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SPORTSMEN PARSONS
IN PEACE AND WAR
The REV. JACK RUSSELL, M.F.H., M.O.H.
IN OLD AGE
Frontispiece.]
SPORTSMEN PARSONS
:: IN PEACE AND WAR ::
By MRS. STUART MENZIES, Author of
*' WOMEN IN THE HUNTING FIELD;' ''MEMORIES
OF LORD WILLIAM BERESFORD, V.C:' ''ABNEGA-
TION:' ''LOVE'S RESPONSIBILITIES," ETC.
With 31 Illustrations
on art paper
LONDON: HUTCHINSON & CO,
PATERNOSTER ROW, E.C. O
m
PRINTED BV THE ANCHOR PRESS LTD. TIPTREE ESSEX ENGLAND.
PREFACE
BEFORE the war, while turning over the closely-filled
pages of my memory, I came across some pigeon-holes
containing packets tied up with ribbons of pink, blue,
and black ; they led me to some photograph-albums and scrap-
books redolent of things and people of yesterday and long
ago. There I found a number of what in pre-war days we
would have called the " sporting parson," and it occurred to
me what a wrong impression many folk had of them. This
decided me to write a book dealing with the lives of a few.
There are many more I should like to write about, but want
of space forbids.
I think a certain duty rests upon each successive generation
to pass on to the next as faithful a record as possible of the men
and women who have left pleasant echoes in the valleys where
they have wandered.
My critics may say I have met some sublime specimens
amongst my parsons, and that I am a hero -worshipper. I
think I have met some sublime specimens, and that to be a
hero-worshipper is not a thing to be despised, for who can say
that it may not lead us to become heroes and heroines our-
selves ?
It has become the fashion to abuse the sporting parson, in
consequence of a few having been a disgrace to their cloth, and
they have brought the rest into disrepute. But who are we
that we should judge human beings from a poUceman's point of
view ? Will the opinion of those who are narrow-minded and
can only think in kindergarten language or worn-out symbols
help us in our study of the deep, dark science of man ? Life
vi. Preface
is a religious thing or it is not life at all. I firmly believe that
religion is inherent in every human being.
Perhaps it will be well to analyse briefly what we mean
when we speak of the sporting parson. Certainly not the old
exploded idea of the men who slapped their thighs, drank and
swore ; but rather the clean-minded, nature-loving, open-air-
loving clerics who as a rule are not blessed with a super-abund-
ance of this world's good things, but who seek recreation and
health once or perhaps twice a week by following hounds,
shooting, fishing — possibly ski-ing, if they can go abroad for a
little holiday — or in healtliful games.
The element of sport is alive in the hearts of most men
worthy of the name, and it is that which makes them brave.
The same instinct that made them seek sport in pre-war days
made them anxious to go to the front and share the
dangers and hardships of the troops, while hoping to be of some
use and comfort to them. It is the sporting instinct that
makes men straight and true. When we hear a man called a
" Real Sportsman " we at once picture to ourselves an in-
dividual who under all circumstances can be trusted to play
the game fairly and squarely.
Nearly all the soldiers I have spoken to about the army
chaplains, have as terms of highest praise, said, "He is a real
sportsman." One man whom I asked if he had found a chaplain
who was a help and comfort to him replied, " Yes ! I like them
all— at least, the most of them," and he tried to explain to me
how, when going into action, knowing well they were standing
on the borders of the Great Beyond, they could speak to a
chaplain of things they would not hke to say to anyone else,
things that would seem " sloppy-like " ; and he felt the chaplains
could be trusted when they were " sports " to carry out faith-
fully their wishes, and be kind to those who would grieve if
Ihey were killed.
The terrible realities of to-day leave little room or inclination
Preface vii.
for sport or recreation, and I doubt if ever again we shall see
the old stamp of sporting parson. All the more reason that we
should not forget them.
As children we love to be told stories, and the love clings to
us through life ; perhaps there may be people who will care to
read of the parsons in this book, whose lives, many of them, have
been unsung too long. There are a few who do not appeal to
us, but I have taken them as they came to my mind, good, bad,
and indifferent : happily the good predominate.
To be a successful parson, clergyman, priest, or whatever we
call them, requires a man to have all the gifts of the gods rolled
into one.
Far be it from me to suggest it is only among the sporting
parsons that good and great men are to be found, for it has been
my privilege to know many — Father Staunton and Cardinal
Manning, for example.
After all, we are only variations of one single theme.
A. C. STUART MENZIES.
CONTENTS
CHAPTEB PAGE
I. THE REV. J. W. ADAMS, V.C. - - - 1
II. THE REV. GEORGE HUSTLER, M.F.H. - - 13
III. THE REVS. CECIL LEGARD, E. A. MILNE, M.F.H.,
AND L. B. MORRIS - - - - 27
IV. THE REV. JACK RUSSELL, M.F.H. AND M.O.H. 36
V. THE REVS. H. P. COSTOBADIE AND J. W. KING - 49
VI. THE REV. E. BURNABY - - - - 62
VII. THE REV. C. KINGSLEY - - - - 75
VIII. THE REV. CHARLES SLINGSBY - - - 85
IX. THE REV. DEAN HOLE - - - - 100
X. THE REVS. E. CHARD, JOHN FROUDE, M.F.H., AND
J. MICHELL, M.F.H. - . . _ 1^2
XI. THE REVS. PIERCE ARMAR BUTLER AND " BILLY
BUTLER " - - . . . 127
XII. THE REV. E. A. ALDRIDGE - _ . 137
XIII. THE REV. WYER HONEY, M.H. - - - 146
XIV. THE REV. S. D. LOCKWOOD - - - 158
XV. THE REV. RUPERT INGLIS - _ _ 1^7
XVI. THE REV. W. BENTON - - - . 201
XVII. THE REVS. HON. MAURICE PEEL, M.C., B. GOODERHAM,
AND P. BERESFORD, D.S.O. - - - 232
XVIII. FATHER BRINDLE, D.S.O. - - - - 248
XIX. CHAPLAIN MACKENZIE, SALVATION ARMY - 259
XX. FATHER FINN - - . _ . 271
XXI. THE REVS. E. L. WATSON AND T. TATTERSALL - 285
XXII. THE REVS. H. HALL, MAZZINI TRON, M.C., D.S.O.,
AND W. F. ADDISON, V.C. - - . 294
ix
ILLUSTRATIONS
THE REV. JACK RUSSELL, M.F.H., M.O.H., IN OLD AGE Frontispiece
Facing page
„ „ J. W. ADAMS, V.C. - - - - - - 12
,, ,, GEORGE HUSTLER, M.F.H. - - - - - 13
„ ,, GEORGE HUSTLER IN THE FOREST OF DEAN - - - 20
ACKLAM HALL, HOME OF THE REV. GEORGE HUSTLER - - - 21
THE REV. CECIL LEGARD - - - - - - -32
,, ,, E. A. MILNE, M.F.H., IN THE CATTISTOCK COUNTRY - - 33
THE REV. JACK RUSSELL, M.F.H. , M.O.H. - - - - - 46
THE POWDER CUPBOARD (WHERE THE FAMOUS JACK RUSSELL WROTE HIS
sermons) - - - - - - -47
THE REV. J. W. KING, OWNER OF " APOLOGY " - - - - 60
,, ,, E. BURNABY AND HIS LITTLE FAVOURITES - - - 61
SIR CHARLES SLINGSBY, M.F.H., BART., AND HIS HUNTER " SALTFISH " - 86
THE REV. CHARLES SLINGSBY OF SCRIVEN PARK - - - - 87
MEMORIAL WINDOWS AND BRASS OF THE REV. CHARLES SLINGSBY - - 94
SCRIVEN PARK, SOUTH FRONT. THE HOME OF THE SLINGSBYS - - 95
THE REV. E. CHARD ("THE BISHOP ") . . . - . 114
„ „ J. MICHELL ....... 115
,, ,, PIERCE ARMAR BUTLER (" PURBECK PILGRIM") - - 134
,, ,, BILLY BUTLER ...... I35
,, „ E. A. ALDRIDGE, M.D., F.R.G.S., IN HIS MANDARIN ROBE - - 144
,, ,, R. WYER HONEY ON HIS FAVOURITE HUNTER, " LITTLE BILL " - 145
,, ,, S. LOCKWOOD ....... 166
„ „ RUPERT INGLIS ---.... 167
„ ,, AND HON. MAURICE PEEL, M.C. - - - - . 234
LT.-COL. P. W. BERESFORD, D.S.O. ..... 235
THE RIGHT REV. BISHOP BRINDLE, D.S.O. - - - - 258
MAJOR WILLIAM MACKENZIE, M.C, SALVATION ARMY CHAPLAIN TO
AUSTRALIAN TROOPS - - - - - -2 59
THE REV. WILLIAM FINN, THE FIRST ARMY CHAPLAIN TO GIVE HIS LIFE IN
THE GREAT WAR -...--. 278
THE REV. WILLIAM FINN MEMORIAL TABLET .... 279
„ ,, H. A. HALL ....... 296
„ ,, W. F. ADDISON, V.C. ...... 297
xi
SPORTSMEN PARSONS IN
PEACE AND WAR
Chapter I
An Ancient Institution — The Prodigal Son in Pink — Sir Tatton Sykes Views Holy
Land Pictures — Hunting Attire in 1762 — Parishioners'Views of their Parson —
The Rev. J. W. Adams, V.C., in India — On the March from Cabul to Candahar
— Hunt Hounds — Wins the V.C. — An Eye-witness Tellsthe Story — Some 1875
V.C.'s — Ivan Heald in the Evacuation of the Dardanelles — The Padre in a
Smallpox Camp — An Uncomfortable Contretemps — A Run-away Drive — The
Padre's Preaching — He Returns to England — His Death — Lord Roberts
Erects a Memorial — The Padre's Charities.
THE hunting parson is as old an institution as the Church
itself. In that book of books, the Bible, we read that
Nimrod, the hunter, became a mighty one of the
earth.
I forget who the artist was who represented the Prodigal
Son in pink, breeches and boots, all complete. Perhaps it was
the same gentleman who once painted a catch of fish spread
out on the shore freshly unloaded from a fisherman's boat. It
represented a great day's sport, there being one each of a
variety of species, including a lobster of the roseate hue they
acquire after being introduced to the boiling-pot.
When the late Sir Tatton Sykes was once being shown
some beautiful pictures of the Holy Land, and the artist was
breathlessly awaiting some words of appreciation of his wonder-
ful rendering of the haze peculiar to certain parts of Egypt, the
marvellous blending of colour in the sunsets, and so forth, Sir
Tatton remarked, " Must be a queer country to get across, very
queer."
The olden-day monks, who were supposed to be the pioneers
of civilisation and easy virtues, were huntsmen — or perhaps I
B
2 Sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
should say sportsmen. They were the masters of hounds,
keeping huntsmen, horses, and hounds, falconers also ; but I
imagine with them it was more with an eye to the pot than for
the sport.
It must have been a relief in the gone-by days to see the
sombre clerical attire of black coat and waistcoat amongst the
gaudy garments worn as late as 1762, when it was correct to
wear for hare-hunting a blue frock-coat, scarlet velvet cape, and
a scarlet flannel waistcoat made to wrap over, or, in other words,
double-breasted. Poor souls, they were plucky ! For fox-
hunting, a green coat, accompanied by a grass-green velvet cape
and waistcoat, was considered proper and dignified. This was
rather reversing the present-day style, where green is the
accepted harrier colour, and pink for fox-hunting.
There must have been straight runs in those days ; the
wonder is that fox, hare, or hounds ever stopped running — ^they
must have been so frightened.
A good deal has been written about a few well-known
hunting parsons, but there are others, many of whom I have
had the pleasure of knowing, of whom no scribe has written,
and whose memory should be cherished for ever.
There is always a certain amount of prejudice against
sporting parsons. I wonder why ? It seems so narrow, petty,
and short-sighted. One might almost imagine no religion, no
example was needed outside the four walls of the church.
Besides, why must a man cease to be human the moment he
becomes a parson ? Why are they to be allowed no pet weak-
ness or recreation that makes life possible ?
I have tried to gather from grumblers what they consider
suitable and befitting a parson. It runs much in this
fashion :
If the individual has a princely living, worth £80 or £100 a
year, he must do no work to augment his income, or he is
neglecting his parish and is a money-grabber.
If he stays at home and improves his mind, he is lazy and
idle ; why does he not work and visit his parishioners ? — so
that they may grumble and say he always turns up at their
dinner-time — that repast being generally a movable one to suit
the work of the family. Some may even say their house is their
castle just as much as it is to the gentry, and they don't see
The Rev. J. W. Adams, V.C. 3
what the parson wants, coming poking round. I have many
times heard these remarks made.
The parson must not hunt on foot or mounted ; that is
considered unbecoming. No, he must sit at home doing
nothing perhaps, and wait for some obhging person to die and
provide him with suitable work in burying him. It is rather
an impossible situation. Parishioners often look upon their
pastor as neither fish, flesh, fowl, nor good red herring, but
simply as a relieving officer, there for nothing else, and no
thanks required.
I think the sporting parson was brought into disrepute by a
few who occasionally forgot their calling, and were lacking in
reverence and the proper performance of their duties —
the deserved anathema of the few descending upon the
many.
Turning over the leaves of an old album a short time ago,
looking at the faces of those who had crossed my path and
those who had travelled with me, amongst my many good
friends and true I find sporting parsons are fairly well
represented.
As I made a reflective study of each face I came to the
happy conclusion, remembering those lives as I have known
them, that they were good men — lovable men, many of them,
with clean hearts and minds and a consuming charity ; nothing
mean, narrow, or unkind about them, their only fault being that
sometimes their hearts were larger than their purses.
People are familiar enough with the name of Parson Jack
Russell of west country sporting fame, of whom I shall write
later, but comparatively few have heard of the Rev. J. W.
Adams, V.C, Army Chaplain. There was no cleric better
known or better liked in India than the gaunt V.C. Padre who
was so human, sympathetic, truly heroic, and a great sportsman.
No social function was complete without him in stations
where he was officiating ; he was wanted because he held
the affections of all without cant, or " pie jaw," as the school-
boys call it. The Tommies adored him in a way they never
care for anyone who has not shared hard times and dangers
with them, taking the rough with the smooth, offering a helping
hand to all. Indeed, he was a great and good man grown old
with other people's sorrows.
4 Sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
Mr. Adams accompanied Lord Roberts (then Sir Frederick)
on the celebrated march from Cabul to Candahar during the
Afghan war.
It was while the troops were in Peshawar awaiting events
that the Padre collected a few hounds, making a scratch pack
for the amusement of the officers, men, and incidentally himself,
being a great believer in occupation and sport as an antidote to
the mischief Satan is supposed to find for idle hands to do.
Many times I have listened to stories of the Padre's gallantry
which everyone loved to tell, and I w&s always glad to hear, from
the lips of soldiers ill in hospital — from his friends during our
early morning hunts when waiting for it to be light enough for
hounds to draw.
From the General to the drummer-boy, all were proud of
that day, December 11th, 1879, when the brave sky-pilot, the
much loved Padre, won that simple Maltese Cross of bronze
bearing the thrilling inscription, " For Valour."
This is how the story was told to me by a friend in the 9th
Lancers, who was an eye-witness.
" The 9th Lancers had repeatedly charged the Afghans who
were swarming round our guns.
" After one charge the Padre saw a young Lancer dis-
mounted and badly wounded, struggling to regain the regiment,
but his strength failed and he fell. Mr. Adams jumped off his
horse and rescued the lad under a heavy fire, and from amongst
many wounded Afghans who slashed at him as he passed.
" It was difficult work carrying the helpless trooper across
the broken ground strewn with dead and dying, but he got his
burden safely to an ambulance at last.
" Not content with this, he did another fine thing soon
afterwards, when some of the 9th Lancers were in difficulties
while crossing a deep watercourse. Two of them were drowning
with their horses on top of them while still in contact with the
enemy, who kept up an accurate and galling fire. Again the
Padre went to the rescue, scrambling down the steep, dangerous
bank, seized one man, and after some struggling freed him from
his horse and brought him to land ; then almost in despair of
saving the other, started off again to see what could be done.
Here again, thanks to his pluck and great strength, he was
successful."
The Rev. J. W. Adams, V.C. 5
All who have spoken to me of that stirring time have
said, " The Padre was as cool as a cucumber the whole
day."
For a shepherd to save three out of his flock in one day was
at that time a record anyone might be proud of, especially
when we remember he carried no weapon for self-defence — not
even a crook. . . . And thus he earned his V.C.
Until this great war I think Mr. Adams was the only clergy-
man with the Victoria Cross, that simple -looking and coveted
little medal first bestowed upon soldiers after the Crimea, when
on June 26th, 1857, in Hyde Park, Queen Victoria, in the
presence of her husband and Lord Colin Campbell, decorated
sixty -two heroes with the Cross. The ceremony was over in
ten minutes !
How strange are the workings of men's minds, that a
ceremony taking only a few short moments and the bestowal
of a modest small bronze medal " For Valour " should be so
prized, so longed for, with a longing almost beyond words to
describe ; should so fill them with pride, so recompense them for
lost health, lost limbs, and without doubt lost youth.
Men may be worn out in victory as well as in defeat. Who
could ever feel young again after the hardships they had endured,
and the scenes they had witnessed ?
But men think whole worlds of that bit of red ribbon on
their breasts that will hve with them all their lives, will ensure
them a welcome anywhere. One hero lately expressed himself
thus to me, " With my V.C. I can just spit anywhere I like."
It was a trifle crude, but I know what he meant.
In the hearts of those decorated and receiving the thanks of
their Queen after the Crimea, must have been the tender
memory of others who had been just as brave, but who could
never receive any thanks or medal.
The following verses, written by Mr. Ivan Heald, must have
exactly described their feelings. He wrote them when evacuat-
ing the Dardanelles, and when I remember the naturally
joyous-hearted writer, who was always happy, always cheery,
and enjoyed every moment of his life when I knew him in pre-
war days, the lines bring home eloquently what men feel when
leaving their pals behind. The verses will find an echo in many
hearts to-day.
sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
EVACUATION OF DARDANELLES
So quietly we left our trench
That night, yet this I know —
As we stole down to Sedd-el-Bahr
Our dead mates heard us go.
As I came down the Boyan Nord
A dead hand touched my sleeve,
A dead hand from the parapet
Reached out and plucked my sleeve.
"Oil, what is toward, O mate o' mine.
That ye pass with muffled tread,
And there comes no guard for the firing-trench.
The trench won by your dead ? "
The dawn was springing on the hills,
'Twas time to put to sea,
But all along the Boyan Nord,
A dead voice followed me.
" Oh, little I thought," a voice did say,
" That ever a lad of Tyne
Would leave me lone in the cold trench side.
And him a mate of mine."
We sailed away from Sedd-el-Bahr,
We are sailing home on leave.
But this I know — through all the years
Dead hands will pluck my sleeve.
Mr. Heald lost his life later in France.
I suppose the only judgment that interests the human mind
is a judgment of valuation ; logic plays little part in it. It is
the feeling of valuation that surrounds the V.C. with its
halo.
At any rate, I know the dear Padre was very proud of his,
and was full of tenderness for the memory of the many who were
gone, who he said, in his modesty, deserved it so much more
than he did.
Bravery of another kind, little known but none the less
splendid, I must recount ; namely, his work in the smallpox
camp, where he spent days and nights trying to cheer, amuse,
and comfort the sufferers. To those who do not know the
horrors of smallpox as it is known in the East this may not
sound very grand, but those who do will realise what this man
The Rev. J. W. Adams, V.C. 7
did, who was obliged at intervals to leave the tents to be prac-
tically ill, and then returned to his splendid self-imposed task.
I once asked him how he accounted for his never being
attacked by this most contagious disease, the horrors of which
the ordinary British reader has little idea.
He told me he attributed his escape to having been vac-
cinated every seven years, and that on principle he always
drank a glass of sherry before entering the camp, as he believed
it was a help in warding off the deadly nausea which is bound to
attack those in close touch with the bad cases. He avoided as
much as possible entering the tents when tired and run down,
as he wished to prolong his services in the hope of being some
comfort to the suffering when no one else could go near, and the
glass of sherry was his only precaution, beyond vaccination.
The Padre once gave me an account of some of his en-
deavours during Christmas in the smallpox camp, to entertain
the patients well enough to be amused. It was very funny to
anyone knowing him, for he was a very dignified, refined man
who did not indulge in many words, and one of his efforts
had been to sing a comic song in character. As far as I could
gather from the account, the screamingly funny part consisted
in his utter failure, which amused his audience much more than
if he had succeeded brilliantly.
Padre Adams could never be induced to speak of the day
when he three times over won the Victoria Cross ; but he told
me of a humiliating experience of his when one evening
burying many victims of smallpox and cholera.
The graves were dug and ready in melancholy rows, the
Padre standing amongst them ready to read the — to many —
beautiful and comforting service. As he stepped back to allow
a body to be lowered he fell into the open grave behind him,
his book shutting up over his face as he disappeared.
Help being at hand, he was quickly hauled up again ; he
emerged ruffled and dirty, feeling keenly his undignified and
unseemly contretemps. He quickly scrutinised the faces of the
firing party to see if anyone dared to laugh, being quite pre-
pared to be exceedingly annoyed with anyone who did so ; but
all stood like statues, not a muscle moved on any face ; all looked
straight over his head without even a twinkle of an eye. I
think they deserved a medal.
8 Sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
It must have been very distressing to the Padre to come up
crumpled and dirty, for one of his pecuharities was, no matter
what he had been doing he was always clean and tidy, with a
well-groomed appearance, being a firm believer that self-respect
improves and creates respect in other people ; and there is no
doubt the world is apt to take us at our valuation.
Many hunts have I had after jackal in India with the Padre.
Not being a rich man, he could not keep many horses, but was
never short of a mount, as he had good hands, endless patience,
and a strong seat. Therefore, whenever anyone had an awkward
beast it was handed over to Mr. Adams for a time, to teach it
better manners. I have often seen him struggling with the
utmost patience in a far-off corner when out hunting on some
bad-tempered brute, not daring to come near the rest of the
field for fear of causing trouble.
Most of us had tiresome mounts at one time and another,
which is not surprising considering they were often purchased
quite unbroken from dealers in the bazaars, and we had to do
the breaking ourselves ; once or twice they broke us instead.
I remember Mr. Adams coming to my assistance once on the
Lucknow race-course, when a pair of refractory horses refused
to take us home or to allow anybody else to go home either, as
they had jibbed themselves effectually across the main exit.
Our coachman tried endearing epithets and chirruping s in
Hindustani ; also terms, I have been given to understand,
which were not endearing or even polite. The whip was tried,
only making matters worse, as portions of harness began to fly,
and we crashed into the General's carriage just behind, who was
waiting, not altogether patiently, until we allowed him to
pass.
Seeing what trouble we were in, Mr. Adams made a bee-line
through the crowd, and when I had explained matters he
quickly climbed on to the box (for it was our state high-day -and-
holiday coach) and gently took the reins from our Jehu, telling
him to descend and push behind when he gave the order.
For a moment or two the Padre sat perfectly still on the box,
leaving the horses' heads quite alone, allowing them to think
the show was over ; when, just as they were settling down for
forty winks, with a masterly shake of the reins and twist of the
wrist his determination was conveyed to our steeds, who, com-
The Rev. J. W. Adams, V.G. 9
pletely taken by surprise, set off at a mad gallop through the
gates, round a sharp corner into the Mall, leaving our coachman,
and many willing helpers who were putting their shoulders to
the wheel, on their faces in the dust, owing to our sudden,
violent start when they were pushing with all their might.
We continued our mad career full gallop, as if the horses
were possessed, until, with consummate skill, we were swished
round the entrance to our bungalow and pulled up with great
eclat at the verandah which answered for a front door.
As far as we could ascertain at the moment, we were none
the worse for our experience, but we were a little dazed.
After a moment or two's pause to see if all was really over,
we recovered our breath and looked up at the Padre, who at
the same moment turned round to see how it fared with us.
Then the absurdity of the situation was too much for us, and
while the horses hung their heads and trembled, we were con-
vulsed with laughter ; the Padre always had a keen sense of
the ludicrous, and we certainly made a curious picture. He was
sitting on the box far above us, a rein still twisted round each
hand, his feet firmly planted, thereby helping him to remain on
the box and get some purchase, his clerical hat well jammed
down over his eyes, while we (a friend staying with me and
myself) were mixed up amongst dust-cloaks, cushions, and the
contents of the luncheon-basket — sandwiches that had lost
their outsides, others that had lost their insides — in the most
impartial manner ; a syphon of soda-water standing on its
head which had been hurled at us out of the hamper as we
" hurrushed " round a corner, and which in our endeavours to
remain inside the carriage we had trodden on, sending the
contents all over our — feet, shall I say ?
Before we had extricated ourselves — it took some time, we
were so weak with laughter and our experience- -we heard more
furious galloping, and turned our heads to see who else were
enjoying themselves ; but it was only my lord and master — who
had been riding at the meeting and just heard we were last seen
in a cloud of dust with the horses running away — coming to see
what had really happened.
He congratulated Mr. Adams on his feat, it being no easy
task to steer a couple of run-away horses down the Mall crowded
with carriages, horses being ridden and led, natives on foot,
10 sportsmen Parsons tn Peace and War
camels mounted by native orderlies, and all the usual race-
meeting accompaniments.
It was surprising that we killed nobody. A few people were
hurt by falling over one another in their endeavours to get out
of the way, and one horse that was being led, when we ajj-
proached, let fly with his heels, catching a box balanced on the
head of a " box-waller " or travelling merchant, throwing him
to the ground with some violence.
For a time he declared his back was broken, and never more
would he be able to support his grandmother, great-great-
grandmother, wife, and many brothers, and we must pay
accordingly. Finding we were not as credulous or as sym-
pathetic as he had hoped we might be, he changed his damage
to a broken neck, for which he wanted smaller recompense.
Only a trifle for his neck.
My memory travels back to other days, from the ridiculous
to the sublime, to the English church in the Lucknow Canton-
ment, the Padre standing in the pulpit with his Victoria Cross
and medals showing up on his white surplice as he preached to
his large congregation, composed of the majority of the English
people in the station. It was an impressive scene : the crowds
of soldiers in their different uniforms, the beautiful singing of
the choir composed entirely of soldiers, the hymns sung so
heartily and yet so tenderly. I feel as if I can hear them now
singing softly :
" Faith of our fathers, Holy Faith,
We will be true to thee till death,"
It is a pleasant memory. I like remembering this good man
surrounded by those who loved him because he was brave,
tender, and true, ready at all times to give away half of what
he possessed, or even more, and anxious to share both the
sorrows and joys of his flock.
He was not a great preacher, for at no time had he a
great command of language, and was certainly not at his best
in the pulpit, where he had a curious irritating cough which
troubled him at no other time ; but he was a fine example of a
good man leading a grand life which was worth more than many
sermons.
I have many times wished he could have given expression to
The Rev. J. W. Adams, V.G. ii
his thoughts and the findings of his heart ; he would then have
swept all before him.
Most of us had a very warm corner in our hearts for " Our
fighting parson," as the soldiers called him, and he saved many
a soul from despair. It was not so much what he said as what
he did. Can anyone doubt that this sporting parson was
faithful, and in the fullest sense of the words carrying out his
Master's orders ?
Would that there were more like him ! I have met many
parsons, and not a few have mistaken want of tact for plain-
spoken righteousness, thereby driving people from the fold ; yet
they go happily on their way, tripping themselves up and
others with them over their own red tape. The pity of it,
when many are sincerely good men acting according to their
lights and filled with fervour for the Cause.
The soldiers admired Mr. Adams's strength and activity ;
he was a very spare man and as active as a cat.
Peshawar was his favourite station in India ; he had been
Chaplain there three times, the first being in 1868, when he
received the thanks of the Government for his services during
the terrible outbreak of cholera that visited the place at that
time.
Mrs. Adams was almost as popular as her husband. She is
a sister of Sir Arthur Willshire, late Scots Guards, and I am glad
to say she is still living.
After leaving India the Adamses settled down into a quiet
country living in Norfolk, which, if I remember rightly, is in the
gift of the Duke of Rutland. Here the Padre spent the last
years of his useful life, dying in 1903.
Lord Roberts erected a memorial in the church at Stow
Bridge to the memory of his old friend, and a brass plate was
placed in the church at Peshawar by other friends, amongst the
subscribers being the Viceroj^ at that time, namely, Lord
Curzon of Keddleston.
After the Padre's death Mrs. Adams gave the portable altar
he had used during the Afghan Campaign to the church where
he was working last before his death.
Unfortunately there is no son to walk in his father's foot-
steps.
Mr. Adams was not heavily endowed with this world's
12 Sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
goods, which was a trial to him, as he could not resist helping
people even when they had no claim on his purse or consideration.
Once when walking with him from the Brompton Road to
Park Lane I could hardly get him along ; he would stop and hunt
for small change for beggars en route. The first stop was before
a blind man with a pet cat cuddled up inside his coat, while he
sat on a little stool by the curbstone with a tray of bootlaces
and etceteras resting on his knees, in hopes of tempting people
to buy. Here the Padre rattled some pennies into the mug
suspended round the blind man's neck. Then we moved on.
The next halt was before a pavement artist's work ; the Fire of
London, a bloody battle, a favourite racehorse, and various
other striking pictures adorned the pavement along the park
railings. Here the Padre made another frantic search for
small change ; having no coppers, silver was produced and again
we journeyed on, only to be held up by a woman carrying a
baby and crying over it, having just emerged from St. George's
Hospital and evidently very unhappy. This was our third halt,
and notes were taken down of particulars of the woman's story ;
then another search, but no money could be found except half
a sovereign, which he was, I could plainly see, on the verge of
giving the woman, until I whispered, " Charity begins at home,"
and he hardened his heart, and with promises to look her up and
see what could be done, we at last came to the end of our walk.
The REV. J. W. ADAMS, V.C.
[Facing p. 1-2.
The REV. GEORGE HUSTLER, M.F.H.
Fuciiiii p- i'i.]
Chapter II
The Rev. George Hustler — A Horse and Hound Lover — His People do not Approve
— His School and College Days — Explains hovv^ he Passed his Exams. — His
Marriage — His First Livings — Strange Occurrence in his Church — A Re-
fractory Pulpit Door — Tlie Vicar has a Fall — The Sexton on All Fours — Mr.
Hustler a Favourite — His Gallant Conduct — He Comes into Family Property
— A Picturesque Host — Enjoys Dancing — Acklam Hall — The Drives —
Hustlers in James I.'s Time — Knighted for Killing a Pirate — An Historic
Ballad — Brothers whose Tastes Differ — Mr. Hustler's Market Cart — A Drive
with some Loquacious Ducks — His Hunting-Flask Mixture — Some Old
Friends — He Hunts in Yorkshire, Durham, Oxfordshire, Gloucestershire — His
Death in the Hunting Field — His Unostentatious Charity — Loves liis Old
Clothes.
FROM India to Yorkshire is a far cry, but it is worth the
journey, for Yorkshire is a grand county full of sports-
men, amongst whom may be numbered a fair sprinkling
of sporting parsons, whose merits are worth recording. The
Rev. George Hustler was a fine specimen. He was a lover of
horses and hounds, and a good judge of both, though how he
acquired the taste or the knowledge of their points, maladies,
and all things appertaining to them, is a mystery, for none of
his people were the least " horsey," not one of them knew
anything about horses, and in fact thought there was something
rather fast and vicious in love for them, and the Hustler family
was pained at the youngest member's affection for them. The
other members of the family hired their horses by the year
from a big London firm of jobmasters, being willing to pay
long sums to be saved all worry in connection with them. If
one went wrong it was immediately replaced, and they had no
trouble. Horses were to them simply machines, useful as a
means of moving about, but not as companions or favourites,
the only stipulation made with the dealer being that the horses
must always be grey and well-matched ; no other colour was
allowed in the stables.
I once asked Mr. Hustler how he thought he acquired his
love for and knowledge of horses and hunting. He said he
thought it was born in him, for he certainly received neither
14 Sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
instruction nor encouragement from his father or elder brother.
George Hustler was the third son of Mr. Thomas Hustler, a
most eccentric old man living a secluded life at Acklam Hall,
where his son George was born on June 12th, 1827. At an
early age he was sent to a school at Southwell kept by a Mr.
Fletcher, a fashionable place where small boys were educated in
those days. Several north-countrv^ neighbours accompanied
him — Sir William Harcourt, Sir Matt. Wilson, Calverlys,
Gooch's, and others. Those were coaching days, and fine times
the boys seem to have had with pea -shooters, etc., en
route.
Later he went to Harrow into the sixth form, and was, I
believe, the head of it. He had a great love for his old school.
From there he went to University College, Oxford, where he
took his degrees of B.A. and M.A., and where he was known as
the best man on a horse of that time. Needless to say, he
hunted regularly, but he worked as well as played, which is
more than a good many have done, if we may judge by their
own accounts. My friend used to laugh and say he thought his
singularly difficult handwriting had helped him immensely in
passing his examinations, as the tutors had neither the time nor
the patience to read his papers. That was his modest way of
explaining why he passed easily and well. It was an argument
that might cut both ways, it seemed to me.
From Oxford he went to Durham Universit}^ where he was
ordained in 1849, and the same year married Louisa Hawley,
eldest daughter of Captain Hawley, King's Dragoon Guards,
who was present at the battle of Waterloo.
It was a great disappointment to Mr. Hustler that he had no
son, as there were none in the family. He had only two daugh-
ters ; the elder married Richard Hill of Thornton Hall, York-
shire, and the younger married Colonel Bingham Wright,
Munster Fusiliers, at that time on the staff at Chatham.
The first official appointment held by Mr. Hustler in the
Church was as curate-in-charge of Blanchland in July, 1849,
after which he went to Acaster near Selby in 1850, remaining
there until 1859, when he was given the living of Stillingfleet,
seven miles from York, from where he hunted with all the
neighbouring packs, more especially the York and Ainsty and
Bramham Moor.
The Rev. George Hustler, M.F.H. 15
In his church at Stillingfleet the Prestons of Moreby Hall
owned one of the old horse-box pews, large and square, con-
taining a fireplace. In old Mr. Tom Preston's time (grandfather
of the present owner), if he found the sermon longer i-han he
liked, or the subject was not approved, he poked the fire dili-
gently. Around the pew ran a sort of wooden framework with
narrow panels and bars. Through these he used to poke his
head when he wished to see if his workmen and tenants were in
church. One Sunday he thrust his head too far through and
could not withdraw it, being obliged to remain in that em-
barrassing position until someone fetched a saw and cut the
woodwork away !
It is curious what an affection parishioners have for these
squirearchal pews. At one time we wished to do away with
ours, but we were begged to do nothing of the kind. Some of
the old people became quite tearful, and so it remains, fireplace,
chairs and all, as it has stood for many years.
I was in this horse-box one day when, after our Vicar had
preached an eloquent sermon that had left us all subdued, he
turned to leave the pulpit, but found he could not open the door
to descend the steps ; the weather being damp, the woodwork
had presumably swollen. He pushed with one hand, he pushed
with two ; it was no use. He then kicked it. Still no satis-
factory result ; so he hurled his body against the door. This
did the trick, and he flew like an avalanche head first down the
steps ! This was disconcerting, but he picked himself up
before anybody had time to render assistance, and marched,
red in the face but with dignity, to his place in the chancel.
This scene made the old grey-headed sexton so nervous that
when he was carrying up the offertory plate he and his hob-
nailed boots had a sideslip on the well-polished and tiled floor.
In his endeavour to save himself he shot the contents of the
plate in every direction ; pennies and halfpennies were rolling
with frightful clatter here, there, and everywhere. Several
people dashed to the rescue. I emerged from my retreat to
help, as it happened by my front door, so to speak. The sexton
crawled about on all-fours. The moment was tense ! At last,
when the sexton informed us all was re-collected with the
exception of one halfpenny, we returned to our respective places
to continue our devotions, but nothing would persuade the old
1 6 Sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
man to return until that halfpenny was found, so we left him
crawling about still on all-fours.
At a very early age Mr. Hustler taught his daughters to
ride, and when they grew up said he must accompany them
" To look after them in the hunting field," though I think the
daughters were generally left to look after themselves ; but he
saw that they were mounted on steady and made hunters.
He was a great admirer of the fair sex and a favourite with
them, in a most orthodox manner. He was one of the sweetest -
tempered and most courteous individuals I ever met. Once
when out hunting a lady came to grief and her horse was seen
disappearing in the distance, taking her skirt with it ; the
Vicar was seen in his shirt-sleeves, having gallantly handed his
coat to the lady as a substitute for her skirt. It was more
disconcerting in those days to be deprived of a habit skirt, as it
by no means followed that the equipment underneath was
suitable to the occasion. In these days of neat breeches and
boots it matters little what happens to the habit skirt.
I am certain that Mr. Hustler's Yorkshire parishioners loved
and appreciated him for his love of sport, and with that in com-
mon some hearts were reached that would otherwise have
avoided the Parson.
In 1874 old Thomas Hustler died, and the eldest son, not
wishing to live at Acklam, having other places he liked better,
and having no son to come after him, asked his brother George
if he would care to live there, in consequence of which Parson
Hustler gave up his living at Stillingfleet and went to reside at
Acklam Mdthout waiting for dead men's shoes. Then the old
place awoke from its lethargy, merry voices and laughter echoed
and re-echoed through the old hall, horses neighed in the
stables, and everything was cheerful ; even the rooks became
more eloquent and the little birds came nearer to share the
feasts. Strings of hunters went out exercising, strings of
hunting people came home to tea in the oak-panelled hall, where
they hunted all over again the runs of the day and argued about
certain incidents that had been seen by all and of which no two
told quite the same tale.
Our handsome host looked hkc an old engraving, with his
rather long and very thick wavy grey hair and fuzzy side-
whiskers, pink-and-white complexion which no weather seemed
The Rev. George Hustler, M.F.H. 17
to tan, his figure tall, spare, and well-set up, standing six
feet two in his socks. I can picture him now as I have seen
him many times when he came in from hunting, standing in
front of the fire enjoying his tea and poached eggs. He dared
not sit down, for if he did he immediately fell asleep. I have
even seen him fall asleep at dinner if he had anyone sitting
next him that was inclined to be dull.
He had no love for politics, literature, or music, but loved
horses, hunting, and society in general, delighting especially in
the society of young people.
He filled his house for every race-meeting and every dance
that was within driving distance, though he did not race at all
himself, but was one of those tolerant folk who like to see
other people enjoying themselves, even if the particular form
of amusement does not greatly interest them. He danced
with the gayest and youngest, seldom missing an item on the
programme, thoroughly enjoying twiddling round and round
with a little string-halt action peculiar to himself, which ap-
peared to give him pleasure. Owing to making himself very
agreeable he never lacked partners.
I think Acklam itself deserves a little recognition. It was a
nice old Elizabethan house standing in well-timbered grounds
and approached by two avenues, one stately and dignified,
entirely of grass, with a double row of magnificent elms down
each side. The other drive was the ordinary gravel affair.
Owing to the number of valuable cattle enjoying themselves
on the pasture about the grass avenue, some formidable and
tiresome iron gates had been placed at intervals, attached to
rather high iron railings. When riding, these were a nuisance,
as we generally let our horses have a good gallop on the turf, and
they resented being pulled up while we fiddled opening and
shutting gates.
The house was altogether an awkward one to visit at night,
as in addition to the many gates there was a sunk fence between
the lawns in front of the house and the grass avenue. The
fence was crossed by a bridge at one side with gates.
Once after some wedding festivities, when our coachman was
endeavouring to drive us home with a spirited pair of Irish
horses, he mistook the road and proceeded to drive over the
sunken fence in the dark. Fortunately the horses were in a
c
1 8 Sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
less intoxicated condition than the coachman, and thought it
would be a pity to jump the sunk fence with the carriage behind
them. While they were having an altercation with the coach-
man we became aware of our perilous position in time to avoid
disaster.
Inside the house there are some beautiful painted ceilings
and old-fashioned fireplaces ; also a secret door in the library,
and other interesting things.
The Hustlers are an old family, the first I can hear of them
being in the reign of James I., when a Hustler was knighted and
given the Manors of Bridlington for shooting the noted pirate.
Sir Andrew Barton, who in 1511 commanded two Scotch ships,
with the help of which, and by his depredations, he amassed
great wealth. His ships were usually heavily laden. The Earl
of Surrey, who was the chief of the " Council Board of England "
at the time, received so many complaints from merchants and
sailors of the robberies of this Sir Andrew Barton, that he
determined at all costs a stop should be put to his nefarious
practices. With this object in view he fitted out two ships
and sent them to sea under his two sons with letters of marque.
One son was Sir Thomas Howard, called Lord Howard by old
historians, afterwards created Earl of Surrey in his father's
lifetime ; the other son was Sir Edward Howard, according
to an old manuscript I have before me.
After encountering some dirty weather, these sporting
seamen fell in with the Lion, commanded by Sir Andrew Barton
in person, who was tackled by Lord Howard. The other
brother Edward came across the Union, the second pirate ship.
It appears the engagement between these four ships was ex-
tremely obstinate on both sides, but at last the fortunes of the
Howards prevailed and Sir Andrew was killed, fighting bravely
and encouraging his men to hold out to the last, in spite of
which the two Scotch ships were captured and carried up the
river Thames on August 2nd, 1511.
This was rather a brilliant achievement, as the two Howards
were only volunteers, so to speak, acting on the orders of their
father. The affair was in a great measure the cause of the
Battle of Flodden in which James IV. lost his life on September
9th, 1513.
An old ballad in the keeping of one of the Hustler family
The Rev. George Hustler, M.F.H. 19
tells the whole story in one hundred and ninety verses. From
this it appears that one of the Hustlers served with Lord Howard
on his ship, and when they came up with the Lion and matters
were looking serious, he was called upon to take good aim and
kill a certain officer on the enemy ship. The ballad says :
Lord Howard hee then called in haste,
" Hustler, see thou be true in stead,
For thou shalt from the maine-mast hang
If thou misse twelvescore one penny bread." ^
Then I gather this Hustler slew one named Gordon on Sir
Andrew's ship with much skill, and was called upon to repeat
the process on another officer named Hambilton.
But Hustler with a broad arrowe
Pierced the Hambilton through the heart
And down he fell upon the deck
That with his blood did streame amaine.
This was considered so brilliant that Hustler was now called
upon to kill the pirate himself.
" Oh, come hither, Hustler," says my lord, .
" And look your shaft that itt goe right,
Shoot a good shoote in time of need
And for it, thou shalt be made a knight."
" He shoot my best," quoth Hustler, " then
Your honour shall see with might and mains,
But if I were hanged at your maine mast
I have now left but arrowes twain."
I then read that Hustler was again successful, for —
Upon his breast did Hustler hitt,
But the arrowe bounded back agen,
Then Hustler spyed a privey place
With a perfect eye in a secret part.
Under the spole of his right arme
He smote Sir Andrew to the heart.
....
Then Hustler said, " Aboard, my lord,
For well T wott Sir Andrew's dead."
They boarded then his noble ship,
They boarded it with might and maine.
Eighteen score Scotts ahve they found,
The rest were either maimed or slain.
In return for these services
The king then say'd as a reward,
'' Hustler, thou shalt be a knight
And land and hvings shalt have store."
Other honours were bestowed on those who took part in this
great event, but they have nothing to do with the Hustlers.
* An old English word for " breadth."
20 Sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
The Acklam Estate became the Hustlers' property in
Charles I.'s time. It is now worth ten times more than in those
days, as Middlesborough, the home of many industries, has
spread itself almost up to the gates, land fetching long prices
and big rents gladly paid. In addition to Acklam, Sladnor Park
in Devonshire, and Newsham Hall, Darlington, also belong to
the Hustlers.
It must have been difficult for strangers to realise that
George and William Hustler were brothers, being absolutely
unlike both in appearance and tastes, but they had the same
gentle voice in common with all Hustlers and had the curious
Yorkshire habit of clipping their words. George habitually said
" huntin' " and " cubbin' " instead of " hunting " and " cub-
ing " — quite the Dundreary style.
These brothers were always eager to look at the papers for
the " meets," but for diametrically opposite reasons. George
used to laugh at this, as his elder brother scrutinised the list with
the view to avoiding coming into touch with hounds and their
followers ; he even forbade his grandchildren to walk to a meet
near their home for fear they might catch infectious complaints,
presumably the infection of sport ; while he, George, carefully
studied the list to see how many meets were within possible
distance for him to reach, and hunt with them. When they were
far afield he sometimes used to drive in a remarkably uncomfort-
able sort of market cart, in which he would pick up anybody he
met on the road that he thought would be glad of a Hft. A drive
in this cart was a real trial. The seat was loose, and had views
of its own as to its proper position in life. When travelling in a
hilly country passengers started at one side of the cart and
speedily drifted to the other, and, unless very careful, might
easily find themselves on the road.
Drives with Mr. George Hustler were usually full of incident.
He used to take passing fancies to things he met on the road.
On one occasion, when driving sixteen miles to a meet, he took
a fancy to some ducks, which he stopped and bought, taking
them with him in the cart. They never ceased quacking the
whole sixteen miles, slowly and plaintively when the horse was
walking uphill, furiously and protesting ly when trotting. Per-
haps, like the poor occupants of the cart who were shaken
nearly to pieces, they could not help it !
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The Rev. George Hustler, M.F.H. 21
Mr. Hustler was very conservative and rather obstinate ;
to try and make him change his mind when once it was made
up was simply waste of time — not "all the king's horses and
all the king's men " could do it.
Like most hunting people, when motor-cars first came into
use he abominated them, and he died before he was weaned of
his dislike by finding the convenience and comfort of them.
The mixture he took out hunting with him in his flask v/as
most nauseous, being half whiskey and half quinine. At all times
he was moderate both in eating and drinking, and he considered
this blend sustaining ! Occasionally he handed his flask to a
neighbour who might be without, or to someone who had met
with a spill and v>'anted pulling together : the fluid was generally
successful, chiefly, I think, from surprise.
Although shy and reticent, Mr. Hustler had a number of
great friends. Many perished in the terrible Newby Ferry
accident when hunting with the York and Ainsty. That same
ferry-boat had often carried Mr. Hustler and his daughters when
hunting. I have given a brief account of this accident in
another chapter in connection with the Rev. Charles Slingsby.
Old Lord Wenlock, the second baron, was one of Mr. Hustler's
great friends, also Sir Matthew Wharton Wilson (the latter had
been at school and college with him), the Prestons of Moreby,
James Palmes of Escrick, the Lawleys, and countless others,
not forgetting Sir George and Lady Julia Wombwell. Sir
George hunted the York and Ainsty after the death of Sir Charles
Slingsby, being followed by Colonel Fairfax, whose wife was
a great horsewoman.
Archbishop Thomson, though he shied a little at Parson
Hustler's hunting proclivities, was an admirer and friend, and
the Hustlers often stayed at Bishopthorpe. Bishop Ellicott of
Gloucester also was very kind to him.
Amongst the hobbies that interested Mr. Hustler was the
rearing of prize poultry, of vv^hich he was a good judge, and he
officiated at shows, often being successful when showing his
own — not, of course, when he was acting as judge himself.
He seldom showed his horses, but his "Wenlock," if I re-
member rightly, took a first prize for jumping at Islington. He
gcncrall};' attended all the big shows.
Dogs he was fond of ; lovers of horses generally are. He
22 Sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
collected a large number at one time of Parson Jack Russell's
celebrated fox-terriers. They were rather mischievous little
creatures and played havoc amongst the poultry, managing to
catch them even through the bars of the kennels when any
birds were inquisitive.
When still a child, my first day's hunting with the York and
Ainsty was on a big sixteen-hand horse of Mr. Hustler's, with
a hard mouth but some repute. My friend was anxious I
should try him. All went well until hounds found, then I
became aware my saddle was too big for me and my mount too
much for me^ — he was finding a difference between 9 stone and 15.
As soon as I was in hail of Mr. Hustler, I informed him I feared
I must take the horse home, as I could not hold him and might
bring him, or ])Ossibly some of the field, to grief, or disgrace
myself by over-riding the hounds. The advice given to me by
the horse's owner was, " Let him go, don't try to hold him."
Happily, nothing dreadful occurred.
After a few j^ears of enjoyment at Acklam, the home of his
youth, Mr. George Hustler's whole-hearted hospitality began to
upset his balance at the bank a little uncomfortably, and his
elder brother, who liked neither hounds, horses, nor young
people, began to lecture him on his expensive tastes and ex-
travagance. This went on for a time until it became unbearable,
and my hunting parson decided to shut the place up and let
his brother come back to it if he liked. And so Acklam once
more lapsed into silence, and Mr. George and his family went to
live near Oxford, where they bought a place called Weald Manor,
and continued hunting and being cheery from there.
The following gives a little idea of the amount of sport he
enjoyed. On Monday he would go to stay at Oxford, hunting en
route with the Vale of the White Horse. On Tuesday, Wednes-
day, Thursday, and Friday he hunted from Oxford. On Satur-
day he returned to Weald Manor, hunting en route with the
Vale of the White Horse. On Sunday, though not at the time
holding any living, he preached two, and sometimes three,
sermons. Finding time between his huntings to collect some good
and rare china, also queer and ancient silver specimens. After
the house would hold no more, he packed these treasures away
over the stables.
As usual, he had a mount or two for friends, and a nephew
The Rev. George Hustler, M.F.H. 23
who was at the University at that time came in for mounts two
or three days a week, having the time of his life. This nephew
is the present owner of all these Hustler properties, and takes a
great interest in them, as well as in all the leading movements of
the day.
Mr. George Hustler prided himself on being able to ride
horses no one else could manage, and when the time came that
money was not very plentiful this was a boon, as he was able to
pick up some very awkward animals for small considerations.
They mostly went kindly with him, which was more than some
of them did when he occasionally mounted friends on them.
From Oxford he had plenty of hunting and owned some fine
horses, but in 1877 an old north-country friend, the Rev. John
Burdon, resigned the living of English Bickner, in Gloucester-
shire, and it was offered to George Hustler, who accepted it, as
he had been feeling for some time that he ought to be doing some
work. Yet I know he was not entirely in accord with all the
English Church's creeds and dogmas and was glad to give up his
living at Stillingfleet partly on that account. Perhaps he had
become reconciled to the Church requirements, or maybe it was
a case of necessity knowing no law.
Poor dear old man ! He often told me he hoped he should
not die in bed, a lingering death, but out in the open air amongst
all the beautiful works of nature he loved so well. He wanted
to die in harness, and his wish was fulfilled, for he died the
death of all others he would have liked, " giving no trouble to
anyone," as he expressed it.
When first he went to English Bickner, he built kennels at
his own expense and hunted the Forest of Dean for deer and fox,
but had given up hunting hounds himself a year or two before
he died, finding the strain too much for him in his advancing
years.
When last I was at English Bickner in his lifetime the kennels
were empty, and only two horses stood in the stables, but he still
hunted with the Ross Harriers, Mr. Teddy Curres', and neighbour-
ing packs until the end. He was out with the Ross Harriers the
day he died, February 25, 1905. He had been suffering for some
years with his heart, and ought not really to have been hunting at
all. On the morning of the 25th he appeared to be in his usual
health, and started away on his gentle and clever hunter,
24 sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
" Maccaroni." While jumping a small fence into plough, with
a slight drop on landing, his mount pecked rather badly, but did
not fall. It was observed by those near that he made no effort
to save the horse, but simply fell off and never moved again,
having died of heart failure. He was buried beside his wife in
English Bickner Churchyard.
Mr. Hustler was the most extraordinarily sweet-tempered
man I ever met. It almost amounted to a fault. I never heard
an angry or impatient word from him or a grumble. If his elder
brother, who was a very rich man, preached to him about ex-
travagance, no word that was not kind and charitable left his
lips. If anybody in his parish was cantankerous he was full of
excuses for them, saying their bark was worse than their bite.
The poor were well cared for wherever Mr. Hustler dwelt. He
was the soul of generosity. I have grieved in his later years,
when he wanted many things himself, to see the bottles of wine
and good things going from his home just the same as in his
better-off days.
He had grown sad latterly, partly from the depression that
so often accompanies heart trouble, and also I think he felt
rather keenly, though he did not saj'^ so, that when he could no
longer keep open house and mount people as of old, so few whom
he had helped, feasted, and benefited, remembered him. How
true it is :
" Laugh, and the world laughs with you ;
Weep, and you weep alone."
I used to potter round the empty kennels and stables with
him and talk of the wonderful performances of some of his old
favourites, feeling very sad. His wife was dead, his daughters
married, and he had no son ; it was a very lonely eventide.
I shall carry with me to the end of my days the memory of
his unsurpassable gentleness with all things and all people. For
twenty -eight years he ministered to the parish of English Bick-
ner, and no one can remember seeing him out of temper or
otherwise than gentle.
One of the peculiarities of his household was its unpunctu-
ality. For instance, luncheon was supposed to be at one o'clock
— at least, that was the advertised time, so to speak — yet I can
remember sitting making polite conversation from one o'clock
The Rev. George Hustler, M.F.H. 25
until a quarter to three in the afternoon waiting for my kmcheon,
growing hungrier and hungrier, until it turned to feeling as if
I never wished to eat again. It did not seem to strike any of
the family that it was inconvenient. I suppose their own in-
sides got accustomed to it, and therefore felt no vacuum. Mr.
Hustler was a very small eater himself, almost a teetotaler, and a
non-smoker, but could not sit down for five minutes without
falling asleep. At intervals he would awake with a smile and
look round in an amused way, as much as to say, " Have I been
to sleep really ? " then make some quite irrelevant remark and
fall asleep again with an angelic smile upon his face.
Like most generous, good-natured people, he was consider-
ably imposed upon at times ; people with woeful faces and long
stories used to take him in. I told him so once, when I saw
through an old woman who was robbing him. His reply was
characteristic : " Possibly, but I would rather run the risk than
feel that perhaps I had refused help to someone in need."
He was very sympathetic to young people. Once when I
was staying at Acklam he was taking a large omnibus-load of
young folk to a ball in the neighbourhood, when suddenly the
light at the end of the omnibus went out and we were all in
darkness. There ensued a good deal of laughter and skirmish-
ing. Later in the evening Mr. Hustler told me he was respon-
sible for this episode, saying, " I knew the young people would
like it." I think they did !
Acklam has passed now to the son of George Hustler's sister.
He has taken the name of Hustler, and has made great improve-
ments to the place and done away with the dangerous sunk fence.
He was much attached to his Uncle George, who was a man who
should have been always heaped with this world's goods, for he
would have spent it royally in giving pleasure to all within his
reach, and being happy himself into the bargain.
His charities were unostentatious and unbounded. He
hunted out all the most remote cottages where help was needed,
both in his own parish and often in his neighbours' as well. An
old chimney-sweep, who used to be called Dick Turpin, and who
was not generally liked, sent many miles when he was dying to
ask Parson Hustler to come and see him, because " he had always
spoken kind " to him. Mr. Hustler stayed with him until he
passed through the gate into the Great Silence.
26 sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
Anybody that was looked down upon, or what some people
would call " bad characters," especially appealed to him, for he
always saw good in everybody. One great and moving sermon
he preached giving his text, " Thinketh no evil," and truly he
carried this out in his own life.
When in the pulpit it could hardly be called preaching, his
words were so simple, his manner so gentle ; he talked to us more
than he preached.
One of his peculiarities was his love for his old clothes. He
clung to them with tenacity. I rather took his part in this
when his family tried to persuade him to wear some of the things
he kept put away most carefully ; he was very tidy and
methodical at all times, and would never allow anyone to
touch his things but himself. When anybody was in need of
clothes, and his family were not looking, he used to unearth
these better garments and give them away !
Chapter III
The Rev. Cecil Legard — An Old Yorkshire Family — They Fight for the Royalists
— Mr. Legard at College — A Steeplechase — Disapproval of the Dons — A
Bad-tempered Chaser — Hunting with Hugo Meynell — A Wedding on Con-
ditions— The Sale of a Pack of Hounds — Planting Coverts at Brocklesby —
The Length of Masterships — The Living of Cottesbrooke — Hunting with the
Pytchley — "Time Expired" — Judging at Peterborough and Dublin — Mr.
Legard Compiles the Foxhound Kennel Stud Book — A Misunderstood Joke —
Manners in the Hunting Field — The Rev. E. A. Milne, M.F.H. — Addresses
his Field — Hunts in Pink — His Daughters out Hunting — The Rev.L. B. Morris
— Chaplain to Lord Middleton — His Shooting and Hunting — Defies the
Cobwebs.
YORKSHIRE, the home of my birth, of which fact lam
rather proud, boasts another well-known sportsman
cleric in the Rev. Cecil Legard, brother of, and heir to the
present and twelfth baronet.
Mr. Legard does not like being called a sporting parson ; he
prefers the term " sportsman cleric." So be it ; but, whatever
we call him, he remains a true sportsman, and is almost as well
known and respected as York Minster. He was bom on No-
vember 28, 1843. His father, Henry Legard, was the youngest
son of the late Sir Thomas Digby Legard, father of the eleventh
baronet, and this Henry married the sister of the eighth Lord
Middleton, of Birdsall, York. Of this union were born Algernon
Legard, the present baronet, and his brother Cecil, of whom I
am writing, who is a keen sportsman. How could he be other-
wise, with sporting blood on both sides of the family ?
The Legards of Gauton and Anlaby are a good old York-
shire family, the property of Anlaby having been acquired by
them in 1100. Sir John, the first baronet, was so created in
1660, when he fought valiantly for the Royalists. There have
been in the family loyal statesmen, soldiers, and divines, all
sportsmen in the truest sense of the term.
Note — Mr. Legard has died since this chapter was written.
28 sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
Mr. Legard's father, before his marriage, was in the 9th
Lancers, one of the hardest riding regiments in the Service ; from
him no doubt, Mr. Cecil Legard inherited his love for riding,
racing, hunting, and all things appertaining to them.
In 1863 Cecil Legard went to Magdalene College, Cambridge.
Here he quickly found a place amongst kindred spirits who loved
horses and sport as well as he did.
In 1865 we find him in the midst of racing and hunting. It
was in that year the two Universities wished to establish an
annual steeplechase, a sort of sister to the boat-race, but the Dons
did not take kindly to the idea, so it had to be dropped in its orig-
inal form ; but it was not entirely fnistrated, for it appeared as
" The Grand Steeplechase Match — Oxford versus Cambridge,"
no owners' names being on the race-card, and the jockeys rode
under fictitious ones. Only those in the secret knew who the
owners were or who was going to ride.
Amongst these sporting undergraduates they arranged that
each University should have four representatives, all to ride
twelve stone and over three miles of the Aylesbury Course, the
value of the race being £150.
It being no longer a secret who took part in that Stee]:5le-
chase, I may give the correct names of the owners and riders
and the numbers as they finished :
OXFORD.
Mr. Grissell's " Marchioness " Owner 1
Duke of Hamilton's " Pantaloon" Mr. Frederick 2
Mr. a. Smith-Barry's " Loyalty " Owner 4
Earl of Harrington's " Kate " Lord Willoughby
DE Broke o
CAMBRIDGE.
Hon. H.Fitzwilliam's "Proposition" Mr. Cecil Legard 3
Mr. Candy's " Colleen Bawn " Hon. T. Fitzwilliam 5
Lord Aberdour's " The Good Lady " Viscount Melgund o
Hon. T. Fitzwilliam 's " Heimitage " . . . .Lord Aberdour o
by which it will be seen that Oxford won, and Mr. Legard, rid-
ing for Cambridge, came in third. " Proposition," the horse
he was riding, belonged to the still living Hon. H. Fitz-
william, at one time a steward of the Jockey Club and founder
The Revs. Legard, Milne, M.F.H., and Morris 29
of the famous " Whip," so coveted by undergraduates at Cam-
bridge who in those days settled their battles between the flags
over the Cottenham Course, while Oxford always went to
Aylesbury.
Few are living now of those who took part in the 1865 Steeple-
chase. I think Captain Grissell, Lord Minto— at that time Lord
Melgund — and Lord Barrymore — formerly Smith-Barry — and
the Rev. Cecil Legard are the only ones left.
It was the association of Captain Machell with Cambridge
University and its nearness to Newmarket that induced so many
undergraduates to indulge in turf pursuits. A good number of
them used to spend their week-ends at the Turf Metropolis.
Mr. Cecil Legard was among the number who enjoyed those
early-day frolics. His cousin, Sir Charles Legard, who was born
in 1846 and died in 1901, also raced a good deal and had some
good horses. Amongst all these young bloods they seem to
have had a real good time.
Although Mr. Legard was disappointed in his place in the
Grand Steeplechase in 1865, later he had better luck, winning
twice running the Challenge Whip much desired by all .
In 1867 Mr. Legard took his degree, and, before leaving
Cambridge, added M.A. and LL.B. to his name. He now felt
he could not continue to be associated with too much racing, but
to this day takes the keenest interest in the sport. Up to the time
war was declared I think there were very few race-meetings of
any importance that he did not attend, and he seldom missed
the Derby.
He says the best horse he ever owned was "Acrobat,"
purchased from Captain Machell ; but for the animal's bad
temper he might have won many races, but he could never be
relied on, as when he felt so inclined, in the middle of a race as
likely as not, he would stand perfectly still quite suddenly and
refuse to move another step until it suited his convenience, or
his temper ; having allowed the rest of the field to pass him a
few hundred yards, he then would do a finish all on his own.
Not a horse to put money on ! With the exception of his
temper, he was good all round, no doubt, as Mr. Legard is an
excellent judge — ^few better — and his advice is still eagerly
sought after by those bent on purchase, or wishing to know
his views as to horses' possible attainments.
30 Sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
Mr. Legard's first clerical duty was a curacy in Derbyshire.
There he hunted with Hugo Meynell's pack, which had been
founded in 1816 by the Master, Hugo Meynell, and hunted by
him until 1869.
Then the living of Boynton in Yorkshire was presented to
him by Sir George Cholmeley, and there he spent nine happy
years, from 1870 to 1879. It was in 1870 he married Miss Hall,
eldest daughter of James Hall of Scarborough, who hunted the
Holderness for the best part of forty years — in fact, up to the
time of his death in 1877.
Mr. Hall's two daughters were anxious the pack should not
be dispersed, so Mr. Legard, at his wife's request, offered the
pack to the county for the sum of £2,500, which was at once
forthcoming. When Mr. Hall gave his consent to his daughter
marrying Mr. Legard, he made one stipulation with his son-in-
law, namely, he must hunt and bring his wife to hunt with him
regularly for three months each year.
Mr. Legard now moved to Brocklesby, where another ten
happy years were spent. There were several packs near enough
for him to hunt with them, but he was mostly seen with Lord
Yarborough's.
While at Brocklesby he planted three coverts, calling them
"The Scmb Close," "The Ledge Cop," and "Sir Richard
Sutton's Thorns," where up to the time of the war many hunted,
but few remembered the unselfishness of the man who had given
his time and money for the benefit of the country as a little
return for the pleasant days he had spent there.
When we think of the lengthy masterships of those bygone
days it makes one wonder why they are of such brief duration
now — or rather in the years before 1914. What will happen
after peace is declared, who can foresee ? Perhaps the last
generation had more grit, cared nothing for the grumbles and
bad manners of their followers, or perhaps the present-day
grumblings and fault-findings are only a sign of the age. There
used to be rows in the olden times, we know, but that was
chiefly over matters of hunting -boundaries and such-like things,
not the personal matters we hear so much of to-day concerning
the Masters, who spend a good part of their lives and a great
deal out of their pockets in trjdng to show sport and give
pleasure to even the humblest follower and smallest subscriber.
The Revs. Legard, Milne, M.F.H., and Morris 31
One cannot help wondering why the grumblers come out if
they so disapprove of the Master's methods ; nobody wants
them, though it is amusing to hear how much better they think
they could hunt hounds themselves. In man}^ cases I am sure
their endeavours would be an instructive and beautiful sight.
Mr. Legard tells me he was proud of having been blooded bv
Will Carter, huntsman to old Sir Tatton Sykes.
In 1887 Sir H. Langham, at that time Master of the Pytchley,
presented the living of Cottesbrooke in Northamptonshire to
Parson Legard, and there he remained until 1914, enjoying life
and health, holding his own in the saddle against all comers,
young or old.
It was a charming little parish, and did not boast of a single
public-house.
In a letter I received a short time ago from him he tells me
he has now attained the age of " threescore years and ten," and
he considers himself " time expired." It seems incredible so
many tides have washed the shore, for until his throat began to
give him trouble in 1914 he hunted his four days a week with a
bright steady eye and unshaken nerve.
His health is now causing him anxiety and he is not able to
ride at all, which is a great grief to him ; but when well enough he
finds his way down to Tattersall's and any race-meetings there
may be. I never heard Mr. Legard preach, but I know that in
all the parishes where he has lived he has been greatly liked and
respected. He has the stately and very courteous manner of
his generation — perhaps a little more sedate than some. Up to a
year or two ago he had a bright, fresh complexion. He still
retains his bright eyes, and is interested in everything and very
proud of his grandchildren. I wonder if they will be able to
give as good an account of themselves when they are his age.
This fine old Yorkshireman has officiated several times at
Peterborough Hound Show, and has for many years given a
silver hunting-horn as prize for the best unentered doghound.
His judgment was seldom in error. In 1885 he gave the prize
to Lord Willoughby de Broke's " Harper " who proved to be
one of the finest hounds of his day.
In 1892 I remember his judging at the Dublin Horse Show —
an anxious though delightful occupation — where there is such
an enormous entry, and all of the best to decide amongst. On
32 sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
that particular occasion I think I remember there were two
hundred and fifty horses.
At the request of the Master of Foxhounds' Association, Mr.
Legard a few years ago undertook the very arduous task of
compihng the Foxhound Kennel Stud Book, the labour of which
can only be understood and appreciated by those who have even
in a small way worked back over a few generations of hounds,
endeavouring to fill in their pedigrees faithfully and fully for the
benefit and use of future sportsmen and women.
I first met Mr. Legard at Bishopthorpe when staying with
Archbishop Thomson, whom as children we called the " Cod-
fish," because we thought him so like one. He was really a fine,
handsome man, but he certainly did at times remind one of that
fish.
There is nothing the least loud or horsey in Mr. Legard's
appearance ; on the contrary, always neat, as neat as could be,
of late years clean-shaven, with a healthy colour. When racing
he wears a bird's-eye tie suitable to the occasion, at other
times the regulation clerical one ; but it would not be Mr. Legard
without the tall hat and sensible umbrella which are his habitual
accompaniments.
Some years ago an enterprising journalist, meeting him in
Piccadilly, asked for a photograph to reproduce with an account
of his hunting and racing experiences for one of the leading
sporting papers of the day. Not being anxious for this adver-
tisement, Mr. Legard said jokingly he feared it might prevent
him being made the next Archbishop of York.
The following week, or at least shortly after this interview,
there appeared in the paper the Parson's picture with a well-
written article on his sporting activities, and his remarks taken
seriously about being the next Archbishop of York.
Poor Mr. Legard ! What must his feelings have been !
It surely was hard to forgive, but with his characteristic kindness
and good nature he took it all in good part.
We are told to forgive our enemies, but we are not told to
forgive our friends, which is perhaps just as well, for at times
they are hard to forgive.
All the clerical sportsmen I have known have been smart,
well-groomed men, keen observers of the ritual of the chase,
which leads to respect and a certain amount of reverence.
The REV. CECIL LEGAKD
[Faci)i(j p. 32.
The Revs. Legard, Milne, M.F.H., and Morris 33
There would not be half the sympathy with hunting that now
exists but for a certain amount of pomp and ceremony, the
observing of outward and visible signs.
Gaudy garments are not often worn by parsons, but they can
be properly turned out all the same. A certain amount of a
man's character can be read by observing the details of his
toilet, and how his things are put on. No man with a well-
balanced methodical mind can put his clothes on higgledy-
piggledy, as though with a pitchfork ; it would be painful to
his feelings and dignity, even if nobody was going to see him
except the robin on the window-sill and the snowdrops in the
garden. The man who appears in a crump led-up stock, looking
as if he had slept in it for some time, drooping degage-looking
spurs, and who swears it is all the same to him which side of his
horse he mounts from, may be a great genius of sorts and living
in the clouds — under which circumstances it would be almost
better if he stayed there, for he will not reflect credit on any
pack he hunts with.
Such curious animals are we human beings, so influenced by
our surroundings, that when a few of these floppity, untidy
sportsmen are around us we gradually feel our own backbone
giving way, and say to ourselves it will be all the same a hundred
years hence, which of course is all wrong — it won't be all the
same a hundred years hence. And that is why I think hunting
parsons have such a good influence on the field ; example does
so much ; if we are with well-groomed people we like to be
well-groomed too, and feel a certain dignity and self-respect in
consequence.
Particularly have I noticed how a parson's presence will keep
the field free from swearing and disgusting language. I know
of no greater example of this than on the Dorsetshire hill-
country, presided over by that deservedly popular Master, the
Rev. E. A. Milne, M.F.H., who holds his large and sometimes
headstrong field in such perfect order. I have often marvelled
at the extraordinary way in which this reverend gentleman
keeps order without resort to those senseless vulgar oaths so
many Masters consider necessary. Instead of these he delivers
little homilies on the duties of a field while hounds are at work,
with more excellent results than indulgence in invective.
I have come to the conclusion, after years of hunting ex-
D
34 Sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
perience and close observations of men, that some use " swear
words " and Johnsonian words of endearment to reheve their
pent-up feelings. Expressing one's feelings is no doubt a
relief, but the majority do it because they think it fine and
clever, and because others of the same genre laugh at their
vulgarity, until it becomes a habit and they do not know when
they do it, or how much it is spoiling the pleasure of those who
see nothing clever or amusing in it.
There is no keener sportsman in the west country than Mr.
Milne, who hunts six days a week, and is much sought after as
a judge at puppy -shows.
He hunts in pink, which is not a common practice with
parsons ; he also acts as his own huntsman, and during the
hunting-season wears pink in the evening. He says whatever
he does he tries to dress the part. On Sundaj^s always a tall
hat and black coat, even in his remote little village. He has
hunted the Cattistock for seventeen years ; before that he was
Master of the North Bucks Harriers ; before that again, the
Trinity Beagles at Cambridge, so he has had considerable
experience.
In the Cattistock country he was usually accompanied by
one or two little daughters, before they grew up and married.
They rode their father's horses and looked picturesque in velvet
hunting -caps. It was interesting to hear such small people, as
they were when first I saw them, discussing runs in the most
highly technical language.
A jocose little bird told me one day that the Rev. Edgar,
better known as " Jack " Milne, of the Cattistock, might be
seen any day, between early June and August 1st, sitting looking
through the bars of the fox-den at the Zoo, deeply pondering
from daylight till dark.
Sobriety of manners in the hunting -field carried me on to
Mr. Milne before I had finished my Yorkshire sporting clerics,
and I wished to include the Rev. L. B. Morris, well known
with the York and Ainsty, Lord Middleton's, and other York-
shire packs. He was chaplain to Lord Middleton at Birdsall
for fourteen years, and naturally did a good deal of hunting
with his hounds. I met him first staying with the Hustlers ; he
was always very smart, spick and span, and one day when he
had just arrived at the meet, a young mare I was on took the
The Revs. Legard, Milne, M.F.H., and Morris 35
opportunity to plunge into a deep and muddy ditch close to
Mr. Morris, covering him with slimy wet mud. I was quite
prepared for scowls if not imprecations, but neither scowl nor
harsh words escaped him, and we became great friends.
He is an all-round good sportsman, being as much at home
Avith his gun as in the saddle ; he does considerable execution
every year at Studley Royal when shooting with Lord Ripon.
He has now retired from clerical work and lives in peace and
contentment the life of the country squire, with his wife (who
was a Miss Whitaker, daughter of Marmaduke Whitaker, of
Breckamore) and his daughter. Mr. Morris married in 1885
vAien he went to live at the family living of Thornton-in-Craven,
near Leeds. He now lives at Breckamore, and is very busy
with county work, magistrates' meetings, and war work of all
kinds.
One of his characteristics is his cheerfulness, which is
infectious. Wherever he may be people congregate ; yet with
all his merriment and banter I never heard him say an unkind
thing of anybody ; the merriment is never at the expense of
other people.
I have heard it stated that " everybody's friend is nobody's
friend," but do not believe it, for here is a character that proves
the fallacy of that old saying. Mr. Morris is like Saint Paul,
"all things to all men," not, as is often the case, from ex-
pediency, but from goodness of heart.
I think it speaks well for a man who has spent his life helping
to bear other people's burdens, when he can say he has not lost,
once and for ever, every illusion he ever embraced ; and when
in the autumn of his days he has defied all the cobwebs ; but
then Mr. Morris's life has been spent in pleasant places and he
has been comfortably endowed with this world's goods, which
doubtless helps to prevent cobwebs from claiming little corners.
Chapter IV
The Rev. Jack Russell, M.F.H., M.O.H.— Where he Wrote his Sermons— An
Ancient Powder Cupboard — Some Clergy Defy their Bishops — Parson Jack as
a Boy — Gets into Trouble and Out Again — Boxing and Hunting at Cambridge
— His Fox-Terrier " Trump " — The King's Admiration of Her — His first Cleri-
cal Work — Some Packs of Hounds — He Marries — Mr. Templer of Stover's
Hunting Methods — Some Favourite Horses — His Staff — Two Churches and a
Curate on £180 a Year — His Friends the Gypsies — A Well-known Story —
Virtue Rewarded — Sells his Pack — Introduced to the Prince of Wales — At
Sandringham — Pilots the Prince with Stag Hounds — A Soldier's View of the
Sporting Parson — Bad Luck at Black Torrington — The Rat-Catcher's Charm
— Parson Jack's Boot- Jack — His Frugal Habits — A Pathetic Funeral.
