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The Estate
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HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS
IN
EAST ANGLIA
Caister Church
bways a 'vways- m East
WILLIAM A : ILLUSTRAT! JOSEPH P£
'.LAN AND
Highways and Byways in East Anglia
BY WILLIAM A. DUTT
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY
JOSEPH PENNELL
ILontnon MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED
NEW YORK : THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 1901
All rights reserved
6
E
RICHARD CLAY AND Soxs, LIMITF.D,
LONDON AND BUNGAY.
948776
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I
FACE
IPSWICH, WOODBRIDGE, PARHAM, AND FRAMLINGHAM .... I
CHAPTER II DUNWICH AND SOUTHWOLD 36
CHAPTER III
LOWESTOFT AND FRITTON LAKE, YARMOUTH AND BREYDON WATER 60
CHAPTER IV
CAISTER CASTLE, NORWICH, AND MOUSEHOLD HEATH ... 9!
CHAPTER V
THE BROADLAND 133
CHAPTER VI
EAST DEREHAM, " ARCADY," CASTLE ACRE, AND WYMONDHAM . 157
CONTENTS
CHAPTER VII
PAGE
El ICKLING, CROMER, AND THE COAST ROAD TO WELLS . . . . 2OO
CHAPTER VIII
VVALSINGHAM, HOUGHTON, AND SANDRINGHAM 231
CHAPTER IX CASTLE RISING, KING'S LYNN, AND MARSHLAND 257
CHAPTER X ACROSS THE FENS 289
CHAPTER XI
THE ISLE OF ELY 306
CHAPTER XII
BRANDON AND THETFORD ......' 328
CHAPTER XIII BLOOMFIELD'S COUNTRY AND BURY ST. EDMUNDS 353
CHAPTER XIV
AI.DBOROUGH, ORFORD, AND CONSTABLE'S COUNTRY 389
INDEX 407
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
CAISTER CHURCH Frontispiece
NEAR PARHAM I
IPSWICH 2
IPSWICH HARBOUR 5
CUSTOM HOUSE, IPSWICH 6
THE ANCIENT HOUSE, IPSWICH 7
THE RED LION, MARTLESHAM . . . II
WOODBRIDGE 13
LITTLE GRANGE, WOODBRIDGE 1$
THE TOWN HALL, WOODBRIDGE 1J
THE DOCK AT WOODBRIDGE l8
WICKHAM MARKET 19
THE VILLAGE STREET, PARHAM 21
THE MOAT HALL, PARHAM 23
FRAML1NGHAM CASTLE 2J
x LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
THE MOAT AT FRAMLINGHAM 31
TAILPIECE 35
THE CLIFFS, DUNWICH 36
YOXFORD 37
RUINS NEAR PEASENHALL . . ^ 39
PEASENHALL 4!
WALBERSWICK 45
THE ROAD TO WALBERSWICK 46
AVALBERSWICK 47
WALBERSWICK 48
THE OLD PIER, WALBERSWICK 49
WALBERSWICK FERRY 50
SOUTH WOLD FROM WALBERSWICK 5!
SOUTHWOLD CHURCH 52
SOUTHWOLD SEA-FRONT 54
BLYTHBURGH CHURCH 57
BOATS COMING INTO LOWESTOFT 59
FISHING BOATS, LOWESTOFT 60
LOWESTOFT HARBOUR 63
LOWESTOFT FROM LAKE LOTHING 65
SITE OF SORROW'S COTTAGE, OULTON BROAD 66
THE PIER, LOWESTOFT 68
LOWESTOFT INNER HARBOUR ...".. ^l
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS xi
PAGE
YARMOUTH 77
THE QUAY, YARMOUTH 79
YARMOUTH BEACH 8l
ALMS HOUSES, YARMOUTH 83
THE WIND MILL 85
YARMOUTH CHURCH 86
YARMOUTH, THE GREAT MILL 88
THE QUAY, YARMOUTH QO
YARMOUTH FROM THE CAISTER ROAD 9 1
CAISTER CASTLE 92
BURGH ST. MARY CHURCH . 97
ACLE IOO
ROUND-TOWERED CHURCH, NEAR ACLE IOI
ACLE BRIDGE IO2
BISHOP'S BRIDGE, AND THE CATHEDRAL, NORWICH 105
THE RIVER, NORWICH IO7
MARKET PLACE AND ST. PETER MANCROFT CHURCH, NORWICH . IOg
THE CASTLE, NORWICH Ill
THE NAVE OF NORWICH CATHEDRAL 113
TOMBLAND, NORWICH 115
IN THE CLOSE, NORWICH Il8
ERPINGHAM GATE, NORWICH 121
NORWICH FROM MOUSEHOLD HEATH 127
xii LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
THORPE, NEAR NORWICH 132
WROXHAM BRIDGE 133
BURGH CHURCH, ON THE BURE 137
POTTER HEIGHAM BRIDGE 14!
A MILL ON THE BURE 144
ON THE YARE 146
ON THE BURE 155
FILBY BROAD 156
NEAR EAST DEREHAM 157
BAWBURGH 158
BAWBURGH CHURCH l6o
ON THE ROAD TO EAST DEREHAM 162
EAST DEREHAM 165
THE CHURCHYARD AND ST. WITHBURGA'S WELL, EAST DEREHAM l66
EAST DEREHAM l68
SCARNING, DR. JESSOPP'S CHURCH 171
THE MARKET PLACE, SWAFFHAM 176
CHURCH TOWER, SWAFFHAM 178
CASTLE ACRE l8o
CASTLE ACRE PRIORY 182
KIMBERLEY HALL 187
THE VILLAGE GREEN, KIMBERLEY 1 88
WYMONDHAM CHURCH .189
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS xiii
PAGE
WYMONDHAM CHURCH TOWERS 190
WYMONDHAM MARKET CROSS 192
STANFIELD HALL 194
CROMER 2OO
HORSHAM ST. FAITH'S 2O2
BLICKLING HALL 2IO
CROMER 213
WEST RUNTON CHURCH 215
MORSTON 217
BEESTON PRIORY 2ig
SHERINGHAM 22O
SALTHOUSE 221
SALTHOUSE 222
THE CHURCH AT CLEY 223
CLEY 224
CLEY 225
BLAKENEY 226
THE HARBOUR, BLAKENEY 228
THE LANTERN AT BLAKENEY CHURCH 229
STIFFKEY 230
WELLS 231
ABBEY GATEWAY, WALSINGHAM 234
WALSINGHAM ABBEY 236
xiv LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
THE OLD SHOE HOUSE, NEAR WALSINGHAM 24!
EAST BARSHAM 242
EAST BARSHAM MANOR HOUSE 243
HOUGHTON HALL AND CHURCH 245
SANDRINGHAM, FROM THE GARDEN 2$ I
TAILPIECE 256
LYNN FROM THE RIVER 257
RISING CASTLE 25$
GATEWAY, RISING CASTLE 259
THE TOWN HALL, LYNN 264
THE RIVER AT LYNN 266
OLD WAREHOUSES, LYNN 268
LYNN 273
CUSTOM HOUSE, LYNN 276
THE SOUTH GATE, LYNN 282
THE OUSE 288
A FEN FERRY 289
DOWNHAM MANOR HOUSE 293
LITTLEPORT 30!
THE ROAD TO LITTLEPORT 305
ELY 306
WEST DOOR, ELY 309
IN THE TRANSEPT, ELY ' 312
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS xv
PAGE
THE CLOSE GATEWAY, ELY 315
THE WEST FRONT, ELY 317
THE BISHOP'S PALACE, ELY 321
THE TRANSEPT, ELY 323
ELY, FROM THE PARK 325
THE WOODS, NEAR BRANDON 328
BRANDON BRIDGE 33!
THE BELL INN, THETFORD 339
NEAR EAST DEREHAM 352
BURY ST. EDMUNDS 353
PAKENHAM CHURCH 364
THE NORMAN TOWER, BURY ST. EDMUNDS 372
THE ABBEY GATEWAY, BURY ST. EDMUNDS 379
STOWMARKET MILL 385
NEEDHAM MARKET 388
THE BELL CAGE, EAST BERGHOLT CHURCHYARD 389
EAST BERGHOLT 398
EAST BERGHOLT 4OO
DEDHAM STREET 402
FLATFORD MILL, EAST BERGHOLT 404
HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS
IN
EAST ANGLIA
CHAPTER I
IPSWICH, WOODBRIDGE, PARHAM, AND FRAMLINGHAM
To set out on a tour through East Anglia without first ascertaining East Anglia's extent and precise bounds, is to enter upon a somewhat vague and venturesome enterprise ; yet that is what I am about to do, and with little care as to where my wanderings may take me. As a matter of fact, the limits of East Anglia have never, since the days of the East Anglian kings, been clearly defined, and I doubt whether even in their time it was known with absolute certainty where Northumbria and Mercia ended and East Anglia began. Norfolk and Suffolk are certainly in East Anglia, and so, too, are portions of Essex, Cambridgeshire, and Lincolnshire ; but I question whether even the London Society of East Anglians, widely as it defines the term " East Anglian," would consider as such a man born in, say, Grimsby or Leytonstone. So it is left for every one to decide for himself how much of Eastern England is East Anglia ; and as this gives me a fairly wide field for travel I may well set out with a light heart, little
% B
2 EAST ANGLIA CHAP.
heeding how often I stray from the great high roads or cross from one county into another. Yet at the outset I realise that I must be content with journeying through some parts of Norfolk, Suffolk, and Cambridgeshire, and leave Lincolnshire to some other highway and byway peregrinator. Even so curtailed, my itinerary will be as remarkable for what it misses as what it brings me in touch with ; but the square acreage of the Eastern counties is so considerable that this is unavoid- able. Still, there is satisfaction in knowing that whatever
Ipswich.
route one takes it cannot prove a barren one, for Eastern England is so rich in romantic, historical, and legendary interest, and so full of relics of the days when that interest was created, that go where you will between Ipswich and Ely, and Thetford and the shores of the North Sea, you will always find your eyes and mind pleasantly occupied. This wealth of diverse interest goes far towards atoning for the monotony of much of the scenery, which is generally of a pastoral kind. Although the lowland districts afford wide and inspiring vistas, East Anglian scenery can nowhere be described as grand or sublime, and it only attains to perfect charm and
I HISTORY AND LEGEND 3
loveliness where winding rivers and placid lagoons are its most conspicuous and pervading features.
