHE 271
One day the young shepherd went out mowing
with the old man, though he eould make but
little progress. " Tackle wants graacin'," said he,
darkly.
" You ! What did the owl' fella mean bi saayin'
as my tackle wanted graacin' ? " inquired the shepherd
of his mate at night.
" Thee take an' gie'n a good piece o' bacon an'
'e'll put the zithe right far tha. Tha essent a got
un zet right, locks ! " answered he.
Old Farmer Hunter knew everyone's footprints
but his own, so, when the boy Fowler borrowed
his master's boots to go plum-stealing he was at a
loss to trace the thieves and put it down to strangers.
Magpies at 4<J.
Tomtits at £d.
Skylarks at £d.
Twenty birds required to make a value of Is. 8d.
Answer : Three Magpies.
Fifteen Tomtits.
Two Skylarks.
To blow two bricks, weighing 14 lbs. and laid
flat, off the table with the breath and so equal the
carter's feat, place them upon a thin paper bag and
blow up that with the mouth, when the bricks will
leap off the table on to the ground.
The making a pocket-knife drop from a joist
of the ceiling upon a sixpenny bit on the floor is
assured by the following method. First stick the
point of the pocket-knife slightly into the joist ;
next hold a cupful of water beneath the handle
and mark where the drop falls when you have re-
moved the cup. On that spot place the sixpence,
then rap the joist gently with your knuckles, and
272 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
the knife, if it be stuck in the wood truly, will fall
on the coin.
Then there are the scissors and button-hook trick,
the knife and needle puzzle — a magnetic game —
the hot air juggle, making a penny stand on the rim
of a tumbler, and the finding of magical verses in the
Bible, all which the ploughboys learned at home on
winter evenings, while their father was gone to
attend to his horses in the stable, and their mother
sang to them the piteous fate of William and Dinah,
the unhappy lovers who poisoned themselves and
who " lay both in one grave," or told how
" There came three gipsies to the gate,
They sang brisk and bonny O,
They sang so neat and so complete,
That downstairs came the lady O ;
She pulled off her silken gown,
And with a blanket round her shoulders thrown,
Said she'd leave her new-wedded lord
And follow the draggle-tailed gipsies O."
CHAPTER XVI
Bide Mill Brook and Wood — Wych-Elms — Hannington
Village — Giles Draper and the Cobbler Clerk — Farmer
Baden's Courtship — Whistling Joe, the Blacksmith —
Lye-Droppers, Potato Starch, and Rush-Lights — " Bang-
Belly " and " Frog Water "—Wooding Rhyme— A
" Journeyman Farmer " — Riddles — Rustic Lore — " Oby "
and " Scamp."
THE small stream that flows through Stanton
Woods, giving fragrance to the violets and
toughness to the oaks and beeches, and goes singing
between primrose-studded banks, whispering strange
secrets of buried skeletons and white grinning skulls,
spring-guns, and man-traps to the golden iris and
blue-eyed forget-me-nots, is without a name until
it winds round the slope below Hannington Church
and plunges past the old Bide Mill. From this
point — for its services rendered to the miller in times
past — it is known as Bide Mill Brook. Henceforth
it is free to wander at will adown the sunny meadows
and seek out the flowery Thames that winds round
to Inglesham and Lechlade.
Running along at the foot of the slope above the
mill-pond is a wood of half a dozen acres so thickly
grown with oak, ash, and towering Scots firs as
to be almost impenetrable, and showing dark and
gloomy from the road that leads down beneath the
avenue of venerable wych-elms. No primroses,
anemones, or bluebells grow within the wood, for
the ground is wet and boggy ; they delight in a dry
18
274 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
situation and cannot live without pure air and bright
sunshine. But though Flora shuns the dark wood,
every summer sweet Philomela wakes the echoes
by the brook-side, while the doves and jays build
their nests and rear their young in the crowns of the
high oak-trees. Swarms of cunning greedy foxes
lie in the thickets and breed among the long grasses
and nettles, and in the hollow " stowls."
On the face of a stone in the chancel wall facing
the wood is an impression made by the foot of a
prehistoric animal, larger than that of a fox or an
otter, and which was furnished with four toes and
rather a large pad. Doubtless the stone was ob-
tained in the locality of the Thames, and the imprint
records the passage of the animal along the wet
sand in search of its prey ages before the river had
shrunk to its present proportion, and before the
mighty forest grew that filled the valley and stretched
away to the distant Cotswolds.
Grand, rich, and stately as is the common elm,
it is inferior in grace and light beauty to the wych-
elm or wych-hazel — the " wild elm " of Scotland
and Ireland. This, while it does not usually tower
as high, comes to equal the common elm in bulk
and often to surpass it in the quantity of boughs
and foliage that radiate from the fork above the
trunk and spread out like a giant umbrella, some-
times covering a space four or five hundred feet in
circumference. From its abundance in Wiltshire
the common elm has been called the " Wiltshire
Weed." So prolific is it that it has been claimed
that if the scythe and cattle were kept out of the
fields for twenty years the valley would be covered
with a forest as dense as it was in prehistoric days.
The wych-elm is propagated by seed, and the
AN UNLUCKY SIGN 275
common elm by suckers, since the fruit of the last-
named rarely ripens in Britain. In former times
the young wood of the wych-elm was used for making
bows and was considered not much inferior to yew.
Many villagers, in cases of cold or sore throat, strip
off the inner bark of the young wands and chew it
raw, or boil it and drink the liquor. This, when cold,
settles into a brown jelly that is not unpleasant to
the taste. I have often taken it as a boy, preparing
it according to the directions given me by my old
grandmother, who was skilled in the use of herbs
and in the making of ointments from " Jack-by- the-
Hedge " — garlic mustard — young primrose leaves,
and other plants and flowers.
The village of Hannington lies beyond the avenues.
At one time it was larger than it is now. When
the land was laid down for pasture fewer hands
were required. Little by little the population de-
creased. The houses were demolished and no more
were built to replace them. During the last fifty
years many cottages have been destroyed and not
above half a dozen new ones erected. The two old
inns — the Cat and Mouse and the Dog — have also
disappeared, though a small farmhouse in the hollow
was converted into an hostelry, and the sign of the
Jolly Tar was hoisted above the door. An incident
that occurred during the building of the inn did
not tend to make the house popular, and it may be
that it reflected the feelings of the villagers at the
time. It is said that the local carpenter, after
hanging the new sign of the Jolly Tar, went home
and hung himself.
The two inns, the Cat and the Dog, played an
important part in the life of the village, and though
some of the proceedings carried on within them
276 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
might have shocked those imbued with modern
ideas of civil refinement, they were a proof of the
hardihood of the population. The sports of bull-
baiting, cock-fighting, wrestling, and boxing were
regularly indulged in, and were witnessed and counte-
nanced by the local squire and the parson, who
admired the Greek nature of the games, and saw no
harm in them, even though they might be attended
with a little rough play towards the close, as in the
case of Harry Waterman, the gamester of Highworth.
For several years in succession he had come down
to the feast and had made himself objectionable to
all and sundry. At length, the villagers, headed by
one Giles Draper, set upon him furiously, tore the
clothes from his back, and chased him home naked
across the fields to Highworth, in spite of the efforts
of the constable, who shouted loudly for help " in
the Queen's name," and tried hard to arrest the
ringleaders.
The constable was a big burly man and was noted
for several feats of strength. It is said that he
could lift a heavy farm waggon from the ground on
his back, so it was comparatively an easy matter
for him to carry off refractory villagers to the Blind
House, or to set them in the stocks that stood opposite
the old Cat and Mouse Inn. It chanced that the
last man to be imprisoned in the stocks, by name
Davy Garrett, had a wooden leg. His offence was
that of being drunk and unable to walk. He pleaded
hard with the constable and begged that only his
wooden leg might be infixed in the instrument, but
the man of the law was inexorable and compelled
him to sit there from sunrise to sunset during the
next day, which was the Sabbath.
Giles Draper, who led the villagers against Harry
A SQUARE MEAL 277
Waterman, disturber of the feast, was an old soldier
and a famous mower. He was able to cut two
acres of grass in a day and to keep up the effort for
a week at a stretch. Such extraordinary exertions
naturally made him very hungry and thirsty, and
it is not to be wondered at that he discovered an
enormous appetite, though it is difficult to believe
that he really ate a quartern loaf and two pounds
of bacon and drank a gallon of fresh beer at a meal.