WHO is there that has not heard of the great sporting
parson, the Rev. Jack Russell, one of the most
celebrated figures in the west country, and well liked
everywhere ?
It has always surprised me that nowhere have I ever read
of, or heard any mention of, his little powder cupboard wherein
he wrote his sermons, when in his later years he was rector of
Black Torrington. This funny but interesting cupboard was no
doubt used many times by Mr. Russell's predecessors, while
they sat wrapped in a sheet during the powdering of their wigs
for Sunday service, or possibly for a carousal with the squire,
maybe for both. I am glad to say when I saw it last, a few
years ago, it remained exactly as it stood in Mr. Russell's time,
in a big empty room, not let into a wall or seeking its support,
but more like a sentry-box, approached up some steps a little
to one side of the room, with a door to shut behind the occupier,
and a small square window after the fashion of an attic window
not intended to open or shut. Out of it could be seen a glimpse
of the spare room, and beyond it some greenery viewed through
the window of the room. Inside this curious edifice there
stands the original sloping sort of schoolboy-desk, rough with
old age, much scrubbing, and innocent of any varnish or
decoration. Both desk and high stool are attached to the floor.
The rectory^ has been in recent years more or less repaired
The Rev. Jack Russell, M.F.H. and M.O.H. Z7
and done up generally, and I am glad to say the inhabitants
have had the good taste to leave this curio untouched.
I feel I know exactly why Mr. Russell retired to this little
box when in the throes of sermon-production, for there was
nothing to distract his attention, no wistful brown eyes of a
favourite old hound to coax him from his work, no old hunter
to be seen in the paddock enticing him out.
There is so little I can write of this dear old parson that is
not generally known, yet my book would be strangely in-
complete without him, one of the finest specimens of the sporting
parson that has ever trodden the earth, I imagine.
There are, however, amongst the rising generation, a number
of young people, I am told, to whom Parson Jack is only a
name. For them I will briefly relate his life and sporting
experiences, and it may interest some folk, as it does myself.
Observing the characteristic tastes and temperaments of
children, and following them through the years to man's estate
and seeing what they lead to, how they bury or use their talents ;
being with them, so to speak, from the cradle to the grave, is
an engrossing pastime.
The west seems to ^be the home of sporting parsons, even
more than the north. At one time Mr. Russell owned hounds
in Devonshire, and about a score of other clergymen did the
same in the Bishop of Exeter's diocese alone, much to that
gentleman's chagrin ; he remonstrated with several of them,
Mr. Russell amongst the number, but they continued to hunt
all the same.
Mr. Phillpotts, who was at that time Bishop of Exeter, feared
his clergy were not attending to their duties and were neglecting
their parishes, " gadding about the country after dogs " ; this
was his unsympathetic and ignorant — or perhaps meant to be
annoying — way of expressing himself. Nevertheless, he allowed
Mr. Russell was a fine preacher, and travelled some miles to
hear him when the opportunity offered itself.
Mr. Jack Russell was born in 1795 at Iddesleigh rectory, in
Devonshire, his father being incumbent, keeping both pupils
and hounds. One pony was set apart on purpose for the boys
to ride out hunting and used as an incentive to work; the youth
who could show the highest marks at the end of the week was
allowed to ride it on the next hunting -day.
38 Sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
Mr. Russell, senior, like his son in late years, was a good
preacher and a keen sportsman. History relates that the old
gentleman's top-boots have been observed peeping out from
beneath his cassock in church.
It is evident from whom Mr. Jack Russell inherited his love
for sport, which began to show itself very early in life. When
at school at Tiverton he kept four and a half coiiple of hounds
unknown to the authorities. An obliging blacksmith on the
outskirts of the village kennelled and fed them with flesh. The
local farmers and the blacksmith loj^ally held their tongues, and
encouraged young Russell and his partner, a boy named Borey,
in the enterprise. Many happy and healtliful half -holidays were
spent with these hounds.
Unfortunately, after a time the headmaster, named Dr.
Richards, a very strict disciplinarian, got wind of the matter,
and the boy Borey was expelled. Why this fate should have
fallen on him and not young Russell I have never been given to
understand ; however, the latter did not escape quite free.
He was sent for to the master's study. There was no beating
about the bush ; Dr. Richards began at once.
" You keep hounds, don't you ? "
" No, sir, I do not."
" You dare to stand there and tell lies to me ? Your partner
who shared them with you has confessed and been expelled."
" I am not lying, sir. I have no hounds, for Borey stole
them yesterday and sent them home to his father."
" Well, that is lucky for you, or I should have expelled you
also."
This attitude of schoolmasters towards sport and healthy
amusement for the boys has often surprised me. I firmly
believe that if every big school, especially our public schools,
had a pack of hounds which the boys could hunt and follow, on
foot for choice, there would then be less of the bullying and vice
we hear so much about when youths are congregated together.
There would neither be the time nor the same inclination for
mischief. At the end of the day they would be healthily
tired.
Perhaps it was as well the hounds departed, for after they
had gone Jack Russell turned his attention to work, ca]^,turing
two prizes open to competition, an exhibition of £30 a year, and
The Rev. Jack Russell, M.F.H. and M.O.H. 39
a medal for elocution. This brought him into favour with Dr.
Richards once more, but had the Doctor known the £30 went
to buy a horse from the Rev. John Froude, he might have been
less pleased. This Mr. Froude became a lifelong friend of Mr.
Russell's, and I think exercised a gre^t deal of influence over
him. He certainly encouraged him in opposing and defying his
bishop. This Mr. Froude of Knowston was a well-known
character. I shall have more to say of him latei".
From school Mr. Russell went to Exeter College, Oxford,
where he went in extensively for the noble art of self-defence,
proving himself a rather formidable person to tackle ; his length
of arm and habitual agility were in his favour, and he studied
the art under a professional.
One day a Cambridge man, in a weak moment, backed his
University against Oxford at boxing. Mr. Russell was one of
the three picked men chosen to represent Oxford. Cambridge
went home with its tail between its legs.
Hunting was another recreation indulged in while at college.
The Duke of Beaufort's badger-pies hunted the Oxfordshire
hills from the Heythrop at one season of the year, and the
Badminton at another. When they met within reach of Oxford
Mr. Russell seldom missed a day. He made a great friend of
that faithful and valued servant of three Dukes of Beaufort,
Will Long, who acted as their huntsman from 1826 to 1855,
making twenty -nine years. He said he thought it remarkable,
the way, after an hour in the kennels, Mr. Russell knew every
hound by name and recognised them in the field next day.
It used, I know, to puzzle his reverence that men could, and
often did, hunt regularly with a pack and yet at the end of a
season not know one hound from another. These are the men
who hunt to ride, and care nothing for hound work, which was
the joy of Mr. Russell's life.
It was while at Oxford he met with the little fox-terrier
that was to be the mother and founder of his far-famed breed
of terriers. He met the little lady accompanying a milkman
on his rounds. Mr. Russell at once made an offer for her, but
the milkman was in no hurry to part A\ith his pet ; eventually
the bidding became so brisk and tempting he succumbed, and
" Trump " became the property of Mr. Russell. Her descen-
dants are scattered all over the world. This breed is now
40 Sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
always associated with Mr. Russell's name ; they are noted for
their method in bolting foxes, never worrying them in their
earths, or fighting one another underground, which is not an
unheard-of thing for terriers to do. King Edward VII. greatly
admired little " Trump," and had an oil-painting of her.
^i Mr. Russell liked both his hounds and his terriers to throw
their tongues freely, for the same reason that Lord Fitzhardinge
liked to mount his hunt servants on roarers ; he then knew
where they were ! He entered his terriers entirely to fox, so
there was no fear of their running riot ; the faintest whimper
from one of them and the whole pack of hounds would fly to it
as quickly as to one of Mr. Russell's marvellous screams.
It was delightful to get him well launched on the subject
of his terriers, he was such an enthusiastic lover of them.
Nearly everyone in the west country has some tale to tell of
the " Parson Jack," as they call him ; many of the stories have
oft been told, but no one wearies of them.
So far, however, we have only accounted for his first pack of
hounds when at school, aged sixteen. His second venture was
when a curate at South Molton, this time to hunt the otter,
so little known and inscrutable. He collected six couple of
hounds, a scratch uneven lot from neighbouring friends. Not
every hound will enter to otter, as Mr. Russell soon found out.
His patience was often sorely tried, for he could not keep his
hounds to the water ; they would wander off in search of fox,
which had been their training.
While on these long tramps with his disappointing hounds,
he learnt the country thoroughly, and the knowledge was
useful to him in later years when his hunting had to be done
with a limited number of horses, enabling him to save many
miles, and take short cuts even in the dark. When almost in
despair of being able to do anything with them, he heard of a
sporting farmer who had a useful scratch pack with which he
hunted fox, hare, and otter, and that he was drafting some of
them. Mr. Russell hurried off in hope of securing a hound or
two accustomed to the taste of otter, that would teach and
encourage the rest of his pack. He found just what he wanted,
and for -the modest sum of £l brought home with him a useful
hound that quickly taught the rest, after which he enjoyed six
years of hunting with them. He had no kennels ; the neigh-
The Rev. Jack Russell, M.F.H. and M.O.H. 41
bouring farmers and cottagers gave them a welcome by their
firesides.
Unfortunately otter-hunting only lasts for about five months
in the year, but there is no pleasanter way of spending the
summer months, for you are led into strange unfrequented
places far from the haunts of man, where Nature is seen at her
best, in her most attractive forms. When the season ended
Mr. Russell hunted a good deal with Mr. Froude, vicar of
Knowstone, which place was only about ten miles from South
Molton ; the country was mostly wild moor, heath and
furze.
In 1826 Mr. Russell married and left South Molton, returning
to the home of his youth as curate to his father. There being
no hounds in the immediate vicinity, he soon collected some and
blossomed into a M.F.H. ; he gathered together some useful
workers, several having belonged to a Mr. Templer of Stover,
whose methods were original, and who had wonderful control
over his hounds. On blank days he would turn out a bagged
one in front of his pack, but they were not allowed to touch
him ; they used to stand round their master with his watch in
hand ; when he said, " One, two, and away ! " off they flew.
Most of the hounds glued their eyes on their master's face until
the given moment, but one fixed his eyes on his watch, and the
moment it was shut with a snap was off in pursuit. Mr. Templer
kept about twenty foxes for blank days in a couple of big yards.
Each fox had a long chain attached to it so that it could take
plenty of exercise, being occasionally assisted by a tandem
whip, gently applied to keep them in good form and wind.
One fox had been turned out about thirty times and quite
understood the game ; he was rewarded by a fresh rabbit
for his supper at the end of the day. I have been told the
fox enjoyed the fun, giving them plenty of galloping. The
hounds must indeed have been well disciplined, for when the fox
had done enough and refused to run any more, they would stand
round him with mouths watering and not touch, for this fox,
when he ceased to find amusement in the game, refused to go
any further. The Master must have been a hard rider to be up
in time always to see that his favourites did not transgress.
This wonderful pack of dwarf foxhounds was sold in 1826,
I believe, finding new homes all over the country. Mr. Russell,
42 sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
knowing their hunting powers, wished to collect a few of them,
end succeeded, eventually having one of the finest hunting -packs
in the west of England.
It was from Mr. Templer that Mr. Russell said he learnt
much of his craft.
Considering the habitual low state of this latter sporting
parson's finances, it is surprising the amount of hunting he
managed to enjoy. He said he was obliged to ride anything he
could get, and his horses had to work hard as well as their master,
for there was no hack to carry him to the meet, no dogcart
waiting to bring him home, and he used to ride long distances
to meets, occasionally as many as thirty miles.
Three hunters were the most Mr. Russell could allow himself.
At one time he owned three exceptionally useful gees, " Billy,"
only a cob of fourteen hands, clever and sturdy, never tired,
always game ; his owner said no money would tempt him to
part with the little horse ; " Cottager " and " Monkey " were
bad-tempered, and in consequence not considered desirable
mounts by most people. The former horse would try and
snatch at his rider's boots as he jogged along to the meet, only
forgetting his temper during the run. These horses carried
their owner for several seasons, and he rode twelve stone.
His staff, consisted of himself as huntsman and whip, unless
an occasional friend whipped for him. His only regular help was
a rough youth who worked in the garden and stables ; he rejoiced
in the name of " Sam." His master coached him well, giving him
instructions in the science of hunting, as to what should be done
under certain circumstances, such as starting a fresh fox in
covert, etc. Sam enjoyed this catechism, and proved an
intelligent and valuable assistant.
The appearance of his pack troubled Mr. Russell not at all,
so long as they could hunt ; and some of his mounts have been
little more tlian Exmoor ponies, on which he has started away
before daylight and returned after dark. The only person I
have ever heard of who could equal Mr. Russell in endurance of
long days and fatigues was old Sir Tatton Sykes, the Yorkshire-
man, but he was mounted on expensive horses, while Mr. Russell
often had to content himself with screws. One of the reasons
why Parson Jack got so much work out of his horses was due to
the care he took of them ; in the height of his pleasure he always
The Rev. Jack Russell, M.F.H. and M.O.H. 43
remembered his mount and saved him as much as possible, both
in wind and legs.
In 1832 Mr. Russell went to Swymbridge, near his wife's
old home, and spent forty -five years of his life there with two
parishes and churches to look after, receiving the handsome
income of £180 a year — and yet I have heard that " a labourer
is worthy of his hire." Out of this £180 a year a curate had to
be provided.
During those forty odd years he worked wonders in the
parishes. From one service per Sunday it grew to four, the
church was restored, and new schools built.
The Gypsies were especially fond of him ; he always be-
friended them, and would not allow them to be hounded from
place to place if he could help it, and would always allow them
to camp on his land ; they much appreciated the way he trusted
them. When the King of the Gypsies felt that his days were
numbered, he gave instructions that a certain charm he had
worn for years should be given to his reverence, as a token of
gratitude for many kindnesses, also his much-treasured rat-
catching belt, and expressed the wish that he should be buried
in Swymbridge churchyard and the service taken by Parson
Russell.
Mr. Russell used to ask his friends for some of their cast-off
garments for the Gypsies. When there was going to be a
wedding amongst them they went to him to see if he had any
clothes to make them smart for the occasion ; he seldom failed
them. He has even supplied the ring sometimes. They
treated him, and looked upon him, as their best friend.
There is a story well known in the west, though possibly not
elsewhere, that is typical of the man.
Riding home from hunting one evening, as he passed the
blacksmith's forge in his village, the owner came out saying a
Gypsy who was standing by the forge wanted to buy his black
mare, but said he had no money with him. What did the
parson advise him to do ? Would it be wise to let the mare go ?
Probably the man would disappear and never be heard of
again .
Mr. Russell looked at the Gypsy for a moment, then said,
" I think I know your face ; you married when camping on my
land, did you not ? "
44 Sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
" No, sir, it was my brother."
" Well," said Mr. Russell, " if I stand for you will you come
and pay ? Do you mean to pay ? "
" Yes, your honour."
Turning to the smithy. Parson Jack said, " Let him have the
mare ; if he does not pay I will."
A week or two later, when again passing the forge, he asked
if the Gypsy had paid.
" Yes sir, every penny, and many thanks to you."
It was these kindly acts that endeared Mr. Russell to people ;
nobody who went to him for advice and help was ever sent
empty away. Everybody knew he was not well off in worldly
goods, and I think his generosity out of what he possessed, and
the way he trusted people, made them straight in return.
I cannot help feeling that if I had volunteered to stand
surety for the Gypsy, the blacksmith would have sworn he
had never received a penny, then have collected the amount
from me and the purchaser, and appeared aggrieved with us
both.
For about two years, when at Swymbridge, Mr. Russell gave
up his hounds in consequence of the way he was worried
financially and morally. Some of his kind relations and friends
never ceased telling him he was on the high road to ruin ; that
he neglected his duties, etc.
He felt very lonely and miserable without his hounds, and
when one day he was told six and a half couple were again
standing in his kennel, a gift from his old friend Harry Fellows,
he was overjoyed, especially when he received a note saying
they were a draft from the Vine and all were over distemper.
This was a temptation too great to be resisted ; the beauties
looked so comfortable and at home in the kennels, and he was
happy once more.
People who have no love for animals and sport may feel
impatient with those who do care for these things, not being
able to understand the exhilaration of the chase, the joy of the
country, and the intelligence of our faitliful four-footed com-
panions, who try so hard to please us and are so much more
dependable and faithful than many human beings. They ask
so little from us and bestow so generously and plentifully of
all they have to give.
The Rev. Jack Russell, M.F.H. and M.O.H. 45
But again poor Mr. Russell found himself obliged to part
with his treasures, for much the same reason as before. The
hounds had actually left the kennels, starting for new homes,
when Mrs. Russell could not stand her husband's look of dejec-
tion and persuaded him to keep them, pointing out to him that
he had quite as much right to some pleasure as other people ;
so back to the kennels they went again, and he hunted hounds
without interruption until 1871, when he sold them to Mr.
Henry Villebois in Norfolk.
A story is told, and well known in the west country, of
Bishop Phillpotts, who, when touring his diocese, came across a
pack of hounds in full cry, while amongst the field were such a
number of black coats he thought there must have been some
epidemic in the neighbourhood to account for so many men
being in mourning. He conversed with his chaplain on the
subject ; he, being a wise man, held his tongue, and everybody
enjoyed themselves, the Bishop in his own particular way, the
black-coated gentlemen in their own particular way. I do
not know about the chaplain, by the way ; he may have
been longing to join the black coats disappearing in the
distance.
Mr. Villebois, who bought Mr. Russell's hounds, introduced
the old sportsman to the Prince of Wales (King Edward VII.) .
He became a great favourite at Sandringham ; both the Prince
and Princess of Wales liked him. He was staying there in 1873
and danced the old year out and the new year in with beautiful
Princess Alexandra. The Prince had told him to bring a
sermon with him ; this he did, and preached in the pretty little
church in the grounds of Sandringham, close to the house.
The sermon gave pleasure to His Royal Highness, who compli-
mented the sporting parson on his eloquence and charm of
language.
He stayed with his Royal host and hostess again in 1876.
It was Mr. Russell who acted as pilot to the Prince when first
he hunted with the Devon and Somerset stag -hounds, and a
better man could not have been chosen. One of Mr. Russell's
most cherished possessions was a tie-pin which the Prince had
given to him, and put into his scarf with his own hands.
I am one of the people who regret the passing of the Sporting
Parsons ; they were fine, manly, sky -pilots. Far be it from me
46 Sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
to say there are not many great and good clergymen now who
are not sportsmen. What grieves me is that so many earnest
and good men should have so little power to attract or hold our
interest, A short time ago I was discussing this very subject
v.'ith an ex-master of hounds, who has seen a good deal of the
world, has done his bit for his country, and will now carry the
marks of it with him to the end of his days. He said, " The
old Sporting Parson was a dignified man one could respect and
admire. The Roman Catholic priests I respect and admire ; they
are dignified, well-educated, often intelligent, and social assets ;
but man}^ of the English Church clergy are such crawling
creatures and so ill-educated and childish, if I get into the train
with one I feel I must apologise for him, and when I bid him
' Good-bye ' I feel I ought to speak to him as if he is a child and
say to him, ' Ta-ta ; say good-bye to the lady nicely and run
away and play robbers.' "
It is the fashion to-day, as I have already said, to run down
sporting parsons, and undoubtedly there have been specimens
who have brought them as a class into disrepute, but no one
could ever say they were a crawling lot, or wish to bid them
" Ta-ta."
In 1879 Lord Poltimore offered the living of Black Torring-
ton to Mr. Russell ; this meant £500 a year and a good home,
so though he felt leaving Swymbridge, the need of cash neces-
sitated it. When he said good-bye to his old neighbours and
friends they presented him with a cheque for £800, all his
parishioners and friends, including the Prince of Wales, having
subscribed. It was presented to him in the Duke of Bedford's
House in Eaton Square, and many kindly things were said about
the work he had done in his parishes, and of his Christian
charity.
At Black Torrington Mr. Russell fixed himself up very
comfortably, papered and painted the old rectory, built new
stables at considerable cost, and just as they were finished a
fire reduced them to ashes, and unfortunately two good horses
and a couple of valuable terriers shared the same fate. The
rat-catcher's charm had not brought him much luck. Once
more his financial calculations were thrown out ; but he was not
a grumbler, he squared his shoulders and bought a horse — and
a good one, very cheap, being, as he expressed it, " speechless
The REV. JACK RUSSELL, M.F.H., M.O.H.
[Faciiiyp. 46.
ssssfsessB^c^ssipw
' 7-~»,-S«.l«
^^'1 h
y
-I t
"-a
THE POWDER CUPBOARD
WHERE THE FAMOUS JACK RUSSELL WROTE HIS SERMONS
Fiiciiiij ji. 17
The Rev. Jack Russell, M.F.H. and M.O.H. 47
in one eye " — and before long collected a small pack of harriers
with which to hunt the surrounding country.
When first Parson Jack began hunting he met with some
opposition amongst his neighbours, but, being fairly smart with
the gloves, the moment anyone interfered with his hounds he
settled it in true old English style, and soon there was no more
interference ; those who wished to quarrel with him soon became
ardent followers.
Mr. Russell was only a few years at Black Torrington, and
died there, but was, of course, well known over the whole
country.
What personality the man had will be understood from the
way the smallest things that had ever belonged to him are still
treasured. A friend of mine has in his possession, and greatly
prizes, the old boot-jack his reverence used ; it is now, or was
when I saw it a little while ago, badly worm-eaten, alas !
In a cottage I was shown a " piture " (photograph) of Mr.
Russell standing in the place of honour on the fluffy mat, beside
the family Bible. The owner said he would part with all his
possessions sooner than " the passon's piture."
What made this man so loved ? It was his big, good heart,
and — it is a very big and — because he was what in those days
was the first requisite for gentlepeople — a courtier.
His wife was a Miss Bury, one of an old Devonshire family ;
she died some years before he did. He had been much attached
to her, and felt her death painfully.
It was at Black Torrington he wrote his sermons in the
" powder cupboard."
I wish he had written a diary ; there was so much in his life
that was interesting, but he kept no record of his doings. He
had a wonderful memory and was an entertaining companion ;
down in the neighbourhood of his old home and in sporting
circles people are never tired of telling one stories of Parson Jack.
Generally speaking, £ s. d. makes the wheels of life turn
smoothly and helps to build up fame ; but money played no part
in building up Mr. Russell's, for he was always in the lowest
water, riding anything he could get ; and it speaks well for his
pluck and management that he was able to hunt and enjoy life
to a ripe old age, thanks, no doubt, greatly to his frugal life.
He always preferred bread and cheese and cider to the most
48 Sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
carefully prepared and costly banquet. He would never sit up
late at night, and was usually up with the dawn.
Not many men at the age of eighty-two can ride a horse
twenty -five miles home after a day's stag-hunting. He always
seemed insensible to fatigue, like old Sir Tatton Sykes, whose
feats of endurance were so remarkable.
All the four years at Black Torrington the poor old sports-
man's health was faihng, and in 1883, with kind people about
him, he died. At his own request he was buried at Swymbridge,
by the side of his wife, in the parish he had shepherded for forty
odd years.
At least a thousand people attended his funeral ; beautiful
flowers came from far and near, but some of the most touching
sights were amidst the cottagers, who came weeping with baskets
and aprons full of flowers to shower on to his coffin in the grave.
All sorts and sizes were there — lords and ladies, horse-dealers,
Gypsies, rat-catchers, old people, young children — all anxious
to pay a last tribute to the parson who preached moving sermons
from the pulpit, and still more moving sermons by everyday
life, of tolerance, love, and charity for all men.
It was remarked a few years ago that there was nothing in
the church at Torrington to commemorate his years there.
The idea was no sooner mooted than all that was wanted was
collected, and now a brass is put up in the church to the memory
of the Rev. Jack Russell by his many hunting and sporting
parishioners, who cared for him more than a little.
Mr. Russell was not a believer in the silent method of hunt-
ing hounds, I am glad to say. He liked to hear the cheery voice
of a huntsman better than the rating of a whipper-in. He could
carry his hounds through a fresh fox or two without changing
from the hunted one, and this by his voice alone, crying, " Come
forward ! Come forward ! "—that wonderful voice of his.
Much of the pleasure of hunting in covert is lost under the
silent system, and I think there can be no doubt about which the
hounds like, best.
Chapter V
The Rev. Hugh Palisser Costobadie — What his Friends called Him — His Fine
Physique — Required Weight-Carriers — An Awkward Colt — An Adventurous
Ride — A Short Cut in a Dogcart — An Impossible Situation — How he Circum-
vented it — His Childhood — Harrow and College Days — He and a Friend as Use-
ful Boxers — " To Let, a Thrashing Machine" — Accepts the Living of Hallerton
—A Remarkable Record — Chaplain at Coblentz — Kindness of German Royalty
— Their Presents to H<m — Mr, Costobadie is Surprised at German Manners
— He Admired their Hardiness — A Court Scandal— What the Empress Thought
— The Empress Augusta's Advice — A Year's Holiday — Church Innovation —
Some Bad Luck — A Windfall — A Roadway Strewn with Banknotes — A Good
Example in Stable Management — His Kindness to the Poor — A Railway
Porter in Church — Rev. Henry Costobadie Hunts in Pink — His Views on
Divorce — The Rev. J. W. King — A Racehorse Owner — His Yorkshire
Trainer, John Osborne — His Reverence's Nom-de-plume and his Colours —
Some Anxious Moments — Sir Frederick Johnson's Bet — A Sensational St*
Leger — Osborne Telegraphs for Orders — None Received — Uses his Own Dis-
cretion— All Ends Well — A Winner of Three Classics — Has a Row with his
Bishop — His Letter to the Bishop of Lincoln — The Vicar Seldom on a Race-
course— Keen Shooting Man — His Death.
THERE are still plenty of people alive who have hunted with
the Rev. Hugh Pahsser Costobadie in the Billesden
country, or with the Quorn and Mr. Fernie's.
Like so many of the sporting parsons of those days, the
Reverend " Costo," as his friends called him, was a splendidly -
made man, six feet four inches in height, and proportionately
powerful, which gave him an imposing appearance when sur-
pUced and in the pulpit, but was not an altogether unmixed
blessing when it came to finding mounts capable of carrying him
across the big pastures and stiff fences of the shires.
Indeed, he found the problem so difficult that he character-
istically decided to go to the heart of the matter, and breed
weight-carriers for himself if he could not buy them. He was
about thirty when he came to this decision, and at once began
collecting a small stud in the paddocks around the rectory at
Hallerton. From some half-dozen brood-mares he sought to
produce his ideal hunter that should combine blood, bone, and
50 Sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
pace. On the whole, he was fairly successful, but soon made the
discovery that so many others have also made — that it was an
expensive amusement, and well calculated to lead to financial
difficulties ; so he gave up his stud with many regrets.
Anyhow, it was a courageous effort and just like the man,
for all through his life one finds this tough spirit that always
refused to turn from a project without a tenacious struggle.
Here is an instance of determination that even advancing
years could not weaken. One day, when well into his 78th year,
he rode a half -broken colt to Kibworth station, intending to
send it by rail to his eldest son at Grendon, in Northampton-
shire. The colt gave him a very rough ride over the five miles
to the station, and when the porters tried to make it enter the
box the^ was a considerable commotion. Mr. Costobadie
threw himself into the struggle with enthusiasm, but without
success, and after a long tussle they were forced to the
conclusion that it was impossible to send the colt by rail at all.
However, he had made up his mind that it should go to Grendon
that day, so he remounted without further ado, and set off to
ride the whole forty miles — no small undertaking at his age, even
on a pleasant hack, let alone on a trying brute like that, that had
not yet exhausted all its tricks, by any means. About half-way
to Grendon they came to a brook that crossed the road in the
form of a shallow ford, with a plank footbridge at the side for
foot people. At the time the brook was in flood, and nothing
would induce the colt to face it ; more tussles followed, without
success, but again the old Vicar was not to be denied, and, sur-
prising as it sounds, he succeeded in getting the colt across the
narrow plank bridge, that was not more than eighteen inches
wide and only protected by a wobbly handrail at one side.
Being about four feet above the water, it was one of those feats
that sound so easy when contemplated from an armchair, but
really provide some rather grim moments in practice. It was
all in keeping that when the undauntable Vicar arrived at Gren-
don he stoutly declared that he was conscious of no undue
fatigue whatever.
There is another story about him in the same vein, but this
time in connection with a dogcart. While out driving one day,
he sought to discover a short cut between Hallerton and Bowden
by leaving the high road and plunging boldly down a bridle-path.
The Revs. H. P. Costobadie and J. W. King 51
There are few more fruitful sources of adventure than exploring
bridle-paths in dogcarts, but when the vehicle is drawn by a
tandem, as it was in this case, it seems rather like challenging
fate. On the whole, he was lucky, for the worst that befell him
was to come to a place that was just too narrow to allow the
dogcart to pass through. Perhaps to the acquiescent souls of a
later generation this would have been a small matter, to be set
right by turning cheerfully back and going by the road. Not so
with the Vicar, however. He unharnessed the horses, tied them
to a tree, took one wheel off the dogcart, man-handled it through
the narrow place, re-harnessed the horses, and finished the
journey in triumph to his own satisfaction.
Turn back, indeed !
There seems to me something symbolical in the high, un-
compromising stocks worn by the country gentlemen of those
days, that permitted no weak vacillation, but held the head
always severely to the front. A stiff-necked generation, with-
out a doubt. It reminds me of the incident at the Battle of the
Alma, when some of our troops found themselves drawn up
within range of a dropping fire from the heights, which they
could not return, but, although they were not in action at the
time, they never dreamed of moving back a few hundred yards,
preferring to sit still and lose men. Brave days, no doubt ;
but times change, and I fear the officer responsible would be
promptly court-martialled in these practical times.
The Reverend " Costo " was born at Wensley rectory, in
Yorkshire, in 1804, and began to show a love for horseflesh at
an early age. While still a tiny child he was often found watch-
ing the horses at exercise in the early mornings at a well-known
training stable not far off. He was at Harrow with Lord Pal-
merston and Sir Robert Peel, and then went to St. John's College,
Cambridge, where it has been wrongly stated that he was con-
temporary with Charlotte Bronte's father. This little slip
appeared in that charming book, " The Annals of the Billesden
Hunt," compiled by the rector's son. Captain F. Palisser Costo-
badie, who has very kindly allowed me to use several stories of
his father that appear in it. The mistake about Bronte arose,
he tells me, through Bronte's father having been at the same
college, but having left shortly before Mr. Costobadie went up.
While at Cambridge, Mr. Costobadie had a friend called
52 sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
Wyld, who was a very powerful man, and the two were regarded
by their friends as being rather useful boxers. On one occasion
the two held a street in a Town and Gown row with great success
against a crowd. After this, Mr. Wyld became known as the
" Thrashing Machine," and someone put a notice up on his
door, " To Let— A Thrashing Machine " !
It was to be expected that Mr. Costobadie's love of horses
would draw him to Newmarket Heath pretty frequently, and
he was a famiUar figure there all the time he was at Cam-
bridge ; of course, in those days undergraduates were allowed
to keep their own horses if they felt so inclined.
Parson Costobadie held the living at Hallerton from 1838
to 1843, and it was while he was there that he set up the remark-
able record, that has since become something of a classic, which
consisted of riding forty miles, taking four services, jumping
four gates to save the trouble of opening them, shooting a couple
of wild duck, and arriving home with them hanging to his
saddle after dark.
In 1850 he was offered, and accepted, the British chaplaincy
at Coblentz, which he held for six years, during which time he
experienced a great deal of kindness and hospitality at the hands
of Prince William of Prussia, who afterwards became King of
Prussia, and Emperor William I. of Germany. His Consort,
Augusta, nee the Princess of Saxe-Weinmr, was also very kind,
being strongly pro -British. Things British were very popular
with all classes of the country. The Princess went out of her
way to show her interest in the British colony, and was a regular
attendant at the chapel, where she expressed the wish that it
should be made to look " as much like an English church as
possible." She also presented the chaplain with a handsome pair
of silver candlesticks for the altar.
It is hard to realise that all this was happening within a life's
span of to-day ; but so it was, and it shows how public senti-
ment will veer under the gentle suasion of its press and political
leaders — a trait not peculiar to Germany by any means. His-
tory does not give a very edifying picture of life in the numerous
small German courts of the period, but the court of Saxe-
Weimar seems to have been the exception to the rule, for Mr.
Costobadie brought away very happy memories of its simple
refinement and its cultured life. He also brought back to
The Revs. H. P. Costobadie and J. W. King 53
England with him many tokens of Royal friendship, including a
fine portrait of the Queen Augusta presented to him by one of the
Royal family, but he could not help being surprised at the curious
manners of the German people at that time, even among the
upper classes of the state, especially at table. But, after all,
such things are matters of custom, and for all we know, the
good chaplain may often have hurt the feelings of Saxe-
Weimar hostesses by failing to sound as if he were enjoying his
soup. He always stood up for the Germans as lovers of cold
water, after seeing several hardy spirits regularly break the ice
and bathe in the river throughout the winter, much as certain
hardy ones are reputed to bathe in the Serpentine on Christmas
Day every year.
Hohenzollern Princes have never been remarkable for con-
stancy to their consorts, and stimulating court gossip was
provided by Frederick, the present Emperor's father, on the
occasion of a state ball in honour of his bride's birthday,
the Princess Royal of England. She discovered a magnificent
pearl necklace in the Prince's apartments just before the ball,
and naturally thought it was a present for herself, so pretended
to know nothing about it, fully prepared to be amazed and
delighted at the proper time. As it turned out, she was amazed,
but not delighted, for during the ball she saw the necklace adorn-
ing the neck of one of the most famous court beauties. Her
mortification was so great that the poor Princess drove off in
haste and tears to the palace of the Empress Augusta, to whom
she complained bitterly. The Empress failed to be as sym-
pathetic as the Princess expected, and merely remarked that if
she took such matters to heart she should never have married
a Hohenzollern.
At the end of his chaplaincy the Reverend Costobadie came
home and enjoyed a year's holiday in the Isle of Man, fishing
and shooting to his heart's content, before returning to the placid,
healthy life of a country rector, surrounded by loving friends
and relations. He never hunted in pink, preferring a neat
black coat, and taking particular pride in the polish of his top-
boots, which always shone like glass. He was a moderate High
Churchman and distinctly orthodox, one of his favourite say-
ings being, " All things work together for our good," a belief
that, combined with a sound digestion, should insure a long life
54 Sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
to anyone. He preached in a black gown, as was then custom-
ary, but was one of the first to adopt the more cheerful white
surplice, which was regarded as a frisky innovation by many.
No sooner had the ecclesiastical conscience of England been
reconciled to the surplice than a fresh innovation came in the
shape of more cheerful Church music, and this, too, he whole-
heartedly introduced into his own church.
He did not preach extempore, but his sermons were well
reasoned and delivered with obvious sincerity. He was always
careful to cut out anything that could be called " high flown,"
and was equally careful to avoid expressing views that would
sound extreme to any of his hearers.
" Every jockey rides best in his own saddle, and I preach
best in my own pulpit," was one of his sayings, and he had every
reason to be proud of his beautiful old three-decker, for it is
one of the most exquisite of its kind in the country. In 1844
Mr. Henry Green, an old hunting friend, offered him the living of
King's Norton. Mr. Costobadie accepted it, and held it for forty-
three years, although he did not live there until his return from
Coblentz in '57. Soon after this he had the bad luck to lose
a good deal of money, and was not able to hunt as regularly as
in years gone by, but he still managed to see a good deal of
sport, mounted on horses that carried him well enough, even
though they were not always much to look at.
Things began to improve after a time, and, in 1869, a wind-
fall enabled him to settle up with his long-suffering tradesmen.
When this auspicious day arrived, he sallied out on horseback
to the town, his hat stuffed full of banknotes with which to
gladden the hearts of the butcher, baker, and saddle-makers.
He was so prompt with his settlements that most of his friends
had not even heard of the windfall, and he created quite a sen-
sation in' the main street of Leicester when he took off his hat to
a lady and strewed the roadway with notes that flew in all
directions. As his hard-up-ness was well known, banknotes
were about the last thing anyone expected to see issuing from
his hat. More horses now became possible, and it was not long
before the vicarage stabling became inadequate, so that the coal-
shed had to be converted into a loose box.
He was one of the first to come to the conclusion that it was
unwise to wash horses' legs after hunting, a contention around
The Revs. H. P. Costobadie and J. W. King 55
which controversy continued to rage for a long time, but which
has now been accepted almost unanimously.
His happy, companionable nature won him many friends,
among whom were the " Bishop of Skeffington," father of the
Reverend J. R. Davenport, and Mr. de G. Davenport, the well-
known sporting correspondent. Mr. Costobadie used to say
jokingly, " Never trust parsons, lawyers, or doctors."
Captain Palisser Costobadie, in his book of the Billesden
Hunt, says his father was very tender-hearted, and would not
refuse work to any who came to him seeking his help ; like
the parson who, being anxious to assist a man out of work, but
having nothing for him to do, pointed to a heap of stones in the
corner of his kitchen garden, and told him to remove them.
When that was carried out, and the man came and asked
what next he could do, the vicar, still unable to think of
any suitable work, said, " Oh, well, wheel them all back
again " !
Those were the days when dinner was eaten at the unright-
eous hour of three or four o'clock in the afternoon. Once, after
an early day's hunting, two sportsmen were invited to stay and
dine with one of the hospitable and popular M.F.H.'s in the
Quorn country. They gladly accepted the invitation, and so
thoroughly enjoyed themselves that it was dark before they
mounted their horses to return home. In consequence of the
dark, and other reasons, they decided to leave it to their steeds
to take them safely home. Faithfully and steadily the horses
fulfilled the duty imposed on them, but, unfortunately, the riders
had mounted the wrong horses, so each arrived at the home of
his friend instead of his own !
A favourite spaniel of the vicar's used to cause him some
annoyance by coming into church during service. Whenever
this happened he always stopped his discourse, and, leaning
out of the three-decker, would say, " John, take out that dog,
will you ? " This reminds me of an old clerk I used to know,
who considered himself an important part of the church service,
and that the prayers were not complete without his loud
" U-MEN " at the end of each. His son, who was a railway
porter by profession, came to stay with him, and went to church
on Sunday ; during the sermon he fell asleep, and as he showed
signs of falling off his seat his father nudged him. The youth
56 Sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
immediately jumped up, and shouted at the top of his voice,
" All change here for York ! "
There are countless stories of the kindness of Parson Costo-
badie to his parishioners, to whom he used to trundle wheel-
barrow loads of coal, and was more than once seen hastening
to some sick person's house with his own dinner between tv,^o
plates, it having occurred to him that the particular dish might
prove tempting to some invalid. He never talked religion to
them out of church, unless they expressed a desire that he should
do so, as he believed that it was easier to get at people via their
*' Little Marys " than by tracts. During the last days of his
life, on hearing that hounds were passing through the village,
he asked to be lifted to the window to " have one last look at
the beauties." He died in 1887, aged eighty-three. Long life
is so often given to those sportsmen who live frugally and in
the open air. These hardy specimens of manhood have given
us many fine Empire-making sons. Most of the sons of the
sporting parsons that I have known have turned out well,
giving a good account of themselves, and been blessed with
fiine physique and health. His Reverence's elder brother, the
Reverend Henry Palisser de Costobadie, was three years his
senior, and the famous Bosworth gorse was situated in the six
hundred acres of glebe land attached to his living in Leicestershire.
Henry was admittedly one of the handsomest men of his day, and,
unlike his brother, sported a pink coat. His good looks and a
charming manner made him a great favourite with everyone.
He is said to be one of the last parsons to announce hunting
appointments from the pulpit, a custom that was continued up
to quite recent times at Porlock, in the Devon and Somerset
stag -hound country. There is also a legend about him always
having the church bells rung when hounds passed through the
village, but I will not vouch for this. He must have been quite
a bold thinker for those times, as he believed that divorce was a
good thing for couples who could not get on together. " If
parsons could untie as easily as they tie, instead of being engaged
one day a week we should be hard at it all seven," was one of
his frequently expressed convictions.
If it came to hazarding an opinion as to the sporting parsons
who have held pride of place in their particular sports, I think
that I should say that Parson Jack Russell was the most famous
The Revs. H. P. Costobadie and J. W. King 57
hunting parson, the Rev. Cecil Legard the best known for
hunting and racing together, while the Rev. J. W. King un-
doubtedly leads the van for racing alone, although he was only-
seen three times on a race-course, and his real name as an ov;ner
was little known to the general public until his sensational St.
Leger, which he won with " Apology " and was followed by an
altercation with his Bishop.
He was vicar of Ashby Launde in Lincolnshire, and inherited
his racing stable from his brother, and before him his father.
Colonel King. In later years he kept a curate to do most of the
parish v/ork and devoted his time to the care of his stud and
estate, with Mr. John Osborne as his trainer.
Mr. King did not bet, and, as I have already indicated, he
was seldom on a course, but it is questionable if any other
parson has ever had such a list of big wins to his credit. He
was a great believer in the national value of the stock he bred,
as is shown in his not very penitent letter to his Bishop, which
I give further on. For many years he bred regularly for sale,
" Moonbeam " and " Idolatry " being two of his best brood-
mares.
Mr. John Osborne, the veteran trainer of all the parson's
best-known horses, is still alive, I am glad to say, and celebrated
his eighty -fifth birthday sometime ago. It is to him that I am
indebted for many details connected with Mr. King's racing
career, which might otherwise have remained unrecorded ; and
the photograph of Mr. King has not to my knowledge ever
before been published.
" Brilliant " was the first horse the vicar sent to the Os-
bornes : that was in 1851. He was a nice-looking colt and the
last son of " Bessy Bedlam." In the following year " Incense "
and others came to join him. After this the Osbornes, father
and son, had all the vicar's horses to train that were not
sold.
Mr. King ran his horses under the name of " Mr. Launde,"
and his colours were inedium blue body, with red sleeves and
cap, registered at Wetherby's in the 'fifties.
Taking all things into consideration, there has been no more
sensational St. Leger during the last sixty years than that won
by the parson's " Apology." Everyone at Doncastcr was
excited at the prospect of the meeting between " George
58 Sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
Frederick," the winner of the Derby, and " Apology," the
winner of the One Thousand Guineas and the Oaks.
Both horses arrived at the scene of action, apparently in the
best of condition, but the night before the race, " George
Frederick " owned by Mr, Cartwright was found to be lame
and therefore scratched. Next morning a further excitement was
provided by the rumour that after "Apology's" gallop on the
Tuesday morning her leg had filled, and she had been standing
all night with her leg in a bucket of cold water.
Parson King was ill at home, and John Osborne wired the
news of her lameness and awaited instructions anxiously as to
whether she should start or not. During the morning the
rumour got about that the vicar had wired that as all Yorkshire
had backed his favourite mare she was to give them a nm for
their money at all costs ; but this was incorrect, for as a matter
of fact, Osborne never received the vicar's wire until the race
had been run, and brilliantly won, by " Apology." Not
receiving the wire in time, he had used his own discretion in the
matter, and while Sir Frederick Johnson was laying 100 to
1 against her, had decided that she should run. As she showed
no signs of lameness in the preliminary canter she rapidly
regained her place in the betting, and finally started at 4 to 1.
John Osborne, who rode her, won the race in much the same
fashion as when he won the race for Lord St. Vincent on " Lord
Clifden " in 1863. As a jockey he was never in a hurry,
either in a short or long race. A 100 to 1 had been offered
against " Lord Clifden " during the early part of the race, so
far was he behind, and in the case of " Apology " her backers
were not at all happy about her position in the race for a long
time. Osborne hated a making of the running mission, but his
style, even if not always agreeable to backers, gave him a fine
opportunity of seeing all that the others were doing.
Here is a record of " Apology's " classic wins for 1874.
There may have been parsons interested in, or owners of race-
horses before and since his time, but this must surely be a
record :
NEWMARKET. The One Thousand Guineas.
Mr. Launde's " Apology " J. Osborne 1 . 5 to 2
Mr. Lefevre's " La Coureuse " Fordham 2. 3 to 1
Lord Falmouth's " Blanchefleur " F.Archer 3. 10 to 1
Nine ran, " Apology " favourite.
The Revs. H. P. Costobadie and J. W. King 59
EPSOM. The Oaks.
Mr, Launde's " Apology " J. Osborne 1. 5 to 2
Mr. Lefevre's " Miss Toto " Fordham 2. 7 to 4
Mr. East's " Lady Patricia " J. Goater 3. 5 to 1
Eleven ran. " Miss Toto " favourite.
DONCASTER. The St. Leger.
Mr. Launde's " Apology " J. Osborne 1. 4 to 1
Sir R. Buckeley's " Leolinus " T. Osborne 2. 7 to 1
Mr. R. Marshall's " Trent " T.Cannon 3. 5 to 1
Thirteen ran.
The Rev. J. W. King was in another interesting St. Leger
just ten years earUer. In 1864, when " Blair Atholl " won, he
had a horse called the " Minor " which beat " Blair Atholl " a
few weeks previously in the Great Yorkshire Stakes with
J. Osborne riding. The race was a desperate one, " Blair Atholl "
being beaten by a head. Perhaps " Blair Atholl " was short
of a gallop or two at the time of the Great Yorkshire Stakes.
In fact, it must have been one of those flukes that are not
uncommon in racing, for the " Minor " was soundly beaten by
" Blair Atholl " in the St. Leger. The " Minor " was not even
in the first three.
The vicar's 1874 St. Leger, although won under the assumed
name, aroused the ecclesiastical ire of his Bishop. Fame had
effectually swept aside the thin disguise afforded by the " Mr.
Launde," and it was evidently felt in high places that'his racing
tastes were unbecoming.
In due course his Bishop wrote him letters that I have been
unable to trace, but the following is the vicar's sturdy reply,
which serves well enough to give us an idea of what the Bishop
had been saying :
" From the owner of ' Apology ' to the Bishop oj Lincoln.
" My Lord,
" I observe with pain that your Lordship has thought
fit to publish your last letter to myself. Your Lordship is
aware that I was unable at the time to reply in person, being
disabled by an accident which has confined me to my bed, but
the publication of your Lordship's letter compels me at whatever
cost to do so now.
6o Sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
" Permit me in the first place to express my deep acknow-
ledgment of the spirit that pervades your last communication
and the kind expressions it contains, and to assure your Lord-
ship that had your former letters been similar in character to
this, you would have had no reason to complain of their reception
at my hands ; but your Lordship must remember that thej^
contained simply threats amounting to notice of proceedings,
and left me no alternative except the course which I pursued,
viz., to refer your Lordship to my Solicitors. My Lord, in
reference to your present letter, it is true that now, for more
than fifty years, I have bred and sometimes had in training for
the race-course many horses. They are of a breed highly
prized, which I inherited with my estate, and which have been
in my family for generations.
" It may be difficult perhaps to decide what constitutes a
scandal in the Church, but I cannot think that in my endeavours
to preserve this breed, and thus improve the horses of this
country— an object of special interest at the present time— I
have done anything to incur your Lordship's censure. I am
fully aware, as your Lordship must be too, by this time, that
legal proceedings upon your part would be powerless against
me, and if, therefore, I resign the livings which I hold within
your Lordship's Diocese, it will not be from any consciousness
of wrong or from fear of any consequences that might ensue in
the Ecclesiastical Courts, but simply because I desire to live for
the remainder of my days in peace and charity v/ith all men, and
to save your Lordship the inconvenience, and the Church the
scandal, of futile proceedings being taken against one who has
retired some time from parochial ministration and is lying on a
bed of sickness at the moment.
" I rest,
" Yours faithfully,
" J. W. King."
" Apology's " career extended over four years and ended
with a win — the Ascot Cup in 1876, soon after Parson King's
death. She was entered for the race under the name of " Mr.
Seabrook," a name derived from C. Brook. Dr. W. H. Brook
was a personal friend of the parson's, and one of his executors,
but did not long survive him. The doctor was succeeded by
The REV. J. W. KING
OWNER OF " APOLOGY "
[Facing p. 60.
The REV. E. BURNABY
AND HIS LITTLE FAVOURITES
yaciiig p. (il.;
The Revs. H. P. Costobadie and J. W. King 6i
his son, C. Brook, on whom devolved the duty of eri taring the
young stock.
The vicar owned two other good horses, namely, " Agility "
and "Holy Friar,'* the latter's best win being the Gimcrack at
York.
I believe the vicar actually visited a race -course on three
occasions, but the only time his trainer recollects having seen
him on one was at Ascot in 1856, when he had gone to see
Mr. J. M. Brook's mare " Manganese " run for the Ascot Cup.
It seems strange that a man should be content to race for so
many years without ever seeing his horses on the course. I do
not know why the parson avoided the meetings so religiously ;
whether it was because he did not want to go, or whether he
refrained because he was a parson, is hard to determine now.
If it were the latter highly laudable motive it certainly throws a
strong suggestion of sincerity on his declarations to his Bishop
that he kept race-horses and raced for the sake of preserving the
breed.
Mr. King was also a keen shooting man ; for many years
he joined Lord Henry Bentinck and Mr. Hall, at that time Master
of the Holderness hounds, in a big shoot of forest and moor in
Scotland, where the three spent many happy months each year.
Lord Henry Bentinck used to concern himself with the deer in
the forest while parson King and Mr. Hall busied themselves
with the grouse on the heather. The parson died in 1875.
Chapter VI
The Rev. Evelyn Burnaby — His ride from Land's End to John o' Groats —
What his Horses Thought About it — A Sporting Family — Attached Brothers
— Fred Offers to Fight Evelyn's Battles — " Memories of Famous Trials " —
The Rev. Evelyn's Legal Mind — Some Contemporaries at Eton — Present
with Lord Randolph Churchill at Queen Alexandra's Wedding — Apologises
for Slight Lapse of Memory — A Bouquet for a Bazaar — Lord Exeter called a
Vagabond — The Jubilee Plunger's Boisterous Spirits — Evelyn Burnaby helps
Lame Dogs — A Troublesome Curate — Sheriffs Officers pay a Visit — Luncheon
Under the Sofa — The Prince of Wales at Nice — A Mishap — Some Dandie-
Dinmonts — Abusing Charity — A Racing Dream and a Murderer's Dream.
FIRED by his brother— Colonel Fred Burnaby's— " Ride
to Khiva," the Rev. Evelyn Burnaby thought he would
like to do a sensational ride on his own account not quite
so far afield, and decided it should be from Land's End to
John o' Groats. This ride he brought off to his satisfaction in
1892, three horses playing out in the process and having to be
returned home or to hospital. The Society for the Prevention
of Cruelty to Animals interfered once. Mr. Burnaby being over
six feet in height and riding sixteen stone, was rather a heavy
order for any horse to carry day after day in succession, without
off-days, and probably they were only half looked after in
strange stables after fatiguing days.
Evelyn was the younger son of the Rev. Gustavus
Burnaby of Somerby Hall, Leicestershire, for many years rector
of St. Peter's, Bedford. Mr. Evelyn Burnaby's mother was
one of the four beautiful daughters of Henry Villebois, the
squire of Marham Hall, in Norfolk.
Evelyn's father was rather a notable sportsman, and every-
thing he did was carried out with dignity. He drove to race-
meetings in a smart carriage and pair, entertained regally, and
subscribed to every properly -conducted sport. He was always
well-turned-out and rode good horses, and was very proud of
his sons and their abilities in sport. It is a truism that it is
easy for people of considerable means to do things well. Quite
so, but it does not always follow that they do.
The Rev. E. Burnaby ; 63
Colonel Fred Burnaby, my old friend in the Blues, and his
brother Evelyn, were much attached to one another. The
letters they wrote were refreshing, so full of fun and affection.
I wish it were a more general attitude in families ; brothers and
relations are so often jealous of each other, which spoils the
pleasure of family life entirely.
Once while Evelyn was nursing Fred, who was laid up near
Nice, he had a difference of opinion with a Pole who wished to
fight him. Fred interviewed the enraged Pole and pointed out
that Evelyn could not very well fight him, as he was reading tor
Holy Orders, and duelling was not quite the thing for budding
curates, but that he would be very pleased to take his place and
give the foreigner satisfaction. As Fred's prowess with various
weapons was already well known, the offer was not accepted, and
the affair subsided.
I do not think the Church was the profession of the Rev.
Evelyn's heart. When a boy he was studying for the law,
which interested him, but he was told that the family living
was being held for him under an Act of George IV., and his
fate was sealed one evening at dinner when Chief Baron Pollock
and Chief Justice Erie were his father's guests during the Assize
week at Bedford, and they were consulted by Evelyn's father
as to his son's career. Erie advised Evelyn to take the living,
but Pollock said he had made £500 in his first year at the Bar,
adding that no doubt it was an exceptional case. The Chief
Baron had been Senior Wrangler at Cambridge, and Mr. Burnaby,
senior, wishing to puzzle the Judge, asked him to write down
" eleven thousand eleven hundred and eleven " in figures.
He promptly answered 12,111, remarking, " It is only a trick."
The result of the after-dinner discussion was that Evelyn was
ordained, but the law was what he loved, and does to this
day ; indeed, nothing about Evelyn Burnaby 's life interests me
so much as his extraordinary interest in great trials. During
his career as a parson he made time to attend most of the
sensational murder trials that took place in nearly half a
century.
From his corner of the court, or seat on the bench, which
was often accorded him, this hunting parson watched the
human dramas played out with such a keen eye for the dramatic
or bizarre that one wonders what his luck would have been if
64 Sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
fate had made him a novehst or play-writer. This wonderful
sense of the dramatic is conspicuous in his " Memories of
Famous Trials," in which he seizes the " thrill " of a story
as unerringly as a trained journalist, but quite instinctively.
For instance, he sets out to tell the once famous story
of the Wainwright murder. It is worth reading and is a fine
piece of sensational journalism. I cannot recollect ever before
having seen a man whose life is largely spent in field sports
possessing this acute dramatic sense in a similar degree.
He was more often given a seat on the bench than not, as so
many of the Judges were his personal friends, including Wight-
man, who died on circuit at York in 1862, Grantham, Brampton,
and Day. I have often wondered if it would not be desirable
to discontinue this practice of allowing the curious to occupy
seats on the bench. I can understand a man interested in law
being occasionally allowed this privilege, but when women of
fashion and other sightseers are given seats there for the pleasure
of witnessing what must be intensely painful to those being
tried, I do not think it decorous, humane, or dignified. It is
inconceivable to me, too, how it can be any pleasure to watch
a fellow -creature in torture, either mental or physical.
From his 'earliest childhood Burnaby showed his interest in
trials and criminals. When a small boy his father once asked
him what he would hke for a present, and the prompt reply was :
" The Newgate Calendar, please, father."
Later in life, when staying in the Isle of Wight, after a public
dinner his old friend Lord Alverstone, at that time Sir Richard
Webster, Attorney -General and M.P. for the Island, said to
Mr. Burnaby, " You ought to have gone to the Bar." My
friend replied, " If I had. Sir Richard, you would only have
been Solicitor-General to-night." " Very likely," replied Sir
Richard.
Parson Burnaby is a gifted man, and fond of sport in every
sense of the word. He has enjoyed his fair share of it, too,
having hunted with most of the English packs, those he has
hunted with most being the Oakley, Quorn, Cottesmore, Sir
Watkin Wynn's, Tedworth, Lord Portman's, Blackmore Vale,
South Dorset, New Forest (deer and fox), and the Devon and
Somerset stag-hounds. With this last pack he enjoyed much
sport, and always speaks with affection of the happy days
The Rev. E. Burnaby 65
spent while staying with the hospitable folk of that pleasant
land. He began his hunting in 1853, when five years old, with
the Oakley. Both he and his brother Fred were born at St.
Peter's rectory, Bedford, where they began their hunting, being
taught to ride by the old family coachman, and blooded by
Robert Arkwright, at that time Master of the Oakley. Evelyn
was born on January 7th, 1848.
The custom of blooding children when first they go out
hunting is one that has proved very trying to many ; some may
feel exceedingly proud, but others are near to tears. Burnaby
was told by the Master not to wash his face before his mother
had seen him, thinking no doubt that having herself been
reared amongst sporting people she would be pleased to see her
son showing signs of his hunting baptism.
He was educated at Eton, some of his contemporaries being
Mr. A. J. Balfour, Duke of Beaufort, Duke of Argyll, Lord
Randolph Churchill, and Ernest Vivian, afterwards Lord
Swansea. Many of these have been his lifelong friends. While
at Eton in 1863 he was invited to breakfast with Sir Charles
and Lady Phipps at Windsor Castle on the wedding-day of the
Prince of Wales (Edward VII.), and he saw the newly-married
couple drive out of the Sovereign's entrance en route to the
station for Osborne, where they proposed spending their honey-
moon.
Princess Alexandra arrived in England two days before the
wedding, and left the train at Slough. Young Burnaby and
Randolph Churchill, who were seated on a wall, watched the
procession as it passed through Eton on the way to Windsor.
I think the mounted band of the 2nd Life Guards impressed
them most.
Then came Oxford, where Burnaby graduated with honours.
After this he was curate at Christchurch, Frome, with a stipend
of £60 a year.
Once while preaching at Keyham, near Borrough, when the
candles had been lighted in the pulpit his surplice sleeves were
swept through the flames so often during the peroration, in such
an alarming manner that a friend dashed up the pulpit steps
and whispered, " Do you want all the women to faint ? They
certainly will unless you keep your arms out of the candles."
At times parson Burnaby v/as a trifle forgetful, and when
66 Sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
preaching at Thorpe Satchville, during the harvest thanks-
giving, he entirely forgot the name of the charity the collec-
tion was for. After the service, while making his apologies
to the vicar for his forgetfulness, he remarked that he
feared the collection would not be a good one in consequence.
" On the .contrary," was the reply, " it amounts to £40,
including a promissory note for £35 from someone signing him-
self Burnaby." The good-hearted late General Burnaby of
Baggrave Hall, Leicestershire, had been hunting in the neigh-
bourhood during the week, and hearing that his cousin was to
occupy the pulpit, went to hear him preach ; observing his
forgetfulness he had done his best to make up for it. Parson
Burnaby asked him later why he had done it. " I did it for
the family name," he replied, " but confound it, I have to make
that note good." General Burnaby was like his cousin Fred,
never far behindhand with his payments ; in which he differed
greatly from his great friend Valentine Baker, who, though a rich
man, could not be persuaded to pay his bills punctually. He
would always say he would see to them by-and-bye, but the
" by-and-bye " was a long time coming as a rule.
It was while staying with General Burnaby at Blaggrave
that the Prince of Wales (King Edward VII.) sowed the seed
of the famous covert now a sure find with the Quorn.
When on a visit at Longleat with the late Marquess of Bath,
parson Burnaby took a service during which he inadvertently
prayed for George IV., and, when teased about it afterwards, got
out of it by saying, " Well, it is a long time since anyone prayed
for him." He speaks with affection of the late Duke and
Duchess of Bedford, their ducal home at Woburn being close to
his father's rectory. They saw a good deal of one another, and
many happy days of his childhood were spent there. The
Duchess was a charitable woman and full of good works. Once
when she was busy with a bazaar in aid of the restoration of St.
Peter's church, Evelyn Burnaby, then a little boy and anxious
to do his bit towards the charity, picked all the choicest flowers
in the rectory garden and made them into a bouquet, presenting
them to the Duchess's stall marked one guinea. Some time
elapsed before any offer was made for this splendid bargain,
until the Duchess called on one of the gilded youths present to
buy it, which to his everlasting glory^ he did ; but his expression
The Rev. E. Burnaby 67
suggested that he not only disliked it, but did not know what to
do with his purchase when he had it.
Another time Mrs. Burnaby, the rector's wife and mother of
Evelyn, got up some theatricals at the rectorj^ The Duchess
was among the guests, and seeing Evelyn taking the part of the
Prince, remarked that as he was a Prince he must wear royal
jewels, and she thereupon adorned his black velvet cap with some
of the jewels that once belonged to the ill-fated Josephine. He
was glad when the theatricals were over and the jewels safely
back in the Duchess's hands again.
Parson Burnaby was installed by the Bishop of Peterborough
to the living of Burrough-on-the-Hill, a famous spot in the
Quorn country. It will be remembered that this Bishop was
appointed by Disraeli so that he might use his eloquence in the
House of Lords to save the Irish Church from disestablishment.
■ The Bishop of Peterborough was not what could be justly
described as a very sympathetic man, but he had a great fund
of after-dinner stories. Perhaps none of them come up to the
repartee attributed to Archdeacon Baly of Calcutta, when
sitting at dinner near a young man whose conversation was
inclined to be rather boisterous and interspersed with swear
words. Presently the youth looked across at him and said,
" I hope I do not pain you with my language, sir, but I always
call a spade a spade." " Do you really ? " replied the Arch-
deacon ; " I should have thought you would have called it a
damned shovel ! "
Parson Burnaby was staying one winter in the Isle of Wight.
His old friend the late Marquess of Exeter and his wife were
living at Shanklin for a time trying to retrench. Burnaby
was arranging a ball in aid of the Primrose League, and asked
the Exeters if they would be patron and patroness. The
Marquess, who was a delightfully natural man, replied, " Cer-
tainly, if our poor names are any use to you ; but we have no
money."
Sea-fishing was a favourite ' recreation of Lord Exeter,
and one day he walked into the County Club at Ventnor in the
grubby old sweater and woollen comforter he had been
wearing at sea. The secretary of the club was much upset at
his appearance, and not knowing who it was, remarked to Mr.
Burnaby that such extraordinary -looking vagabonds should
68 Sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
not be allowed in the club ; he felt rather uncomfortable when
he heard who the " vagabond " was.
Another mteresting visitor on the Island at the same time
was the eccentric young man known later as the " Jubilee
Plunger," who attained notoriety by squandering an enormous
fortune in a single year. He was spending the last days of his
minority with his guardian. Mr. Benzon— for that was the
Plunger's name — was obliged to be taken by his bear-leader to
the Scilly Isles in order to escape from the intrigues of people
determined to obtain some of his money.
The young man's boisterous spirit caused his guardian some
uncomfortable moments at intervals. Once Mr. Dorrien-
Smith of Tresco Abbey, hearing they were on the Island, kindly
invited them to dinner. While waiting for it to be announced,
their rather stately host was warming himself after the fashion
of men before the fire, with his coat-tails delicately and almost
imperceptibly divided, when the exuberant Benzon dealt the
elderly gentleman a resounding smack, saying, " Wake up, old
cock ! "
Mr. Burnaby was present in 1868 at the ball given by the
Duchess of Manchester to the Prince and Princess of Wales, and
it interested him to watch Maria Marchioness of Ailesbur}%
dancing the lancers with the Prince, doing her steps and holding
her skirts so daintily while her partner likewise did his best,
saying, " We'll show them how to do it. Lady Ailesbury." And
so they did, with all the grace of movement of the old minuet.
At the same ball the Princess invited the Master of the
Oakley, Mr. Robert Arkwright, to be her partner. Burnaby had
told him that the Princess was sure to ask him, and he was
rather frightened, as dancing was not his forte, the figures
of the lancers were beyond him ; when the time arrived his
face was full of anguish, but the Princess helped him through.
Mr. Arkwright's son, who married Mrs. FitzGeorge as her
first husband, was looking on at the performance, and was, much
tickled at his sire's distress. " Look at the poor governor ; he
would give a good deal to be out of it," was his verdict.
During Mr. Burnaby's active life he has met crowds of
interesting people, and an hour's chat with him is not only
amusing but instructive. He has been a keen observer and a
good friend to many. To my knowledge he has at one time and
The Rev. E. Burnaby 69
another helped friends to the tune of £500 and £800 without
ever getting the money back, but still he does not complain.
He has written two books, one giving an account of his ride
from Land's End to John o' Groats, and the other about famous
trials which I have already alluded to.
While holding the family living of Burrough from 1873 to
1883, he was compelled through ill-health to seek the assistance
of curates, to whom he gave a stipend of £120 a year. He had
a good deal of trouble with some of them ; one in particular
gave him a considerable amount of worry. This curate rented
a cottage from Colonel Fred Burnaby at two guineas a week ;
after a long time it transpired that no rent had been paid, so
Evelyn Burnaby thought it might be a convenient plan to
deduct the sum from the curate's stipend. He suggested this,
but was told, " I do not wish the two transactions mixed up."
The next thing that happened was that the curate moved, and
was installed in the beautifully furnished rectory, and chanced
to meet his rector one day in the parish. The curate remarked
pleasantly, " I have had the Sheriff's officers down this morning,
and they threatened a seizure."
The furniture being parson Burnaby 's, he asked quickly if
they had taken anything .
" Not very much, I think," replied the curate casually.
" It's all yours, you see." But here his manner changed and he
grew stern. " But would you believe who sent the men down ? "
" I have no idea," admitted the rector.
" Well, it was your own brother, sir."
Things went on like this, with writs continually being sent
to the rectory for the curate. When the time arrived for the
harvest festival, Mr. Burnaby arranged with his old friend Dean
Hole to preach the sermon. He and Mr. Burnaby were marching
at the rear of the procession, all robed, from the rectory to the
choir, the curate being immediately in front of them, when a
suspicious-looking individual came and touched the curate on
the arm.
" A writter," whispered Dean Hole.
" How dare you touch me when I am taking part in a holy
procession ! " cried the curate furiously.
What happened then I do not know, but after church Dean
Hole and Burnaby were preparing to eat some luncheon they
70 Sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
had brought with them in the drawing-room of the rectory, the
curate partaking of his in another part of the house. The two
friends were enjoying their cold chicken, salad, and sherry,
when a mounted youth galloped up to the front door in full
view of the luncheon-party. " Another writter, you may
depend," groaned Dean Hole, hastily hiding the chicken and
the sherry under the sofa, and arranging the valance in front of
them. Parson Burnaby then sallied out, not doubting that it
was indeed another writ-server, and asked in his brusquest
manner, " Well, how much this time ? " To his surprise the
rider became extremely angry and rode away again at top
speed. It was not until the galloping figure was out of sight
that parson Burnaby remembered that it was the son of the
late Sir Frederick Fowke, whom he had invited to have luncheon
with them.
At last the curate was got rid of and moved into lodgings in
a neighbouring town, where he continued his practice of paying
no rent. As the lodgings were usually let to hunting men who
paid well and asked no questions, the landlord soon tired of the
curate, who had occupied the rooms for six weeks with his wife
and family, his only payment having been that once, in a moment
of expansion, he gave the landlord's little boy " six penn'orth
of sweets." This was the last straw, and that night the curate
found that all the blankets had been removed from the bed.
After this he migrated to Scarborough, and shortly afterwards
made another — but this time compulsory — migration to York
Castle until some pressing debts were paid.
After the curate had left the rectory parson Burnaby was
busy straightening up the place, when one of the curate's local
creditors came to see if there was anything he could take
possession of to repay him in some measure for his losses, which
consisted of groceries. There was nothing for him except a
large pile of empty bottles, which he plaintively remarked
were better than nothing, and took them sadly away with
him.
Mr. Burnaby was much sought after as a preacher. In
Leicestershire alone he preached in thirteen different churches.
Perhaps it would almost be easier to count the churches he has
not preached in than those he has. He is a Broad Churchman
after Doctor Arnold of Rugby's way of thinking, and he
The Rev. E. Burnaby 71
also found himself in complete agreement with all the sermons
Canon Farrar preached at the Abbey.
Although Evelyn Burnaby has been in ill-health for some
time, he is as interested in things and people as ever, while his
memory is so clear that he has been of great assistance to me in
remembering old times, old friends, and dates. Perhaps he
will write his own memoirs some day : I hope he will.
He used to spend a good deal of time in the Riviera. Once
when he was returning with his father and mother in the
Rapide from Marseilles, which was not timed to stop between
Dijon and Paris, they unexpectedly pulled up at Fontainebleau.
A bevy of fair ladies, aides-de-camps, officers and obsequious
railway officials were on the platform, and some great person
was evidently about to join the train.
It proved to be the Empress Eugenie, who was returning to
Paris from a shooting -party in the forest. She was lifted into
the train from the low platform by an aide-de-camp, amidst
much laughter and merriment among the courtiers. This
was some fifty years ago, while Paris was still the most brilliant
capital in Europe and the Imperial master at the Tuilleries at
the height of his power. Burnaby was much impressed by the
Empress's beauty. He did not see her again for years, until
she passed him in a hansom-cab one day in St. James's Street
when she was a widowed ex-Empress, after having escaped to
the house of a dentist at the time of the Commune, from whose
house she made her way as a fugitive to the coast and was
brought to England by an old friend. Sir John Burgoyne, who
was given the fee -simple of Sutton and Potter in the county of
Bedford.
The height of the railway carriages above the platforms in
France has often tried me highly, especially when I have
had no aide-de-camp to help me. I remember seeing our dear
King Edward, when Prince of Wales, very nearly have a nasty
fall once while alighting from the train at Nice. All would
probably have gone well if he had been given a chance of getting
down in the ordinary peaceful fashion, but a crowd of officials
sought to assist him while simultaneously bowing, saluting, and
expressing their pleasure at seeing him. So many helping
hands were held out to him and so many swords became en-
tangled amongst excited legs, that the Prince missed the steps
72 Sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
altogether and fell into the midst of those greeting him. The
cries of horror and anguish that arose made one fear that the
Prince or someone had been seriously hurt, but in a moment
or two he was on his feet again, being smoothed down and
smiling quite happily, his fall having been broken by the crowd
of officials.
What impressed itself undyingly on my memory was that
everyone had his hat in his hand before the fall, everyone
dropped his hat during the faU, and nobody could find the right
hat after the fall. It was what a music-hall artist would
technically describe as " Funny business with hat." The
hobble-skirt days made French platforms even more incon-
venient.
Parson Burnaby is a great dog-lover, Dandie-Dinmonts
being perhaps his favourites ; he was especially devoted to a
couple of pedigree dogs of that breed named " Joe " and
" Susie." " Joe's " kennel-name was " Mr. Smith " ; he was
son of the famous " Tartan King," and a winner of many prizes.
Another great friend was a pomeranian, who managed once
to escape from the train while travelling with his master
in France, and was of course missed at the journey's end.
Mr. Burnaby at once retraced his journey, keeping a sharp
look-out from the railway carriage windows as he went along.
Luckily he saw the dog running about the road near the line,
and getting out at the next station, recaptured his pet and
together they went on their way rejoicing, both having been
miserable while parted.
Some amusing stories are told by Mr. Burnaby of his uncle,
Mr. Harry Villebois, whom I have already mentioned ; he
appears to have been a most kind-hearted man, and a little
peculiar, after the fashion of those times. His house was one of
the finest in Belgrave Square, and the scenes of many balls and
dinners to Royalty, while his suppers were one of the features
of the season. Mr. Burnaby was often invited there to luncheon
on Sundays, and has arrived to find seated in the hall a motley
company consisting of a policeman, a crossing -sweeper, a link-
man and an old cabman, with his uncle personally ministering
to their wants with provisions, assisted by three flunkies in
powdered wigs and plush knee-breeches.
Mr. Burnaby 's great-uncle, Mr. Truman Villebois, was equally
The Rev. E. Burnaby 73
charitable and made it a custom to give a five -pound note to
any woman in the parish who was about to become a mother ;
unfortunately, as so often happens to the charitable, he was
imposed upon, but he had an innocent mind, and suspected
nothing until he found that one woman had claimed the £5
three times in one year. After this discovery he felt vaguely
that there might be something wrong, although he was no
expert in such matters ; so he sought the advice of a faithful
retainer called Sam, who presumably was an expert, as he
speedily disillusioned his master by telhng him that he had been
imposed upon.
At Christmas-time in London, notwithstanding the fact that
he owned many carriages and horses, he always sallied out in a
cab driven by the old cabby that he fed on Sundays, and with
him distributed fat turkeys and game among friends who he
thought might be glad of them.
Mr. Burnaby's great-grandfather was a famous whip, and is
said to have been the author of the paradox dealing with the
rules o^ the road :
If you go to the left
You are sure to go right
If you go to the right
You go wrong.
Among parson Burnaby's great friends were the late Dean
Hole and the late Lord Vivian, known as " Hook and Eye "
because of the affinity between his nose and chin. Lord Vivian
was a patron of the turf, and Hke the late Lord Poulett, had a
curious dream about a race ; in this case he dreamed that a
horse called " Teacher " would win the Citv and Suburban, so
he enquired if such a horse was running. There was no entry
under that name, but he was told that there was a horse entered
that had once been called the " Teacher," and that it had no
chance. In spite of that he backed it at long odds, and won a
large sum of money.
Mr. Evelyn Burnaby was married twice : his first wife, whom
he married in 1871, was Winifred Crake, a very beautiful
woman ; she died at Somerby Hall in 1873 at the age of twenty-
two. His second wife was the Hon. Margaret Erskine, daughter
of the fourth Lord Erskine.
In Mr. Burnaby's book of famous trials he tells the curious
74 Sportsmen Parsons in Peace and ^Var
story of the three attempts to hang the Babbacombe murderer,
who had been convicted of kilHng and trying to burn the re-
mains of his old mistress at Torquay.
While in Exeter jail, the night before the execution was to
take place, Lee dreamed that three attempts would be made
unsuccessfully to take his life. He related this dream to his
warder Bennett, who in turn told it to the Governor, who made
a note of it hurriedly in his diary.
The dream came tragically true, as is well known, and
created a great sensation at the time.