I could never find it in me, however, to decry East Anglian scenery because of its tameness ; rather, I could pity the man who is unable to discover in its quaint old-world hamlets, leafy lanes and byways, breezy heaths, flower-spangled meads, thatched farmsteads, and ancient shrines many elements of the picturesque. As for the historical interest of the dis- trict, it both gains and loses something in that many of the events in which it originated occurred so long ago that they have become inseparably associated with romantic legends and untrustworthy traditions. For instance, no battles of any importance have been fought in East Anglia since the days of the Norman kings ; but long before those days the district was the scene of strenuously contested encounters between the Danes and Angles, the grave-heaps of whose slain may still be seen on the Thetford warrens ; while centuries before Edmund the Martyr met his death at the hands of Inguar and Ubba, the brave queen of the Iceni led her half-savage warriors against the trained legions of Rome. Of the details of these grim fights, which were fought before the days of those monkish chroniclers who were always ready to record any unusual fact or wonderful myth, we know little or nothing ; we can only point to the grass grown barrows and let them speak for themselves. And if we are at a loss when asked to tell of these encounters, what can we say about the prehistoric strife which brought the swarthy, skin-cloaked Eskurians to the Brandon flint pits, those primitive arsenals where they fashioned their axes and arrows of stone ? " Grimes Graves," as these pits are called, remain to us to-day, and near them dwell " knappers " who even now work flints in much the same manner as did the men of the Stone Age ; but how little do they tell us of the vanished race who dug them ! Even if we remove the wind-heaped warren sand, and grope with spade and pickaxe, we unearth only a few flint flakes and primitive
3 2
4 FACT AND MYTH CHAP.
weapons, and the conclusions we draw from these relics are more remarkable for vagueness than value. And as it is with the early battles, so it is with the early warriors of East Anglia, such as Redwald, Edmund, and, later, Hereward. We know they existed and believe they did wonderful deeds ; but we are told that we must read of those deeds, as they are handed down to us by the old chroniclers, in much the same spirit as we read of the fabulous exploits of the ancient gods.
So I do not ask any one to believe all I shall tell of the castles and abbeys, towns and hamlets of East Anglia. If I have any aim or method in my narrations, it is to follow the lead of the monkish chroniclers and relate both fact and myth, generally leaving it to others to judge where the line should be drawn between them. Wherever I go I am an incurably sentimental traveller ; I love to muse over a grey old priory as much on account of its incredible legends as for its actual and credible history. Walsingham Abbey loses nothing of its charm for me because Erasmus made caustic comment on the silly stories he heard from the monks there; the assurance of a learned bookworm that Dunwich in the height of its pros- perity did not rival the London of its day, does not rob me of a moment's pleasure while I stand on the cliffs from which the old city sank into the sea. As I am a seeker of the picturesque in scenery, so am 1 a searcher for the romantic in story ; and while I have eyes for the one and instinct for finding the other, no isolated hamlet can be utterly dull to me, or legend and ballad without its interest or charm.
Just one hundred and seventy-eight years ago, in the month of April, and almost on the same day of that month as this on which I am setting out on a tour through East Anglia, the author of Robinson Crusoe started on a journey through the Eastern counties, with a view to writing a "particular and diverting account of whatever is curious and worth observ-
I DEFOE AT IPSWICH 5
ation" in those counties. After loitering among the Essex marshes, where he was much impressed by meeting with men who had had from five or six to fourteen or fifteen wives, and describing at length the siege of Colchester during the Civil War of 1648, Defoe came to Ipswich, where he found much that was curious and diverting. The town especially commended itself to him on account of its "very agreeable and improving company almost of every kind " ; but with the ardour of an enthusiastic pamphleteer he promptly set about
Ipsiuich Harlciir.
confuting the "wild observations" of certain earlier writers, whose aims, in all probability, had been not unlike his own. These "wild observations" do not now move us to either amazement or indignation : they apply to such subjects as the building of two-hundred-tons ships (Defoe maintained that the Ipswich shipwrights were capable of building ships of upwards of four-hundred tons), and their launching at John's Ness* Nor, for my own part, am I tempted, even by the prospect of enjoying agreeable and improving company, to linger in the town ; for this is one of the first warm mornings of spring, and I
MR. PICKWICK'S EXPERIENCES
CHAP.
am longing to get away from the busy streets and into the midst of Rushmere Heath, where I know the larks are soaring and singing, and the gorse is bursting into a blaze of bloom. Ipswich, I am quite ready to admit, is a charming town ; its Ancient House is worth a long journey to see ; but unlike a very distinguished traveller, who, according to his biographer, started from the Bull Inn, Whitechapel, in the morning and arrived at Ipswich at nightfall, I have no intention of spending a night at the Great White Horse Inn. The character of that
Custom House, Ipsivich.
famous hostelry is, no doubt, unimpeachable ; but I cannot forget Mr. Pickwick's experiences there when, after receiving the confidences of Mr. Peter Magnus, he retired to the wrong bedroom and had such a disconcerting encounter with the middle-aged lady in yellow curl papers. So I take to the Woodbridge Road— the old London to Yarmouth coach road — telling myself that if nothing unforeseen befall me I will stand under the walls of Framlingham Castle before their outlines are indefinable in the dusk.
If it were necessary, I might well rely on Dickens to guide
THE GREAT WHITE HORSE INN
me over many miles of my journey through south-eastern East Anglia. Pickivick is quite as definite as Murray when it comes to dealing with the Great White Horse. " In the main street of Ipswich, on the left-hand side of the way, a short distance after you have passed through the open space fronting the Town Hall, stands an inn known far and wide by the appellation of the Great White Horse, rendered the more conspicuous by a stone statue of some rampacious animal with flowing mane and tail, distantly resembling an insane
Tlie Ancient House, Ipswich.
cart-horse, which is elevated above the principal door. The Great White Horse is famous in the neighbourhood, in the same degree as a prize ox, or county paper-chronicled turnip, or unwieldy pig — for its enormous size." And when Pickwick failed me, David Copperfield would come to my aid, and I must be without the slightest development of the bump of locality if, with the assistance of that delightful autobiography, I could not find my way to Lowestoft, where David stayed on his way to London ; Blundeston. where he spent his boyhood ; and Yarmouth, where he explored with Peggotty the
8 MARGARET CATCH POLE CHAP.
beachmen's colony and rambled through the quaint old " rows." But David would desert me when we reached Wickham Market, and I should have to find my own way to Framlingham ; so 1 will leave him and Mr. Pickwick gazing together out of the stationer's window at the Ancient House, and venture out alone on to Rushmere Heath, finding consolation in the fact that no gibbet now swings its ghastly burden on that desolate waste land, and that I live in an age when I can approach the Kesgrave barrows without hearing the wailing of the spirits of the dead in the voice of the wind among the trees. Indeed, on such a morning as this, and on such a sunny, breezy plain, one can well do without human or fictive society. The warm breath of spring, fragrant with the fresh odour of the young seed leaves ; the lengthening hazel and alder catkins, the purple dead nettles, the singing thrushes, blackbirds, wrens, and robins, all go far towards making up for the absence of human life from the long, white, turf-bordered road.
So I am content to travel slowly along the border of Rushmere Heath, not only on accpunt of the singing birds and the spring wild flowers, but because I remember that it was along this same Woodbridge road that the heroine of that " romantic but perfectly true narrative/' the History of Margaret Catchpole, hastened, with her lover Will Laud, the daring smuggler, on the night of her escape from Ipswich Gaol. Will Laud was often afloat on the Orwell, or concealed in the river's quiet creeks, and it was from its bank that Margaret, beguiled, by the sham Dutchman's story, from the Priory Farm at Downham Reach on a harvest home night, anxiously scanned the dimming reaches for a glimpse of the smuggler's sail. There, too, she may have seen — and the Rev. R. Cobbold, in his " perfectly true narrative," says she did see — old Tom Colson, better krrown as Robinson Crusoe, the Orwell fisherman who had a horseshoe nailed to his crazy boat, and his body adorned with mystic signs and amulets. He it was, we are
I MARGARET CATCHPOLE'S RIDE 9
told, who on that fateful autumn night, when Laud and Luff had planned to carry off the faithful Margaret in their lugger, came down upon them on the shores of Downham Reach, and, laying about him with his long-handled cod-hook, beat them off and set the maiden free. But Margaret, although she escaped then, was fated to again become the victim of nefarious schemes, and in the end her enemies and unworthy friends succeeded in ruining her reputation and getting her transported to Botany Bay. Her story is well known in Suffolk, where the scenes of her escapades and those of her persecutors are still pointed out to the curious ; but outside the county it arouses little interest. Yet her life, in its early stages, was a singularly eventful one, and her ride to London is as notable in its way as Turpin's legendary ride to York.
Ever since she was a child living under her father's roof on the border of the Nacton heathland, Margaret had been renowned for her skill at riding ; and it was a knowledge of this that led her enemies to concoct the scheme which brought her into trouble. Telling her that her lover despaired of ever seeing her again, fear of the excisemen preventing him from venturing into Suffolk, they persuaded her to take from her master's stables one of the best horses and ride to Laud's place of concealment. Not until she had donned a stableman's clothes and mounted the horse was she informed of her lover's whereabouts, and then she learned that he was hiding in London. Feeling that it was then too late to abandon her daring enterprise, she refused to think what might be its con- sequences, so at one o'clock on a May morning in the year 1797 she set out on her long ride. With only the ever- watch- ful stars to see her, she rode quietly out of Ipswich and on to the main road to London. Instead of troubling about the fearful penalty of horse-stealing in those days, all her thoughts were of the lover she was to meet and the happiness which, after a long period of heart-ache and unrest, they were to share. I fancy I can hear her draw a long breath of relief as she leaves
io MARGARET CATCHPOLE'S RIDE CH. i
the last town house behind her and sees before her, stretching like a white ribband between the shadowy fields, the silent deserted country road. The new foliage of the roadside trees, as yet untarnished by the dust the mails will set flying ere many weeks are gone, makes the night air fragrant ; and the white blossoms of the blackthorn, just vanishing before the blooming of the may, are like a rime-frost on the hedgerows. Nightingales are singing in the copses; now and again an owl hoots in a dusky wood or flies heavily over the fields ; but Margaret is heedless of all the sights and sounds of the fine May night ; scarcely conscious even of the movements of the horse beneath her. She is thinking of the days when as a child she rode her father's plough horses home from the fields ; of her first meeting with Laud in the little cottage in Nacton village street; of her night's experience on the shores of Downham Reach; and thinking of these things, and of the strange treatment she has received at her lover's hands, some doubt may have arisen in her mind as to how he would receive her, and the wisdom of again putting faith in his promises. But she has no thought of turning back ; and when, within two miles of Colchester, the Ipswich mail dashes past her. she turns her head aside so that the driver may not see her face. The guard, however, recognises the horse, and calls to the driver that there must be " something wrong " for a groom to be riding at such a pace, and when he reaches Ipswich, and recounts what he has seen, the news soon spreads and the strawberry roan is missed from the stables. Of all this Margaret knows nothing, so cannot be aware that even while she is only a little more than halfway on her journey an Ipswich printer is striking off copies of a handbill about a stolen gelding, to be sent to London by the morning mail. At Marks Tey she makes the only pause in her long ride, and then only stops long enough to give her noble horse a feed of corn. This is at five o'clock in the morning, and she has already been five hours in the saddle. At Chelmsford she
12 MARGARET CATCHPOLE'S RIDE CHAP.
dares not stop for fear her appearance there at such an early hour should excite suspicion. So she rides out of the dark into the dawn, her face white with weariness, but freshened by the cool breezes of the spring morning ; she sees the owls fly home to the woods and the larks rise to welcome the new day ; and the gallant roan, responsive to the longing of his rider's heart that she may soon rest in her lover's arms, thuds onward at the same fast even pace he has kept up all through the night. She passes through Stratford just at the time when people are at their breakfasts, and at half-past nine trots into the yard of the Bell Inn, in Aldgate, having ridden seventy miles in eight and a half hours.