As he advanced in age the hard toil of the fields
told upon him. His joints became stiff and feeble,
and he thought of his earlier years. " I shall hae
to do all that mowin' over agyen," said he to Dick
Willis, the ox-man, who was puzzled at the time to
know what he meant, though he understood it
afterwards.
There was a long list of Hannington worthies
while the ancient village stood. First was Squire
Montgomery, who lived at the Hall. Next was
Humphrey Baden — as good a farmer as ever brewed
ale ; Mary Rowlands, Moll Higgins, Sarah George,
and Martha Hedges — haymakers, reapers, cheese-
makers, and dairy women ; Jack Woolford, cow-
man, Finch the woodman, Daniel Yeates, the ancient
miller, Joe Jarvis, blacksmith, and Bob Hewitt,
cobbler, bell-ringer, church clerk, and gravedigger.
Old Hewitt had earned renown as a cobbler and
gravedigger, though he was deficient in his duties
as clerk, which was probably a result of his too
frequent attendance at the Dog Inn, which was a
favourite resort of his. Almost every Sunday, during
service at the church, he fell asleep in his pew beneath
the high gallery, and as soon as he awoke, without
waiting to see at which point the parson had arrived,
he loudly shouted out : " Aaff-menn." Fixed to a
278 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
beam in the ceiling at the Dog was a stout iron hook.
From this the shoemaker clerk, when he felt so in-
clined, would hang with his left hand and continue
chatting with one and the other till he had drunk a
gallon of strong beer.
" By gad, Finch, this will never do," cried the new
squire to the old woodman, meeting him one night
on the way home with a large faggot, provided with
two forks and a " stand up " at his back. " You'll
ruin me, man."
" Baggin' yer pardon, sir, 'tis nothin' onusual,"
answered he.
" Nothing unusual ! " exclaimed the squire.
" What do you want with those two forks besides
the faggot, there ? "
" Them's the bear-aways, sir," replied the wood-
man.
" The bear-aways, eh ! And what's the one
hanging down behind you ? "
" That's the teal-away, sir."
" Oh ! the teal-away, is it ? Well ! for the future
you shall neither bear away nor teal away my wood
in this fashion, but be satisfied with a small faggot
and one fork, and see you bring that back with you
every morning."
Humphrey Baden courted one of two sisters, both
of whom " wanted " him for a husband. The young
lady of his choice being poor, that circumstance
gave the other — who had money — an opportunity of
pressing her suit. She accordingly met Humphrey
in the lane one night and boldly addressed him. " If
I was in your place I should look after somebody
different to my sister, for her got nothing," said she.
Thereupon Humphrey took the hint and proposed to
her on the spot, and they were soon afterwards married.
SHREWD WIT 279
Humphrey's fame as a good farmer and cultivator
and a kind master had spread around the Vale, and
was only eclipsed by that of John Archer, of Lushill.
When the steam-ploughs came on the scene and
other farmers got rid of their oxen, he kept his and
went on as before. " Ya owl' fool ! " said a neigh-
bour to him at length, " Why dossent zill the beyast
an' 'ae the steam uns ? "
" I can work oxen an' aaterwerds fat em an' zell
em, locks ! but neether thee ner I, ner nobody else,
can fat a ploughin' ingine," Humphrey replied.
Strong and hardy, blunt and outspoken, but
honest and straightforward were the women who
toiled in old Humphrey's fields haymaking and
harvesting throughout the summer and autumn.
Sarah George, the carter's wife, was the recognised
leader of the feminine element, and Moll Higgins was
respected as her lieutenant. Without doubt a little
scandal was sometimes discussed among the haycocks
and wheat sheaves, but Sarah spoke her mind with
perfect candour and answered a squeamish remark
with : " Aa, damn tha ! Some fawks channges
mutton for mutton, dwun em ? "
" Sally ! What sart of a tree do you call this un ? "
inquired Jack Woolford, the cowman, of Sarah one
day, pointing to an exotic shrub opposite the Hall.
" Why ! a ooden un to be sure, ya fool ! " replied
she, passing quickly on her way.
After Moll Higgins' husband Tom died and the
men took to chaffing her about marrying again she
declared that she " wouldn't hev the brightest man
as ever wore a head," though she finally succumbed
to the charms of Dick Willis, widower. Then one of
the daymen said to her : " Mary, I thought you
said you oodn't hev the brightest man as ever werred
280 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
a head, an' now yer be you agwain to marry Richat
Willis, as ardinary a man as ever lived in Anninton."
" Ya fool ! I 'edn't 'ed the chance to 'ev t'other
un, 'ed I," answered she.
The old blacksmith, " Whistling Joe," what time he
was not engaged shaping horseshoes and forging
new shares and coulters on the anvil, made nails of
scrap iron and sold them at 4d. a pound. He served
his apprenticeship at Buscot and had to attend the
neighbouring village of Kelmscott every morning in
order to do the shoeing. When the Thames was in
flood, he crossed the river at Buscot Lock, took off
his clothes, tied them in a bundle, placed them on
his head with his nail-box, hammer, and pincers, and
walked naked for a mile through the flooded meadows,
often with the water to his breast.
" I walked by myself, I said to myself, self said unto me —
' Beware of thyself, take care of thyself, for nobody will
take care of thee,' "
is a favourite rhyme of the smith's. This he learned
of his old master, the Buscot blacksmith ; he often
quotes it at the age of fourscore and five.
Those were the days of tinder-boxes, lye-droppers,
rush-lights, home-made candles, and potato starch.
Tinder-boxes have long disappeared from the cottages,
and the old-fashioned lye-dropper has also become a
thing of the past. The lye-dropper was used for the
softening of water for the wash-tub before soda
became cheap and common about the countryside.
It was in the form of a box, eighteen inches or two feet
square at the top, a foot and a half in depth, and
about twelve inches square at the bottom, the board
of which was perforated with a nail-passer. A
quantity of charcoal was placed in the lye-dropper.
HOME-MADE STARCH 281
That was then set over a pan or tub, and the hard
water was poured upon the charcoal and allowed to
filter through into the vessel beneath. The water,
after passing through the charcoal, was called the
" lyes " — lees — and so the vessel was called the
" lye-dropper." The process of water-softening was
a rather tedious one and it was usual for the house-
wife to be engaged for several days at the " lye-
dropping."
Potato starch was made by grating the potatoes
into a pot or pan and adding a sufficient quantity of
boiling water. All night, before Highworth Fair,
Fanny Beckett toiled hard to have her new dress
ready for the occasion, and only realised at three
o'clock in the morning that there was no starch in
the house to finish it.
" Oh, mother ! whatever shall I do ? I shan't be
able to wear my new frock, for we got no starch,"
cried she.
" Run out in the garden an' uck up a few taters,"
her good mother answered. So she ran and got the
potatoes and made the starch, and between them
they finished the dress, and Fanny looked very pretty
in it and danced merrily in the booth with the young
carters and shepherds.
The majority of the cottagers made their own rush-
lights and, at a later date, their candles, using for the
purpose tallow, or mutton fat. Old Elijah, of Ingles-
ham, was highly expert in the making of both rush-
lights and candles. To make the first-named he
obtained rushes from the lowlands by the Thames,
removed the green skin — all but one strip — from the
pith, and when that was dry dipped it in the hot fat
and allowed it to set.
The common way of making candles at home was
282 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
to obtain a supply of dry teasel " gixes " from the
hedgerows, cut them into convenient lengths, draw
a small string or thread through the middle, and then
to fill them with hot fat. When the fat had set the
dry gix was cut away and the candle was ready for
use.
The meal for making " barley-dodkins," " barley-
scawters," " barley-bangers," or " pot-cakes " was
usually shaken through a piece of coarse muslin.
When Sarah George and Moll Higgins were preparing
their weekly batch, however, they sifted the meal
through their Sunday bonnets.
Old Betty Ockwell's favourite dish — and one she
provided for her children — was nicknamed " bang-
belly." This consisted of milk, well stiffened with
wheaten flour.
Frog-water was drunk in the place of tea when
that was too expensive for poor people to buy. First
a frog was placed in the teapot and boiling water
poured upon it. After standing for a few minutes —
or it might be boiled — the liquor was fit for use. The
" frog " was the thick crust cut from the bottom of
a loaf and blackened in the oven or before the fire.