At the end of that most distressing day, when the Governor
Avas looking up his diar}^ each day of which was headed with a
verse of Scripture, he noticed that the day appointed for the
execution which had ended so dramatically had written above
it:
" Surely it is the hand of the Lord which has done this
thing."
Dreams and sleep are strange and delicate things which few
of us understand — that great mystery of sleep when we pass into
another world of influences and presences as when we leave our
earthly bodies at death. It has always seemed to me that
death and sleep are so nearly allied — more a difference of
duration than condition. ^n our daily sleep we keep our
carriage waiting at the door to take us back ; in the other,
having reached home, we dismiss it, having no further use
for it.
The premonition of Lee's dream provides food for thought.
Chapter VII
The Rev. Charles I^ngsley — Highly Strung — Writes Poetry and Sermons at
the Age of Four — Preaches to tlie Chairs — Night-shirt Surplice— Not Popu-
lar at School — A Gentle Reproof — His Opinion of District Visitors — Inward
Struggles — Boxing under a Negro Tutor — A Lengthy Walk — More Settled
Convictions — Letter to his Mother — A Great Preacher — Crowds at his Church
— Becomes Vicar of Eversley — His Love of Hounds — Author of " Tom
Brown's School-days" — His Great Friend — A Good Run — His Enthusiasm —
Occasional Conflicts with other Clerics — Dallying with Socialism — Reconciling
Science and Religion — His Views on Women's Rights — An Angry Incumbent
— The Bishop of London Interferes — Cardinal Newman and Kingsley —
Newman Scores — Restless Habits — " Water Babies " — Clerical Wild Oats
Forgiven — Devotion of his Wife — His Death — A Picturesque Funeral.
THE REVEREND CHARLES KINGSLEY, who was born
at Holne Vicarage on Dartmoor, is an outstanding
figure in English hterature, which, as everybody
knows, he enriched with " Westward Ho ! " and " Water
Babies."
He was a dehghtful and interesting man whom I always
regret not having met, as he died just before I was launched
from the dry-dock of the schoolroom into the deep waters of
the world. He was one of those highly -strung, emotional people,
with the rare faculty of doing his thinking for himself, who are
always arresting and often have the power of imparting some of
their enthusiasm to others. As in the case of Jack Russell,
much has been written about Kingsley, with his deep erudition
and gift of golden writing, but his love of sport, especially
fishing, has never received the attention it deserves, for he
certainly comes within the category of sporting parsons, and
was, moreover, a sporting cleric of the very best sort, who never
laid himself open to the charge of neglecting his duty to make
time for his pleasures. His letters show that if he had turned
his attention to writing of sport he would have made it live in
his pages as Whyte Melville did.
He must have been a precocious child, as we hear of him
writing sermons and poetry at the age of four, and improvising
yb Sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
pulpits for himself from which he delivered his addresses to
rows of chairs arranged around him, while becomingly robed in
his night-shirt. Perhaps it is not surprising that such a wildly
volatile nature should have developed a stutter during his early
childhood that clung to him more or less all his life. There
must have been so much to say that required saying quickly
that one can almost hear the stutter beginning.
When twelve years old he went to school at Clifton, and
later to a grammar-school in Cornwall. It is a httle curious
that while he was never popular at school, he was a general
favourite when he went to Cambridge. As a schoolboy he did
not take the slightest interest in games. I admit it with
anguish, and public-school readers must forgive him as best
they can. His passion was science and art, but occasionally he
came out of his seclusion and performed lonely feats of school-
boy prowess, such as chmbing notoriously unclimbable trees, or
jumping the grimmest obstacles, which created sensations, even
if they only served to confirm the general verdict that he was a
" rum chap."
Charles Eangsley never quite conquered his stammer, and
never lost his love of Devonshire, where he first made the
intimate acquaintance of birds, fishes, and all the beautiful
things of nature which were more to him than food and raiment.
Speaking of his love for the home of his youth, he says :
" You must not despise their accent, for it remains of a purer
and nobler dialect than our own, and you will be surprised to
hear me, when I am merry, burst into pure unintelligible Devon-
shire. When I am very childish my own country's language
comes to me like a dream of old days."
One of the stories I like best in Mrs. Kingsley's book of
memories, is, when her husband was dining with some officers
at Aldershot, someone present began to ridicule religion and
was reprimanded by Mr. Kingsley ; an apology followed at
once, the speaker having forgotten a clergyman was present.
" All right," said Eangsley, " but do not apologise on that
account. We are paid to fight these arguments, as you are paid
to fight in another way. If a clergyman is worth his salt you
will always find him ready to try a fall with you. Besides, it is
better for your friends, if they are to have poison, to have the
antidote in the same spoon."
The Rev. C. Kingsley rj
When his father was given a hving in Chelsea by Lord
Cadogan, Kingsley went to King's College, walking backwards
and forwards from Chelsea daily, and became not a little bored
with the unending parochial activities in his parents' parish.
Both the district visitors and the young ladies given to good
works failed to please him, judging by a letter he wrote to a
friend at this time, in which he refers to these worthy people as
being — " Nothing but ugly splay-footed beings, three -fourths
of whom can't sing, and the other quarter sing miles out of tune
with voices like love-sick parrots. Confound ! "
In 1838 he went to Magdalene College, Cambridge, where at
first he showed signs of being something of a recluse. He read
the Oxford pamphlet, which appeared at this time, and becam.e
entangled in the theological hurly-burly that swept over the
two great universities. He worked himself up into a dis-
tressing state of mind, beset on all sides with doubts and
speculation ; of course what was happening v/as only the
mental upheaval that all active minds have to meet and conquer,
as has been told by Carlyle in his " Sartor Resartus," and is
there for those who are ready to dig for it under the mantle of
obscurity the author has thrown about his meaning, in that
strange work of genius. All Kingsley 's letters show how this
struggle was raging within him at the time. First the Athan-
asian Creed got up against his path, and we hear such phrases
as, " Bigotry, cruelty and quibbling." By the way, he ulti-
mately became quite reconciled to the creed, but that was years
later. There were passionate letters of doubt written : " You
cannot conceive the moments of self-abasement and self-shame
I have. ... If the philosophers of old were right, and I am
right in my religion, alas for Christendom ! and if I am wrong,
alas for myself ! . . . I cannot say, with the French atheist,
' O God (if there be a God).' I cannot entreat Him on the
chance of His possessing a power I do not believe He possesses."
Then came a time when nothing seemed to matter. It was the
centre of the whirlpool. He wanted to fly to the far west and
live all by himself in the prairies. This led to the conclusion
that he would have a good time first. Why not ? as nothing
mattered. So he hunted, played cards, shot duck in the fens,
learnt boxing under a negro fighter, neglected his work, and
incidentally became very popular. There is a description of
78 Sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
him at this time that I should Hke to quote : "... A bold
thinker, a bold rider, a most chivalrous gentleman — sad, shy
and serious habitually ; in conversation at one moment brilliant
and impassioned, the next reserved and unapproachable ; by
turns attracting and repelling, but pouring forth, to the friend
whom he could trust, stores of thought, feeling, and informa-
tion on every sort of unexpected subject which seemed
boundless."
Presently his " have a good time " mood began to change,
and in his restlessness he walked from Cambridge to London, a
distance of fifty -two miles, in a day, thereby doubtless working
off a little more spiritual indigestion.
He was physically a very strong man, and a quick walker,
his impetuosity plainly discernible ; many young men found
difficulty in keeping up with him.
Soon after this he refers to himself as " Saved," and exults
in the calm repose of settled convictions. It was now that he
met his fate in the shape of Miss Fanny Grenfell, whom he
ultimately married and loved with lifelong devotion, saying
prettily that his first day of real wedded life was the first day he
saw her. It is to her admirable Life of her husband that I am
indebted for these extracts from his letters. At times he
worked hard, and gained a scholarship in 1839, when he was
first of his year at the May examinations. His letter home on
the subject is a little pathetic : " Pardon the wildness of my
letter, for I am so happy I hardly know what to say. You
know I am not accustomed to being successful."
In another letter written to his mother while he was at
Cambridge, he says :
" My heart is much older than my years. ... I feel that
within which makes me far more happy or more miserable than
those about me. ... I shall be an old man before I am forty.
My heart is veiy full and I am rather lonely. . . . God bless
you . . . God bless you, and if you rejoice that you have born
a man into the world, remember that he is not one like common
men, neither cleverer nor wiser, nor better than a multitude, but
utterly different to them in heart and mind . . . legislate for
him accordingly.
" Your own boy,
"C. KiNGSLEY."
The Rev. C. Kingsley 79
During his time of doubt he hardly worked at all, and had
a hard grind to win his degree at the end, putting three years'
work into as many months.
After his ordination by the Bishop of Winchester in 1842
he became curate of Eversley in Hampshire, where he found
matters in a bad state, as was not uncommon in mral parishes
in those days. Not one adult labourer in the parish could
read or write, and village sanitation was practically non-
existent. There was no congregation at the church, which
itself badly needed repair, and the whole work of the parish
was left to him by the vicar.
He was a great preacher, and never stuttered in the pulpit.
People thronged to hear him, soldiers home from the Crimea —
amongst others one who had been dangerously wounded at
Scutari, who had read his " Yeast," and determined if he lived
to return home he would make a point of going to hear the man
preach who could give such a picture of a hunting scene as the
one in the opening chapter.
In 1844 things grew brighter, as the Hving became vacant,
and was given to him by Sir John Cope at the wish of the
parishioners. This enabled him to marry, but the picture was
slightly clouded by the heavy dilapidations to the rectory he
had to pay. He was by no means rich, and was never free from
money worries. This was one of the reasons why he did not
hunt more regularly. The temptation to follow hounds was a
sore one, as the pack — now known as the Garth — was kennelled
at Bramshill, quite near, so that they were continually passing his
windows on the way to their meets. His friends have seen tears
come to his eyes as he watched them go by and could not join them.
In the course of time he acquired a horse to facilitate his
journeyings about the j^arish. It was not a showy beast, being
strictly utilitarian, but he managed to imbue it with enough of
his own fire to enjoy an occasional day's hunting on it. When
he and his " Rosinante " did turn out, he was assured of a
hearty welcome by the members of the field.
Here is an account of a hunt he snatched from the middle of
a day's parish work. It is to his great fishing companion and
bosom friend, Thomas Hughes — author of " Tom Brown's
School-days " — and is dashed off in the true Kingsley state of
glowing enthusiasm :
8o Sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
" I had just done my work and seen my poor, and dinner
was coming on to the table yesterday — just four o'clock — when
the bow-wows appeared on the top of the Mount, trying my
patch of gorse, so I jumped up, left the cook shrieking — and
off. — He wasn't there, but I knew where he was, for I keep a
pretty good register of foxes (ain't they my parishioners and
parts of my flock ?) and, as the poor fellows had had a blank
day, they were very thankful in five minutes to find themselves
going like mad. We had an hour and a half of it — scent breast
high as the dew began to rise (bleak north-easter always good
weather), and if we had not crossed a second fox, should have
killed him in the open ; as it was we lost him after sunset, after
the finest grind I have had these nine years, so I went back to
dinner. The old horse behaved beautifully, not fast, but in
the enclosed woodlands he can live up to anyone, and earned
great honour by leaping in and out of the Loddon, only four
more doing it, and one receiving a mucker.
" I feel three years younger to-day. The whip tells me
there were three in the river together, rolling over, horse and
man ! What a sight to have lost, even by being ahead.
" Have you seen the story of the run on January 7th, when
Mr. Woodburn's hounds found at Blackholme at the bottom of
Windermere and ended beyond Helvellyn, more than fifty
miles of mountain ? After Applethwait Crag (where the field
lost them) they had a ring on High Street (2,700 feet) of an
hour, unseen by mortal eye ; and after that were seen by a
shepherd in Pattcrdale, Brother's Water, top of Fairfield (2,900
feet), Dunmail Gap, and then over the top of Helvellyn (3,050
feet), and then to ground on Birkside Screes — I cannot find it
on the maps — but what a poetic thing ! Helvellyn was deep in
frost and snow. Oh, that I could write a ballad there anent.
The thing has taken possession of me but I can't find words.
There was never such a run since we were bom ; and to think
of the hounds doing the last thirty miles alone ! "
Whenever he had had a great day, either in the field or by
the river, he always had to sit down and let Tom Hughes hear
all about it, even when he came in late and tired.
For a good many years Charles Kingsley's advanced views
often served to get him into conflict with less advanced clerics.
It was a time of unrest. First the Oxford movement disturbed
The Rev. G. Kingsley 8i
him, as we have seen, and then science began to pick quarrels
v/ith reUgion, or was accused of doing so, and social questions
became increasingly pressing. Socialism rattled its bones and
gave people cold shivers, and Kingsley dallied with it, or at any
rate he agreed with some of its principles, to the unbounded
horror of his cloth. Dissatisfaction awoke in the land, and the
anger that set Watts painting his accusatory pictures " Mam-
mon " and " Hope," sent Kingsley off at score on the ideal of
Christian socialism. Among other good things this was to
reconcile science and religion, for, in his love of science, he had
greeted the revelations of Darwin and Huxley with open arms,
while his interest in economic questions led him to correspond
with John Stuart Mill.
Then came the cause of women's rights, and this too he was
quite ready to consider ; but certain tendencies he perceived in
this movement led him, after a time, to withhold his support.
He believed it would be good for the race generally if women
qualified as medical practitioners. On this subject he was
enthusiastic. He wrote a good deal about it, as well as other
matters, under the nom-de-plume of " Parson Lot."
It will be seen that he was fairly deep in the questions of the
day. Science he was convinced could walk hand-in-hand with
religion amicably enough. This sounds a tame idea now, but
at that time Bishops had not got over being called monkeys ;
and dallying with Darwin was a first-class misdemeanour.
Once, when preaching in a London church on " The Message
of the Church to the Working Man," the incumbent became so
infuriated by his discourse that he jumped up and protested.
A rumpus of the first magnitude ensued, and in due course the
thunders were invoked in the shape of the Bishop of London,
who decreed that Kingsley should preach no more in the churches
of liis diocese.
A controversy that troubled him far more, was one between
himself and Newman (afterwards Cardinal Newman).
Kingsley had written an article in Macmillan' s Magazine
in which he said that Newman did not consider truth a necessary
virtue, that Papal prerogatives cannot touch the civil allegiance
of Catholics, etc.
The main point at issue was not really the personal integrity
of Doctor Newman, but the question whether the Roman
G
82 sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
Catholic priesthood are encouraged or discouraged to pursue
" Truth for its own sake." After all, Kingsley said nothing
more harsh of the Church of Rome than Newman had already
said himself, though he recanted his sayings later.
In Newman he found rather more than his match, for the
to-be Cardinal was a highly-skilled controversialist and scored
points heavily against his antagonist.
The Bristol riots, which Kingsley had seen as a schoolboy
at Clifton, awakened his interest in the conditions under which
the working -classes lived, and it never abated. It was what
he saw in the slums of his father's London parish, and the
condition of Eversley when first he went there as a curate,
that turned his attention to the question of sanitation, and
he achieved great things, collecting a band of fellow-workers
about him whose efforts materially widened his sphere of
influence.
He preached the doctrine of fresh air and cold water from
the pulpit wherever he went, and his methods were the origin
of the term " Muscular Christianity " which caught the popular
fancy as only empty phrases can do. Much of the improvement
in sanitation that took place during the succeeding quarter of a
century was directly or indirectly due to his ceaseless efforts.
Kingsley habitually overworked himself, and his tempera-
ment that made it difficult for him to sit through a meal without
jumping up and fidgeting about the room at intervals, did not
help him to take much rest, however urgently needed. Several
times he was obliged to go abroad for a holiday, but fishing was
his favourite method of recuperation. The days he loved best
were spent by the river with his friend Tom Hughes, and when
he had to go alone, his first thought was always to let his friend
hear all about it.
Kingsley was a keen naturalist as well as a geologist. It is
probably true that he was interested in too many subjects, for
his early writings gave promise of considerably greater things
than he ever achieved. His volatile nature sent him on a
thousand quests and always prevented him concentrating on
one theme, which might have given a really great writer to the
world.
As it is, his "Water Babies" is an exquisite thing, and, like
" Alice in Wonderland," has given delight to more grown-up
The Rev. G. Kingsley 83
babies than almost any other work originally meant^for children.
I seldom see a stream in flood without thinking of the wonderful
description of a spate in " Water Babies," when all the living
things of the river awake to the call of the sea, and rush down-
stream crying, " Down to the Sea, Down to the Sea ! " Salmon,
eels, and the evil otters forget all their fears and jostle one
another in the flood, among the sticks and stones and other
flotsam of the spate, all intent on getting down to the sea. It
is very clever, and thrills me, making me feel that I want to
jump in and go down to the sea too — just as I am sure Kingsley
felt when he wrote it.
I like reading his fishing letters, and am glad he was too busy
a man to fish as often as he liked. It would have been too sad
if he had grown blase,
Kingsley often had correspondence with strangers who had
heard of his skill as a naturalist and wrote to him for information
or advice. There was an interchange of letters with a Mr.
Stainton over some wonderful caddises the latter possessed, and
which they both became quite excited about.
As Kingsley grew older he became less and less revolutionary
in his views, as is so often the case. In the course of time his
clerical wild oats were forgotten or forgiven, and he was ap-
pointed chaplain to Queen Victoria, and Canon of Westminster.
The Prince of Wales (King Edward VII.) was probably instru-
mental in getting him the former appointment, as he was very
fond of Kingsley, and sent down Sir William Gull from London
to attend him in his last illness ; while the Royal children tried
to amuse their kind old friend by sending him pictures they had
drawn for him. Not long before his death he was fiUing West-
minster Abbey with vast crowds to hear him preach, but it was
noticed that his strength was failing, and shortly afterwards he
took to his bed at Eversley, where he died on January 23rd,
1875, aged fifty-six.
Pneumonia was the immediate cause of his death, but he
had been reckless of his health from the day that the doctors
had told him that his wife, who had been ill for some time, could
not hope for ultimate recovery. He said : " Then my own
death-warrant is signed." His devotion to his wife was touching
and picturesque. She was lying ill in bed in one room of the
rectory while her husband was dying in another ; he managed
84 sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
to reach her room for a few minutes, and then, happy and
content in the behef that they were not going to be parted,
that they would make their last journey together, he died.
This, however, was not to be, for she lived until 1891, dying
on December 12th, aged seventy-seven.
Kingsley was buried in Eversley churchyard. He had
arranged all the details of his own funeral some time before he
died. His parishioners, who loved him, carried him to his last
resting-place. Around the grave was gathered a large crowd
of all denominations and ranks.
A naval officer who was present said he had seen many state
funerals, but had never seen such a sight as Charles Kingsley's
presented. Among the soldiers attending were three V.C.'s :
Colonel Evelyn Wood, V.C., Colonel Alfred Jones, V.C., Colonel
Sir Charles Russell, V.C. The Master of the Garth and his
hunt-servants in pink, the horses and hounds stood at the gate.
The Prince of Wales's representative was there, the squire of the
parish, and Governors of distant colonies, authors, publishers and
Gypsies — who called him their "Priest King," and who believed
he had gone to Heaven on their prayers. For months after-
wards they continued putting flowers on his grave.
There is a memorial in Westminster Abbey to Kingsley's
memory, placed there by his admirers and friends ; and another
in the churchyard at Eversley erected on the grave by his wife.
Chapter VIII
The Rev, Charles Slingsby — Lover of Nature and Sport — A Bad Fall — Curious
Coincidence — Sir Charles Slingsby, M.F.H. — His Tragic Death — The Ferry-
boat Disaster — Mr. Clare Vyner Saves a Friend — Education of Rev. Charles
Slingsby — The English Church Union — Marriage and Hunting on a Small
Income — Lord William Beresford in a Ditch — Captain Forester Master of
the Quorn — A Yorkshire Song — History Repeats Itself — Another Tragedy
— An Impressive Scene — Animal Instincts — A Devoted Fox-Terrier- — Arch-
bishop of York Preaches a Sporting Sermon — A Memorial Window — A Dis-
covery at Harrogate — A Scarborough Barber Writes Verses — Sir Eric Gcddcs
at Scriven.
THE REV. CHARLES SLINGSBY, of Scriven Park, was
one of the best-known members of the York and
Ainsty Himt ; a man of marked personahty, with the
charming smile born of a kindly heart, a good Churchman, a
high-principled, kindly neighbour, genial and courteous in the
extreme — qualities that endear a man to all around him.
He was I-ord of the Manor, patron of two livings, magistrate
of the West Riding of Yorkshire, a keen sportsman and a true
lover of nature, appreciating all her favours, and possessed of
great courage. Not many men at the age of sixty-eight would
take a bad fall out hunting as he did only about a year before
he died, receiving a considerable shaking and a broken rib ; but,
nothing daunted, he was in the saddle again in a surprisingly
short space of time. The shock alone, without the broken rib,
would have taken the nerve out of most men at that time of life.
He was evidently a believer in my theory that the best way
after a spill is to mount again as soon as possible, if wishing to
retain one's nerve.
Mr. Slingsby inherited Scriven Park under the will of his
uncle, Sir Charles Slingsby, the tenth and last baronet. It is a
curious coincidence that two Squires of Slingsby should have
met their deaths in the hunting-field, and both while out with
tlie York and Ainsty.
At the time of Sir Charles's death he was, and had been for
86 Sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
years, Master of that pack. The date of his tragic death was
February 4th, 1869.
There are many living who can remember that terrible day
when the greater part of Yorkshire was thrown into mourning,
and all were shocked and sad. Some of the rising generation,
and others to come, may be glad to know the particulars, even
if briefly told. I will therefore give a slight resume of the tragic
occurrence which made the Rev. Charles Slingsby owner of Scriven
Park after the death of his cousin, Mrs. Emma Louisa Slingsby.
The hounds had met at Stainley House on February 4th,
1869, and were running a fox hard from Monkton Whin, when
it became necessary for the followers to cross the river Ure, at
all times dangerous, and doubly so at the moment, there being
a raging torrent and the banks all flooded.
A rush was made for the private ferry belonging to the
Vyners of Newby Hall. In the hurry and excitement of the
moment thirteen men and eleven horses crowded into the boat,
which was in charge of two of the Newby gardeners and worked
by a chain : they are included in the thirteen men. This was
in excess of its proper carrying powers, yet all might have been
well had not " Saltfish," the horse ridden by the Master, kicked
out at the one ridden by Sir George Wombwell, which en-
deavoured to return the compliment. " Saltfish," thinking
such close quarters were not to his liking, promptly jumped
overboard with his rider ; the rest of the boat-load, without
thinking of the consequences, rushed over to that side, hoping to
be able to help Sir Charles : the result was the boat capsized.
What a horrible scene, thirteen men and eleven horses
struggling and plunging about in the torrent ! The names of
the unfortunate people were : Sir Charles Slingsby, Bart.,
M.F.H., Mr. Edward Lloyd of Lingcroft, Capt. Key, Major
Mussenden, Capt. Molyneux, R.N., Mr. Richard Meysey
Thompson, Mr. Clare Vyner, Mr. White, Sir George Wombwell,
Bart., Mr. James Robinson, William Orvis (kennel huntsman),
and Christopher and James Warriner, the two ferrymen.
Six men lost their lives : Sir Charles Slingsby, Mr. Edward
Lloyd, Mr. James Robinson, William Orvis, and the two
ferrymen. Nine horses were drowned, the only two who escaped
being" Saltfish," who was the cause of the disaster, and ahorse
named " Woodpigeon," belonging to Mr. Meysey Thompson.
SIR CHARLES SLINGSBY, M.F.H., BART.
AND HIS HUNTER "' SALTFISH "
[Facing p. 86.
The REV. CHARLES SLINGSBY
OF SCRIVEN PARK
Facing p. 87.
The Rev. Charles Slingsby 87
Mr. Clare Vyner, who was a strong swimmer, succeeded in
reaching the overturned boat, and was able to help Sir George
Wombwell, who was fortunately carried near, by a friendly
current in the midst of the swirling, boiling water, and was no
longer able to help himself, being thoroughly exhausted.
Thus in that brief hour in the midst of their pleasure all was
changed to woe for those left to mourn them, the sun gone out
of the lives of the wives, children, and lovers ; but perchance
those who had gone had found the Sun.
The subject of this chapter, the Rev. Charles Slingsby, was
born at Raskelfe in Yorkshire, and was educated at Rossall
School and St. Edmund's College, Oxford. A story told of one
of the boys at this school amused me.
While doing his gymnastic exercises he fell and bit his tongue
nearly in two, so several stitches had to be put in to keep the
unruly member in order. When the time came to have the
stitches taken out the lad sent them home to his mother in a
letter, asking her to be sure and keep them !
When at college two of Mr. Slingsby's greatest friends were
Arthur Lloyd, afterwards Bishop of Newcastle, and the Rev.
A. Suckling, who was later vicar of St. Albans, Holborn ; it is
therefore not surprising that he developed into a Churchman with
pronounced views and was one of the earliest supporters of the
English Church Union, being chairman of the local branch at
the time of his death.
In 1860 Charles Slingsby was ordained, and became assistant
curate at Helmsley and later rector of Horswell, where he
worked for thirteen years, during which time he devoted himself
to the rebuilding of the church. Following this, in 1880, he
became rector of Kirby-Sigston, where he remained for more
than twenty years ; here he restored the church, collecting
£1,000 for the purpose from amongst his neighbours and friends.
He had married in 1873 Susan, daughter of Charles Reynard
of Beverley, another well-known Yorkshire family. They were
a brave couple, for when first they married their united incomes
did not come up to £300 a year ! Notwithstanding this
they contrived to keep a couple of hunters, with the helping
hand of Mrs. Slingsby's sister, who was a well-known sports-
woman and often lent them mounts.
I have observed that the sport enjoyed by members of some
88 Sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
of these small establishments, when each day has to be contrived
and carefully thought out, has far outshone the pleasure ex-
perienced by those who have only to say what horse they will
ride and what time the car has to be at the door.
Mr. Slingsby used to groom his own horses, or rather help
to groom them, and he occasionally pressed a friend into the
service. There was a certain Jack Parker and his wife who
delighted in taking a turn ; the lady, not being tall, had to
stand on an upturned bucket, which enabled her to reach to
use her wisp of hay effectively.
After succeeding to Scriven there was no longer any necessity
to contrive, and at times the horses hardly had enough work to
do, as was proved once when Lord William Beresford (who
was related to the Slingsbys) was staying with them. Being
an accomplished whip, he had been asked to take the ribbons
and drive himself and his host to keep some appointment — I
forget where, but it does not matter, as they never reached
their destination. The horses were so fresh not even Lord
Bill's masterly handling could restrain them. If I remember
rightly, he was driving tandem in a dogcart ; before long the
horses ran away and landed the occupants in a ditch. Happily
neither was much the worse.
Captain Forester, Master of the Quorn, who has hunted
that pack since 1905 up to the time of writing this book, was a
friend of Mr. Slingsby's and always liked him to stay there each
season for hunting, providing him with the best of mounts.
For a man of a shy and retiring nature, Mr. Slingsby had a
number of warmly-attached friends, more especially as he
possessed that delightful but dangerous gift of caricaturing ;
the gift was, however, perfectly safe in his hands.
He loved the Yorkshire dialect and delighted in telling stories
in the vernacular, and told them well. There was one Yorkshire
song he was often called upon to sing, and as it is now difficult
to get, some north-country folk may like to be reminded of it.
The title is :
LEEDS CD CHURCH
I was at home wi' my fayther and mother, I never had no fun ;
They kept me at it fra' morn till neet, so I tliought fra' them I'd run.
Leeds fair was coming on, and I thought I'd have a spree.
So I clapped on my Sunday coat and hat and went away merrily.
With a bumpgey bumpscy bay,
Ra too ra roo ra laddiday.
The Rev. Charles Slingsby 89
First thing I saw was a great big mill, I'd never seen yon afore,
There were winnies and jennies and slubbers and spinnies and wheels by mony a
score,
And every strap had a wheel and every wheel had a strap.
" By gum," says I, " t' maisterman o'wd Harry's a rare strong chap."
With a bumpsey bumpsey bay, etc.
Next thing I saw were Leeds o'd Church, I'd nubbut been i' yon i' my days,
I felt almost ashamed of mysen, for I didn't know their ways.
There v/ere twenty or thirty folk i' tubs and boxes sat,
When up comes a' saucy old chap ; says he, " Lad, take off thy hat."
With a bumpsey bumpsey, etc.
And then there cam' a great lord mayor, and over his shoulder a club,
And he donned on a v/hite sack-poke and gat into t' topmost tub,
And then there came another chap and I think they called him Ned,
And he gat into t' bottommost tub and mocked what t'other chap said.
With a bumpsey bumpsey, etc.
And then they began to pray and to preach, they prayed for George our king,
Wlien up jumps chap in t' topmost tub, says he, " Good folk, let's sing."
And I thought some sang very well, while others did grunt and groan.
And everyone sang what they liked, so I sang " Bob and Joan."
With a bumpsey bumpsey, etc.
And when the praying and preaching were over and the folks were going away,
I went to the chap in t' bottommost tub ; says I, " Lad, what's to pay ? "
" Wliy, now't, my lad," says he ; by gum, I were right fane,
So I clicked hold of my old club stick and went whistling out again.
With a bumpsey bumpsey, etc.
Besides being able to sing a good song, Mr. Slingsby had, as
I have already stated, a fund of good stories, which he told well.
Once when coming out of church after a harvest festival one of
his parishioners attracted his attention to the number of stacks
in his yard, and with pride pointed to one, saying, " That one
is for butcher's meat — that one is for groceries " — then, coming
to the largest — " and that one is for Gin and Warter."
History repeats itself, and I must continue now with the
sad story of how the Rev. Charles Slingsby ended his days in a
field on his own property while out with the York and Ainsty.
On this occasion hounds had been taken to the Red House
Wood, which for generations has been the property of the
Slingsby s. After about a quarter of an hour a fox went away
on the south side ; hounds were laid on and began to run
sharply over Thickpenny Farm. The country was green and
fenced with strong thorns, well cut and laid. As usual, Mr.
Slingsby was going well to the front, and while putting his
liorse at one of these bound fences it pecked heavily, throwing
its rider on to his head with great force, breaking his neck. It
is believed that death was instantaneous. Most of the field had
go Sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
gone on, not knowing anything had happened ; however, a few
friends were near : one galloped off for a doctor and fortunately
met one on his rounds in a car about two miles away. He
instantly jumped up behind the messenger, and together they
galloped back across country to where that pathetic figure
was lying so still.
Alas ! there was nothing to be done, the doctor pronounced
life extinct ; the only comfort he could offer to those anxiously
awaiting his verdict was that he could have suffered no pain.
Then followed one of the most impressive scenes ever
witnessed in the hunting-field.
There had been no doctor out with the hounds that day,
but there had been another hunting parson, the Rev. A. S.
Crawley, rector of Bishopthorpe, one of the Archbishop's
chaplains. The moment the doctor pronounced life extinct he
held a service over his comrade as he lay in the field just where
he had fallen. There came a " hush " while all the members
and followers of the hunt gathered close around as if to keep him
still with them, while in a voice shaken with emotion the rector
from Bishopthorpe commended the soul of the " faithful " to
the care of the Great Unknown.
All lingered for a few moments in silent prayer, making a
beautiful and striking picture, bent bare heads, scarlet coats
and grief-stricken faces, some of the field having been sobered
into realising for the first time that " in the midst of life we are
in death." And what of the other silent witnesses, the birds
and the beasts ? I wonder if any of my readers have ever
noticed the restlessness of our faithful companions when in the
presence of that great mystery which, for want of a better name,
we call death ; the look that comes into their eyes betraying
the understanding of a something of which they cannot speak,
the look of something troubling them.
I have seen it both in horses and dogs, and though I fear I
am straying away from my subject, I must give one instance of
this instinct, understanding, or whatever it may be in animals.
A devoted little fox-terrier once quite broke me down when
I was most needing my self-control.
I was helping a dear friend to nurse her husband in India ;
he was dying from dysentery and fever. The end was very
near. His little fox-terrier that always slept on the end of his
The Rev. Charles Slingsby 91
bed had been restless and miserable for some days, hardly
taking his eyes from his master's face.
We had wished to move poor " Pickles " some time before,
but our patient objected and begged us not to take his pet awa3\
Suddenly the dog began to whine, poked his nose into the
listless hand on the bed, stood still and stiff for a moment,
looking enquiringly at the figure lying so still, then jumped off
the bed and began to do all the tricks his master had taught him.
First he stood on his head against the wall, which required the
most careful manoeuvring ; then jumped round after his own
tail, sat up and begged, brought his master's slippers ; then,
receiving no applause, with frightened, worried eyes stood by
the bed.
We noticed a change come over our patient, and " Pickles "
noticed it too, for suddenly his coat stood on end, and staring,
he shivered and trembled, then throwing up his head, howled
dismally. He would allow neither of us to touch him, not even
the poor widow, who wished to weep with him.
I wonder if Mr. Slingsby's mount knew what it had done.
I think animals know and understand much more than we give
them credit for.
The funeral of Mr. Slingsby, or the " Squire," as many
called him, took place at the quiet little parish church of Moor
Monkton, on the Slingsby estate, as he had expressed a wish in
his lifetime that when he was called away he would like to be
laid to rest under the shadow of its nine-hundred-years-old
walls and within sound of the bells.
Anyone who thinks lightly of sporting parsons should have
been at that service ; they would have felt for evermore ashamed
of themselves, for they could not have failed to see how deeply
loved and respected the " Squire " was, and would have heard
many a whispered story of his goodness. Gratitude is not a
marked feature in our present-day state of civilisation ; there
must have been something very special about Mr. Slingsby to
attract people and make them love him as they did.
The coffin was made of plain oak from off the property, and
was carried shoulder-high by retainers from the estate, preceded
by the hunt servants in their scarlet coats.
■ --j^A cross of scarlet geraniums rested on the coffin, beside
which lay his whip and spurs.
92 sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
Only a few of the hundreds who attended the funeral were
able to find room in the church.
The " Squire " was lowered into his moss and violet lined
grave that had been arranged by the villagers' loving hands.
As the parishioners who were unable to bring more costly
tributes of affection filed past the open grave, they threw in
sprigs of gorse from the whin close by, where but a few days
before he had been hunting.
The death of this fine old sporting parson gave rise to what
I believe to be a unique incident in ecclesiastical history, namely,
a sermon on Hunting Parsons by an Archbishop of the Estab-
lished Church.
On November 16th, 1913, the Archbishop of York dedicated
a stained glass window and a memorial brass to Mr. Slingsby's
memory at Moor Monkton Church. Both had been erected
by members of the York and Ainsty hunt and a few other
friends.
Before referring to this remarkable appreciation of a hunting
parson by Archbishop Lang, I think the window and brass are
worthy of description, and I should like to picture to those
who have not seen the memorial something of its beauty.
The subjects are so appropriate. On the left is Saint Hubert,
patron saint of the chase. He is shown in hunting-dress, and
the stag with the crucifix between the antlers is introduced by
his side, which, according to the legend, appeared to the saint
vfhen he was hunting in the forest and brought about his
conversion. Saint Hubert was afterwards bishop of Liege.
On the right-hand light is depicted Saint Francis of Assisi,
the lover of nature.
The saint is shown, according to the legend, ministering to
the birds, which had assembled to meet him, and, having re-
ceived his message, did not fly away until he gave them his
blessing and made the sign of the Cross— when they formed
themselves into the shape of a cross, and flew away east, west,
south, and north, singing wondrous songs.
Under the window in old English letters is :
" To the glory of God, and in affectionate memory of the
Rev. Charles Slingsby of Scriven Park, Knaresborough, who was
killed while hunting on his own property, close to the Red
The Rev. Charles Slingsby 93
House, on November 15th, 1912, in his 70th year, and buried in
the Churchyard, this brass and window were erected by the
members of the York and Ainsty Hunt and his friends in
Yorkshire."
Here are some quotations from the address, which should be
taken to heart by any anti-hunting cleric in the land, for it is
quite free from dogmatism and the red tape of officialdom, and
is inspired by that straightforward open-air Christianity of
which the good squire's life had been emblematic.
All in that crowded church were united by one great sym-
pathy, dignified, impressive, picturesque. The Archbishop in
his robes (attended by his Chaplain, who had held the little
service in the field, and his apparitor, Mr. Bonner) delivered
an address worthy of note, an exhortation to the living as well
as a paean to the dead.
Two Bible phrases were chosen as leit-motifs for the address :
" A man of the field." and " A faithful priest." Archbishop
Lang said : " Hunting is a sport which develops some of the
finest qualities of human courage and endurance, readiness to
face risks, comradeship. ...
" There are many kindly courtesies, both to man and beast,
which spring naturally from the sport of the field. . . ."
Turning to the significance of hunting in these days of social
unrest, he went on :
" At a time when we know that one of our greatest dangers
is the severance of the classes, here is something which quite
simply, naturally, and spontaneously draws the classes together
— peer and squire, business man and farmer meet upon a
common ground. . . .
" This, too, is a time when we are all doing what we can
to think how to increase the resources, the pleasures, and the
attractions of country life, and here is a sport which, once again
quite simply and naturally, gives just such a special feature and
interest to life in the country."
Here His Lordship became somewhat entangled in the
intricacies of hunting terminology, by referring to " even the
labourer, when he feels the stirring of the meet, or sees the
sudden burst of hounds and horses, gets just one of those fresh
incidents, sights, and scenes in what otherwise is often a very
94 Sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
monotonous life." If correctly reported he, of course, referred
to the quickening of the pulses which even the labourer shares
when confronted with the pageantry of sport ; and although not
himself a sportsman, there can be no doubt as to his opinion of
them, after the following passage :
" I think it is true that some of the very best Yorkshire
Christians who have ever lived have been keen sportsmen. ..."
Then, as a last reference to Mr. Slingsby, he summed up his
life admirably :
" He was one of those — and I think there should be more of
them in the ranks of the clergy — who loved the country for its
own sake, who loved the people, the birds and the beasts who
inhabit it."
So Mr. Slingsby was " A man of the field," but he was also
a " faithful priest." For thirty-six years of his life he had been
an earnest, faithful servant of the Church in Yorkshire.
After this appreciation from the Archbishop any description
of mine concerning Mr. Slingsby would be superfluous.
The Slingsbys are an old north-country family who fought
for their king in the Battle of Flodden in 1513. The monuments
in Knaresborough Church attest the antiquity and fame of the
family.
One of Mr. Charles Slingsby's ancestors. Sir William Slings-
by, was the reputed discoverer of Harrogate mineral springs ;
he was Commissioner-General in 1595 and honorary Carver to
Anne, Queen Consort, in 1603 ; in that same year he was
knighted. He was a great traveller, and during his journeyings
tasted the chalybeate waters in Germany and at once recognised
the virtue of what is known as the " Old Spa " or Tewitt well
on the Spray at Harrogate. This was about 1596, when the
whole district was merely part of the old Forest, and Knares-
borough the chief town. It was not, however, until nearly a
hundred years later that the valuable properties of the waters
became recognised, and for a long time there was only one inn,
or hotel, as we should now name it, where people could stay.
Sir William's son Henry also gave this country something
by which he may be remembered. As Master of the Mint in the
time of Charles II. he was author of the motto on the coinage,
" Decus et Tutamen."
During the two hundred and thirty years that have passed
n'si* in^P'^r'T' -pin "^^A
0,0 t(]p (Sino uf (^ab and in affprtionat? mpmofi^ rf
allF iRpb. (Ilbflp|p5 i^lingsbg of ii^rribpnf ank^JnancsbnciJoql;.
idIjd toflfi Nllpii tufiilst t|anting un his Dton jirappiitj dose ta KpI
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^{[p l^i^aas.
MEMORIAL WINDOWS AND BRASS
OF THE REV. CHARLES SLINGSBY
[Facing p. 9i
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The Rev. Charles Slingsby 95
since the granting of the first baronetcy there have been
seven generations of the family at Scriven, and no fewer than
five of the holders of the title died unmarried or without
children.
Beyond the heirlooms in the house of Scriven there is little
to show of its associations with mediaeval times.
In Sir Henry Slingsby's time (the Royalist), in his diary he
refers to " that rotten house at Scriving." So unsatisfactory
was it at that time, that it became necessary to borrow furniture
from his tenants before he, his wife, and daughter could stay
there on taking possession.
I must refer again for a moment to the ferry-boat disaster
when Sir Charles Slingsby lost his life, as I have heard so many
different versions of the accident and what everybody did in the
excitement of the moment, I hardly know what to believe. One
eye-witness told me Mr. Clare Vyner was the only man to save
life that day ; another tells me that Mr. Meysey Thompson
received the Humane Society's medal for saving life on that
fatal day, and he was the only person who did so.
Then, again, there has been some controversy as to the
number of Vyners present on the boat ; some say Captain Bob
was there as well as Mr. Clare, but this was not the case, for
Captain Bob witnessed the accident when on the banks of the
river with Lord Harewood and Lord Downe : all were trying to
think of some way of helping those in the water, but the accident
happened on the far side of the river.
At last Captain Bob Vyner, unable to bear inaction any
longer, pulled off his boots and plunged into the angry swollen
river and all but succeeded in rescuing Mr. Lloyd ; but he was a
big heavy man and too much for Captain Bob, who had to give
up his heroic efforts and make for the banks, being himself in an
exhausted condition.
After a few moments to regain his breath he once more
plunged in, and with help from the bank in the shape of planks,
lashed whips, etc., was able to assist in saving one or two who
were nearly drowned.
Poor Mr. Robinson, who had hunted regularly for years
with the York and Ainsty, occupying rooms in York each winter
for that express purpose, and who was known amongst his
friends as " Fluffy," had always had a marked dislike to crossing
96 Sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
water, even at a ford ; he also had a strong feehng about
thirteen being an unlucky number.
By the kind permission of Horse and Hound I give below
some verses composed by a Scarborough hairdresser in con-
nection with this accident.
The Key below answers to the number, which may be of
assistance to those not well acquainted with Yorkshire an;]
Yorkshire folk.
A Memorable Day
WITH
The York and Ainsty Foxhounds
At Stainley House,
Feb. 4th, 1869.
A POEM by Alfred John Tugwell, Scarboro'.
Published in the Yorkshire Chronicle, Feb. 13th, 1869.
" Good morning, gentlemen ! Good morn !
I'm glad to see you here ! —
Keep off that hound, sir, if you please —
Don't bring your horse too near.
" Good morning, Downe ! (i) You're down for sport.
Ah, Lascelles, {^) how d'ye do ?
Fine day. Sir George ! (*) Well, Robinson ! (*)
How are you, Molyneux ? (*)
"The scent vnW lie this morning, Lloyd, (*)
Make ready for the fun ;
A fox was seen in Monkton Whin,
We're safe to get a run.
" Come, Mussenden, (') we'll move away ;
I see 'tis half -past ten."
Thus spake Sir Charles, (8) the gentleman
Of Yorksliire's gentlemen.
The whin was tried, and Reynard broke
The gorse without delay.
Sir Charles exclaimed, " Pull up your girths,
We'll show you sport to-day."
The hounds were laid upon the scent,
Their music filled the air ;
The boldest riders rushed in front,
And all was bright and fair.
The fox was of a right good sort ;
He gaily led the chase
O'er meadow, fallow, dale, and hill.
Nor ever slacked Ixis pace.
The Rev. Charles Slingsby 97
For sixty minutes he defied
The York and Ainsty hounds,
Then ran towards the river Ure,
Near Lady Mary's grounds. (»)
He took the stream right gallantly,
And laved his weary flanks ;
He lapped a cool, refreshing draught.
Then climbed the northern banks.
The hoimds dashed in the swollen stream, (^o)
All keen upon their prey ;
The foremost horsemen eyed the flood
With doubt and dark dismay.
Sir Charles cried out, " We'll ride down stream.
And take the ferry-boat —
As oft before we've had to do —
And o'er the water float."
A score of horsemen galloped fast
Down to the wherry side.
All eager to secure a place,
And cross the rushing tide.
They urged the boatman (^^) to be quick.
Also the boatman's son ;
Or they would mar the royal sport
Of such a splendid run.
Full soon the wherry-boat contained
Within its ample space (i*)
Sir Charles and ten more men (^») with steeds.
Intent upon the chase.
The boat was pushed from off the shore.
And as she left the strand
The only men whose hearts were sad
Were those upon the land.
Just then Sir Charies's " Old Saltfish " (i*)
Grew restive, kicked and shied ;
He reared aloft, then madly plunged
Beneath the surging tide.
Sir Charles was dragged into the deep ;
A rush was made to save ;
The boat capsized, when steeds and men
Were struggling 'neath the wave.
Clare Vyner was the first to rise.
And seized the upturned boat ;
He scrambled up its slimy side.
And kept himself afioat.
He saw Sir George, of Newburgh Park,
Stern, resolute, and brave ;
He grasped his manly form, and saved
Him from a watery grave.
, H
98 Sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
The men upon the bank now strove
To lend a helping hand.
By logs of wood, and whipthongs tied,
Brought many safe to land.
" But where is Slingsby ? Edward Lloyd ?
The Warriners ? The ' Whip ' ?
Ned Robinson ? Can it be true
Death holds them in his grip ?
" Speak ! speak ! and tell if they be safe,
Ye men who stand around !
Have any seen them come ashore,
Or have they all been drowned ? "
Sir Charles and Lloyd were seen to swim
Towards the southern bank ;
When, quite exhausted and outspent.
They in the middle sank.
" Go fetch some boats, and poles, and lines,
We'll drag the river's bed ;
Strain every nerve to save each man —
They may not yet be dead ! "
Four boats were brought, the river searched —
Alas ! 'twas all in vain ;
Six bodies to the surface came
That ne'er would breathe again.
Eight horses, too, were drowned that day,
Of purest hunting blood ;
•' Old Saltfish," who had caused the woe,
Was rescued from the flood.
Poor SHngsby's watch had stopped at
Fifty minutes after one,
Precisely indicating when
The deadly work was done.
• • • •
Thus closed in darkest gloom the day,
A day so well begun.
Ah ! sure, no hunting page can tell
Of such a fatal run.
Ye men of England's noblest sport
Together mingle tears ;
Bow down the head in silent grief
Around these mournful biers.
Prepare a set of marble scrolls,
Erect them o'er their graves ;
Portraying how these gallant men
Were drowned beneath the waves.
KEY
(1) Viscount Downe, of Danby Lodge. (2) Lord Lascelles, of Harewood.
(3) Sir George Wombwell, of Newburgh Park. (4) Edmund Robmson, Esq., of
Thorpe Green. (5) Captain Molyneux, Thorpe Arch. (6) Edward Lloyd, Esq.,
of Lingcroft. (7) Major Mussenden, 8th Hussars. (8) Sir Charles Shngsby, of
The Rev. Charles Slingsby 99
Scriven Park,* Master of the pack. (9) Lady Mary Vyner, of Newby Hall. (10)
About sixty yards wide. (11) C. Warriner and son, gardeners and ferrymen at
Newby Hall. (12) Nine and a half yards long by three and a half yards wide.
(13) Sir Charles Slingsby, Sir George Wombwell, Major Mussenden, the Hon.
Henry and Captain Molyneux, Captain Key (Fulford), Clare Vyner, Esq.
(Newby Hall), E. Lloyd, Esq., E. Robinson, Esq., Captain White, 15th Hussars,
W. Orvis, the " Whip," C. Warriner and son. (14) Sir Charles Slingsby's old
and favourite hunter.
1 Scriven Park is now in the occupation of Sir Eric Geddes.
Chapter IX
Dean Hole — Church Reformer — Horticulturist — Raconteur — Youthful Artist-
Love of Games — "Wrote Plays at the Age of Ten — Dramatic Scenes — First Ac-
cepted Poem — Experiences of the Wicked World — Owes £300 — Talk of Duels
— Early Hunting Days — A Lethargic Mount — Overcome with Grief — Some
Rufford Meets — Lord Manners' Impressive Arrival — Sarcasm — Wellington
with the Belvoir — John Leech Fawned on — Famous Archers — A Forgotten
Custom — Dean Hole to the Rescue — Thackeray and Sir John Tenniel — The
Dean Organises Rose-Shows — Breaks the Law — His Views on Temperance.
NOT SO very many years ago no big rose-show would have
been complete without the burly figure of Dean Hole
towering above the crowd with his six feet three inches
of height and careless mass of silvered hair, from under which
his kindly eyes smiled on everybody. Author, horticulturist,
Church reformer, sportsman, and brilliant raconteur, Dean Hole
was one of the best-known and most striking Church of England
clerics throughout the best part of the nineteenth century. He
was a surprisingly versatile man, and among his other accom-
plishments might, by his own account, have also been an artist
if his mother had not discouraged him from painting his baby
sister with his first sixpenny box of paints !
What art lost the Church gained on this occasion, for Hole
was destined to bring the influence of a commanding personality
into the ecclesiastical field at a time when the Church had fallen
on evil days and needed just such men as Hole and Kingsley,
who both did incalculable good, each after his own fashion ;
but I touch on Dean Hole's clerical activities more fully
later.
As a sportsman his experience was a wide one, including the
now more or less defunct archery. Cricket he loved, and
remained a member of several cricket clubs till late in life ; he
believed in the game as a first-class amusement for the working-
man, and therefore to be supported with all the means at his
disposal. He was often the guest of both cricket and football
clubs. Fishing he was fond of, but was a better shot than
The Rev. Dean Hole loi
fisherman, and took out game licences without a break for half
a century ; while he hunted steadily all his life until old age
and seventeen stone made him reluctantly give up riding.
His early youth was spent at Caunton Manor, Newark, his
parents' home, and he abandoned the demure joys of a rocking-
horse for the fiercer delights of pony-riding at the age of four,
when the family coachman took this branch of his education in
hand. Before he was many years older the leading rein was
abandoned and a cob supplanted the pony. When he was
about ten he began writing plays, which he acted with his little
sister. That he had an eye for dramatic situations is clear from
the first act of one of these plays, which begins : Act. I. —
" Enter a man swimming for his life." If he had lived in the
days of cinema play-writing he would have had a great success !
Our present-day actor-managers have their little weaknesses,
and it was not surprising that, being author-actor-manager,
Hole should write leading parts for himself in which he nearly
always appeared in the admiration-compelling role of a hero
just returning from the field of battle. Wearying of the drama,
he took to verse, and actually got a poem about the death of
William IV. accepted by the Nottingham Journal, which was
not bad for a ten-year-old.
It was a toss-up whether he should go into the army — ^those
were the days of bought commissions, which the Duke of
Cambridge maintained were the backbone of the army, and
without which the Service would go to pieces — or whether he
should go to Oxford. The latter scheme was adopted, but
first of all he sallied out to see the world. Judging by his plays
he was a youth who longed for adventures ; and if this was so,
he was not long in finding one, for no sooner had he arrived in
Paris than he fell in with three most agreeable fellow-countrymen
whose charm of manner and dashing worldliness quite fascinated
the boy. Having first taken the precaution of leading him to
a shooting-gallery, where they impressed him with their remark-
able skill with pistols, they proceeded to stand him a dinner in
the most hospitable manner, after which they played cards
until he was in their debt to the tune of something like £300.
He rose to the occasion remarkably well, considering he was
a mere boy and thrown entirely on his own resources for the first
time. He felt sure he had been cheated, and calmly announced
102 Sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
that until he had made certain enquiries about them next day
he did not propose to settle up ! Of course this caused much
wild and whirling talk of instant satisfaction, duels to the
death, and so on, but he stuck to his guns and went back to his
hotel. Next morning enquiries at the office of the Procureur du
Roy elicited the information that his charming friends of the
night before were notorious sharpers, and he heard no more of
them. What seemed to tickle him most about the affair was
that while he had paid them nothing, they had given him an
excellent champagne dinner.
The first cob on which he hunted was of a lethargic tempera-
ment, and occasionally gave a deep sigh and slowly lay down
from sheer boredom while waiting outside a covert. Slight
refreshers were necessary with the whip to cut short these dozes.
A much more curious instance, more or less of the same sort,
happened to him later in life while hacking home on a very old
but excellent hunter. It suddenly stopped and appeared to
drop dead under him. Overcome with grief, he extricated
himself and stood by the body of his old favourite, thinking
over all the beautiful traits in its character and mourning its loss.
He had almost made up his mind to remove its saddle and bridle
and leave it alone in its glory, when the horse came to life and
began carelessly cropping the grass within its reach, while it
settled itself into a still more comfortable position. Like the
mother who heartily spanks the child that has just failed to be
run over by a motor-car, the Dean's grief suddenly turned to
indignation, and the rest of the homeward journey was per-
formed at a smart trot.
He had very decided views on whether parsons should hunt
or not. He believed they should certainly hunt, or enjoy any
other manly sport, so long as it did not involve betting or
interfere with their work or embarrass them financially. His
own limit was one day a week with hounds. Another rule he
would have liked to make Avas that if a parson wished to hunt he
must ride straight, otherwise he had better stop at home. He
often expressed this view, and I must say I do not agree with it.
He rode hard himself, while in his prime, but I cannot see
why a parson or anybody else who goes hunting as a relaxation
from work should not enjoy himself in his own way, so long as
he docs not interfere with anybody else. He may be riding a
The Rev. Dean Hole 103
fat cob which is also the only thing his wife has to drive ; he
may be fat himself, or infirm ; he may honestly prefer to potter
— a thousand good and sufficient reasons might be given why
he should not ride hard or straight which would be quite
satisfactory to my mind.
In the case of the parson it is perhaps different ; it would
not be conducive to mutual respect if the parishioners thought
him a funk and he was aware of the fact, and no one knows
better than the parson how ready his flock is to criticise ; so
no doubt Dean Hole thought the parson should ride straight as
an indication of strength of character, pluck, and so forth, even
at the risk of laying up the family cob.
His views were much the same about women hunting. He
said he liked to see any number of them at the meet, but he
would wish only those who were really competent and ex-
perienced horsewomen to follow the pack across country. In
those days they wore the dangerous long habit, and only rode
on side-saddles, so that he had the argument that these two facts
added materially to their danger. This was true to some extent,
I dare say, but I disagree with him even then. One hears the
same sort of thing being said by the older generation to this day.
I contend that those who really desire to exclude the other half
of the human race from the field should stay at home them-
selves, and then their sensibilities would not be hurt.
In his early days he hunted with the Rufford in the palmy
days of the " Dukeries," when their meets were " a thing to see
and marvel at," for nearly all the ducal homes in the neighbour-
hood were occupied by their owners, and peers of all the lesser
denominations abounded. Clumber, Welbeck, and Worksop
Manor all sent their contingents to the Rufford meets, which
would have delighted the hearts of latter-day tourists from the
other side of the Atlantic on account of the methods some of the
bigwigs saw fit to employ to come to the trysting-place.
Lord Manners usually arrived in an open carriage, drawn by
four horses ridden by postilions in cherry-coloured jackets, not
to mention a couple of prancing outriders. The noble earl
seems to have outrivalled the late Lord George Sanger both in
the matter of taste and splendour. Perhaps it was only to be
expected, after all this, that Lord Manners' arrival was con-
siderably more impressive than his performance when mounted,
104 Sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
for he jogged about in the wake of the hunt with a groom to
open gates for him. One day a stranger came out who was of
the same turn of mind, and pottered about after Lord Manners
until the latter could stand it no longer, so he turned on his
unwelcome follower and said, " Sir, for many years I have
enjoyed the exclusive privilege of being last in this hunt " —
which was almost as good as Lord Henry Bentinck's masterly
rebuke to a man who galloped madly through the pack at a
check on a staring ewe-necked mount he could not hold,
" May I ask, sir, do you smell the fox ? "
Lord Scarborough also thought it becoming to go to meets
in a resplendent four-in-hand. Brave times, no doubt, but
fashions change, and, speaking literally, I suppose these days of
the great war are the bravest days the world has ever seen.
The modern subaltern would be surprised to know that at least
two officers went into action at Waterloo carrying umbrellas
without apparently occasioning any surprise or comment !
While Dean Hole's brother-in-law, Mr. Francklin, was
Master of the Rufford, he improved the pack considerably by
introducing Belvoir blood. Hole married Miss Caroline Franck-
lin in 1861, daughter of Mr. Francklin of Gonalston, in Not-
tinghamshire.
The only time Hole hunted with "the Belvoir was while the
great Duke of Wellington was visiting that country, and all the
neighbourhood turned out in its thousands to see the General.
They crowded the hillside at the meets just as the vast con-
course did at the pre-war opening meets of the Devon and
Somerset staghounds on Cloutsham Ball. In these days it is
difficult to think of anybody for whom half the county would
turn out at a meet purely for the pleasure of gaping. The
forms that hero-worship often took in those days fairly set
twentieth-century teeth on edge (those few twentieth-century
people who have any). When John Leech attended one of the
annual Fetes des Roses given by Hole, the guests literally
fawned on him, calling him by such names as " Delight of the
Nation," and so on. They also continually pestered the
unhappy man by drinking his health in claret-cup.
The standard of taste has altered, surely for the better, and
it is now almost inconceivable how they can have been so gross.
The classic example of this sort of thing was on the occasion of
The Rev. Dean Hole 105
Doctor Johnson's tour in the Hebrides, when the conversation
on one occasion turned on some lady's indiscretion. The
daughter of the house turned to the learned but uncouth Doctor,
saying, " Ah, sir ! if she had had such a son as you, would
not her offence have been excused ? " We are told that
Johnson was immensely pleased by this charming remark.
It is curious how small social changes take place and are
immediately forgotten. When Hole was a young man, and
archery was still fashionable, he was friends with most of the
famous archers of the day, such as Higginson, Hippesley, and
Peckett — household names then, but now they sound quite
strange to the ear. At that time it was an ordinary thing to see
three or four earnest gentlemen sitting round the library fire
dabbing their fingers with lightning-like rapidity on a hot
poker in their efforts to make their finger-tips hard for using the
bow-string. It was on one of these occasions, while Hole was
staying with people for an archery meeting, that his hostess's
dress was set on fire by the hot poker, and was extinguished by
Hole rolling her up in one of the dressing-gowns men wore
while smoking their after-dinner cigars — another forgotten
custom of yesterday. Imagine the surprise of a dinner host of
to-day asking his guest to have a cigar and getting the answer,
" Thanks, but just wait a moment while I fetch my dressing-
gown ! " These little things are not remembered because
contemporary writers never think of mentioning them, which is
a great pity, for the value of autobiographical writers to suc-
ceeding generations mainly depends on these very details, as
witness, for instance, Pepys and Boswell.
Hole's archery was brought to an untimely end by his cutting
his thumb so badly that it spoilt his grip of the bow for ever
after, which was a great grief to him, as he was a very good
amateur performer. People got bitten with archery then just
as they now do with golf, and solemn warnings used to be
launched against them giving up too much time to it.
Dean Hole was the happy possessor of a keen sense of
humour, which is the gift above all others that helps most to
give its owner happiness. His good stories were proverbial,
and made him beloved of hostesses at dinner-parties ; but most
of his stories have already been recorded, I am afraid.
He was a great admirer of the Americans, our kinsmen, who
io6 Sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
transcend us in many things —hard work, secular education, and
inventive genius— but found it difficult to live up to their
strenuousness when on arrival at midnight in an hotel in New
York he was invited through the keyhole of his bedroom door
to commence a conversation with a gentleman outside who
" bid him discourse " just when prepared to become a companion
of the bath. Some of the enquiries were complicated and
required more consideration than the opportunity seemed to
suggest ! The interrogator asked in rapid succession what the
Dean thought of New York City, Oliver Cromwell, and the
intermediate state !
He had a very amusing story he told extremely well of a
dinner-party he went to at the house of an aged lady who was
accustomed to have a hot foot-warmer placed under the table
to keep her toes warm. The guests entered the dining-room
while the footman was still under the table putting the foot-
warmer in position, and the people sat down. Hearing a slight
commotion under the table, the old lady took it to be the pet
retriever, and called, " Rollo, Rollo ! come out, Rollo ! " and
affectionately patted the agonised man's head as it emerged
from under the table-cloth !
Another, story he tells in his own Memoirs is of a clergyman
who observed that the congregation was large and that there
was only one collection-plate, so he told a rustic parishioner to
run over to the vicarage, enter the dining-room by the open
French windows, and bring one of the plates he would find on
the sideboard. This the yokel did, and took his plate up one
side of the church while the usual plate was taken up the other.
At the end of the collection he came to the vicar and whispered,
" I took the plate all up the aisle, but nobody would take one."
The plate was full of biscuits !
I think most people have heard the one about a bygone Lady
Cork who was so much moved by the sermon one Sunday that
she borrowed a sovereign from the man sitting next her to put
in the collection. The sovereign, however, went into Lady
Cork's collection, as when the plate came along she could
neither bring herself to put it in nor return it to the man !
Mr. Hole's university career was like that of thousands of
others. He went up determined to work hard, and read
furiously ; then he read steadily ; then read with weariness,
The Rev. Dean Hole 107
and then hunted regularly with the Bicester and Heythrop.
In after years he hunted with any pack he could get out with,
but only had one day with the Quorn. It was a great day for
him, and he never forgot the delight he felt in galloping across
the elastic turf after the heavy clay countries he had been
accustomed to. To use his own robust metaphor, taking fences
was like " leaping from a spring-board to an athlete."
Literary and artistic people always got on well with him.
He and John Leech once went to Ireland together for a holiday
and enjoyed themselves very much. Leech sketching everything
he came across, including a sneeze and the smell of Cork harbour,
while Hole wrote an account of their wanderings which was
afterwards published. They even hunted together sometimes,
but Leech was no thruster and told Hole that his ideal mount
was one on which he could carry an umbrella in a hailstorm.
One reason why Leech did not take many risks was that he had
once broken his arm and was afraid that a second fracture
might ruin his drawing. He hacked quietly about, watching
the field with his keen artist's eyes that saw so much that others
missed.
While the field was jumping a fence on the way from one
covert to another one day, he drew Hole aside to watch each
person's way of taking the business, and told his companion to
notice that no two riders and no two horses would be quite
alike in their methods ; and sure enough, they were not. Apart
from the broad difference between those that jumped big and
landed wildly, and those that crashed sluggishly through
rather than over, there were a thousand subtle differences, such
as the riders who went at it with a great show of determination
but did not like it in their hearts, and managed to communicate
their faintness of heart to their horses ; and those whose joyous
determination seemed to almost lift reluctant mounts over the
obstacle by sheer force of will.
Leech makes Hole appear in several Punch pictures of the
day, notably one in which a dashing youth describes a capital
run he has had " with only five falls." Thackeray, Sir John
Tenniel, and four editors of Punch were among Hole's friends,
and he dined at the famous Punch round table at which forth-
coming cartoons were discussed. I believe he was the only
outsider who ever attended this editorial dinner, with the
io8 Sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
exception of Sir Joseph Paxton, whose name is now immortahsed
by a particularly luscious strawberry named after him. Such is
fame ! and how few of us will be immortalised even by a straw-
berry.
As a gardener, Dean Hole knew as much about plants and
flowers as any man of his time. He had a beautiful fancy that
perhaps it is some dim remembrance of Paradise lost that makes
little children love flowers.
At one time he owned four thousand rose-trees, and was so
great an authority on the subject that rose-growers from all
over the country sent him specimens for his criticism or advice,
which he was always glad to give, although he used to get rather
annoyed with people v/ho would send roses packed in frail
cardboard boxes on which the postman invariably seemed to
have trodden. He organised the first National Rose Show, and
was always in demand as a judge at flower-exhibitions all over
England. In time he became an expert in detecting the cloven
hoof, which makes its appearance even at such apparently
innocent things as flower-shows.
I always pictured the exhibitors at flower-shows as sylph-
like beings with guileless faces and utterly ignorant of all
mundane vices. I liked to think of them dancing through the
dew, bearing posies to the flower-show, and singing as they
came ; but apparently I was all wrong. One sylph, for in-
stance, exhibited twelve varieties of a plant, having secretly
hired half of them for the occasion from a florist. Hole got
wind of this and drove off post-haste to the exhibitor's garden
to verify the facts, and was in time to prevent the first prize
being awarded to the fraudulent twelve, so that when the
expectant sylph arrived he found, not the prize card, but one
bearing the words : " Disqualified and Expelled from the
Society."
Gardening was not nearly so universally popular in Hole's
early days as it is now, and the fashion was for stiff, formal
gardens ; but he liked broad effects best with plenty of grass and
trees and no straight lines. When in town, he often escaped
from the noise of the streets by flying to Veitch's nurser}^-
garden in the King's Road, Chelsea, where he had known the
proprietors for two generations and could spend congenial hours
in their glass-houses whenever he liked ; and he was never tired
The Rev. Dean Hole 109
of fussing over flowers, whether it was in advising as to the laying
out of somebody's vast new pleasure-grounds or tending the
humble window-box.
His first achievement with a gun was to shoot a partridge in
August, thereby breaking a leash of laws : carrying a gun
without a licence, shooting game without a game licence, and
shooting game out of season. This bad start for a high eccle-
siastical career happened when he was a very small boy, and
a great admirer of the village good-for-nothing. One day he
accompanied this worthy to the cornfields, where he was
employed as a bird-scarer. Hole borrowed his ancient muzzle-
loader, which was charged to the muzzle with copious doses of
powder, shot, and newspaper wads, and set out to stalk a yellow-
hammer, but in the middle of the stalk a family of partridges
whirred over and the excitement of the moment was too much
for him. He discharged his formidable piece of ordnance at
the covey and brought down a bird, at which both he and the
village good-for-nothing were panic-stricken. Fortunately the
crime remained undiscovered and is still unpunished.
When he grew older and was given a gun of his own, he went
through a strict course of training, his father making the
excellent rule that whenever the boy presented him with a view
of the muzzle he should be sent home. By this means he learnt
to be a careful shot, a thing that can only be taught when young.
It seems to be an undoubted fact that people who have got into
the habit of carelessness when young can never wholly get out
of it afterwards. In his time he shot in some of the best
pheasant-shoots in the country, but good rough shooting was
his favourite form of the sport. He could enjoy himself with a
dog and a ferret on a frosty morning among the rabbits quite as
well as at a swagger battue. In one of his books he has some
unfavourable comments on modern shooting methods. Most
people will agree with him in what he says about the shooting
of semi-tame hand-reared birds, but then he goes on to compare
the frugal shooting-lunches of his youth with the spreads of
to-day. He illustrates this by describing a typical lunch under
the trees, enjoyed in his young days.
It consisted of Irish stew, puffs, cheesecakes, peaches, beer,
sherry, and brandy. It all sounds very nice, but I am bound to
say. in justice to modernity, that I have seen shooting-lunches
no sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
that were no more elaborate as regards food, and considerably
less elaborate in the matter of drinkables, even in the much
maligned times of milk and honey that immediately preceded
the war. Indeed, I should have thought the shooting of the
guns after beer, sherry, and brandy would have been far from
good. I could have shown them very fine shoots in the south
of England where they would have been offered nothing to
drink but cider.
I have devoted most space to Hole as a sportsman, but it
would be wildly wrong to regard him as more sportsman than
cleric. He was a cleric first, and everything else as an after-
thought. He was a popular and very human preacher and
platform orator, while his early love of writing lasted all his life
and caused him to write sheaves of witty and charming letters
which have been collected and produced in book form ; also a
number of books, some on religious subjects and others on
gardening. His " Memoirs " are very interesting and amusing,
and have been of great use to me in compiling his sporting
record.
As I have said, he was one of the principal champions who
brought new life to the Church of England in its dark days of
what the decorous call " depression," and the profane " slump."
The desertion of two such brilliant men as Manning and Newman
to the Church of Rome was only a sign of the times, and their
example was followed by innumerable smaller fry. The
gloomiest forebodings were freely expressed that the Church was
on its last legs. I have described in another chapter how
Kingsley rushed into the breach with his Christian socialism.
Hole's remedy was to brighten things up by what lukewarm
people call " High Church " methods, and the hostile critics
savagely denounce as " Popery " — that vague but ever-
terrifying word !
He worked very hard for the new movement and was
eminently successful in diffusing new energy into the ancient
structure of the Church. Of course he and his co-reformers
met with opposition, but that only served to spur them onwards
with the fine fury which the word " crusade " always awakens,
and added the vitalising sense of fighting against odds. It may
seem curious now that most of the Bishops opposed their
efforts. To the mere lay mind it seems obvious enough that
The Rev. Dean Hole iii
reforms were needed, what with the viscous system of plural
livings and the inevitable result — non-resident parsons. In many
cases even the curates they employed to do their work lived
miles outside their parishes ; but Bishops are kittle cattle !
Dean Hole's idea was to have frequent and bright services,
with plenty of good music ; he liked to see bands and other
forms of instrumental music in church in addition to the organ,
and he had some quite exciting times with the " No-Popery "
people. The first parsons to adopt the white surplice were
often hooted at, and the Primitive Methodists held meetings
with great clamour outside his church as a sort of protest. This
went on until some genius thought of an effective counterblast.
They held a bell-ringing practice whenever the Methodists
clamoured, and it proved so successful that the enemy had to
remove its meeting elsewhere.
At the time that Hole was a curate, earning £100 a year, he
heard village orators assuring their hearers that he was a
bloated aristocrat with a salary of £1,000 a year, and was also
an intimate friend of the Pope. It seemed as if nothing the
clergy could do was right — a position, it seems to me, that was
not peculiar to that era alone. Again and again I have noticed
in villages that if the parson visits his parishioners he is called
a busybody, and if he does not, he is slack and they wonder
what he is paid for. Hole said clergymen were like the flying
fish, that are seized by albatrosses if they fly and are devoured
by dolphins when they return to the water.
His views on the temperance question were strong, and he
opposed the prohibitionists tooth and nail, believing that the
proper way to combat drunkenness was to improve public-
houses and educate the populace out of bad ways. I have heard
vitriolic prohibitionists describe this attitude, which is the one
generally adopted by the " moderates," as being ready to do
anything to mitigate the evil except cure it ; which seems
rather unkind, but I am content to leave its refutation to abler
scribes.
Dean Hole died in 1904, at the age of eighty-five, one of the
best-loved and most respected men of his generation.
Chapter X
The Rev. E. Chard—" Bishop " of the Taunton Vale— The Hero of Rorke's
Drift — If I were a Parson — Isandula — England Dumb — ^The Burning Hos-
pital— Hatch Beauchamp Church — Queen Victoria's Wreath — The Hero's
Last Days — The Farmers' Friend — A Gentle Voice — A Confidential Whisper
— A Martyr to Gout — A Strange Coincidence — Between Here and There — The
Rev. John Froude, M.F.H. — An Unruly Member — Bishop of Exeter Remon-
strates— Mr. Froude is Saucy — An Interview — The Bishop tries Again — He
Smells Rats — A Faithful Partner — Some Sporting Sermons — The Rev. Jack
Michell — An Epoch-making Run — Master of the Cotleigh Harriers — Endur-
ing Hunters — Badger Hunting — Mr. Michell's Charity — He Shames a Thief
— An Enthusiastic Fisherman — Advice when Shooting — A Song well Sung.
IN the Taunton Vale country " The Bishop " is still sadly
missed. It is curious how well known this nickname was ;
indeed, many people knew him by no other.
When staying in Northumberland a year or two ago, I was
asked if I knew what " The Bishop's " real name was, and was
glad to have an opportunity of telling a houseful of hunting
people about the Rev. E. Chard, rector of Hatch Beauchamp, in
Somersetshire, for I knew they would appreciate all I had to
tell of this sporting, kindly, and popular parson.
For fifteen years parson Chard acted as honorary secretary
to the Taunton Vale foxhounds, and it says much for the beauty
of his character that at the end of these years he still could not
bring himself to believe or see harm in anyone. Just think
of it in this mind-our-own-business, out-of-sight-out-of-mind
world !
He was the youngest of the three sons of William Wheaton
Chard, of Pathe, Somerset, and Mount Tamar, Devonshire ; he
must have been a proud man to have three such distinguished
sons !
The eldest of the three, Colonel Wheaton Chard, commanded
the 7th Fusiliers, had a distinguished career, and died at the age
of fifty — a comparatively young man.
The second son. Colonel John Chard, Royal Engineers, of
whom I cannot think or write without thrills, was the
The Revs. Chard, Froude and Michell 113
hero of Rorke's Drift, on January 22nd, 1879, when he — then
Lieutenant Chard — and Lieutenant Bromhead, 24th Regiment,
accomplished ahnost superhuman tasks in defending the hospital
and the stores when taken by surprise and surrounded by three
thousand Zulus.
This is not the place to recount the magnificence of those
men's bravery, for I am writing about parsons, but it is im-
possible to mention the name of Chard without referring to it,
and I would like to recount the story afresh every year, so that
the rising generations may hear all about it, and be fired with
the hero-worship so inspiring and good for any son of man.
If I were a parson I would set apart special days to preach
sermons on the lives of some of these great men ; I would take
them for my text ; I would point out what possibilities lie
within us all of forgetting self -what it is that makes men stand
out like beacons in the hours of darkness and strife.
I can remember that black January, 1879, when the news
of the awful disaster at Isandula reached England, and we were
dumb with grief at the thought of all our brave soldiers that
perished there, marched to their death with contradictory orders
and insufficient ammunition. We felt crushed as a nation,
broken-hearted as individuals.
Quickly on top of this blow came the news of the attack on
Rorke's Drift, held against such overwhelming numbers by a
handful of England's best. It was here Lieutenant Chard,
taken by surprise, without even time to cut down the bush
surrounding them, which gave such excellent cover for the
enemy, quickly made defences of biscuit -tins, all with him
following his orders and working hard.