The identification of the adventurous girl in spite of her dis- guise, and her arrest on a charge of horse-stealing are matters of a few hours. After lying in Newgate and Ipswich gaol nearly three months, she is brought before Lord Chief Baron Macdonald at Bury Assizes, and condemned to death. Her demeanour at the trial, and the evidence of many friends, who are glad to testify to her previous good conduct, are not, however, without effect upon the court, and the judge promises to lay her case before the King, with a view to the commuting of her sentence to one of transportation. This is done as soon as the court rises, and in a few days a reply comes from the Home Office empowering the judge to deal with the case at his dis- cretion. The sentence is commuted to one of seven years transportation ; but much doubt is felt whether Margaret will really be sent to the new penal settlement at Botany Bay ; it is considered highly probable she will serve her term in her own country. Until this is decided she is kept in Ipswich Gaol. There she remains nearly three years, and then, with the assistance of her lover Laud, who must have felt that he owed her much for the trouble he had brought her, effects her escape. They hope to be able to cross over in a smuggler's boat to Holland, and such a boat is to await them on Sudbourn beach. Just as the clock strikes midnight, Margaret lets her-
MARGARET'S ESCAPE FROM GAOL
Woodbridge.
self down from the prison wall. Laud is near by, ready to guide her out of the town, and in a few minutes they are hastening together along this same Woodbridge road. In an
14 WOODBRIDGE CHAP.
empty cartshed the girl puts on a seamafl's garb, then strikes out by quiet byways and across lonesome waste lands for the sea. At Sudbourn, however, there are no signs of the longed-for boat, and in the meantime Margaret's escape has become known and the country is being scoured to find her. While she and her companion are still wandering about the beach, anxiously watching for the appearance of the boat which is to carry them to safety, Ripshaw, the Ipswich gaoler, and a constable surprise them, and a struggle ensues in which Laud is shot through the heart. Margaret is retaken, and lodged again in Ipswich Gaol. As her gallant ride ended in disaster, so her last hope of freedom and security in another land is banished by the welding of fresh fetters and the final tragedy of her lover's death.
I had no intention of lingering so long over Margaret Catchpole's story, and, indeed, there was little need that I should, for is it not all contained in the Rev. R. Cobbold's " romantic but perfectly true " chronicles ? But I have been loitering on the Woodbridge road, amid scenes with which Margaret must have been familiar and which have tended to keep her story in my mind. Some of these ancient cottages and homesteads around Martlesham can have looked little less ancient when the high-spirited and unfortunate Suffolk girl was still in her native county ; and Martlesham Red Lion — with its awe-inspiring sign, said to have been the figurehead of a Dutch warship which fought in the battle of Sole Bay — was a noted hostelry long before she was born. Anyhow, amid the scenes of her loving and daring she has been my companion for an hour to-day, and I wish Edward FitzGerald were alive, and in his old home at Woodbridge, so that I might go to him and tell him what an entertaining companion she has been.
For it is to Little Grange, " Old Fitz's " ivy-clad house, that I make my way even before visiting his favourite resort, the Bull Inn, or hunting up his old lodgings " over Berry the gunsmith's shop " on the Market Hill. There is no difficulty
LITTLE GRANGE
Little Grange, Woodbridge.
in finding it. You ride along the main street of the town until you almost come to an end of the houses, then turn
16 EDWARD FITZGERALD CHAP.
sharply to the left at the top of the hill which slopes downward from the town. About a hundred yards down the branching road, on the left-hand side, is Little Grange, looking much the same as when FitzGerald left it. Except that it stands rather too close to the road, it seems an ideal home for a man who, while he loved to mingle with his fellow men, and found congenial companions even in the Bull Inn bar-room, was never so happy as when among his books. Here he enjoyed his " Book of Verses underneath the Bough " ; and if there was no sweet human singer to make his wilderness " Paradise enow," no doubt the nightingales sang to him here in spring, and left him lamenting
" That Spring should vanish with the Rose ! That Youth's sweet-scented manuscript should close ! "
There are no nightingales singing around Little Grange to day ; but before many days have passed they will be back in their old haunts ; and then " Old Fitz's " ghost should walk along the " quarter-deck " in front of the house, where, according to Mr. Hindes Groome, Charles Keene marched and played his bagpipes. " Old Fitz " is well remembered in Woodbridge, for even after he had given up his lodgings on Market Hill and betaken himself to this quiet retreat, he often strolled into the town, cutting a queer figure with his " old Inverness cape, double-breasted, flowered-satin waistcoat, slippers on feet, and a handkerchief, very likely, tied over his hat." He was looked upon as an eccentric, both here and at Lowestoft, where I am sure to hear of him again ; and some strange stories are told of him. Mr. Groome has recorded how he sailed over to Holland (he was an enthusiastic yachtsman) with the intention of seeing Paul Potter's " Bull " ; but on arriving there, and finding a suitable breeze blowing, set out at once on his homeward voyage ; and again, how he started for Edinburgh, but on reaching Newcastle found a train about to leave for London, so took the opportunity of returning home. The Bull Inn — it still looks solid and
t THE LANDLORD OF THE BULL 17
substantial, though much of its business departed with the mail coaches and post-boys— will always be noted for its association with the translator — or should it be, author — of the immortal quatrains. I wish its former landlord were alive, so that I might recall his old patron to his mind, and, maybe, hear
The Town Hall, Woodbridge.
some saying that might fitly be set down beside that famous one uttered when FitzGerald remarked to him that Woodbridge should feel highly honoured at being visited by Tennyson, who was a guest at Little Grange — " Daresay ; but he didn't fare to know much about horses ! "
C
i8
WOODBRIDGE
CHAP.
This is a delightful little town— one of the prettiest little country market towns in England. Nestling on the slopes of what in Suffolk must be called a hilly district, the sun always seems to shine on it, and the gleaming Deben to love it for its beauty and woo it to its banks. Poets have always loved it. Tennyson, FitzGerald, Crabbe, Barton — I wonder if any one outside Suffolk ever reads the' works of Bernard Barton, coal merchant, bank clerk, and poet, now — all rambled and mused in these narrow streets and leafy lanes, watched the big-sailed barges come creeping up the river, and listened to
The Dock at Woodbridge.
the music of the bird-haunted woods and lawns. I cannot imagine that Woodbridge played any active part in the stirring events of East Anglian history : it seems almost incredible that " in the old days " warships were built at its quiet quays. Yet the high road from Yarmouth to Ipswich and London runs through the heart of it, so many a horseman must have clat- tered through it in the days when the Norfolk and Suffolk rustics were in frequent revolt, and Princess Mary held her court at Framlingham, receiving there the assurances of loyalty of the devoted to her cause. So, the old town must always have been well in touch with the wider world, and
i THE ROAD-MENDER 19
therefore always as satisfied with itself as it seems to-day. If only it were not so complacently — one might say selfishly — satisfied with itself and its surroundings, it might soon become one of those objectionable places, a popu- lar resort ; but, so far as I can see, it keeps all its good things to itself and shows no inclination to advertise them. This may be selfishness ; but such selfishness, to my mind, nearly approaches being a virtue nowadays.
On my way to Wickham Market, which comes in sight long before Woodbridge and its charms are forgotten, I
Wickham Market.
encounter an old road mender breaking flints by the roadside. One of the delays seemingly inevitable to cyclists brings him hobbling to my side, and while I am tinkering with my bicycle he entertains me with reminiscences. He will be eighty years old " come next October," he tells me, and can remember the time when the two-horse waggons which, before the era of railways, conveyed fish from Yarmouth and Lowestoft to " Lunnon," used to run to and fro along this road. He uses the dialect of the days when Board Schools were unheard-of institutions — speaks it in the sing-song fashion of Sely (happy)
c 2
20 REMINISCENCES CHAP.
Suffolk, so delightful to an East Anglian. He " kinder thowt as how we should hev some downfall afore night ; an' his owd woman " (she was his third wife and fifteen years younger than himself) " wouldn't hear o' his goin' to work 'ithout a coverin'," and he points to a tattered military overcoat thrown down upon a stone heap. He " fared as how he'd sin my faace afore ; but couldn't rightly say where. It might ha' bin when he wor a-shepardin' out Dunwich way, where all mander o' folks went to see th' ruins ; but he might be wrong." The war in South Africa interested him a good deal ; and he could " mind hearin' about owd Boney an' all th' trouble what follered " his escape from Elba. His father, who " come from out Dareham way,' was in the West Norfolk Militia " in his young time," and had kept him well informed on military matters and international disputes ; but now he " couldn't fare to git a-howd o' th' right ends o' things." He was puzzled as to why the Boers were not black people, " seein' as he'd heerd Afriky wor a country o' blacks. Anyways, he orfen thowt about it till he fared right dunted." One thing only seemed clear to him— that there did not appear to be so much fear of the French coming over here as there was in his father's " young time." Then people used to make songs about the Frenchmen, and sing them everywhere. One song began
" The French are a-comin :
Oh dear, oh dear ;
They're all owd women,
So we don't keer ; "
but the " owd women " at home, especially those who dwelt near the coast, had sleepless nights when alarming rumours came down the London road with the mails, or the booming of guns betokened that the King's ships had sighted a suspicious sail. Apparently the old man is in the mood for a lengthy chat, which is not surprising, seeing that wayfarers are few about here, and seldom do more than " pass the seal of the day " with him ; but the appearance of a dog-cart driven by an
WICKHAM MARKET
individual who must be the road surveyor, or at least a member of the County Council, causes him hastily to resume his work.