" Plaaze to gie ma a bit o' 'ood to do mi bakin',"
said Davy Garrett to " Lord " Withers, of The Nell,
meeting him one day down Golden Rose Lane.
"Man! Man! Man! I got no 'ood. All's I
got to bake mi own loaves wi' is a bit o' green eldern,
an' missis slips it into the o-ven an' ther' 'tis a 'oppin'
an' poppin', spettin' an' 'issin', jumpin' an' crackin',
an' when the bread bin in a hour an' moore chent
nam a damn bit the doneder," returned he.
The omnivorous gipsies that encamped in Hanning-
ton Lane would dig up a pig that had been buried for
three or four days and devour it, turning it into a
A WEALTHY GIPSY 283
savoury meal. They considered that any kind of
flesh was good for food provided it would " take
salt."
Four local farmers courted a beautiful dark-eyed
gipsy girl, the daughter of Mark the Gipsy, who,
though he practised the trade of a tinker, had twelve
good horses and was said to own land " from London
to Bristol." He had three daughters, and he caused
it to be known that he was prepared to give a dowry
of £1000 with each of them.
Not only gipsies but others have made use of
swine that had died and been buried. Jack Hughes
and Tom Bailey, hearing that the roadmender's sow
had died in farrowing, and coming to know where it
was buried, went to the spot at night, dug it up,
plunged it into a large tub of hot water, dressed it,
and then carried it off and sold it as prime pork in
the town.
Farmer Hunter, having forty sacks of potatoes for
sale, and having received an offer from a dealer at
Chippenham, put them on rail, but took the precau-
tion of getting in the waggon under the sheet and
travelling down with them and demanded cash at
the other end.
" Thenk ee ver a veow zwedes, maester," said
Geb Zillard to old Pete Smith.
" Wants thaay for my ship," said he, striding by.
" Aw right, maester," said Geb quietly.
Presently the farmer turned round and strode
back.
" Aa, Geb, thee cast hae some swedes," said he.
" Thee cast go an' pull one, two, dree, vower, vive,
zix, zeven, aaight, nine, ten, 'leven, twelve, up to
twenty, an' when thaay be gone tha cast hev another
lot, if thas likes to."
284 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
The following rhyme illustrates the ancient custom
of wooding in the copses before coal was avail-
able, and shows how the farmer used occasionally
to hide behind the trees, waiting for the rustics in
the moonlight.
The Rustic appears.
" By the blessing of the Lord I lay down my cord ;
By the blessing of the Moon I'll be back home soon.
The Farmer, leaping from behind the tree.
" By the blessing of the Sun I'll make thee run."
Hannington Feast, Marston Feast, and Wroughton
Feast all fell on the same day, which chanced to be
about the middle of haymaking. Jack Kibblewhite,
having a chum at Wroughton, and wanting to see
the backswording for which that place was famed,
going there on the Sunday was induced to stop the
week and was brought before the magistrates for
being absent from mowing.
" I only went to Wroughton Feast, sir," said he
to the Chairman, in extenuation of his offence.
Then David Archer, brother of the Squire of
Lushill, gravely returned : " Ah ! young man, we're
all well aware of that, for it is a sure thing that if
you hadn't gone to Wroughton Feast, Wroughton
Feast would never have come to you."
Previous to that three men — one a cousin to Jack —
had been sheep-stealing, and would have got clear
if one of them had not turned Queen's evidence.
When the other two were brought up, to every
question addressed to them they soberly answered :
" I was there," and uttered not a word besides.
They failed materially to impress the squire, how-
ever, who merely remarked : " I quite believe you,"
and committed them to prison for a certain term.
A STRANGE SECLUSION 285
One Jeremiah Ewer lived at Crouch at that time.
He was noted for acrobatic feats and was clever
at somersaults, and particularly at standing and
' walking " on his head, though he was so idle that
he would not even put the rudge chain over the
horse's back for the carter. He placed the boy
Jack in charge of the women in the fields and called
him his " bailey," and asked his advice on all matters
pertaining to the cattle and crops. Jack was so
sluggish that he would lie down anywhere and sleep
for hours, but Jeremiah only laughed at him and
called him a " lazy scamp " and a " wosbird," and
" a purty fine fella to be a bailey." As Jeremiah
advanced in years he became reserved and eccentric.
He clapped on his knee with his hand so frequently
that he wore a new smock into a hole in a week.
At length he retired into the attic and stayed
there for sixteen years without once coming
down, not even when his aged father and mother
died in the same house and were carried off for
burial.
What is a " Journeyman Farmer " ? He is not
really a farmer at all, but a labourer, a " Jack of all
trades," that can turn his hand to ploughing, sowing,
hoeing, reaping, mowing, threshing, shepherding,
sheep-shearing, cartering, milking, hedge-cutting,
ditching, draining, tree-felling, thatching, hurdle-
making, faggoting, and anything else that may be
needed of him, as well as being able to help the
master with particular advice concerning the exact
times for sowing and the quantities of seed required
according to the soil and season, cutting and carrying
crops, complaints in cattle, and being a reliable
weather prophet into the bargain. Such were old
Elijah lies of Inglesham, " Wassail " Harvey of
286 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
Cricklade, Tom Hancock of Blunsdon Hill, and
Gabriel Zillard of Hannington.
and
When the moon lays on his back,
Then he holds wet in his lap."
If it rains on Easter Day,
Plenty of grass but not much hay,"
say the villagers. If the ducks and geese quack
and cackle clamorously and come running home from
the pool, or the cocks and hens rub themselves in
the dust, or the old sow runs squealing to and fro
grubbing with her snout ; or if the bees remain in
the hives, or the spiders run up and down the walls
at night, or the water boils away swiftly in the pot,
or the mischievous moles cast up the earth with
more than their usual energy, rain is sure soon to
follow. But if the cows lie down, or the bull follows
the herd to pasture, or the swallows mount high,
or the pretty pimpernel, wood-sorrel, and dandelion
open their petals in the early morning, that is a sure
sign of fine weather.
There are many other sayings and rhymes touch-
ing the weather which are not so well remembered
by those of the present generation, though some of
the old folks occasionally make use of them, usually
more by accident than intention. Such are the
following :
" March winds will search you, April will try,
May will tell you whether you will live or die."
" A cold April with no leaves
Will fill the barn chock-full of sheaves."
" When the cuckoo comes to the bare thorn,
Sell your cow and buy your corn,
But when he comes to the full bit,
Sell your corn and buy your sheep."
SEEING IS BELIEVING 287
" If a cock moults before the hen,
We shall have weather both thick and thin.
But if the hen moults before the cock,
We shall have weather as hard as a block."
" A rainbow at eve, it will rain and leave.
A rainbow at morrow, it will neither lend nor borrow."
" A Thursday's moon and a Friday's full,
Alius was a flood and alius 'ull."
" Sow your barley, be it dry or wet,
When the old sloe tree's white as a sheet."
" No weather is ill
If the wind be still,
But rough wind and storm
Works plenty of harm."
" A Tuesday's moon always comes too soon
If it only comes once in seven years."
When Betty Kinch, the cowman's wife, wished
to know whether it rained or not — unless there was a
heavy downpour — she gave one of the children a
good cuff and sent it running down to view the
surface of the big pond that stood in the meadow
at some distance from the house, and would not
otherwise be satisfied.
Come riddle me, riddle me, riddle me, ree,
None are so blind as those that won't see.
" It walked upon earth,
It talked upon earth,
It never committed a sin,
It will neither go to heaven nor hell,
And never will enter therein."
(" Why hast thou smitten me these three times ? ")
"In a garden there stayed
A beautiful maid,
As gay as the flowers of the morn ;
The first hour of her life
She became a wife,
And died before she was born."
Answer : Eve.
288 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
Riddle, heard at Coleshill Feast, in the year 1830 :
" When first the marriage knot was tied between my wife
and me
My age exceeded hers as much as three times three does
three,
But when ten years and half ten years we man and wife
had been
Her age approached as near to mine as eight is to six-
teen."
Answer : At the time of their marriage the age of the bride-
groom was forty-five and that of the bride fifteen. After
fifteen years the husband was aged sixty and the wife thirty.