At the last moment the Natal native contingent, dis-
heartened at the disaster at Isandula, deserted, making matters
worse for this brave handful, who only had time to build up the
biscuit -tins and boxes two tins high, when the enemy were on
them and the hospital attacked.
Lieutenants Chard and Bromhead carried out all the sick it
was possible to move, but in spite of their efforts the hospital
was set on fire ; the three privates stationed at the doors to
protect the helpless inside, came to the end of their ammunition
and stood at their posts repulsing the enemy at the point of the
bayonet. ...
I
114 Sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
It was growing dark, and, as the burning hospital fell in, the
gallant defenders were forced to retire to another defence of
heaped-up meal-bags, and a desultory firing was kept up at them
all night by the light of the burning hospital. They were
completely surrounded, but evidently the enemy had no idea
how few were opposed to them, and at dawn on January 23rd
moved off, giving Lieutenant Chard time to collect the arms of
the fallen Zulus, and fortify themselves in case of fresh attack.
This was accomplished none too soon, for at 7 a.m. the enemy
appeared in sight again ; but Lieutenant Chard succeeded in
getting a message taken to Helpmakaar, a few miles away, for
help, which arrived about eight o'clock, seeing which, the enemy
retired, and thus ended this most gallant defence.
The third son. Rev. E. Chard, rector of Hatch Beauchamp,
in Somersetshire, the parson of whom I write, while his brothers
were fighting for their country, was working saving souls and
gathering all together for the great Roll Call, loved and respected
by all in his parish.
He was a familiar figure with the Taunton Vale foxhounds,
and he acted as their secretary for fifteen years ; all the sur-
rounding packs likewise welcomed him. He was a great
favourite with the farmers, who were drawn to him through his
sporting propensities in a way that might otherwise have been
impossible, for here in the field they were on neutral ground, so
to speak, and together they enjoyed the beautiful country, fresh
air, and all the glorious things the good God has provided for
our happiness if we only choose to embrace them. Out hunting
it is possible to meet farmers and men who would otherwise
fight rather shy of the parson.
I have heard some sporting parsons spoken of lightly, but
never parson Chard. I have thought much of his popularity
was due to his wonderful memory, his sympathy, and his gentle
voice. The latter had a charm peculiar to itself. His memory
enabled him to say the right thing to each person he met,
appearing interested, as indeed he was, in the lives of all around
him ; one man would be congratulated on taking a prize with
his cattle, another on his wonderful crop of beans ; others had
sick relatives asked after — everyone receiving a little attention
and no favourites made.
His charities were many, and carried out so as to avoid the
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The Revs. Chard, Froude and Michell 115
recipient feeling it was " charity " — that virtue that is supposed
to cover a multitude of sins, but often defeats its own ends by
creating them.
Women as a rule predominate in our English churches, but
this order was reversed at Hatch Beauchamp ; the church was
generally full of men, young and old, with a good sprinkling of
women. I remarked on this once to one of his parishioners, who
was a well-to-do farmer ; he rephed, " We love and respect him
as a man, a sportsman, a gentleman, and a friend."
Mr. Chard was not " out," as the schoolboys say, to save the
saints, though no doubt he was very pleased to see them ; it
was those who had made mistakes— the " sinners," I believe is
the usually accepted term ; he wanted to help them.
Mr. Chard hunted all his life, beginning at the age of six and
continuing up to within a year or two of his death. At one
time he hunted a good deal with the Pytchley ; latterly mostly
in the Somerset, Devon, and Dorset countries. He was edu-
cated at Emmanuel College, Cambridge, as his father was
before him. His first curacy was in a big parish in Birmingham,
where he was exceedingly popular with the mothers ; at Cam-
bridge they thought he held the babies " so nice."
Once while performing the christening ceremony he could not
make out whether the child's name was to be Anna or Hannah,
so stooping down he asked the child's mother, " How do you
spell it ? " The parent in an embarrassed and confidential
whisper replied, " Well, I ain't no schollard neither, sir ! " She
was evidently disappointed at his ignorance ; fancy his having
to ask her how to spell ! She had thought better of him.
The last time I saw Mr. Chard was at a hunt breakfast we
gave when my son was hunting a pack of harriers in the west
country. He had been laid up for some time, and a small
crowd was around him congratulating him on being in the
field again ; all were merry and laughing, " The Bishop " one
of the merriest, but not at anyone's expense. He loved a
joke ; amongst the hearty laughter I heard his voice at intervals
as gentle as a woman's ; indeed, much more gentle than the
voices of some women I know, and they were out that day.
It was a sorry day both for " The Bishop " and his friends
when he had to give up hunting ; for the last two years of his
life he was a martyr to gout, which is not a complaint that
ii6 Sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
generally leaves people gentle and good ; but Mr. Chard was
remarkably patient, never the least irritable, and was nursed
devotedly by his wife.
Parson Chard died, if I remember rightly, sitting up in his
armchair in his study at Hatch Beauchamp ; he knew the end
was near and was only sad for those he was leaving behind.
It is a strange coincidence that all three brothers died at
about the age of fifty.
The favourite hunter of " The Bishop " was a strong, good-
looking, useful grey. On the day of the funeral the horse was
very restless, and as his master was carried down the drive it
followed along under the paddock railing, neighing and whinny-
ing, and could hardly be prevented from getting out and following
up the road.
The same day his little dog, who had been fretting for his
master, lay quietly down and died. It seemed as if nothing
could do without him.
I wonder if any of my readers ever feel the bitter resentment
I feel at times when I see the world showering flowers, tears, and
eulogies around our dear dead who have done so much for the
happiness and well-being of those around them during their
lifetime, receiving so few words of kindness and encouragement
in return ; and now, when too late to raise a grateful smile,
too late to heal the hidden sores of their hearts, kind words and
tears are spent in extravagant profusion. I can never help
repeating to myself —
" Why do we grudge our sweets so to the living,
Who, God knows, find at best too much of gall,
And then with generous, open hand, kneel giving
Unto the dead our all ? "
It makes me sad, as I write, to think how many of these
sportsmen have gone from us, never more to hear their cheery
voices ; happily nobody can rob us of their memories, and as
the years pass by, and we have to take to carpet-slippers and
mob-caps, in armchairs by the fireside, we shall live with them
again, in the gloaming before the lights are lit, when we are
nodding with our hearts asleep and our minds somewhere
between Here and There.
Alas ! " The Bishop " will pass this way no more. The
The Revs. Chard, Froude and Michell 117
cottagers still tell me they miss him, and that they used to wait
at their doors just to see him ride past on hunting mornings, on
the chance of hearing his gentle voice. From what I know of
" The Bishop," not many waited in vain.
In God's Acre at Hatch Beauchamp, close under the shadow
of the church, on the south side, are two marble crosses, close
together, one raised " To the memory of the Rev. E. Chard, rector
of the parish," etc., bearing the inscription :
" To the memory of The Rev. Charles Edward Chard,
Born Dec. 4th, 1856. Died Sept. 12th, 1910.
" Father, in Thy gracious keeping,
Now we leave Thy servant sleeping."
The other to the memory of Col. John Merriott Chard, V.C,
Royal Engineers ; Hero of Rorke's Drift. Born Dec. 1st, 1847.
Died Nov. 1st, 1897.
Inside the beautiful little church where the Rev. E. Chard
officiated for so many years there is a handsome brass to his
memory, placed there by his parishioners. A beautiful window
is also there, to the memory of the Hero of Rorke's Drift, and
beside it what is left of the wreath sent by Queen Victoria for
his grave.
When last I visited these graves (a very short time ago) it
struck me as comforting and restful — the church standing as the
Rock of Ages, amid the peaceful surroundings of a quiet country
village, shut in by a high wall and well-clipped and tended
laurels and shrubs, over which again, the ancient trees spread
out big protecting arms — trees that have witnessed the cere-
monies and anguish of many generations, but never a word or
whisper tell, no sound is there but the gentle sighing of the
leaves ; and as I left I turned for one last look. The sun was
pouring over the brothers' graves, and flooding the window
with light to the Hero's memory.
The rectory where " The Bishop " lived overlooks the
churchyard, and it was here the Hero came to end his days
under the care of his brother, who nursed him tenderly through
a long and terrible illness, to the end. It must have been a
comfort to Colonel Chard to be able to spend his last days under
the shadow of his brother's goodness.
The tragedy of it all ! I used often, as I passed the pathetic
ii8 Sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
figure in the lanes, being wheeled in his invalid's chair, feel sick
at our impotency : so powerless to help this brave man in his
awful suffering, who had done and dared so much for others,
but was now too ill even to speak.
But I must return to " The Bishop." I have observed that
only people who are popular get these sort of names attached
to them ; this round-faced, apple-cheeked little man was one
of several I have known rejoicing in the epithet.
It would be difficult to imagine two characters more unlike
than those of Parson Chard of Hatch Beauchamp and the
Rev. John Froude, M.F.H., vicar of Knowstone in Devonshire,
but the latter was of a generation before Mr. Chard, and was a
most determined, headstrong man who seemed to take pleasure
in annoying his Bishop and those in authority ; while Mr. Chard
would have gone considerably out of his way to avoid doing
anything of the kind.
I am unable to give a very correct and detailed account of
Mr. Froude's life. He was long before my time, and the only
relation I can find of his, does not seem to be greatly enamoured
with recollections of him, for in reply to my letter asking if he
were any relation, etc., I was informed he was a distant relation,
and reading between the lines I gathered he knew little about
him and cared less.
I have asked many Devonshire people about this sporting
parson and been told various strange stories, and I fear he was
rather an unruly member of the clerical fraternity, but a fine
sportsman with a grand voice, his view-halloo being a thing to
remember. Hounds flew to him when they heard it. All I can
gather, points to his having been an independent gentleman,
rather given to what the schoolboys call " cheek," no respecter
of persons and brooking no interference from anybody. He was
a near neighbour of Jack Russell, and I do not think he had a
very good influence over him. As he did not possess the tact,
courteous manners, and personality of Jack Russell, his sporting
proclivities caused more comment, and not always of a kindly
order. At an}^ rate rumours reached the ears of the Bishop of
Exeter that the vicar of Knowstone neglected his parish ; in
fact, grave charges were brought against him, in consequence
of which the Bishop of Exeter wrote a somewhat bombastic
note requesting Mr. Froude to appear before him and explain
The Revs. Chard, Froude and Michell 119
some of the stories that he had heard. The reply received
was to the effect that he saw no reason why he should do any-
thing of the kind, and, as far as I could gather, he gave the
Bishop to understand he had no intention of appearing. As
the molehill would not go to the mountain the mountain
decided to go to the molehill. His lordship was distinctly
ruffled, and, regardless of the expense, hired what in those days
was, I believe, called a " post-chaise," and in this was ambled
over to Knowstone vicarage.
A little bird must, I think, have arrived in advance of the
prelate, for when he was shown into what I believe was termed
the " parlour," he was kept waiting for some time. This did
not improve the Bishop's state of mind, and I feel sure he
must have been rehearsing to himself some of those very telling
reprimands, which at the time seem so conclusive and from
which we depart entirely, saying something quite different when
the actual moment arrives. His patience and dignity were
strained to breaking-point when, while striding up and
down the room, the door suddenly opened and a female re-
quested him to " walk this way, please." Complying with this
request, he found himself in the presence of Mr. Froude, rolled
up in blankets, with a shawl over his head, sitting close into the
hre, apparently hardly able to speak in consequence of a violent
cold in his head and chest. Under ordinary circumstances no
doubt the Bishop would have made polite enquiries into the
state of the vicar's health, but nothing was further from his
mind on this occasion, and he at once opened the conversation
by plunging into the reason of his visit, saying pompously :
" Good-day, Mr. Froude. I have come to ask if certain stories
are true that — —'"
Mr. Froude. — " Oh yes, yes, my lord, I quite agree with
you, very cold, yes, very cold travelling ; do 'ee sit down now and
have some nice hot brandy and water. There is nothing like it
for keeping off the shivers ! "
Bishop {indignantly). — " No, thank you, I never partake of
anything between meals ! "
Mr. Froude's cold was evidently so bad it had made him
deaf, for he rang the bell, and when it was answered by his
housekeeper Mary, requested her to bring hot brandy and water
for the Bishop, adding, " And, Mary, he likes it strong ! "
120 Sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
Bishop (now most uncomfortable). — " No ! No ! Mr. Froude,
I have not come to drink hot brandy and water, but to ask you
about certain charges."
But here again he was interrupted.
Mr. Froude. — " Yes, my lord, it is my only doctor, and
if I had been wise and taken it at first I should not have been
sitting here now like any old woman, as deaf as an adder "
This was the last straw. The Bishop made a solemn bow
and dignified exit to his carriage, and gave orders for home.
If history is to be believed, as soon as his lordship had
disappeared Mr. Froude's cold suddenly disappeared, and just
to shake off the last remnants of it, he jumped into the saddle
and was away.
It sounds more like a mischievous schoolboy's trick than the
conduct of a clergj^man. I wonder how he reconciled it to his
conscience, and what his housekeeper thought, who was used as
a tool !
As the stories of Mr. Froude's doings did not grow less, the
Bishop thought he would try again, meaning to talk to the
vicar like a father.
On arriving at the vicarage he was again shown into the
same sitting-room, and Mary explained that her master was
much too ill to see anyone.
The Bishop was so impressed by the solemn face of the
faithful Mary that he feared the illness must be serious, but still
pressed his point, saying, " But I feel sure Mr. Froude would
like to see me. Tell him the Bishop is here ! "
Mary. — " Indeed, sir, I fear he is much too ill to see any-
body ; indeed, sir, I don't know perhaps as how I ought to tell
you "
Bishop (interrupting nervously). — " It is nothing infectious,
I trust ? "
Mary {in a relieved, almost cheerful voice). — " That's it, sir —
a terrible infection, indeed ; they call it a fever ! "
Bishop {imih suppressed agitation). — "What kind of fever,
my good woman — not scarlet fever ? "
Mary. — " Oh no, my lord, much worse ; they do tell me as
how it be typhus fever."
This was too much. The poor Bishop began to feel symp-
toms of internal trouble, and made hastily for the door. He
The Revs. Chard, Froude and Michell 121
would gladly have jumped out of the window if it had been
low enough, but he was out of the house in a surprisingly short
time, murmuring something about coming another time, which,
however, he never did. Perhaps he was wise.
I have been told that once more Mr. Froude quickly recovered
and was galloping away from home directly his ecclesiastical
superior had left the premises.
I cannot vouch for the truth of these stories of Mr. Froude's
endeavours to avoid coming into collision with his Bishop, but
they are very generally known in Devonshire. Amongst the
first things you are told on going to stay with friends in that
county are stories of Jack Russell and Mr. Froude, and they are
repeated every time you return to the land of beautiful cream.
It is obligatory that you should be surprised and interested, as
if you had never heard them before.
There is one story of parson Froude that always amuses me,
and people have sworn to me it is true.
Mr. Froude, who was always surrounded with dogs, was out
walking one day with a favourite whippet, when the Bishop hove
in sight and enquired in a strained but studiously polite voice
and manner, " And may I enquire, Mr. Froude, what kind of
dog you call that ? "
In broad Devonshire accents came the reply, " Oh, that is
what we call a lang dog, and if your lordship war just on'y to
shak' yere appern at un he'd go like a dart ! "
This story will not be amusing to those who are unaware of
the rules appertaining to whippet-racing, the signal for these
dogs to start their race being given by the shaking of a hand-
kerchief.
The picture of the dignified Bishop shaking his apron
strikes me as funny.
At the time of which I am writing there were numbers of
hunting parsons in the west country. I do not know why Mr.
Froude was especially marked for correction by Bishop Phillpotts
who was then Bishop of Exeter. Perhaps he did not know that
under his very nose there were clergymen who hunted foxhounds,
harriers, and otter-hounds.
Once the Bishop, smelling rats (if ever these dignitaries do
such things), sent for a churchwarden to ask him if it were true
his vicar hunted and neglected his work.
122 Sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
The faithful old Devonshire farmer was not going to give
his vicar away, and replied. " Don't you believe a word on't.
I've heard strange things about your lordship, but don't believe
a word on't."
This same Bishop appears at times to have been equal to
the occasion. Once a clergyman went to tackle him about
the hunting question and asked, " Is it true your lordship
objects to my hunting ? "
" Not at all," said his lordship, " not at all ! Who could
have said such a tiling ? What I object to is your ever doing
anything else ! "
One would require time to find a suitable smart reply to that.
It is so difficult to find piquant replies on the spur of the moment,
though during the night they race through one's brain.
Mr. Froude hunted his pack of foxhounds for many years,
and the farmers around him approved and played into his hands.
Sporting parsons, like old maids, are always having funny
stories told about them. I do not know why, but as there are
no old maids now and not many sporting parsons left, and what
there are do not care what is said about them but rather enjoy
the joke, I need not worry myself.
The following parson story was told to me a short time ago
and struck me as amusing, but I fear it was the outcome of some
imaginative brain.
A sporting parson who had arrived at the end of his ideas
for sermons asked a couple more of his fraternity, likewise
sporting, to come and help him. They promised to do so, one
to preach in the morning and one in the evening, but were rather
dismayed on hearing their host wished the subjects to be
connected in some way with the chase. The fox-hunting
parson, after racking his brain for some time, decided on his
text, " We heard of him at Ephrata and found him in the wood."
The poor harrier parson, who was to preach in the evening,
found it still more difficult to find a text he considered suitable,
but at last he decided, and when the time arrived to deliver his
eulogy this was what he had chosen, " Here is the heir (hare) ;
let us kill him."
There is still another great " has been " in the Devonshire
sporting-parson group, like Jack Russell and Billy Butler,
household words. I have often heard it said, " Parson Michell
The Revs. Chard, Froude and Michell 123
he preached, as well as galloped, hard." And I am told he
attracted large congregations ; people came from great dis-
tances to see and hear the bold, fearless rider in the pulpit when
he pleaded with eloquence his Master's cause.
He was rector of Cotleigh, near Honiton ; it was the home
of the Michells, for not only had his father but his grandfather
and great-grandfather reigned there before him.
Mr. Jack Michell hunted what was known as the Cotleigh
and East Devon harriers, though, like many of the Devonshire
and west country packs, they were really dwarf foxhounds,
hunting fox and hare, occasionally hunting both the same day
v/ith equal dash and drive. They were an extraordinarily useful
little pack, hunting badgers, fox, and hare equally successfully.
Once after a clinking run they killed a dog-fox as late as June the
10th, in the grounds of Netherton Hall, at that time occupied
by Sir Edmund Prideaux.
Another most remarkable run when Mr. Jack Michell owned
and hunted them : they found at Silcombe, which is near
Honiton, and killed their fox in the dark in a neighbouring
county, three miles north of Taunton — a good twenty-mile
point.
The curious part of this epoch-making run was that the
Master had no idea they had killed until next day, when a
farmer who had witnessed the kill enclosed the ear of the fox,
the only part left when the obedient, well-trained hounds
responded to the horn, calling them off after darkness had set
in. The farmer, not knowing whose hounds they were, seeing
no followers, thought they belonged to Mr. Eames of another
Cotley, near Chard, and sent the ear to him, who of course
forwarded it to its rightful quarters.
One of the peculiarities of the Michell family was that
neither the Rev. Jack nor his father, the Rev. William, used to
get off their horses from start to finish on a hunting day ; I
understand they made this a rule, and had I not been told
it by a near relative of their reverences, I should not have
believed it.
The old school of bipeds was certainly more hardy and
enduring than most of the present generation ; the same may
be said of horses and hounds. Most horses in these days, if
asked to carry a heavy man from early morning to dewy eve
124 sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
without his getting out of the saddle, if they did not play out
altogether, might be looked upon as certain to give some heavy
falls.
I think most would require second horses and possibly some
vaseline at the end of " the day." It certainly sounds rather
hard on one horse to ride it all day, especially if many twenty-
mile points were made. It is not in accordance with our
present-day notion, when we jump off on every possible occasion
to ease and rest our gees, if only for a few minutes.
For some years Mr. Jack Michell also kept a pack of badger-
hounds entirely at his own expense, showing record sport,
accounts of which appeared in the Field and other papers,
attracting followers from all parts of the country.
During the early summer nights he used to take hounds to
Court Wood, not far from the kennels, and hunt badger, not
often having a blank night, the old keeper Jim Agland having
previously stopped the " earths " when Messrs. Brock started
forth on nocturnal prowls.
I confess my sympathies are rather with the cleanly, interest-
ing little badger, but hunting at night is always exciting and full
of surprises, stumbling along by the light of a hand lantern,
falling headlong over barbed wire unseen in the semi-darkness,
and stepping into brooks.
I wish it were possible to collect more of the doings of some
of those bygone days of fine old sportsmen, I have tried
hard, but only a few stories of them are left, sketchy little bits
here and there, oft repeated.
I understand this old huntsman was a delightful companion
and raconteur, with that great gift, a sense of humour, which
helps us over many awkward stiles.
One story he was fond of telling showed the way his father
dealt with those who strayed from the path of rectitude, not
being a believer in preaching except from the pulpit.
An old woman came almost daily at one time to the rectory
to receive some of the many benefits the rector showered on all
who needed help, for he never could bring himself to send
anybody " empty away " ; but it had been observed for some
time that after the old lady's visit other things had disappeared
as well as the " benefits " placed ready for her. Amongst the
things most often missing were pounds of butter. At last this
The Revs. Chard, Froude and Michell 125
was reported to Mr. Michell, who, seeing her walk past the door
one day where he was busy cooking hound-food over a roaring
fire, asked her to stop and come in to have a chat with him.
At first she seemed reluctant, but was at last persuaded and a
chair was drawn up for her close to the beautiful warm fire.
The rector chatted away to her, keeping her quite happy and
occupied in thought until there appeared on the floor by her
feet a fair-sized puddle of melted butter. Her attention was
attracted to this curious phenomenon.
Besides being a keen huntsman, parson Jack Michell was a
successful fisherman, holding very decided opinions as to the
proper flies to use and what he considered the necessary and
correct panoply for the sport. Any man who sallied forth with
a big book of flies was scorned ; if, added to the big book of
flies, there were landing-nets and suchlike items, then indeed he
was considered no sportsman.
I must say I think he deprived himself of a good deal of
pleasure. I can spend a happy afternoon doing nothing but
examining and admiring my book of lovely flies, some bought
and some I have tied for myself. Our parson, however, was
never so frivolous : two flies were all he allowed himself, the
" Wrentail " and " Blue Upright," but he did considerable
execution with them.
There were few of the pleasures of life this old sportsman did
not enjoy ; besides hunting and fishing, he loved his gun and
was considered a very good shot and could be relied upon to
replenish the larder when desired so to do.
He shot with a " Joe Manton " (muzzle-loader), always
carrying it at half-cock, being a wise and cautious man, and he
never fully cocked either barrel until the birds were on the wing,
but seldom failed to bring down his right and left. Stories have
been told of a wonderful setter he had ; as soon as she winded
her game she dropped, and would stand indefinitely until her
master came up.
A neighbour of this versatile sportsman tells me he has
often shot with Jack Michell and seen him kill his right and left
at woodcock in the woods surrounding his home, and describes
him as a " splendid shot " — which reminds me I should have got
a splendid right and left once in Wales at woodcock if I had not
missed them !
126 sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
When pheasant-shooting Mr. Michell used to say, " When a
bird rises take out your snuff-box, have a pinch of snuff, then
shoot the bird."
In 1860, feeUng no longer very young, he gave up his Hving
and hounds at the same time. I have been told that anyone
entering the village, or indeed the neighbourhood, when his
decision had been made known might have thought some
national calamity had befallen the county ; everybody was
walking about with long faces condoling with one another. He
only lived nine years after this, and the county felt they had
lost a cheery neighbour and a good friend when he passed away
on September 18th, 1869.
In this ever-flowing stream which keeps renewing the world,
which is the most precious of all the hurrying things that we can
hold and keep ? Surely it is the memory of a good and kindly
life.
I often think the lives of some of our clergy are like beautiful
songs ill sung, but Parson Michell's was a splendid song well
sung.
Chapter XI
The Rev. Pierce Armar Butler — Purbeck Pilgrim — His Ancestors — Worthy Sons
— Three Years as Army Chaplain — Good-bye to the Seventeenth Division —
— Feeling Miserable — A Coal-heaver's Farewell — A Popular Sermon — Some
Happy Days — "Not Taking Any" — A Sporting House-Master — An Un-
common Experience — A Triumphant Run — A Missing Spur — A Bobbery
Pack — Purbeck Pilgrim Jumped on — " Artexerxes " has Antipathies — A
Small Girl on a Clever Pony — A Holiday in Ireland — Great Preparations — A
Disappointment — Billy Butler no Relation — Rector of Frampton — A Friend
of George IV. — The King makes a Present — Mr. Butler makes a Mistake.
PURBECK PILGRIM, who for years wrote the South
Dorset Hunting Reports for the Field, is at home in
East Stoke rectory, Dorset, where he is known as the
Rev. Pierce Armar Butler. He was born in 1863, and is son of
the big-game shooter and explorer, the Rev. Pierce Butler, a
notable pioneer in the Palestine Survey.
Mr. Butler, who is a big, finely-made man and very genial,
is the great-grandson of the Earl of Carrick, and comes from a
family of sportsmen and soldiers whose names have shone in the
annals of our country. One of his ancestors was James Butler,
a Major in the Coldstream Guards who distinguished himself at
Silishia. Another, Henry Butler, was A.D.C. to the Duke of
Cambridge : both these Butlers were killed in the Crimea.
History repeats itself, and alas ! two of Purbeck Pilgrim's
sons have given their lives in this war. One, Ralph, a promising
lad in the Navy, was pursued by fate, being torpedoed in the
Mediterranean while on the Dublin, after which he joined the
Hampshire and went down with Lord Kitchener and his Staff.
The other son, Armar, in the South Lancashire Regiment, served
two years at Salonica, where he was badly wounded. Later he
transferred to the Flying Corps, and died in action. Another
son, Rollo Pierce, drove a Red Cross Ambulance in Italy and
had a very rough time during the big retreat. Yet another
son, Hubert, in the Third Dorsets, was badly knocked about at
Arras and brought home nearly dead.
The sporting father of those lads was himself invalided out
128 sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
of the army after three and a half years' work as chaplain.
Soon after war broke out he was attached to the Seventeenth
Division, but was left in England when they went abroad, being
medically unfit. The latter part of the three years was spent
with the Dorsets at Weymouth, where he was known as " the
Chaplain on the grey horse."
When the division was leaving England he rode with the
men for a long way on their march to Winchester. At last the
moment came when he must leave them and turn back,
though he felt the parting horribly. Bracing himself up, he
said good-bye to General Pilcher and his great friend Brigadier-
General Surtees ; then he stood beside the road watching the
division pass and feeling, to use his own expression, as if he
" must break down and howl." His favourite battalions rolled
past with their lads from Northumberland, Lancashire, and
Yorkshire shouting, " Good-bye, Passon," and " Best of luck.
Padre." Just as he felt he could not stand it any longer, his'
old soldier-servant — a Lancashire coal-heaver — came past, and
looking up most woefully said, " Good-bye, Chaplain, it's
b y hard luck you can't come," and a yell of laughter that
went up saved the situation.
" I could never call a man over the coals for swearing like
that, for it was just the most sincere affection in farewell," was
Mr. Butler's judgment of this lapse. A year later the man
came back to the Padre badly wounded, but amazingly cheerful.
When Mr. Butler tried to express his sympathy the man's only
comment was, " Well, it might have been worse." Looking at
the wreck before him, Mr. Butler wondered, and asked, " How
much worse ? " " Why, I might have been dead," was the
surprised reply.
Mr. Butler believes that one of the most popular sermons he
delivered to troops was preached one bitterly cold day when
the men were shivering at an open-air service. " I think the
best sermon I can preach to you to-day," he said, " is no sermon
at all."
He has a high opinion of the judgment of soldiers, con-
sidering them to be fine judges of real religion, but allows they
do not like the butter laid on too thick, and they read their
chaplain's character very quickly.
Mr. Butler regards the time spent with the troops as the
The Revs. P. A. Butler and ** Billy Butler " 129
happiest days of his clerical career. The army was originally
intended to be his profession ; in fact, he served some years
with the 3rd West Kents and only gave it up after volunteering
for the Egyptian campaign and being refused.
In 1915, while sitting at mess in Woolwich camp, Mr. Butler
noticed a Major gazing fixedly at him, who at last said, " Aren't
you Butler ? I mean P. A. Butler." The impeachment being
admitted, he continued, " Why, the last time I saw you was at
Maidstone in 1880, when you were having an altercation with
your Colonel at the ranges, because he wanted you to ride
across the hollow in front of the targets with the bullets whizzing
about ! — his argument being, that until our time for death comes,
the Almighty will take care of us ; but you were not taking
any."
The Major must have had a good memory. Perhaps, like
so many, he could remember the happenings of long ago better
than those of later years.
Mr. Butler was educated at Marlborough, and here his first
real hunting began. Happily his house-master was very keen
on the same sport, and the fellow-feeling making him wondrous
kind, these two used to snatch hasty luncheons on half-holidays,
then mount hirelings, and away together to look for the Ted-
worth or Craven. They enjoyed some good scurries, to be
lived over again many times in their memories — some glorious
times over the Downs with the Tedworth. Many of us owe
debts of gratitude to the hireling ; he is a long-suffering friend
and has done us numberless good turns.
It was on one of these patient friends that Mr. Butler took
part in rather a remarkable run of thirty-five minutes over the
Downs, being then only a boy and a lightweight. Mounted on
some good blood he was able to keep in touch with the hounds
the whole thirty-five minutes. Being well up he enjoyed the
uncommon experience of seeing one of the leading hounds run
for quite a quarter of a mile singly beside the fox while they
were snapping at one another, the hound evidently not daring
to run into the fox until the rest of the pack came up. It is no
uncommon thing, and a curious trait in hound character, that
single-handed they do not care to tackle their quarry, nearly
always waiting in awkward moments, for the rest of the pack to
come up and keep them in countenance. I have knoAvn a
K
130 Sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
basset hound that would not tackle a hare alone, but kept
dodging about and jumping up and down until the rest came
up, when he at once became most valiant. I believe if the hare
had come for him he would have run for his life.
Another eventful day from Marlborough was in a run with
the Craven when Sir Richard Sutton was the Master, right
through the Tedworth country to ground in the Duke of Beau-
fort's. Only two or three were up at the finish, but young Butler
was amongst them, with three shoes off his nag, wet and cold,
having wallowed through two or three brooks, weary, capless,
and one spur gone. But it was a wet and triumphant day, one
of those thrilling experiences when you may be suffering from
many bloody wounds, big scratches from thorns and brambles,
yet absolutely unconscious of it at the time owing to the passion
of pursuit.
It was thus with young Butler. Not until the fox was run
to ground and the day far spent did he realise that his mount
had lost three shoes, that both he and his horse were sopping
wet ; and very grateful he was to Sir Richard Sutton when he
kindly offered to lend his knitted gloves to this plucky boy to
warm his cold fingers. The Master had watched and appreciated
the lad's fine performance throughout the day. Years after-
wards Mr. Butler saw his missing spur hanging up over his late
master's study mantelpiece (then headmaster of a well-known
public school), a memento of a schoolboy's eventful day.
So much for boyhood. The next matter of moment was
when he joined the West Kent Militia. At this time he hunted
with various packs, sometimes in Dorsetshire with Mr. Rad-
clyffe's hounds, but more often with the Cambridgeshire,
occasional odd days with the FitzWilliam hounds, and on foot
with the Trinity beagles.
Whilst reading for Orders he used to hunt with the Goodwood
and also with harriers from Bognor. It used to be said of him
in those days that although seen on all parts of his horse he
always managed to get back into the saddle again ; but he says
this is not strictly true, as at times he did taste Mother Earth ;
and small wonder, for if hounds failed to supply them with the
means of working off some youthful steam and energy, a few
ardent spirits used to take on a bit of country and try to pound
one another.
The Revs. P. A. Butler and *' Billy Butler " 131
Later, in his curate days, he hunted mostly v^dth the Warn-
ham staghounds, Surrey Union, Crawly and Horsham, Lord
Leconfield's and the Chiddingfold. It was during this period
that he owned the best hunter of his life, a lean, one-eyed
chestnut named " Cyclop," a very clever three-quarter bred
mare, a marvel over timber — ^and what a joy a real good timber-
jumper is ! the delightful flick of the quarters that just does the
trick. The way an accomplished hunter who loves jumping
settles down and arranges his own paces when he sees timber
ahead of him is beautiful to behold, and still more beautiful to
experience.
Once Mr. Butler hunted a pack of his own. It consisted of a
bob-tailed harrier, two beagles, a Gordon setter, a poodle, and
various terriers. Generally they ran a " drag," but one epoch-
making day the only resident hare of the neighbourhood was
encountered in Bembridge Marsh and hunted for half an hour
with this motley but happy and sporting pack to the accompani-
ment of the most soul-stirring music, all running with wonderful
dash and drive. Whether the poodle or the bob-tailed harrier
led the van I know not, but suddenly they checked, no amount
of casting recovered the line. Any ordinary pack might have
lost the hare ; not so his reverence's, for the trusty setter came
to the rescue, standing firm and staunch at a hedge. Quickly
the huntsman got his pack to the other side of the hedge and
lured the setter on. Result — a kill, and to-day the vicarage
study wall is ornamented with puss's profile.
Most of us who go out hunting meaning real business meet
with nasty falls now and then, but happily we do not often get
jumped on, which was the unpleasant experience of Mr. Butler,
whose face was " somewhat bashed out of shape," as he ex-
presses it, and left him looking " almost as if a professional
pugilist had been walking all over it."
Unfortunately the very next day there was a village wedding,
and the couple with their friends were hoping to see their vicar
handsome and imposing as usual. Not wishing to disappoint
his parishioners by having a deputy, Mr. Butler struggled to the
church. Whether he succeeded in seeing out of one of his
" jumped on " eyes or whether he knew the service by heart I
cannot say ; perhaps it was between the tv,'o, and combined
with pluck and grit, he got satisfactorily through the service.
132 sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
In the East Stoke rectory stables are to be found some useful
weight-carriers, for the nine-stone Marlborough boy has grown
into a sixteen-stone man. " Artexerxes " was the name of a
favourite heavy-weight hunter that did him well for several
seasons, carrying him well to the front in two or three big
heath runs. He bought the horse, which was sold to him by a
man who said it was a vile brute in stable and at the forge ;
indeed, so awkward was he that the village smithies trembled
when they saw him coming to be shod, and he often had to be
cast before it was satisfactorily accomplished. In spite of his
queer temper, however, he was pleasant to ride, and as clever
Poor old " Artexerxes " was sold once when the " Purbeck
Pilgrim " was very ill and the doctors said he would hunt no
more ; but I am glad to say their prophecy was not fulfilled, for
he is going as strong as ever again and riding young ones
requiring " hands " and " seat."
One of the most interesting hunts of his life was in Dorset-
shire, when after a fast run across the heath he espied a. black
speck crossing the nastiest bog in the neighbourhood and
wondered what it could be — discovering at last it was his very
precious and only daughter on her Shetland pony. She had
broken away from her governess on hearing hounds, and made
her way across the dangerous morass — thanks to her clever pony
— in safety.
The Master blooded her, and so great was her pride she
would not allow it to be washed off that night. The poor
distracted governess who had lost her charge made her way
home to break the news, and was overjoyed to find the little
lady had been safely escorted home by her father.
Hunting is by no means the only recreation Mr. Butler
indulges in. He enjoys all the good things that come his way.
He is a good ^hot and sought after when " the bag " is the chief
consideration, but perhaps excels as a dry-fly fisherman,
that most fascinating of pastimes, and he is exceedingly keen.
In the Frome close to his rectory he has landed many good
salmon up to thirty-five pounds.
Once he decided he would spend a happy holiday in Ireland
fishing. He made great preparations so as to have plenty of
baskets to send his fish home in, and to his friends, who naturally
The Revs. P. A. Butler and *' Billy Butler " 133
were looking forward to the moment when the baskets would
begin to arrive. Some kill-joy dared to suggest he had better
catch the fish first and see about baskets afterwards. Of course
no notice was taken of these croakers, and away went Purbeck
Pilgrim and his friend to Ireland, and no doubt thoroughly
enjoyed the holiday, as everyone does in Ireland ; but un-
fortunately the fish-baskets remained empty, for not a single
one was caught, and only one was seen on the rod of an en-
thusiastic angler who had bought it for twenty-five shillings just
to see what it felt like to have a salmon on his rod ! As a
matter of fact, it felt like nothing at all, at all, as it had views
of its own and got off again in exactly half a second. Twenty-
five shillings for half a second's run was an expensive burst.
Mr. Butler has written a good deal on sport ; all the sporting
matter in the " Victorian Counties History of Dorset " is from
his pen, and many articles in papers and magazines. He writes
as he speaks, cheerily and amusingly, and has a good sense of
humour. He always signs himself " Purbeck Pilgrim."
I fear from my account of his sport I may have misled my
readers into thinking Mr. Butler's parish is neglected, but this
is not so really ; he is one of the hardest-working parish priests,
and never allows sport to come first : duty comes first and sport
second. His parishioners always try to enable him to get away
to fish, shoot, or hunt ; they take pride in his prowess — at least,
that is how it seems to me ; perhaps they like a little reflected
glory for their village.
This interesting character is a High Churchman, and he is
a socialistic old Tory who loves his people, and they love him.
His chief pride is his wee daughter on her Shetland pony,
entered to hounds a few years ago.
The sayings of school-children are often amusing. In one
of this cleric's village schools the ten-year-old son of a village
carter was asked, " Why did Joseph tell his brethren not to fall
out by the way ? " He replied, " 'Cause there wern't no
tail-board t' the cart."
I think Mr. Butler is what Bishop Temple would have
described as one of the " Nimrod, Ramrod, Fishing-rod Parsons."
There is yet another parson Butler well known in the west
country, but he is no relation to " Purbeck Pilgrim," and
belonged to quite another generation. His name was the Rev.
134 Sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
William Butler. If you were to ask anybody in his county of
Dorset or any of the surrounding counties if they had ever
heard of the Rev. William Butler they would shake their heads
and say, " No, never " ; but say, " Do you remember Billy
Butler ? " and their reply will be quite different, for his name is
a household word. He was always called " Billy " with the
familiarity of affection by his fellow-sportsmen, and as such is
remembered to-day by those of his contemporaries who are still
living, while others know of him so well they almost feel as if
they also had been personal friends.
With perhaps the exception of Jack Russell, I know of no
other hunting parson so well known or so frequently quoted.
His memory has endured well, for he died in 1843, at the age of
eighty-one, and hunted up to the end of his days — a round-
about, jolly old man.
The Rev. Billy was rector of Frampton in Dorset, and was a
great friend of George IV. when Prince of Wales, who hunted a
pack of hounds from Crichel in 1800, kennelling them at Puddles-
town.
Many are the stories told relating to the friendship between
His Royal Highness and Mr. Butler. It was in the hunting-field
they first met, and I believe what drew them together in the
first instance was Mr. Butler's assistance on a blank day.
There had been a long and fruitless draw, and all were
dispirited, when somebody pointed out Mr. Butler as a man
who knew the haunt of every fox in the neighbourhood, and he
was asked where he thought one would be found. He at once
advised a neighbouring gorse to be drawn.
Hounds went through it, but owned to no fox. People
began to think their infallible Billy was at fault for once, but
they were mistaken. Going up to the huntsman, he asked
which was the most reliable hound in the pack. " Trojan " was
pointed out. Mr. Butler at once began friendly overtures to
this hound, and at last picked him up in his arms and struggled
with him through the middle of the gorse, and after a little
persuasion got him to put his nose down.
A whimper, and then a deep note soon told the field the
parson was right after all. The whole pack was away full cry
on the line of a fine fox, which had lain close in the thickest part
of the gorse.
a,
P
< E
rH Ph
%
Tlic REV. BILLY HUTLEH
Facing p. 135.]
The Revs. P. A. Butler and " Billy Butler '* 135
It sounds as if the parson's nose was the one to be rehed upon !
Mr. Butler was always a welcome guest at Crichel during
the Prince's stay there, and during one of his visits His Royal
Highness told Mr. Butler he might go into the stable and choose
any horse he liked. It did not take his reverence long to pick
out a good-looking chestnut and ride off on it, evidently being
of the opinion that a horse in hand is worth two in a stable, if
I may be allowed to so pervert the old proverb.
A few days later a groom arrived at the rectory with a note,
saying, unfortunately Mr. Butler had taken away a horse
belonging to somebody else and not the Prince's, but a cheque
for £150 was enclosed to help to break the blow.
The Prince being exceedingly kind and generous, a little
later gave Mr. Butler another choice out of his stables, this time
not to be taken away again.
Mr. Butler was educated at Wadham College, Oxford. His
first living was Sturminster Newton, where he was much liked
and respected, winning golden opinions also as a preacher, which
has not been one of the leading features of the majority of
parsons. Here, again, he resembles Mr. Russell, who was an
eloquent preacher, with a good voice, and that touch of human
sympathy which conveys itself so quickly to other people.
By the way, talking of preachers, one of the worst I ever
heard— which is saying a good deal — used to be so moved at his
own oratorical powers that he shed tears of emotion, which so
affected his speech we had to take a good deal for granted as
to how it all ended, and fill in the gaps for ourselves.
The Rev. Billy had one of those faithful trusty servants not
often to be met with in these days. I have forgotten the man's
name, but wherever his master went there was the faithful
attendant ; if his reverence went to church, so did his fac-
totum ; if Mr. Billy went a-hunting, so did the servant ; if he
went out to dinner, so did his shadow.
We may be forgiven for thinking at times this must have
been inconvenient, but there were occasions when it was an
advantage, especially when Mr. Butler had promised to take
services and keep appointments which in his later years slipped
his memory.
On one occasion, when master and servant were well on their
way to a meet, meaning to hunt, suddenly the " shadow "
136 sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
remembered his master had promised to take a special service
that morning, which had quite shpped their memories. He at
once reminded Mr. Butler, and they both turned their horses'
heads and galloped back, reaching the church in time to tie up
their horses at a proper distance from the place of worship.
The service was held, with the faithful servant forming one
of the congregation, both hoping the surplice would hide the
hunting garments. Having decorously performed his duties,
Mr. Butler and the faithful one remounted and hurried off in
the direction they hoped might bring them in touch with the
hounds.
The great age so many of these sportsmen attain proves the
healthfulness of the out-of-doors life and happy surroundings of
Mother Earth and Dame Nature ; and it is pleasant to think
that though we hear many funny stories of them — ^and some of
their doings were not altogether in accord with our present
notions of propriety — we never hear of their having been
unpopular in their parishes as we often do now ; neither does
any man remember meeting with anything but charity in word
or deed from them.
Billy Butler was rector of Frampton for forty years. A
brother cleric who was not entirely of Mr. Billy's way of thinking
was constrained to allow, " Mr. Butler's career as a divine was
not without some redeeming features, and he was much respected
for the exemplary discharge of his parochial duties, and enjoyed
some popularity as a preacher." There is a slight account of
this Mr. Billy Butler in the " History of Dorset."
At one time when a valuable living became vacant it was
offered to Mr. Butler, but he declined it, saying he would be
happier ending his days in the little vicarage at Frampton.
The picture of Mr. Butler is not what one might consider
artistic, but it speaks to us of the date when it was originally
taken.
Chapter XII
The Rev. E. A. Aldridge — Takes Medical Degree — Becomes a Chinese Mandarin
— In the Pytchley Country — Poaching — Beware of the Butler — Please " Shut
up " — Known as a " Plodder " — With Sir Robert Hart — Obligations of the
Mandarin — Five Years on Hainan — A Thousand Miles up the Yangtze River
— The Foreign Devil — A Narrow Escape — House Burnt to the Ground —
Reverence for the Missionary — A Simla General's Views on Missionaries —
Working in Leeds Slums — Good-bye to Sport — Running Saves Him — A
Species of Freedom Again — Shadows of the Oxford Movement — Dress Eti-
quette at Cambridge University — Tommy Atkins of Yesterday, and To-day —
A Few Axioms — A Wooden Leg — The Rising Generation — Some Sporting
Generals — A Callow Jest — The Jester Dwindles — First Volunteer in Hanning-
ton — At Loos — Wounded — With the Scottish Division.
THE REV. E. A. ALDRIDGE has undoubtedly had an
exciting career.
Having taken good medical degrees before becoming
a parson, he joined the Royal Army Medical Corps in 1914, and
has served as a doctor with the forces in France, being still there
at the time this is being written. Medicine is only one of his
accomplishments ; among other things he is a Mandarin of
China, member of the Alpine Club, Fellow of the Royal Geo-
graphical Society, and an all-round sportsman. As for adven-
tures, he has had his fair share, and it is a profound mystery why
he was not killed by any of the various mobs of Chinamen which
pursued him from time to time for the express purpose of taking
his life.
He was brought up in the country and tutored, with a score
of other boys of his own age, at Welton vicarage in the Pytchley
country, with those excellent fox-coverts, Barlby and Badby
woods close at hand, so that the inspiring sight of hounds and
the galloping field was often afforded them. The vicar rarely
refused a holiday when hounds met near, so that Aldridge and
his companions not infrequently had a day on foot, although the
Pytchley is not an ideal country for those hunting on foot.
In addition to these opportunities for hunting, there was a
138 sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
good-hearted old Major living at Welton Place who might have
stood for the original of Kipling's Colonel Dabney in " Stalky
and Co.," for he gave the boys the run of his park and unlimited
fishing in the lake, to the undisguised anguish of his keeper,
who suspected the boys — with perfect justice — of poaching
rabbits.
Years after Mr. Aldridge was dining with a sedate country
squire who had been his boy friend at Welton, and reminded him
of their many poaching exploits together ; but the train of
thought was broken by a kick from his host's foot under the
table, which drew his attention to the fact that the squire was
making warning faces at him. " My butler must hear nothing
of that," he whispered. " I, at all events, am now a respectable
character, and want the butler still to think so. Besides, I often
have to go for poachers on my own shoot, so please shut up."
Mr. Aldridge obediently " shut up," and his host is still basking
in the sunshine of his butler's esteem.
Mr. Aldridge has always loved nature and all its birds and
beasts, which led him, as a boy, to show even more than the
usual boyish fondness for pets, and he tamed, or tried to tame,
every sort of animal he could get hold of. He was known by
the illuminating nickname of " Plodder," but it is not clear if
this referred to his method of pursuing knowledge or field
sports. Perhaps both.
He took his degree from Trinity College, Cambridge, where
he ran for the 'Varsity hare and liounds and hunted with the
Trinity beagles — that remarkable little pack with which more
well-known sportsmen have served their apprenticeship than
with any other beagles in the country.
At this time Mr. Aldridge had no idea of entering the Church,
and went abroad. After knocking about the world for some
time, he found himself in China under Sir Robert Hart, a remark-
able man who made a reputation for himself in the East that
has never been equalled by another European. At the time,
Sir Robert was Inspector-General of the Customs in China,
having practically created the customs service of that country
as it exists to-day. Mr. Aldridge spent seventeen years out
there, generally being given the wildest and most sporting
stations by his chief, where the attractions mainly consisted of
excellent shooting and the prospect of murder. After some
The Rev. E. A. Aldridge 139
years of hard work he received mandarin rank by an Imperial
edict in recognition of his services. I reproduce his photograph
in his mandarin robes. One rather trying obhgation imposed
on mandarinhood by ancient Chinese law, is that they are
required to accuse themselves of any shortcomings they may
detect in their own conduct, and demand pimishment. This
seems to me like taking bread out of the lawyers' mouths !
As his work generally took him away from the haunts of
other white men, he did not get much riding, except when he
happened to be near Shanghai, where there was a race-course,
even in those early days, as well as frequent paper-chases. The
only mount he took with him into the wilds was a little Chinese
pony, but the shooting was still unspoilt, and his dogs and gun
were his constant companions. He spent five years on the then
unexplored island of Hainan, and for another five years was
buried one thousand miles up the Yangtze river — an epic in
loneliness that would have been too much for most people.
Large fat volumes remain unwritten of his adventures and
hair-breadth escapes during this time, for thirty years or more
ago the " foreign devil " received as cold a welcome in the wilds
of China as anywhere in the world.
One of his narrowest escapes was when his would-be slayers
so nearly caught him that he only escaped by slipping his arms
out of his coat, which had been seized by the foremost of his
enemies. He ultimately made his escape by hiding in a tangle
of undergrowth among deep creeks, after running the gauntlet
of showers of stones. He could hear the mob encouraging
themselves by such kindly remarks as, " Kill him, kill him ! " and
" Kill the foreign devil ! " On second thoughts I think I ought
not to have said foreigners received a " cold " welcome in China ;
I should have said a warm one. During another riot he lost
everything he possessed except three dogs, which followed him
in his flight while his house was being burnt to the ground ; and
he subsequently took part in the defence of the Government
buildings from the mob until relieved by British blue- jackets.
It is probably to his up-country shooting-trips that he owes
the fact that he is now a parson, for it was while in the interior
that he saw much of the missionaries and was impressed by
their self-sacrificing devotion. I am glad to hear this, for
although I have travelled about the world a good deal and lived
140 Sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
in the East for some years, I confess I do not cherish a very deep
love for the missionary ; but I dare say that is only because I
have not been fortunate in those I have met, and my untutored
mind fails to grasp their virtues. I remember being chided by
an old General who sat next me at dinner in Simla years ago,
because I said I did not admire missionaries. In his view, he
said, they performed most valuable service to the state by
occasionally getting eaten, thereby providing most excellent
training for young officers who accompanied the punitive ex-
peditions sent out to avenge them ; but at that time there was
not enough fighting to go round, and I am sure the General
would change his view if he were alive to-day.
Mr. Aldridge came home intending to return and work with
the missionaries as a layman, but was persuaded to take Orders
and stay in England to take up work in the crowded slums of
Leeds. No change could have been more complete. After
years of sport and adventure in the East, with few of his own
race about him, and those few all cheery sportsmen, he found
himself planted in the midst of the crowded squalor of an
industrial slum. I doubt very much if he had seen anything in
the wilds worse than the grim misery our civilisation can show,
or if any number of missionaries could ever enable the heathen
Chinee to appreciate what he had missed. In these new
surroundings he even felt obliged to refuse pheasant-shooting
invitations for fear he should offend the susceptibilities of his
Leeds vicar ; yet how he must have longed for an occasional
day among trees and open country to remind him of the old
free life, after weeks and months in the choking gloom of the
slums !
The call of the wild gradually grew on him — it would have
been amazing had it not — and he began to feel like a caged
bird. He took to running — ^quite an exciting sport in the
crowded streets of a city — and it earned him the title of the
" running parson," but helped to keep him alive.
The shackles of conventional city life grew always more
intolerable, and at last he obtained a country living, and some-
thing of the old sense of freedom returned so that the call of the
East grew fainter and less insistent ; but it is in his heart to this
day, and still occasionally raises its small voice.
At his new home Hannington, in Hampshire, he naturally
The Rev. E. A. Aldridge 141
found his recreation in sport, particularly hunting, but he has
strong views on the subordination of sport to duty and has
evolved a code of rules for his own guidance which will be of
interest to all hunting parsons. In a letter to me on the subject
of hunting he says, " The stories told of the old hunting parson
— let us hope they are greatly exaggerated — must never be
heard in modern times." But I am afraid there can be little
doubt that the stories were not exaggerated. It is impossible
to read the records of some of the hunting parsons of the first
part of the nineteenth century which appear in this book
without seeing that, however lovable they may have been as good
fellows, however good sportsmen, and however charitable in
their squirish way, they were often not parsons in any real sense
of the word, and should never have set out to be clergymen
at all.
They had more than a little to do with the bad state of the
Church of England before the reawakening set in and changed
everything for the better — an event that may be dated, for
want of a better landmark, from what is called the Oxford
Movement. I have never heard of an officiating clergyman of
the present day who has ever been accused of neglecting his
work for the sake of sport, and I should not think there is a
sensible person who would not agree that the modern hunting
parson is generally the best parish cleric to be found in his
county.
Mr. Aldridge believes that a hunting parson should be even
more than usually punctilious in the discharge of parish work.
He once indulged in a morning's shooting before taking a
wedding, and although he gave himself plenty of time to change
before the service, he afterwards regretted having shot before-
hand.
Talking about dressing for church recalls a strange ex-
perience he had while a youngster at Cambridge. Before
starting for the training-camp at Aldershot, he attended chapel
in uniform and was promptly told by the janitor to go and change
his " Buck-shooter's " dress. In the end he had to cover
the Queen's uniform with a long surplice before he was allowed
to take part in the service. This is a beautiful example of the
different treatment accorded soldiers in peace and war. In
peace time, right up to August, 1914<, a private soldier was
142 sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
ousted from saloon-bars with lofty scorn by the local green-
grocer and his friends, and told to go to the jug-and-bottle
entrance. A month after war was declared — the greengrocer
and his like being thoroughly scared — Thomas Atkins, dazed
but flattered, found himself being fed on buttered toast in
mayoral drawing-rooms.
But this is a shocking digression. Mr. Aldridge believes
that a parson should pay attention to his hunting-kit and
always turn out well dressed, as laymen note such things and
like to see their parson smart. The question as to what is the
correct kit for clergymen in the hunting-field remains un-
settled, as no clerical tailor seems to have thought of devising a
correct and distinctive outfit, which is a pity.
Among his axioms are the following. The first I have
already quoted ; it deals with the necessity of parish work
always coming first.
" If a clergyman wishes to enjoy the sport of fox-hunting, he
must remember that ' none of us liveth to himself,' and take
care not to let his ' good be evil spoken of. '" Which I take to
mean that he has to be extra unselfish, because his most ordinary
doings are more likely to be observed and criticised than those
of laymen.
" His hunting should meet with the approval of all around
him, or he had better leave it alone, lest he bring discredit upon
his high calling." A counsel of perfection indeed ! He is a
lucky man who can do anything with the approval of all around
him.
" Let him buy his oats and straw in the village. . . . One day's
hunting a week, with a frequent extra, will not be thought too
much."
" Whatever a parson does should be done well, and he
should ride straight to hounds if he hunts, and take his falls
cheerfully, for there are laymen inclined to look on him as an
effeminate creature, neither fish nor fowl."
It will be seen that this last axiom is almost identical with
the oft-expressed opinion of Dean Hole, which is referred to in
another chapter, and I feel rather crushed, as I ventured to
disagree with it ; but Mr. Aldridge gives a good reason for his
opinion, nor is he so arbitrary as Dean Hole, v/ho would not let
a parson hunt unless he rode straight, if he could have had his
The Rev. E. A. Aldridge 143
way ; so I still hold a brief for the elderly and adipose cleric on
the elderly and adipose cob, who, I maintain, has as much right
to enjoy himself in his own way as anybody else.
Once, while hunting with Lord Middleton's hounds, Mr.
Aldridge remarked on the good influence of parsons on hunting-
fields to a pal of his, a Yorkshire squire. " I don't know about
the field," replied his friend, " but I do know it is very good for
the parson."
Here I quote Mr. Aldridge : " The kindly and honourable
courtesies of hunting etiquette are so splendid. Its unwritten
laws are not those that are more honoured in the breach than in
the observance, and they should be specially upheld by the
parson, and he can do so by being the first to jump off and open
a heavy hanging gate ; help a friend in trouble ; ride clear of
vetches, beans, or swedes, and warn the young thruster to do
likewise. In the hunting-field I have never found anything
but kindness and good-comradeship shown and self-restraint
taught. I have never heard anything to give offence to a lady,
even when righteous indignation has fallen sharply on the man
over-riding hounds or injuring crops."
A good example of courtesy and forbearance happened to
him one cold morning while the Vine hounds were drawing a
covert. The young cob he was riding lashed out, for the first
and last time in its life, and inflicted a deep cut on the shoulder
of the horse just behind. Its rider was almost a stranger to Mr.
Aldridge, whose consternation and concern can be imagined.
He had hardly time to begin expressing his regret, when the
other cut him short, " Don't worry about it ; it couldn't be
helped. Why, once while out with the Tedworth, my horse
kicked, and I heard a loud thud behind me. Looking round,
I said, ' I hope I have not personally injured you, sir ? ' I got
the consoling answer, ' No, no, it was only my wooden leg.' "
In this manner Mr. Aldridge made a new friend who has
remained so to this day. The cut on the horse's shoulder was a
bad one, but luckily a local veterinary surgeon was out and at
once came to the rescue and sewed up the wound, refusing a fee,
although they had all lost a day's hunting. From first to last
there was not a word of complaint from anybody.
Most of his hunting before the war was with the Vine, under
the mastership of Lady Portal, who seldom, gave the order for
144 Sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
home before most of the field had ah'eady sought theirs, while she
was often accompanied not only by her son, but by her grandson.
At an early cub-hunting meet of these hounds in the autumn
before the war Mr. Aldridge found himself one of the youngest
members of the scanty field. The air was full of the delicious
smell of autumn and there was new life in the breeze that came
across the downs, but he looked in vain for the younger genera-
tion. There were three old Generals out, all old gunners, two
of them being over eighty and Crimean veterans, while the
third had distinguished himself at Ladysmith. The young
bloods were presumably still in bed, but I will quote Mr.
Aldridge. " Where are the rising generation ? " I thought.
'' Probably just rising or still in bed ; their sport to be taken
behind a motor steering-wheel, or languidly sitting on a stick
until the whirr of partridges or pheasants over their heads
rouses them to energy."
So much for the rising generation of 1914. Most of them
have found another and more lasting rest by now in the mud of
France and Belgium since that early morning meet, and — who
knows ? — the three dear old Generals are still at the covert-
side all by themselves.
Mr. Aldridge thinks that the pleasant chaff that is exchanged
at the covert-side does everyone good. One day a friend said
to another in his hearing, " Aldridge tells me that you have
asked him to shoot on Monday ; I hope you have insured your
life ? " " No," rephed the other, " but I have bought an extra
thick pair of gaiters for the occasion." " That may not save
you," chimed in Mr. Aldridge. " A man I know did that once
when shooting with a German at Naiho. The German promptly
peppered his legs through the hedge, and then exclaimed in a
disappointed voice, ' Ach ! Mein Gott ! I thought you was one
red fox.' "
On another occasion, outside Hey wood in the Vine country,
a youth said to Mr. Aldridge, " I say. Parson ; to pass the
time, suppose you give us a sermon." To this callow jest he
returned the reply, " Certainly, but as it is an uncommon
request, suppose we do the uncommon thing and take the
collection first ? " Suiting the action to the word, he presented
his hat to the facetious youth, who dwindled visibly, the
dwindling process being further accelerated by the gruff com-
The REV. E. A. ALDRIDGE, M.D., F.R.G.S.
IN HIS MANDARIN ROBE
[Ffiriiuj p. 144.
o
>
1-4
s
H
H
H
o
The Rev. E. A. Aldridge 145
ment of an M.P., " Well said ; you answered him quite right."
Which showed that the good M.P.'s heart was in the right place
even if his grammar was not.
To all who can hunt, Mr. Aldridge says, " Do so, and keep
young." Hunting in winter and mountain-climbing in summer
have kept him surprisingly young and fit, and enabled him to
stand a period of hard service in France that has knocked up
many a younger man.
One impossibly frosty day with the Vine he had a fall
through his horse slipping on ice, and subsequently slithered off
rather unexpectedly while negotiating a jump. On the way
home he was in high spirits, maintaining that he had extracted
more fun out of a poor day's sport than anyone else by his
various catastrophes. " Oh," said one of his companions,
addressing the company at large by way of excusing his hilarity,
" Aldridge is still only a boy ; he was born so, and will remain so
till the end of the chapter." I think that to have that said
about one late in life must be pleasant.
" No one knows better than I do how difficult it is to be a
good country parson," he once wrote to me. " And I claim
the parson's privilege of not always practising what I preach."
He was the first in Hannington village to volunteer for
service in August, 1914, but the villagers were not long in
following his example and won the prize for the greatest pro-
portional number of recruits. As I have said, he served as a
doctor in the R.A.M.C. He was with the Brigade of Guards
Hospital, and also with the Guards Division at Loos, where he
was slightly wounded, and on the Somme. From them he went
to the 12th Lancers, and later to the famous Scottish Division.
He is still on active service as I write these lines, and doubtless
working hard and gaining fresh experiences.
Chapter XIII
A Hundred Years Ago — Unostentatious Meets — The Rev. Wyer Honey —
The Marland Harriers — One Thousand a Day — Sporting Management —
The Vicar's Gardener — Typical Devonshire Farmer — Distemper in the Ken-
nels— Mrs. Honey to the Rescue — Whisky and Milk — Exercising on Bicycles
— Occasional Grief — A Terrier Runs with the Pack — The Terrier and the Baby
— Was it an Adder ? — The Duke of Beaufort's Horses — The Huntsman's
Nightmare Realised — A Hare out at Sea — The Hounds have a Swim — An
Uncommon Hiding-place — Horse-clipping with Scissors — Dragged by a Dog
— Tea-Parties and Tittle-Tattle — Hard Clerical Work — Horse and Rider Turn
a Somersault — Refusing to Part Math Boots — A Poor Shot — " Bhnk Bonny "
Defeated — Drunken Men in Church — The Vicar Deals with them — A Patient
in a Vegetable Cart — Volunteers for the Front.
IT is said that a liundred years ago all the parsons in North
Devon hunted more or less regularly. I daresay it is
true, and it is certainly still a remarkable county in that
respect, as will be seen by reckoning up the number of sport-
ing parsons who hail from Devonshire that appear in this
book.
Devonshire, like the lake-country and Ireland, is the home
of the unostentatious hunt. Hidden away in the hills of those
wild countries are little packs, the very names of which are
hardly known to the outside world. Strangers are seldom seen
out with them, for their territories are always too rough to
attract visitors, and they exist solely for the enjoyment of the
sporting folk of the locality.
It is with the doings of one of these interesting little packs,
the Marland harriers, that the name of the Rev. R. Wyer
Honey is associated, for he restarted the pack in 1910 and
hunted them until the great war necessitated their dissolution
not long ago.
Mr. Honey was born at Raithby rectory, Louth, Lincoln-
shire, in 1871, where his father, the Rev. Doctor Wyer
Honey, was rector. Dr. Honey was not a sportsman, and while
he did not actively oppose his son's sporting proclivities, he did
nothing to encourage them, so that it was lucky for the boy that
The Rev. Wyer Honey, M.H. 147
he had a grandfather whose tastes were more Hkc his own.
This old gentleman, Mr. William Honey, who only died some
sixteen years ago at the age of ninety-one, was a great sports-
man, good shot and fisherman, good man to hounds, and
something of a steeplechase rider in his day. Even in his later
years he never weighed more than ten stone.
The horses he owned as a young man used to be clipped
with scissors — a process that took about three days, as
clippers had not then been invented.
Young Honey spent a good deal of his time with his grand-
father, who shot over red setters and disliked being out with
more than two guns, large shooting-parties being his pet aver-
sion. One day the boy was leading a young setter in leash for
his grandfather, and the dog, being wild, tried to break away
after a rabbit. As Honey was only a very small boy at the
time he was dragged along, face downwards, by the dog, but
did not let go as he had been roundly scolded for doing so on a
previous occasion. This time, rather to his surprise, he could
hear his grandfather shouting, " Let go, let go ! " but he did
not at once do so. At last he was dragged into some brambles,
and as he could still hear cries of " Let go ! " he let go, but only
just in time, for he found himself looking down a disused mine-
shaft. Another foot and he would have been down it. The
grandfather knew of its existence, hence his anxious shouts.
Mr. Honey went to the old grammar-school at Tavistock,
which has since been pulled down. From there he went to a
private school in Scarborough, and thence to a tutor, the
Rev. Canon A. E. Moore, who prepared boys for the army
and universities. At Jesus College, Cambridge, his career was
uneventful.
From the first he desired to become a clergyman. On the
subject of sport and work I quote his own words : " I chose the
Church for a profession, although some well-meaning friends at
the time told me that they thought it was incompatible with my
known sporting proclivities ; but looking back on the last
twenty years, I do not honestly think that my work has suffered
in the least degree from my love of sport ; in fact, on the
contrary, I think one has helped the other."
His best hunting was enjoyed with the Southwold foxhounds
when he was a youngster and being mounted by a kind old
148 sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
friend, a Mr. George Oliver. Most of his school holidays, and
later his vacations, were spent in his stables, as he lived only
half a mile from the Honeys'. There were always a few colts
and made hunters there, and he rode the youngsters for Mr.
Oliver. Sometimes he would find himself on a capital mount,
and at others he would have to deal with most awkward brutes,
which was excellent training for him. One hunting morning
Mr. Oliver said, " Now, Reg, I am going to mount you on the
five-year-old chestnut, and if we get a decent run I want you to
send her along, as I fancy she has a good turn of speed. I will
give you a lead on a made hunter if you require it, and if she
proves as fast as I expect, I shall run her in the Brocklesby and
Southwold point -to-points, and you shall ride her."
Young Honey was elated at this prospect, but it never
materialised, as a week later the horse landed with its forefeet
in a grip, or shallow drain, and strained its shoulder so badly it
was never sound again. The fine big pastures and flying fences
of thorn, with occasional guard rails, were a great treat to him
and a complete contrast to the tiny fields of Devon, where there
is no chance of letting a horse out between the fences.
His first and only curacy was under the Rev. George
Clark Green, at Modbury, near Plymouth. The vicar was a
dear old man, an old Etonian and a great gentleman, who lived
a gentle life in the love of his parishioners and the mild pleasure
classical scholarship seems to give its possessors. He liked
shooting, which he did badly, and was fond of fishing, which he
did well, and had some fifty years at his vicarage to dream over
on sunny afternoons when the fish were not rising. He had
never hunted, but when the new curate said he was fond of a
day with hounds, and he hoped the vicar did not object, the old
man woke out of his day-dreams and remembered that he was a
bit of a sportsman himself, so all he said was, " So long as you
do not neglect your duty I shall not mind." And then, thinking
perhaps that this was the occasion for a little homily, he added,
" I would sooner see a young fellow have a good day's hunting
once a week than spend three or four afternoons at tea-parties
talking tittle-tattle." So the thing was satisfactorily arranged.
After some years the old vicar's health began to fail, and he
drifted into a bath-chair, in which he continued to come to
church, but could take no active part in the service ; so that all
The Rev, Wyer Honey, M.H. 149
the work fell on Mr. Honey, who did not complain, as the vicar
had always taken his full share, and sometimes more than his
share while he was able to do so. But the work was no joke for
the curate single-handed, as there were two churches, three
miles apart, and there were always four services on Sunday.
While still a curate, he was taking the three o'clock service
in St. John's Church, Modbury, one Sunday, when in walked
two extremely drunken men and sat down, one at each end of
a bench. As they were quiet, he proceeded with the service
until the second lesson was reached, when one of the men sud-
denly stood up, letting the one at the other end of the bench
down rather heavily on to the floor. Loud argument broke out
between them, followed by blows and tumult. At that time
Mr. Honey weighed nine stone seven pounds, which is a lovely
hunting weight, but of little use when it comes to over-awing
drunken coal-heavers. He bore down on them, nevertheless,
and bade them begone. The combatants merely turned from
their wrath for one short moment to see who it was that in-
terrupted them, and then returned to their battle. This was a
bad start, but the curate assumed his fiercest expression and
addressed them again. " Now," he said, " I give you both half
a minute to get out, and if you don't go then / shall put you out ! "
To his surprise and joy they picked up their caps and went.
Some days later he rode past them sitting at the side of the road,
and one of them called out to him, " Passon Honey, we be
coming to your church again soon." But they did not carry out
their threat.
Mr. Honey got on well with Gypsies, and understood their
ways. They often camped in the neighbourhood, perhaps
because his horse-buying qualities endeared him to their hearts.
One awful night of wind and rain his friend, the parish doctor,
was awakened by a Gypsy who said his wife was " terrible bad."
" All right, I will come and see her," said the doctor, resigning
himself to the prospect of a midnight ramble in the rain.
" You need not do that," was the unexpected reply ; "I have
brought her along in a cart for you." And sure enough, there
she was laid on straw in a little cart. I tell this story to please
country practitioners, who will instantly recognise this practice
as a valuable one v>'hich wdll make their lives much happier if it
becomes more widely adopted.
150 Sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
As a parson Mr. Honey found it impossible to make time for
both hunting and shooting, so gave up the latter entirely, whicli
he did not mind much, as he was not a good shot ; indeed, he
calls himself a " rotten shot," but it would be more accurate to
say he was a very uncertain one. Sometimes he did fairly well,
but on a bad day — he was very bad. One of these bad days
happened to fall on the same date as a shooting-party at which
he was one of the guns. By three o'clock, having fired many
salvoes but failed to bag a single bird, the other guns became
quite fascinated with watching him. At last one of the guns,
who was wearing a brown bowler, offered in the kindest manner
to throw his hat into the air if it would give Mr. Honey any
pleasure to shoot at it. The hat was duly thrown and Mr.
Honey blew it to pieces — ^the first hit of the day !
Although he had no time for shooting in the winter, he has
done a lot of show-jumping in the summer. Being very fond of
training horses, he not only managed to win a good many cups
but often sold a horse at a good price after showing it.
He once beat " Blink Bonny " (of the 1907 Olympia show) at
an agricultural show near Plymouth while riding his bay horse
" Silver Tail," which was a clever jumper as a rule, but had the
disconcerting trick of taking every sort of show jump at full
gallop. It was the only way he would jump, and sometimes
led to making a mess of things, especially at the in-and-out
hurdles. He occasionally managed to clear in-and-outs with one
flying leap ! The day he beat " Blink Bonny " he was in one of his
good moods, but when he was not, he was of little use in the ring.
The best hunter Mr. Honey ever had was a chestnut gelding
of just under sixteen hands. Bought as a four-year-old, it won
several prizes in the hunter classes at shows. At its first show
it took second prize in a very big class, and a dealer at once
offered £120 for the horse, but Mr. Honey refused the offer and
rode the chestnut for the next eight seasons, doing a regular two
days a week and only getting two falls during the whole time.
In the end Mr. Honey sold it to carry the huntsman of Mr.
Scott Brown's hounds, and it came to an untimely end two years
later. It broke away from a groom who was leading it at exer-
cise and ran wild up the road until it collided with a dog-cart, .
the shaft of which pierced its side so deeply that it fell dead.
In 1913 Mr. Honey won the Stevcnstone point-to-point with
The Rev. Wyer Honey, M.H, 151
a little brown horse. There were thirty -three jumps in the
three-mile course, and the horse led throughout. Mr. Honey
has judged at hunter, hack, and harness classes at nearly all the
shows, local and otherwise, held in Devonshire.
He has been the vicar of Peter's Marland for about fourteen
years, and is said to be nearly as good in the pulpit as he is
across a country. His method is to make fairly full notes,
amounting to about half the sermon, and to fill in the rest by
inspiration as he goes along.
The Marland harriers and their followers owed much to Mr.
Honey's management and energy. I give a detailed description
of this hunt establishment, as it is a typical one, and shows the
amount of work and devotion it entails on those responsible for
its management when the wheels have to go round without the
all-powerful lubrication of an ample subscription list.
Let the great Nabobs who calculate the expenses of running
a foxhound country on the " One thousand a day " principle
{i.e., two days a week, two thousand a year ; four days a week,
four thousand a year, etc.) pay attention to this story of the
Marland subscription harriers.
A good many years ago the country was hunted by a pack
owned by Colonel Moore Stevens, but it was given up. When
Mr. Honey took the living of Peter's Marland, near Torrington,
he set about reviving them. First of all he gained the good-will
of the tenants and landlords ; then hares had to be bought and
turned down, as they had become very scarce since the former
pack ceased to exist. Finally a meeting was held, at which
Colonel Moore Stevens was elected master, and Mr. Honey
huntsman, of the newly-established pack of sixteen-inch
beagles. This was in 1910 ; two years later they were turned
into harriers, the hares having done their duty nobly, and
the stock increasing rapidly.
This part of Devonshire is a country of small fields enclosed
by big, unkempt banks which are difficult obstacles for beagles
to negotiate, and impede the pack much more than they do the
hare. No doubt this was one of the chief reasons why the pack
was changed into eighteen to eighteen-and-a-half-inch harriers,
sixteen couples being kept.
Some of the vicarage outbuildings were turned into kennels,
and at first the honorary secretary acted as whipper-in on
152 sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
hunting days, providing his own horse and hunt kit, but he had
to resign the post owing to the exigencies of business. The
vicar's gardener developed into kennelman, and did everything
except shoot old horses sent to the kennels as flesh. The
kennelman was so keen that he followed the pack on foot for a
few hours when they met near, before returning to his work, so
when the honorary secretary could no longer whip-in he was
promoted to that high office ; but his genius did not lie in this
direction and the experiment had to be abandoned. A pro-
fessional whipper-in therefore became necessary, but, as Mr.
Honey pointed out at the committee meeting, the feeding of
an extra horse would be a severe tax on the hunt's resources.
The difficulty was overcome by a sporting farmer on the com-
mittee getting up^ — his name deserves to be recorded : it was Mr.
John Martin of Little Marland — and saying, " Look here, sir,
the extra horse shan't cost you or the hunt anything for its
keep." And he provided hay, straw, and oats throughout the
season. The horse question settled. Will Ford was engaged as
whipper-in. The vicar took his full share of the work in kennel
and stable, in addition to digging the garden in spare moments.