The Village Street, Parham.
Wickham Market is a pleasant enough little place, mainly consisting, so far as I can see, of one long street ; but I cannot discover that it is more picturesque or interesting than many more of the large villages in Suffolk which call themselves towns. So I content myself with noting that a considerable
22 PARHAM MOAT HALL CHAP.
section of the inhabitants has turned out of doors to gaze at a convulsive motor car ; and leave them gazing. I do this with the less regret because I wish to see the old Moat Hall at Parham before daylight wanes ; and though I know I shall pass through Parham on my way to Framlingham, I have received vague but disquieting information about the inaccessibility of the Willoughbys' old home. It has been described to me as an isolated house in the midst of fields, through which are only rough and rutty waggon tracks, and I have been told, too, that it is hidden from passers along the road by a dark grove of trees; but when I reach Parham, and make inquiries at an ancient inn where the bar-room ceiling is crossed by heavy adze-hewn beams, my disquietude is dispelled, and I set out light-heartedly for the mysterious fifteenth century, moated hall. Crossing a wooden footbridge to the right of the village street, passing the village church, and climbing a rather steep hill, on the crest of which the road curves to the right, I soon see the cart-track which leads to the hall. I have heard that the house is inhabited, that it is now a farmhouse ; but not a human being is in sight anywhere near it ; the ploughmen have left the fields, the farm buildings are deserted. Although the trees are still leafless, I do not get a glimpse of the hall until it is within a stone's throw, so hidden is it by a dense screen of boughs and underwood ; but I know it is near at hand, for an ancient archway spans the path leading to the farmyard, and just beyond it is a fine Tudor gateway bearing several clear-cut coats of arms. Through the arch, too," I see the dark water of a deep wide moat ; so dark, indeed, is the water that it might well have remained unstirred since the days of the " brave Lord Willoughby." When, at last, I reach the house, I am not so much impressed with it as with its surroundings. A good deal of the original building has been pulled down, and what is left scarcely suggests the ancient home of a famous family. If only a big water-wheel revolved in the moat, the Moat Hall would remind one of the old-fashioned water-mills
I KATHARINE WILLOUGHBY 23
which still adorn the upper reaches of a few of our rivers. It is of earlier erection than the gateway, and its exterior is only interesting on account of its obvious antiquity. It ought to be a haunted house. The dark waters which lie close under its windows, and the dark copse in which it hides itself from the world, are suggestive of secret tragedies. Although dusk is approaching, not a light gleams from the windows, the birds are silent, save for a restless fluttering in the ivy ; not a ripple stirs the surface of the moat, not a sound of life issues from the grim old hall.
The Moat Hall, Parham.
If there are no tragedies associated with the Moat Hall — and I cannot discover any — there was trouble enough in the life of Katharine Willoughby, whose father was Lord of Parham, and who, after the death of her first husband, Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk, married that Kentish reformer, Richard Bertie, who was one of the victims of Queen Mary's persecution of the Protestants. An Elizabethan ballad, entitled The Duchess of Suffolk's Calamity, tells of the hardships she endured when, with her husband, she was forced to flee to the Low Countries. There, if the ballad be true, they fell among thieves, and had
24 KATHARINE WILLOUGHBY CHAP.
to beg their way from door to door. One night they sought refuge in the porch of St. Willebrord's church at Wesel, where the unfortunate duchess gave birth to the child who afterwards became the "brave Lord Willoughby." But even in the church they did not find sanctuary. The sexton arrived on the scene, and
" The drunken knave, all void of shame,
To drive then out was his desire : And spurning forth this noble dame, Her husband's wrath it did inflame.
" And all in fury as he stood,
He wrung the church keys out of his hand,
And struck him so that all of blood
His head ran down where he did stand ;
Wherefore the sexton presently
For help and aid aloud did cry."
But the governor of the town, hearing of the refugees' sorry plight, took compassion on them ; and when informed of the Duchess's identity treated them with " reverence great " and to " princely cheer," so that they were able to live in comfort until the accession of Queen Elizabeth, when they returned to England and lived happily ever afterwards. As for Peregrine Bertie, whose advent into the world took place under such unpropitious circumstances, he lived to distinguish himself greatly at the Siege of Zutphen, and become general of the English forces in the United Provinces. His skill and courage made him a popular hero. One of his chief feats of arms is thus commemorated ••
" The fifteenth day of July,
With glistening spear and shield, A famous fight in Flanders
Was foughten in the field : The most courageous officers
Were English captains three ; But the bravest man in battle
Was brave Lord Willoughbey.
1 THE "BRAVE LORD WILLOUGHBY" 25
" ' Stand to it, noble pikemen,
And look you round about ; And shoot you right, you bow-men,
And we will keep them out. You musket and caliver men,
Do you prove true to me : ,
I'll be the foremost man in fight,'
Says brave Lord Willoughbey.
" For seven hours, to all men's view,
This fight endured sore, Until our men so feeble grew
That they could fight no more ; And then upon dead horses,
Full savourly they eat, And drank the puddle water,
They could no better get.
" When they had fed so freely
They kneeled on the ground, And praised God devoutly
For the favour they had found ; And beating up their colours,
The fight they did renew, And turning tow'rds the Spaniard,
A thousand more they slew. "
At last, finding that after many hours fighting there was no lessening of the shower of arrows and bullets which the Englishmen poured upon them, nor any possibility of standing longer against the fierce charges, the Spaniards wavered, and
" Then quoth the Spanish general,
' Come, let us march away ; I fear we shall be spoiled all
If here we longer stay ; For yonder comes Lord Willoughbey,
With courage fierce and fell ;
He will not give one inch of way
For all the devils in hell ! ' "
And that was about the end of the fight; and the rest of the ballad relates to rewards and favours and the usual
26 FRAMLINGHAM CASTLE CH. i
laudations. It was all very pleasant reading to the contem- poraries of the brave Lord Willoughby, and even now, after all the years which have elapsed since his death, and while Englishmen are filled with admiration for the endurance and fighting prowess of their modern horse-flesh-fed warriors, it stirs one's heart. It gives an added interest, too, to this lonely old hall, with which, however little he may have lived in it, the name of the " brave Lord Willoughby " will be associated so long as one of its bricks rests upon another.
While I am lingering over old-time battles and ballads, the dusk is deepening into night, and unless I hasten on to Fram- lingham my desire to see its famous castle before darkness enshrouds it will not be gratified. Even now the shadows which have lurked in the sombre copses around the old hall are gathering over the moat and creeping over the Parham fields ; and by the time I reach the village street again the cottage windows are lamplit and the labourers are home from their work on the land. It promises to be a dark night ; there is no moon, and clouds which drifted up from the west at sun- set will hide the stars ; but there is still light enough in the sky to let me distinguish the outlines of the castle when I ride up close under its walls. Gloomy and forbidding they look, and though raised little above the level of the neighbouring houses the latter are dwarfed by them. And well they may be, for this is one of England's largest castles, and might well be taken for a great baronial stronghold which has withstood intact the ravages of time. True, the drawbridge is gone, and a brick bridge over a dry moat now leads up to the gate tower ; but seen in the waning daylight, walls and towers seem to have preserved their original form. So, indeed, they have ; and it is only when you get within them, and see what destruction has been wrought there, that you realise that after all this is nothing more than the empty shell of a huge castle. Almost the whole of the space within the walls is open to the sky, and has remained so ever since the middle of the seventeenth century,
FranilingJiam Castle.
2« FRAMLINGHAM CASTLE CHAP.
when Sir Robert Hitcham bequeathed the castle to Pembroke College, Cambridge, conditionally on its interior being de- molished and the material thus obtained employed for the erection of certain charitable institutions. No doubt, the good man believed he was doing a praiseworthy deed when he inscribed this condition in his last will and testament; but who will not lament that he could not devise some other means of attaining the ends he had in view? Still, we may thank him for having left us the noble walls and towers, to remind us of the famous men and women who lived and died within them, and the moving scenes they witnessed in the stirring days of knightly deeds. Now that night is come, and, leaning against the gate-tower bridge, I have turned my back on the town, there is nothing, save the silence which reigns within the castle walls, to remind me that those brave old days are long gone by ; I can revive them at will and with them the men who made them. In less than an hour a long procession of nobles and squires, knights and dames files before me and silently passes through the grim old gateway ; and among them is a fugitive princess who is soon to become an English queen. Sir Thomas Erpingham, who led the English archers at Agincourt, makes a brave figure as he alights from his horse, his sturdy step almost belying time's furrows on his face and frost upon his " good white head." Thomas, Earl Mowbray, who with Richard Scroope, the fighting Archbishop of York, will soon lose his head for taking up arms against his king, rubs shoulders with a crowd of Bigods who, without regard to precedence or era, to-night seek rest and refuge in their Suffolk stronghold. Then there are Howards who were leaders and fighters at Bosworth and Flodden ; and altogether it is a very martial, if ghostly, cavalcade which rides up to the castle gate this mild spring night just as the good folk of Framlingham are closing their shops and thinking of bed.
Framlingham Castle was thrice threatened with siege ; twice when in the hands of the Bigods, who saved it by judicious
i PRINCESS MARY 29
submission, and a third time when Princess Mary, fearful of the rejection of her claims to the throne, came here so that, should need arise, she might easily escape to Flanders. Yet in spite of its age and the brave reputation of many of its hold- ers, it seems, like Norwich Castle, to have known little of actual warfare. When, in 1553, Princess Mary, soon to be England's first queen-regnant, held her court here, it saw a brave array of courtiers and men-at-arms, and, with the royal standard flying from its towers, entered upon a brief but eventful era of its history. Mary, who was at Hunsdon when King Edward died, started for London as soon as news of his death reached her ; but hearing that there was danger in continuing her journey thither, she left the road to the metropolis and set out by way of Cambridgeshire for her manor of Kenninghall in Suffolk. She was accompanied by a retinue of cavaliers and ladies, all Roman Catholics and faithful adherents to her cause. At Sawston Hall, near Cambridge, she was hospitably entertained by Sir John Huddleston, a kinsman of one of her gentlemen, who welcomed her warmly, though well aware that her pres- ence in his house would arouse the ire of the Protestant in- habitants of the neighbouring town. This, indeed, happened. The news that the Princess was at Sawston soon spread, and a party of Cambridge Protestants set out from the town, hoping to make her prisoner. But Mary was awake to the risks she ran. Before sunrise she had continued her journey to Ken- ninghall, disguised, some say, as a market-woman and riding behind Huddleston, who had donned one of his servants' livery. From the crest of the Gogmagog Hills she looked back and saw Sawston Hall in flames. Her enemies, baulked in their efforts to seize her, were burning the home of the friend of her need. Some members of her train lamented his loss ; but we do not hear that he himself regretted what he had done ; and Mary, as she gazed upon the burning hall, simply said, " Let it blaze ; I will build Huddleston a better " — a promise she may have intended to keep, but which does
30 PRINCESS MARY CH. I
not seem to have been fulfilled, as the present hall at Sawston, though begun during her reign, was not completed until after her death. At Bury St. Edmunds she was received with royal honours, but only stayed long enough to partake of refreshment. The inhabitants, however, had not heard of Edward's death, and Mary, according to Bishop Godwin, ex- plained to them that the shortness of her stay was due to an outbreak of plague in her Hunsdon household and her fear that some of her retinue might communicate it to the towns- people. So, no doubt, in spite of their professed loyalty, they were glad to be rid of her. She arrived at Kenninghall that night. From thence she addressed a letter to the Privy Council, promising them amnesty for their plottings against her, pro- viding they at once proclaimed her queen. But the Council refused to consider her claims ; told her she was only an ille- gitimate daughter of Henry VIII. ; and proclaimed Lady Jane Grey queen.