"There was a man and he had no eyes,
And he went out to view the skies ;
He saw a tree with apples on,
He took none off and left none on."
It appears that the man had one eye, and the tree two
apples. Of the apples he took one and left one.
" Shrove Tuesday, Ash Wednesday poor Jack went to plough,
His mother made pancakes, she didn't know how,
She tossed them and rolled them and made them so black,
She put too much pepper and poisoned poor Jack."
When the ancient Saxons tilled the land around
Highworth, they fastened their horses to the plough
by their tails in order to draw them along. They
never sheared their sheep, as we do, but plucked
the wool from the backs of the living animals
every spring-time. The month of May they called
" Trimilki," because they then began to milk their
kine three times daily.
" There was a man indeed,
He sowed his garden full of seed.
When the seed began to grow
'Twas like a garden full of snow.
When the snow began to fall
'Twas like a bird upon the wall.
MAINLY SUPERSTITIONS 289
When the bird began to fly
'Twas like an eagle in the sky.
When the eagle began to roar
'Twas like a bulldog at the door.
When the door began to crack
'Twas like a stick about my back.
When my back began to smart
'Twas like a penknife in my heart.
When my heart began to bleed
'Twas like the kernel of the seed."
If you are a true rustic, you will take particular care
never to view yourself in a glass when you are ill ;
never to let a young baby see a looking-glass ;
never to lock the door upon a dead person, and always
to have a candle burning beside it ;
never to give away a knife, which would certainly cut
off love ;
never to cross two knives on a plate at table, which
signifies strife ;
never to pass anyone on the stairs, or have snowdrops
or hawthorn blossom indoors, or allow a woman to be
the first to enter your house on New Year's Day ; and
be sure never to look upon a new moon for the first
time through a closed window.
It is also considered of evil omen to dream of eggs,
snakes, money, or water, or to walk beneath a ladder
leaned against a wall or haystack ; but it is lucky to
dream of lice, to " fall upstairs," to put on clothes
the wrong way, or to do anything backwards, to
pick up coal, a nail, or a horseshoe, and especially to
have a mole on the right side of your body.
" A mole on the neck
Brings money by the peck,"
and
" Two moles within a span
Marry a man with house and land,"
they say, but
" A blue vein across your nose
You'll never wear wedding clothes."
*9
290 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
" Dream of the dead and you'll hear of the living ;
Dream of a wedding and you'll hear of a funeral ;
but
" Dream of flowers out of season
You'll have troubles without reason."
Most cottagers' wives occasionally have the " news-
bells " in their ears. If, at such times, they are
careful to hold their tongues they will be sure to
hear interesting revelations, but if they go on chatter-
ing like magpies Rumour will not come their way.
If the ear burns and tingles someone is talking of
you— the right ear for spite and the left for love.
To produce warts — according to an ancient belief
— -wash the hands with water in which an egg has been
boiled. To cure them take an elder twig, strip it of
leaves and knots, and drive it into the earth out of
sight, taking care not to visit the spot for seventeen
days afterwards.
The old-fashioned sort of farmer is careful to eat
only those parts of the beast upon which the sun
shines.
" Wher' be I to go wi' tha looadd, maester ? " in-
quired " Scamp " of old " Oby " the farmer, wanting
to shift a cartload of manure from the stable yard.
" Damn tha ! take it up to the farks o' that tree an'
shoot it out ther'," replied he angrily.
When " Scamp " was told off to help Jimmy in
the garden the roguish under-carter whispered a
secret in his ear, as to the best way of handling the
old fellow. Arrived at the potato patch, everything
went smoothly for a time. Then " Scamp," who
was setting the potatoes, suddenly blurted out —
" Kip the line tight, Jimmy ! " whereupon Jimmy
pitched the fork at him, and chased him through the
muddy brook and back into the brewhouse, where
PEGGLE WINE 291
he took refuge up the chimney till " Oby " came on
the scene with his gun and scared him out of it, as
black as a sweep.
Wine made of peggles and ipsons — that is, of the
berries of the hawthorn and wild rose — has a delicate
flavour and was popular with the old folks, though
it has gone out of fashion of late years, chiefly by
reason of the abundance of superior fruits.
CHAPTER XVII
A Retrospect — The Thames in Flood — Gramp's Cottage —
" Farmer Bernard and Yellow-breeches the Lawyer "—
Healths and Toasts — " Parson Jingle- Jaw's Adventure "
— " Sweet Peggy O " — Skit on the Fast ordered by
Parliament at the Time of the Cotton Famine — The
Mumming Play of Robin Hood and Little John.
IT was haytime when we met in the meadows at
Lushill, before setting out to explore the
country and villages. On every side the busy toilers
were at work, some slaughtering the ripe, heavy crops
full of orchis and the rich, crimson-seeded sorrel ;
others raking up the hay ready for the pitchers and
loaders. In the deep ditch and alongside the river
bloomed the beautiful loose-strife, valerian, and iris ;
the hedges were laden with wild roses and black-
berry blossom. Overhead the sun shone warm and
bright. The birds — except the cuckoo — sat mute
in the boughs. The fields, trees, and atmosphere
quivered with the heat ; it was perfect summer-
time.
A great change has taken place. Summer has
flown. Autumn has come and gone, and grizzly
Winter bestrides the vale. The flowers have withered,
and the fields are brown and sere. The rugged,
massive elms are naked and desolate, and the beeches
in the wood stand bare and beautiful, drooping their
smooth branches down to the ground. The day is
short and usually dull ; the whole valley and the
292
WINTER WEATHER 293
Cotswolds beyond look intensely blue beneath the
cold wintry sky.
Several times of late the Thames has been in flood.
The south-west wind — that lay low throughout the
autumn — awoke from sleep mightily about the
beginning of December, and, racing up the wide
Atlantic, lifting and driving the heavy waves before
him, panting and puffing, burst furiously upon the
land, bringing torrential rains. All day and night
the tempest raged and the drenching torrents fell.
The old elm-trees swayed to and fro noisily and beat
their boughs together, and the poplars bent their
tops over crescent-wise, while the dripping oaks
stood immovable. The hills and downs were hidden
with masses of grey rolling clouds, and everything
in the valley was blotted out. Adown the hills a
hundred torrents ran splashing, shouting, and leaping
in headlong haste, as though eager to see which
should come first to the lowlands. As the hatches
were not yet removed, the streams overflowed their
banks and covered the meadows in the upper parts
of the valley.
It took twenty-four hours' incessant rain to cause
the flood, with ten hours added in which to allow
the water to be carried down by the brooks and
streamlets. Then thousands of acres on both sides
of the river were covered a yard deep or more ; the
hedgerows were submerged, and only the tops of the
hawthorn clumps and withies were visible. The
merry Cole leapt over the top of the hatches and
roared and foamed below like a mad bull ; but the
Thames was silent, and rolled his torrent along
steadily, though with tremendous power. In less
than three days the flood subsided. Then crowds of
wild-fowl sailed over the meadows, searching for
294 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
small fish, and the great chubs that came out of the
river went wriggling home again with their backs and
tails half out of water. A week afterwards the storm
repeated and the river rose again, and so on several
times until the wind finally sank and the pale moon
shone in a calm, cloudless sky.
The continual rains, winds, and floods greatly
perturbed grandfather Elijah of Inglesham. It was
not that he was afraid of the water. His cottage is
too elevated for that to reach, even at the highest
floods. He is, moreover, used to the inundations,
for he has known them these ninety years, and he
understands the old Thames perfectly. While others
view the sea of waters with real alarm and wonder
how much higher it is going to rise, he surveys the
scene calmly from the window and sits down again
in his arm-chair beside the fire. "Tha bin dippin'
an't up out o' the Channel an' chockin' an't over
thaay owl' 'ills agyen. A good job when 'tis gone
to make room for zum more," he complacently
remarks.
Why, then, is he anxious now ? Or what makes
him impatient ? It is simply this. He has been
promised a special visit, one that should last a whole
night without interruption, and he is eagerly looking
forward to having the engagement fulfilled. The
fact is, grandfather Elijah has several old songs he
wants to sing, and one or two quaint rhymes to repeat,
and he is furthermore very anxious to recite to us
the play of Robin Hood and Little John, as acted by
the Mummers when he was a boy. With so much
wind and wet prevalent and the floods out in so
many places this had to be again and again postponed.