In the spring of 1912 this little establishment was overtaken
by a dire calamity. In the first place most of the puppies were
down with distemper, and on top of that there was an epidemic
of influenza which prostrated both Mr. Honey and the kennel-
man. In this crisis Mrs. Honey came to the rescue and managed
to keep things going while her husband was laid up. She
exercised the pack on foot and on a bicycle, nursed Mr. Honey
and also the puppies, who had to be fed with spoonfuls of
whisky and milk every three hours, as they were too bad to lap
on their own account. Anyone who has had to nurse hound
puppies through a bout of distemper will appreciate what that
item, alone, of her task meant.
In summer-time Mrs. Honey also helped to exercise the pack
with her husband, starting at six thirty a.m. and returning at
eight. Bicycles were used, except when coupled puppies were
running with them, as they used to invariably bring the riders
to grief by getting the couplings across the front wheel.
After this fashion the pack was kept going season after
season, all hands doing their best towards the common end.
The question of flesh was always an important one in a kennel
The Rev. Wyer Honey, M.H. 153
where expense had to be considered in every detail, because
flesh is cheaper than meal, and the more meat you can get the
less meal is used ; but flesh is not easy to come by in most
countries. Mr. Honey got a good many old horses from the
Gypsies, who knew he was always a buyer, and often brought
them from considerable distances. He paid a fixed price of
seven shillings a horse, which was cheap, the usual price at
kennels for old horses in the west country before the war being
ten shillings each, or more.
These harriers hunted three days a fortnight and were
always turned out in a neat and workmanlike manner. For
several seasons a terrier ran with the pack, which is unusual
with harriers, owing to the unquenchable love for rabbits shown
by most terriers. The dog had come to the country with Mr.
Honey, a great pet and redoubtable badger-drawer — in fact, he
was afraid of nothing and had been known to bowl over vulgar
sheep-dogs of three times his own size. By this I do not mean
that he was a loud and truculent dog seeking trouble every-
where ; on the contrary, he was restrained in manner and
assumed the" I-don't-want-to-fight,but-by-Jingo-if-I-do " ! atti-
tude. When his master restarted the harriers, the dog insisted
on going with the hounds. He often found hares by working
the hedgerows, and followed the pack when running with a
deadly earnestness that generally enabled him to catch up at
checks, although he was always hopelessly left when they ran
at all hard. Sometimes he would get completely left behind, in
spite of all he could do, in which case he would go sadly home by
himself, but more often he stuck it out till the end of the day
and trotted home beside the huntsman's horse, to the entire
satisfaction of both dog and horse, as they were fast friends, the
terrier sleeping in its loose box at night. It was friendly with
all, including the Honey baby.
One day he did not return with the pack, nor was there any
sign of him at home. He was absent all the next day, but
crawled in that night in a pitiable state, being swollen to nearly
twice his proper size. It was difficult to say what was the matter
with him, and the vet. was called in. The dog recovered, and it
was supposed that he had been bitten by an adder, which is
quite a common snake in Devonshire and often bites hoimds ,
especially otter-hounds during the summer months.
154 Sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
I once sent a favourite old hunter to Black Torrington, which
is quite close to Peter's Marland, to a doctor who kindly offered
it a good home, and the poor old thing was almost at once
bitten b}^ an adder and died.
Of the many horses that have passed through Mr. Honey's
hands, only one was a made hunter when he bought it. As a
rule he only indulged in raw colts and made them into hunters
himself. The hunt stables held two horses, one for the whip
and one for himself.
I remember once my son asking the Duke of Beaufort how
many horses he owned, counting those out at grass. After
musing awhile he admitted that he really did not know exactly,
but hazarded the guess that he must have " about a hundred."
But I doubt very much if that kind and splendid old sportsman
got as much fun out of his six-day-a-week establishment as
Mr. Honey did out of the Marland harriers.
Before he hunted the Marland, Mr. Honey was master of the
Modbury harriers in South Devon during the season 1905-6,
and before that had whipped-in for some years. On one awful
occasion with this pack he realised the traditional huntsman's
nightmare by seeing the leading hounds disappear over the
cliffs. They had met at Battisborough Cross, and had a first-
class run of over an hour without a check, when the hare and
three leading hounds came to the cliffs and went over. Hasten-
ing to the beach by a less precipitous route to pick up the pieces,
he found, to his relief, that both hare and hounds had managed
to get down safely. The hare was sitting on a rock some way
out to sea, with the three hounds swimming round. As none of
them seemed inclined to come ashore, the master feared they
would be drowned, but a plucky horse-breaker, who was out,
volunteered to swim to them, which he succeeded in doing.
Another day, during the same season, he had run a hare for
some time, and saw her jump a bank about half a field ahead of
the pack. When the hounds reached the spot they checked,
and a forward cast failed to recover the line. At last he saw
the hare sitting on the roof of a shed, or " linhay," as they call
them down there. She had evidently run along the bank and
jumped on to the roof from it.
I have seen hunted hares take to stranger hiding-places
than this. Once in particular I remember a pack of harriers
The Rev. Wyer Honey, M.H. 155
checking outside some stables belonging to a large country
house. The hare seemed to have completely evaporated until
an old groom appeared in the stable door carrying a bucket
which he phlegmatically turned up as if to throw away water,
but instead of water out jumped the hare. The groom had seen
her steal into the stable and quietly jump into the empty
bucket.
On another occasion when I was out, there was a check in
an orchard late one frosty evening, when it was freezing so hard
we thought there would be no more hunting for a long time to
come. The way hounds checked suggested that the hare
might be squatting somewhere close at hand, so the master and
whipper-in dismounted and entered the orchard on foot ; but
the grass was quite short and there did not seem cover enough
to hide a mouse. After searching in vain, the master regarded
the hare as lost, and happened to sit down for a moment on the
trunk of a fallen apple-tree. As he sat, his attention was drawn
to a tiny trickle of steam rising into the frosty air through a
little hollow knot apparently leading into the solid trunk of the
tree, but examination showed that the tree was hollow and the
ha,re inside.
The best run Mr. Honey had with the Marland was with a
little Jack hare at the end of the season. They ran for an hour
and a half from Berry Farm to Bursdon in Langtree parish,
where they killed. It was a five-mile point and nine as hounds
ran, with only two checks, while the jumping provided by the
frequent banks was enough to satisfy anybody.
Every man who hunts regularly, especially if he rides un-
broken or half-broken colts, has his fair share of falls, but all
Mr. Honey's have been more or less good-natured tosses, except
one which came near to being his last. The Dartmoor hounds
had had a good run of over an hour and were just about to run
into their fox. Mr. Honey was pushing on as fast as he could so
as to be in at the death, although, of course, his horse was fairly
blown. Horse and rider began to descend a steep tor, which is
about the last thing he can remember clearly. Whether the
horse stepped on a slide of loose stones, or put its foot into a
hole, is now impossible to say ; anyhow, it fell, turning a com-
plete somersault and landing right on top of its rider.
Mr. Honey thought its neck must be broken, as it never
156 sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
moved, and lay on him like a log. He did not know how long
they lay like this ; it began to snow and he became only semi-
conscious and it seemed as though eternity had begun, although
it was really only about twenty minutes before two returning
sportsmen found him. Luckily enough, one was a doctor. All
this time the horse was lying as though dead, and had to be
rolled out of the way before Mr. Honey could be moved. It was
found that his collar-bone and three ribs were broken, in addition
to internal injuries, and the doctor feared his spine was affected,
as he had lost the use of his legs. They carried him on a hurdle
to the bottom of the tor, where a cart took him to a local asylum,
which happened to be the nearest building. At the asylum
they wanted to cut off his hunting boots, but he feebly pro-
tested, so to humour him they pulled them off ; long afterwards
he was told they did not think at the time that he would ever
want any sort of boots again. He did not reach home for five
hours after the accident, and was in bed from March till June.
For a long time it did not seem that he would quite recover the
full use of his legs, but to-day he is as sound as ever.
In the Stevenstone country he once turned up at a meet
wearing a most beautiful new top-hat which he justly believed
to be the object of general admiration. Soon after hounds had
found he jumped a fairly large boundary fence, over which the
landing was so soft that his horse sank in and pecked so badly
that he was thrown over its head and landed on his own, plunging
his hat into the spongy ground and remaining in that ostrich-like
attitude for some moments. When he extricated himself the
hat-brim encircled his brow and the crown remained stuck in
the ground as neatly as a new golf-hole ! The sad affair was
made the subject of a sketch by an artistically-minded friend.
Mr. Honey must have inherited his resourcefulness from his
father, who was richly endowed with that quality, as is evident
from the following story. At his Bible-class one afternoon the
boys were reading the description of Jacob's ladder set up from
earth to heaven with the angels ascending and descending.
One boy suddenly asked the vicar why winged angels should
want a ladder ? This was a poser to which he could find no
immediate answer, but he rose to the occasion magnificently
by saying, " Now that is a very sensible question, very
sensible indeed, and I am sure there must be some of you who
The Rev. Wyer Honey, M.H. 157
can answer it correctly." A long and thoughtful pause followed,
broken by an erudite youth with spectacles. " Please, sir,
perhaps they was moulting ! "
One of Mr. Honey's stories is of a yokel, met on the road one
evening.
Vicar. — Well, George, where are you going ?
George. — B'aint going nowhere.
Vicar. — But you must be going somewhere.
George. — No, I b'aint, I be coming back.
When the war broke out it was decided to disband the
Marland pack, partly owing to the high price of meal and the
decrease in subscriptions, and partly because Mr. Honey's
horses had been commandeered by the Government. Two
sporting farmers took the hounds, and continued to hunt them
one day a week as a trencher-fed pack, known as the Hather-
leigh and Marland harriers. Mr. Honey volunteered to go to
the front as a chaplain, and got his Bishop's consent, but the
War Office considered him too old.
Chapter XIV
The Rev. Samuel Davis Lockwood — In Shirt-sleeves — As Medicine Man —
A Romantic Affection — Classical Scholar — A Prodigious Jump — A Passion
for the Heythrop — Puppy Walking — An Enthusiast — Was it Hallucination ?
— A Fox on the Door-mat — Labour Troubles — Joseph Arch, the Primitive
Methodist — Anxious Moments — Common-sense Methods — Clerical Modesty
— " The Dream of an Old Meltonian " — A Sackful of Sermons — An Over-
due Tithe — A Born Teacher — Greek at Westminster — Macaulay as a Boy —
A Pedantic Reply — A Wreath from Penny Subscriptions.
THE REV. DAVIS LOCKWOOD, rector of Kingham, near
Oxford, for over thirty years, was a simple man and a
furious hard worker. He did not wear clerical kit,
preferring to go about his business looking like what he was
— as much a worker as any of his parishioners.
On high ecclesiastical occasions, when he felt bound to put
on the white collar of his profession, it did not suit him, and he
was never really happy until it was off again and he was trotting
about the village in his rough clothes, sometimes hatless and in
his shirt-sleeves.
His was the typical life of the old Tory country parson of
good family. The years slipped by in the contented performance
of parish duties, including the farming of his own land and
enlivened by a penchant for doctoring his parishioners which
earned him some fame as a medicine man. He was at peace
with everyone and everyone very much at peace with him, but
behind all this placid humdrum routine smouldered two
separate and abiding passions : a passion for teaching, at which
he was uncommonly successful, and a passionate love for the
Heythrop hunt, for which he cherished a romantic affection all
his life.
Fishing he did not care for, preferring the duties of his parish
to a day beside the finest trout-stream, and he never shot ;
an afternoon spent in routing about in an Oxford don's library
was much more to his taste, and he read classics to such purpose
that he often took the wind out of the sails of University pundits
by the wide range of his Latin and Greek quotations.
When he went for country walks he was absorbed in natural
The Rev. S. D. Lockwood 159
history and spent hours in studying the ways of birds and
beasts, only drawing the Hne at things that crawl, such as
beetles, which he did not like. He would go his gentle way like
this from Monday until Friday, and then on Saturday he would
go out with the Heythrop and ride " like the dickens," as I
have heard it expressed, and as though he had a spare neck in
each pocket.
No one who had not seen him on a horse would have taken
him for a sportsman, nor was he one except in his love for
hunting ; once on a horse he was a different man. The book-
worm was transformed into the hardest of hard-riding top-
sawyers whenever he drew on his well-worn hunting-boots and
sallied out on one of the odd-looking screws he bought cheap and
schooled into useful hunters for his own. use.
An awe-stricken sportsman, after watching him take the
locked railway -gates of a level crossing as an in-and-out jump,
once ventured to murmur his congratulations, but the vicar's
only reply was, " Well, you needn't tell my wife about it ! "
Even on the best of mounts one might be forgiven for
avoiding such stout and high gates as the railway companies
affect, especially with steel rails to land on, and the second gate
to take practically from a stand ; but when it is remembered
that he nearly always rode little horses that some people would
unhesitatingly call screws, it becomes a noteworthy feat, but
quite in keeping with his usual methods. His mount in the
photograph of him is typical. A finer example of an ewe neck
could not be found outside the pictures of Rossetti's damsels.
" If you want to see sport, you must be where hounds are,"
was his hunting motto, and he consistently lived up to it. In a
magazine article published some years ago on the members of
the Heythrop hunt, there is a reference to him. " We must
not omit to mention the Rev. Davis Lockwood of King-
ham, of whom it is said that he can get over a bigger place on a
small horse than any member of the field."
Strangers out with the Heythrop were often advised to take
the old parson, wearing the out-of-date tall hat and old cord
breeches, as a pilot, but very few ever managed to do it success-
fully. He was fortunate in only having one really bad fall in
his life, and that was in 1898, when he broke four ribs and also
probably injured his heart, for he often complained of it
i6o Sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
afterwards, and it was heart-failure that killed him eventually.
He was faithful to the Heythrop all through his hunting
career, and never hunted with any other pack except Captain
Evans's harriers when a small boy. He was hunting with the
Heythrop before even Mr. Albert Brassey began his long
mastership in 1873. The country, the pack, the people, he
loved them all. To him a hound was a beautiful and wonderful
thing, and he walked Heythrop puppies for thirty years, suffering
the unending worries of their presence about the vicarage
uncomplainingly. Like so many regular puppy-walkers, he was
most unlucky in the matter of winning prizes at the puppy
shows, and never won a cup until the year before his death, when
he took second prize for dog-hounds with " Vanguard ; " he was
very pleased, and in responding to the toast of the successful
walkers he wound up by saying, " I have had so many happy
days with the Heythrop, that if I could walk the whole pack I
would be pleased to do so."
There is no doubt that hunting does create a sentimental
affection that other sports do not. The keen shooting man does
not feel it. If he hears shots they do not awaken in him the
strong emotions the old hunting man feels when he hears the
cry of hounds after years of absence. I think if anyone shares
his feelings it may be the fisherman on hearing the babble of
some once-loved trout-stream.
Like his horses, Mr. Lockwood was not showy, and rather
despised matters of dress in the hunting-field. Epochs such as
the advent of the cut-away pink coat or the lesser affairs of
square or rounded corners to coat skirts left him cold. His
clothes were always strictly utilitarian, and his tall hat seldom
free from the concertina marks of some bygone fall.
The type of man that religiously sticks to his own country
and never hunted in any other was more common in the last
generation than in this. One of his axioms was, that all that is
best in horseflesh is usually to be found between fourteen and
fifteen hands in height. Naturally, after a lifetime spent in one
hunt, his knowledge of the country was profound and he was
credited with the legendary power of knowing the run of every
fox in the country. He often left the house at four o'clock in
the morning for some distant cub-hunting meet long after he
had ceased to be by any means a young man, and he said he
The Rev. S. D. Lock wood i6i
found as much pleasure in cubbing as in the full-blown sport of
December or January.
His extraordinary keenness made him one of the most
remarkable figures the Heythrop country has ever produced.
He belonged to the little band of enthusiasts that exists in most
countries, who really do not care whether they finish a day five
miles from home or fifteen, and stay out with the pack to the
bitter end, even at the most distant meets.
Returning from hunting one afternoon after the pack had
lost, he was amazed to see a fox — perhaps the hunted one —
asleep on the mat at the back door of the vicarage. After
contemplating this unusual spectacle for some moments he
softly dismounted and stole round the house to fetch his little
daughter to see it, but when they returned the fox was gone.
Those who know anything about foxes will agree that this is an
extraordinary story. It seems to me that it must have been a
case of suggestion : his mind had been running on foxes in
general, and the lost one in particular, and this absolutely
life-like illusion of a sleeping fox on the door-mat was the result.
If so it was a very strange example of this sort of thing, for it
was not a glimpse, but a sustained picture that was there all
the time he was dismounting, and part of the time he was tip-
toeing round to look for the child. This explanation was often
put to him, but he would never accept it, and was always firmly
convinced that he had seen an actual fox. Of course, on logical
grounds it is impossible to say that a fox will not come and fall
asleep on the door-mat in the middle of the afternoon, but it
seems almost incredible in practice. There is the story, any-
how, and the knowledgable ones of the Psychical Research
Society can judge the matter, if suggestion comes within the
scope of their investigations.
I always believed implicitly that if you brought up a child
in the way it should go, as soon as it was old enough it would do
the other thing, but this belief has been shaken by the records
of the Lockwood family, for both Mr. Lockwood's father and
grandfather were good parsons and hard riders to hounds in
their day. His father was vicar of Kingham for many years,
and when he died, in 1880, Mr. Lockwood succeeded him at
rather a trying time, for the uprising of the farm-labourers under
the now forgotten Joseph Arch was still in progress.
M
1 62 sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
Joseph Arch (who recently passed away) was a Warwick-
shire farm-hand who became a Primitive Methodist preacher,
and, later on, M.P. He founded the National Agricultural
Labourers' Union, which was the first attempt to gain
organised representation for the farm-men. The effort
created a good deal of unrest at the time and, in Kingham,
aroused a hitherto unheard-of wave of criticism and suspicion.
The old relationship between parson and peasant was in
danger of being lost, and the struggle — for it was a real
struggle — caused Mr. Lockwood a good deal of unhappiness ;
but not for long, for his perfect honesty and good-will reconciled
even the fiercest revolutionaries, who became his friends almost
to a man.
Mr. Lockwood saw little of the world outside his parish, but
inside it he knew every man, woman, and child, and understood
them thoroughly.
In the early days of compulsory education, the village
mothers went to him to air their pent-up storms of indignation
over the iniquities of a law that sent their children to school
instead of to house-work, or when their offspring had been
chastened by the schoolmaster. On these occasions his method
was simple. " Let them have their say out, until they have no
breath left in them, and then soothe them down with a few
plain words," was his description of the method. After one of
these ladies had exhausted herself in this manner, he remarked,
" The hounds will be at Churchill Heath in about half an hour. "
At this she jumped up and made off in that direction quite
happily. A little irrelevance seems to have done almost as
much good as a few plain words in this case — a not unusual
occurrence in village controversy.
His sermons were modest enough, and he often amused
people by starting his discourse with an emphatic expression of
disbelief that they were of the slightest use. Doubts as to the
powerful effects wrought by their sermons are not very usual
among clerics, but Mr. Lockwood's expressed uncertainty was
real, and not mere modesty. In a letter to his brother, thanking
him for a copy of verses, he wrote, " The last five verses are
better than a sackful of sermons, and might with advantage be
fixed on every church door in the country."
In the hope that readers may extract benefit to the equivalent
The Rev. S. D. Lockwood 163
of a sackful of sermons, I give the verses referred to, which have
been lent to me in manuscript by the vicar's brother, Captain
H. Lockwood. They are from the late Bromley Davenport's
poetic eruption, inspired by a great run from Ranksborough
gorse, entitled " The Dream of an Old Meltonian."
And oh, young descendants of ancient top-sawyers.
By your lives to the world their example inforce.
Whether landlords, or parsons, or statesmen, or lawyers.
Ride straight, as they rode it from Ranksborough gorse.
Though a rough-riding world may bespatter your breeches.
Though sorrow may cross you, and slander revile.
Though you plunge over head in misfortune's blind ditches.
Shun the gap of deception, the hand-gate of guile.
Oh ! avoid them, for see, there the crowd is contending,
Ignoble the object, ill-mannered the throng.
Shun the miry lane falsehood with turns never ending.
Ride straight for truth's timber, no matter how strong.
I'll pound you sure over, sit steady and quiet
Along the sound headland, if honesty steer ;
Beware of false holloas and juvenile riot,
Tho' the oxer of duty loom wide, never fear.
And when the run's over of earthly existence,
And you get safe to ground, you shall feel no remorse
If you've ridden, no matter the line, or the distance.
As straight as they rode it from Ranksborough gorse.
How far he was right in his belief that sermons have little
influence on their listeners is a matter of opinion, but Mr.
Lockwood's, at any rate, were always full of common sense, and
men of travel and experience sometimes went to hear him twice
on the same Sunday. His sermons began life in the form of
notes on the back of old envelopes, scribbled during breakfast
on Sunday morning, and he always robed in the house, walking
to church in full canonicals.
He had three pet subjects which by persistence and recur-
rence really did seem to make an impression on his villagers.
The first subject was backbiting ; the second the responsibility
of parents for the upbringing of their children ; and the third
consisted of denunciations of an extreme brand of Calvinism
which led people to regard themselves as " elect." This last,
his discourses apparently succeeded in uprooting. His admoni-
tions against backbiting were exemplified in his life, for he never
said a word against anyone if he could possibly help it. But
there was one man against whom he could not resist launching
a few mild censures ; this reprehensible person died worth
164 sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
seventy thousand pounds, after refusing all his life to pay Mr.
Lockwood his tithe of eighteen pounds a year. The rector's
delivery was rather melancholy as a rule, but when one of his
three pet subjects was the order of the day he became strong
and effective.
Next to hunting came teaching in his affections. It is
wonderful that there should be people who really enjoy in-
structing fellow-mortals. The average person's hair begins to
turn grey at the very thought, but Mr. Lockwood revelled in it
and was never happier than when jockeying pass-men at Oxford
through their examinations.
As a youngster he was not intended for the Church, and
joined the 13th Bengal Cavalry in the Peshawar division, which
was then commanded by his relative. General Sir Sydney Cotton ;
but he did not stay in India long, as his health broke down and
he came home on sick leave. It was decided that he was not
strong enough for the army, so he sent in his papers, and made
up his mind to take Orders. As he was too old to enter a
college in the ordinary way, he went to St. Mary's Hall, Oxford,
to work for his degree. He had forgotten all the Greek he had
learned at Westminster — if he ever learned any there ; he always
stoutly maintained that he never learned anything at school
whatever. As a consequence he had to start all over again with
the Greek alphabet, but perseverance pulled him through, in
spite of the fact that he hunted three or four days a week each
season. He must have been helped through his time at Oxford
by his exceptional memory. It does not sound like a very
grand memory when I say that he had forgotten all his Greek
so soon, but we know he had not learnt much at Westminster,
as he said, for the fact remains that he really had a very fine
memory, and Wilberforce, then Bishop of Oxford, who ordained
him, told a relative of Lockwood's afterwards that he had been
the best of all the candidates in Greek !
He was always a voracious reader, and ransacked his friends'
libraries for fresh books to read. Once he had been through a
book he could quote extensively from it for years afterwards,
so that in time friends found it hard to find him something he
had not already read. The " Pickwick Papers " he could quote
from ad lib. Scott and Dickens were his favourite authors,
Marryat's " Peter Simple " he was very fond of, but works on
The Rev. S. D. Lockwood 165
natural history and travel were his staple diet. Poetry was not
much in his line, but Pread's " Vicar " — a gem which I fear is
almost forgotten — delighted him, especially the stanza which
ends :
And when religious sects run mad,
He held, in spite of all this learning.
That if a man's behef is bad
It will not be improved by burning.
Learning must be a comparatively easy matter to people
with very retentive memories. When I read a book its contents
are reflected before me as in a mirror and soon become a more or
less blurred memory, but to men like Mr. Lockwood reading a
book must be like hanging a minutely exact steel engraving in
one's mind ready to be consulted at any time. Very nice in
moderation, no doubt, but it might become too much of a good
thing, as in the case of Macaulay, who could repeat verbatim —
commas, stops, and everything — whole columns of anything he
had read for years.
It may have been the first-fruits of this affliction that
enabled him at the age of four when his mother asked, " Is
darling baby's nasty toothache better ? " to reply, " I thank
you, madam, the agony has somewhat abated." At least so
the story goes, but I do not vouch for it.
While Mr. Lockwood was reading for his degree he met the
man who was to be his lifelong friend, Mr. Warde Fowler, a
don and also an accomplished naturalist, and it is to him that
I am indebted for so much information about Mr. Lockwood's
life.
After his ordination Mr. Lockwood acted for some time as
his father's curate at Kingham, and then took a small living at
Woodeaton in 1871, and married Miss Sophia Theresa Wynter,
daughter of the Rev. Philip Wynter. Woodeaton is close
to Oxford, and it was at this time that his unusual gifts as a
teacher came to light. Mr. Warde Fowler had more college
pass-work than he cared for, so he entrusted him with the Latin
prose of a few undergraduates, and the venture proved an
instant success. He understood exactly what was wanted and
rarely failed to get his pupils through their examinations.
When he left Woodeaton to take the Kingham living after
his father's death he sorely missed this work, and it was many
i66 Sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
years before he had another opportunity of teaching pupils
worthy of his steel.
The living of Kingham came into the Lockwood family by
the marriage of his great-grandfather with Miss Doudeswell of
Worcestershire, who rebuilt the rectory in 1688. In addition
to the many sporting parsons they have produced, there was a
fighting parson, rector of Towcester, who was wounded beside
King Charles at the Battle of Naseby.
Mr. Lockwood had never been a strong man, and as he grew
older his health was by no means good. He often ventured out
hunting rashly, when his asthmatic bronchitis was on him, and
it was a hunt in November, 1911, that brought on so severe an
attack that heart-failure supervened. He was buried a few
days later in Kingham churchyard, where a lych-gate has since
been put up to his memory. Mr. Lockwood was very popular
both amongst hunting people and parishioners, and the school
children sent a beautiful wreath to his funeral, subscribed for
by penny subscriptions all on their own initiative.
The REV. S. LOCKWOOD
[Facing p. 166,
[Phntmirnpli hij V<ih L'Esfniiujr, 135;..S?oo)(c Street, S.W.]
The RFA'. HUPKHT IXGTJS
Facino p. 167.
Chapter XV
The Rev. Rupert Inglis — A "Blue" — Becomes an Army Chaplain — Letter to his
Parishioners — 'No. 23 General Hospital — A^ Wounded Boy's Appetite —
A Friendly Postman — A New Disease — A Much-Travelled Bullet — Chaplains'
Duties — No "Cushy Job" — American Terms of Endearment — Princess
Christian's Ambulance Train — A Lesson for the Kaiser — Doubtful Kindness
^Bishop of Winchester's Son Killed — Tragic Meeting of Brothers — The Rev-
Neville Talbot Wins Military Cross— Twenty-seven Wounds — A Peep into
German Trenches — Curious Find in a Church — A Promise Fulfilled — A Gifted
Corporal : His Romantic Life — Shell-shock Sufferers — Doctors and Nurses
Quarrel — A Factory Dressing-Station — Scratch Pack at Mess — Domestic
Life in the Trenches — Mr. Inglis " Cute " at Dressing Patients — Tragedy of
the Towels — Sunday Work — Liquid Fire Shells — Gordon Geddes Inspecting
— Chaplain Inglis and Captain English get Mixed — Some " Topping Things "
A " Little Beast "—Talking Sport— An Awful Night— A Week-end in a Shell-
Hole — A Resurrection — The Shropshires' " Little Affair " — ^Through Fire and
Water — Gallant Lance-Corporal — Doctors Worn Out — ^The Prince of Wales
in the Trenches — A " Full House" — German Written Orders — Padre IngHs
Missing — Some Letters and a Memorial Chapel.
IN 1914 Mr. Inglis was the rector of a little Kentish village
where he had lived some years, and where he took it for
granted he would die in due course and be buried
after the fashion of previous rectors.
On September 18, 1916, he was killed in the battle of the
Somme at the age of fifty-three, while rescuing wounded with
conspicuous gallantry.
Years ago I remember being thrilled by the adventures of
Conan Doyle's " Brigadier Gerard," a soldier of Napoleon's
Grand Armee. It seemed to me that it was wonderful that
there could ever have been days of such heroic adventures, of
such great battles, such bravery, such suffering, and it seemed
quite clear that there could never be such days again.
To-day the story of a quiet middle-aged rector, suddenly
snatched from his vestry meetings and Sunday-schools and flung
into the world-war, where the dormant passions of his fighting
forefathers awoke and carried him through scenes of terror and
horror to a most noble death, is a commonplace one, one of a
thousand others as strange, and stranger. Yet in those few
i68 Sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
months the rector saw what was vaster, more terrible and far
grimmer than the veterans of Napoleon's army ever dreamed of.
The Rev, Rupert Inglis was a parson of the traditional kind.
He entered theChm-chas the youngest son of Major-GeneralSir
John Inglis, K.C.B., the defender of Lucknow during the
mutiny, and was neither daringly High Church nor depressingly
Low, but a plain orthodox Church of England man.
His athletic career at Rugby and Oxford had been a good
one, for at school he got his colours both for cricket and football,
and at Oxford was in the Rugby XV. for three years, and won
the Rugby International Cap. He was given his " Blue " as
a freshman at Oxford, as he was a fine forward who made the
most of his weight in the pack. After leaving Oxford he joined
the Blackheath club and played in the three English matches
against Scotland, Ireland, and Wales.
In course of time he was ordained, and after a couple of
curacies married and settled down to the life of a country
parson at Frittenden. He was not a poor man as parsons go in
these days, and had heaps of relations among the county
families, so that he often had some excellent shooting, and life
was pleasant enough. Two little girls and a boy were born to the
rector and his wife ; and he grew fond of his parishioners, while
they likewise grew fond of him.
Then came the catastrophe of 1914, and he preached stirring
sermons to his villagers, bidding them do their duty like men
and join the new armies. Then he disappeared from his parish
and his flock heard no more of him until they received the
following letter :
" Dear Parishioners,
" I think most of you will understand how I come
to be writing from France. I have felt that in this great crisis
of the nation's history, everyone ought to do what he can to
help. I have said this both publicly and privately, but it has
been hard to tell people that they ought to leave their homes
to go out into strange and new surroundings, to endure dis-
comforts and danger, perhaps to face death. It has been hard
to tell people that this was their duty and then remain comfort-
ably at home myself. So this is why I have left you for an
indefinite period.
Rev. Rupert Inglis 169
" I am proud, very proud, of what Frittenden has done. I
know how hard it has been for many of the soldiers to leave their
homes, their families and occupations, but the harder it has been
the greater the credit and the greater the reward.
" I ask for your prayers. I ask you to pray that I may be
a help to those to whom I have to minister out here. That God
will bless and keep you all is the prayer of
" Your affectionate rector,
" (Signed) Rupert E. Inglis.
" France, July 7th, 1915."
The son of the man of Lucknow had found it impossible to
sit at home and twiddle his thumbs.
After this, the story of his adventures is told in his letters to
his wife, who has had portions of them printed in the form of a
little book, for private circulation, and dedicated to his children,
" Joan, John, and Margaret, just to help them now, and in years
to come, to understand a little of their father's life among our
wonderful soldiers."
I quote from them at some length, not because they are
records of adventure above the average of the time, for they are
not, but rather because they are so typical of the thousands of
letter-histories that have been written in this war, and there is
the same tragic family likeness running through them all.
To begin with, there is the newness of everything at the Base ;
then comes the excitement of joining a Brigade and becoming
familiar with life at the actual front — a quiet part of the front at
first. After this comes the beginning of the end, references to
long marches across country without any mention of what lies
ahead. I have read all this in a dozen such sequences of letters,
and there is always the same care to conceal the fact that the
writer is in the converging movement of troops marching into
one of the great battle-areas, so that the anxiety of those at home
may be lessened as much as possible. To have mentioned the
name " Somme " would have been to chill the heart of the
recipient, and what would have been the use of that ? The last
letter seems to come almost automatically after that, and in
this case it ends, " I shall probably be back early to-day. ..."
Most of these last letters were written within the iodme and
blood smell of the advanced dressing-stations.
170 Sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
His first letter sent home after reaching France is dated —
" July 10th,
" No. 23 General Hospital,
" Etaples."
In this he says :
" For the first time I am allowed to say where I am." He
then goes on to explain that he is Chaplain of a hospital with
one thousand one hundred and sixty beds, and that he had
arrived after much travelling, at 11.30 p.m., and found no bed
anywhere, so arranged a shake-down in an empty hut, sleeping
in his valise on the floor, and found he possessed more bones in
his body than he had hitherto been aware of, but did not sleep
badly and felt rather like the street-arab whose grace after a
small meal was, " I could have eaten more, but thank God for
what I have had," " for I didn't think I should sleep at all."
The letter continues, " I could write you miles, but I have
promised to go and write letters for men in the hospital," then
adds, " I want a gramophone and as many tunes as you can
get for the men in hospital."
July 12. — " I have a little office in the main tin building
where I am now writing, and have quite a nice little wood-and-
ean vas hut five feet by ten. I sleep on the floor in my valise
. . . The Commanding Officer is a Colonel Harrison, who was a
Doctor in the Guards. After to-morrow there will be only one
other English officer here ; the rest are all Americans from
Chicago. . . . The nurses also are Americans.
" The objection to this place is that the camp is on sand.
There has been a high wind and everything has just been full of
sand, ink included. One is a long way from the war, but realises
it more here. My hut is not fifty yards from where all Red
Cross trains come in. Two big trains full of wounded came in
yesterday. The men are awfully good and plucky ; some of
Uieir wounds are awful. One boy showed me a bit of shrapnel
nearly two inches long that had been cut out of his middle.
Another boy had a bullet clean through his face and is not a bit
the worse for it, no pain, and eats like a Trojan."
July 14.—" All the appliances here are very good and up-
to-date. We have a beautiful operating-theatre. X-ray room,
photographic studio, etc. My postman is a Yorkshire miner.
Rev. Rupert Inglis 171
We spend much time together, as I am acting censor and he
has to lick down all the letters. This morning, having got very
intimate, we exchanged photographs of our wives and families.
Amongst other sundries he has been blessed with two pairs of
twins ! "
From this I gather the exchange was hardly equal, as Mr.
Inglis had only three bairns.
July 17.—" Our Chapel is a perfectly bare room, or was at
first. A trestle table is being moved in as an Altar and some
benches by way of ecclesiastical furniture. Our services to-
morrow are at 5.15 a.m., 6.30 a.m., 10.30 a.m., and 6 p.m. . . .
Have just heard I am to be attached to a brigade, which is work
I like, as it gives me a better chance of getting to know the men."
July 18. — "I have had quite a busy Sunday. Celebrations
at 5.15 and 6.30, and at 10.30 a service for the patients. It was
such a nice service ; we expected thirty or forty and had only
seats for that number, but we had one hundred and fifty patients
and had to go about collecting seats for them, as most of them
were not fit to stand. I started the hymns ; they went with
great gusto. You might tell — — we shall hardly require the
organ when I come back, as I shall be able to do it myself ! On
second thoughts perhaps my efforts were not so successful, for
after the service one of the nurses came and offered me twenty
dollars towards the purchase of a harmonium. We made the
Altar quite nice for the early Celebrations. The frontal was
turkey-twill off a patient's screen, and the candlesticks just
bedroom candlesticks. The flowers were Dorothy Perkins.
They were put on the Altar by a Roman Catholic matron who
was doing her own Altar at the other end of the room. They
did not agree very well with the turkey-twill, but we are not
very particular over these things here. . . . The men are so
nice and say such funny things ; one man to-day said he was
suffering from ' Diagnosis,' but he got better of that. . . .
July 20. — " Yesterday they had an extraordinary opera-
tion. They extracted a bullet from a man, and there was
something behind it, so they went on and took out a penny
which had been driven in by the bullet. It had saved the man's
life, as it was pressing against an important artery which the
172 sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
bullet would otherwise have severed. There are really the
most extraordinary wounds, it is wonderful how they ever
recover. One man was shot in the nose, the bullet went through
his mouth, right through the tongue, down his throat and out
at his shoulder. The man is really quite well now and able to
smoke."
I do not think it is generally understood at home how much
the Chaplains do besides their spiritual work. Many of them
help to load and unload wounded men, write letters for them,
collect the discs from the shattered fragments of those killed,
and write the letters which carry desolation to many homes;
arrange and form clubs for the men when resting, collect games,
books, and amusements for them, act as mess-president, help in
the operating-theatre, ready at all times to do anything.
I have heard it suggested that the life of a base-camp chaplain
is a " cushy job," but this is a mistake ; his life is by no means
an easy one. He not only has the base-camp to attend to,
but is at the beck and call of every hospital camp in the
place. So surely as he tries to go into the town or to have
a meal he is sent for to attend the sick, often being wanted in
two places at once in opposite directions. Added to this he is
mess-president and has to see proper delicacies are ready for
the officers, and collect the subscriptions from each officer
who enters the mess, though only staying a day or two.
In the July when Mr. Inglis wrote the last letter, from
which I have quoted, he was acting censor, and grew very weary
of reading other people's letters. He considered the Americans
had a very good way of expressing themselves. One favourite
form they had of addressing their wives was, " Dear old Sport,"
and " Little Bit of Ginger." In a letter dated July 26, Mr.
Inglis says :
" I was very busy yesterday, and quite enjoyed myself.
I had a variety of services and congregations : Celebrations,
C.30 — we had all sorts ; morning service, 10.30 — all wounded ;
morning service, 11.30 — about seven hundred soldiers, drawn
up on an open square. I took it from a balcony, and though I
had the wind against me, they looked as if they heard me.
The only failure was my organist (I mean pianist) was too
ambitious. He wanted me to sing the Venite, and it did not
Rev. Rupert Inglis ^ 173
go well. I and the men seemed to be singing different tunes.
. . . The rest of the day I was kept busy censoring letters.
I had half an hour off to meet Field-Marshal French ; he came
to visit the hospital."
July 28. — " An ambulance train (Princess Christian's)
came in last night, or rather early this morning. It came the
same time as the telegram announcing its arrival. It brought
us one hundred patients, most of them wounded, some of them
terribly. I have only seen the bad cases at present. I hear
there are some West Kents in.
" I would like to condemn the German Emperor to spend the
rest of his life going round a hospital looking at the newly
wounded, and to make him look at them. It is a pitiful sight,
and with the really bad cases one can do so little for them. The
one blessing is they are splendidly looked after, and everything
that can be done is done. One of the surgeons has performed a
wonderful operation. He has saved the man's life — though
his spinal cord was almost completely severed by a bullet — but
the man must be an invalid to the end of his life. I think I
should have left the poor fellow alone, but everyone says it is
marvellous. They are the saddest cases of all ; they may live
for years and will always be paralysed.
" The gramophone arrived this morning ; it is now in
Ward 21, which is full of patients. You never saw anything
like their delight with it. It really was a treat to see their
happy faces.
" I am writing quite early this morning ; they called me up
about three o'clock. Another convoy had come in ; some of the
men had been in a hospital near the front and the Germans had
shelled it, and as far as I could make out some had been wounded
a second time. The hospital had to be emptied."
August 6. — " We had another convoy in last night, but
only twenty stretcher cases. I armed myself with a big box of
cigarettes and went to meet them. It is really wonderful how
quickly they transfer men from the trains to the ambulance,
and do it so smoothly. I never saw anything in the nature of a
jolt, so the poor things are not made to suffer more than is
absolutely necessary. They had a terrible long journey, as
some had been in the train for twelve hours, and were just dog-
174 Sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
tired ; they lay down on the platform and waited for the
motors. The M.C.C. have sent me a splendid lot of cricket
things.
" I think people forget the enormous number of R.A.M.C.
that are required to run these hospitals. We have over two
hundred here, still forty under strength ; we have thirty-five
doctors and seventy-five nurses."
August 7. — " I am awfully busy, as I have such a lot of
letters to write for other people, and such difficult letters as a
rule. A boy who is desperately ill always tells you to write that
he is going on splendidly. I have two of that kind waiting now.
One of the boys I am looking after is going to be seventeen in a
day or two. I was with him when he was having his wound
dressed and he hung on to my hand and didn't cry, but he cried
a bit when the others had gone and he told me he thought they
were going to cut his leg off ; so I had to collect the doctor and
nurses again, and they told him his leg was quite all right and
no chance of it having to be amputated. He promptly cheered
up and smoked a cigarette.
" I have just had to write a long letter to the Bishop of
Winchester, as the man who was with his son, Gilbert, when he
was killed, was brought into this hospital. As the man had
both his arms wounded they asked me to send all particulars.
I heard from the brother, Neville Talbot, who is a Chaplain at
the front. He crept out after dark and found his brother's body
close to the German trenches."
The Rev. Neville Talbot won the Military Cross on this
occasion at Hooge.
August 12. — A letter written on this date says :
" Have you realised what to-day is ? It made me feel a
little gun-sick, and visions of Glanwye and Carradale came up.
Well, I suppose I shall not do any shooting this year. I shall
not be home to shoot birds, and they won't let me shoot Germans.
" Did I tell you a boy came in yesterday ? He will be
fifteen next month. He has been out a long time and is now
wounded. He does not want to go back to England, but would
like to have another go at the Germans. I asked him how he
got on with the hard work and carrying his pack ; he said,
splendidly, as long as he had plenty to eat, but that he went to
Rev. Rupert Inglis 175
pieces whenever he was short of food, which is to be expected of
a boy who is growing,
" In one mental deficiency ward we have a very fine and
large fat nurse. Yesterday one of the patients looked at her
steadily and in astonishment for some time, and then said,
' Am I dreaming, or do my eyes magnify ? ' "
August 15. — " We have had a great many deaths this
week ; there is a boy I am very fond of wounded in twenty-
seven places, and, as so often happens, one of the wounds showed
signs of poisoning and I am afraid he cannot live.
" I find all the doctors and nurses very nice to me, and they
take a lot of trouble to let me know if any of the men are very ill.
" Besides my canteen, I have been asked to organise a large
tea and bovril stall. All the water, fuel, and oil has to be
carried about two and a half miles ; as everybody is very busy
I may not be able to get a water-cart, but I am going to try.
" I am rather like you knitting in a game of bridge, for I am
writing in the middle of a game of picquet, while my opponent
is discussing military matters.
" This morning ' Sigs ' ^ and I climbed up in the church
tower, from which we got quite a good view of the surrounding
country and could look into the German trenches. We then
explored the bottom of the church. When we first came to the
village (which we have now left) someone hit a stone near the
door and it sounded hollow, so they pulled it up and found a
passage going down about two hundred feet, winding round and
round. The air was very foul ; they could not get in for some
time, but now it is all right. At the bottom of the two hundred
feet there are a lot of biggish caves, large enough to hold a
battalion. It is now used as a dug-out if the village is being
shelled.
" Our mess is a public-house in the main road, and it is quite
as noisy as Piccadilly at its worst."
August 19. — " That nice boy I told you about died.
Another boy, Crutchfield, is a little better to-day ; he is only
sixteen. I was in his ward as the doctor was going to dress his
wounds. He asked me to stay with him, and as the doctor had
no objection I did ; it took just one hour and five minutes. How
1 Signalling officer.
176 sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
the boy has lived I don't know. The doctor said he was
wounded in at least fifty places, most of course small, but some
quite big. The lad hung on to my hand and he just moaned
now and then, but it must have hurt him very much. I should
have been glad to cry for him. . . . The boy Crutchfield is better.
Yesterday I promised he should have an apple, and sent down
to the store for it. When I got in this morning I found he had
never received it, as the supply was run out. He quietly
insisted that I should fulfil my contract, much to the amusement
of the other boys in the ward. I had to tramp into Staples
myself to get it, as the men are not allowed in the town owing to
an epidemic of measles.
" We had another convoy in last night. All our Tommies
speak in a very kindly way of the Saxons. We have a wonder-
ful man among our patients, a Corporal in R.F.A. — name Gore
Brown ; his mother is a Russian Princess. He speaks in twenty-
three different languages and writes fourteen of them. He has
fought in every war of modern times — was a Major in the
Japanese Army. Until he became a private in the British
Army he was Commander-in-Chief of Madero's forces in Mexico.
He was at Eton, and has a wonderful gift of speaking.
" In the field ambulance last night I saw men suffering from
shell-shock ; they were quite unconscious, but I was told they
would recover. They belonged to a battery that had been
heavily shelled all day. One hundred and eighty shells had
been thrown at it, but they did not have a single casualty."
September 1.—" It is a horrible day, blowing and rainy,
but not enough rain to stop the sand flying, and my eyes,
nose and mouth are clogged with it. They say the sand is
encroaching terribly in this country, and I certainly believe that
if the hospital were left alone for a year it would disappear
under the sand.
" The nurse asked me to go round while Crutchfield was
having his wounds dressed this morning. The boy insisted on
my making a minute examination of each wound and reporting
on it. They are awful, but I really think they do look better.
There is still a chance he may have to lose his arm, and I doubt
if he could stand that.
" The dear old Colonel has just been in to help me finish the
Rev. Rupert Inglis 177
letters. The American letters are generally full of praise of
him.
" The doctors and nurses quarrel a good deal. I suppose it
is natural, as we are all sorts on board ship together ; but I
have never found anything but praise of the British Government,
British Tommy, and British Staff."
September 17. — " I have just received my marching orders,
and am off on Monday to 21 Casualty Clearing Station. I have
not the remotest idea where it is, so cannot tell you, and if I did
know should not be allowed to.
" I am glad to say nearly everything has come for my
Chapel, and I shall leave it looking quite nice. Thanks to you,
all the hospital is splendidly set up with everything for the
patients. I shall leave a great many books, games, sweets,
etc., for my successor."
Scptemhcr 21, CCS. — " This Casualty Clearing Station is
a great deal rougher than what I have been accustomed to at
the Base. It is quite unavoidable. We have to keep near the
firing-line, and if the line moves we should move with it, so we
can't be cumbered with much stuff. Sometimes if there is a
train we only keep the wounded long enough to have the wounds
dressed — the great majority stay from twelve to thirty-six
hours. As a rule the Casualty Clearing Stations are in tents.
We are fortunate in having the greater part of ours in an old
bicycle-factory. It all looks very uncomfortable after the
beautiful beds and clean sheets of a Base hospital, but all who
come m seem to think it very luxurious. We may be called on
to deal with six hundred cases : if that happens it will mean
day and night work for all of us. I went to the operating-
theatre and saw two operations which were not very serious
ones. I thought I had better accustom myself to this sort of
thing. I have spent most of the day in hospital, and have done
a good deal of letter-writing. The patients are almost all on
stretchers on the ground ; they are very close together, and of
course one can never get to know them. Still, one can do a
bit for them.
" We have a wonderful scratch pack for a mess : the
Colonel an Irishman, one doctor a West Indian, one a Canadian,
one an Australian, the French Interpreter, and myself ; two
N
178 Sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
others I think are Enghsh. A pretty good variety for a small
number.
" I saw the Matron to-day and asked her what was wanted ;
she said bed-socks. The hospital is very draughty, so you
might set to work on these.
" I am living in a very comfortable farmhouse ; there is a
Gloire de Dijon just opposite my room and a covey of partridges
in a field between us and the hospital. I have put it up twice."
It is quite astonishing how little birds and some of the
smaller animals are upset by the appalling hurly-burly of
battlefields. A relation of mine, writing from the front, says :
" Even my dug-out is being utilised in the great scheme of
things, for there are families of mice working out their destinies
in the confusion of straw and pack forming the roof. As I lie
on my back at night I can see papa and mamma move, hurrying
to and fro across the beams, twiddling their tails to maintain
their equipoise after fearless excursions among my rations in the
corner. I can hear the angry squeaks of combat among the
gallants, and domestic twitterings from a very young family of
mice in the innermost sanctuaries of the straw. I am much
impressed by my family of mice amid all this banging and
counter-banging ; they make me wonder why people want
gilded domes and pealing organs to make them realise the
majesty of things in general, when they are to be found so close
under one's own nose."
The same relation told me he had seen a chaffinch singing
on the wounded branch of a wrecked tree, and a shot coming in
that direction carried the branch away ; nothing daunted, the
little songster mounted on to a twig higher up and continued its
love-song. It evidently had no intention of being put out by
trifles.
Late in September, 1915, Mr. Inglis saw for the first time
three large ambulance barges drawn by a small steam -tug ; he
thought they looked very comfortable.
They are on all the rivers in France now.
It was at this time Mr. Inglis was asked by his Bishop if he
would like to return to 23 General Hospital as permanent
Chaplain until the end of the war. He declined this offer, for
although he had been very happy there, he felt he would rather
Rev. Rupert Inglis 179
take his turn with all the other Chaplains, the usual arrange-
ment being two or three months in front, and two or three
months with a brigade, and then back to a base hospital, and
so on.
Another letter of his says :
September 24.—" We had a lot of bad cases in yesterday
and everyone was very busy, so I was able to make myself useful.
We sent out one hundred and forty-six patients, and there was
an awful rush. 1 gave quite a lot of them their dinner and
helped to dress them. I got quite cute at putting on their
socks. One man I gave all his dinner from a spoon, and in the
intervals of feeding we discussed the shooting at Faccombe, as
he always used to go out beating there."
September 26. — " I started the day with a Celebration in
the attic at 6.45. It was very nice — a huge room with rafters
and a peaked roof. To my surprise sixteen Tommies and a
nurse came to the service, but there were about fifty Tommies
iynig on stretchers round the room. They were as quiet as mice.
At ten o'clock we had Matins in the same room. I was amused
to see how many of the stretcher cases could raise up when I
started ' God save the King.' "
On October 2, two friends had been accepting Mr. Inglis's
hospitality while on their way back to billets, and the Padre
had fed them on tinned herrings and tea, followed by a tub
in his big bath. Describing this occasion in a letter home, he
says, " The tragedy is, they have used my only two clean
towels ! "
This good Padre certainly did not spare himself; the
following is an account of one Sabbath day's work.
October 4. — " It is 10 p.m. I have just got in from my
last service. There has been variety in the places where I have
held services to-day. I started in one attic at 6.45. I had the
next Celebration at the hospital at 7.45. The Altar was the
magistrate's desk. The next service was in the attic, and the
fourth back at the police-court. At 4.45 I motored some miles
to headquarters for a service at 5.15, which was held in a wine-
shop. We had to be out of it by 5.45, as the shop began business
at that hour. I then motored another four miles, when I was
met by the Flying Corps motor and taken another twelve or
i8o Sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
fourteen miles to the aerodrome, where we had a service in a
very large barn. We stood throughout the service among the
straw. There was just one bright light in the centre and the
rest of the place all dim. They were such a nice lot of fellows.
" I have been invited to go and look at the German trenches
from an aeroplane.
" Eight o'clock.— We had about forty-eight patients in
to-day. An aerial torpedo exploded in a dug-out ; there were
thirty men in it — eight were killed and all the rest were burnt,
mostly in the face and hands. They were an awful sight coming
in. The shell evidently contained Hquid fire. One or two will
probably lose an eye. I went into the operating-room while one
was having his face dressed. They were very helpless, only
their eyes and mouth could be seen. I and a nurse fed ten of
them ; beef-tea and milk had to be poured down their throats."
Mr. Inglis now got leave and went home for a few days,
arriving in London about November 16, and returning on the
24th, and in a letter home says :
" I found everything much easier after the splendid week at
home. This afternoon I was making arrangements about the
recreation-room. We hope to open it next Thursday. All the
games from Harrods' have arrived. We have got a piano,
quite a good one. I am going to interview a General about
supplying us with chairs and tables, and another at headquarters
about coal and lights. Then I shall go into Amiens and buy
cups and kettles. It is rather a business, and two of the
chaplains who have helped me are gone away."
November 29. — " Gordon Geddes called for me at 10
o'clock this morning and I had a most interesting time with
him. We visited several batteries, inspected dug-outs, and
went to an artillery observation-point from which we could see
the German trenches. In fact, we looked right into them and
could see the French shells bursting round and about the
trenches."
December 3.—" I went into Corbie to-day to get the club
into order. Things were quite upsetting. In the first room
the stove smoked so badly we had to let it out, then the windows,
which ought to have been mended last week, were not mended,
Rev. Rupert Inglis i8i
and the mantles for the gas which ought to have arrived last
week had not done so. In the course of the day things got
more straightened out, and we had a big crowd this evening."
December 5. — " I received my marching orders to-day and
am off to-morrow. I should very much like to have gone all
round this front with Gordon Geddes. He has been most
awfully kind to me. It is the sort of opportunity I shan't be
likely to get again. It is a pity I can't tell you straight for-
wardly all about things."
December 13. — " No news as to my movements yet.
Yesterday was lovely. I went for a twenty-mile walk. While
lunching I was patted on the back by Eric Thesiger. It is very
nice meeting people out here. I had a very disturbed night, as
the bed was only five feet six inches, which made it difficult for
me to fit in. Then a battery of artillery lost its way in the
dark and one of the riders came and knocked at my window
to see if I could help — and I could. Then a rat came and gnawed
over my head for the rest of the night. I talked to it violently
several times, but it never stopped. My billet is in a very old
house attached to a mill, and is full of rats. I am feeling very
dirty. I haven't had a bath for nearly a week, and I haven't
had a change of clothes since I don't know when."
December 31. — " Just at present they are leaving the
troops here such a very short time that it is difficult to do
anything for them. They are in one day and out the next.
This is New Year's Eve. I don't know why, but I have felt
more hopeful of things lately, though I am not expecting an
immediate return to my cabbage-patch — wish I did. We are
all very sick of the war, but I believe it's nothing compared with
the German sickness of it. This year they are getting all that
they give and a little more, and it makes a vast difference to
last year, when they gave us ten times as much as they got."
January 2, 1917. — " This place is thick with generals.
One said to me, ' By the end of the year we should have a very
decent army, and it ought to be able to finish the war by the
end of 1917.' It's a long way ahead, and I hope for better
things, but still one can't tell."
January 6. — ^" This is a great day. I have had a bath.
1 82 sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
I had my tea for the band this evening. We managed to get a
certain number of spoons and forks together, and had a hot
supper. Pork and beef were the piices de resistance. They
gave me a huge helping, about as much as I usually eat in a
week. I had to say I dined in the middle of the day and hardly
ate anything at night. They took away about half. It was
very highly seasoned. The light was bad, and the first thing I
put into my mouth was a large bit of pork fat ! I wished I had
never been born ! We also had cheese-cakes and peaches.
"The beautiful , boots have arrived. It seems wicked to
put them on to walk straight into a foot of mud. My old
Norwegian boots are nearly gone."
January 22.^" I did not get home till twelve last night.
When I got to the Field Ambulance a man was just going to
have a biggish bit of shrapnel taken out of his leg. It was not
far in, so he did not have an anaesthetic. It must have hurt him
sadly, but I talked as hard as I could to keep his mind off it.
He bore it very well. It was the third time he had been
wounded. One poor boy died just as he was brought in, and
the man who was carrying him out of the trenches had a nasty
wound in his back. Though it touched the spine I think he will
get all right, but he was in a good deal of pain, so I sat up with
him until he was more comfortable, and left him smoking. He
was a Yorkshire man and told me he was married when only
fifteen."
February 14. — " I had a baddish night at the Field Ambu-
lance last night. It is rather trying, but it is nice to think one
is a little bit useful. I don't suppose now that I have started I
shall let anyone else do it. I have been over to my service at
the anti-aircraft. They sent me home in their car. They do
drive fast in the dark with no lights. I don't mind the ordinary
risks of a campaign, but I don't like taking extra ones. When
I came down from this place one of the boys said to the driver,
' Now see how fast you can go.' Little beast ! "
February 26. — " My Field Ambulance is on the main road
between two towns. Of course none of the cases are kept very
long, not more than twelve hours, as a Field Ambulance must be
kept as empty as possible. It is a long wooden building divided
Rev. Rupert Inglis 183
into three parts. The first is the office where men who are not
very bad give their names, number, regiment, etc. The next
part is the ward. We have no beds. All the patients are on
stretchers on the floor. The third division is what they call the
theatre, where men have their wounds dressed and attended
to, and an immediate operation if necessary. I generally see
first that all the men in the ward have something to smoke, but
I spend most of my time in the theatre. Our best surgeon is a
very nice Irishman and he always takes the worst cases, and I
sort of work with him. The men have generally had morphia
given to them, but they do not often give an anaesthetic in a
F.A., so it is often very painful for the poor chaps having their
wounds attended to. A man often suffers a lot anticipating he
is going to be hurt, and by talking to him and interesting him
you can often take his mind off — about all sorts of things, cricket,
football, boxing. The other day we had a Welshman who had
some very painful wounds. As a rule Welshmen do not stand
pain very well, but this man was very keen on football, so we
carried on a violent discussion about football and he got through
splendidly, and I went on to another man. When the doctor
found there was something more to do to the Welshman, he
came over to me and said, ' Come along, my local anaesthetic,
I want you to talk some more football.' "
March 1. — " This is an advanced dressing-station of the
Field Ambulance. I have lately seen what I have often heard
of but never before seen, viz., a man's life being saved by a
New Testament in his pocket. That and a new service-book
were right over his heart. It cut out a bit of the cover of the
book exactly its own shape and size, and then made an awful
mess of the inside of the book, but did not go through it."
March 8. — " It must have snowed pretty well all the night.
We have a funny little home here (on the canal bank near St.
Jean). It is just a nice little tunnel about eighteen feet long and
eight wide. We get light and air through the door, and we have
a stove at the other end. Our beds are right and left of the
stove. Our beds are stretchers. They do for seats in the
daytime. We have a very good armchair, which is loot from
somewhere, two tables and several other chairs. Our wash-
stand is a chair, and we are really very comfortable. The
184 sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
drawback is we are either too hot or too cold. When the fire
is going it is hke an oven, and when it is out it is hke an ice-
house. You can't do a great deal of work here. It is really a
sort of rest-cure."
March 10. — " Our dug-out is at the end of about a mile of
dug-outs. Outside there is a duck-walk and then water, so
everyone passes within six feet of our door, and a great many
look in and pass the time of day. I saw an air-fight quite close
which I am sorry to say ended unfavourably for us. They can't
all end well, I suppose. Our man manoeuvred very well, but
he had a faster machine against him."
March 14. — " We hand over this dug-out in the morning.
I shan't be sorry to have a bath. We are not allowed to take
our clothes off up here, and I have not had mine off for over a
week. One really gets used to anything. It is rather nice to
get out of bed, shake yourself like a dog, and go out. My hair
feels awfully funny, just like pigs' bristles. The Colonel is very
keen — and rightly so — on the men and the officers having their
hair cut with clippers, so I have fallen into line. It feels very
nice and cool."
March 19. — " General Sir H. Plumer came over to-day to
attend the Parade Service, and wished all units to be there . . .
about two thousand men in the open. The band has not come
here, and all I could raise was a piano, and the music was a
distinct failure. The distance was too great. Two thousand
men in a square take a lot of room, and you can't keep the
singing together. I quite enjoy camp-life, and we are really and
truly a very happy family. The tent here is a Y.M.C.A. There
are two ladies, and a certain number of men, civilians, whom I
don't like seeing here. Some of them look as if they might be
doing other things. They say they have all been passed as
unfit."
April 17. — " One of the mess sergeants brought in some
papers last night. The Colonel asked who they were for.
' They are all the Rector's,' said the man, so apparently that is
my name among the Tommies. . . .
" My beautiful long boots were hanging up outside the
dug-out to-day and they were completely spoilt by a piece of
Rev. Rupert Inglis 185
shell, which went through them both. They were wounded in
six places."
Easter Day. — " It is two days since I wrote. I could not
finish it on Good Friday night, as while I was writing it a tre-
mendous bombardment was going on, and I knew the battalion
I am with was in it and I could not collect my thoughts. In the
evening the battalion went out, and I went to the dressing-
station. It was a perfectly awful night."
Ajoril 24. — " It seems that the battalion has done very
well indeed, and in spite of the awful conditions has done
almost all if not more than they were sent out to do. They
have been tremendously complimented, but I hear the Colonel
is dangerously wounded. One of the officers killed was Jumbo
Johnson (author of ' At the Front ' weekly in Punch) ; such a
good chap and just engaged to be married. From what they
said to me when they bid me good-bye, I think the Colonel and
Johnson had a presentiment that they would not come back.
. . . While I was at the dressing-station the faithful Williams
found me out and brought tea in a thermos, which was much
appreciated by the wounded. They were in an awful state, wet
through and muddy from head to foot. One of the battalion was
found dead smothered in the mud. One officer, a nice boy, lay in a
shell-hole with a broken leg from Friday night to Saturday night.
He was then found, and it took eight men to carry him. The
mud was so awful they could not get him out before it was light,
so they had to leave him in the trench, and he stayed there all
Sunday. They got him out on Sunday night. It has been
rather a strenuous time, but it has only been a small affair as
things go nowadays."
Later. — " Had to leave this and go and take some funerals.
I looked in at the dressing-station. There was a boy there
brought in this morning. He had been buried in a dug-out in
the trenches for six days. He had nothing to eat and only a
little water to drink. He was not wounded, and when I saw him
two or three hours after he had been brought in he really was
extraordinarily well. He had only been allowed a little food.
It would not have been safe to give him much. He had his first
cigarette while I was there.
" Another man was brought in last night who had been
1 86 Sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
wounded, but not badly, and could have walked back, only he
was embedded in a shell-hole, and they had the greatest difficulty
in getting him out."
The account of this " little affair as things go nowadays "
was given by that gifted writer, Mr. Philip Gibbs, in the Daily
Telegraph soon after the occurrence, and is worth quoting,
giving, as it does, a clear idea of what a " little affair " means.
It explains fully why Mr. Inglis, the Padre, could not collect
his thoughts to write letters while his boys were in the throes of
battle.
GALLANT SHROPSHIRES
By Philip Gibbs
" The King's Shropshire Light Infantry have the names of
many great battles on their colours, as those of Nieuport and
Salamanca, and the Shropshire lads, country born and bred, who
h.ave followed the plough down the big brown furrows of our
great English soil have fought on many fields of Europe before
tliis war. The old stock has not weakened. A few days ago,
on the night of April 21st, they proved themselves again to have
very stout hearts and steady nerves, not afraid of obstacles
which would have spoilt the fighting spirit of men less brave.
" It was not a great action in which they were engaged,
nothing more than the retaking of a captured trench, and in
this war such incidents will hardly find a record. But the
marvel of it was first the courage of the men, a courage that
made them stick to a job almost hopeless in its difficulties and
carry it through to success by sheer will-power. Imagine what
it was like to assault that position which had been taken from
us by the enemy on April 19th along the Ypres-Langemarck
road. When the Shropshires left their own trenches in the night
there was a heavy downpour of rain and they had in front of
them a great quagmire, through which they would have to wade
in order to reach the enemy's wire.
" The ground had been churned up by shell-fire. High
explosives had dug out craters everywhere, very deep and filled
with mud and water. Old communication trenches had been
smashed up and become a welter of earth with rain-filled gullies.
Rev. Rupert Inglls 187
The day of storm had flooded all this bit of country and made
the soil beneath a soft bog, in which men sank here and there
actually up to their armpits. Well might their hearts have
sunk when they began to flounder in this Slough of Despond in
front of the enemy's guns. But the Shropshire lads struggled
on. To prevent themselves from sinking they lay flat on the
maid and pushed themselves along with hands and knees,
throwing their rifles in front as they gained each yard, or using
them as poles to support them in the slime. A few fell into
shefl-craters and were drowned. Some were so caught and
stuck by the mud that they could not get free or move a yard.
Tlie assaulting companies all struggling like this lost touch with
one another in the darkness, but pressed forward independently
to their objectives. The men on the right, or as many as could
keep together, rushed the enemy's trenches at about half-past
one in the morning, and took possession of a portion of it in spite
of heavy rifle, grenade, and machine-gun fire from the enemy's
support trenches. Bombing parties worked up further and
established posts, but could find no sign of the men who had
advanced with them on the left. At first it seemed as if the
men here were alone in the enemy's lines, but later cheering was
heard, which showed that the centre of the assault had reached
the goal through the quagmire behind. Those Shropshire lads
in the centre had been through fire and water. As soon as they
left their position they became exposed to a hail of rifle bullets,
and their Captain fell wounded. Several men dropped. Through
the darkness came cries for help from men up to their waists in
shell-craters and badly hurt. But the others pressed on and
jumped into the trench. A few Germans attempted resistance
and were bayoneted or shot, and others fled.
" The place was hardly a trench. It had been shefled out of
all shape, but very coolly and methodically the Shropshires
began to consolidate the shell-holes, and succeeded in building
some cover and digging in before the first gleam of dawn came
across the flood. A young officer with one Lewis gun and a
party of men attacked a point still held by the enemy and took
it without loss, having kifled all the Germans. At 5 a.m.,
when the sky was lightening and there was a twitter of birds in
spite of all the guns, the enemy massed for a counter-attack by
a ruined cottage behind our old trench, which was now back in
1 88 Sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
our hands, but when they advanced a quarter of an hour later
they were caught under the fire of our rifles and machine-guns
and broke. On the way back they suffered heavily in the bar-
rage of our artillery. In this early hour of a new day about
thirty Germans with a machine-gun were seen in a trench to the
right, and a party of Shropshires organised a bombing attack
and drove them out towards the ruins of a little ' estaminet '
or inn on the right of the position. Here they were raked by the
rifle-fire of the company facing that point, and few of them
reached their own lines. The machine-gun is now a trophy of
the Shropshires, with another taken in a sap later in the day.
The men who attacked on the left had similar adventures at
first in the flood, and then through sharp bursts of rifle-fire
and in the recaptured trench, where they killed some of the
enemy, and chased out about thirty more. The Germans'
counter-attack at dawn arrived within about thirty yards of
this position, but it seemed disorganised and was quickly
repulsed. The Shropshires gained and held the lost line.
" This is the general narrative of the action, but individual
acts of courage and self-sacrifice come very clear and shining out
of that night of darkness when masses of men struggled through
a bog to another quagmire. There was a lance-corporal who
was shot badly in the shoulder, but toiled under heavy fire to
bring back a wounded comrade to safety. It took some hours
to cover that six hundred yards with the stricken man. Another
Shropshire lad held an isolated sap single-handed, and armed
with bombs, against the German counter-attacks. One of these
country boys was severely wounded in the first assault, but
crawled into the German trench and stayed there for thirty-six
hours, during which he helped to repulse two counter-attacks.
One of the Shropshire officers led his men to the assault while one
of his arms was hanging by a thread after a piece of shrapnel had
struck him. A private in the Army Medical Corps organised
rescue-parties for the wounded who lay out in the open under
heavy shell-fire, and though hit in the head by a shell splinter
or shrapnel bullet, continued his work and helped to save about
fifty men. A sergeant went back twice for support over open
ground which was being fiercely shelled, and though he sank up
to his armpits in the bog, struggled out and fulfilled his task.
Another sergeant worked for two hours in the zone of fire,
Rev. Rupert Inglis 189
digging out men who had fallen and were too weak to rise.
" The Colonel of the Battalion was killed by a shell splinter
towards the end of the assault, and before he had the happiness
of knowing that his Shropshires had gained the day. The
officer who then took command was, he tells me, ' born in the
regiment,' which was commanded by his father before him in
years gone by.
"It is a long way from Flanders to that little county of
Shropshire, where the orchards must be white with blossom now,
but not too far, I think, for the story I have told to thrill many
hearts in the old farmsteads there. The Shropshire lads have
done well, and England will be proud of them for that night's
work."
Writing after this splendid work of the Shropshires, Mr.
Inglis says :
" On Sunday I had to wake the doctor. He had been two
days and nights without sleep. I had the greatest difficulty in
waking him at all, but at last he sat up and talked to me for
at least twenty minutes and told me everything.
" A few days later, when meeting the same doctor, he began
to tell some of his experiences all over again, not having the
faintest recollection of ever having mentioned the subject
before."
This is by no means uncommon when individuals have
been through great mental strain.
Writing of the Colonel's death he says, " I went to see
Luard. He was not conscious. A telegram came later to say
he was dead. He is to have a military funeral and I am taking
it to-morrow. He zvas a good chap. . . ."
After the funeral was over he writes of it, saying, " It was
a beautiful day. The officers and one hundred and fifty men
went in lorries to the cemetery for the Colonel's funeral. It was
an impressive service. Our cemetery is beautifully looked
after, and is just a mass of daffodils now. At the end of the
service it has always been the custom to sound the bugles. I
asked that we might have the Reveille sounded after the Last
Post, and Murray agreed. It was suggested to me by the
Brigadier, and it is such a nice idea that I thought it was worth
adopting."
I go Sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
April 27. — " It is very interesting here ; one hears a good
deal of information first-hand, but I am afraid it does not make
my letters more interesting, as I cannot pass the information on.
One thing I have learnt from personal knowledge, and that is
that the German communiques are guilty of direct lying.
" Just been interrupted by ' Sigs ' (the signalling officer),
a nice boy who looks about fifteen. He wanted me to go out
and hear the cuckoo ; it is the first time I have heard it this
year. I also saw my first pair of swallows to-day."
April 28. — " I don't think I have any news for you, as one
does much the same thing every day ; the only variety comes
from the way in which the enemy behaves. For example, this
morning he amused himself by throwing gas-shells over us for
about an hour. They have a nasty sickly smell and rather
spoilt the taste of my breakfast ; it is extraordinary, consider-
ing the amount of stuff they throw, how little damage they do.
They tell me the shells that are being thrown over are pretty
bad ones (I mean badly made), and there was not a heavy
charge in them.
" We give him more stuff here than he gives us — bigger
stuff and better stuff. They say our shrapnel is infinitely
superior and does more damage, which I can quite believe.
Last night they were sending over quite a lot of shrapnel and
it was all of it bursting about a hundred yards up, which is, of
course, no good at all.
"It is a lovely evening and there are a good number of
aeroplanes about of all sorts. I certainly think the German
aeroplane does not have nearly as much his own way as he did
when I was up before, which is satisfactory."
May 6. — " We are near my old hut in the wood. This
morning I sent Williams over to get a change of clothes from it.
It seems that two days ago two shells dropped close to it and
all the inhabitants fled. They apparently managed to get all
their own things away, but they left mine. Reed's, and others'.
The Belgians broke in and stole the lot. I was a little bit
cross — all my spare clothes have gone ; I have only got the shirt
and pants that I stand up in."
Happily a little leave home at this time enabled Mr. Inglis
Rev. Rupert Inglis 191
to replenish his wardrobe. On his return to duty he resumes
his letters.
May 23. — " This morning I wrote some letters and went
to see Reed, who lives about ten minutes from here. It took
just two hours to get there, as I met so many friends on the
road. It is like going round Lord's on an Oxford and Cambridge
day."
May 27. — " I have been out almost all day. I met
Colonel Gathorne Hardy this morning, the one in the Guards ;
he was in charge of rather an exalted person who looked a per-
fect child. [The Prince of Wales. — Author.] Everyone is agreed
that he ought not to be allowed up here. He has gone now."
June 14. — " This is rotten weather, it has hardly stopped
raining for the last twenty hours.
" I went down to the Chateau to see Murray and the K. S.L.I.
They were all looking very weary, having been heavily shelled
all night. I only stayed at the dressing-station till about
twelve, and on my way home got pretty well wet through. As
I slushed through the mud I thought how nice a ' flea-bag '
would be, but when I reached my dug-out I found ' Sigs '
juggling with two basins trying to catch all the water that was
pouring into my bed. He caught most of it, but not all. I
managed to find some dry spots and emptied the basins, re-
arranging them so as to catch the water. On a small bunk I
and the two basins made rather a full house, but I managed to
sleep and, strange to say, did not upset the basins."
June 19. — " I was shown to-day a very interesting docu-
ment which was taken off a wounded German one day this week.
It was a German General's order. It began by saying their
losses had been very heavy in taking certain trenches. It went
on to say that these trenches were very important and must be
held at all costs (those trenches have now been taken back by
us) ; then it went on to say that all English equipment was
to be very carefully collected : boots, leather belts, etc. It
specially mentioned, further on, that the English dead were to
be stripped of their boots, and all woollen garments, as these, it
said, ' are essential to our success.' It rather looks as if there
was some shortage."
192 sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
July 27. — ^" I am sending off to-day a skull-cap, and I want
two or three hundred to start with. They are for the Buffs ;
they go inside the steel helmet and make it quite comfortable,
and, to speak plainly, absorb the sweat.
" The rats are terribly noisy again to-night."
The dug-out in the Ypres salient is now left behind and they
are on the march— towards the great struggle on the Somme, but
Mr. Inglis does not say so ; there are merely repeated references
to being on the march.
July 31. — " I think I shall probably send a bag of things
home, as we shall be travelling light for a time."
August 5. — " We had another move yesterday, only about
six miles. I started off a little after nine with a limber and two
men for the canteen. I have got a small brigade canteen
running. My shop is set up under a tree in an orchard. It is
rather difficult to manage these things when you are never more
than forty-eight hours in the same place, but they all make it as
easy as possible, and it is a great boon to the men."
August 11. — " We could do with a great many more skull-
caps ; the number I could do with now is one thousand five
hundred. We had our service right by the guns in case they
were ordered to fire."
After this the letters got very hurried, as they are evidently
in the thick of it. One of the new trenches dug in the battlefield
was christened the ' Rector trench,' in honour of Mr. Inglis,
who Avas known amongst the officers and men as the ' Rector.'
Referring to this with evident satisfaction in a letter, he says,
" I have been shown the Rector trench on the map ; it goes right
up to the German lines."
All were roughing it now, and the Padre was sleeping under
the stars, and learnt the useful trick of scratching a hole in the
ground for his hip-bone to rest in, which is familiar to every
soldier and most sporting folk whose journey ings carry them
far afield.
September 12. — " It mercifully did not rain last night ;
though the ground was rather bumpy I slept very well. It's
Rev. Rupert Inglis 193
just splendid the way our guns keep going. It is just a roar
all the time."