Mary's position was critical ; she might well despair of having her rights admitted and being raised to the throne. Penniless and without armed assistance, she was powerless to strike a blow on her own behalf ; and although Jerningham and Bedingfield, two of her chief Norfolk supporters, came with their tenantry to protect her, they took care to impress upon her the hopelessness of thinking to hold Kenninghall against an armed force. So she decided to move nearer to the coast, where, if her enemies threatened, she could take ship and find refuge across the sea. Framlingham suggested itself as a suitable place of refuge. From its castle towers beacon signals could be flashed to Aldborough, the nearest seaport ; the castle itself was one of the strongest in East Anglia. It slumbered peacefully in the midst of somnolent surroundings. Since the day when the Duke of Norfolk surrendered it to Henry VIII. no distinguished guests had entered its portals, nor had the jackdaws which nested in the crannies of its walls been disturbed by the rattle of musketry or the clash of arms. This brooding
The Moat at FramlingJiam.
32 SIR HENRY JERNINGHAM CHAP.
peace was now to be broken. Scarcely had the royal standard been hoisted on the gate-tower than the Suffolk knights, who hated Northumberland, began to arrive at the town and castle and tender their aid to the hitherto helpless princess. Cornwallis, Shelton, Drury, and Tyrrel followed the example of Jerningham and Bedingfield ; and in a little while an army of 13,000 men, all "voluntarily serving without pay," were encamped outside the castle walls. No such warlike gathering had ever before been seen at Framlingham, nor had the castle, though its foundation dates from the days of Redwald the Saxon, ever come so near being the scene of a serious conflict. The dense woods around the camp — for there were dense woods around Framlingham three and a half centuries ago — echoed the shouts of hunters whose duty it was to provide food for the men-at-arms; every road and woodland lane leading to the castle was guarded by sentinels devoted to the service of the princess whom they now looked upon as quepn.
While the Suffolk knights were daily coming in, and, with their hinds, increasing the strength of Mary's army, the Privy Council took a step which, though it seemed a wise one, did much to bring them into ridicule and strengthen Mary's hand. They sent six ships of war to the Suffolk coast, with in- structions to lay siege to Framlingham, or at any rate prevent Mary's escape from the country. When the ships were seen making for Yarmouth Roads, the Suffolk leaders began to ask themselves whether it were possible for a force armed with bills and pikes only to make any useful stand against troops possessing the advantage of artillery and all the best weapons of war. But they were soon relieved of their anxiety. Sir Henry Jerning- ham had gone to Yarmouth, and was there when the fleet entered the roadstead. With impudent daring, he, as soon as they were anchored, rowed out in a small boat and hailed them. On being asked what he wanted, he replied, " Your captains, who are rebels to their lawful queen." His boldness, if Speed may be believed, was not without its effect upon the sailors, who
I THE RIGHTFUL QUEEN 33
are reported to have promptly responded, " If they are, we will throw them into the sea, for we are her true subjects." The captains evidently considered their position precarious, for they at once surrendered to Sir Henry, who took possession of the ships in the name of his royal mistress. About the same time a large force of militia stationed near London declared itself in favour of Mary's cause ; while the Earl of Sussex and Bath seceded from the Privy Council and brought to Framlingham a considerable body of troops. The crews of certain warships in Harwich harbour followed the example of those at Yarmouth, and sent their ammunition to Framlingham for the use of Mary's men-at-arms.
Meanwhile events were moving so rapidly and favourably in other parts of the kingdom that Mary's council had little doubt that their queen would soon come to her own. Northumberland, who was in command of the Protestant army at Cambridge, and who had at first threatened to besiege Framlingham, was so terror-stricken by the rumours which came to his ears that he sought to gain Mary's favour by proclaiming her the rightful queen ; while in London a large section of the populace anxiously awaited an opportunity for declaring themselves her faithful subjects. As for North- umberland, the queen had little faith in his protestations of loyalty, so sent him, in company with Northampton and Bishop Ridley, to the Tower. Then, confident that she had nothing more to fear, she broke up her camp at Framlingham and set out for London. Her journey to the metropolis differed greatly from that from Hunsdon to Suffolk ; for in less than a month a great change had come about in the feeling of the country. It was a triumphal procession. Everywhere the queen who had lately been a fugitive was received with acclamation. At Ipswich, Ingatestone, and Wanstead men who had been among her bitterest enemies hastened to do her homage ; and when at length she passed through Aldgate into the city, children sang their greetings and the
34 PUGILISM CHAP.
streets were a-flutter with flags and banners. But all this, and what followed, has nothing to do with Framlingham, which, after a brief spell of unwonted activity and importance, relapsed into its accustomed lethargy amidst its quiet wood- land shades.
It seems not at all improbable that the fiercest fighting ever witnessed at the castle was between some famous East Anglian pugilists in the first half of the eighteenth century. For it was here that John Slack, the Norfolk champion, and John Smith, the Suffolk champion, fought in 1744. The encounter lasted only five minutes, and resulted in the Norfolk man's favour. Smith, however, was not content with one thrashing, as may be seen from an advertisement issued shortly after the fight, in which it is stated that, " At the Great Castle at Framlingham, Suffolk, on Monday, iath November, there will be a severe trial between the following champions, namely —I, John Smith, the Suffolk champion, do once more invite Mr. John Slack, the Norfolk champion, to meet and fight me at the time and place aforesaid, for the sum of forty guineas ; and though I had the misfortune to be defeated by him before, I am much his superior in the art of boxing, and doubt not but I shall give him and the company entire satisfaction." This challenge the Norfolk champion accepted, agreeing to " me«t the above hero for the said sum at the time and place mentioned," and adding that he had no fear of being unable to "support the character he had hitherto maintained." His confidence was justified ; Smith again " had the misfortune " to be defeated. I do not know how it came about that the castle was chosen as a fitting place for these encounters, for it was then, as now, in the possession of the Master and Fellows of Pembroke Hall. Can it be that the Master and Fellows were supporters of the " Science of Manhood " ?
While on the subject of pugilism, a sport which George Borrow, who was himself what we in East Anglia call a " handy man with his fists," could never praise enough, I may
A KNOCK-OUT BLOW
35
briefly refer to another prize-fight in which the before-mentioned Norfolk champion distinguished himself. Broughton's New Amphitheatre, London, was on this occasion the scene of the contest, and the Norfolk man had to meet John James — they were all Johns, it seems, those pugilists of a hundred and fifty years ago — who was the " most famous master of the science in London." But he was no match for the sturdy East Anglian, who defeated him in less than four minutes, "so that James will never more attempt to engage him, who is so much his Superior in Manhood and the art of Boxing." The fight, we are informed by Crossgrove* s Gazette, was won by a blow, "for Mr. James, making a stroke at Mr. Slack" (there were no "Sharkies" and "Brummagem Pets" in those days : they were all " Misters ") " received the same in guard with his right hand, and the same instant with his left hand gave Mr. James such a sharp blow or punch on the pit of his stomach as knocked him down for dead. The blow was so home" (the phrase is singularly expressive) "and effectual that Mr. James fell, to all ap- pearance, as if he had been shot through his heart with a bullet ; he sank down without staggering and lay motionless several minutes upon the stage, and without much appearance of life. ... It is this day reported that it is thought Mr. James is killed."
D 2
The Cliffs, Diinwick.
CHAPTER II
DUNWICH AND SOUTHWOLD
FOR an hour or more this morning I have loitered aimlessly about Yoxford, vaguely wondering why this particular district should be called the "Garden of Suffolk." I do not deny that Yoxford is a pleasant little village, nor that its surroundings are charmingly picturesque and pastoral ; but the neighbourhood of Woodbridge equally deserves to be distinguished as the county " garden," and its beauty is enhanced by a river with which the insignificant Vox can bear no comparison. I suppose it is the park-like scenery, the comfortable old country houses in their well-groomed grounds, and the complacent little cottages with their half-acre patches of scarlet runners, cabbages, and potatoes that have earned for Yoxford its familiar name ; but these are by no means confined to this particular part of Suffolk ; they are common almost all over East Anglia. Or it may be that injudicious advertisement has had something to do with the district's flattering designation, and that if we had never heard of " Poppyland," Yoxford would have remained unknown and its mediocre charms unproclaimed. That, anyhow, was the
38 YOXFORD CHAP.
opinion of a Framlingham shopkeeper, who, however, as he lived just outside the confines of the "garden," may have been jealous of its popularity. He told me an amusing tale of inno- cent pleasure-seekers, lured by the graphic word-painting of a famous journalist, coming with their friends and families to this Suffolk "haunt of ancient peace," and returning by the next train, indignant and mortified, because the place contained no lodging-houses and its inhabitants had not yet learnt that there was " money " in their rose-decked hedges and sunny pastures. But the Yoxford folk were not slow to realise that they had been " discovered," and the host of the Three Tuns has shown his fellow-villagers how to cater for the rustically-inclined citizen, who when he arrives at Yoxford finds that, like Brer Rabbit, they have learnt to " lay low and say nuffin " when the charms of their locality are enthusiastically described.