At last, since the time of year was drawing on, it
was considered advisable to wait till Christmas.
" GOODING DAY " 295
" P'raps the owl' dooman ull be out for fine then, an'
the wind ull a zunk a bit," said Gramp.
A spell of fine weather followed the wind and
floods. By day the sun shone softly from a silver sky,
and at night the stars came out and peeped through
long lines of transparent clouds, and the season
was mild. The water in the river fell to its normal
winter level and the pools in the meadows gradually
disappeared. Vast flocks of rooks and starlings
settled in the fields where the floods had been, and
even ran about in the shallow waters, splashing and
spluttering in their eagerness to outdo each other in
snatching up the unhappy worms and insects. Every
night, in the starry silence, you could hear the Cole
leaping into the broad pool where the great trout
lie beneath the naked willow boughs. Across the
meadows, the steady Coin thundered over the great
hatch-doors at Whelford Mill. With a sweet, low
sound the Thames glided over the weir at St. John's
Bridge ; the chow, chow of the iron wheel at Buscot
could be heard a mile distant.
The few remaining days before Christmas passed
by quickly. For a week the children had gone round
to the farms every night, singing and begging. They
carried lanterns made of swedes hollowed out, with
a piece of candle fitted inside, and held them by the
stump, warding off the draught with their hands.
Then came " Gooding Day," or " Begging Day " — ■
which is always eagerly looked forward to by the
village children — and, finally, the day before Christmas
itself and the date of the proposed meeting at old
Elijah's house.
A little before four o'clock the sun set, dropping
down behind Lushill, and soon afterwards the station
lamps at Highworth were lit, showing afar off like
296 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
the lights of a ship at sea. The interior of Gramp's
cottage was warm and bright. A fire of logs blazed
up the chimney-back and a large lamp stood in the
centre of the table beneath a rather low ceiling.
Numerous pictures and photographs hung on the
walls around. Above them were set sprigs of holly
and mistletoe, or little boughs of ivy. On each side
of the chimney was a recess fitted with cupboards
and shelves containing dishes and chinaware, mugs,
and tumblers, gleaming in the merry firelight. The
small clock on the mantelpiece was twenty minutes
ahead of time. This is not an uncommon thing to
find in the cottages, for the villagers love to be
deceived in the matter of moments, and to feel that
the hour is not really as far advanced as is indicated
by the hands of the instrument. Inside the door
was a thin partition to protect the fireplace from
draught. Behind this old Elijah always sat, and
never thought of shifting his position out of con-
sideration for any.
Each of the visitors to the cottage had brought
Gramp a small present. Clothes he needed not, nor
yet a new pair of boots, for he seldom wore anything
but slippers, either indoors or out. Books and news-
papers were useless to him, for he could not see to
read, and he had a sufficient stock of knowledge
crammed into his old head to last him for the rest
of his days. This his children and grandchildren
knew, and so did not trouble to buy him anything
that would be of no use. Instead they brought him
a few good things to eat — cakes and oranges, a piece
of beef for Christmas dinner, several ounces of tobacco,
and a little flask of whisky. With all these Gramp
was greatly pleased, though it was easy to see that
he most preferred the tobacco and the small flask of
A FAMILY PARTY 297
barley juice, which, after all, was quite natural for
one of his years. His delight in the tobacco was
unbounded. "Ho! ho! ho! H'm ! h'm ! h'm!"
chuckled he, taking up the packages and holding
them in his mouth one after another, and tossing his
head the while, before he stowed them away on the
shelf beside his pipe and spills, and sat down in the
arm-chair with a triumphant expression upon his
countenance.
Gramp was the hero of the hour. This he knew,
though he tried to be natural and to conceal his joy
at having the company present. His daughter
called him " a regular owl' toff " and teased him
about wanting a " hair-cut." The grandchildren
laughed and chattered like magpies, but old Elijah
smiled the smile of one who is master of the situation
and sat quietly and comfortably in his chair, smok-
ing, and awaiting a convenient time for beginning
the entertainment. He was dressed in corduroy
trousers, with woollen waistcoat and cardigan jacket,
and he had on a new felt hat such as is worn in
the fields at haymaking. His wooden pipe was
laid aside for a new clay with a long stem. His
long snow-white hair fell gracefully over his
shoulders and gave dignity to his form ; he was
really a grand old man, whose worth could not be
over-estimated.
When the table had been cleared of the tea-things
there came a lull in the conversation. Then Mrs.
Lawrence, Gramp's daughter, gave the fire a vigorous
rout, brought more coals and set on the kettle again.
Suddenly, without warning, Gramp burst into song
with a clear, ringing voice, and we knew the time for
festivity had arrived. He only sang one verse of the
ditty. This was concerning two farmers who took
298 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
refuge in the church porch during a heavy thunder-
shower.
"Says Mark O to Peter O — 'This is very funny weather.
This will make the little seeds to grow and all things spring
up together.'
" Says Peter O to Mark O — ' I'll trudge along, in spite of the
weather,
For three wives buried have I got snug in this churchyard
together.' "
Then he went on : "I was jest a thenkin' now 'e
be got yer 'e med as well do zummat, 'cos Time's on
the wing an' waits for no man, an' 'tis a very good
thing to do the same as Farmer Bernard when he
went to zee owl' Yalla-britches, the laayer, an' never
put off till to-morra what you can do to-day. What
be us to hae fust ? A bit of a zong or a tale, or what ?
We'd better lave owl' Robin 'Ood till last, 'cos ther's
a longish piece o' 'e. 'Tool take two or dree hours
to spake 'e off, all an in."
" Wha's that about owl' Yalla-britches ? " inquired
Mrs. Lawrence.
'Bout owl' Yalla-britches ? Why, Farmer Bernard
" 'i
an' 'e."
" Well, what is it ? "
" Farmer Bernard was at a loss what to do wi'
'isself, an' bolts off to market. Ther' a met wi'
other farmers. Walks an' strakes about the market.
Couldn't zee nothin' to 'tract 'is attention. Goes
by owl' Yalla-britches' office.
" ' Le's go in an' zee owl' Yalla-britches, an' yer
what 'e got to talk about.' "
" Knocks at the door. Out comes Yalla-britches.
" ' Oh, good morning.'
" ' Good morning.'
' ' What's the business ? '
FARMER BERNARD'S LUCK 299
" ' I come for a little o' your advice to know 'ow
to get on in the world.'
" Yalla-britches stood an' considered a bit. Goes
to 'is desk, lays olt of a bit o' paper, pen an' ink — all
at 'and. Writes on paper — ' Never put off till to-
morrow what ought to be done to-day.'
" Wraps it up, gies it to Bernard. Bernard
takes it.
" ' What's the fee ? '
" ' Zix an' aaight pence.'
" Farmer Bernard thought he was foolish to gie
zix and aaight pence for what he know'd afore.
Anyhow, he got 'is owl' nag in the trap an' went off
early, an' 'is missis congratulated un for bein' home
early. 'Ad 'is tea an' telled the missis about owl'
Yalla-britches. Rap comes at the door.
' Maaster come home ? '
' Yes.'
" ' Wants to zi'n.'
" Bernard goes to the door.
" ' What's the matter, carter ? '
' Nothing the matter, maaster, but ther's that
bit o' whate. We be anxious to get it in. If you
be agreeable we'll ae't in 'fore us gies out.'
" Well ! tha went on an' got it done. All comes
in to zupper. Off home to bed. Latish. In the
night a thunder-storm comes on. Farmer Bernard
opens window.
" ' It rains cats an' dogs, missis. A double zix
an' aaight-pence the fust night.' Jumps into bed.
Everybody else's whate washed away but his'n."
" Oh, bad luck it can't be prevented,
Fortune she smiles and frowns,
That man's best off that's contented,
And mixes the ups wi' the downs."
300 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
Several suggestions were made as to songs. One
asked to hear " The Jolly Tinker, or Preaching for
Bacon," others preferred " Lord Bateman," " On
the Banks of Sweet Dundee," " Butter and Cheese
and All," " The Carrion Crow and the Tailor," or
" The Oyster Girl," all which Gramp knew. Finally
the matter was left for himself to decide.
Then Gramp said : " Zeein' as we got a goodish
company I thenks we ought to hae healths fust an'
drenk to one another."