September 14. — " I think it is quite possible you may get
this letter late and may have to wait a long time for others."
September 16.—" I was up yesterday morning at 5 and
on the move by 5.45. I had a two hours' walk, and took
up my abode in a crater of a German mine where we had a
very rough dressing-station ; we were very busy. It was awful
getting the wounded down, over a very rough country full of
shell-holes. Some of the men must have been four or five hours
on the journey. We had at least ten men hit while bringing
them down, and that means pain for the wounded they are
helping."
September 17. — " This is Sunday, I believe, but I have not
realised it at all and have no services, have arranged none. We
are trying to clear the battlefield. Being very antique, I always
have a soft job. Ingram (a doctor) was collecting with the
stretcher-bearers and bringing the wounded to me. I was in
charge of the stretcher-bearers from K. S.L.I, headquarters to
the dressing-station. We had rather a disastrous evening. I
got two lots down and was back in the King's Shropshire Light
Infantry headquarters by ten o'clock. Ingram had just gone
off again, leaving word I was to keep all his stretcher-bearers
who came in till he returned.
" About 10.45 the Corporal with his party came and reported
that Ingram had crawled off by himself and had not returned.
Murray sent off an officer and one man, also Ingram's Corporal,
to see if they could find out anything. They got right up to the
German lines and could see the enemy, and they are rather
afraid that in the dark Ingram went right into the German lines.
I do hope he is all right and at worst a prisoner. He is such a
good chap ; many have got the V.C. for a great deal less than
he has done.
" I did not get back till 6.30 this morning. I had a good
three hours' sleep. In a few minutes will be off to the dressing-
station. I shall probably be back early to-day."
These were the last words he wrote. He died in No-Man's-
o
194 Sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
Land while rescuing the wounded, amongst whom he probably
hoped to find his friend, Ingram.
In the inevitable confusion of so great a battle it was difficult
to find out exactly what had happened. Rumours that a
Padre had been killed came through the brigade headquarters,
and the Reverend Neville Talbot, S.C.F., did all he could to find
out the facts. On Wednesday, September 20, he wrote to
Mrs. Inglis, giving her the full story as follows :
Wednesday, September 20, 1916. — " On Monday afternoon
about 3.15, whiflst searching for wounded who had been lying out
for several days, he was hit by a shell and killed instantly. You
would have heard before had the brigade to which he was
attached clearly known what had become of him, but while his
brigade (and division) has been in the big fight he has been
acting rather as a free lance . . . making his quarters back at
the transport lines and going up for longish spells to help with
the wounded at the advanced dressing-station near the lines.
Our attack, which his brigade and others in the division made last
Friday, was unsuccessful, with the result that at nightfall our
line was behind the ground over which the troops had tried to
advance. This meant that many wounded had to be left out
— some of them, at any rate — until Monday morning, when the
ground was won by a successful attack.
" I think your husband joined in efforts that were made
previous to the successful attack to rescue the wounded by night.
Others will, I hope, tell you about that. What I do know is
that on Monday he joined a party of stretcher-bearers under
Captain Moir, R.A.M.C, which went out after the successful
attack and therefore behind our front line, to search for
wounded.
" I will ask Captain Moir to write to you himself. He got
his leg torn by barbed wire and came down through my dressing-
station (some five or six miles back) and asked me if I knew
anything about your husband. It seems that Moir and he got
separated ; the former lost his way and never rejoined your
husband."
What had happened was this : Mr. Inglis, unknown to the
headquarters, had joined a party of stretcher-bearers headed by
Capt. Moir, from whom he got separated, but met and fell in
Rev. Rupert Inglis 195
with another party which had been sent out by the Sherwood
Foresters under Lieutenant Mellor. Mr. Inghs having located
some wounded, asked this party to come and fetch them in ;
whilst they were doing this, shelling began again and Mr. Inglis
was hit in the leg. He, Mellor, and a stretcher-bearer named
Stretton, of the Sherwood Foresters, got into a shell-hole, and
the latter began to bandage the wound, when another shell
landed in the shell-hole, killing Mr. Inglis and Stretton, and
dangerously wounding Mellor, who died two days later.
Sergeant Rogers, who was with Mellor's party, was able
to give this accurate account ; he had hidden in another shell-
hole and at once went to see what had happened, and found that
without doubt the brave Padre had been instantaneously killed.
Rogers, who was in the Sherwood Foresters, has since been
killed in action.
In a letter from Mr. Talbot he says :
" I have got the spot marked on the map and have reported
it to the brigade. A big burial party was at work all over the
ground last night ; I think it is fairly certain they will have
carried out the burial. If there is any doubt I and the brigade
staff will not rest till we have seen to the burial. It is not an
easy place to get to, as it is often shelled, but it shall be managed.
" I cannot overstate the sorrow there is to-day in the
brigade ; they simply loved him, so said several officers and men
in the Shropshires to me to-day. He has fallen doing gallant
work for others. . . . You will, I believe, feel the glory of such
a death met while saving others ; yours, ours, is the loss, not
his. He is mourned throughout the division.
" You must not blame anyone. The brigadier and staff
were absorbed in the fighting ; they had tried to restrain him,
but he could not bear the thought of the men lying out wounded
hour after hour thinking they were forsaken and forgotten.
" He has glorified his profession and his Master. I hope to
find out where the grave is and mark it with a cross, but the
conditions of this awful battlefield are such that it is very
difficult to do all that ought to be done to honour those who
have fallen."
September 23. — " I have been to-day to the spot where on
Tuesday last some of the 1st Cheshires buried the rector's body.
196 Sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
It is an exposed position at present, and I am afraid it is very
likely to be shelled again, but I have driven a good strong
cross, with metal lettering on it, deep into the ground."
Numbers of letters were written to Mrs. Inglis's family ;
all speak of him with the greatest affection and respect, and it
will be clear to the minds of those who have read his letters
from the front that he was a clean-minded, unselfish, and
intensely sympathetic man.
Amongst the letters written of him to his wife there are one or
two I should like to quote. One from Colonel Murray, K.S.L.I.
"... None knew his worth more than we did, as he lived
with us for so long. One of the bravest men I have ever met,
and we see many here ; he gave his life to help others. I fear
that one of the reasons that took him to that part of the field
was that he was looking for my doctor, whom he was very fond
of, as he had previously wanted to go out and I had stopped him,
but the day on which he met his end I did not see him. He
always was much upset about wounded having to lie out any
time, and he worked night and day to help them."
Again, Colonel Lord Henry Scott, Commanding 8th Bedfords,
writes :
" He was one of those whom it was only necessary to meet
and then to love. He was always so kind to me, and we had
much in common. He alone in this brigade had many friends
who were also friends of mine ; he also knew and shot on our
moors at home. You know how splendid he was at gathering
up the wounded on the battlefield. I said to one of the medical
officers that I thought he was taking too much risk ; the M.O.
answered, 'Anyhow, if he had not gone up, many of your
wounded men would not have been brought in.' "
To my humble mind that last sentence is the most com-
forting of all the kindly efforts to carry healing to grief-stricken
hearts. One would be proud to have hved for that alone.
Private F. Edridge, 1st Buffs, writes :
" I have been with this regiment at the front for twelve
months, and I can vouch for what I say, as I saw it all myself.
I should like to say that he is a great favourite of the men and
Rev. Rupert Inglis 197
we are all very proud of him. . . . On the night of the battle,
at much inconvenience to himself, Mr. Inglis was around the
trenches with a word of comfort for all, which nerved us for
dangers we knew awaited us. The next time I saw him was
after the fight ; he was with a party of R.A.M.C. men, and
although the shells and bullets of the enemy were still tearing
up the earth all around, and it was pouring hard with rain, he
was helping the wounded and getting them back to cover and
safety, working as hard as any man on the field that day. I
only hope that his grand work was seen by someone in authority
who will give him the honour and credit he so well deserves. I
cannot say more, beyond that it was most noble and grand of
him, and may it please our Lord and Master in Heaven to bless
and reward him accordingly."
From General L. Nicholson :
" He was a man in a million, and very many of us in the 16th
Brigade owe more to him than we can say. Personally, I am
proud to have had him for a friend, even for that short time we
lived together, and his death is a great grief to me. ... Of him
it can be truly said, ' Greater love hath no man than this, that
he gave his life for his friends.' "
His brother-officers wrote some touching tributes ; one
says :
" I shall never forget when I was wounded and taken to the
dressing-station on the canal bank how wonderful he was,
cheering up all the men and handing cigarettes round, and he
had been two days without rest. All the time I was in France
I never met a Chaplain anything like him."
The Rev. J. Dwyer Keily, C.F., Wesleyan, writes :
" May the spirit of the dear rector live in the hearts of his
children and make them great. . . . Always careless of himself
and thoughtful for others. I never met a man so universally
loved and respected in the brigade as he was, and as he passed
along I think people felt kinder and better."
Mr. Sidney Byass, of Llanlough Castle, Cowbridge, who had
been one of Mr. Inglis's greatest friends for thirty years, has
built a little chapel at La Panne to his memory. It has been
198 Sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
furnished by Mrs. Inglis. It was at first used in connection with
the Queen of the Belgians' hospital and was consecrated by Bishop
Bury (Bishop of North and Central Europe) in June, 1917.
There is a plate in the chapel explaining it was built in
memory of The Rev. Rupert Edward Inglis by his friend
Sidney Byass.
British soldiers are in that chapel now, having been removed
from the hospital, which was being shelled.
How pleased Mr. Inglis Avould have been to see the numbers
of soldiers outside, in lines, awaiting their turn to attend the
daily service now held there. But who amongst us dare say he
does not know ?
One of the most charming of Mr. Inglis's characteristics was
his devotion to his mother. There are many devoted sons and
mothers, but the relationship between Rupert Inglis and his
mother was out of the common.
I have often noticed it is the men who love their mothers
who live pure lives and carry brave hearts ; their love is a talis-
man. Men's love for their mothers makes them tender and
respectful to women. The man who believes in no woman's
goodness and integrity is like a ship without a rudder.
Lady Inglis, his mother, was the daughter of the first Baron
Chelmsford (the Hon, Julia Selina Thesiger). She wrote a book
of her experiences during the siege of Lucknow, which interested
me, as I know the place intimately. The Rev. Rupert Inglis's
father commanded the S2nd Regiment during the T^Iutiny, and
marched with it into Lucknow in January, 1857.
When Sir Henry Lawrence was mortally wounded in the
Residency, he said no one better than Colonel Inglis could be
found to command the troops.
Lady Inglis (then Mrs. Inglis) and her children were shut into
the besieged Residency or Bailie Guard with the other women
and children. I know the room where she lay when ill, and the
exact spot where Sir Henry Lawrence died.
It seems fitting that the son of such a fine soldier as Sir John
Inglis should have died amongst fighting soldiers.
Mr. Rupert Inglis liked comfort and the good things of this
world to which he had been accustomed, but was eager to throw
it all on one side to go out and do his bit.
He was a finely-built man, over six feet in height, and very
Rev. Rupert Inglis 199
strong, so in a measure he suffered less from his privation than
some of his less robust fellow-workers ; but his height made some
of the wayside iron beds and the dug-outs somewhat inadequate
at times.
I think what he termed his " rude health " partly accounted
for his cheerfulness and sunny temper. Like most gentle
natures, he hated pain for anybody or anything, and I am glad
his own end was not one of long suffering.
His religion was unostentatious, but very real. An intimate
friend, speaking of his views, said, " He disliked the term
' high church ' and ' broad church,' and he could not have been
classified under either heading, as a broad-churchman is so
liberal in his views as to have no principles left, and a high-
churchman is a person who can be enthusiastic over the cut of
a cope or number of candles. Rupert Inglis was a loyal adherent
of the Catholic party in the Church of England, and was fearless
in upholding what he felt to be the true ideals of the historic
Church."
That may have been his friend's view, but I think Mr. Inglis
was undoubtedly what we mean when we say a man is High
Church. It is a silly expression, but through custom it conveys
to our minds certain mental and religious attitudes.
He was a man of quick temper, but well controlled,
devoted to all his family and very proud of his children. He
married the daughter of Mr. W. O. Gilchrist, of Queen's Gate.
Mr. Inglis was born just after his father's death and spent a
good deal of his childhood with the Chelmsford grandparents.
Once when staying with them he shot a hare which was not on
the family preserves. When it appeared on the table Lord
Chelmsford, meaning to reprimand his grandson in a kindly way,
said, " I cannot possibly eat poached hare." Rupert replied,
" You eat poached eggs, so why not poached hare ? "
From his earliest years Mr. Inglis had a distinct vocation for
Holy Orders. He studied under Canon Luckock for a couple of
terms, then went abroad to study languages, and returned to
study under Canon Newbolt, whose influence was one of the
strongest in his life.
After being ordained in 1889, he held curacies at Helm ley,
in Yorkshire, and later at Basingstoke. While curate at
Helmsley, he was told by a farmer's wife, whom he was visiting.
200 Sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
that she had brought fourteen children into the world and the
churchyard had been no friend to her ; from which it might be
imagined that she had buried some of them. But it was only her
quaint way of expressing herself ; what she meant was all her
children had been spared to her, so the churchyard had not been
called upon to befriend her.
In 1899 Mr. Inglis was appointed rector of Frittenden, in
Kent, from where the guns could be heard that were to end his
earthly career.
At first the Frittendens and their rector did not entirely agree
in matters ecclesiastical, and there were little storms in teacups,
but when, in 1915, their shepherd left them to join the troops as
army chaplain, none were left behind who bore him any ill-will.
One old lady said, " I don't mind my son going now, for Mr.
Inglis will look after him."
The rector of Frittenden said he always regretted having
devoted so much of his time in his youthful days to games
and sport, as it had prevented him reading as much as he ought
to have done ; but he made up for it later, and perhaps in his
last days he may have ceased the regret when he found what a
passport it was to the soldiers' hearts ; how a chat in hospital
with the wounded over cricket, football, boxing, shooting, or
whatever it might be, helped them to forget their pain, and what
was in many cases worse than physical pain, the lying thinking,
and trying to solve the problem of life with limbs gone, eyesight,
or possibly paralysed for life. A man may be gloriously brave
physically in the excitement and heat of battle, with a collective
courage in him, but great spiritual bravery is needed to face life
maimed and nerve-shattered. I think Mr. Inglis felt this, and
spent every spare moment with the wounded trying to cheer
them and help them to be brave. He had a great admiration
and love for the British soldier, and understood him, never
under-estimating his difficulties, and by never appearing shocked
gained their confidence. Being blessed with a certain amount
of worldly goods he had the happiness of ministering to their
material needs as well as their spiritual.
Chapter XVI
Captain the Rev. William Benton—" Doing a Bunk "—He Enlists— Fights a
Corporal — Deserts — Joins Australian Artillery — Becomes Richard White
— On Robben Island — Cooks for the Lepers — A Mission of Help — Father
Engleheart's Work — Lives of the Lepers — A Court-Martial — The King's
Pardon — Ordained — First Curacy — " Beer and Baccy Free " — In the
Slums — Boxing Classes — At the Wash-Tub — A Poor Church Collection —
South Africa Again — An Encounter with a Madman — Return to England —
An Anonymous Letter — A Moving Sermon — Becomes Chaplain in France —
An Act of Vengeance — Mr. Benton Cooks for the Soldiers — Doctors at Work
— Ordered to Bed — Mr. Benton becomes a Combatant — As Sniping Officer
Wounded — Impressive Services — Wounded Again — Home on Leave —
Scouting and Scouting Officer — Dressed as an Old Woman — A Woman Spy
— With Refractory Soldiers — A Long Good-bye — Wounded once More —
Unconscious in Shell-Hole — Leg Amputated — The End.
I DOUBT if this great war has ended any more remarkable
and valuable life than that of Captain the Rev. William
Richard Benton, who fell in the battle of the Somme in
August, 1916. He was a man of many parts, his whole life a
big adventure, a real and living romance.
As a boy he was undoubtedly a scallawag, and scallawags
are usually the most lovable members of a family ; we love them
much better than " the good young man who died."
Captain Benton's parents lived at Heme Bay, in Kent. His
father, Thomas Mansford Benton, was a stockbroker and must
have been sorely tried by his son, who was an emotional,
headstrong youth, resenting any form of discipline, and, to
impress this upon the minds of his parents, ran away from school
three times. He always enjoyed what he called " doing a
bunk." Twice he was sent back in ignominy, but the third time
it was considered wasted energy.
At the age of ten he ran away from home and sold his play-
box to get money to buy food. He was by way of being edu-
cated at Framlingham College. When he was seventeen his
father died and he came into a small fortune. He chose stock-
broking as a profession, presumably because his father had been
a stockbroker, but of all the professions he could hardly have
202 Sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
chosen one more unsuitable to his temperament. The life was
much too tame and unexciting, but it was short-lived. A com-
bination of stockbroking and love affairs ran away with all his
money, and, to put it shortly, he played the mischief all round.
He then disappeared and enlisted in the Royal Marine
Artillery. With his Majesty's shilling in his pocket the prison
walls of the barracks swallowed him up, but only for a short time.
The army is a mill that grinds " exceeding small. " Harum-
scarum young Benton had already demonstrated to all whom it
might concern that he objected to being ground small after any
fashion whatever. It was, therefore, not surprising that he and
the army soon came into collision, which led to a fight with a
corporal and desertion.
The history of these events is rather slight, but he appears
to have been in the habit of paying other men to do his fatigues
for him. One day the corporal told Benton (who had enlisted
under the name of White) to scrub his allotted span of floor
himself. Benton suggested the corporal could do it ; this led
to words, followed by blows, and the non-com)nissioned officer
being laid out on the floor under discussion. Benton, being an
athlete and quick with his fists, had the corporal at a dis-
advantage.
After this little episode Benton ran away and hid himself in
various places until an opportunity of going to Australia came
his way. The date of his departure I do not know, but he
arrived in that country being known as, and having travelled
as, Richard White. He now kept himself with any odd job
that came his way until the Boer war broke out, when he
immediately volunteered and joined the Australian Artillery as
a gunner, still under the name of Richard White. He served all
through the Boer war without being wounded and without any
illness. He had been recommended for a commission when
peace was declared.
Being now a homeless wanderer once more, he made up his
mind to join the Cape Mounted Police, and was stationed in a
part of the country where opium-dens abounded.
While in Cape Town he heard of a vacancy for a cook on
Robben Island amongst the lepers. For this post he applied
and was engaged, proving himself a useful man, acting as cook,
painter, laundryman, and general factotum.
Rev. W. Benton 203
By this time he was what the world calls a " tough cus-
tomer." Kipling has sung of England's Benton in the " Lost
Legion."
" There's a Legion that never was 'Hsted,
That carries no colours or crest,
But, spHt in a thousand detachments,
Is breaking the road for the rest.
Our fathers they left us their blessing,
They taught us, and groomed us and crammed ;
But we've shaken the clubs and the Messes
To go and find out and be damned (dear boys).
To go and get shot and be damned."
The runaway schoolboy, stockbroker, private soldier,
deserter, war veteran, mounted policeman, and cook had grown
into a lean and sun-tanned man with keen eyes grown hostile
with much looking on the rough side of life, the sort of person a
man does not pick a quarrel with in a saloon if he can help it.
What follows is at once extraordinary and commonplace.
Much of the story of his conversion by the missioners on Robben
Island reads like the wonderful histories of " How I was saved,"
which are expounded at Salvation Army meetings ; but, however
that may be, this is the true account of a man whose after-life
shows him to have been a magnificent fellow, which makes it
interesting if for no other reason.
His letters home at this time are not literature, but they are
the genuine outpourings of one who has suddenly found himself
and is struggling to become articulate. Phrases that sound
platitudinous to unsympathetic ears are to him splendid dis-
coveries that he is passionately anxious to make others under-
stand and exult over as he does.
It so happened that just at this time a Mission was being
held in the island by Father Fitzgerald, who named it a
"Mission of Help."
One evening as Benton was passing the place where Father
Fitzgerald was holding a meeting he thought he would look in
and see what it was like. At this time he believed in nothing,
was an agnostic, but he became interested in the address being
delivered by the missioner, and next day went to see him and
had a long talk. From this moment Benton began his life
afresh, taking a more serious view of his obligations and responsi-
bilities, ending with a very strong wish to take Holy Orders,
204 sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
feeling from his own experiences he would know how to help
others and be able to sympathise with them. That holy man
Father Engleheart, who was a chaplain to the lepers on Robben
Island, took a great interest in young Benton, becoming to him
a father in spirit and in deed.
His advice to the young man was that he could not hope to
take Orders until he had given himself up as a deserter ; this
was agreat shock, as Benton quite thought that his active service
with the Australians had purged his desertion. He was told
this was not so, and was advised to journey home and give
himself up, and that should the sentence be of a nature to
disqualify him, he must accept it as God's indication that He
did not call him to the Priesthood. This was a bitter pill.
Some of the letters he wrote home during this moral up-
heaval are interesting ; they were mostly addressed to his step-
mother, to whom he was greatly attached. Writing from
Robben Island on December 3, 1904, while still living under the
name of White, he says :
" I hardly know how to start writing to you, as I feel so
utterly ashamed of myself for neglecting so long to answer j^our
kind letter to me. I am afraid the truth is that until quite
lately I have been so utterly selfish in thinking of my own
advancement that I could not spare time to write to anybody ;
however, thank God that time has passed, and I am writing to
ask you to forgive my past unkindness and neglect and let us
make a fresh start. I am the more encouraged to ask it now at
this season of peace and goodwill towards all men, as I remember
you used to think so much of this season.
" Am settled down on this wonderful little island close to
Cape Town and yet absolutely cut off from it. Later on, when
I have paid all my debts (which is at present taking up every
penny of my w^ages), I will send you some views of the Island.
It is difficult though, even with them, to get any idea of what it
is really like, and quite impossible to form any idea of the
inhabitants. It is a wonderful idea to think of being put down
in a place where there are over 1,000 souls composed of lunatics,
lepers, and convicts, with the object of serving them. Were it
not for the great fact that we can see Jesus Christ gazing at us
and asking pity from their eyes, we might often feel them
Rev. W. Benton 205
repulsive and loathsome, but with that thought to guide us it is
nothing short of marvellous the affection you get to feel for
them all.
" I don't think I should ever have known and felt this
beautiful pity and love for them had it not been for that great
' Mission of Help ' which has been out here. I went on the
first night and then never missed. I seem to have lived my
whole life in the most intense ignorance of what is wanted and
required of us. I had a chat with the missioner, a Mr. Fitz-
gerald ; he is a very High Churchman and not at all like what we
generally fancy missioners to be. That chat led to others, and
now I feel a different being altogether."
A great remorse seems to have seized him for the way he had
treated his people ; it suddenly came home to him how unkind
he had been to them. Now the home he had run away from was
remembered lovingly, and a great longing came to him to see
it and all appertaining to it again. Later in the same letter he
says :
" I should indeed love to see the little cottage and the old
church again. Would you mind putting a bunch of flowers on
dear old Dad's and Mother's grave for me ? I should like to
think of them being there."
He then expressed the wish for letters, the same longing
experienced by most exiles, letters from home.
The relationship between stepmothers and stepchildren is
not always a happy one, but the affection between Dick Benton
and his stepmother was quite charming ; she thought the world
of him and he was devoted to her.
The following letter gives some idea of this.
"RoBBEN Island,
" Nr. Cape Town,
" Cape Colony, S. Africa.
''February 1, 1905.
" Your letter received this mail. You cannot think how
delighted I was. It was such a beautiful letter and I have read
it over many times. . . . You are a born comforter, and you
always have something nice and cheery to say to me. . . . You
ask me to tell you what I am doing. Well, at the time of writing
I am clerk in the works' department office of Robben Island.
2o6 sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
. . . This is perhaps the most unique spot on the face of the
earth, about eight miles from Cape Town and six from the
nearest land. The island itself is only about six or seven miles
round, simply a dot in the ocean. Nobody is allowed on it
except by Government permit. The population is made up of
long-lived convicts (coloured), lunatics, lepers ; and all the
criminal cases come here, together with the various warders,
attendant nurses, workmen and Governmicnt officials necessary
to look after them. I am one of the latter."
Writing evidently in answer to a question from his step-
mother :
" No, I am not a missioner yet, but I may be some day.
You know, you can't go on a Mission just as you can walk
into a shop and buy a penny bun ; a long course of training is
necessary before you are fit for such work.
" You must not think we are in a desert, or anything of that
kind. We have not much in the way of trees and shrubs, it
is mostly rock and sand, but there are good substantial buildings
for the higher officers and the patients. The rest of us live in
houses made mostly of corrugated iron and wood, very complete,
but a proper harbour for bugs and fleas ; that, however, is
merely a detail.
" We have cricket here, dances and concerts. All drink is
well guarded. I have given up all intoxicants, though not a
teetotaler. I find I am better without it, and besides, I cannot
afford it. We need to keep our wits about us. The patients
are sometimes dangerous and the convicts have to be watched
carefully, so all things considered I think it is better to do
without.
" Some of the lepers are in an awful state, and yet they are
wonderfully patient under their trials. I was working in the
leper compound as a house-painter when first I came here, and
so got to know a lot of them very well. I now go in my spare
time to visit them and try to cheer them up a bit. There is one
I go especially to see. He is an Englishman of good family
and was at one time leading a fast life. A good-hearted chap,
owned his own race-horses and was a most popular fellow.
Then this awful disease came out on him. He was in a great
state of despondency at first, and confessed he had thought of
Rev. W. Benton 207
destroying himself. We who are well are not half thankful
enough for all God's great mercies. . . . Taken to-day my first
service in church here to help a chaplain. It was for coloured
boys, and was my first official service for God, and I was and
am so thankful to Him for using such an unworthy vessel as
I am in His service ; may He grant that we may all in our
several ways help to spread His Kingdom.
" I have been playing a good deal of cricket here. ... I am
now living with the chaplain ; he is such a friend to me. He
is one of Sir Thomas Engleheart's sons, and gave up a most
comfortable living at home to come here and do good. He is
very humble and never seems to see that he is doing so much
good. He has a private income and gives a lot away, living in
the plainest possible manner himself, begrudging even a shilling
a month for his own tobacco. He lends me his books and is
always helping in some way or other. Last week he gave me a
watch and would not allow a word of thanks ; never will, saying
it was as much for himself as for me, as he wanted me always to
be in time for meals. That is the way he puts things off.
" He has offered to pay all expenses for me to go to a Theo-
logical College at home, probably St. Chads, Durham, if they
will take me to be trained as a priest for the sacred ministry.
" I am waiting for an answer from Father Fitzgerald to
know if they will take me, and I have started reading Greek and
Latin, as there is an entrance examination to this college which
I am afraid will be very stiff to me after being so long away
from school.
" I wish dear father had lived to see my happiness, but still,
he will know after all. The only bar to it all is my own un-
worthiness. It seems awfully presumptive to have wasted so
many of the best years of one's life and then to take the re-
mainder and offer it to God. May I think that all of you at
home will rejoice with me that I have found my true vocation ?
" Father Engleheart has been to immense trouble finding
out and arranging all sorts of things for me, even to my taking
my right name again ; but I cannot do that until on my journey
home, which will be about October. Father Fitzgerald has
written to say he thinks they will take me at St. Chads. It will
mean very hard work, as I have a lot to read up and preparation
to do, but it will be a work of love, which makes it much easier.
2o8 sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
" We played Wellington yesterday at cricket and beat them
easily. Our opponents couldn't get back to town again owing
to a heavy south-easter that was blowing ; these winds cut us
off entirely from the mainland, as no boat can live in the sea.
" I am settled down now in the Commissioner's office to
steady work, and could remain here to the end of the chapter,
but I think that I can do better work for our Lord in the
Church.
" Many things attract me here, and I shall be very sorry
indeed to leave. It has been a home to me when I was friend-
less, but it has been more than that, it has been the place in
which I have truly found my God. For that reason alone it
will ever hold the very strongest place possible in my affections."
At last the definite news came that the Theological College
would take him in spite of the past, and he came home after his
long absence to give himself up and face his court-martial.
Father Engleheart, whose advice he was following, had
meanwhile, I think, been at work himself and got others to work
in Mr. Benton's favour.
The much dreaded, yet anxiously looked forward to day
arrived for the court-martial, and speaking of that time, Benton
said :
" When I went in to receive sentence the President held out
his hand and said, ' I congratulate you, Benton ; here is the
King's pardon,' and I was let off scot free. I believe that such
a thing has never happened before, and when my director heard
it he said, ' This is the finger of God, your way is clear.' "
Benton then went to Lichfield Theological College for two
years, and was ordained by the Bishop of Lichfield in 1908.
His first curacy was at Walsall, in Staffordshire, which was
the very place for him, being largely a slum parish providing
plenty of scope for his energies, and he felt, no doubt, that
whatever the drawbacks of his career it would at least enable
him to deal with the rough elements, as milder brands of curates
could scarcely hope to do.
He found his vicar a very good man, but one who stood
somewhat aghast before the slums into which he had failed to
penetrate in the spiritual sense. It is easy to imagine how
Benton's enthusiasm was fired by this situation, so when his
Rev. W. Benton 209
chief mourned to him over. the " Submerged Tenth," he rephed,
" This is not your work, vicar ; it requires a bachelor to go and
hve among them, and I will go."
If the good vicar was slightly scandalised at so much assur-
ance on the part of his new curate he must have felt relieved at
the idea of the slums being taken off his shoulders, so he
consented.
Benton took rooms in the worst part of the district and set
about converting the submerged. His methods were original,
and if the vicar knew all, his hair must have stood straight on
end, for on the door of his lodging appeared a large notice,
" Beer and baccy free; come and have a talk"— which as a
preliminary must have endeared him to the hearts of the
temperance party ! but he was absolutely fearless in his con-
victions and ideas. If he felt a thing was right he would do it,
although his methods were often misunderstood and criticised.
With this stimulating announcement on his door he awaited
events. No one came for some time, but at last a few venture-
some spirits dropped in and were greeted something after this
fashion :
" Here I am come to live among you, whether you like it or
not. My door will always be open and you can come and help
yourselves to a pipe or to a meal, but don't take anything away.
If I have any tobacco it will be here, and if I have any beer it
will be here. If it is not here it will mean I have not got any."
Mr. Benton said, as far as he knew, his rough visitors never
did take anything out of the house.
It was almost impossible to get any facts from him of his
work amongst the poor, but I know a good deal of his endea-
vours and doings at different times in his life.
Some of his experiences in the Walsall slums were unusual.
He was known amongst the habitues as the " Fighting Parson."
This was in consequence of his settling disputed points in
pugilistic fashion, which no doubt he found was the method they
understood best.
Once when finding a man and wife having a fierce fight he
ventured to interfere, and while so doing another man came up
behind and struck him a violent blow behind the ear. After
Mr. Benton had finished with the married couple he turned to
his second assailant, who said by way of explanation, " You
P
210 Sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
have no right to interfere between another man and his wife."
Mr. Benton then invited him to take his coat off ; this he did
with a good deal of action to show how brave and strong he
was — a man of determination, in fact. The curate promptly
knocked him down ; the man got up expressing himself as
anxious to continue the fight, and was promptly knocked down
again ; asked if he would like some more, the man shame-
facedly replied in the negative. He was then invited to go and
drink a cup of tea with his opponent.
The curate seems to have been lucky in his battles, for
although an experienced boxer, it is not unusual for experts to
meet with disaster when they try to fight roughs where
unconventional methods are sometimes adopted, such as
butting with the head and kicking ; but probably he had learnt
a thing or two with the Cape Mounted Police. On more than
one occasion he surprised some of those he met in the slums by
taking his coat off and inviting others to do the same.
It was not long before he had many sincere admirers, for the
sporting spirit was strong in him and this attracted men who
liked to talk cricket, football, running, and boxing with him.
He held classes on all sorts of subjects for the amusement and
instruction of his neighbours. His boxing classes were in great
favour. I think it struck the men he had found it necessary to
knock down and teach a wholesome lesson, that it was very
sporting and decent of the parson to teach them the noble art
of self-defence !
While on his round visiting amongst the very poor one day
Mr. Benton came across a woman, very tired, at a washing-tub ;
he told her to rest awhile and mind the kiddies and he would
finish the washing for her. His coat was off and hung up, his
sleeves rolled back and the soap-suds flying, before the woman
realised what was taking place.
Mr. Benton's knowledge of men and the seamy side oi life,
combined with his most earnest and eloquent preaching, made
him an ideal slum parson. The fire was burning fiercely in his
heart ; from an undisciplined, emotional scallawag he had
become an altruist, no longer so undisciplined, but still highly
emotional, longing to make up for his wasted years. For
instance, one day when he thought the collection in church had
not been worthy of the cause he had been preaching, he rushed
Rev. W. Benton 211
home and made it up with a cheque of his own, altogether out
of proportion to his means, declaring as he signed it he had never
been so^ngry in his life.
So hard did he work in Walsall that after two years his
health broke down, and after a severe haemorrhage he was
ordered abroad and went to Switzerland ; after a nine months'
cure he was advised to try the climate of South Africa. While
there he went to a mission station in the high mountains, where
he met Miss Ida Wrentmore, to whom he became engaged.
After working two years in Namaqualand he went to St.
Andrew's Church, Newlands, near Cape Town, for a few months,
then as senior curate to St. Barnabas' Church, Klooprood,
Cape Town.
Just at this time his old friend Father Engleheart, the
chaplain on Robben Island, wished to go home to England on
hearing of his mother's death, but was unable to find anybody
to take his place while away. Mr. Benton offered himself and
returned once more to work amongst the lepers. So little is
known of this island and its unhappy inhabitants with their
loathsome disease, that to many people the self-sacrifice of those
who willingly go to work amongst them cannot be realised. It
takes about one and a half hours from Cape Town to Robben
Island, and the journey is all by sea. The place was chosen as
a leper settlement because of its isolation. There are several
hospitals, one with a doctor for lepers alone, another for the
officials and lunatics. The nurses are mostly men, and called
warders. The disease is most unpleasant and repulsive ; the
face is the part generally affected ; the hair falls off and the
voice becomes hoarse and nasal, or lost altogether. Dusky red
and livid tubercles of various sizes, varying from a pea to an
olive, appear on the face, ears, and extremities, often causing
ulceration of the whole surface, accompanied by extreme foetor.
In some forms the fingers and toes fall off ; other poor victims
become quite blind and mad. Sometimes their poor lips are
all eaten away, and Mr. Benton had to feed the sufferers with a
spoon, even giving the Sacraments by spoon. Nothing certain
is known of the cause of the disease. It is carried in many
ways. The germs have been found on vermin, flies, and once
on the wing of a partridge. No cure has yet been found, but
corrosive sublimate and arsenious acid in minute doses are the
212 Sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
most likely to be of use. Sulphur baths have also been recom-
mended. Cold aggravates the patients' sufferings, and fish
diet is supposed to make the symptoms worse, though <( believe
this is now a disputed point. The disease may continue for
many years without causing death ; when far advanced it is
incurable ; even in its early stages a cure is uncertain.
While on the island Mr. Benton did untold work for the
lepers. He used to wash and dress some of the most pitiful
cases, carry them out to enjoy fresh air, feed them, cook for
them, and help to cheer them during their long, miserable days.
There are some vivid glimpses of the awful experiences
Benton went through in some of his letters.
Here is a perfect nightmare of a story :
" Some of the lepers are mad and have to be kept in cages.
Well, one day I was going round to talk to the lunatics and
went inside a cage, and like a fool let the door swing to behind
me and it locked itself. Seeing I was locked in, the lunatic at
once made for me and tried to bite me. Now if there is a safe
recipe for getting leprosy it is a leper's bite, so I scooted round
for all I was worth, yelling for the keeper to come and open the
door. Fortunately I had the legs of the man, as one of his was
wooden. At last, seeing he could not catch me, the leper pulled
up, took off his leg and hurled it at me. Mercifully he missed
me and I made a dash for it, and by brandishing it with threats
of braining him I kept him at a distance until the keeper came
and let me out."
In some cases the poor objects have no features left at all,
and are a " writhing mass."
I think enough has been said to show what the life of Mr.
Benton was during his work on the island. I ought perhaps to
have said the lepers are enclosed with barbed wire, and no one
without a permit from the Commissioner is allowed near them.
The men and women live on different sides of the island. There
is a home for the children, looked after by some sisters from
St. Margaret's. They have a beautiful chapel. It is wonderful
what the poor little souls can do, considering their infirmities.
There is great rejoicing when a child leper dies, as the pain gets
worse as they grow older.
Mr. Benton had enormous sympathy with the lepers, who so
bitterly felt their hard lot and being cut off from everything
Rev. W. Benton 213
and everybody. They used to say, " What have I done to be so
punished ? " and what was there to say in reply ?
The Faculty, I am now told, state the disease is not
hereditary and the children are never born with it.
Every community weaves around itself certain conventions,
has its little dignities of which it is a jealous guardian, resenting
any infringement of its social status. Even these poor
maimed, suffering, and disfigured mortals on Robben Island have
a grievance outside their piteous malady, for they resent
passionately that their island should be a dumping-ground for
convicts ; they feel it is a slur on themselves.
While working as priest in Cape Town it was part of Mr.
Benton's duties to act as chaplain to all the members of the
theatrical companies visiting the country. This interested
him, and he had many souvenirs that he treasured from those
he had helped in more ways than one.
He now married, and having the curacy-in-charge of
Bearsted, in Kent, offered to him, he returned to England with
his restored health.
The sleepy little country village of Bearsted was suddenly
called upon to wake up, for Mr. Benton's methods were rousing
and unconventional ; perhaps considered by some unorthodox.
He rather horrified some of the saintly parishioners by suggest-
ing the Church, Christianity, and God's mercy were all for
sinners as well as saints ; in fact, the sinners were his special
charges, on them he devoted his greatest efforts. He would go
into the public-houses to talk and smoke with the habitues,
to try and win them ; this, of course, laid him open to con-
siderable criticism. There were those who said it was easy to
get people to church and sing in the choir if bribed to do so by
" beer and baccy " ! Before long Mr. Benton had a string of
followers, some becoming choirmen, some communicants, and
I do not think either beer or baccy had anything more to do
v;ith it than having been the means of bringing curate and
parishioners into closer touch than would otherwise have been
possible ; and long after Mr. Benton had left the parish those
v/hom he had won over to the faith of our fathers were still
regular churchgoers.
One old peasa.nt whose attendance at church had been very
limited was evidently touched by Mr. Benton's administrations,
214 sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
for when ill and a layman went to see him, he was told to
" Go away ! I want my clergyman ; where is my clergyman ? "
meaning Mr. Benton.
Another man in quite a different class of life, who had been
in great trouble, said, " I don't know what I should have done
without Benton."
Boxing classes were soon going again full swing. One night
when giving a class of boys lessons in boxing, a strange man
walked in and said he would hke to have the gloves on and have
a turn with the parson. Mr. Benton explained he was busy
with the kiddies, but would with pleasure give him a turn
another night.
An appointment was made and kept, but when they began
sparring it soon was quite apparent the stranger was growing
savage, so Mr. Benton said, " Look here, do you want to box or
to fight ? " "To fight," replied the man. " Oh, very well
then, I only wanted to know," said Mr. Benton, and in a very
short time the man was knocked out.
While in the midst of his work at Bearsted Mr. Benton
received an anonymous letter threatening to expose his past, so
he very wisely and bravely determined to tell the Bear-
stedonians all about it himself. He therefore one Palm Sunday
chose the text for his sermon out of Isaiah vi., " I am a man of
unclean lips." He then continued, " I once knew a man of
whom this was true," etc., describing his own failings and
giving a faithful autobiography. Before the sermon was over
the preacher broke down and many of his hearers were in tears.
From that day all hearts went out to Mr. Benton, and the
Bearstedonians became greatly attached to the man whose
religion must be a vital, living thing, to enable him to stand up
and tell his congregation of all his sins and mistakes, in the
hope that by so doing he might be a help to others, make them
feel less like castaways, that there was hope for them yet.
He was a gifted preacher and seemed most at home when
preaching to men, who were always attracted by his personality.
They felt that here was one who could sympathise with their
ov/n lives.
Possessed of much musical talent and a good voice, he set
himself to build up the choir, and he was well rewarded. Some
of his choirmen were so angry that anyone should have dared
Rev. W. Benton 215
to write an anonymous letter to Mr. Benton that they went
about trying to find the author of it, meaning if they captured
him to cool his malice in the village duckpond.
Many who knew Benton in those days have written and
spoken to me of his goodness and wonderful work, how every
waking moment he devoted to working in some way for the God
he so truly loved. His personality and sympathy with human
frailty enabled him to reach many hearts hitherto untouched,
or only lukewarm. No one could remain lukewarm where Mr.
Benton was working, his earnestness and enthusiasm were too
real and infectious. Many to-day write and speak of him with
affection, and a thousand regrets that he will return to them no
more.
In August, 1914, the declaration of war was just another
glorious opportunity for his adventurous spirit, and he was
restless until in the same month he joined the forces as chaplain
in France. His first letter home was written on September
14, and addressed to his wife. He tells her he will try and
write regularly, but has not much time, as he is very busy
" buzzing about in motors, and a lot of wounded are being
brought in."
The following extracts from his letters to his wife give some
idea of his life :
September 17, 1914. — "I am hard at it now. We have
about six hundred wounded here. Some are in great pain, but
all are very brave. They seem glad to see me and enjoy a
friendly talk. I went across and saw some German wounded
this morning. Some of them have terrible wounds. Our
fellows are very cheerful, and many are anxious to get back to
the front again. The Army Medical Corps are doing splendidly.
They work like Trojans. I like them all, from the Colonel
down. I am busy round the tents and marquees all day long.
Am just called away, so must stop."
An undated letter written a little later says :
" We got in a Celebration on Sunday and an evening service
for all kinds, but were hard at work all day pitching more tents
for the wounded. They are coming down in droves now, and
our hands are full up. Some of the wounds are awful, but our
fellows are simply marvellous in their pluck. We have a
2i6 sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
splendid surgeon, most quick and skilful, but greatly over-
worked. He is a sight to see when he comes in to wash before
luncheon or dinner, bespattered all over with blood and stuff
from face to feet. . . . Do not mind if you do not get many
letters. We are sometimes up day and night getting wounded
off by trains or taking them to camp. Our hospital and all
tents are full of them. It is cold out in the open at nights now.
I could do with some writing-paper and envelopes, I write so
many letters for the wounded."
Later :
" Convalescent Camp,
" Rouen.
" We are all under canvas here. It is really wonderful to
see what they have done in the way of fixing things up ; there
are literally miles of country rigged and being rigged up into
hospitals and camps."
10 Stationary Hospital.
November 4, 1914. — " We have moved again and are now
within six hours' journey of London (in peace times), but yet
how far away ! Travelling here is very slow, and we were
thirty-nine hours in the train, and having got here had to unload
twenty-six tons of luggage from the train, reload it and cart it
something over a mile to hospital, then unload it again and
arrange it all. The whole of this in four hours ! ! We were
awfully tired, but had to take over about one hundred cases
in hospital. We had just finished when the Major received an
urgent wire instructing him to receive one hundred and fifty bad
cases from a sick train, so we began again and were at it all
night, but managed to get all settled in by 7 next morning.
Some were in a dangerous condition and have since died. We
bury them in blankets in an enormous trench, side by side.
The French are very kind and decorate the trench with flowers
and flags. I have been busy to-day seeing off a hundred of our
patients by ambulance train for the Base, and from thence
home. I would not mind a trip with them.
" I was out yesterday at the front about two hundred yards
behind the trenches. I went with our senior Chaplain. . . .
We took a motor-car full of cigarettes, tobacco, pipes, matches,
and soap. The men were so thankful. The artillery fire was
Rev. W. Benton 2i7
terrific. One of the large German shells had hit the road and
made it impassable. There was a hole just as if a huge tree had
been pulled out by the roots. I also saw a fight in the air
between a German Taube and an English aeroplane. The
former soon cleared off, so the Englishman chased him for a bit
and then returned."
November 25, 1914. — " I am attached now to the Lahore
Division clearing hospital. At our last place we cleared — that
is, took in, treated, and passed on — some one thousand two
hundred and fifty men in five days. Here we have had five
hundred and fifty through in two days, and I am feeling tired.
I was nearly asleep while walking about to-day. I am hoping
I may get a rest to-night, but a convoy of wounded may come
in any moment.
" I heard of a horrid act of vengeance the other day. It was
told to me by an officer in the London Scottish who saw it
personally. A certain sergeant-major who had shot six or
seven Germans went out at night to try and find their rifles.
Two days afterwards, when the British got into the village, they
found him crucified to a door with bayonets. Whether done
before death or after, it was a vile act of revenge. These things
make me wild. I meant to write more, but they are calling for
me."
No. 10 Clearing Station Hospital.
October 11.—" We are trying to keep up next Sunday in a
special way here, as it is St. Luke's Day, and so the great festival
for all connected with hospital work and the work of healing.
. . . By the way, if you could manage to send me a packet of
matches I would be very glad. They are a scarce commodity
here, and those we do get are no good and are tipped with yellow
sulphur. Some of the men call them ' Wait-a-bit ' ; the more
euphonious name is the good old English ' Stinker.' "
In some of Mr. Benton's letters, when writing of the funerals
he had been taking, he says :
" It is really a very impressive sight. All the people stand
still and cross themselves as we go by, and the soldiers, both
French and our own, stand to attention and salute as the
procession passes. . . ,
2i8 sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
" The Germans, though they are committing awful atrocities,
are fighting very fairly in the main, and will take a lot of beating.
, . . My French efforts at times would make a cat laugh."
No. 7 Clearing Hospital.
November 18. — " Since coming here we have been working
night and day. We were only one section of a clearing hospital
with three surgeons and twenty-one men all told. We had no
proper cook. Two of the orderlies volunteered to try and do it,
but they could not make much of a hand at it, so I got in and
tried to help. I made a stew of meat and vegetables, and gave
them tea. They were very thankful. I lived for the first
forty-eight hours here on the run between the cook-house (which
was in the open, the sleet and rain coming down hard) and the
operating-theatre. I have seen such sights in the latter as will
last me for all eternity. The surgeons were magnificent. Two
of them worked on without a break for thirty-six hours, operat-
ing and dressing ghastly wounds. I led them away afterwards,
for they could hardly walk. Then we packed some of the cases
into the ambulance train, but as fast as we emptied out ambu-
lance wagons fresh ones drove up packed with men, and so the
round has gone on till last night, when orders came that we were
to take no more cases but were to evacuate what we had and
stand by for fresh orders.
" We managed to get in a Celebration this morning, and
twenty-eight orderlies, officers, and patients joined us. It was
very beautiful and yet very weird, for in the middle of it a
Taube dropped a bomb in the Square about two hundred yards
away, and the remainder of the service was carried out to an
accompaniment of shots by an anti-aircraft gun at the Taube.
" To-day another Padre, one of our surgeons named Bates
(a real hero), and myself went out to see the town that has been
the centre of the fighting lately, to get some snapshots. We
understood they had left off shelling it, and we got into the
middle of the town when suddenly they began to shell it again.
For about twenty minutes we were in a centre of flying bricks,
stones, broken glass, etc., not to mention shells.
" Providentially we got away all right, but we had quite
eight Jack Johnsons burst within three hundred yards of us,
and two of them within one hundred and fifty. It was quite
Rev. W. Benton 219
exciting. I badly wanted to find our guns and get the O.C.
to allow me to relieve the gun-layee (being an old hand with a
first-class gunnery instruction certificate) for a little, and help
to get some of our own back, but the other chaps had not been
under gunfire before and so we retired as rapidly as possible.
I heard a J.J. coming over during our retirement and went down
flat on my tummy in some soft mud and got very dirty. I
presented rather an undignified appearance for a parson.
" However, here we are safely back and retiring some twenty
miles to-morrow. I would not have gone had any of us known
the danger, but now that it is over I would not have missed the
experience for anything.
" I am dog-tired. . . . My CO. is here ordering me to bed."
Finding he was not allowed in the front trenches with the
men, Mr. Benton asked to be allowed to take a combatant
commission so that he could fight and carry on his work as
Padre at the same time and be with the men in their most
anxious and strenuous moments. Writing to his people at this
time he says, " There are plenty of chaplains but a great
dearth of experienced officers," and he thought he could be more
useful as a soldier, having had previous experience. He then
continues, " I have seen the Archbishop of Canterbury, and
though he does not approve, he does not condemn my action."
With the permission of the Ecclesiastical authorities, Benton
received his commission as a lieutenant in the Manchester
Regiment in April, 1915, and was at once made Brigade Sniping
Officer. In six weeks he was promoted to Captain, and was
exceedingly popular with both officers and men. In September
he was wounded, and the following letter will show how he
broke the news to his wife so as to give her no shock.
" Just a line to let you know I'm quite all right. ... I got
a bullet in my left forearm yesterday, but it did no damage.
I went into a main station and had it taken out. They had to
cut about one and a half inches deep. However, I am back to
my work all right. The General came round and saw me this
morning. I am just going to have a good dose of morphia and
go to sleep for a bit. I think I got the fellow who hit me. I
could not reach him with my rifle, so got the artillery officer to
bring in five rounds of high-explosive shell — and he went up !
220 Sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
The sniper was behind a bullet-proof plate and I was behind one
of our plates. The bullet ricochetted up under the plate and
caught my forearm. Wasn't it a good thing it was not m.y
tummy ? We've got so far twenty-three enemy hit (five
snipers), eighteen plates broken, four observation-posts spotted
and destroyed, four batteries spotted, and thirty or thirty-one
periscopes outed. Not bad for eighteen days, eh ? I was
going to write some more, but the things are beginning to
work " (morphia). " Good-night."
There is another interesting letter written from No. 8
Clearing Hospital. It is undated, and in consequence a little
confusing, as he speaks of his wound which he received when
sniping in September and at the same time refers to the im-
pressive service he has been holding. I was under the impression
he ceased to hold them when he became a combatant.
Here, however, is the letter :
" I am still going on all right." This was three months
after his forearm was wounded in September, so it cannot have
been a trifling affair, though he told his wife the bullet had done
no damage ! He continues in the same letter, " I have charge
of both hospitals for a few days, as Gillingham has gone home for
ninety-six hours' leave. I am the only one of the men who
came out before the end of August who have not gone home on
leave.
" We had some wonderfully impressive services on Sunday.
There were sixty-four at the 8.30 Celebration, six hundred
(about) at the 9.30 service, four hundred and fifty at the 10.15
service, and about five hundred at the 11 o'clock. All ranks were
present, from Generals to Tommies. I get a bit tired in the
throat.
" The death-roll is still very heavy. I have funerals everv
day."
I am not sure of the date, but it was about this time Captain
Benton was again wounded, in the thigh this time, and he
would not go into hospital with it, but went to have it dressed
every day. Septic poisoning, however, obliged his going home,
where he stayed for four months ; but not in idleness, for after
seven weeks of recuperation he was sent to Ripon, in Yorkshire,
Rev. W. Benton 221
as Sniping Officer, to organise scouting and sniping schoo'.s all
round the country.
While carrying out these duties he was thrown a good deal
in the society of Major Tullock, D.S.O., the 1st Batt. West Kent
Regiment, who became a close and valued friend, and he tells
me Captain Benton was rather upset at having to undertake
theoretical and practical instruction for officers and men
instead of being at the front.
After it was pointed out to him that the influence he would
have in the training of men at home would be farther reaching
than he could hope for in France, he became reconciled and
entered heartily into the task.
Those who understand these things say Captain Benton was
a most thorough and able instructor and lecturer, and besides
this did " untold good, being aided by his wonderful per-
sonality."
His lectures were listened to with deep interest and attention.
Knowing his subject from A to Z, his audience soon gained
confidence in him, and every word he uttered carried weight.
By degrees, instead of hundreds attending his classes, there were
thousands, and he began to think that perhaps after all he was
doing his share for England as truly as if in the trenches.
He considered the average Englishman the most unimagina-
tive and unsuspicious of men, and he used to have some fun in
consequence, while endeavouring to teach his classes to be more
observant. He would tell them to meet him at a given point
and then appear there dressed in some old civilian clothes
topped with a most disreputable old cap, under which his face
was disguised by the free use of charcoal and some mud. He
would walk past his class first of all to see if any of them would
recognise him, and as they never did under such circumstances
he then walked up to them and began asking questions as to
what they were doing there, keeping up a whistling accompani-
ment to himself all the time. Finally he would make himself
known, pointing out at the same time that if a scout were so
unsuspicious he would not be much use to his country.
Captain Benton was distinctly practical, and in order to
increase the watchfulness of one of his classes he told them that
he would pass along a certain road between definite hours and
they were to meet him. He then left the class to go and think
222 Sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
of the best method of evading their alertness. As he sat by the
side of the road smoking his pipe and turning the matter over in
his mind, a cart drove by with an old woman in it wearing a huge
sun-bonnet. He at once realised that this was the disguise he
needed, and after a certain amount of discussion, persuasion,
and a small douceur, the old lady was induced to lend her
bonnet and an exceedingly dirty shawl. I believe the putting
on of the bonnet and its final arrangement caused both of them
considerable amusement. When all was fixed up satisfactorily,
if not comfortably. Captain Benton sat in the corner of the cart
among cabbages and vegetables of all sorts while the woman
drove him along, carrying on an animated conversation with
her sun-bonneted friend.
The ruse was completely successful, and the chagrined and
bamboozled class had to admit that they were not as wide
awake as they ought to have been. I cannot help feeling a
little surprise that they did not suspect something after their
previous experience.
Captain Benton made a splendid observation officer. He
had such an eye for detail, and his memory was extraordinary.
Once when passing through a large military camp a woman
who was walking in the same direction as himself began asking
him questions about the camp which he considered suspicious.
He therefore made a mental note of her smart appearance, which
he afterwards wrote down and communicated to the authorities.
His description turned out to be astonishingly accurate in all
particulars : height, hair, eyes, size and shape of hat, details
of dress, stockings and shoes, even to the gloves and shape of
hands, as well as a small bag she carried. So clear was the
description that the police identified the woman in the
course of two days. He had only seen her for a few moments.
Captain Benton often said the British soldier was too un-
suspicious, and in consequence easily outwitted by a more wily
enemy. He was very anxious to dress up in a German soldier's
uniform and see if he could not pass through an English camp
undetected, and he believed he could do it. The idea was not
carried out, owing to the difficulty at the time of getting the
necessary uniform.
Captain Benton was at all times anxious to hand on what he
had learnt from experience. This was much appreciated by
Rev. W. Benton 223
most of those with whom he came in contact. In the words of
one who knew him well, " he was loved as an unselfish, whole-
hearted, true soldier and friend." If he could save a soldier
from getting into trouble he was happy.
While at Ripon holding these classes he failed one evening
to turn up for tea where his belongings were awaiting him. He
had been giving a lecture in the North Camp. Time passed on,
midnight came, and still no Captain Benton. He arrived in the
early hours completely exhausted, and explained he had been
detained. It was found out he had been on his way home, and
when passing through the town had come across various soldiers
just back from leave. All were more or less intoxicated and
had no officer or non-commissioned officer with them. The
men were quite unable to find their way to camp, and resented
interference from him, but he forced them to form fours and
arrive at some sort of order, collecting others until he had
about fifty or more, and then marched this strange company
through the town and out of harm's way, keeping them on the
move until discipline was fully restored and the men recovering,
when he took them back to the North Camp.
It was difficult to get anything from him about the incident,
but I know he was very happy at having saved the men from
getting into trouble.
In February, 1916, Captain Benton returned to France, but
before leaving England he wrote to his sister, saying :
" I hope I shall see you to say ' good-bye,' as it may be a
very long one. At the present rate of officers falling there is
mighty little chance of coming through. They seem to be
dead-marking all our officers, and that is why we shall need
every available man before we're finished. God bless you
always.
" Your affectionate brother,
" Dick.
" P.S. — Remember me sometimes."
On rejoining the troops he was again put in command of the
Brigade Snipers. Writing home on April 3, 1916, he says :
" I am still with the 51st Brigade and like them very much.
General Piicher sent for me the other day and told me he thought
224 Sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
that great credit was due for the way in which we had got
under the evening sniping on our front. They had the best of
it to begin with, but we have only had two men hit by snipers
since we came in (though we have had many hit by shells and
shrapnel-fire), and they were both on the first day, and we have
knocked over thirteen of them. There is a lot of shelling going
on. I am at present working under Lord Dunmore.
" We have a man coming out to stay with us who will have
some money to spend on the men for games and things. We
shall be glad of his help. Yesterday the Editor of the West-
minster Gazette and his wife came out to visit our camp. He was
very much struck with all our arrangements, and he is starting
a fund in his paper for providing amusements and games for our
men.
" Did I tell you that General Maxwell called me out and
thanked me personally for the assistance which the Major told
him I had given him ? I was rather bucked, though I don't
know that I have done anything particular here. . . .
" General Woodhouse has been round to inspect the Com-
pany. He congratulated the Major and the staff on the ' splen-
did work done in camp and the tone of the men ' (his own
words), so we feel rather pleased about it.
" One of the doctors and I are digging in our spare time a
6 X 6 X 6 ft. sunk pit for an officers' bath-tent. The ground is
gravel and flint, so it takes some getting through."
In May, 1916, Captain Benton writes to his friend. Major
TuUock :
" Hd. Qn. 51st Imp. Bgde.,
"21. 5. 16.
"... I have been trying to write to you for quite a long
time but have had no chance. You may guess what it has been
like when I tell you that I was thirty-one days in the trenches
at the final."
Then, evidently referring to some leave he might have had,
but did not take, he continues :
" I did not want to be away, as the Boches attacked on each
side of us, and as we were expecting to be relieved it seemed
likely they would have a go at us. However, they made a
Rev. W. Benton 225
miss. We came straight out and did a four days' march here,
had twenty-four hours' rest, and are now doing eleven days'
intensive training for ' the attack.' After that nobody seems
to know what will happen. . . .
" I am glad the sniping is going on so well in the north and
west. The more I see of it out here the more I am convinced
that in normal trench-warfare there is no better way of inflicting
punishment on the enemy, and preventing wastage in our own
ranks, than well-organised sniping, but it must be whole-
heartedly taken up or not at all.
" In this Brigade we began a little doubtfully. They only
allowed eight per battalion for sniping and observation. Later
they allowed four more and later again another four, making
eight snipers and eight observers per battalion. Later I asked
again for four more snipers and got them, at the same time
propounding a scheme with coloured maps showing sniper- and
observation-posts in the zones of fire and observation, and
offered, if they would let me have four more men per battalion,
to keep the whole front watched and leave every other man
free for duty, work, or what not. It was granted, so we now
have one officer and twenty-four N.C.O.'s and men per bat-
talion. These we used half in the trenches for eight days and
half out. The half out practised shooting during the day on a
range we had made, and then came up at night for four hours to
build sniper- and observation-posts. The half in the trenches
kept watch and shot day and night.
" Later on I hope to get the scouts for night work, patrols,
etc. Our bag at the finish was seventy-one men hit (including
three jaegers and five other snipers), forty-four plates smashed
or perforated, one hundred and twelve periscopes — these make
excellent practice for our men, and they came on wonderfully
and seldom missed one if it showed during the last couple of
weeks.
" The trenches we took were in a pitiable state and a mere
death-trap. Wherever you went if you looked round you could
see the Boche lines looking right down into you. The com-
munication trenches were very little waved, and wide enough
to drive an eighteen horse-power along. The Brigade worked
marvellously. The men in rest only had twenty-four hours for
a night and a halt, and then up again. Three companies from
Q
226 Sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
each battalion every night for work. The amount of sheer
earth shifted was colossal. We left the trenches with a parapet
in front varying from eight to thirty feet thick in front, the
close supports and subsidiary lines all built up and revetted,
five strong localities in front line almost crump-proof, the
communication trenches narrowed, curled, and revetted, and
generally the whole place in a strong defensible state. The
Corps Commander gave his opinion that the 17th Division had
done fine work, and especially the 51st Brigade, but the best
comment came from the C.R.A.
" I met him one day at the 4.5 howitzer battery, and was
telling him of a beastly village over against us in the enemy
lines which looked right down into us and worried us day and
night with machine-guns, snipers, fixed searchlights, and in
which the Boches could move about at will to annoy us. He
could not be convinced that it was necessary to strafe it down,
so I asked him if he would come along our front line and I would
convince him. At first I thought he would put me under
arrest for cheek, but eventually he consented. It was the
funniest thing to see him. I would take him along a few yards
under cover of the front-line trench and then step him back
about two yards from it and tell him to look round and then he
was looking bang up at this village. ' Oh, Lord ! ' he would
say, and duck under like smoke. This happened all along the
line, and he was very much convinced, and when we got back he
promised he would do his best to get all the heavies turned on
and level it. They had levelled every brick that was anywhere
near our lines, and so I pointed out this unfair advantage.
" On our return he remarked on the amount of work done, and
asked how long it had taken and how many pioneer battalions
we had to help. When I told him none he would not believe
it, and when finally convinced said, ' Well, all I can say is it's
colossal.'
" My wound is all right again, though I felt the shock from
it a bit. You should not blame me for not having come home
for a week or two, but about that time the work was very heavy
and some of the youngsters lately out from home were doing
nothing but wish for Blighty. By good fortune I got a chance
of correcting them, and naturally took it, and my lecture has
been successful. I have heard less of Blighty since.
Rev. W. Benton 227
" It was hard lines to be moved when we had got the hon's
share of the work done ; however, the incoming troops will
benefit. The weather is very hot now and a little trying for
intensive training.
" Yours to a cinder,
" Dick Benton."
The next letter I have before me was written to Mrs. Benton
by Major Magnay, 12tli Batt. Manchester Regiment.
" B.E.F., France.
" August 8, 1916.
" Dear Mrs. Benton,
" Just a short note to tell you that your husband
was wounded the other day. He asked me to write to you if
things went wrong. I am afraid he has gone through most of
the torments of Hell, but I consider him the most gallant
gentleman in the world. He knew absolutely no fear. On my
orders he went forward to try and reorganise after an attack
which had failed. Whilst on the front line he saw a wounded
man trying to crawl back from near the German trenches. He
at once went out to help him. He got him back some way
when both were hit by snipers, your husband in the right leg
below the knee. He got into a shell-hole. He was wounded
about 5 a.m. I sent four parties out to try and get him in, and
two other battalions sent out patrols at my request to bring him
in, but they could not find him, and when they shouted they
drew bombs and machine-gun fire and several men were hit.
Next morning your husband showed himself, and two officers
went out at about twelve, noon, and brought him in. I cannot
tell you what a relief it was to me to see him again. I have
known him only for three or four weeks, but in that time I
have come almost to worship him for what he is, and that is the
finest and manliest man I have ever known.
" I am desperately sorry to have to tell you that he is
wounded, but I am sure that you will be relieved to have him
safe at home under any conditions. I am very sorry to lose his
services and only wish I had him with me when we go back into
the fight.
" With kindest regards,
" Yours sincerely,
" P. W. Magnay (Major):'
228 Sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
This was followed by a letter from the Chaplain :
" 36 C.C.S., B.E.F., France.
" 17 August, 1916.
" Dear Mrs. Benton,
" It is with the deepest regret I write to let you know
that your dear husband, Capt. W. Benton, passed away about
2 o'clock this morning. I have been in close touch with him since
he was admitted here on the 6th, and he was always so grateful
for my ministrations. He received Holy Communion two or
three times, and I read and prayed with him almost every day.
I was with him till twelve o'clock last night, and he was then
sinking fast, and the night nurse tells me he passed peacefully
away about 2 a.m. During the first few days after being
admitted we had such pleasant conversations. He told me of
his ministerial work and his chaplaincy before he took a com-
bative commission. It is a comfort to know he died not only
a good and brave soldier of the King, but as a good soldier of the
King of Kings.
" Please accept my sincere sympathy in your very sad loss,
and I pray God may comfort and sustain you.
" Yours sincerely,
" C. A. Adderley, C.F."
And so this wonderful man, who had ministered to many,
was ministered unto, at the last, as he passed peacefully and I
feel sure happily away ; and can we doubt that if we could
render his welcome in the other world into language we can
understand, it will have been, " Well done, thou good and
faithful servant " ?
In the last letter Captain Benton wrote to his wife after his
leg had been amputated he says :
"... I got a smack on my right leg which broke it up a
bit and I had to have it amputated, as it got septic, as I was
left out and could not move to get in for a day or two. ... I
always thought if I got one on the right side it would be a
warm one. Love to all. Cheery oh ! . . ."
Major Magnay writes again, dated August 25, 1916 :
"... I cannot tell you how deeply I sympathise with you
in your great loss. . . . He was so brave and cheery all through.
Rev. W. Benton 229
The doctor sent me a note saying what a magnificent fight for
hfe he made, as we knew he would, but that the septic poisoning
got the upper hand at last. ... I made him my second in
command (though really he was far more fitted to command
the battalion than I). He often spoke to me of you when we
were alone together, and he left me a note at last asking me to
write to you, as he cared for you so much. . . . Perhaps this
letter may make your grief even harder to bear, but I only
wished you to know that although I am a stranger I too share
your loss, and that his place in the battalion can never be
refilled.
" If ever I can be of the least service to you I hope that you
will remember that I was his friend.
" Yours sincerely,
" Philip Magnay (Major),
" Commanding 12th Manchester Regt."
At the time these letters were written breaking the news to
his wife, much was still unexplained of how it all happened.
Sitting peacefully at home it is difficult to grasp all the confusion,
turmoil, and surroundings of a battlefield. I have seen something
of it and know that often, for some time, it is not possible to
gather up and connect the threads of the battle's happenings.
I have heard since that while gallantly rescuing a wounded man
who was trying to crawl back from No-Man's-Land, Captain
Benton was severely wounded while carrying the man on his
back. The enemy snipers had exactly got the range ; besides
wounding Captain Benton they shot the man on his back dead,
and the man at his side helping to support the rescued. Captain
Benton then crawled into a shell-hole with a wounded left arm
and right leg. There he remained unconscious for two daj^s.
When found he was brought into the dressing-station, being then
in a serious condition. Two operations were performed in hopes
of saving his leg, but it became necessary to amputate it, and
after this he died. He had previously been wounded three
times ; the fourth was fatal.
There were many people who considered Captain Benton
should not have undertaken combatant service, but remained a
• chaplain. Whether it is right or not for clergy to fight is a much
discussed question. There are strong points both for and
230 sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
against, and I think that in whatever capacity Captain Benton
was employed he would always be working for the God of Hosts
whom he found among the lepers on Robben Island. The
echoes left in the many valleys where Captain Benton wandered
are haunting and pleasant, being full of hope and encourage-
ment to other wanderers. His moral courage was remarkable,
born of deep religious conviction and an enthusiastic and
emotional nature which enabled him to lead where many
would have hesitated. In the trenches he would kneel
down, whether muddy or dry, and say his prayers out loud,
hoping that perhaps others might join in and find help or
comfort in prayer.
A memorial service and requiem for the repose of the soul of
Captain Benton was held in the parish church at Bearsted, where
the dead soldier-priest had worked during the incumbency of
the Rev. T. G. Lushington of Sandling Park, Maidstone. The
church was packed with people who were anxious to pay a last
tribute to the Padre's memory.
The service was well arranged and impressive. The band
of the Royal Engineers (from a camp near) and their choir took
part in the service. Gounod's " Berceuse " was well played as
an opening voluntary by the band.
Mr. Lushington, vicar and rural dean, preached a touching
sermon, choosing as his text, " Now there are diversities of gifts,
but the same Spirit." After speaking of the great work done
by Captain Benton as priest and soldier, he told the congregation
that " an officer going into the War Office not long ago said,
' The bravest man I ever came across was a man called Benton,' "
and the man who said it did not know he was speaking to one
of Benton's friends. Other officers who had known the man
they mourned had said he earned, if he did not win, the Victoria
Cross some five or six times and the D.S.O. some twenty times.
The preacher confessed he regretted it when his friend decided
to give up his work as a chaplain for that of combatant officer,
but he could not condemn that choice after such magnificent
testimony. If there were some who did not approve of all his
methods they knew that a great man had fallen — a man cast in
no usual mould, but that heroic mould in which the world's great
princes Avere made, a fearless self-sacrificing spirit.
At the end of the service the congregation remained standing
Rev. W. Benton 231
while the combined choirs led the singing of the Nunc Dimittis,
after which bugles at the church door sounded the Last
Post.
Major Magnay, who wrote such kindly letters to Captain
Benton's widow, was killed in action soon afterwards.
Chapter XVII
The Rev. Hon. Maurice Peel — Vicar of New Beckenham — As Army Chaplain
— Bravery at Festubert — Receives Military Cross — ^V^'ounded in Three
Places — Home on Sick Leave — In Bethnal Green Slums — East End Children
— Their Holidays — Not always Happy — Starving amidst Plenty — The
Vicar's Views of Social Intercourse — Vicar of Tamworth — London " Peelers' '
— Back to the Front — With the Stretcher-bearers — Where the Shells Fell —
Bar to Military Cross — On the Anniversary of Festubert — A Sniper's Kullet
• — Missing — A Plucky Priest — A Morning Post Notice — The Rev. Briggs
Gooderham in the Ranks — Receives a Commission — An Unexpected German
Shell — A Farewell Meeting — Homely Language — A Mild Reproof — The
Dublin Easter Riots — Trench Experiences — Loss of Self-control — Reason
Tottering — A Vaster Pity — Lines by Captain Colwyn Phillips — ^The Rev.
Percy William Beresford — From Curate to Commanding Officer —
AndD.S.O. — Influencing the Young — Life's Finger-posts — Forming a Cadet
Corps — Deplorable Ecclesiastical Bigwigs — Many Battles — Wounded —
Gassed — The Adjutant's Graphic Picture — " Fine Death for a Beresford "
— The King's Condolences — *' Carry On."
IT is difficult, among the many brave men who have given
their Hves in this war, to know which to write about, each
and all having their own special interest. Most have died
while rescuing the wounded, the Rev. and Hon. Maurice Peel
amongst the number. He was the youngest son of the first
Viscount Peel, Speaker in the House of Commons.
Mr. Peel was vicar of New Beckenham just before the war,
and a little book has been written to his memory by his suc-
cessor, the Rev. G. V. Sampson, who has given it the title of
" A Hero Saint."
At all times Mr. Peel was a modest, unpretentious man, almost
too depreciative of his own powers and certainly of his own
goodness.
When in 1914 the world was convulsed with the news of war
between our country, utterly unprepared ^ — and with a hopelessly
inadequate army^ — and an enemy that had been preparing for
" the day " for many years, Mr. Peel was among those who at
once volunteered to go out as chaplain, and was promptl}^
attached to the 7lh Division in France. All say that he was
Revs. Peel, Gooderham and Beresford, D.S.O. 233
devoted in his attentions to the sick and wounded, and was
wounded in several places while attending the sick at the Battle
of Festubert and obliged to return home.
As I have already stated, before taking up his military
chaplaincy he was vicar of St. Paul's, Beckenham, before that
rector of Wrestlingworth for about three years. Before that
again, and after leaving Oxford, he worked in the slums of
Bethnal Green, being ordained in 1899.
To a sensitive man of considerable refinement the plunge
from Oxford amidst the leisured classes to the squalor of Bethnal
Green, while being most satisfying to his spiritual aspirations
and longing for earnest work in the cause of God and poor
humanity, must have been trying to him in many ways. His
sympathies must have been divided and torn into fragments,
his olfactory nerves tried to the utmost, and his big heart
damped by the vastness of the field for work.
Some temperaments would have felt this less keenly than he
did, for at all times he mistrusted himself and his powers, fearing
he did not make the most of his opportunities and thinking he
•might have won more souls by better work.
Perhaps Mr. Peel was not a great preacher ; they are few
and far between ; but he was intensely sympathetic and gentle,
which, if he could only have realised it, carried as much, or more,
weight than much fine oratory.
When first he went to work in the East End he found the
church empty, schools neglected, and things in general at sixes
and sevens. How Mr. Peel faced it all with his very indifferent
health I cannot think. He took great interest in the Church
Lads' Brigade founded in 1896, and being anxious to make
himself thoroughly proficient in drill so as to undertake the
management of one of the clubs, he had a regular course of
instruction which qualified him to pass as battalion officer.
He said it was necessary for a commander to inspire both small
and large boys with a proper mixture of love and fear.
Unfortunately Mr. Peel's health obliged his giving up the
East End work, but he had the satisfaction of leaving all church
and parish matters on a sounder footing, churches full and
schools full.
Then followed three years in Bedfordshire amid healthier
surroundings, while rector of Wrestlingworth and vicar of
234 Sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
Eyeworth. Lord Peel was patron of the latter, and the vicar
was still spoken of as " Master Maurice."
The East End children were not forgotten, and parties of
them were invited for a week or two's change into the country.
We always think slum children would love the country and
that we are being very kind in having them for a while from
their dirty, squalid homes ; but this is not always the case. I
have known the little cockneys utterly miserable and lonely
away from their gutters and orange-peel ; they would rather
play with a treasured and battered old sardine-tin in puddles
caused by pails of dirty water thrown out into the street, than
have a clean face, clean clothes, and be told to play in a field of
golden buttercups where terrifying cows and sheep are feed-
ing. They miss the crowds and noise, miss the swearing of
drunken men, miss the scraps of food they love, the floating
pieces of orange-peel, odd lettuce-leaves and rotten fruit thrown
from the barrows.
I have known them cry miserably day after day until it was
time to go home again. A pig wandering down a lane or an
inquisitive cow coming to look at them in a field caused them
sleepless nights and horrid nightmares.