It may be said that I am treating Yoxford unfairly, and judging it by its early spring aspect ; and that if I came here when the leaves are on the trees and the lanes fragrant with woodbine and eglantine I should alter my opinion of the place. But it happens that I have, as we say in Norfolk, "summered and wintered " the " Garden of Suffolk " ; and while I cannot deny that it is a delightful district in early summer or when its fields are golden with corn, I cannot admit that it possesses unique attractions. One thing, however, is greatly in its favour, and to that is due my readiness to leave it ! It is only a short distance from the Suffolk coast, and from that part of the coast where the ruins of desolated Dunwich brood sadly by the sea. To favourably compare Dunwich with Yoxford would, no doubt, strike the latter's inhabitants as a piece of impertinence ; but there must be many people who would rather muse among the fallen masonry of the weather-beaten church on the cliff, and listen to the roaring of the waves that roll shoreward over the site of the vanished city, than idle amid the mowers in the hayfield and the reapers in the corn. So it is without any back- ward glances that I hasten over the few miles of winding road
DUNWICH
39
between Yoxford and the sea ; and as soon as the little village of Westleton is left behind me, and I enter upon a stretch of heathland road, all I can think of is the story of the wasted seaport to which I am bound. Like the tales of the Lost Atlantis and the mythical land of Lyonnesse, the story of Dunwich seizes upon the imagination ; though when one sees how little remains of what may once have been the chief city of East Anglia it is difficult to believe that Dunwich, too, was not a phantom city of a land of dreams. Indeed, as one approaches the isolated but delightful little hamlet which now
Ruins near Peasenhall.
bears its name, the impression that the story is simply a myth becomes almost a conviction : it is only when you emerge from the cloister-like woodland footpath which skirts Grey Friars, the old home of men who for many years represented the now disenfranchised borough, and see the ruins of All Saints' church and the Franciscan convent on the wasting cliff, that you are willing to admit there may be something in it after all. Below, the sea frets the base of the cliffs : unsatisfied with its victories it still strives to dislodge from its precarious position the last of the old town's many shrines. Away to the north the coast takes a sickle bend, beyond which are the red roofs of South-
40 DUNWICH CHAP.
wold and its white lighthouse tower. Drawn up on the beach are half a dozen 'longshore boats — the only craft which now venture out from a place which sent out " barks " to the Ice- land fishing, and warships manned by Dunwich men. Alone and neglected, with weeds of the wilderness growing freely amid its fallen stones, All Saints' still defies the winds and sea ; but it has suffered sadly, and it cannot be long before the beach- men, after some stormy winter night, will go down to the shore and find that this church has gone the way of St. Leonard's, St. Martin's, St. Nicholas', and the rest of Dunwich's vanished churches. The ruins of the old convent, which, "flower- fondled, clasp'd in ivy's close caress," seem " allied with Nature yet apart," will last longer —some centuries longer, it may be — but their time, too, will come, and then there will be nothing left to tell of Dunwich's past glories except a few musty deeds and municipal seals. The sea, on still, sunny days, will show as calm a surface as it does to day, untroubled by the secrets it holds ; and when the storms rave and the sea roars the only laments for the lost city will be the mournful voice of the wind among the fir trees and the wailing of the wind-blown gulls.
Let me try and glean some grains of truth from the luxuriant crop of legends and traditions harvested by the old-time chroniclers. It will be no easy task, for the traditional splendour of Dunwich appealed to the imagination of the old historians, whose pages not only reflect it, but intensify its marvels and glories. Nothing would please me better than to be able to believe that there was a time when Dunwich possessed sixty churches— a greater number than even Nor- wich, the " City of Churches," can boast ; but I can find definite mention of less than a dozen, and of these only All Saints', this desolate ruin on the cliff, remains. Still, it was as an ecclesiastical centre that the Dunwyk of the Saxons became renowned. When Felix of Burgundy, in prompt response to the appeal of Sigebert, King of the East Angles,
II INTRODUCTION OF CHRISTIANITY 41
came over to England, it was here that he made his way almost as soon as he landed on the Norfolk coast. It must have been some time about the middle of the seventh century that he began his work among the East Anglian pagans whose benighted condition had stirred the heart of their Christian king, for when Sigebert made him bishop of East Anglia, he was consecrated by Archbishop Honorius. Felix died in 647 — Godwinus tells us the exact day, the eighth of March — and it may have been that the demands of his large diocese were too much for his strength and shortened his life ; for when, in
Peascnhall.
699, Bisus was appointed to the see, he soon found it, im- possible to minister satisfactorily to both the North folk and the South folk. So he divided his diocese into two parts, and gave Norfolk a see at North Elmham, where it remained until Herbert de Lozinga came over with the Conqueror, and removed it to Norwich. As to the Suffolk bishopric, it seems to have been reunited with that of Norfolk about 870, when Dunwich was deprived of its ecclesiastical importance. When one remembers that it was Felix who brought Christianity into East Anglia, and that Dunwich was the centre from which the
42 A "TOWNE OF CRETE FORSE" CHAP.
great new influence spread, it seems a pity that the pages of Bede, William of Malmesbury, and Godwinus tell us so little concerning that great event. Missionary enterprise was not widely advertised in Saxon times,
Episcopal dignity alone would never have made Dunwich famous. It was its position on the coast and its fine harbour (how utterly gone !) which gained it wealth and prosperity. Some idea of how great was that prosperity can be formed when we read that Dunwich had to pay an "aid " three times as large as that of Ipswich when a daughter of Henry II. was married. By that time it was as important a port as any on the coast ; it carried on a considerable maritime trade with France, and was strongly fortified. Its approaches were " howsed over and strongly gated," so that " the towne was of grete forse and strong enowghe to keep out a greate number of people." It was looked upon, indeed, as impregnable. A manuscript in the British Museum states that " Robert, Earl of Leicester, which took pte with Henry, the sonne of King Henry the Second, came to the said towne of Dunwich, to have taken it against the King. But when he came neere, and beheld the strength thereof, it was terror and feare unto him to behold it ; and soe retyred both he and his people." That the town could be as active in attack as it was strong in defence was proved in the reign of Henry II., when the " men of Dunwich, at their own proper costs and charges, built, for the defence of the realm, eleven ships of war, well furnished with munition, most of them carrying seventy-two men each, the rest fifty, forty five, and forty, apiece. These sailed from the port of Plymouth with the King's brother, Edmund, Earl of Leicester and Lancaster, and other true loyal subjects, for France ; and remained on the coast of Gascony from St. Andrew's day unto the feast of Pentecost following, during which time they served the King without pay, and had four ships with their artillery . . . taken and destroyed by the enemy."
The manuscript in the British Museum was written in 1573,
u OLD DUNWICH 43
and is addressed to a " Master Deye," whom Suckling conjectures to have been that John Day, a native of Dunwich, who was the first English printer to use a Saxon type. Master Deye, dwelling amid the wasting relics of a vanished glory, seems to have set his mind upon publishing a history of his native town, and to have asked some one, Suckling thinks it was Stow, to supply him with useful facts. This the author of the manuscript did, in a detailed and circumstantial manner. We learn from him that Dunwich contained six parish churches, four of which were "drowned in the sea," but the other two, All Saints' and St. Peter's, were standing at the time of his writing. Then there were houses of Grey friars and Black friars, " verie fayer churches and byldings " ; and an *' aunchent and verie old church called the Temple, the which church by report was in the Jews tyme " ; also two hospitals, one of which, that of St. James, was "greatly decayed and hendred by evyle masters." Three chapels, which were " putt down " when other religious houses were suppressed ; and the Bridge, Middle, Gylding, St. James', and South gates seem to have exhausted the unknown historian's knowledge of the town's noted buildings ; but he was able to add some curious information concerning the mayors and baillies, arms, mint, and fortifications, and even describe how when St. John's church was taken down, and a great stone in the chancel raised, the workmen came upon the remains of "a man lyeing with a payer of bottes upon his legges, the fore part of the feet of them peicked after a straunge fayshen, and a payer of chalice of course mettal lyinge upon his breste, the whyche was thought to be one of the bysshoppes of Donewyche, but whan they touched and stered the same dead bodie, it fell and went all to powder and doste."
Long before this curious and quaintly-worded document was written, the sea's siege of the coast had had disastrous effect upon Dunwich. In the year when Edward III. came to the throne the port was for a time rendered useless; and in 1328
44 THE SEA'S SIEGE CHAP.
it was so choked with sand that all efforts to clear it were in vain. As the years went by destruction was wrought by and desolation followed almost every winter gale which, lashing the waters of the grey North Sea, created an irresistible surf- scour at the base of the crumbling cliffs. One after another the churches of St. Leonard, St. Martin, and St. Nicholas went down cliff; in 1570, after St. John's had been taken down that something might be saved from the insatiable sea, Gilden Gate, South Gate, and other buildings disappeared beneath the waves. The bitter cry of distressed Dunwich reached the ears of Queen Elizabeth, who was "crediblie enformed that the Queene's Majesties towne of Dunwytche .... is by rage and surgies of the sea, daylie wasted and devoured ; and the haven of her highnes said towne by diverse rages of wyndes continually landed and barred, so as no shippes or boates can either enter in or oughte, to the utter decay of the said towne, which heretofore hathe well and fayethfullie served her Majestic, and her noble progenitois, by navigacion in tyme of war, and the commonwelth in tyme of peace." Such loyalty and faithful service the Queen could not allow to pass unrecognised, more especially now that troublous times had come upon her dutiful subjects. What could she do? Her mind was soon made up, and her munificence is seldom forgotten by Suffolk historians. She ordered that the proceeds of the sale of the bells, lead, iron, glass, and stone of Ingate church, and the lead from the chancel of Kessingland church, " excepting so much as would defray the expense of building a gable to the same," should be lent to the inhabitants of Dunwich to help them to recover from their losses ! Strange to say, the queen's lavish grant was as useless to prevent the decay of Dunwich as the word of an earlier monarch had been to stay the swelling of the sea tide. At the beginning of the seventeenth century the old resi- dence of the Knights Templars went the way of the vanished churches. A little later the sea reached the market place,
THE SEA'S SIEGE
45
and the market cross had to be pulled down ; and then all one side of a street was washed away. In December, 1740, when a terrible storm blew from the north-east, further damage was done. The remains of St. Nicholas' churchyard, the road that led from the cfuay to the town, the Cock and Hen hills, and King's Holm were destroyed or submerged, and the inhabitants of the town may well have thought that for them at least the end of all things was at hand. After the storm had blown itself out and the sea returned to its accustomed bounds, some strange sights were seen by people who went out to gaze upon the havoc wrought. The scour of the surf had
J/V"
Watterswick.
uncovered much of the old Dunwich which lay under the wind-raised sand-hills. The foundations of St. Francis' Chapel came to light again, as also did the remains of an ancient aqueduct, so that local antiquaries were able to amuse themselves with reconstructing portions of the old town. But the children must have dreamed on many succeeding nights of the grim skeletons which lay in rows where the waves had found them or scattered mercilessly about the beach.