A jug of ale was accordingly brought and the
tumblers were reached down from the shelf. A little
weak whisky and water, with sugar, was made for
old Elijah. Then the glasses were clinked, and the
young people stood up to drink.
" Now, then ! What is it to be ? " inquired Gramp
of the first.
Then the granddaughter replied :
" Here's a health to the world, as round as a wheel,
Death is a thing we all shall feel ;
If life were a thing that money could buy
The rich would live, and the poor would die."
" Aa ! Tha's a very good un. Go on wi' t'other,"
said Elijah.
Here the grandson spoke :
" Here's success to the plough, the fleece, and the flail,
May the landlord ever flourish and the tenant never fail."
u
Aa ! Tha's a owld un, that is. I've yerd my
grandfather saay 'e many a time when I was a
bwoy. Wha's the next un?"
Elijah's son spoke next :
" Here's a health to that as '11 do that good when
the body and soul is taken from it ! "
ANCIENT TOASTS 301
' H'm, h'm, h'm. Tha's a teert un. Don' know
the meanin' o' 'e — No."
" Yes you do know, too. What is it as does a
ooman good when 'er baby's born ? You knows as
my mother alius used to gie a cup o' hot beer to
the ooman as soon as the child was born when 'er
went a nursin'."
" Ah ! ah ! ah ! To be sure. I forgot that.
Tha's as much as to say : ' Yer's a health to the
cup o' beer as doos the ooman good when 'er baby 's
barn.' Go on wi't."
" Here's to the man with a ragged coat,
And with no means to mend it,
And here's to the man with plenty of cash,
And who doesn't know how to spend it."
" H'm ! h'm ! 'E dwun' live at our 'ouse, nat the
last un, awhever. Ther's one more to come."
" Happy have we met,
Merry have we been,
Happy may we part,
And merry meet again."
" Ah ! ah ! An' there's one very similar — what I
med zaay — agrees wi' that un very well.
" Let them be merry merry there,
And we'll be merry merry here,
But — who can tell wher' we shall be
To be merry another year ? "
'Ev 'e all done ? Spose 'tis my time now then ? "
said grandfather, rising from the chair and taking
up his glass from the table, while all eyed him
eagerly. Holding the glass on high and inclining
his head a little to one side, old Elijah delivered
his toast :
" Here's to the inside of a loaf and the outside of a gaol,
A good beefsteak and a quart of good ale,"
302 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
cried he, and drank off the contents of the glass
amid much laughter.
" But you got neether beefsteak nor yet ale, for
you drunk whisky an' water," cried Mrs. Lawrence.
There was no holding Gramp after that. His old
face wore an ineffable expression, and he shook with
frequent laughter. First he sang " Paddle your own
Canoe, my Boys," then ran into " The Four and
Nine," and ended with " Blow the Candle out."
Afterwards followed a short bit of patter, then came
" Parson Jingle-Jaw's Adventure " and the song
of " Sweet Peggy O," newly remembered after sixty
years.
" All you that have ears to hear, eyes to see, tongues
to taste, and throats to swallow, draw near, draw
near and pick up the crumbs I'm going to scatter
about amongst you, the crumbs of comfort where-
with you must be crammed till you become chickens
of grace and cooped up in the coop of righteousness,
there to make bubble for somebody's dinner. And
if your hearts are as hard as a Cheshire cheese or a
Norfolk dumpling my discourse will make them as
tender as it were on a cobbler's lapstone, till they
become as soft as custard meat and to melt in your
bellies like a marrow pudding."
PARSON JINGLE-JAW'S ADVENTURE
Parson Jingle-Jaw was out on his rounds visiting
his flock, and came to the house of Mrs. Wallops.
" Good morning to you, Mrs. Wallops ! How are
you this morning ? "
" Oh, better in health than I be in temper."
" Better in health than you are in temper !
What's the meaning of that, then ? "
GENIAL "JINGLE-JAW" 303
" Ye see, I bin mendin' my owl' man's milkin'
slop, an' I an't a done 't right. I must pull 't off
an' do 't afresh."
" It's like this, Mrs. Wallops ! Of them that sow
the same shall they rip, and you've got to rip that.
I can see I'm not wanted here. I must go on to
the next cottage."
Jingle-Jaw accordingly passed on his way and
came to a second cottage. There he met with four
elderly women and a younger person, who were
sitting around a three-legged table busily sewing.
" Well ! I'm glad I'm come, for this is quite a
place of industry," said Jingle- Jaw. " You've all
been stitching away, I can see, and have done your
work exceedingly well. They tell me this young
woman has made a remarkable book-mark."
Here the young woman runs and gets the book-
mark and shows it to Jingle-Jaw, who reads the
text worked upon it : " Fade me lambs."
" Fade — me — lambs ! How could the lambs feed
you ? It's ' Feed my lambs.' "
" You've got no lambs to feed," cried the young
woman.
At that moment one looked out of the window
and saw Mrs. Wallops coming.
" Here's old Moll Wallops a-comin'. Let's put the
pig in the cradle," cried she.
The pig was accordingly put in the cradle.
" Excuse me, Mrs. White," began J ingle- Jaw,
" you've got your patch on bottom-upwards, inside
outwards."
" Can't help that," said she.
" But it looks as if 'twas shot on with a blunder-
buss," remarked Jingle-Jaw.
Just then Moll Wallops entered.
304 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
" I'm come to see your baby, Mrs. White."
Goes to the cradle and removes the coverlet.
" Massy ow ! Jest like 'is faather ! " exclaimed she.
How could that be ; the pig like his father, thought
the women, at the same time showing signs of great
displeasure at the remark.
" The pig may be like his father, but neither Mrs.
Wallops nor I have ever seen the pig's father,"
suggested Jingle- Jaw.
Hereupon a general quarrel ensued, and Jingle-
Jaw, to pacify the women, remarked : " The pig
is probably like his father and the child is like his
father, but I can see that Mrs. Wallops knows no
more about the child's father nor yet the pig's father
than a bull knows about his own father."
This brought the parson into hot water, and he
deemed it wise to beat a hasty retreat.
" I must be going," said he. " My children will
want their dinner, and I have the key of the cup-
board. So good morning, and do the best you can."
SWEET PEGGY O
" There was once a Captain in Derby O,
And he was come recruiting O,
But a pretty chambermaid
His heart she betrayed,
And she was called ' Sweet Peggy O.'
The Captain went to the foot of the stair —
' O, come down with your golden hair,
Come down,' cried the Captain O,
' For I to Killarney must now haste away,
Then bid me farewell, pretty Peggy O.'
And at Killarney he became so helpless,
For his troubles he never would confess ;
Love alone filled his breast,
And he never could rest,
So he died for the pretty girl at Derby O."
A FAST AND NO FAST 305
" And that put an end to 'is growin'," added
Gramp.
" But that's not in the song," cried one of the
young people.
" I didn't zaay as 'twas," returned he, " but
ther's a bit of a toast as goes wi'n, jest to finish un
off."
TOAST TO PEGGY
" The god of love his wanton power displays,
And oft torments us in a thousand ways ;
And yet on Peggy none can lay the blame
For not complying with the Captain's flame."
Just then a galloping of horses, accompanied by
a loud, rumbling sound, was heard outside.
"There goes the mailman from Lechlade ! 'E's
late to-night, cried the hostess, looking up at the
clock on the mantelpiece.
" Aa, 'e got a smartish load. 'E'll 'ev a job to
get up Hywuth 'ill to-night. But dur-saay a got
double 'osses," returned Gramp. " I was thenkin'
about a bit o' zummat us used to zeng at the time
o' the fast as tha 'ed by Act o' Parliament a good
many years ago.
" There was such a jolly game, you know, on Wednesday
last,
Some did swear and some did dance, but very few did
fast,
For Lord John Russell ate a pig, likewise a large cow-heel,
And old Duke Nosey swallowed a gun and a bushel of barley
meal.
Little Billy ate his trap, and poor old Joey Hume
Had three cartloads of cabbage plants put into his bedroom,
And invited Tommy Duncombe to dine on Wednesday
last,
And when they'd bolted all the greens Tom Wheatley
holloed ' Fast ! '
20
306 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
Lords Palmerston and Derby cried — ' We very hungry be,'
And Radnor eat a sausage as big as a chestnut tree,
He was so hungry in the night he started up from bed
And swallowed the pantry furniture and fourteen loaves of
bread.