It is disappointing when we have done our best and are
patting ourselves on the back for taking so much trouble to
make them happy. I do not suggest all are miserable in the
country, but I have known quite a number who were, though
when safely home again, with no possibility of cows and pigs
coming round the corner, they have talked bravely of their
experiences !
Mr. Peel had no far-reaching schemes by which humanity
was to be benefited and the country purified until the lion and
the lamb were lying down together and the country over-
flowing with the milk of human kindness ; but wherever he went,
and in every parish where he worked, he took the trouble to do
what is often overlooked by the clergy, namely, he took con-
siderable trouble to bring together and introduce people of the
same tastes and same way of thinking, which resulted in happy
intercourse and sociability.
How often we find people starving amid plenty, so to speak,
because they know nobody who is interested in what appeals to
them. A man may be fond of reading and be of an enquiring
[Plwtoyyaph by C. E. Wealc, Victoria lioad, Tamn-orth]
The REV. and HON. MAURICE PEEL, M.C.
[Facing p. -Hi.
LT.-COL. P. W. BEHESFOliD, D.S.O.
Fdctiiy jj. •2'65.]
Revs. Peel, Gooderham and Beresford, D.S.O. 235
tuiTi of mind, loving books of science; he would be introduced
by Mr. Peel to another equally interested, so that they could
study and compare notes together. Again, he would find girls
and boys longing to taste life and be useful ; he would introduce
them to people who could help them. A girl wishing to learn
gardening and how to play tennis would be introduced to others
who knew how to do both.
By these tactful and sociable ways his parishes were happy
and wholesome. He believed in clubs where people could meet
and exchange ideas, and many club-feasts he arranged in his
parishes. He realised that if you can make people work they
will be happy, and given congenial surroundings and congenial
employment, they are on the high road to being good.
From Bedfordshire he went to St. Paul's vicarage, Becken-
ham, where he spent his brief but happy married life, and from
there to the front, where he was wounded badly in three places
while carrying the wounded at the Battle of Festubert, and was
sent home to recuperate.
When sufficiently recovered he was appointed vicar of
Tamworth, dear from family associations, and where there
stands to-day a bronze statue of his grandfather, who repre-
sented Tamworth from 1833 to 1850, when he died from an
injury he received by a fall from his horse. The London police
received the nickname of " Peelers " owing to his having
reorganised the force while Home Secretary. He was a man
much respected, and of whom Wellington said, " I never knew a
man in whose truth and justice I had more lively confidence."
At Tamworth Mr. Peel worked happily, and quickly gained
the affections of his parishioners, but during the early part of
1917, when the great offensive was imminent and he heard the
men in his old division were asking for him, he rejoined the
colours.
At no time in his life was he what might be termed a robust
man, and his endurance at this time was remarkable. Directly
he returned to the front he found himself in the thick of the
fighting once more, and remained for thirty-six hours without a
moment's rest with the stretcher-bearers on the advanced
patrol, never for one second thinking of himself but only of
the men. Wherever a shell fell he ran to see who wanted help.
He received a bar to his Military Cross for his devoted services.
236 sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
and while all his people at home were being congratulated,
came the news he had been killed while tending the wounded at
Bullencourt — truly Christ-like, for he died to save,
A letter from the Rev. Eric Milner- White, the senior chap-
lain at the front, gives some account of his last days on earth.
It appeared in the booklet entitled " A Hero Saint," compiled
by the Rev. Gerald Sampson.
"... I write as senior chaplain of the Division to tell you
first what a tremendous loss he is to the Division and his brother
chaplains ; next, to give you all the details that are clear as to
his death and burial ; and last, though not least, to convey to
all you who love him our reverent sympathy and our fellow-pain.
" Maurice (we all called him by his Christian name) was the
greatest chaplain in France ; none could be greater. His own
' immortal ' Division used to call him ' the bravest man in the
Army.' He always accompanied his men into the line. Wher-
ever a shell burst he at once ran towards it, lest any man had
been hit and he might be of service. The men, of course,
worshipped him. . . . When he came back to us in January he
did not rest on the laurels gained so desperately on Festubert
field. He nerved himself to greater efforts of mercy on the
battlefield and went everywhere regardless of risks, wherever
a wounded man lay. ... At dawn on the 15th, the second
anniversary of Festubert, he got out of his trench to visit either
a wounded man or an isolated post of men. On the wa}'^ a
sniper's bullet caught him in the chest ; he fell unconscious and
died very shortly, one Welsh Fusilier officer crawling out and
staying with him till the end.
" That same night one of the chaplains, McCalman, with
great courage went up to B with a cross, hoping to bring in
the body and bury it. Arrived within a few yards, he was not
allowed to go further, the risk being too great."
The little notice in the Morning Post when Mr. Peel's death
became known struck me as very charming. The writer had
instinctive and sympathetic knowledge of the soul-searching
moments when men are going into battle. I feel I cannot do
better than quote the words : " When the solemn moments
arrive and the men are waiting in tense and poignant expecta-
tion, though there may be many a joke, there is alway.i a great
Revs. Peel, Gooderham and Beresford, D.S.O. 237
seriousness. I love the picture painted to me of the late Maurice
Peel, chaplain to a battalion of a great Welsh Regiment. As
they stood in the trenches waiting for the attack, that peerless
man sent messages along the line giving them the great courage
of purpose . . . his last message, ' The Padre says, Jesus said,
" I am with you always," ' and then over the top to death or
glory, and among the dead was the gallant Padre."
One of the nicest things I ever heard said of Mr. Peel was that
he had the purity of heart and purity of life of a good woman.
The Rev. I. J. R. Briggs Gooderham is yet another name to
add to the list of the younger clergy who in the face of opposition
carried out what they believed to be their duty in enlisting in
the combatant ranks. From the commencement of hostilities
Mr. Gooderham v/ished to take his share of the fighting, and
embraced the first opportunity that offered. He afterwards
received a commission and was in charge of a machine-gun
section at the time of his death. Before the war he was a
curate at Christ Church, Crouch End. The young men of his
congregation were fired by his example and many also enlisted.
Mr. Gooderham's life was a very brief flight through the
world. He was left an orphan when quite a small boy, and was
brought up by relations. His first school was at Alnmouth, a
small seaside village near Alnwick. Later he went to Durham
School and then on to Caius College, Cambridge, followed by
the Ripon Theological College, and was ordained in 1912. His
first and last curacy was at Crouch End in the North of London,
where he worked until November, 1914, when he enlisted. In
1915 he was given a commission in the 3rd Royal Irish Regiment
and later joined a Machine Gun Company, and in October,
1916, went to France, but was only granted a very little while
to serve his country, being called to Higher Service on December
12, 1916.
His sister says he was not a sporting parson in the usual
acceptance of the term, but was most sporting in the best sense
of the word, as he gave up his position in the Church, his home,
everything to join the army. He could not bear to sit at home
and let others fight for him.
His end is described by his Commanding Officer to the aunt
who brought him up.
238 Sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
" The death, which was caused by a large German shell, was
unexpected, as German shells were rare in that part of the line,
so his last days were quite ordinary. He was in charge of th^ ee
guns and had just been round them and was talking to some of
his men and brother-officers. He cannot have been back in his
dug-out more than a few minutes when the shell came which
killed him and his servant instantaneously. Both were buried
in the debris. After much labour we managed to recover both
bodies, and they have been buried side by side by one of the
Brigade chaplains.
" The death of so promising a young officer was a great blow
to us. He was very popular, his soldierly and cheerful qualities
being much appreciated, and you have our sincere sympathies
in your loss of a nephew of whom you may well be proud."
That Mr. Gooderham's patriotism was approved by the
people he had worked amongst at Crouch End is vouched for by
an interesting little ceremony that took place in the vestry
after evening service on January 10, 1915.
Mr. Gooderham had been asked to attend this little gathering,
as the churchwardens wished to present him with a remembrance
from his friends in Crouch End.
Having been given forty-eight hours' leave for the occasion,
he arrived in the vestry for the first time as a soldier of the
King, having travelled up from Felixstowe in uniform. No
notice of the meeting had been given except in church, but a
whisper had got abroad and the gathering was a representative
one, comprising people of all ages.
The vicar spoke a few kind words, saying he had been very
fortunate in his curates, all of whom had possessed distinctive
qualities. Mr. Gooderham had made but a brief stay at Crouch
End, but many would never forget him, his singleness of mind
and unvariable amiability being particularly attractive. He
trusted his late curate would return from the war safe and
sound, and be able to resume his career as a minister of the
Church of God. Some letters were read that had come from
subscribers to the parting present, which was a pair of good
field-glasses. One man, who had been a contributor, said he
had never met anyone who came so near to his conception of an
ideal Christian. Many said their thoughts and prayers would
follow him.
Revs. Peel, Gooderham and Beresford, D.S.O. 239
Mr. Gooderham was naturally pleased, but told those present
he did not recognise himself in the language that had been used,
as he was very conscious of many deficiencies. There would
always be a warm place in his heart for Christ Church, Crouch
End, and he hoped to meet them all again in times of peace.
The Rev. C. J. Sharp, a former vicar of Christ Church, speaks
of Mr. Gooderham's character as one of delightful frankness,
and that he was liked by all for his lack of professional aloofness.
'* His unconventionality was to me one of his greatest charms."
Mr. Sharp was with him once when a lady complained of not
receiving an earlier visit from the clergy. " Why did you not
grouse ? " replied the curate.
Another lady he told that he did not visit her as he saw her
in her window every morning.
Once he took the vicar's place at a United Prayer Meeting
presided over by the Wesleyan minister. All were delighted
with the address and prayers of the curate that they thought
looked little more than a boy.
During Mr. Gooderham's Cambridge days, when studying
theology he parted with some of the beliefs of his childhood,
beliefs still treasured in many pious households, especially
amongst those who do not reason. He chose to prepare for
ordination under the guidance of Mr. Major at Ripon. He was
the third young clergyman who was trained there to fall in the
war.
There seem to have been quite a number of people who
predicted Mr. Gooderham would come back no more from the
front, his vicar amongst them. Why, I do not know, unless the
depressing accounts in the daily papers and the long Roll of
Honour lists got upon their nerves.
It was some time after enlisting before Mr. Gooderham went
to the front. At first he was on the East Coast, then as an
officer of an Irish Regiment at Dublin. He was there when the
Easter Rebellion took place, waiting, and stationed about fifteen
miles out of Dublin with his machine-guns in readiness for
immediate action should it prove necessary, as the rebels were
believed to be in some strength between them and the city.
From a hill near they watched the flames which told them
what was taking place in Dublin. He must have been longing
to turn his guns on to those responsible for those flames.
240 sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
His desire to see some active service was gratified at last, for
directly he landed in France he went into the firing-line, where
he almost at once met his death.
In a letter to his late vicar which he wrote from the firing-line,
he spoke of Donald Hankey, whom in some ways he resembled.
He had been reading an article of his in the Spectator entitled
" Do not Worry," which he thought very fine and true. Like
the writer of whom he spoke, he was without fear and died quite
happily and cheerfully at his post, trusting in God's mercy.
It is heartbreaking to think what it must be to some of our
boys straight out from home, where they have been sheltered
from all things hurtful and unpleasant, suddenly plunged into
scenes of carnage, bloody human shambles, the earth rocking
with vibrations of the ceaseless guns, the bursting of shells and
the cries of agony all around. Small wonder that it turns the
brains of even experienced soldiers who have been in many a
battle ; but hitherto the world has never seen battles that are
now the daily bill-of-fare for our troops.
A letter I received from a very young and near relation of
mine in 1915, written from one of those stormed trenches, gives
some idea of what our boys experience.
" No one place is safer than another in the trench, as these
great shells dig out the entire section of trench they hit, and
bury everything and everyone under tons of earth. At the end
of the day there are hundreds of yards of trench that could only
be traced in the ground. Quite early in the day my pack and
equipment were blown to nothingness.
" So the endless days wear on. Survivors rushing to the
places where the last salvos had burst, where the half-buried
and crushed were shrieking hoarsely for help, digging frenziedly
with tools and hands like dogs, in their efforts to release the men
before they were suffocated.
" If you found legs sticking out of the earth you pulled at
them ; if there was any response you tried to pull them out, but
if they made none you presumed they were dead, and dug
where you could be some use.
" An oldish grey-looking man near me who had been quietly
chuckling to himself and drawing figures in the mud with his
finger, suddenly gave yells of laughter and sprang out of the
Revs. Peel, Gooderham and Beresford, D.S.O. 241
trench before anyone could save him. He ran about, jumping and
shouting, until he fell riddled by the machine-guns that had been
sweeping up and down in the hopes of catching unwary heads.
" Just before that I had to tell off an orderly to look after a
man whose hand had been shot off, who was trying to do just
the same thing.
" It must be impossible for you to realise how people can lose
their control like this, but that is because you cannot go by the
standards of human experience that held before the war.
" These things are quite beyond human experience of
yesterday.
" It is an extraordinary sensation to feel your reason totter-
ing and your self-control slipping. It is a real, almost physical,
sensation. You feel it slipping as plainly as the first quickening
glide on a switchback at Earl's Court, and the effort to hold on
is as real as gripping the sides of the car as it plunges forward.
" I think everyone has had to build up a dual personality.
For instance, take the universal phenomena out here of the man
who at home would certainly not have made a hearty meal had
it been served to him in a well-stocked mortuary, but because
you see him now eating jam and biscuit amid appalling human
wreckage, it does not mean that he has been brutalised ; on the
contrary, he is now, and for always, a far sadder man with a
vaster capacity for human pity than he ever knew before.
" A prolonged bombardment has a great physical effect, too.
Your hands become slow and stiff as if they were very cold, and
you become slow and stupid. If you see two or three men
having a meal together afterwards you notice this at once."
Think what all this must be to the gentle heart and mind of
a man who could, for instance, write the following lines to one
he loved when in those ghastly trenches surrounded with
unutterable things.
I love thee as I love the holiest things,
Like perfect poetry and angels' wings,
And cleanliness and sacred motherhood,
And all things simple, sweetly pure and good,
I love thee as I love a little child,
And calves and kittens, and all things soft and mild,
Things that I want to cuddle and to kiss
And stroke and play with, dear ! I love you Hke this.
And best of all I love thee as a friend,
A fellow-seeker of a mutual end.
R
242 Sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
These lines were written by Captain Colwyn Phillips of the
Royal Horse Guards. He was the eldest son of Lord St. David,
and he was killed in action at Ypres.
It is not without parallel in this war for a country curate to
become a commanding officer of his battalion, or a D.S.O., and
no one was surprised, though all were glad, when Lieutenant-
Colonel the Rev. Percy William Beresford was awarded that
honour, for Beresfords from the days of Agincourt and before
that have been famous for their gallantry. -
What the exact relation was between Colonel Beresford and
the Waterfords I do not know, but his sister tells me they belong
to the elder branch of that family ; the late Judge William
Beresford was his grandfather. By my brief sketch of his life
it will be seen how he became a cleric and a soldier.
Rossel School and Magdalen College, Oxford, were responsible
for his education. He was much liked at both. The head-
master of his school described him as a boy of unusual culture
and wider reading than most. Sir Herbert Warren spoke
warmly of his life and influence, and especially of his gentleness.
When at Oxford he worked, which is not a universal habit of
university students. He passed well in classics and hoped to
take Orders, but family reasons prevented him entering the
Church at that time, and as his father's health was failing he
entered business, which was most distasteful to him ; his heart
was set on the Church. Nevertheless, he found time to do some
of the work that was beckoning him.
During his meditations at Oxford he had become convinced
of a great truth so often overlooked, namely, that the greatest
good may be done to the greatest number by influencing the
young, more especially the youths of our country, and this was
the great work of his life which he never for a moment let slip
out of his sight. He was wise enough to see that the physical
condition of young men is largely responsible for their moral
condition, and that congenial work is as necessary for their well-
being as is their food. With this in view, after attending to his
own business all day, he collected boys and held classes for them
at night and on holidays, arranged for plenty of healthy exercise,
games and amusements, during which his influence was be-
ginning to bear upon them imperceptibly, and they preferred
Revs. Peel, Gooderham and Beresford, D.S.O. 243
spending an evening with their instructor and genial friend to
standing at the street corners with their hands in their pockets
hatching mischief.
The influence of a kind and judicious friend during those
impressionable years when standing at the cross-roads with
life's finger-post pointing in different directions is incalculable
and may bear fruit for generations to come. At that age they
can be taught to dislike obscenity, vulgarity, and excess instead
of thinking it clever and manly.
Splendid though he was as a soldier, yet it is for his work
amongst the rising generations that I shall always remember
him.
As an employer of labour when in business, Beresford also
took interest in the lives and welfare of his men. In con-
sequence of the interest he took in their social matters he was
asked to offer himself as Councillor at Bermondsey.
In 1902 he went to live at Westerham, in Kent, going by rail
daily to his work. Here again he interested himself in the
young men of the place and was founder of the Westerham
Cadet Corps, the first parish cadet corps in the country, and all
his spare time was devoted to them.
It was uphill work at first. Some parents would not allow
their sons to join. They feared militarism, and disliked " new-
fangled notions," but they were counting without their chicks.
At first only about six joined, but they dribbled in by degrees,
bitten with the idea of being soldiers, and the parents had
to give in, and very glad before long that they had done so
when they saw the result of Beresford's efforts, their sons having
both physically and morally improved.
The first drill was on Farley Common, and the different
tone of the boys was soon noticeable. They became smart,
good-mannered, and respectful, enjoying the training and looking
forward to the time spent with their instructor, who firmly
believed that the best possible training and moulding of their
characters would be a military one, which would impress upon
them the ideas of patriotism, the duty of self-denial, punctuality
and discipline, all of which help to build up fine character and
conduce to efficiency in every walk of life. He felt strongly
that all military training acted as a sort of national university.
The cadets admired and respected their instructor ; many
244 Sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
regarded him as their best friend, and each cadet who has gone
out to face the world has carried with him the priceless blessing
of the influence of a good man upon his life.
It has always seemed to me that the shadows we cast upon
those around us form one of our greatest responsibilities.
At last, in 1905, the wish of his life was fulfilled and he was
ordained by the Bishop of Rochester, and became curate to
the Rev. Sydney Le Mesurier, vicar of St. Mary's, Westerham,
where he was working when war was declared. He at once
volunteered for service with the troops, his bishop having
" gladly welcomed " his holding his commission side by side
with Holy Orders.
Previously he had held a commission in the 4th Volunteer
Battalion of the Hants Regiment, and was at the time when
war broke out captain of the Cadet Corps ; he now joined the
3rd Battalion of the London Regiment.
What a pity more bishops have not " gladly welcomed " the
patriotic spirit of the young clergy who have volunteered to
fight for right and to enable the dignitaries to sit at home in
peace ! The prestige of the Church of England has suffered
through the action of some of its authorities preventing clergy
of military age from taking their share of warlike activities.
The attitude of the ecclesiastical bigwigs has been deplorable,
and if they knew how much their conduct has done to kill
religious feeling in our hearts it would surely fill them with
regret. Not all the precious blood of the brave young clergy
who have lain down their lives can ever obliterate the harm
that has been done.
Beresford found he could hold services, attend to the
spiritual needs of those around him, and still be a man and a
soldier. His previous experience and his keenness made his
services the more valuable.
First Beresford was sent to Malta, then France and Flanders.
He seemed to have a charmed life, living through three years of
incessant danger, having taken part in the battles of Neuve
Chapelle, Festubert, the Hohenzollern Redoubt, Bullecourt,
Ypres, Givenchy, a place he called the " Duck's Bill," wherever
that may be — possibly it was only a fancy name invented by
his regiment, for I do not remember hearing of it before— and
Poelcapelle, which was the last, on October 26, 1917. A shell
Revs. Peel, Gooderham and Beresford, D.S.O. 245
burst close beside him and he only lived a few minutes after
being hit.
He had not passed through those three years quite un-
scathed, having been wounded on April 24, 1915, and gassed
in September of the same year.
After the April wound he was sent home from hospital to be
nursed. Westerham was overjoyed to see him again.
His promotion had followed quickly on his arrival at the
front, and when he died he was a Lieutenant-Colonel and had
been mentioned in despatches twice. It was at Bullecourt in
March, 1917, he won his D.S.O. : " For conspicuous gallantry
and ability in command of his battalion during heavy enemy
counter-attacks. The skill with which he handled his reserves
was of the utmost assistance to the division on his right, and his
determination enabled us to hold on to an almost impossible
position. He repulsed three counter-attacks and lost heavily
in doing so."
The assistance referred to was given to an Australian
Division. A most appreciative letter was written by the
General in command to his next-of-kin, who is his sister, Miss
Beresford, but it is put away amongst other precious things in
the bank until the end of the war, so I am unable to reproduce it.
The Adjutant of his battalion was present when Beresford
was mortally wounded, and gives a graphic picture of the last
scene ; and so does Dr. Maude, who was in the same regi-
ment with him. When Colonel Beresford was hit by a shell
bursting close to him, he turned to the Adjutant saying, " I'm
finished — carry on." A painful pause ; then, to the field-doctor
who went to see what could be done for him, " I'm finished ;
don't bother about me, attend to the others." A smile lit up
his pale, handsome, and still boyish face. " Look after my
sister. ..." A longer pause, and, " This is a fine death for a
Beresford," and he was gone.
I have been unable to get many particulars of this time ;
all where he fell are fighting for their lives, and ours, and much
that I should like to know I must wait for until happier times.
Dr. Maude writes, " His work as a commanding officer was
extraordinary. He never spared himself, and though he worked
his officers very hard they adored him. It was a pleasure to see
the terms on which he was with his junior officers. , . . He was
246 sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
a wonderful man and a great soldier, and had he survived he
must have attained high command."
All remarked upon his contempt of danger. One evening he
was sitting on the ground of another Colonel's dug-out reading
his prayer-book, when a piece of shell landed between him and
his friend, striking his water-bottle. He went on reading just
the same without moving, somewhat to his friend's surprise.
A sergeant accounts for this coolness in a letter to the vicar of
St. Mary's, Westerham.
" Dear Sir,
" Having seen a photograph and a notice of the
late Lieut. -Colonel Beresford in the daily press and learnt with
deep regret of his death, I cannot refrain from sending to his
vicar the tribute of one who had the honour to serve under him
as a non-commissioned officer and who loved and respe^ied him
a-; a gallant Christian gentleman.
" A nobler or better man it would be impossible to find
among many good and noble men. A soldier every inch. I
have heard the men discussing his coolness under fire say, ' It
is his religion that makes him like that.' That is indeed a
tribute from men who themselves gave very little thought to
religious matters at that time.
" When he was gassed at Loos in 1915 he was back to the
regiment within a week, and I was present at a Celebration of
Holy Communion at which he officiated, though hardly able to
speak.
" The welfare of his men was ever near his heart. I do not
think he ever thought about himself.
" Trusting that you will not consider this letter an intrusion
on your own grief,
" I am, sir,
" Yours very faithfully,
" Harold Keen.
" Lately Coy. Q.M.Sgt.,
" l/3rd London Regiment."
The King sent a letter of sjTnpathy to Miss Beresford.
dated January 25, 1918.
A correspondent sent the following to one of the daily papers,
referring to Colonel Beresford :
Revs. Peel, Gooderham and Beresford, D.S.O. 247
" Seven months as chaplain in the regiment of which he was
in command have left an indelible impression upon my mind of
one who had a tremendous sense of duty, and I had a great
admiration for his personal intrepidity, his passionate love for
the honour of his regiment, and his strenuous life. Yet with it
all was his sensibility of the fact that he was a priest of the
Catholic Church.
" His personal fearlessness was the continued astonishment
and anxiety of his officers, for (though bearing already two
wound-stripes on his arm) he never showed the slightest trace of
fear, and if possible preferred to walk across the open to the
trenches rather than up a communication trench. I have
known him stand on the facades of a front line and talk to his
men. It is surely a striking fact and a lesson to some of us that
he always found time to say Matins and Evensong, and would
walk miles with me to the different companies on Sunday."
He died October 26, aged forty-two years.
Once when speaking to a friend not far from where he fell,
he said, " People so often attend church for what they can
get out of it— a good sermon, you know, or good music. If only
they came to give instead of to get ! You, for instance, who
complain that the service is dull, why don't you take something
with you to make it brighter — cheerfulness, thankfulness,
humility, any kind of virtue would help ; it would make all the
difference if you went to give instead of to get."
Mr. Le Mesurier in the Parish Magazine, soon after Colonel
Beresford's death, spoke tenderly of him. He felt his death very
much and liked to think some of the happiest years of his dead
friend's life had been spent with him in Westerham. Those
years numbered fifteen — quite a slice out of a man's life. In
the magazine the vicar said Colonel Beresford was the " soul of
honour."
The Bishop of Rochester said, " Would that I had a
Beresford in every parish in the diocese."
This soldier-priest, a D.S.O. and having been mentioned in
despatches, lies in the Gwalia British Cemetery at Elverdinghe,
near Poperinghe, and from this quiet resting-place there comes
across the sea his last message, " Carry on."
Chapter XVIII
Father Brindle as Army Chaplain — His Greatest Friends — Homely Expressions
— The Soldiers' Boast— Who did the Washing ?— Father Brindle Captains
a Boat — Wins a Prize — Advice to the Soldiers — How they Followed it ! —
The Taube Responsible — Father Brindle carries Despatches — Saves an
Awkward Situation — Discipline — Gordon Memorial Service — A Special
Prayer — Caton Woodville's Picture — Queen Victoria Disappointed — Men-
tioned in Despatches — Queen Victoria and the D.S.O. — With Lord Kit-
chener in Egypt — Commanding a Gun-boat — Many Decorations — Father
Brindle becomes Bishop of Nottingham — A Letter from Kitchener — Letters
of Appreciation — The Duke of Portland and Father Brindle — A Touching
Prayer — A Funeral Pageant — The Last Post.
FATHER BRINDLE was the most famous of army chap-
lains and the first to receive the D.S.O. for heroic conduct
in the field, at Atbara in 1898.
Lord Kitchener was a warm admirer of his, and they died
very nearly together in the month of June, the younger man
going first, coffined in the Hampshire, Father Brindle passing
peacefully away in his bed very shortly after.
Father Brindle loved the army, and amongst his greatest
friends were Lord Kitchener, Lord French, Sir Evelyn Wood,
V.C., and Colonel Kenna, V.C.
In his book, " From Midshipman to Field-Marshal," Sir
Evelyn Wood refers several times to his old friend, and always
in terms of appreciation ; while Lord Wolseley used to say that
Father Brindle was the bravest man he ever met, and I know he
tried more than once to get him knighted for his services in the
Soudan.
The soldiers loved their chaplain, who shared all their
hardships throughout the campaign, insisting on marching
every inch that they did ; a pony was kept exclusively for his
use, but he kept it only for the sick and footsore.
I remember him in Egypt about that time, and he certainly
was the most popular man in the expedition that went to rescue
poor Gordon. I believe, as a matter of fact, he took part in
nearly all the operations in which the British troops were
Father Brindle, D.S.O. 249
engaged from 1882 (when he was the first chaplain to arrive in
Egypt) to 1886 ; and again from 1896 to 1899, when he resigned
his chaplaincy. Being thin and aesthetic-looking, the soldiers
used to marvel at all their Padre could do.
I think this delicate look stood Father Brindle in good stead ;
the men felt more grateful to him for his efforts on their behalf
than they would have done to a big robust-looking man. They
thought it was so wonderful the way he marched with them,
even carrying the rifles of those who were played out, and they
liked the homeliness of some of his expressions.
A favourite saying of his was, " Do your duty and let the
rest go hang." His sporting spirit and unselfishness endeared
him to all. The men used to boast that the Padre had marched
with them all the way from Fort Atbara to Omdurman. After
travelling some hundred and ten miles, Metammeh was reached.
Khartoum lay a hundred miles beyond, but neither the scorching
sun by day nor the frosts at night deterred him, one of his
convictions being that the functions of a military chaplain were
more efficacious when discharged by example than by any
amount of preaching or precept.
Smartness hardly seems a suitable term to apply to a Roman
Catholic priest, yet it was really applicable to Father Brindle.
No matter the time, place, or work to be done, he always
appeared clean and trim ; nobody knew how he managed it, and
someone whispered that he did his own laundry work. In
camp he wore white uniform, which was always spotless. When
going into action he wore ordinary khaki ; both were well-cut
and made.
He was present at the battles outside Suakin in 1884, and
took an active part in the Nile expedition. At the request of
Lord Wolseley he captained one of the boats of the Royal Irish
Regiment, and won the prize of £100 for that regiment offered
by Lord Wolseley to the first boat to reach the end of the river
journey with the smallest relative loss of supplies.
General Sir Evelyn Wood described Father Brindle on this
occasion as " burnt brown with the sun, face and hands covered
with blisters," and noticed that when he stepped out of the
boat he was stiff with fatigue from pulling against the fast-
running water.
" Father, why are you working so hard ? " asked the General,
250 Sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
" Oh, to encourage them," was the reply.
" Any result ? "
" Very little."
Sir Evelyn Wood also tells a story about a sermon Father
Brindle preached in the desert during Lent. Addressing the
men, he said :
" Now, my men, I cannot ask you while here on service to
abstain, but you might do something which would be pleasing
to the Almighty and will gratify me— abstain from using bad
language."
Looking into the upturned faces, he hoped from their
sympathetic expressions that he had effected some good.
When the parade was over he stood talking for a few minutes
to some officers, and then while walking behind two of his
recent congregation, who had evidently not heard his footsteps
in the sand, he overheard one man say to the other, " I say,
Bill, that was a b -y fine sermon the Father gave us ! "
Which reminds me of a Padre in Flanders not long ago who
likewise had been trying to stop his men from using bad and
disgusting language, without much result. But one day when
standing amidst a group of men who had been offending by their
language, he looked up at a Taube overhead, pointed to it and
said, " My God, look at that b— — y Taube."
The men were struck dumb, and instead of looking up at the
Taube stood staring at the Padre, open-mouthed with surprise
and horror.
" Now, my men," said the Padre, " you know what I feel
like when you use profane and disgusting language."
The lesson had a marvellous effect.
In 1886 Father Brindle was present at the battle of Ginnis,
after which he came home and worked for ten years at Col-
chester and Aldershot amongst the soldiers. When, however,
Lord Kitchener organised his expedition to Dongola, he re-
quested Father Brindle to join the expeditionary force ; this he
was delighted to do, and distinguished himself by his devotion
to the sick during the terrible outbreak of cholera that year, and
during the long wait at Sarras.
At Dongola he successfully took a gun-boat into action.
It was during this expedition that he won his D.S.O. Our
troops came under the fire of some of our own guns, so that it
Father Brindle, D.S.O. 251
became necessary to send the gunners an order to prevent them
inflicting further casualties on our own men. Father Brindle
took this order to them across open ground that was under a
heavy fire from the enemy, and was thus able to save rather an
awkward situation.
Speaking of the battle of Omdurman, he was full of admira-
tion of the skilful generalship and tactics of the British com-
mander, who had told him several months before the event came
to pass that he would be in Khartoum on September 1st. His
arrangements had been made with the utmost forethought, and
they were as complete as skill could make them. He considered
the organisation at Omdurman wonderful, and said :
" We found ourselves lined up, British, Egyptians, and
Soudanese, numbering 20,000 men. All distances had been
marked, and when the Khalifa's men charged magnificently, as
they did at the first blush of dawn, we knew the day was
Kitchener's."
The story of this battle has been told many times. The
beating of the war-drums, the onrush of the Dervishes, how
they rode to the attack and were mown down as they advanced.
In the advance of our troops Father Brindle was in the
firing-line. He loved in his own quiet and convincing way to
relate the incidents of this victory.
His love for discipline was much appreciated by Lord
Kitchener, for not only did he impress its necessity on the men,
but he himself gave implicit obedience to all in authority.
Once when the troops were making a forced march he remained
behind. Lord Kitchener sent for him and asked, " Why were
you not there ? " receiving the reply, " Because, sir, I re-
ceived no orders."
After the final wipe-out of the Dervish armies there came the
memorable entrance into Khartoum and the impressive me-
morial service. No one realised more fully than Father Brindle
what that day was to Lord Kitchener : one of bitter regret at
being too late, and intense joy and gratification at having
successfully accomplished his task.
Lord Kitchener felt strangely drawn to Father Brindle on
this occasion, I know, and was grateful for his tactful sympathy.
There were three officiating chaplains at the Gordon
Memorial Service, and a special prayer composed by Father
252 Sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
Brindle for the occasion was recited by him, and was printed for
distribution by Lord Kitchener's orders.
Mr. W. G. Stevens, describing the service, says, " Snow-
haired Father Brindle, best beloved of priests, laid his helmet at
his feet and read the memorial prayer bare-headed in the sun."
Mr. Caton Woodville painted a picture of the religious
service in the ruins of Gordon's palace, where every stick and
stone seemed to throb with painful imaginings of poor deserted
Gordon's despair.
When the picture was shown to Queen Victoria she remarked
to the artist, " But you have forgotten the clergymen ! " She
evidently expected to see them in full canonicals. It was
explained to her the clerical garments were not forgotten, and
that the officiating clergy were in khaki, each one being
pointed out to her.
I was talking to a near relative of mine a short time ago
about the Egyptian campaign and Father Brindle ; they were
both toiling up the Nile at the same time and knew each other
well.
He spoke of the priest's charming personality and what an
idol he was of the soldiers, the amount of work he managed to
get out of the southern Irishmen who then, as now, were " agin
all law and order." The same relative told me that when they
returned to Korti after the desert march he one day saw what
looked like a battalion parade of an Irish regiment ; on making
enquiries he was informed it was only the defaulters who had
been making merry on their return to civilisation. In those
days it was not considered bad form to drink too much, and the
regiment had only been doing on service »vhat they were accus-
tomed to doing in peace. The only reason I refer to this little
incident, which cost them very dear and is an old story now. is
because of the astonishing control Father Brindle had over the
men ; but for him there might have been serious trouble. He
understood the Irish better than tho majority of we dull Saxons.
As Father Brindle mounted the scale of the hierarch}; he
became wonderfully little spoilt, and even as a Bishop his
charm of manner could be detected, though perhaps of a slightly
stiff er bearing.
Father Brindle was mentioned in despatches five times, and
twice promoted for war service. In addition to hi ; D.S,0. he
Father Brindle, D.S.O. 253
won an array of British and Egyptian medals and clasps, as
well as the Turkish order of the Medjidie and Osmanieh ; he
was, moreover, the recipient of a '.Good Service Pension," and
would have had the grants of a civil C.B., but this could not be
conferred on a chaplain .
Queen Victoria expressed a wish that he should not wear the
distinctive decoration of the D.S.O. until she had herself
personally invested him with it ; he therefore received the
honour at her hands.
The prayer-Vjook for Catholic soldiers which has been
adopted by the War Office was compiled for them by Father
Brindle, who was at their side during the two fights off Kasassin,
at El-Teb and Tamai in 1884, up the Nile with them in 1884-5,
and marched across the Baynda desert to Metemmeh with them,
and at the decisive action which broke the Dervish power for
the time being at Wady Haifa.
I think he was rather proud of Lord Kitchener's faith in
him when putting him in command of the third gun-boat, which
had troops on board struggling up the Nile.
It will be interesting to Catholics and others to know
what all the brave show of medals on Father Brindle 's breast
are.
The British War Medal for Egypt, 1882, with three clasps,
i.e., Suakin, 1884, El-Teb, Tamai and the Nile, 1884-5,
Soudan, 1898.
The Turkish order of the Medjidie (third class) and the
Osmanieh (fourth class).
The Egyptian War Medal, 1896-8, with three clasps, i.e.,
Haifa, Atbara, and Khartoum.
The Khedival Bronze Star, 1882.
On the morning of Tel-el-Kebir Father Brindle was lying in
hospital with English cholera, and consequently unable to be
present with the troops, who missed his cheering presence.
I have been told he was called the " soul of the regiment."
In 1899 his long connection with the army ended, and he
visited Rome, where he was consecrated Bishop of Hermopolis
that he might act as auxiliary to Cardinal Vaughan, who was
growing rather infirm. Father Brindle acted as Bishop Auxiliary
of Westminster until 1901, when he was translated to
Nottingham.
254 Sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
During the time of his episcopate the Bishop did not appear
much before the pubUc, but at King Edward's special request he
instructed Princess Ena for the change of creed necessary on her
marriage with King Alfonso.
None will wish to deny that Father Brindle was an ornament
to his profession, an earnest servant of his Church, a man with
sporting instincts that appealed to the soldiers, who hke men
who play the game. His manner was cheerful but dignified :
a thorough Englishman, not entirely without some of our
English prejudices, which, however, in no way detracted from
his lovable character.
Some of the letters received after retiring from service with
the army speak of the feeling entertained by the writers for him.
One from Lord Kitchener when staying at Combe, in Honiton,
dated October 2nd, runs :
" My Dear Father,
" I like this form of address better than your exalted
title of Bishop. I wonder you did not excommunicate the War
Office and its contents, including the staff that now rules there ;
perhaps you had not a bell, book, and candle with you and only
murmured the formula.
"As an Irishman I much wish I could come and see your
Irish friends, but it is a far cry to Liverpool. Next time I stay
at Knowsley, which I do sometimes, I will see what can be
done.
" I often look back in memory to the old Soudan days when
you used to lead the troops across the desert, and wish those
days back again.
" I am shortly going back to Khartoum and to shoot up the
White Nile.
" I was delighted to get your letter and to feel that you still
have a kindly remembrance of your old friend. Kitchener."
This letter shows the affectionate side of Lord Kitchener's
character, which many people thought did not exist. In a
measure he was a hard man, and yet I have more than once seen
that cold frigid manner put on when he was feeling very
much.
I remember seeing him walk down a room full of people wait-
ing to shake hands and congratulate him after his success and
Father Brindle, D.S.O. 255
i-eturn from Khartoum. He walked down the whole length of
that big room like a wooden image, shaking hands with first one
and then another, a cold fixed glitter in his eyes, and never a
smile. Many thought him ungracious, some even declared he
was rude and ungrateful and were sorry they had bothered to
come and greet him. He did not even turn and say something
gracious, as I hoped he might, when the end of the room was
reached ; but I knew he was feeling intensely.
When he was holding himself hard, either in pleasure or
pain, he used to turn colour. I have known one other man do
exactly the same. Both used to set their mouths tight and turn
a pale green-grey, and my heart has ached for these men.
Part of another letter from a Government official is in-
teresting :
" I have still got as one of my most treasured mementos of
the Soudan campaign a copy of your prayer at Gordon's
memorial service which you wrote out for me.
" Do you remember when you walked from Gatacre's camp
to the Atbara to a dying man in hospital ? I wonder if those
now under you will ever know what you have done for the
British soldier."
A stranger wrote to the Bishop as late as April, 1915,
referring to the prayer :
" I never read the words but there is a gulp in my
throat. . . ."
How well we can understand the pleasure these letters
brought to the old priest, how he would read and re-read every
word, living again in mind, those stirring times.
One or two other letters referring to the old soldiering days
are worth notice. One is from the " boots " at the Crown Hotel :
" Dear Sir,
" Reading in the paper about your juberlee, I has
one of the men who went through the Soudan campaign with
you and used to attend your Sunday evening services. I
thought you would like to hear from any of ours, for you always
had a kind word for any of us and if you remember you gave us
a little book as a present and I cherish that book for you was
good to us all, it did not matter whether we were Church of
256 sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
England, or Roman Catholics, and I hope God will bless and
keep you in good health for a good many years to come and we
all loved you.
" I remain, one of the late 1st Royal Warwickshire Regiment,
at present Boots at the Crown Hotel. . . ."
Again, from a retired Renter's war correspondent :
"It is now some years since we met at the battle of
Tamai, when we tried so hard to obtain a few winks of sleep in
an ambulance wagon which was riddled from top to bottom,
which disturbed much our comfort and efforts to sleep. I then
assisted you in helping to relieve the awful sufferings of the
wounded. ..."
One more old soldier's letter I would like to quote.
" Your Holiness,
" I trust you will excuse me writing to you in this
manner. I am an old soldier of the Seaforth Highlanders, and
served with you in the Soudan campaign in 1898. I was
reading in the Nottingham Guardian of the prize distribution of
the Robin Hoods, and I saw a face sitting on the left of the
Mayor that I remembered having seen in the desert.
" My mind went back to that solitary figure marching in
front of the British fighting square, the only man outside the
square except the colour party, and that was Father Brindle,
D.S.O.
" I have taken the liberty of writing to ask the favour of one
of your photographs to keep in remembrance of you.
" I have seen a good deal of warfare, like yourself, have four
war medals and eight clasps, and am very much interested in
old veterans.
" I am now the store-keeper at the Coal and Iron
Company. . . ."
When failing health obliged Father Brindle to give up active
work and retire from the See of Nottingham, he went to Mount
St. Stephens College, near Sheffield, in which he had always
been interested, and there he ended his days, becoming entirely
an invalid in March, 1916, and dying in June of the same year.
Shortly before leaving Nottingham, amongst the many
letters in his post-bag was one from the Duke of Portland, from
Father Brindle, D.S.O. 257
Welbeck Abbey, dated January 30, 1916, in which he said
how sorry he was to hear that the Bishop was rehnquishing his
high office in Nottingham, adding, " Though I know I am
unworthy to say it, yet I should hke to tell you that I am sure
you are immensely respected and admired as a man, a priest, and
a soldier. ... I hope you will forgive me for venturing to
express my feelings."
When Sir Evelyn Wood heard of Father Brindle's illness he
at once wrote asking to be kept informed of his condition.
There were many more letters of interest, all couched in the
same kindly strain. It is refreshing to find that occasionally
the good works of individuals are recognised during thdr
lifetime.
After Bishop Brindle's death rather a touching little prayer
was found written on the back of one of his old envelopes :
Dear Lord ! You are my guest to-day,
And love has made me bold,
So kneeling at Your feet I pray :
Give me not years, not gems, not gold,
Not honour, fame, nor earthly praise,
Not lengthened years — but fill
My heart with one desire — always
To do, dear Lord, Thy Will.
The funeral was a great pageant. Not before in England
had a soldier funeral been given to a Bishop. It was impressive.
The body was conveyed by train from St. Mary's College to
Nottingham and there transferred from it to a gun-carriage by
eight non-commissioned officers. Six horses mounted by men
of the Royal Engineers drew the gun-carriage through a mile of
mourners. This was followed by three hundred men of the
Yorkshire Light Infantry and other regiments, one hundred
and sixty cadets from Mount St. Mary's College, a band with
draped drums, boy scouts, and mounted police.
When this procession reached the Cathedral the coffin was
carried into its dimness and placed facing the High Altar on a
catafalque of purple and gold, bearing the dead man's coat-of-
arms.
A Guard of Honour was provided by the older cadets of
Mount St. Mary's College. They stood with reversed arms at
the four points of the catafalque. On the coffin, draped with
s
258 sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
the Union Jack, lay the Bishop's mitre, his war medals and
decorations, including the D.S.O.
Dr. Bourne, the Cardinal Archbishop, in his scarlet robes and
archiepiscopal mitre, gave emphasis to the ceremony. He was
supported by a number of Bishops, including the Rector of the
English College at Rome, numerous Canons and other officiating
clergy all taking their places at the High Altar.
The Requiem Mass was sung and the solemn ritual cul-
minated in the giving of the absolutions, the sprinkling and
incensing one by one of the Bishops, and lastly with deep
impression by the Cardinal himself.
The music ceased — and in sharp contrast, tearing the wings
from our emotions and bringing us back to earth, with a crash
the buglers sounded the Last Post.
After the service many thousands of people passed the bier
to pay their respects to a much-loved priest.
Later in the day the body was lowered into the crypt of the
Cathedral.
The RIGHT REV. BISHOP BRINDLE, D.S.O.
[Fact II (J p. 258.
•1^^^
JS3S*— '
MAJOR WILLIAM MACKENZIE, M.C.
SALVATION AHMY CHAPLAIN TU Al STKALIAN TROOPS
Faciiii) ij. -209.]
Chapter XIX
Caring for Spiritual Needs — The Salvation Anny — Miss Booth at the Front —
War Office Recognition — Chaplain Mackenzie and Chaplain Green — With
Australian Contingent — Waiting for Orders — Hells in Egypt — Captain
Mac's Endeavours — Off to Gallipoli — Constantinople or Loos — Some
Printed Leaflets — Grit, Guts, and Gumption — A Husbandy Letter — The
Chaplain's Post-Bag — Distracted Parents — Missing Son — A Poet Baker —
Broken-Hearted Sergeant — A Joke in Hospital — Salvationists' Huts —
Eggs and Tea — Vigorous Prayer Meetings — "When the Devil was Sick" —
Unspeakable Horrors — Letters from Home — " I Die quite Happy " — A
Military Cemetery — Wondrous Tommies — Chaplain Mackenzie breaks
Down — An Inspired Being — Lord French on Salvation Army — Lord Derby's
Thanks — Admiral Jellicoe's Tribute — General and Mrs. Booth in India —
Father Bergin at the Point of the Bayonet — On the Eve of Battle — A
German Pill-Box — A Bursting Shell — Father Bergin Killed — A Quiet Comer
in Renninghelst.
THE spiritual needs of the army have been well catered for
in this war as compared with previous campaigns ; the
proximity of one of the war zones has made it com-
paratively easy for all denominations to be in touch with their
followers.
The Salvation Army, that in its early days was so much
ridiculed, has been well represented ; their ranks and titles make
it rather confusing to the uninitiated, as both sexes are Cap-
tains, Majors, Adjutants, etc. Miss Booth, granddaughter of
the founder of the army, is " Adjutant," and now out at the
front in France. Their chaplains are not ordained and they
have no sacraments, but they do fine work, and more than once
during this war have administered the Holy Communion to
dying men.
The Australian Government were the first to recognise the
work of the Salvation Army to the extent of appointing their
officers as chaplains on an equal footing with the chaplains of
the Church of England and other recognised denominations.
A little later the New Zealand and the Canadian authorities
followed suit ; still later the United States authorities ; last of
all the British War Office has recognised them, and as I write
26o sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
the first duly accredited and officially appointed officer chaplains
are preparing to join the troops in France, and they hope to go
to the Eastern Mediterranean.
Two of their chaplains that I know of have been awarded
the Military Cross for general devoted service rather than for
any special act of gallantry. Captain Chaplain Green, at
present attached to the headquarters of the New Zealand troops
in London, was, I believe, the first of the Salvationists to receive
that distinction while in Gallipoli.
The other chaplain, Captain Mackenzie, came over with the
first contingent of Australians and has by them been christened
" Captain Mac." Yet he is not an Australian, though he
passionately loves them all ; but, as may be gathered from his
name, he is Scotch and is proud of his Highland blood and the
piety of his ancestors.
In his early youth he had wished to enlist in the Seaforth
Highlanders, but instead was taken to Australia, where by his
energy and push he soon found firm foothold. He was deter-
mined to get on, and quickly began to do so, but Scotland was
far away and the piety of his ancestors a thing of the past. His
idea at this time was all self and push ; he meant to make
money and get on in the world- nothing else mattered.
Suddenly all his ideals and theories were upset and became
things of naught ; self and worldly fame lost all value in his
eyes. The Salvation Army was responsible for this. It so
happened that what I presume they would call a battalion of
them were visiting the place where Mackenzie was working ;
their earnestness appealed to him, he became interested, and
arrived at the conclusion, after a certain amount of spiritual
wrestling, that there was better work waiting for him than
money-making and self-advancement. He had discovered
hidden away in the lumber-room of his heart a precious thing
that every man possesses without perhaps being aware of it
until something happens to bring it to light— namely, his
religion. The Salvationists having helped him to find it, he
naturally thought he would like to join them and help others in
the same way.
When war broke out he signed on as a chaplain. At that
time he was a big strong man with a huge voice and abrupt
manner wliich, however, covers a kind and gentle heart. The
Chaplain Mackenzie, Salvation Army 261
Anzacs are fond and proud of him. Every Australian you meet
will in course of conversation tell you two things — his admiration
for Captain Mac and his yearning to return home to Australia ;
but not until they have done what they came for, not until
they have had their whack !
Poor souls ! they had that in Gallipoli, where they faced
death with such sublime courage and won for themselves
undying glory out of that tragic failure.
While waiting in Egypt for orders before proceeding to the
Dardanelles, the Australians found the truth of the old adage
that Satan finds mischief for idle hands to do. The mischief in
this instance lay in the horrible dens which abound in the East,
where drink of a most poisonous kind and vice walk hand-in-
hand— veritable hells. In the first instance the soldiers were
only in search of amusement to pass the time away ; then the
drink and the amusements provided began to fascinate them.
Captain Mac tried hard to dissuade the men from visiting these
places, where the scenes were degrading and the drink poisonous,
but occasionally they would slip away, only to be quickly
followed by Captain Mac. To one he would say, " Come away,
lad ; what would your mother say if she could see you ? " To
another, " Be a man and come out of this. How will you ever
face your sweetheart again ? "
Not content with this, he went to the authorities and asked
if nothing could be done to prevent the fine healthy lads coming
to fight for the Mother Country from being led into such
temptation. Thanks to Captain Mac, much has been done,
not only for the troops but for Egypt also.
At last the joyful orders came and they moved on to Galli-
poli. The men were all eager for a fight ; plenty was awaiting
them. It hardly bears thinking about. Captain Mac was by
their side through it all, with the fighting, with the dying, and
once or twice I have heard that when the Turks became too
pressing he had something to say to them himself.
There were calls for Mac everywhere from the Anzacs.
They admired him for his strength, endurance, and almost
womanly tenderness. They attended his services, repeating
the prayers after him word for word, singing his hymns, and
many of them dying in his arms, mingling their tears and sweat
with his. They listened for his encouragement when storming
262 sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
the heights, and turned to him for sympathy when told that what
they had won at such a cost had to be given up again.
The news that all had to evacuate came as a bombshell, and
many were the curses on civilian-controlled campaigning. They
did not know then that a new plan had dawned upon the
authorities and its name was Loos ! It had been a toss-up
between Constantinople and Loos, and the latter had won.
The first to evacuate were the Irish and French divisions to
Salonika. It is old history now, therefore I presume there can
be no harm in referring to the curious fact that the Turks did
not interfere in any way with the evacuation of these divisions
with the exception of dropping proclamations at 9 o'clock next
morning to tell the native regiments that they were being left
behind by their white comrades to have their throats cut. What
makes this so interesting is that the Turks must surely have
been printing their leaflets during the time the evacuation was
in progress, and it throws some light on the complaisance they
showed during the subsequent evacuations.
I have some interesting letters dealing with that time, but
they had better stay in the dark for the present, though it is
difficult to see how^ what happened three years ago can now be
prejudicial. It is all part of a very bitter and ignominious past.
The much-grieved Australians and their Captain Mac now
went to France, having tasted both victory and bitterness
together.
To my mind Captain Mackenzie's most charming attribute
was his passionate love and admiration for the Australians,
whom he describes as "not merely big men, but men with
brains, who, though they slouch about when there is nothing to
do, are altogether different when any business has to be carried
through. I am sorry for those who get in the way then, for
nothing stops them but death. Tell them there is a difficult
job for them to see through, then they are all the three big
' G's ' put together, as I heard someone express it : Grit, Guts,
and Gumption. Oh, they are princes — men — great ! "
He says he loves every mother's son of them, and feels it a
privilege to be able to do anything for them ; their courage is so
supreme no one could help loving them. Nerve-shattering
shells, thundering guns, mud, snow, rain, or general wretchedness
cannot make them other than cheerful.
Chaplain Mackenzie, Salvation Army 263
It is easy to understand Mackenzie's exaltation. He must
be proud even to be of the same sex. He loves to wait on them,
do little things for them. I have heard from others what some
of those " little things " consist of. He has been known to walk
many miles at the end of a heavy day's work to carry letters of
importance for the wounded, or fetch some delicacy for a
patient in hospital.
The letter-writing for the men is quite a formidable under-
taking by itself. One of the chaplains — I think it was Captain
Mac — was asked to write " a real nice husbandy letter " to a
man's wife !
Besides the outgoing post the chaplain's incoming bag is
generally a heavy one ; everybody feels they can fly to him for
help. Here are a few requests to be attended to in one day's
post. An Australian mother writes that she and her son have
had a bit of a difference ; will the chaplain be kind enough to talk
to the young man ? Another letter from distracted parents
asks him to tell them where their son is laid, and will he take a
snapshot of the grave and send it to them ? A third has heard
nothing of their only son for a long time ; will the chaplain try
and find him ? It would be very easy to answer all these with
a few strokes of the pen, pointing out that amidst the hundreds
and thousands of killed and missing it would not be possible to
carry out their wishes. Instead of this they take the utmost
pains (most of them) to do all they are asked. One of the
Salvationist chaplains — I am not sure whether it was Captain
Mackenzie or another — diligently searched for the missing boy,
and after considerable trouble found him in hospital , where he
was very comfortable and well looked after. It so happened
that it was his nineteenth birthday, and being a favourite with
the nurses and the doctors, a variety of little presents were
around his bed — flowers, fruit, and other little tokens likely to
please and cheer him ; but the chaplain was glad the parents
could not see their boy, for he was terribly disfigured and had
been wounded in seventeen places. When first he was hit he
implored his mate to shoot him and put him out of his
agony.
A letter was sent that very day to the parents giving the
consoling news that their son had been found, was in hospital
doing well, and a favourite with everybody. Even the hospital
264 sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
cook had been moved into making him a special cake, on the
top of which in icing-sugar was the following choice poem :
Private Bunker
Wasn't a funker
But was a hero.
When the chaplain asked the patient if there was anything
he wanted the youth replied, " Yes, sir, I want some ginger-ale."
Unfortunately there was none to be had anywhere near, but the
chaplain trudged through miles of mud and got some for him.
The chaplains often have to do the censoring of the letters,
and Captain Mac did his share. He noticed what several
others have told me, namely, that there are very few in which
religion is not mentioned in some form or other.
The Colonel commanding the Salvation Army headquarters
has given me some delightful stories of the workings of their army
and their chaplains. Stories of the terrible mud through which
the men often had to wade when returning to billets : terrible
sticky mud in which tired, spent men have sunk up to their
armpits and died. Captain Mackenzie used to go out and meet
them, to cheer and if possible to help them in .
The men often begged him not to expose himself to danger
when not obligatory. He replied, " Boys, I have prayed with
you and I have preached to you. Do you think I am afraid to
die with you ? I'd be ashamed to leave you when you are up
against it hard."
Chaplains see humanity robbed of all its shams, all its
veneer, but what they see and hear is sacred, therefore much of
their work is unknown to the world. They seldom speak of
their experiences as relating to individuals, but the Australians
themselves delight in telling stories of their Captain Mac,
whose sympathy is sought by all, as well as his spiritual aid.
One big, splendid-looking sergeant coming back from the
firing-line on the Somme threw himself into Mackenzie's arms,
sobbing like a child, and saying, " Oh, Mac — Charlie's dead — •
Charlie's killed ! However shall I tell mother ! " The man's
brother had been killed at his side.
The pluck of the wounded is very wonderful. They manage
to laugh and joke when it might seem impossible. A Salvation
Army chaplain going into hospital to see a man who had lost
Chaplain Mackenzie, Salvation Army 265
both his arms greeted him thus, " Well, I won't offer to shake
hands with you ! " The poor man laughed heartily — enjoyed
the joke.
There is no end to the good work done by the Salvationist
huts. I have several times heard of soldiers being stranded and
having asked where they could go for some food and rest, and
of their having been directed to the Salvation Army shelters,
where they have been well fed and cared for. I have been told
it as a fact that in one such shelter as many as one thousand five
hundred eggs and four thousand cups of tea have been provided
in one evening. What an undertaking !
Vigorous prayer-meetings are also held in these huts ; their
services are very bright and attract crowds of men, their hymns
are not gloomy and sad, their choruses have an inspiring lilt.
In one place where a service was being held a great number
could not get into the building, though it was a very large one,
but the men stood outside and joined in the chorus. Speaking
of this service one of those who had been inside the building
described it to those outside as this : " The Major he let off a
slap-up-ding-dong-soul-stirring meeting."
The ritual of these services is well arranged. They are
heralded by a band marching up beating drums and trolling
cheery tunes. An interval is allowed of a few minutes and
another band comes marching along, perhaps a third on gala-
days, and each band collects a following ; some come perhaps
out of curiosity and remain for pleasure and spiritual profit.
No one can have taken part in this war with its unpre-
cedented horrors without its having been brought home to
them that " in the midst of life we are in death " ; the veriest
scoffer before the war now thinks, as regards religion, that there'
must be " something in it, after all."
We have all heard the story of
When the devil was sick
'Twas a saint he'd be,
But when he was better
Divil a bit of a saint was he.
This may apply to some of the new religious enthusiasts, but
I doubt if it will to many, for the experiences of to-day can
never be forgotten.
Those who have seen nothing of the horrors of battle cannot
266 Sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
perhaps appreciate what the present unutterable human
carnage has been to some of our boys, straight out from home,
where they have hved sheltered lives shielded from all things
hurtful and unpleasant. They quickly cease to be boys — and
never again can they feel young. The unspeakable horror of
it all has robbed them of their youth. The world they have
known is gone from them for ever— a thing of the past ; has
become like a dream of long ago.
The only thing that has saved many from going mad has
been letters from home. I wish this were more realised than it
is. I wish people realised more what the despair, the hope-
lessness is, that seizes the hearts of our lads sitting in shelled
trenches, the earth rocking under them from the thundering
guns while they are like moths pinned to a cork ; the bodies of
their pals blown to pieces all around them, and then, poor
lads, they are sent to collect the discs from amongst the human
wreckage. Small wonder that home, peace, and beautiful things
seem very far away. Then it is, that letters from home are
priceless treasures, letters breathing of love and endless prayers
for the safety of the recipient, telling of all the homely things,
the everyday little nothings that seem so great to them now.
Even the cat having had kittens seems to bring home nearer.
Next to letters from home, I think the Padres bring most
comfort to the fighters.
Miss Booth, of the Salvation Army, takes special interest in
looking after the graves of the fallen, and lays flowers on
them for those unable to do so themselves. Many are the
lonely graves that have been decorated and cared for by her
kindly hands, where the sleepers have been claimed by none.
I remember wandering through a cemetery soon after a big
battle. I was searching for the grave of a brave man whose
last words had been, " Tell them all at home I die quite happy."
Many sights met my eyes that made me see everything
through a mist. It was almost unbearable. The rows and rows
of white crosses, just a number telling those who cared that a
young man, barely in his prime, had made the supreme sacrifice,
before time had been given to him to enjoy half the lovely things
in life.
Among the multitude of graves lay love-tokens of every
description : flowers in jam-pots, artificial wreaths in glass
Chaplain Mackenzie, Salvation Army 267
cases, a pathetic little paper cross all gone to pulp, and a little
further on a poor frenzied woman with arms outstretched over
the newly-turned earth, crying out that she could not leave him
" all alone."
The chaplains all agree the British Tommies are wondrous
beings, and are at their best when in tight corners. I have
known them angry and unbearable over trifles in ordinary times
of peace. I have known them superb and forgiving over cruel
wrongs — ^dying caked in mud and blood, asking you to leave
them and attend to others who " need you more." I have
known them well attended to and comfortable between snowy
sheets in hospital ; but I like best to remember them — and it
was worth risking much to see their faces ^when three pieces of
tape had been tied to the foot of their beds, for in hosj)ital
parlance that meant " For home."
The way some of the officers meet the disagreeables of war is
instructive. One man who had been brought up in the lap of
luxury shed real tears of annoyance when the mud and the
rain went down the back of his neck, but when the pinch came
it did not prevent him from leading a forlorn hope.
I am sorry to say Chaplain Mackenzie, after three years in
God's service at the front, has entirely broken down in health
and been obliged to return to Australia.
What he was as a preacher I do not know, but that his
religion was a real thing to him I feel sure. Perhaps it
would have been difficult to him to " put his reason in writing,"
as the lawyers say, as to why he believed and embraced certain
theories appertaining to his religion, and probably he would
have come off second-best in a profound theological argument,
but he would have pounded many learned divines at Scriptural
quotations, chapters and verses. His religion made him very
happy and bright, assisted, no doubt, by his robust health. He
sang and laughed and used his robustness to help those less
fortunate than himself.
I think he was rather an inspired being. He felt there was
something in him which acted as his guide, counsellor, and friend ;
not the thin small voice we call conscience, but stronger than
that and different. What some people might term coincidence
he attributed to this " something " in him telling him what to
do, and what to avoid. This " something " turned him back
268 Sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
once when bound on an errand of mercy, and the road on which
he would have travelled was torn up by shell-fire. At other
times he was led to places he had no reason to visit, and found
men alone and dying. He feels it is the Spirit of God working
in him.
The Salvation Army has met with a good deal of encourage-
ment and appreciation. Lord French recently said, " Of all
the great associations and organisations which have sprung into
existence in the last fifty years for the temporal and spiritual
welfare of the community, none have offered finer work,
attained more splendid results throughout the British Empire,
than the Salvation Army. In particular its activities have been
of the greatest benefit to the soldiers in the war." Lord Derby
sent them encouraging messages through their General. In a
letter he says, " All good wishes for your success. The
splendid work which the Salvation Army has done amongst the
soldiers during the war is one for which I as Secretary of State
for War should like to thank them most sincerely. It is work
deserving of all support." Admiral Sir John Jellicoe also pays
them a tribute : " His Majesty's Services owe much to the
Salvation Army."
I remember when I was in India years ago dear old General
and Mrs. Booth coming up to Simla. I think it was the year
Mrs. Booth died. Lord William Beresford lent them the theatre
to hold one of their meetings. I was staying with Sir West
and liady Ridgeway, and was in their box with them. The
Ripons were opposite in their box, and the house was full.
Many of us, I am afraid, went thinking we should be amused,
and when the procession filed in beating drums and clashing
brass instruments, some smiles wandered round the theatre ;
but directly General Booth with his snow-white hair and
beard began to speak, his common sense and earnestness at once
aroused our interest, and he was so eloquent he carried us along
with him until we all felt ashamed of the little smile that visited
us when first the meeting began. After addressing us in English
he addressed the natives fluently in the vernacular. He
indulged in none of his understudies' wearisome repetitions of
" and I was saved," or as some of them expressed it, " I was
sived." His language was refined and polished.
Mrs. Booth also spoke, and it must have been apparent to
Chaplain Mackenzie, Salvation Army 269
all that she was very far from strong and simply burning to
save us all. It was a vital matter to her, and I believe she
would have gone on pleading with us until she was completely
exhausted if her husband had not very kindly and tenderly
stopped her.
Miss Booth, the granddaughter of these very earnest people,
has lately written an interesting little book giving an account of
the Army's work all over the world.
A monster hut has been erected in France by the Australian
Salvationists, and they crowd into it. Services, sing-songs, and
amusements all take their turn in it. Captain Mackenzie used
to sing to them there, provide them with books, magazines,
games, and material for letter-writing, to try and help them to
forget all the hardships of the trenches.
I read somewhere the other day that those who live to tell
the tale, when they return to their homes in Australia will sing :
I daiindered here and I daundered there
And I daundered round the corner,
I daundered into an army hut
And I got Salvation yonder.
And they will sing it to the tune of " The Girl I Left Behind Me."
There was also a Roman Catholic chaplain who came over
with the Australians, Father Bergin by name. His early
missionary career was in the Holy Land and Syria. Had there
been no war he would probably still be alive and well, carrying
out God's work in that lonely outpost of civilisation. But
Father Bergin being a British subject and Turkey being at war,
necessitated for him, as for many others, a very hasty and
undignified departure at the point of Turkish bayonets from the
scenes of his labours.
The home of the Jesuit Order in Cairo became his temporary
home, and it was from this home early in 1915 that he first came
into contact with the A.I.F. (Australian Imperial Force).
He served with them in France and was with them through
all their battles from Ypres to the Somme, up to the time of his
death on October 12, 1917. He could not be prevailed upon
to take rest and leave, so devoted was he to his work.
His chief characteristic was his simplicity and gentleness.
270 sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
All who ever met him, from staff officers to privates, liked him
as a friend, and all regarded him as a man of God.
It is rather difficult to write of the work of the priests and
clergy of all denominations ; it is not for the eyes of the world.
A colleague in the same division with Father Bergin gives an
account of his last days in this life. He and his unit had been
having a few days' rest behind the lines, and the Sunday before
returning to the front line again he held a service in the little
local church and had a fine parade of his boys. Within a few
days a Requiem was sung in the same church for Father Bergin.
He had moved up with his Brigade to an advanced post on
October 10th in order to attend to the wounded. On the
evening of the big attack made by the gallant Australians on
October 12th he was standing at the entrance to the Aid Post—
an old German " pill-box " of spacious size and great strength.
The shelling was violent, but the danger was not very close at
hand. In fact, he was actually watching some men who were
hard pressed at some little distance, and standing with him was
the first staff-captain and the signal officer of the Brigade.
Suddenly a heavy shell burst a few yards off, killing Father
Bergin instantly, also the signal officer, Lieut. Darke. The
staff officer escaped with a severe shock.
In a little quiet corner of the cemetery at Renninghelst rests
the remains of Father Bergin amongst the British and French
who have fallen since the days of 1914.
Chapter XX
Church of England Bishops — Roman Catholics — Nonconformists — Helpf-.l
Priests — Roman Catholics in 1688 — Father Finn at Sedd-el-Bahr — With the
Dublin Fusiliers — The Last few Words — Preparation for Death— The Clyde
run Aground — A Desperate Landing — ^The Colonel's Advice — Father Finn's
Reply — A Boat-load and what was Left — Riddled with Bullets — A Ghastly
Scene — Men Digging like Dogs — A Crippled Arm — The Sign of the Cross —
Bleeding to Death — A Last Question — The Rev. T. A.Harker Describes the
Scene — A Crimson Sea — Sympathy of the King and Queen — A Strong
Presentiment — Admiral de Roebuck's Despatch — Father Finn's Early Days —
Bishop of Middlesborough's Appreciation — The Late Mr. John Redmond —
His Letter to the Author — Father Gwynn — At the Western Front — Buried
Alive — Fights his Way Out — A Priestly Act — The Rev. Richard Hall —
Appreciates the Catholic Priests — Father Bradley's Unselfishness — In-
fectious Piety — " A Good Job Too " — A Service before Action — An Ex-
perience of German Submarines — A Rush for Life-belts — With an Eye to the
Future — Father Willaert — Sees his Brother Shot — Asked " Not to Look."
I HAVE made several discoveries while writing this book, one
being that there is no more instructive method of observing
the psychology of the various great religious organisms
than in compiling a book of this sort. It seems to me that
nothing but good can come of recording the achievements of
some of the undeniably splendid men who have served as
chaplains in the great war, because the chaplains' department
has not received anjrthing like its share of recognition in war
literature, and I think it is certain that the parsons' work with
the armies in the field is underrated by the man in the street.
My views seem to be shared by the Roman Catholics and
Nonconformists, at any rate, for when I have applied to them
for any information in connection with my subjects I have
received nothing but kindness and prompt help. When it
came to the Bishops of the Church of England it was like trying
to get information out of the giant tortoise at the Zoo, which
it was impossible to say whether it was alive or dead. Dealing
with the Roman Catholics and Nonconformists was dealing
with real live people, while — and I say it with sorrow, being a
member of the Church of England— our ecclesiastical dignitaries
272 Sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
are amazingly and deplorably apathetic. One Bishop I wrote
to asking some questions concerning the chaplains who had left
his diocese, replied saying he knew nothing about the branch
to which I referred ; another, after a few more or less meaning-
less sentences, thought that when all had done so well it would
not do to mention any one in particular ; while a third, whose
son is a chaplain and has been decorated, said his son had told
him he had " done nothing."
The Catholics, from the Cardinal Archbishop downwards,
have been most helpful, and evidently know every detail of the
splendid work done by their priests. The helpfulness of the
latter makes me wish I had been brought up in the Catholic
Faith.
For many years there were no Roman Catholic priests
allowed to serve in the British Army. The first was appointed
as chaplain during the Crimea, and sent to the hospitals at
Scutari and Malta. After that campaign they became a
permanent part of the establishment, but in a very limited
number, usually one Catholic chaplain to every expeditionary
force. When military operations were on a very large scale
additional temporary chaplains were appointed, and they
received the same pay and relative rank as the Anglican and
Presbyterian chaplains, rising according to length of service to
the grade of chaplain of the First Class, with the rank of Colonel.
From the Revolution of 1688, for about a hundred years, if a
Roman Catholic wished to enlist in the British Army he was
obliged to attend the Protestant services at the Church Parades.
In those days I believe the Catholics who felt attracted to a
military career served in the Irish Brigades of the French army
or entered the Austrian or Spanish service. In these armies
many Catholics, mostly from Ireland but a few from Great
Britain, rose to high rank.
Under the stress of the conflict with the American colonies
and the war with France, Catholics were at last allowed to
enlist, the higher ranks of the army being closed to them. A
few years after Waterloo this rule was relaxed.
At the beginning of the war in 1914 there were not enough
Catholic priests for the needs of the army, and the War Office
had to ask for more. Even then there have been complaints
that there are not enough. The War Office, in spite of Lord
Father Finn 273
Kitchener's warning, failed to recognise the enormous under-
taking ahead of us.
Each CathoHc priest has been paid by the Enghsh Govern-
ment and everything provided for him at the pubHc expense,
even a portable altar and all things necessary for the celebration
of the Holy Communion in the field.
The first army chaplain of any denomination to fall in the
war was Father Finn, who was attached to the 1st Dublin
Fusiliers. He was killed on April 25, 1915, at Sedd-el-Bahr
at the mouth of the Straits — ^" the worst and bloodiest of all
the landings," according to John Masefield.
On the Ides of March, 1915, heedless of Caesar's warning,
the 1st Dublin Fusiliers, who had been training at Kenilworth,
left that town with their officers and chaplain by the 10.30 p.m.
train, for they knew not where.
All Kenilworth used to run to their garden gates when they
heard the " Dubs " (as they affectionately called the Dublin
Fusiliers) marching along and trying to keep their hearts up by
singing " It's a Long, Long Way to Tipperary." No one in
Kenilworth can bear to hear it now. After the dark night of
March 15th had swallowed up those cheery lads who had won
the hearts of Kenilworth, all was wrapped in mystery. No
little bird whispered where they were, no little bird even pre-
tended to know, and for all Kenilworth knew the " Dubs "
might have been swept off the face of the earth, until the
papers arrived one bright May morning — I think it was the 4th
— the newspapers arrived blazing with the account of the
brilliant and successful landing of the heroic " Dubs " at the
Dardanelles, a feat of arms " that will add lustre to the glorious
records of the British Army " : so said the papers.
In General Sir Ian Hamilton's vividly-written despatch
picturing those landing operations he says, "It is my firm
conviction that no finer feat of arms has ever been achieved by
the British soldiers or any other soldiers than the storming of
those trenches from the open boats on the morning of April 25th,
1915."
That was the date of the landing of the 29th Division on the
Gallipoli peninsula. These troops were especially assigned that
almost impossible task, being well-seasoned men, the last large
unit remaining of the old regular army.
T
274 Sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
With this Division were the 1st DubUn and 1st Munster
Fusiliers. Father Finn ministered to the spiritual needs of
both, the majority of the men being Catholics, and most sin-
cerely did he love the men and most unceasingly did he work for
them.
On board the transport during the voyage out, when the men
became depressed with the monotony of the life. Father Finn
would tell them amusing stories, sing to them, arrange sports for
them, all with a view to cheering them up.
At last the weary journey came to an end. On Saturday,
April 24th, the transport lay just off Tenedos surrounded by the
warships of the Allied Fleets that were preparing for the great
bombardment next morning. Father Finn held his last Mass
on board and was very happy, as so many attended the service
and partook of the Sacrament.
His addresses to the men were homely and simple, what he
called a " few words." He knew, and the men knew, there was
some deadly work before them. Many of the priest's " few
words "were on the subject of contrition. He told them if they
were wounded and no priest was near, they should say, " O
my God, I am sorry that I have sinned against Thee, because
Thou art so good ; I will try and sin no more," and that this
would be acceptable to their Heavenly Father. His last " few
words " to the men while addressing them were on " Preparation
for Death." Little did any of them think that before another
sun would set the majority of them would have laid down their
lives.
In the darkness of that early Sunday morning, with all
lights out, the s.s. Clyde ran aground, according to orders, close
to the shelving beach. With the first glimmering of dawn began
the thunder of the guns, the commencement of the great bom-
bardment. It was certain death attempting to land, and they
all knew it, for this was no surprise attack on the enemy ; they
knew our troops were coming and they had been preparing a
warm reception ; all was in readiness.
All the landings were desperate undertakings, the Turks,
under German directions, having arranged every conceivable
device in barbed-wire traps, hidden machine-guns, etc., to
make impregnable these narrow landing-places.
The moment the men from the Clyde began to disembark
Father Finn 275 -
shells crashed into her from the shore, machine-guns were turned
on to the two exits made in her sides from which the men were
emerging, mine-sweepers with boats in tow packed with men were
leaving the transport for land, covered by a fierce bombardment
of the enemy's shore position from our battleships and cruisers.
When the men were disembarking Father Finn was observed
to be preparing to go with them. The Colonel advised him to
stay on board and attend to the wounded as they were sent
back, but he was determined to go with his beloved Dublins.
Again the Colonel tried to stop him, saying, " You are very
foolish, it means certain death." Father Finn replied, " My
place is with the dying soldiers, I must go," and he stepped on
to the gangway to share the fortunes of the men. He had only
moved a yard or two when he was struck by a bullet in the chest.