And now, as I stand by the weather-beaten church on the cliff, I can scarcely realise that old Dunwich is so completely gone. It seems rather that I must have mistaken my bearings and arrived at some other lonesome seaboard hamlet ; and
46
A MIDNIGHT MYSTERY
that if only I went a little further north or south I should hear the songs of sailors on the old quays, the voices of merchants in the market place; and see streets thronged with the cosmopolitan crowd of a busy port. It is almost inconceivable that the Dunwich which struck "terror and feare " into the hearts of its enemies has, like Atlantis, sunk into the sea. But the sea has gained so many victories along this coast that after all it is not so very wonderful that it has won old Dunwich to itself. After withstanding centuries' incessant siege, it is more wonderful that there was any one left to be alarmed by an incident which occurred here not quite a hundred years ago, and which I will recount before leaving the
The Road to Walberswick.
.scanty ruins and few cottages which call themselves Dunwich to their loneliness.
It was a little after midnight of a day in March, 1808, and the good people of Dunwich — they were mostly fishermen and farm-hands then — were sound asleep in their beds. Suddenly they were awakened by the firing of heavy guns, and thinking some vessel was in distress, they donned their clothes and hurried down to the shore. They were soon undeceived ; for while the firing continued " the noise of cannon-balls passing through the air was distinctly heard." There could be only one explanation of this nocturnal bombardment : the French, with whom we were at war, had sent an invading army to England and it was about to land ! Until dawn there was dire
A NOCTURNAL BOMBARDMENT
47
alarm. Lights shone from windows which in the early hours of the morning were usually dark; and the Dunwich men set about collecting their goods and chattels and finding places of safety for their families. Strangely enough, with the lighting up of the windows the firing ceased ; but a few men who went down to the beach were able to distinguish a large vessel, from which the shots had come, sailing away from the shore, while a smaller vessel, "something like a Berwick smack," crept along towards the north, closely hugging the shore. " If," says Suckling, " the vessel had continued firing, the next shot would have probably come into the midst of the inhabited houses, and caused destruction of property, if not of life. One
Walbersu'ick.
shot, after striking the ground twice, and furrowing it up for a considerable distance, had passed through a stack of wood and one wall of Mr. Barne's stable." A stirring event, indeed, to people who lived in an out-of-the-way coastline village, and had forgotten that their ancestors were among the most loyal and ardent defenders of the realm " in tyme of war ! " It would be something to boast of for a long time, that they had been roused from their beds in the middle of the night by the first indications of an approaching invasion. In the morning some of them assisted in a novel hunt — for cannon-balls. It would have been better if they had contented themselves with hearing them whistling over their heads, For when they
48
THE DUNWICH ROSE
CHAP.
found them they proved to have come " from the stores of the King of England, being marked with the broad arrow." Then the people of Dunwich felt that there was something even better than boasting of a midnight bombardment, and that was to possess a genuine grievance. An Admiralty inquiry, at which the logs of all ships stationed near the East coast were examined, failed to discover that any shots had been fired anywhere near the coast at the time of the Dunwich scare. Of course ! But the cannon-balls were kept at Dunwich for many years, and they must have come from somewhere !
IValbcrs^trick.
There are wild flowers already in bloom on this wind swept cliff; but it is too early yet to find that "simple little flower" which the monks are said to have planted around the old priory. Yet every one about here has heard of
" the Dunwich rose, with snow-like blossom, Soft, pure, and white as is the cygnet's bosom ; "
which
" decks the stern and sterile cliff; and throws O'er its rough brow new beauty where it grows."
If it were June I might, perhaps, have the good fortune to find it; and somehow I fancy it would prove to be the
HEATH ROADS
49
beautiful little burnet rose, which, with its lovely petals and daintily fretted leaflets, is not uncommon here by the sea. Hind, in his Flora of Suffolk, records it for Dunwich ; and I have found it not far from the ivy-clad ruins of the old monastery.
Still pondering over the desolation and decay of Dunwich, and trying to picture it as it was when its " strong walls and brazen gates enclosed a king's court, a bishop's palace, a mayor's mansions," I take to the road again. I could find a melancholy pleasure in lingering until dusk on the crumbling
The Old Pier, Walbcrswick.
cliff and thinking of what lies beneath the calm blue sea which laps its base ; but I do not care to let night overtake me on the rough roads which lead from Dunwich to Walberswick. It is a lonesome neighbourhood through which these roads run — a desolate stretch of plover-haunted heathland, with here and there an ancient cottage which seems more like a natural excrescence of the soil than a human habitation — but the blossoming gorse just now brightens it, and the fir plantations, sombre as they are, relieve its barren monotony. This relief is intensified when, after rounding a bend in the road, I see a
WALBERSWICK
CHAP.
pleasant expanse of lowland, to which the land slopes down from the heath road, drowsing in the waning sunlight. A small stream, with cattle grazing on its banks, winds through this quiet, level pasture land, and within sight, though I leave it on my left as I ride towards South wold, is the far-famed church of Blythburgh, a building of almost cathedral proportions. Presently, after a heathland farmstead is passed, another church comes in sight, a ruined shrine which in its perfect state must have been nearly as large as Blythburgh. I know now that I have reached Walberswick, a quaint little village
Walberswick Ferry.
with many delightfully picturesque cottages, which not long ago attracted so much attention in art circles as to almost lead to the founding of a Walberswick school of artists. I suppose its charms were too soon exhausted for its fame to become permanently established. It seems almost deserted, though there are signs of preparation for summer visitors : until I reach the old ferry which connects it with Southwold I do not see a human being nor hear a human voice. Even then I only see the ferrymen, who emerge, with the air of newly-awakened Rip Van Winkles, from their wooden shelter. Apparently there are few travellers along this road except in the holiday
ii A CURIOUS COLONY 51
season, and I feel in a quite apologetic mood when I step on board the big pontoon and it is set moving for my sole benefit. Once across the river, I am in the midst of a curious colony, consisting of a marvellous collection of wooden huts of all shapes and sizes, in which the Southwold beachmen and 'longshore fishermen are busy net-mending, sail-tanning, and boat-repairing. All along one side of the road are these strange shanties, filled with briny and tarry sea stores and the flotsam and jetsam of many a winter's gale. This is the place to hear all the yarns of wreck and rescue along the coast that are worth hearing, and, maybe, some strange stories of the
Soutliivold from Walbersivick.
old smuggling days. It must be a hard task for parents and guardians, when they bring children here in the summer-time, to get them away from these queer old sheds and their ruddy- cheeked, weather-beaten occupants.
At Southwold is another of the fine churches for which the district is remarkable ; but by the time I enter the town it is too dark to distinguish more than the outlines of the tower which looms above the roofs of the houses. As I grope my way through the dimly-lighted streets, I remember that nearly two centuries ago Defoe arrived here by just the same route that I have followed. He says he found " little remarkable on
£ 2
52 DEFOE AND THE SWALLOWS CHAP.
this side of Suffolk, but what is on the seashore " ; and not being interested in the grand churches of Blythburgh and Walberswick he gave his attention to a natural history problem which even now is not wholly solved. He came to Southwold at the beginning of October, and lodged in a house overlooking the churchyard. "I observed in the evening," he says, "an unusual multitude of birds sitting on the leads of the church. Curiosity led me to go nearer to see what they were, and I found they were all swallows ; that there was such an infinite
South-wold Church
number of them that they covered the whole roof of the church, and of several houses near, and perhaps might of many houses which I did not see. This led me to inquire of a grave gentleman whom I saw near me, what the meaning was of such a prodigious multitude of swallows sitting there, ' Oh, sir,' says he, turning towards the sea, ' you may see the reason ; the wind is off sea.' I did not seem fully informed by that expression, so he goes on, ' I perceive, sir,' says he, ' you are a stranger to it. You must then understand that this is the season when the swallows, their food here failing, begin to
n THE STRICKLANDS 53
leave us, and return to the country, wherever it be, from whence I suppose they came ; and this being the nearest to the coast of Holland, they come here to embark : (this he said smiling a little) ; and now, sir,' says he, ' the weather being too calm or the wind contrary, they are waiting for a gale, for they are all windbound.' This was more evident to me when in the morning I found the wind had come about to the north-west in the night, and there was not one swallow to be seen of near a. million, which I believe was there the night before." And then Defoe goes on to ask how the swallows knew Southwold to be the best point for them to start from when they set out on their long flight across the sea ; but this, as we say in East Anglia, " I must leave."
In the early morning, as a slight tribute to a pertinacity in historical research uncommon in woman, I stroll into the churchyard and pause a while by Agnes Strickland's tomb. The Stricklands, especially the three literary sisters, were well known in Southwold in the early years of the nineteenth century. Reydon Hall, their old home, is only a little way out of the town. It was, in their time, a damp and dismal old house, scantily furnished within and whitewashed without ; and, if report speaks true, the earnings of the clever sisters were very welcome to help eke out a slender income and add a few comforts to the bare necessaries of life. Yet I doubt whether Agnes Strickland was ever fully repaid for the years of labour her Queens of England cost her. Her sister Kate, who went to Canada and wrote of the wild, rough life of the back- woods' settlers ; and her sister Jane, who also emigrated and was fairly successful as a novel writer, probably found greater satisfaction in their publishers' letters. But Agnes's should have been the sweeter success !
Leaving the churchyard I ramble down to the beach, and watch the little 'longshore boats in which the fishermen — most of them, it seems to me, Hurrs — are putting out into Sole Bay. It is a clear, warm morning, and I can imagine no
54
BATTLE OF SOLE BAY
more peaceful sea than that which soundlessly laps the shingly shore. Here and there a beachman strolls aimlessly among the drawn-up boats ; now and again a seagull utters a shrill cry ; but the life of the little town is so listless that scarcely a murmur of it steals down the low cliffs. Far different must have been the scene here on that day, the 28th of March, 1672, when the Southwold folk, aroused from their accustomed lethargy by the sight of a host of strange sails on the sea, flocked down to the shore and saw a great naval battle fought between the combined naval strength of England and France
South-wold Sea-front.
and the famous De Ruyter's Dutch fleet. Dunwich, too, had its share in the excitement, and one of its townsmen has left a metrical account of how
" One day as I was sitting still Upon the side of Dunwich hill,
And looking on the ocean, By chance I saw De Ruyter's fleet With Royal James's squadron meet ; In sooth it was a noble treat
To see that brave commotion.