Lord Morpeth he had such a gorge of salmon, sprats, and
eggs,
And finished off the dainty dish with nineteen wooden
legs ;
Then in steps young Disraeli, with a belly like a whale,
And drank six quarts of shandygaff and a dozen of bottled
ale.
The Bishop of St. Asaph's unto the Lords did prate,
And told them what a sin it was to touch a bit of meat,
Then Lord George Bentinck he jumped up, with a bun as
big as a mask,
And drank eleven pots of beer, and that's the way they
fast."
" And how about ' The Bonny Bunch o' Roses
O ' ? " inquired one of the young people.
" What ! Afore owl' Robin 'Ood ? "
" Yes. We can have that afterwards."
" H'm ! h'm ! I was gwain to zeng ' Barbara
Allen.' "
" Never mind about ' Barbara Allen ' now."
" Then you don't want to yer 'e. 'Ow about
' Woodman Spare that Tree ? ' I gied my dinner
for 'e when I was drivin' plough a'top o' Badbury
'ill yander."
" No. Let's have the other."
" 'E got some heavyish lines. 'Tis a long, rollin'
zong. I caan't bust un out like I could use to."
" You'd better begin Robin Hood else you won't
get through 'n to-night," cried the hostess.
" Aa ! Better 'ae owl' Robin' Ood, cos Time's on
the wing, an' if 'e dwun 'ae'n to-night 'e mightn't 'ae
MUMMER'S PLAY 307
the chance aaterwerds. You'll be zumwher' else
to-morra," Gramp replied.
Thereupon Mrs. Lawrence made Gramp a small
tumblerful of weak whisky and water, while he filled
his pipe, lit it with a spill taken from the shelf beside
the mantelpiece, and sat down in his arm-chair
again. When he had half finished the tobacco he
extinguished it with the top of his thumb, replaced
the pipe on the shelf, emptied his glass — wishing good
luck to everybody — gripped a stout stick standing
in the corner holding it between his legs with
both hands, and sat rigid in the chair with his
felt hat pulled down tight on his head, and his
bushy eyebrows lowered. Then, after a few words
as to the number of players, the manner in
which they were dressed, and so on, he proceeded
with the piece.
ROBIN HOOD AND LITTLE JOHN
Enter a Tanner.
Tanner :
Give room, give room, you gallants all,
And give me room to rhyme,
I'll show you an activity
This merry Christmas-time,
An activity of youth,
An activity of age,
And such an activity you never saw before
Nor acted on a stage.
I am a Tanner from Nottingham,
My name is Arthur O'Bran,
There's not a squire in Hampshire
That dares bid me to stand.
With my long pikestaff on my shoulder so high
As I go I clear the way,
By one, two, and three
I make them to flee,
And give them no leave to stay.
308 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES I
As I walked forth one summer's morning
To see the forest of merry Sherwood,
To view the red deer
That run here and there,
It was there I espied Robin Hood.
As soon as bold Robin gave me the spy
He thought fine sport to make,
He pulled out a wand
And bid me to stand,
And thus unto me he did speak.
Enter Robin Hood.
Robin Hood :
Hold! Who art thou, bold fellow,
That reigns so boldly here ?
I swear by my brief
Thou look'st like a thief
That art come to steal our king's deer.
I am the keeper of this forest,
The king he has put me in trust,
To look to the deer
That run here and there,
And stop thee, bold fellow, I must.
Tanner :
Speak clear, my good fellow,
And give better terms to me,
For thee I correct,
And thy neglect
Will make thee more manly.
And if thou art the keeper of this forest
And hast such a great command,
Thou must have more
For taking of store
Before thou can'st make me stand.
Robin Hood :
I have no more
For taking of store,
Nor any have I need,
For here is my staff
From another oaken graff,
And I'm sure he'll do his deed.
A HARMLESS DUEL 309
They fight : the Tanner yields.
Tanner :
Hold your hand ! Hold your hand !
And let our quarrel fall,
Or we may get our bones to smash
And get no coin at all.
What little proud fellow is this coming down the hill ?
Robin Hood :
That's Little John, my man, who shall fight with thee thy
fill.
Enter Little John, who goes to Robin Hood.
Little John :
What's the matter then, master ?
I pray unto me tell.
To see you stand
Your staff in hand,
I fear all is not well.
Robin Hood :
This is a Tanner that stands by my side,
He is a bonny blade,
Even now he swore he'd tan my hide
Like a master of his trade.
Little John :
He is to be commended
If he the deed can do,
And if he is so stout
He and I will have a bout,
And then he can tan my hide, too.
They fight for some time. Each alternately cries " Bout "
(rest) and then pause for breath. At last Little John strikes
the Tanner's knee. The Tanner falls on one knee. Little
John cries out :
Doctor ! Doctor 1 Where bist thee ?
The Tanner's wounded in his knee.
Doctor 1 Doctor ! Play thy part,
The Tanner's wounded in the heart.
Four guineas or five pound
If this noble doctor can be found !
310 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
Enter Doctor with a tin box containing marbles.
Doctor :
See ! Sir, comes this noble doctor.
I travel much at home,
I carry good pills
To cure all ills,
Past remedy and time to come.
I am this noble doctor,
With my courageous hand
I can quickly purge the blood.
I can cure this man or any other man if he's not quite dead.
If you were to bring me an old woman seven years dead,
seven years laid in her grave, if she can rise up and crack one
of these golden pills
In the bond I'll be bound
Of fifty pound
Her life to quickly save.
You must not think I go about as rag-shag quack-doctors do,
rather to cure than to kill. I go about for the good of my
country, rather to kill than to cure.
I can cure the itch, the pitch, the molly-grubs and the
pimple-pomples,
All pains within and without ;
Mend a bee's broken sting,
Or a gnatfly's wing,
And charm away shingles and gout.
Break your neck and I'll set it again,
I charge you nothing for the pain.
Horses I cure, bulls, poultry, or pigs,
They give me the name of Mr. Cleverlegs.
I've travelled through Ireland, Scotland, and France.
Rise up, bold Tanner, and let's have a dance !
Here they dance a three-handed jig.
They tell me there's the grandest man goes tramping about, by
name Jack Vinney.
Enter Jack Vinney, Clown.
Jack Vinney : My name's not Jack Vinney. My name's
Mr. Vinney, a man of great respect and property ; could
do more than you or any other man.
SONG OF THE MILKMAID 311
Doctor : I wonder what you can do, then ?
Jack Vinney : I can cure a magpie of the toothache.
Doctor : Very clever bit, John, but I never knew a magpie
with the toothache yet.
Jack Vinney : First I wrist off his head and throw his body
in the ditch ; he never has the toothache again. As I was
walking down street this morning I hitched my toe in a
whimble-straw, fell over a barn, and saw a pig-sty thatched
with candlesticks. I knocked at the maid and the door
came out, and she asked me if I could drink a crust of
bread and cheese and eat a cup of ale, and I said, "No
thank you, if you please, miss." After that I fell in love
with her and I said :
" Suppose that I should marry you, my pretty, fair maid,
With your red rosy cheeks and your coal-black hair ? "
" Please yourself, and that you may, kind sir," she quickly said,
" It's rolling in the dew makes the milkmaid so fair."
" What should you do for wedding clothes, my pretty, fair
maid,
With your red rosy cheeks and your coal-black hair ? "
"I'll cut my holland milking-smock, and that will make a
pretty frock —
It's rolling in the dew makes the milkmaid so fair."
" Suppose that I should run away, my pretty, fair maid,
With your red rosy cheeks and your coal-black hair ? "
" Of curds and cream I should not lack, my sand-red cow
would call you back —
It's rolling in the dew makes the milkmaid so fair."
" Suppose I shouldn't marry you, my pretty, fair maid,
With your red rosy cheeks and your coal-black hair ? "
" You can wait until you're asked, kind sir," this maiden said —
" It's rolling in the dew makes the milkmaid so fair."
After finishing the song old Elijah sat back in the
chair, replaced the stick in the corner, and took
up his pipe, by which we knew the play of Robin Hood
was ended. Then one of the young people exclaimed
disappointedly :
312 ROUND ABOUT THE UPPER THAMES
" Is that all ? "
" Whatty ? " returned Gramp.