Nothing daunted, .he stepped into the boat with the Colonel.
Before the shore was reached Father Finn received two more
wounds, one in the thigh and another in the arm, rendering it
almost useless, and the Colonel was dead. Out of that boatload
of forty-five men five only lived to reach the shore.
Father Finn, driven to tears with the sight of his men falling
in crowds as they reached the beach, while others died in the
boats without even landing, jumped out of the boat and waded
through the water towards the men — a brave struggle for a
thrice- wounded man — and he had to climb half-sunken barbed
wire amid a storm of shrapnel, machine-gun and rifle fire. He
succeeded in joining the men on the shore, where already the
water was crimson with the lifeblood of brave men.
Those that were left of the Dublins M^ere lying on their faces
on the open shell-raked beach, trying to work forward by short
rushes, yet scarcely gaining a foot of ground, for as they rose
they were mown down.
The Turks tried hard to drive all into the sea and nearly
succeeded, but the 29th Division were there, and those who were
left held their ground. The men dug and scraped frantically
with their hands to try and make a little cover, until their nails
were gone and fingers bleeding, and what use was it in that
exposed position ?
Amid these shambles Father Finn dragged himself from
group to group of wounded and dying men. He was seen
crouching down by a man who was mortally wounded, holding
276 sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
up his poor crippled right arm with his left to enable him to
make the sign of the Cross as he absolved the man of all his
sins.
Some of the Dubhns wanted to carry him to the pinnace
taking wounded back to the ship, but he would not leave his
men, though at the time he was practically bleeding to death,
being riddled with bullets. The last words before a bursting
shell fractured his skull were, " Are our fellows winning ? "
and amid the soldiers he loved so well and served so faithfully,
and the thunder of the guns on land and sea, he passed away.
None died more gloriously that terrible day than the young
priest, who was barely forty.
The Rev. T. A. Harker, the chaplain who buried Father Finn,
in a letter home describing what happened, says, " The little
boats were trying to land, but just as they reached the shore
they were met with a fusillade of rifles and machine-guns ; the
slaughter was appalling, men drowned, men dying without any
hope of being assisted, and soon the only passage to the shore
was over the bodies of the dead and dying. ... It is un-
fortunately true that many of our wounded have been bayoneted
and outrageously treated."
The landing that had been pronounced by many as im-
possible had been accomplished, but at what a cost ! Within
an hour of breakfast the Brigadier, the Brigade-Major, and the
CathoHc chaplain were lying dead, and a steam-pinnace by
8 a.m. was alongside the transport laden with broken men, the
first of many such loads. More than half the men who attended
Mass the day before on board the Clyde were dead.
None who witnessed that gallant effort of the 29th Division
will ever forget the scene. On the beach more than a quarter
of a mile in width lay in heaps the shattered bodies of what once
were men, in the stillness of death, the happy heedlessness of
death. An hour before, all.were eager to " do or die," but what
chance had they ? One man, speaking of that day, said, " We
had no run for our money." Another, " It was a foregone
conclusion and a certain death-trap."
It took the chaplains four days and nights, working un-
ceasingly, to bury the dead.
News of Father Finn's death reached his brother at Hull
with the usual cold and official regrets, perhaps a trifle softened
Father Finn 277
by " Lord Kitchener expresses his sympathy. " The King and
Queen also sent messages of sympathy.
Father Finn had a strong presentiment he would be killed,
and in a little more than a month from his leaving England's
shores the presentiment was fulfilled.
It is difficult for those at home to picture what that landing
meant. Admiral de Roebuck in his despatch gives us a little
idea of the superhuman task the brave 29th Division were
called upon to face at V. beach. He says, " This beach it
was anticipated would be the most difficult to capture. It
possessed all the advantages for defence which W. beach had,
and in addition the flanks were strongly guarded by the old
castle and village of Sedd-el-Bahr on the east and perpendicular
cliffs on the west ; the whole foreshore was covered with barbed-
wire entanglements, which extended in places under the sea.
The position formed a natural amphitheatre with the beach as
stage." In the ffi-st boatload of men to leave the ship all were
killed or wounded, another boat entirely disappeared, in a third
only two survived ; the boats were heaped with dead.
The letter of another chaplain who landed with the 29th
Division is before me. He writes, " We put off in small boats
towed by pinnaces from the warship. Those who went ashore
first had an awful time, especially the Dublin and Lancashire
Fusiliers. In both regiments the Colonels were killed, the
Adjutants, and practically all the officers, including chaplain
Finn. On landing I found hundreds of wounded and dying ;
most of them were the Dublin and Lancashire Fusiliers, and to
them belong the honours of the day. They stormed up a steep
cliff with fixed bayonets in the face of a galling fire from rifles
and maxims, but they made it possible for us to land. They
won for themselves everlasting renown."
A loving hand quickly fashioned a wooden cross to mark
the place where Father Finn rests.
And how has all this carnage profited us ? That is the
thought that pursues us. What has been gained by the death
of all those mothers' sons ?
The Rev. William J. Finn, otherwise known as Father Finn,
spoke of himself as a Yorkshireman with a strain of Celtic blood,
an Irishman battened on Yorkshire Moors. He was born at
Hull and was the son of Mr. Austin Finn, a well-known citizen
278 sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
of that place. His education was commenced at St. Ciithbert's
College, Ushaw, and he finished his theological studies at the
Gregorian University, Rome. In August, 1900, he was ordained
priest at the Cathedral, Middlesborough, by the Rt. Rev. Dr.
Lacy, the first and present bishop of that busy centre, who
speaks in terms of high appreciation of Father Finn, his
preaching and his work.
In a letter I received not long ago from Father Lacy, Bishop
of Middlesborough, whom I have known since I was a child, he
says, " In private life Father Finn was very genial and had a
keen sense of humour. I took him to Rome with me in 1909
and I noticed he very soon made friends with his fellow-
travellers. On board ship he was quite the life of the company
he fell in with. As he had studied for a time in Rome he
enjoyed his second visit to the Eternal City very much."
Father Finn spoke of his four or five years in Middlesborough
as a happy time. He certainly found there a large field for his
work, the population being ninety-one thousand souls, com-
posed of many nationalities working in the shipyards, steel and
iron-works, salt and soda-works, as well as other industries.
As usual among such crowds of toilers, there were times of
discontent resulting in strikes, which are apt to end in defiance
of law and order, but Father Finn's influence had a certain
amount of restraining effect during moral and social upheavals.
One of the reasons of his influence and popularity was his
broadmindedness, a characteristic not usually very marked in
Catholics.
After leaving Middlesborough he was a year at Whitby and
four at Thirsk, then went as chaplain to Colonel Langdale, of
Houghton Hall, where he remained until war was declared and
he volunteered for the post of army chaplain. The Bishop
reluctantly gave his consent.
Father Finn was of a temperament easily depressed and
equally easily excited, and at times he doubted whether he had
not made a mistake in taking this step. He was never very
robust, and those who cared for him were anxious lest he should
be unequal to the strain. All his life he had been of a studious
nature, but fond of games and sport, being captain of his school.
He spoke French and Italian fluently, and was well versed in
Latin and Gaelic, fond and proud of his good classical library.
The REV. WILLIAM FINN
THE FIRST ARMY CHAPLAIN TO GIVE HIS LIFE IN THE GREAT WAR
[Facing p. 278.
4
4b CJi
"CREATeR COVE NO MAN HATH."
Tothe'memoryof
REVDWiLLmMFinri.
Pastor of this Chiirch
wh0;5$j^^|e call
ofSacerdotalDevotedness
SERVED ASXHAPLASN
TO His MajeItys Forces
tN THE Worlds War
AND WHO HEROICALLY DIED
r AT SEDD-UL-BahR
Sunday 25'^ April 1915.
; The FIRST IN Sacred Order
OFTHE BRITISH army TO FAL
IN TH E F I ELD 0 P ACTIO N .
This Tablet and Reredos
ar£ erected by
THE PEOPLE 0|,ALL CREEDS OF
MARKE-WEiCHTONA DISTRICT.
P.
"«»wnv>'.i' III. II mmmiM
S«»>J^
w
The REV. WILLIAM FINN MEMORIAL TABLET
Facing p. 279.'
Father Finn ' 279
The study, rather than the battlefield, seemed more suited
to him.
An oil-painting of Father Finn has been presented to the
College at Ushaw bearing the inscription, " The Rev. W. J.
Finn, C.F., attached to the Royal Dublin Fusiliers, who fell at
Sedd-el-Bahr, April 25th, 1915. The first Army Chaplain of
any denomination to give his life in the Great War.
" Presented by his sister."
I am sorry there has been no official recognition of Father
Finn's glorious death, and I know my regret was shared by Mr.
John Redmond, who exerted himself in every possible way to
obtain this recognition, meeting with the most sympathetic
reception in the matter both from General Sir Ian Hamilton and
General Sir Hunter Weston, each of them describing Father
Finn's gallantry as worthy of the highest recognition.
Mr. Redmond tells me the only reason why such recognition
was not given was because it was impossible to obtain the two
living witnesses who were necessary in order that the Victoria
Cross might be conferred on him after his death, and that the
other decorations at the disposal of the War Office cannot,
according to the rules and regulations, be conferred posthu-
mously.
I doubt if Father Finn would have cared for worldly
recognition of anything he had done, and it certanily cannot
matter to him now, but it is a duty and a pleasure for the living
to keep ever green in their hearts and minds the heroic deeds of
those who have gone, and it would have been a great pleasure
to his friends and to the regiments he served so faithfully, to
the members of the parishes where he had worked, and to
Ireland generally.
Since writing this chapter Mr. John Redmond has died
One of the last letters he wrote before his operation, was to me,
and dated from the House of Commons, expressing his admira-
tion of Father Finn and his pleasure that I was writing of his
gallantry, and saying how sorry he was that it had been im-
possible to gain any public recognition of his bravery. Every-
thing connected with Ireland and the Irish was dear to the
heart of Mr. Redmond.
^^ The Roman Catholic chaplains have a fine and honourable
record. Father Finn was the first to fall on the Eastern front
28o sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
and Father Gwynn was the first to be killed on the Western
front. He volunteered and was appointed to the Irish Guards.
Several war-correspondents have described how before going
into action, before going forward in a charge, the Irish Guards
would kneel for a few moments in prayer. This was Father
Gwynn's teaching ; they knelt for his absolution.
His services amongst the men were all too brief. He was
wounded in the brickfields near La Bassee on February 1,
1915. The wound was not serious ; he had it dressed and was
back again amongst the men in half an hour, but a few weeks
later he met his death in another attack on German trenches.
An Irish Guardsman writes, " I saw him just before he died.
Shrapnel and bullets were being showered upon us in all direc-
tions. Hundreds of our lads dropped. Father Gwynn was
quite calm. He seemed to be all over the place, trying to give
the last Sacrament to the dying. Once I thought he was buried
alive, for a shell exploded within a few yards of where he was
and the next moment I saw nothing but a heap of earth. The
plight of the wounded concealed beneath was most harrowing.
Out of the ground came cries of ' Father, Father ! ' from those
who were in their death-agonies. Then as if by a miracle Father
Gwynn was seen fighting his way through the earth. He must
have been seriously injured, but he went on blessing the wounded
and hearing their confessions. The last I saw of him he was
kneeling beside a German soldier. I believe he was killed
immediately after this act of priestly charity to a fallen
opponent."
In letters from the front both from officers and men there
have been many references to Father Gwynn's devoted courage
and popularity, not only with his own people and Irish Guards,
but with all other denominations.
An English chaplain, speaking of the Irish Guards during
the retreat from Mons, is full of praise of them in a charge that
has now become famous ; not entirely on account of its success,
but from the action of the men before the advance took place,
for it was the subject of enthusiastic comment from one end of
the British lines to the other. On receiving the orders to
prepare to charge, the men, as if by common impulse, dropped
on their knees and for a few moments prayed with bared and
bent heads, then rose, made the sign of the Cross, and dashed
Father Finn 281
with fixed bayonets at the German positions. Several who have
tried to explain this moment to me have declared the men's
faces were quite happy, as though inspired.
The Rev. Richard Hall, Wesleyan chaplain to the forces on
the western front, addressing a meeting of Methodists in Ulster
in 1915, paid an eloquent tribute to the fighting qualities of the
Irish Guards and the Roman Catholic chaplains, whom he said
he remembered amongst his best friends. Father Bradley he
considered one of the finest and best men he ever met.
One night when the troops were lying on the ground, en-
deavouring to sleep, by a river, Mr. Hall, not feeling well and
very cold, remarked on the fact to Father Bradley, who at once
offered his blankets, which of course were refused with many
thanks. The following morning when Mr. Hall awoke he found
Father Bradley's blankets covering him.
It is pleasant to hear of the various chaplains working so
happily together. This war has taught us many things.
The attitude of the Catholic soldiers to their priests is
interesting. They seek them as they would their doctor, and
their piety is infectious. Thousands who never dreamed of
turning Catholic have felt themselves drawn into Catholic ways.
For instance, when Father Eric Green, chaplain of the Naval
Division at the Dardanelles, gave all his men badges of the
Sacred Heart before going into action, he was asked by numbers
of other denominations to give them one to wear.
An English soldier of the Church of England, writing to his
people from Gallipoli, while telling them of his experiences on
the voyage and after landing, speaks highly of the priests :
" You know I am not allowed to say very much, but I will
tell you how we landed. We had a rough voyage, chased by
German submarines. Well, a Catholic Father sailed with us,
and a good job too. We thought we were done for, but he was
like a good shepherd. I learned how to pray then if I never
prayed before. ... I think if I am spared I shall take care to
lead a good Christian life. I shall never forget the way he
taught us to pray. The soldiers run after him shouting,
' Bless me, sir, same as you have done that man ! ' Well, he
blessed us all on the ship and everyone kissed a cross he had.
It seemed strange to me, but I did what they did. The men
do pray in the field. We all wish he could stop with us always.
282 sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
There are several fathers and ministers, but none take same as
him. I don't know his name."
The men generally speak of their regiment as being the best
in the service and their Padre the best in the world. I like to
hear it.
One man writing of the time when the force from Suvla Bay
came in touch with the advance from Anzac, speaks of Father
John Lineham as moving about the whole day between the
firing-line and dressing-station bringing in wounded on his back
regardless of creed or nationality — Ghurkas, Australians, New
Zealanders.
Another letter says, " After we had halted at the foot of
Chocolate Hill to reform, I heard a great cheer, and there was
Father Day coming along quite steadily across the battlefield
(he had halted to succour some dying soldiers). He shouted as
he came, ' Good cheer, boys ! ' and went searching for water,
which he found, and then supplied many burning throats with
a drink."
It is delightful to hear the Tommies (most of them) on the
subject of the army chaplains. One youth tells me, " And the
chaplain he come along the trenches and he says to me, ' Jerry,
you keep your heart up and your head down.' "
Another man waxed eloquent over the amount of work
other than priestly duties that the chaplains have done and are
doing. Amongst the things that had surprised him was seeing
a couple of Roman Catholic priests take off their coats and wash
down some blood-soaked ambulance cars. With a sigh of
sympathy he added, " And one of them was a bit stout and he
did puff and blow ! "
Up to the time of writing, more than twenty Catholic
chaplains have been mentioned in despatches and granted
various military decorations.
Father McMullen was with General Townshend at Kut-el-
Amara.
It is easier to write of the dead than the living ; we are so
much less captious of the dead. Be mortuis nil nisi honum.
An impressive service was held in a little village in Flanders
on the^'eve of a big attack. The little chapel that has escaped
destruction was crowded with men anxious to make their peace
with God ;" there was barely standing room. Close your eyes
Father Finn 283
and picture that scene. The priest could hardly be heard for
the noise of the guns as he gave the Holy Communion. Two
priests, one each side of the door, in the open, hearing con-
fessions from muddy war-stained men with grim, absorbed
faces. Then, when blessed, pardoned, and absolved, all sang
from their souls, " Faith of our fathers, Holy Faith," and went
forth to battle, each man knowing well the chances were all
against his being alive at that hour on the morrow.
None but those who have been at the front can form any idea
of the present efficiency of our artillery ; it is positively weird,
its accuracy, quantity, and quality, beggars description.
The Rev. A. Gribbin, a Catholic priest, had an experience on
board a hospital ship of being shelled. His description of it both
interested and amused me. His religious gratitude for escaping
death, combined with a businesslike eye to future needs,
impressed me. The story is best told in his own words.
" About 5 p.m. as I was sitting reading in my cabin, I heard a
couple of shots fired, and went on deck to investigate. I was
too interested to be alarmed, when I saw another four shells drop
into the sea not very far away from us and a German submarine
about four miles away wasting her shot on us. The last shell, a
shrapnel, seemed to be aimed at our wireless apparatus, but
passed harmlessly over the ship. Here we wisely stopped, and
the chief officer rowed towards the enemy in a lifeboat to learn
our fate. When the commander of the submarine saw we were
unarmed and innocent, he sailed towards us and examined our
papers with the list of the personnel on board. Being satisfied
as to our credentials, he wished the chief good-night and a
pleasant voyage and allowed us to proceed.
" Such in brief is an account of our experience, though many
little incidents were packed into those two hours. At first when
I thought matters looked serious and I was afraid we were
going to be shelled, I went round and gave my little flock absolu-
tion and then made secure my chalice and holy oils. The boats
were lowered ready to get into at a moment's rotice, but they
were never actually dropped into the water. It gets very tiring
standing at boat-stations for over an hour with our fate in the
balance, but there was absolutely no panic or alarm from the
very first, and with not being sunk immediately we hardly
seemed to realise our danger. When we found time was being
284 sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
given, there was quite a rush for the cabins to pack necessary
articles, but apart from my chalice, etc., I only took my overcoat
and some Horlick's tablets. The important thing was to see to
plenty of blankets for the sisters and provisions for each boat,
because we were one hundred and thirty miles from the nearest
point of land^ — a long voyage in an open lifeboat.
" Five of the sisters had been on the Braemar Castle when she
came to grief, so you can imagine what a terrible shock they
suffered.
" We must give the Huns credit for playing the game
squarely, because with the exception of the doubtful shot near
our wireless and over the boat, the other shells were only as a
warning to stop. Please God we shall always be as lucky,
because the sea is a terrible place in these days.
" I did not forget to say a Mass in thanksgiving for my
escape, because we may he in need of help any time ! "
Ingenuous Mr. Gribbin !
The lists of priests killed in the vicinity of Namur alone is
appalling ; twenty-seven were done to death and twelve have
disappeared God only knows where.
Father Willart was an eve-witness to his brother's death
after the burning of Louvain. Fugitives were making their
way to Brussels on foot. The majority were allowed to enter
peacefully, but the priests were supposed to have incited the
people to fire on the Germans, so they were all searched. Father
Willart's brother was a young Jesuit scholastic, aged twenty-
three, not yet ordained. In his pocket was a diary of passing
events with some of his own comments. For this he was
condemned to death without any trial. He was placed against
a tree at the side of the road. He asked his companions " not
to look." A volley was fired, but he was not killed. A German
officer then stepped up close to the young man and put a couple
of bullets through his brain. A hole was dug under the tree and
his body thrown in.
I could write chapters more about the experiences of the
army chaplains, but space forbids, and it will not be possible
until after the war to make a complete list even of the fallen.
Chapter XXI
More Discoveries — " The United Army and Navy Board " — Nine Million Com-
municants— Recruiting Sergeant's Advice — Compulsory Churcli Parades —
Wliat tlie Soldiers Think About it — A Nonconformist Discovers a Great
Trutli — Service before Battle — A Post-Card gone Astray — Soldiers and their
Sports — Football to Accompaniment of Guns — Tommy Atkins and the
Chaplains — The Rev. E.L.Watson — His Varied Career — A Festive Evening
— The Rev. T. Tattersall — Understands Soldiers — Some Soldier Stories — A
Nonconformist Minister turns Combatant — Behind the Lines — A '^' Lucky
Dog " — But Far from Happy — Sir Percival in Quest of the Holy Grail.
OTHER discoveries have been made during this war,
one on the part of the War Office ; they have
discovered the Free Church parson as chaplain.
Another even farther-reaching discovery — the parsons of various
denominations have discovered each other. Before the war
only Roman Catholics, Anglicans, Presbyterian, Wesleyan and
Jewish forms of religion were recognised by the War Office ;
the rest were looked upon as " Fancy Religions," to quote from
the old regular army sergeant.
In those days there were comparatively few Baptists,
Congregationalists, Primitive and United Methodists in the
army. As soon, however, as recruiting began on a large scale,
and still more when universal military service was introduced,
the men of military age from amongst the Nonconformists ran
into thousands and it became necessary to provide for their
religious needs.
The War Office naturally did not wish to send any more men
to the front than could possibly be helped, as it meant taking
both the room and the food needed for combatants ; but the
Rev. J. H. Shakespeare's perseverance at last gained the
necessary sanction of the authorities to send out Nonconformist
ministers to look after their chosen flocks.
Eventually the Baptist joined with the Primitive and
United Methodists, forming what is now called " The United
Navy and Army Board," and they all work together. This
286 Sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
combination appears to have answered well and has facilitated
the work of the chaplaincy department of the War Office.
This combined board has chaplains in France, Salonika,
Egypt, Palestine, Mesopotamia, and Italy.
In the English-speaking world, including America, there are
no less than nine million communicants belonging to the Free
Church, outnumbering the Anglican Church by three to one.
It seems only fair they should be voiced.
It is much easier now for soldiers to join the army under
their own denominations than it was in pre-war times. Anyone
acquainted with the ways of the army will know that the first
piece of advice given to a recruit on joining was to the effect
that if he were wise he would declare himself a member of the
prevailing Church in the regiment he wished to join. For
instance, if he were going into an English regiment he was
advised to say he was Church of England, if to an Irish regiment
he was to say he was a Roman Catholic, or if to a Scottish regi-
ment he should say he was a Presbyterian.
The idea was that by this means he would attend the most
convenient church parade on Sundays. Take, for example, an
English regiment. The Church of England parade would be at
11 a.m. and the chapel probably within a stone's-throw of the
barracks, while the unwary few who had declared themselves
Roman Catholics might have to parade at cock-crow and march
to some far-distant chapel. This was so well understood that
men did not often split hairs over the particular denomination
to which they belonged ; they had to belong to one of the five
recognised religions, and that was an end of the matter, for if
once recruits w^re given the chance of saying they belonged to
any religion they liked, the difficulties of enforcing the com-
pulsory church parade would at once become much greater.
Men would declare themselves Buddhists, for instance, and who
could insist on their attending church parades after that ? It
is no use being shocked and saying they would never do such a
thing, for anyone who knows anything about Thomas Atkins
knows quite well that plenty of them would gladly seize any
opportunity of avoiding compulsory church parade.
It is also no use the clerics saying the men do not hate this
compulsory church parade, for they do. Look at it this way :
if they would not prefer to stay away, why make it compulsory ?
Revs. E. L. Watson and T. Tattersall 287
It is curious that amongst the many clerics I have conversed
with the only chaplain who seems to have grasped this simple
truth was a Nonconformist, and I see it is referred to in a little
booklet compiled by Frederick Spurr and published by the
United Board. Mr. J. H. Shakespeare has kindly sent it to me.
A chaplain says, " The parade service is not altogether a
happy thing ; we do not have many of them— war conditions
are against them : so are both officers and men. Compulsion
in religion is profitless. Sometimes the services set men against
religion."
A service to which all may come if they like is another matter
altogether.
The most stirring service and the best attended is the one
held on the eve of battle, when all men of whatsoever denomina-
tion have a desire to offer a last prayer for those they love, one
last supplication for God's Mercy. The Padre feels that he holds
in his hand a God-sent moment, and he uses it to his utmost
capacity. The men listen intently ... all is ready, rifles
and bayonets cleaned, their own private roll-call has been
answered ; they have done with yesterday and to-day, and
await to-morrow.
And from their hearts, with grim, set faces, they sing some
of their favourite hymns, " Abide with Me," or " Nearer, my
God, to Thee." The service is over, all have received the
Sacrament who wish to do so, they file past the chaplain,
exchange a hand-grip and a look, then pass on into the dark.
Most are silent and most have a letter or two to write ; their
hearts are full of things they want to say, but no word will they
breathe of any possibilities of the near future. They know what
is before them, many have already had a taste, and all have been
in the midst of this war's unparalleled horrors.
The following post-card was written in one of those soul-
stirring moments, and by some mischance was carried into
battle instead of posted. It was found beside the dead writer
in a blood-soaked trench.
" Dear Jane,
" I ope this will find you as it leaves me — in the
pink. We're moving soon. There's no news. Your loving
sweetheart, x x x x."
288 Sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
I believe the crosses were meant to represent kisses.
I am glad to find the Free Church chaplains fully realise
what sport means to the soldier. One of the Baptist chaplains
says : " The men must have their cricket, football, and boxing
even while guns are dealing out death and destruction all the
time. The love for sport follows Tommy wherever he goes.
" I attended a football match the other day played under
first-class rules by first-rate players.
" Two regiments were competing for the simple glory of the
win, before an admiring and appreciative crowd of soldiers. I
watched the game from between a couple of Uhlan lances that
served as goal-posts and admired the dash and good humour of
the contest from start to finish. The only good and convenient
ground was against a heavy battery, which thundered out death
to the Germans during the game and drew some rather startling
replies from the enemy, but the game continued all the same ;
it added spice to the sport.
" I enjoyed the time thus spent with the men immensely, for
it was a clean, healthy, and profitable piece of sport."
The Padre who enters into the men's love of sport and
games reaches their hearts by the shortest cut.
I have heard many soldiers discussing the chaplain question.
One man said, " I was five months in the thick of the fighting
during the early part of the war with the old army, and I never
set eyes on a parson once, either in the trenches or out of them,
except when we had to attend church parades within a few
hours of leaving the trenches, when we were aching for sleep and
rest, but were told all uniform, brass buttons, etc., had to be
cleaned for an early morning church parade. How we cursed
it and the parson, who was the only one having a good time.
He was fresh as paint, we were dog-tired."
Another man said, " Oh, the chaplains ! The Base is
crawling with them having a ' cushy time,' eating up all the
good things and sending on to us what they don't like them-
selves. They keep all the strawberry jam and send plum-and-
apple on to us in the trenches ; that is considered good enough
for us."
A happier example was a man who said, " Our parson was
the finest chap in the world ; any one of us would have died for
Revs. E. L. Watson and T. Tattersall 289
him. He was a man and practised what he preached ; he was
a sportsman and played the game. We said if rehgion made
men hke that we would be religious too. He had the heart of a
lion, the arm of a pugilist, and the gentle smile and voice of a
woman."
The first Free Church Military chaplain to be appointed was
the Rev, E. L. Watson, a man who appealed to all with whom
he came in contact. He was massively built, with the jaw of
determination and iron will, and possessed of a fine voice. He
could sing a song, preach a sermon, tell a good story, or carry
on a soothing conversation by a sick man's bed.
Being an Australian, his rough early life had made a man of
him. He could turn his hand to anything — ride, shoot, fell
trees, forage for his food and cook it. Australians are broad-
minded, independent, and free from conventionality ; they also
have a shrewd understanding of human nature.
From being at one time a collier, Mr, Watson became a local
preacher, and as so often happens while trying to convince other
people, he became firmly convinced himself and entered the
Victoria Baptist College. After completing a graduate's
course he became the Pastor of a Melbourne church, in
combination with which he worked as chaplain to the Common-
wealth Forces.
Coming to England, he became chaplain in connection with
the Guards, and when war broke out volunteered for field-work,
ready, like many another, to throw himself into any sort of work
helpful to the soldiers.
It has already been shown that preaching is by no means
the chief part of a chaplain's business ; to be of any use he has
to be a factotum.
In Mr. Spurr's booklet, to which I have already referred, he
gives some interesting stories of their chaplains' routine, and
some touching stories of soldiers' sayings and doings. Soldiers
are naturally optimistic and fond of music. Mr. Spurr remarks
on this and on the amount of natural talent there is amongst
the men. The chaplains help the men to get up evening
sing-songs and entertainments in which Jews' harps, mouth-
organs, nigger-minstrels, dancing and singing all take part.
Mr. Spurr gives the following account of one of these cheery
evenings :
u
290 sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
" In a borrowed piano left intact by the Germans we pos-
sessed the very pivot of the ring. In the rush of talent to the
programme one soldier volunteered to sing ' Annie Laurie.'
' If the pianist would kindly give the note and then vamp I shall
commence,' he announced. After receiving the note, with
difficulty he commenced his solo. He certainly possessed a
powerful voice, but oh ! his ear was never tuned to the song of
angels, for he pitched his song, in spite of frantic efforts of the
pianist, in such a key as to first put the piano out of action and
then lose poor Annie Laurie. After a desperate effort at
recovery, in which cold and hot sweat was teeming from his
noble brow and tears of laughter from the eyes of the audience,
he found himself wandering ' on the bonny, bonny banks of
Loch Lomond,' with all the fellows joining in the closing bars
of the popular song.
" Thinking the applause was in appreciation, he insisted on
giving a demonstration of his ability as a dancer in response.
This unfortunately ended in disaster, for his dancing was so
thunderous and energetic that the thin boards of the temporary
platform gave way, affording a most undignified flourish of arms
and legs prior to complete collapse. The whole scene was such
a piece of unexpected comedy that apart from some really
splendid items it was pronounced the gem of the evening."
No doubt there are persons who regard all this kind of thing
as quite outside the province of a chaplain, whose main business
is to win men's souls to God ; but who shall say this is not one
of the wisest ways of winning them ? I wish more people
realised that God gave us this beautiful world and health to
enjoy it, and that He loves us to be happy. Long faces and
cant do not win souls. Surely many things that in times of
peace seemed of supreme importance, now, in time of war, when
so many are standing on the edge of the Great Beyond, appear
very trivial.
Soldiers want reality and brevity. The Rev. T. Tattersall,
of the Free Church, understands this and understands soldiers
and their worth. He says, " Their instincts are deeply rooted,
and the foolish wayfaring man with a shibboleth on his lips
might easily miss them. There is no parade of religion in the
army. A soldier is a man of action, he has scant respect for
Revs. E. L. Watson and T. Tattersall 291
broad phylacteries. He looks for the proof of faith in moral
heroism."
Most, if not all men, have religion deeply rooted in their
hearts, only they call it by the name of " honour."
One soldier who on his way out from home had boasted that
he believed in no religion, was seen by his companions, when
some desperate fighting was taking place, the earth rocking and
the skies seemed to be falling, to suddenly drop upon his knees
praying.
" Hullo, old chief ! thought you didn't hold with prayer
and such-like," said a pal.
" No," came the reply, " but a fellow cannot be in a place
like this without believing in a God or a devil, and as I cannot
believe in a supreme devil I am driven to pray to a supreme
God."
Reasoning machines pale before the situations they have to
face to-day, they have no logic ready at hand. How can a man
without faith find words wherewith to comfort a poor mother
to whom he has to return the letters from her dead son's pocket,
soaked through and through with his life-blood ? How can
moments like these be faced in cold reasoning ? Where would
the men be without religion and faith, when day after day the
pal of the morning with whom they cracked jokes becomes by
evening a silent " It " ?
To quote again from Mr. Spurr's little book. He tells a
story with pride and affection of one of his Free Church boys.
" The Welsh Regiment were handing over their trenches at
Landmerke to the French at 3. .30 in the morning. A Black
Maria from the Germans fell upon a platoon, killing twenty-one
at once and wounding nineteen others, all of whom had lost a
limb. The remaining nine men cleared after recovering from
the shock, but one remained until dawn, creeping about amongst
the wounded, though being shelled all the time. He was
bandaging up the maimed as best he could, then made his way
to the village, procured a horse and galloped off for the field
ambulance and made his report to the Colonel, urging upon him
the necessity of bringing back the wounded. The Colonel
considered the firing much too dangerous, but could not resist
Evans' entreaties, so still under heavy shell-fire the ambulance,
guided by Evans, made its way to the desired spot and collected
292 Sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
the poor men, who no doubt thought they had been left to die.
The ambulance moved off, but Evans could not bear to leave
the dead unburied, and begged for permission to remain. The
Colonel told him he was mad, it was too late in the afternoon
and the shelling was unceasing, and he had not been out of the
deadliest danger since early morning."
The recounter of this little story was a chaplain, and he says
he does not know whether Evans' courage received recognition.
" But this I know, such men — and their name is legion — are
worthy of the highest honours. It was to minister to such men
I came out. Was it not worth while ? I trudged back to camp
with a song in my heart."
The stretcher-bearers, who do such untiring and dangerous
work, never seem to come in for any recognition, yet many I
know have grown jumpy at times after ceaseless work amidst
revolting and heartbreaking scenes, carrying the wounded over
difficult ground, crossing and recrossing fire-swept centres,
while their own insides were empty, their clothes heavy with
mud and rain, their nerves all on the jump, and never a word of
encouragement.
A relative of mine, writing in 1915 from the trenches in
Flanders, tells me of a soldier commanding a company in the
same trench as himself who before the war had been a Non-
conformist minister, but the sporting spirit had been too strong
in him, he felt he must be doing his bit actively. The letter is
long and full of interest, so I will begin where he leaves the
trenches after having been in occupation of one end while the
Germans held the other, the time having been distinctly lively.
" It is a great mercy to be in billets again for a bit of a rest.
It is always interesting here behind the lines watching the
ceaseless industry that goes to keep a great army in being. I
cannot understand the foolish people who say that romance has
gone out of modern war. They must be the same people who go
to London for the first time and declare that the chief things to
impress them were the dome of St. Paul's and policemen con-
trolling traffic, utterly blind to the real point, which is, of course,
that London is like the Garden of Eden, in which the animals are
so tame that the birds of the air descend and feed from your
hand and the shy waterfowl leave the lakes and waddle at your
Revs. E. L. Watson and T. Tatter sail 293
very feet. War is infinitely more romantic than it has ever
been, now that it is a war of populations and not a mere affair
of professional fighters. Now, your poet from Chelsea has
thrown aside his pen and is at death-grapples with the waiters
who once served his table at Soho ; the bank-manager of
Lombard Street who used nearly to faint when a horse fell down
is now sweating at the head of a bombing party, exulting in his
power to kill. The great feats of chivalry and the knightly
daring of legends are paling into nothing before the lives of these
commonplace people.
" Tliere is a perfect example of the sort of man I mean in
the battalion called , a company commander now, and
incongruously enough rather a special pal of mine, although his
idea of bliss is to produce most miserable hymn tunes and dirges
on a tin whistle every evening. He used to be a Nonconformist
minister, but is now a tremendously keen soldier whom no
horrors can sicken and no fatigue daunt. He is really one of
those splendid fellows one can admire wholeheartedly.
" His name appeared in the lists of those decorated for
conspicuous bravery some time ago, and people think him rather
a lucky dog, but I doubt if there are many men who suffer more
in this war. Sometimes when things are slack he crawls into
my dug-out and lets himself go. You can see all the mental
agony this austere Nonconformist suffers. It is literally true to
say that the sheer wickedness of it all makes him miserable and
desperate. It is for him a holy war, and he is straining every
nerve in the personal effort to win what he hopes may be
universal peace for humanity. Meanwhile his life is far from a
happy one. Even the questionable wit of camps is hateful to
him. It was men like this that Cromwell had the wit to see
would carry him anywhere — and they did.
" I suppose the critic who says there is no romance left in
war would see nothing in but a gaunt young man with a
Lancashire accent who might easily be suspected of eating peas
with his knife. To me it is the most perfect legend of chivalry
being re-lived.
" If my Nonconformist is not Sir Percival in quest of the
Holy Grail, who is he ? The knight inspired, heedless of all but
the pursuit of a flaming ideal !
" After all, Sir Percival probably ate peas with his sword ! "
Chapter XXII
The Rev, H. Hall with the 29th Division — A Memorial — Sir Ian Hamilton
Unveils it — Starting a Rifle Club — Some Anonymous Letters — Wliat they
Said — Colonel Carrington Smith — Confirmation Classes in War-time — Heroic
Middies — A Fateful Sunday — Breakfast at 5.30 a.m. — A Cheery Party —
What Happened to Them — A Commander Dies in Mr. Hall's Arms — A Grue-
some Sight — Four Days' and Four Nights' Hard Work — Searching for the
Brigade Major — Turkish Snipers Busy — Agility of Mr, Hall — The Rev.
Mazzini Tron — With the Bush Brotherhood — At Suvla Bay — Wins D.S.O.
and Bar — The Rev. W. R. F. Addison in Canadian Lumber-Camp — In
Mesopotamia — Wins Victoria Cross — His Love of Nature — Addison Ancestors
— What a Little Bird told the Author — A Chaplain's Recompense.
THE REV. H. HALL, who has reigned at Holy Trinity
Vicarage, Eltham, since 1907, when the Bishop of
Southwark sent him to that quiet old-world village, was
with the ever-to-be remembered 29th Division in Gallipoli, and
he is proud that his church now holds the memorial to all those
gallant men who fell during that heroic endeavour to do the
impossible. It was unveiled by General Sir Ian Hamilton,
on April 25, 1917. Each year a service is held in memory of
those who fought and fell in Gallipoli, 1915-16.
Mr. Hall is a devotee at the shrine of athleticism and sport.
The first thing he did after becoming vicar of Holy Trinity was
to astonish the dreamy inhabitants by such an unheard-of
innovation as forming a rifle-club, and with the help of Sir John
Stevens, Sir Harry North, the European manager of the
Canadian -Pacific Railway, and other leading lights, it was
soon an accomplished fact.
By the wish of that keen soldier. Colonel H. B. Tasker, Mr.
Hall became the Padre to the 2nd London R.F.A. (Territorial
Forces), and learnt the delights of summer camps — when the
floods are not out ! About this time he received a number of
anonymous letters from those brave persons who love to write
letters they are ashamed to sign with their names. The purport
of these letters was to ask what he meant by marching about
with troops and getting up rifle-clubs to teach men to shoot one
Revs. Hall, Tron, D.S.O., and Addison, V.C. 295
another, when he was supposed to be a man of peace ? The
brilHant writers perhaps had not brains enough to grasp the
fact that the way to keep peace is by being prepared for war,
but probably these letter-writers have by now quite changed
their views.
Mr. Hall left England to join the troops as chaplain on board
the Aragon, since torpedoed in the Mediterranean. Colonel
Carrington Smith, commanding the 2nd Hants Regiment, was
most sympathetic both to Mr. Hall and Mr. Hardy, the Wesleyan
Padre on the Aragon, helping as much as possible to facilitate
their work. Colonel Carrington Smith was killed on the bridge
of the Clyde that desperate Sunday, April 25th.
On arrival at Mudros Bay those on board the Aragon found
the inner and outer harbours crowded with men-of-war, trans-
ports, and other vessels.
Mr. Hall tells me he found it difficult amidst the excitement
attending a campaign to carry on his Confirmation classes. I
should have thought it would have been quite impossible,
mingled with rehearsals of landing and so forth, and I wonder he
tried to keep them up at such a time, when the men could have
so little leisure for quiet thought and preparation ; but no doubt
he had good reasons for endeavouring to hold the classes.
Various journeys had to be undertaken by Mr. Hall to and
from the Implacable and Euryalus and from beach to beach.
These he says he enjoyed on launches " under the care of that
most entrancing of heroic souls, a young middy." As most of
these journeys were undertaken amidst shrapnel salutations
they must have been exciting.
Then came that fateful Sunday, April 25th. Breakfast was
at 5.30. Near Mr. Hall sat Brigadier-General Napier, Major
T. D. Costeker, who had won his D.S.O. in France rn 1914,
Colonel D. F. Cayley, and Colonel Carrington Smith. Out of
the four three were killed before the sun was up and without
having set foot on shore. Captain Walford, Brigade Major of
the Royal Artillery, a warrior-student rich in promise, won his
posthumous V.C. by his gallant leading of the decisive charge
through the narrow ways of Sedd-el-Bahr ; and countless others,
each more heroic, if possible, than the last.
I have in a previous chapter described the terrific bombard-
ment at that landing from the war-vessels of the Allies, which it
296 sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
was hoped would put a considerable number of the Turks out of
action, but which proved to have been most abortive. Anyone
looking on, thought Sedd-el-Bahr and its old fortresses must have
been rendered innocuous, but before long all were undeceived,
and for days to come were praying for howitzers and still more
howitzers and guns of high trajectory. For an account of the
magnificent part played by the troops in this action Sir Ian
Hamilton's historic and classic despatch and Mr. Masefield's
epic, provide brilliant and tragic details.
Mr. Hall is full of admiration of the British army and navy..
He says, " For absolute pluck and self-forget fulness commend me
to a British naval officer." The gallant commander who had
been in charge of the landing operations was badly hit in the
knee, but as he lay in the boat which brought him to the Aragon
he was still full of fire and vim, and continued to give directions
with that directness of energy, voice, and gesture that were very
naval. The commander in charge of the submarine base at
Malta had volunteered to help in the landing and was so badly
wounded he died in Mr, Hall's arms.
The Aragon was some little way from V. beach, yet little did
they know of its many tragedies ; but through their glasses they
could see what looked like a crowd of men resting as if for a
first meal on shore. What looked like men resting were those
who had lived through the deadly hail from machine-guns,
rifles, and shrapnel ; they were sheltering under that providential
forty-one inches of abrupt rise from sea-level, but unable to
move one step in any direction, either right or left. Little did
those on the Aragon then know of the thousands of Turks
unscathed by the bombardment who from trench and crevice,
castle and village, were pouring a murderous storm of lead upon
the invaders.
When the beach was reached Mr. Hall found a gruesome
sight. The dead lay in heaps. The cliffs, festooned with wire,
had dead soldiers hanging in its entanglements, many in places
it was impossible to reach for some time.
Three chaplains, named Hall, Hardy, and Foster, now set
to work hard, burying the dead— as many as eighty-eight bodies
in one grave. They worked unceasingly for the best part of
four days and four nights.
That Sunday evening, April 25th, while busy burying the
The REV, H. A. HALL
[Facing p. ■2.9(>.
The REV. W. F. ADDISON, V.C.
Fachig p. 237.]
Revs. Hall, Tron, D.S.O., and Addison, V.C. 297
dead, a message was brought to Mr. Hall that Major Costeker
lay dead near the battered lighthouse hard by Sedd-el-Bahr.
The three parsons climbed along the cliff-tops of Cape Helles,
skirting an abandoned Turkish trench, until they came to the
outpost of the 4th Worcesters, where they learned it was not
their own Brigade Major whose body was supposed to be behind
the lighthouse, but the body of the Brigade Major of the 86th
Brigade ; but they found the body, with face as peaceful as if
the brave man had only fallen asleep. The chaplains wished to
stay and bury him, but it was pointed out all were utterly
exhausted after a long day of fighting, so the burial had to be
postponed until the morning ; then when Mr. Hall was peace-
fully carrying out his work, having little idea the Turks were so
near, he was made cognisant of the fact by a sniper having a
couple of shots at him. Mr. Hall says if only he had possessed
a stop-watch at the time, he is sure he could prove that his
immediate leap into the afore-mentioned trench and his quick
departure were done in record time. But before he got back to
the beach the Turks had commenced that fierce counter-attack
which for a time threatened to drive all the British into the sea.
Mr. Hall described that day as one never to be forgotten by
any who were present — the flares, rockets, thundering of the
mighty guns of our ships, incessant crackling of rifle-fire, all very
wonderful, and withal startlingly beautiful. All hands were
pressed into the defence, either to handle a rifle or carry am-
munition to the firing-line. At this time Mr. Reid, the Presby-
terian chaplain of the King's Own Scottish Borderers, won the
Military Cross and was mentioned in despatches for his zeal and
courage.
It was Mr. Hall's first experience of war, and he found no
comfort in the thought, as the bullets whistled by, that there is
no danger from those that can be heard, for there was the
certainty of more to follow.
The Eltham vicar says he believes " three causes prevented
them all being driven into the sea that night — the steadiness of
the British infantry, such as the 1st Essex and 4th Worcesters ;
inter alia the help of our war-vessels ; last and indeed not the
least, but the ultimately decisive cause, was, I believed thea
and I believe now, the direct veto of God Himself."
Mr. Hall is full of stories of interest and deeds of heroism during
298 sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
that ghastly failure when thousands died nobly — for what ?
Nothing. But as he hopes to write a book of his own experiences
I must not trespass. He says he is " proud to have served
under Sir Ian Hamilton, a man of such charm and military
distinction," and remarks on the affection England has for
sending a handful of men to do the work of thousands.
I wonder, when the history of this war is written, how much
of the truth will ever be allowed to appear in print. I could tell
some surprising stories, but the Press Bureau would sit upon me,
so had better not ; and after all, what can be expected or a
civilian-controlled army ? Readers of history will know what
to expect.
The chaplains' note-books would be full of interest, but they
contain many things that must ever remain secret between
themselves, God^ — and the dead.
Methinks the spirit-world is filling very fast, and during
these days of tension and battle it seems almost as if we can hear
the rustle of the spirits as they pass to their new homes ; our
nerves get strained — or shall I say attuned ? — with constant
watching, longing, and praying.
When I look back over the past few years and remember all
the Generals I have known, who after having spent the best of
their lives serving their country and having achieved fame, have
been flung from their pedestals, often through no fault of their
own, I marvel that any man is to be found with big enough
heart to undertake such responsible and thankless tasks. If in
the morning he achieves a success he is a brilliant strategist, a
genius and brave man. In the evening may come a reverse,
and he is a blundering idiot and no earthly use ; but he must
behave like a properly disciphned soldier and carry with a smile
the burden of other people's mistakes and say nothing ! Such
is life !
I must hurry on and bring my book to an end, though there
are a number more parsons I should like to write about, quite
a number who are alive to-day who have done gallant deeds ;
but they do not like to be written about, it makes them shy.
We must wait until the war is over before anything like a full list
can be compiled, but there are just two more about whom I must
speak for a few moments.
The Rev. Mazzini Tron, born of working folk in the north.
Revs. Hall, Tron, D.S.O., and Addison, V.C. 299
As a boy he was a member of the Church Lads' Brigade ; his
vicar became interested in him, and sent him to a theological
college. He subsequently worked with the Bush Brotherhood.
At the outbreak of war he joined an Australian Unit of the
R.A.M.C. and was at Suvla Bay, where he was the sole survivor
of his patrol. For his resource and bravery he received the
Military Cross and was transferred to the chaplains' department.
He further distinguished himself in France, taking charge of a
dressing-station when the doctor was killed. I would like to
tell you much more of wonderful things he did, but he does not
wish it. Anyway, he got a second bar to his medal, and the
D.S.O. All honour to him.
As I began my book with a V.C. parson perhaps I cannot do
better than finish with one, though here again I must say very
little, as the hero is alive and very shy, and begs me not to say
much. The Rev. William Robert Fountain e Addison was the
second army chaplain to be honoured during the war. Four
others on whom the Victoria Cross was conferred at this time
lost their lives in winning it.
Mrs. Addison feared her son had not had education enough
and had not the physical strength or ability to succeed in
England, so arranged for him to become a colonist, and to Canada
he went, and appears to have had a very dull and lonely life
there on a farm, but gained considerable experience in riding
and breaking horses. In the lumber camps he shared the life
of the lumber-jacks — tree-felling, etc., but, like many other
Canadians, he is unwilling to recall memories of that time.
Mr. Addison's uncle, knowing this life was uncongenial to
his nephew, assisted and persuaded him to return to England.
After his return, in a letter to his uncle, he says, " Looking
back upon my life in Canada it is like a ghastly, vivid nightmare.
You alone have rescued me from a dark, dreary, and slaving
life. . . ."
During Mr. Addison's lumber-camp experiences he learned
to deal with many types of men, and this has no doubt been a
help to him in later years.
After his return from Canada he went to Salisbury Theo-
logical College, and was ordained in 1913 ; after which he became
curate at St. Edmunds, Salisbury, and worked there until he
obtained an army chaplaincy.
300 Sportsmen Parsons in Peace and War
vJ
All his services have been in the east ; he has not been in
Flanders or the western front up to the time of writing.
He sailed from Suez to Basra on board the Kalyan with the
late General Sir Stanley Maude, and it was in Mesopotamia
that he won his V.C., " for conspicuous bravery in carrying a
number of wounded men and bandaging their wounds while
under heavy rifle and machine-gun fire." In addition to this,
his splendid example of utter disregard for personal danger
encouraged the stretcher-bearers to go forward under heavy
fire and collect the wounded. What is not generally known is
that for a whole day he carried wounded men and dressed their
wounds.
Writing home at this time he says :
" I do thank God that He allowed me to accomplish what I
set out to do, and also that I have received the V.C., as that
seems to have caused you and others much joy."
This letter was dated November 3, 1916, from Mesopotamia.
Mr. Addison also took part in the withdrawal from Gallipoli.
At present his ambition is to achieve something in sermon-
writing. I think, like many others who have been through
terrible scenes and experiences, he wants a long rest.
One of the pleasures of his life lies in ornithology, and when
in Mesopotamia he spent most of his spare time studying the
ways of the birds and beasts he found there ; he sent several
interesting letters and articles to the Times and Field, which
were published.
For four successive generations the eldest sons in the
Addison family have been clergymen, and the present W. R. F.
Addison makes the fifth. His father was an artist whose works
were exhibited at the Royal Academy, Royal Institute, and
other exhibitions. The grandfather Addison was a great
worker amongst the poor, both in Reading, where he was vicar
of Christ Church, and at Gibraltar, where he was head of the
English Cathedral. When on the " Rock," after three heavy
services in the Cathedral he managed to fit in a service for the
sailors on ships at anchor in the Bay ; even when storms were
raging and the notice-board said, " Double danger, double
fare," he went out in a small rowing-boat and held a service on
a hulk anchored in the centre of the shipping, in the true
sporting spirit.
Revs. Hall, Tron, D.S.O., and Addison, V.G. 301
It is not therefore difficult to see where the V.C. Addison's
courage and endurance came from.
A httle bird has told me that when Mr. Addison won his
Victoria Cross he was really disobeying orders, as he had been
forbidden to expose himself to so much danger, and when a
certain General heard he had again " gone over the top " he
used some strong language and declared he would have him
court-martialled ; instead of this, however, at the end of the
day he was publicly thanked by two Generals for what he had
done.
Mr. Addison returned to England in 1917, and in July of
that year was married and received his Cross from the King
at Buckingham Palace on August 8, 1917. His regiment,
the King's Own Royal Lancashire, gave him a handsome
wedding-present in the form of a silver salver, as well as a sub-
stantial cheque from the Brigade. We all know how precious
and valued are these tokens of friendship and appreciation.
And of the chaplains themselves, what do they feel after
sharing the hardships and stress of battle with the soldiers ?
They are, I know, deeply grateful and uplifted when they see
any return for their services. The following little story shows
how occasionally the Padres find crumbs of comfort and en-
couragement when, having cast their bread upon the waters,
some of it returns after many days.
Just before a big push a chaplain was addressing his men
and administering the Holy Communion, and in his address he
quoted the text, " Though He slay me, yet will I trust in Him."
During the battle that followed, when this Padre was helping
the walking wounded out, in the dark, one lad badly hit in
the mouth, which was full of blood, put his face close to the
Padre's and, spluttering blood all over it, pressed close up and
with difficult speech said, " Though He slay me, yet will I trust
in Him.''
INDEX
Aberdour, Lord, see Morton
Acklam Hall, 14, 16 et seq., 22, 25
Adams, V.C., Rev. J. W., 3-12
Adams, Mrs. J. W., 11
Adderley, C.F., Rev. C. A., 228
Addison, V.C, Rev. William R. F,,
299-301
Addison, Mrs., 299
Agland, Jim, 124
Ailesbury, Maria, Marchioness of, 68
Aldridge, Rev. E. A., 137-43
Alexandra, Queen, 45, 65, 68
Alfonso, King of Spain, 255
Alverstone, Richard Webster, Lord, 64
Arch, M.P., Joseph, 161-2
Argyll, George Campbell, eighth Duke
of, 65
Arkwright, Robert, 65, 68
Arnold, of Rugby, Dr., 70
Ashby Launde (Lines.), 57
Augusta, Empress of William I. of
Germany, 52-3
Baker, Valentine, 66
Balfour, Right Hon. A. J., 65
Baly, Archdeacon, 67
Barrymore, Lord, 28-9
Barton, Sir Andrew, 18
Beaconsfield, Benjamin Disraeli, Earl
of, 65
Bearsted (Kent), 213 et seq., 230
Beaufort, Henry Somerset, 8th
Duke of, 65
Beckenham, St. Paul's Church, 232,
233, 235
Bedford, Francis Russell, 9th Duke of,
46,66
Bedford, Duchess of, 66-7
Bentinck, Lord Henry, 61
Benton, Thomas Mansford, 201
Benton, Capt. the Rev. William
Richard, 201-31
Benton, Mrs. W. R., 211, 227
Benzon, Mr. (Jubilee Plunger), 68
Beresford, D.S.O., Lieut.-Col. the
Rev. Percy William, 242-7
Beresford, Lord William, 88, 268
Beresford, Judge William, 242
Beresford, Miss, 24-6
Bergen, Father, 269-70
Black Torrington (Devon), 36, 47-8
Booth, General, 268-9
Booth, Mrs., 268-9
Booth, Miss, 259, 266, 269
Boswell, James, 105
Bourne, Cardinal, 258
Boynton (Yorks), 30
Bradley, Father, 281
Brassey, M.F.H., Albert, 160
Brindle, D.S.O., Right Rev. Father,
Bishop of Nottingham, 248-58
Bristol riots, 82
Broke, Lord Willoughby de, 28, 31
Bromhead, Lieutenant, 113
Bronte, Charlotte, 51
Brook, Dr. W. H., 60-1
Brook, C, 60-1
Brown, Corporal Gore, 176
Bullecourt, Battle of, 24, 45
Burdon, Rev. John, 23
Burgoyne, Sir John, 71
Burnaby, General, 66
Burnaby, Rev. Evelyn, 62-74
Burnaby, Colonel Fred., 62-3, 69
Burnaby, Rev. Gustavus, 62, 71
Burnaby, Mrs. Gustavus, 67, 71
Burnaby, Hon. Mrs. Margaret, 73
Burnaby, Mrs. Winifred, 73
Bury, Dr., Bishop of North and
Central Europe, 198
Butler, Armar, 127
Butler, Henry, 127
Butler, Hubert, 127
Butler, James, 127
Butler, Rev. Pierce, 127-32
Butler, Ralph, 127
Butler, Rollo Pierce, 127
Butler, Rev. William (Billy), 122,
133-36
Byars, Sidney, 197
C
Cadogan, George, 3rd Earl of, 77
Cambridge: Magdalene College, 28, 77;
Steeplechase match between Oxford
and, 28-9; Trinity Beagles, 34;
Boxing at, 39; St. John's College,
303
304
Index
51; Emmanuel College, 115; Trinity
College, 138; Jesus College, 147;
Caius College, 237, 239
Campbell, Lord Colin, 5
Candy, Mr., 28
Carlyle, Thomas, 77
Carter, Will, 31
Casualty clearing station, 177 et seq.
Caunton Manor (Newark), 101
Cayley, Colonel D. F., 295
Chard, Rev. E., 112^18^
Chard, Colonel John, 112 et seq., 117-8
Chard, William Wheaton, 112
Chard, Colonel Wheaton, 112
Charles I., 20
Charles II., 94
Chelmsford, Lord, 198-9
Christian, Princess, 173
Church Lads Brigade, 233
Churchill, Lord Randolph, 65
Cope, Sir John, 79
Costeker, D.S.O., Major T. D., 295,
297
Costobadie, Captain F. Palisser, 51
Costobadie, Rev. Henry Palmer, 56
Costobadie, Rev. Hugh Palisser, 49, 56
Cotleigh (Devon), 123
Cottesbroke (Northants), 31
Cotton, General Sir Sydney, 164
Crake, Winifred, see Bumaby
Crawley, Rev. A. S., 90
Crimean War, 5
Crouch End, Christ Church, 237 et seq.
Curres, Mr. Teddy, 23
Curzon of Kedleston, Lord, 11
D
Dark, Lieut., 270
Dardanelles, 273 et seq., 294 et seq.
Darwin, Charles, 81
Davenport, Bromley, 163
Davenport, de G., 55
Davenport, Rev. J. R., 55
Day, Father, 282
Dickens, Charles, 164
Dogs, pedigree, " Harper," 31,
"Trump," 39, 40, "Joe," 72,
" Susie," 72, " Tartan King," 72,
" Vanguard," 160
Dorrien-Smith, Mr., 68
Downe, Viscount, 95-6, 98
Doyle, Conan, 167
Dublin Horse Show, 31-2
Dunmore, Alexander Murray, 8th
Earl of, 224
E
Eames, Mr., 123
Edridge, Private F., 196-7
Edward VII., 40, 45, 65, 68, 71-2, 83-4
Ellicot, Dr., Bishop of Gloucester, 21
Eltham (Kent), 294
Ena of Battenberg, Princess, see
Victoria
Engleheart, Sir Thomas, 207
Engleheart, Father, 204, 207-8, 211
English Bickner (Glos.), 23-4
English Church Union, 87
Erie, Chief Justice, 63
Erskine, Hon. Margaret, see Bumaby
Etaples Hospital, work at, 170 et seq.
Eugenie, Empress, 71
Eversley (Hants), 79, 82 et seq.
Exeter, William Cecil, 3rd Marquis of,
67-8
F
Fairfax, Colonel, 21
Farrar, Canon, 71
Fellows, Harry, 44
Fernie, Mr., 49
Festubert, Battle of, 233, 235, 244
Field Ambulance, 182-3
Finn, Austen, 277'
Finn, Father, 273, 279
Fitzgerald, Father, 203, 205 et seq.
Fitzwilham, Hon. H., 28
Foster, Rev. Mr., 296
Forester, M.F.H., Captain, 88
Fowke, Sir Frederick, 70
Fowler, Warde, 165
Foxhound Kennel Stud Book, 32
Framlingham College, 201
Frampton (Dorset), 134, 136
Franckhn, M.F.H., Mr., 104
Francklin, Caroline, see Hole
Frederick, Emperor and Empress, 53
French, Lord, 173, 248
Frittenden (Kent), 168, 200
Frome (Somerset), 65
Froude, Rev. John, 39, 118-22
Geddes, Gordon, 180-1
George IV., 63, 134-5
George V., 277, 301
Gibbs, Philip, his description of the
King's Shropshire Light Infantry in
action, 186 et seq.
Gilchrist, W. O., 199
Givenchy, Battle of, 244
Gloucester, Bishop of, see Ellicot
Gooderham, Rev. I. J. R., 237-42
Gordon, General, 248, 251-2
Green, M.C., Captain, Chaplain, 260
Green, Father Eric, 281
Green, Rev. George Clark, 148-9
Green, Henry, 54
Index
305
Grenfell, Fanny, see Kingsley
Gribbin, Rev. A., 283-4
Grissell, Captain, 28-9
Gull, Sir William, 83
Gwynn, Father, 280
H
Hall, Mr., 61
Hall, Miss, see Legard
Hall, Rev. H., 294-98
Hall, James, 30
Hall, Rev. Richard, 281
Hallerton, 49 et seq.
Hamilton, William, 12th Duke of, 28
Hamilton, General Sir Ian, 273, 279,
294, 298
Hankey, Donald, 240
Hannington (Hants), 140 et seq.
Hardy, Rev. Mr., 296
Hardy, Colonel Gathorne, 191
Harker, Rev. T. A., 276
Harrington, Seymour, 6th Earl of, 28
Harrison, Colonel, 170, 176
Hart, Sir Robert, 138
Harcourt, Sir William, 14
Harrow, 14
Hatch, Beauchamp (Somerset), 114 et
seq.
Hawley, Captain, 14
Hawley, Louisa, see Hustler
Heald, Ivan, 5
Helmesley (Yorks.), 199, 200
Hill, Richard, 14
Hohenzollern Redoubt, 244
Hole, Dean, 69, 70, 100-11, 142
Hole, Mrs., 104
Holne (Dartmoor), 75
Honey, Rev. Doctor Wyer, 146
Honey, M.H., Rev. R. Wyer, 146-57
Honey, William, 147
Horses (racers and hunters) : "Agility,"
61 ; " Apology," 57 et seq. ; " Ar-
texerxes," 1.32 ; " Bessy Bedlam,"
57 ; " Blair Atholl," 59 ; " Blan-
chefleur," 58 ; " BUnk Bonny,"
150 ; " BriHiant," 57 ; " Colleen
Bawn," 28 ; " Cyclop," 131 ;
" George Frederick," 57-8 ; " Her-
mitage," 28 ; " Holy Friar," 61 ;
" Idolatry," 57 ; " Incense," 57 ;
" Kate," 28 ; " La Coureuse," 58 ;
" Lady Patricia," 59 ; " Leolinus,"
59 ; " Lord CHfden," 58 ; " Loyal-
ty," 28 ; " Manganese," 61 ;
" Marchioness," 28 ; " Minor," 59 ;
" Miss Toto," 59 ; " Moonbeam,"
57 ; " Pantaloon," 28 ; " Proposi-
tion," 28 ; " The Good Lady," 28 ;
" Trent," 59 ; " Saltfish," 86 ;
" Silver Tail," 150 ; " Wenloek,"
21 ; " Wood-pigeon," 86
Horsewell, 87
Hospitals at the Front, 173 et seq., 182
et seq., 215 et seq.
Hounds and Harriers : Bicester and
Heythrop, 107 ; Billesdon Hunt, 51,
55 ; Blackmore Vale, 64 ; Bram-
ham Moor, 14 ; Cottesmore, 64 ;
Cotleigh and East Devon, 123 ;
Craven, 88, 107, 109, 130 ; Devon and
Somerset Hounds, 45, 64, 104 ;
Garth, 79, 84 ; Heythrop, 159 et
seq.; Holderness, 31, 115, 137;
Lord Middleton's, 34, 143 ; Lord
Portman's, 64 ; Marland Harriers,
146 et seq. ; New Forest, 64 ; North
Bucks Harriers, 34 ; Oakley, 64-5,
68 ; Pytchley, 31, 115, 137 ; Quorn,
49, 55, 64, 66 ; Ross Harriers, 23 ;
Rufford, 103 ; South Dorset, 64 ;
Southwold Foxhounds, 147 ; Ted-
worth, 64 ; Trinity Beagles, 34 ;
Warnham Staghounds, 131 ;
Sir Watkin Wynne's, 64 ; York and
Ainsty, 14, 34, 85 et seq.
Howard, Sir Edward, 18
Hughes, Thomas, 79, 80, 82
Hunting, see Hounds
Hustler, M.F.H., Rev. George, 13-26
Hustler, Mrs. George, 14, 16, 24
Hustler, Thomas, 14
Hustler, William, 20
Inglis, K.C.B., Major-General Sir
John, 168
Inglis, Lady, 198
Inglis, Rev. Rupert, 167-200
Inglis, Mrs. Rupert, 168 et seq.
Ingram, Dr., 193-4
J
Jackson, Dr., Bishop of London, 8
James I., 18
James IV., 18
Jellicoe, Admiral Sir John, 268
Johnson, Dr., 105
Johnson, Colonel, 185
Jones, V.C, Colonel Alfred, 84
K
Keen, Sergeant Harold, 246
Kelly, C.F., Rev. J. Dwyer, 197
Key, Captain, 86, 97, 99
King, Colonel, 57
King, Rev. J. W., 57-61
King's College, 77
King's Norton (Wore), 5
Kingham (Oxford), 158 etseq.
X
3o6
Index
Kingsley, Rev. Charles, 75-84, 100, 110
Kingsley, Mrs. Charles, 76, 78, 83-4
Kingsley, Mrs. (mother of Charles
Kingsley), 78
Kirkby Sigston, 87
Kitchener, Lord, 248, 250 et seq., 273,
277
Knowstone (Devon), 118
Lacy, Dr., Bishop of Middlesborough,
278
Lang, Dr., Archbishop of York, 92 ei
seq.
Langdale, Colonel, 278
Langham, M.F.H., Sir H., 31
Lascelles of Harewood, Lord, 93-G, 98
Lawrence, Sir Henrv, 198
Leech, John, 104, 107
Legard, Sir Algernon, 27
Legard, Rev. Cecil, 27-32, 57
Legard, Mrs. Cecil, 36
Legard, Sir Charles, 29
Legard, Henry, 27-8
Legard, Sir John, 27
Legard, Sir Thomas Digby, 27
Legge, Right Rev. and Hon. Augustus,
Bishop of Lichfield, 208
Le Mesurier, Mrs., 247
Lichfield, Bishop of, see Legge
Lincoln, Bishop of, see Wordsworth
Line ham, Father John, 282
Lloyd, Edward, 86, 96 et seq.
Lloyd, Dr., Bishop of Newcastle, 87
Lockwood, Rev. Da\ns, 156-66
Lockwood, Mrs, Davis, 159, 165
Lockwood, Captain H., 163
London, Bishop of, see Jackson
Long, Will, 39
Loos, 145, 262
Luard, Colonel, 189
Lushington, Rev. T. G., 230
M
McCalman, Rev. Mr., 236
Machell, Captain, 29
Mackenzie, M.C., Captain, 260-63
Macmillari' s Magazine, 81
McMullen, Father, 282
Magee, Dr., Bishop of Peterborough, 07
Magnay, Major, 227 et seq., 231
Major, Mr., 239
Manchester, Duchess of, 68
Manners, Lord, 103-4
Manning, Cardinal, 1 10
Marryat, Captain, 164
Martin, John, 152
Mary, Queen, 277
Ma'^.cfield, John, 273
Maude, Dr., 245-6
Maude, General Sir Stanley, 300
Maxwell, General, 224
Medals, Father Brindle's, 253
Mellor, Lieut., 195
Melville, ^'VTiyte, 75
Meynell, M.F.H., Hugo, 30
Meysey-Thompson, Richard, 86
Michell, Rev. Jack, 122-6
Michell, Rev. William, 123
Middleton, Lord, 143
Mill, John Stuart, 81
Milne, M.F.H., Rev. E. A., 33-4
Milner-VMiite, Rev. Eric, 236
Minto, William, 3rd Earl of, 28-9
" Mission of Help," 203 et seq.
Moir, Captain, 194
Molyneux, R.N., Capt., 86, 96-9
Molyneux, Hon. Henry, 97, 99
Mons, the retreat from, 280
Moor Monckton (Yorks.), 91 et seq.
Moore, Rev. Canon A. E., 147
Morris, Rev. L. B., 34-5
Morris, Mrs. L. B., 35
Morton, John, 20th Earl of (Lord
Aberdour), 28
Mount St. Stephens College (Sheffield),
256
Murray, Colonel, 196
Mussenden, Major, 86, 96, 98
N
Napier, Brigadier-General, 295
National Rose Show, 108
Neuve Chapelle, Battle of, 244
Newby Ferry, 21
Newcastle, Bishop of, see Lloyd
Newman, Cardinal, 81-2, 110
Newsham Hall (Darlington), 20
Nicholson, General L., 197
North, Sir Harry, 294
O
Oliver, George, 148
Omdurman, Battle of, 251
Orvis, William, 86, 97, 99
Osborne, John, 57
Oxford : University College, 14 ;
Steeplechase match between Cam-
bridge and, 28-9; Exeter College,
39 ; St. Edmund College, 87 ;
Wadham College, 135 ; St. Mary's
Hall, 164 ; Bishop of, see Wilber-
force ; Magdalen College, 242
P
Palmer, James, 21
Palraerston, Lord, 5
Parker, Jack, 88
Paxton, Sir John, 108
Index
307
Peel, Viscount, 232, 234
Peel, M.C., Rev. and Hon. Maurice,
232-7
Peel, Sir Robert, 51, 235
Pepys, Samuel, 105
Peter's Marland (Devon), 151
Phillips, Captain Colwyn, 242
Phillpotts, Dr., Bishop of Exeter, 37,
45, 118 et scq.
Phipps, Sir Charles, 65
Phipps, Lady, 65
Pilcher, General, 128, 223
Pilgrim, Purbeck, see Butler, Rev.
Pierce
Plumer, Major-General Sir H., 184
Poelcapelle, Battle of, 244
Pollock, Baron, 63
Poltimore, Augustus Bampfylde, 2nd
Lord, 4G
Portal, Lady, 143
Portland, VVilliam Cavendish -Ben -
tinck, 6th Duke of, 256-7
Poulett, Lord, 73
Preston, Mr. Tom, 15
Prideaux, Sir Edmund, 123
R
Redmond, M.P., John, 279
Reid, M.C., Rev. Mr., 297
Reynard, Charles, 87
Reynard, Susan, see Slings by
Richards, Dr., 38-9
Ridgeway, Sir West, 268
Ridgeway, Lady, 268
Ripon, Frederick, 2nd Marquis of, 35
Ripon Theological College, 237
. Robben Island (the lepers' settlement),
202 et seq., 211 et seq., 230
Roberts, Frederick, Earl, 4, 11
Robinson, James, 86, 95-6, 98
Roebuck, Admiral de, 277
Rogers, Sergeant, 195
Rorke's Drift, 113-4, 117
Rossel School, 242
Russell, V.C., Colonel Sir Charles, 84
Russell, M.F.H., M.O.H., Rev. Jack,
22, 36-48, 56, 75, 118, 122, 134
Russell, Mrs. Jack, 41, 43, 47-8
St, Alban's (Holborn), 87
St. Cuthbert's College (Ushaw), 278
St. David, John Phillips, 1st Lord,
242
Salisbury Theological College, 299
Salvation Army, its work in France,
259-69
Sampson, Rev. G. V., 232
Scarborough, Richard Lumley, 9th
Earl of, 104
Scott, Colonel Lord Henry, 196
Scott, Sir Walter, 164 ;-
Scriven Park (Yorks.), 85 et seq.
Shakespeare, Rev. J. H., 285 et seq.
Sharp, Rev. C. J., 239
Sladnor Park (Devon), 20
Shngsby, M.F.H., Sir Charles, 85-6,
96 et seq.
SHngsby, Rev. Charles, 21, 85-99
Shngsby, Mrs. Charles, 87
Shngsby, Mrs. Emma Louisa, 86
Slingsby, Sir Henry, 94-5
Shngsby, Sir William, 94
Smith, Colonel Carrington, 295
Somerby Hall (Leicester), 62
Somme, Battle of the, 145, 167, 169,
192, 201, 264, 269
Soudan Campaign, 248 et seq.
South Molton (Devon), 40-1
Spurr, Frederick, 287, 289, 291
Stevens, Sir John, 294
Stevens, Colonel Moore, 151
Stevens, Mr. W. G., 252
Stillingfleet, 14 et seq., 23
Stretton (stretcher-bearer), 195
Sturminster Newton (Dorset), 135
Suckhng, Rev. A., 87
Surrey, Thomas Howard, Earl of, 18-9
Surtees, Brigadier-General, 128
Sutton, M.F.H., Sir Richard, 130
Swansea, Ernest Vivian, Lord, 65
Swymbridge, 43-4, 46
Sykes, Sir Tatton, 1, 31, 42
T
Talbot, Dr., Bishop of Winchester,
174
Talbot, Gilbert, 174
Talbot, M.C., Rev. Neville, 174, 194
et seq.
Tamworth, 235
Tasker, Colonel H. B., 294
Tattersall, Rev. T., 290
Temple, Dr. William, Bishop of
London, 133
Templer, Mr., 41-2
Tenniel, Sir John, 107
Thackeray, W. M., 107
Thesiger, Eric, 181
Thesiger, Hon. Julia Sehna, see Inglis
Thomson, Dr., Archbishop of York,
21, 33
Townshend, Father, 282
Tron, M.C., D.S.O., Rev. Mazzini,
298-9
Tullock, D.S.O., Major, 221-4
V
Vaughan, Cardinal, 253
Veitch, Mr., 108-9
3o8 Index
Victoria, Queen, 5, 83, 117, 252-3
Victoria, Queen of Spain, 254
Victoria Baptist College, 289
Villebois, Henry, 45, 62, 72
Villebois, Truman, 72-3
Vivian, Lord, 73
Vyner, Captain Bob, 95
Vyner, Clare, 86-7, 95, 97, 99
Vyner, Lady Mary, 97, 99
W
Walford, V.C, Captain, 295
Walsall (Staffs.), 208 et seq.
Warren, Sir Herbert, 242
Warriner, Christopher and James, 86,
97 99
Watts, G. F., 81
Watson, Rev. E. L., 289
Weald Manor (Oxon), 22
Welhngton, Arthur Wellesley, Duke
of, 104, 235
Wenlock, Sir Beilby Richard Lawley,
2nd Lord, 21
Wensley (Yorks.), 51
Westerham Cadet Corps (Kent), 243
et seq.
Western, General Sir Hunter, 279
Westminster Abbey, 83-4
Whitaker, Marmaduke, 35
Whitaker, Miss, see Morris
Wliite, Mr., 86
Wilberforce, Dr., Bishop of Oxford,
164
William I. of Germany, 52
William IV., 101
Willshire, Sir Arthur, 11
Willart, Father, 284
Wilson, Sir Mathew, 14, 21
Wolseley, Viscount, 248-9
Wombwell, Sir George, 21, 86-7, 96 et
seq.
Wombwell, Lady Juha, 21
Wood, V.C, Sir Evelyn, 84, 248 et seq.,
257
Woodhouse, General, 224
Wordsworth, Dr. Christopher, Bishop
of Lincoln, 59, 60
Wrentmore, Ida, see Benton
Wright, Colonel Bingham, 14
Wyld, Mr., 52
Wynter, Sophia Theresa, see Lock-
wood
Yorks, hunting in, 13 et seq.
Ypres, Battle of, 244, 269
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