" Is that the lot of Robin Hood ? "
" Aw, eece ! Tha's all o' Robin 'Ood."
" But you said 't 'ood take two or three hours ! "
" Ah ! so 't 'ood, probably, if you was playin
an't, cos you could make it last as long as you liked,
but we spoke un off quick. 'Tis a purtyish zong at
the ind an in, but owl' Jack Vinney got took in one.
What ! be 'e off a'ready, then ? Thought 'e was
gwain to stop a bit," continued Elijah, as one of the
company prepared to leave.
" Another half an hour and it will be Christmas
morning," replied he.
" Well ! good-bye to 'e, if 'e must go. Look out
for the owl' black dog o' Engleshum," said Gramp,
and the visitor, after wishing every one " Good-
night," and " A Merry Christmas," opened the door
and left the cottage.
The night was calm and clear. Above Coleshill
Wood the yellow half-moon was rising, topsy-turvy ;
the stars glittered brightly overhead in the frosty
sky. Down below the sound of the Cole leaping
through the hatches could faintly be heard, other-
wise there was perfect silence. The street lights
were out in the town on the hill, but the old church
tower stood black against the sky and was visible
several miles off. As I passed beneath the dark
trees a black dog came running by, and I thought
of Gramp's parting words at the cottage, in which
he referred to the Inglesham Ghost, though that was
probably one let loose from the neighbouring farm-
yard.
Old Elijah became so merry after my departure
that he stayed up till after two o'clock, and it was
THE FESTIVE MORN 313
feared that he would not be got to bed at all. Even
after he was put there he kept singing, and only fell
asleep an hour before daybreak, to wake again with a
song when the postman's rat-tat came at the door
signifying the arrival of the Christmas letters and
parcels.
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INDEX
Aaps, Flemish artist, 136.
Abingdon, 119.
Ablington, 132.
Achilles, H.M.S., 48.
Acorn pie, 27.
Aldsworth, 151.
Ale-taster, 38.
Alfred, King, 22, 120.
Archbishop Parker, 205.
Archytas, philosopher, 260.
Arwaces, the, 260.
Ashton Keynes, 223.
Auriole, golden, 175.
Back-swording, 72.
" Bang-belly," 282.
Bark-harvest, 232.
Barley-dodkin, 282.
Baronial wars, 186.
Barrington, Lord Samuel,
5°-
" Bastard House," 250.
Beiges, the, 27.
Bibury, 132, 133.
" Bit-bats," 264.
Blackbirds, 64.
Black Death, the, 119.
" Blind House," 53, 276.
Blunsdon Hill, 235.
Borough of St. John, 34.
Bradon Forest, 257.
Bristol Avon, 219.
Bull-baiting, 52.
Bulrushes, uses of, 89.
Burne-Jones, artist, 98.
Bury Town, 254.
Buscot village, 97.
Canute, King, 219.
Carps, 103.
Cassivellaunus, 237.
Castle Eaton, 206.
48,
Charlbury Tump, 48.
Charlton Abbots, 132.
" Chasing the Cock," 168.
Cheap Jacks, 123.
Chedworth, 132.
Cheltenham, 32.
" Chimney- money," 262.
Chubs, 115.
Coates, 219.
Cold Harbour, 249.
Coleshill House, 70.
Coin, river, 23.
Coin Rogers, 132.
Coin St. Aldwyns, 133.
Coin St. Denis, 132.
Cologne Cathedral, 120.
Corinium, 220, 223.
" Cotswold Shepherd's Scold-
ing," 145-
Cotton Famine Fast, 305.
Court Leet, 53, 230.
Cricklade, 226.
Culkerton, 219.
" Dandy horse," 249.
Disraeli, 50.
Down Ampney, 204.
Duke of Lancaster, 186.
Durer, Albert, artist, 136.
Earl of Cornwall, 120.
Eaton Weir, 108.
Edward iv., 121.
Edward Mortimer, 121.
Ermin Street, 218.
Ethelmund, King, 185.
Ethelwold at Cricklade, 224.
Ewen, 222.
Fairford windows, 136.
Faringdon Folly, 22.
"Flea Fair," 116.
3'7
318
INDEX
" Flower of Berks," 69.
Fulk FitzWarrene, 256.
" Funnel trick," 227.
" Gallibird," 56.
Gilbert White, naturalist, 55.
Gipsy funeral, 141.
Glove- making, 224.
" Gooding Day," 295.
Gospel Oak, the, 226.
" Gridiron Saint," the, 122.
Hannington Wick, 183.
Ha'penny Bridge, 95.
Harvest-home healths, 142.
Hatherop Castle, 133.
Herons, 104.
Highworth, 32.
Hinksey, 21.
Horace, Latin poet, 260.
Horse-threshers, 137.
Hugh de Spencer, 121.
Ichthyosaurus, 236.
Inglesham Church, 86.
" Joe the Marine," 248.
John Tame, 135.
" Journeyman Farmer," 285.
Judge Hughes, 49.
Kelmscott, 109.
Kempsford, 188.
Kingfishers, 113, 263.
King John, 86.
" Lady of the Mist," 186.
Lanier, Sidney, 131.
Liddington Hill, 94.
London Bridge, 114.
Longworth Lodge, 77.
Lord Craven, 59.
Lord Radnor, 72, 75.
" Lye-dropper," 280.
Mabuse, artist, 98.
Malmsbury, 220.
Mandrakes, 63.
Manor of Eiton, 206.
" Man-traps," 267.
Mark the Gipsy, 283.
Marten, the, 264.
" Moll Taw's Corner," 267.
Monks of Beaulieu, 86.
Moreau, French poet, 134.
Morris, William, 98, 133.
Naseby, battle of, 34.
New Inn, Lechlade, 124.
" News-bells," 290.
North-leach, 129.
Oliver Cromwell, 28, 34.
" One o'clock bush," 48.
Otter, the, 83, 113.
Otter-hounds, 174.
Papal collectors, 258.
" Parish Kettle," 72.
Parson Jingle-Jaw, 303.
Peasant's Revolt, 119.
" Peggy-wiggy" Pie, 139.
Penda, King of Mercia, 225.
Ploughing-match, 148.
Poole Keynes, 222.
Potato starch, 281.
Prince Erik, 156.
Purton Stoke, 231.
Quenington, 133.
" Rat-catcher Joe," 242.
Reeve Leet, 230.
Riddles, 287, 288.
Riot, Fairford, 143.
Robin Hood, play of, 307-310.
Roman Empire, 255.
Round House, 87.
Rushlights, 281.
Russley Down, 48.
Saxons, 223.
Sea-swallow, 106.
" Seed-cake," 141.
Sevenhampton, 22.
Shearing Feast, 141.
Shelley, 123.
Shorncote, 223.
Shorthorn, rhyme of, 196.
" Skim Dick," 212.
Slan Feast, 241.
Somerford Keynes, 223.
Squire Archer, 200-205.
Squire Campbell, 97, 200.
Steam-ploughs, 92.
St. Augustine, 225.
St. Florentine, the, 49.
St. John's Bridge, 114.
INDEX
319
St. Leonard, 258.
St. Lucia, battle of, 48.
" Sweet Peggy O," song, 304.
Tewkesbury, 121.
Thames and Severn Canal,
87.
Thames Head, 189.
Theocritus, 99.
" Tib Day," 38.
Tinder-box, 280.
Toasts, 300, 301.
Trafalgar, battle of, 90.
" Trimilki," 288.
Trout Inn, 115.
*' Twig Budget," 84.
Uffington, 21.
Vale of White Horse, 21.
Van Dyck, 137.
Warneford Place, 66.
"Wassail song," 221.
Watchfield, 62.
Water Eaton, 233.
Water- gardens, 102.
Waterloo, battle of, 90.
Water-turbine, 179.
Water-wheel, 99.
Wayland Smith's Cave, 48.
Wetherell, Sir Charles, 66.
Whelford, 175.
White Horse Revels, 49.
Whitington Castle, 256.
William of Malmesbury, 259.
Winson, 132.
Witches, 125, 126, 249, 253.
Witney, 32.
Woodford, Dr., 185, 203.
Wooding rhyme, 284.
Wych elms, 274.
'* Yukel," the, 264.
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