Il BATTLE OF SOLE BAY 55
" I cannot stay to name the names Of all the ships that fought with James,
Their number or their tonnage ; But this I say, the noble host Right gallantly did take its post, And covered all the hollow coast
From Walderswyck to Dunwich.
" The French, who should have joined the Duke, Full far astern did lay and look,
Although their hulls were lighter ; But nobly faced the Duke of York, (Though some may wink and some may talk) Right stoutly did his vessel stalk
To buffet with De Ruyter.
' ' Well might you hear their guns, I guess, x^ From Sizewell Gap to Easton Ness,
The show was rare and sightly ; They battled without let or stay s^~ Until the evening of that day, 'Twas then the Dutchmen ran away,
The Duke had beat them tightly.
" Of all the battles gain'd at sea This was the rarest victory
Since Philip's grand armada ; I will not name the rebel Blake — He fought for Horson Cromwell's sake, And yet was forced three days to take To quell the Dutch bravado.
" So now we've seen them take to flight, This way and that, where'er they might,
To windward or to leeward. Here's to King Charles, and here's to James, And here's to all the captains' names, B And here's to all the Suffolk dames, And here's the House of Stuart."
Only garbled accounts of the stirring events which led to the appearance of the Dutch fleet — of the attack upon the Smyrna ships by Sir Robert Holmes, whose action many people condemned as thievish and dishonourable, — can have reached
56 BATTLE OF SOLE BAY CHAP.
easternmost England. The allied fleets of England and France, numbering in all 101 ships, first anchored in Sole Bay : the Dutchmen's attack was of the nature of an unpleasant surprise. For De Ruyter's fleet of 91 men-of-war, 54 fire-ships, and 23 tenders, came down upon them while they were close to the shore, and many of them had to cut their cables to get into line of battle. The Frenchmen proved almost useless allies, Admiral D'Etree's squadron, when attacked by Bankert, who commanded the van of the Dutch, making little show of fight and soon sheering off, leaving the English and Dutch to settle the matter for themselves. This action, however, was not attributed to cowardice on the Frenchmen's part, but to secret orders from their king, telling them not to expose his ships, but let the English and Dutch do their best to bring about their mutual destruction.
In the meantime De Ruyter had borne down upon the centre squadron, and Admiral Van Ghent had furiously attacked the Earl of Sandwich's ships. For several hours the Royal James was in the thick of the fight, and especially in conflict with the Great Holland, commanded by Captain Brankel. Stripped to the waist the crew fought desperately; even when sur- rounded by the enemy's ships, and grappled by the Great Holland, they succeeded in getting their vessel clear. By this time two-thirds of her men were killed ; and when the Earl saw a Dutch fire-ship approaching, he begged his captain, Sir Richard Haddock, and his sailors, to man the boats and escape to some other ship, or the shore. But many of the seamen refused t'o leave their gallant commander ; and when the fire- ship set the Royal James alight they worked indefatigably by his side to subdue the flames. All their efforts were in vain. About noon the brave flagship, a battered and blazing wreck, drifted towards Easton Ness, where she blew up and all on board perished. Meanwhile the Duke of York had been warmly engaged with the two divisions of De Ruyter and Bankert, and, owing to his ship being disabled, had been
BATTLE OF SOLE BAY
57
obliged to shift his flag to another vessel. He had, however, wrought great havoc among the enemy, whose admiral, De Ruyter, was wounded. Still the fight went on till sunset, and, in spite of what the ballad-writer says, the honours, at the end of the day, were about evenly divided. The Dutch had lost three men-of-war, one captured, another sunk, and a third burnt ; and their losses in men were very great, though, like those of their descendants in South Africa, their publication was forbidden by the state. On the English side 2,000 men were slain, and six ships lost ; but as a set off against these heavy casualties, the enemy had been compelled to retreat, greatly to the relief, no doubt, of the Southwold folk, who, all
Blythburgh Church.
day, had been dodging cannon-balls, and watching the fight from the cliffs. England's greatest loss that day was the gallant Earl of Sandwich, whose body was recovered by one of the king's ketches. There were those who said he threw his life away by refusing to leave his disabled ship. Whatever view be taken of his action, there is no doubt about his having been a brave man.
It is midday before I start for Lowestoft, for, having an hour or two to spare, I take an inland ride to Blythburgh, to look again upon the church which I had not time to examine closely last night. It is a building which no one interested in church architecture can afford to miss seeing ; but I will not attempt to
58 WRENTHAM CHAP.
describe it. All the adjectives applicable to beautiful old churches have already been lavished upon it. Suckling says of it : " Few ecclesiastical structures in this kingdom possess a juster claim to unqualified admiration than Blythburgh church, a fabric splendid amidst decay and desolation." The journey to Lowestoft is an easy one. On my way thither I pass through Wrentham. Even in this dull little village there is something to tempt me to loiter ; but I have made up my mind to let nothing delay me until I reach the place which calls itself the Queen of Eastern Watering-places. By turning aside to the right of the village street, I should find myself in Cove- hithe, where another grand old ruined church stands lonely by the sea ; but I resist the temptation, and do not even stay to ascertain whether Wrentham is able to live up to the reputation bestowed upon it in 1667, when a certain Mr. Samuel Baker, of Wattisfield Hall, wrote : " I was born at a village called Wren- tham, which place I cannot pass by the mention of without saying this much, that religion has there flourished longer, and that in much piety ; the gospel and grace of it have been more powerfully and clearly preached, and more generally received ; the professors of it have been more sound in the matter, and open and steadfast in the profession of it in an hour of tempta- tion, have manifested a greater oneness amongst themselves, and have been more eminently preserved from enemies without (albeit they dwell where Satan's seat is encompassed with his malice and rage), than I think in any village of like capacity in England."
A glimpse of a square old hall just outside the village recalls a worthy saying of a worthy gentleman who nearly two hundred years ago was Lieutenant-Governor of Virginia. He was walk- ing, in company with a friend, in the main street of Williams- burgh, and returned the salute of a passing negro. " Does your Honour condescend so much as to salute a slave ? " was the question put to him. " Why, yes ; I cannot suffer a man of his condition to exceed me in good manners." It was Sii
EASTERNMOST ENGLAND
59
William Gooch who made this reply ; and the Gooches lived for many years at Benacre Hall. A bend in the road, how- ever, soon takes me out of sight of their old home, and having crossed a stretch of marshland opening out towards the sea, and climbed the hill which leads up to Kessingland, I have not far to go to England's easternmost port. Before the road- side hedgerows, in which the sparrows are chirping and the
Boats coming' into Lcnvestoft.
chaffinches spinking, give way to suburban terraces, the trawlers are seen dipping towards the harbour, while beyond the network of shoals off Lowestoft Ness the smoke trails of steamships blur the far horizon. For a time I must exchange sweet country scents for the briny odours of fish-wharves, birds' songs for the clatter of fish-barrows and the clangour of the fish-salesman's bell.
j
..."
Fishing Boats, Lewes toft.
CHAPTER III
LOWESTOFT AND FRITTON LAKE, YARMOUTH AND BREYDON
WATER
Now it happens that I know Lowestoft as well as most men know places in which they have lived for several years, and if it were fitting I might not only give a summary of the chief events in its history, but entertain some readers with the vagaries of its town council and the humours of its craving for royal visits. I might say a good deal, too, about its ordinary sum- mer aspect when Clapham and Brixton are primly disporting themselves on the south beach or placidly promenading the pier. A whole book, too, might be written about Lowestoft's rivalry with Yarmouth, which commenced centuries ago with quarrels about the herring fishery, and is continued to-day in carping criticisms of the merits of the towns' respective visitors, boister- ous assertiveness on one side being met by smug complacency on the other. But I doubt whether any one outside Lowestoft is interested in its municipal mummeries and parochial squabbles. I fancy mosjt people would rather learn whether Lowestoft can claim their attention by some more stirring events than are
CH. in A TERRIBLE STORM 61
recorded in its council minutes, and would like to know whether it has any associations calculated to cast a glamour over its somewhat oppressive modernity. So I will glance through the records of its historians, and see whether, from a litter of dry deeds and other musty documents, I cannot dis- cover some page which will appeal to other than legal brains. Surely a town which boasts that its Ness is England's eastern- most point must have tempted some invading fleet to bom- bard it or land an alien army on its shore ! But no ; I can find no record of any such occurrence. The only event bearing any suggestion of an attack from seaward is the fitting-out of a ship by Yarmouth burgesses who were bent on making reprisals on the Lowestoft men for some damage done in the course of their miserable quarrels about fish. Still, as in the case of most coast towns, it is the sea that does most towards making Lowestoft history, and too often makes it a sad one. Listen to what it did on the igth December, 1770."
About one o'clock in the morning a dreadful storm arose, and "continued with increasing violence till five, when the wind suddenly changed from the south-west to the north-west, and for two hours raged with a fury hardly ever equalled. Anchors and cables proved too feeble a security for the ships, which instantly parting from them, and running on board each other, produced a confusion neither to be described nor con- ceived ; not a few immediately foundering. ... At daylight a scene of most tragic distress was exhibited. Those who first beheld it assert that no less than eighteen ships were on the sand before this place at one and the same time ; and many others were seen to sink. Of those on the sand, one half were entirely demolished with their crews before nine o'clock ; the rest were preserved a few hours longer ; but this dreadful pause served only to aggravate the destruction of the unhappy men who belonged to them, who betook themselves to the masts and rigging. These continually breaking, eight or ten were not unfrequently seen to perish at a time, without the
b2 BEACH COMPANIES CHAP.
possibility of being assisted. ... It is impossible to collect with certainty how many lives, or how many ships, were lost in this terrible hurricane. Twenty-five at least, perhaps thirty ships, and two hundred men, do not seem to be an exaggerated account. This, indeed, is too small a calculation if credit is to be given to one of the seamen, who declares he saw six vessels sink not far without the Stanford, among which was a large ship bound for Lisbon, with sixty or seventy passengers on board." It was such disasters as these — too frequent in the days when all the coasting trade of the kingdom was carried on by sailing craft — that provided work for the East Anglian beachmen and led to the forming of the beach companies, of which there are still a few surviving on the Norfolk and Suffolk coasts. The chief object of these companies was salvage ; for this they built the long slender gigs and graceful yawls which now rest during the greater part of the year on the beach shingle ; but they were instrumental in saving many lives, for their salvage craft were the lifeboats of the coast before the days of the Royal National Lifeboat Institution. Equal shares all round of the profits of a salvage trip were taken by the men who manned or helped to get afloat the gigs or yawls; even the laying of a hand on the boat's rudder as she left the beach entitled a man to a share. Rival companies competed keenly when a ship struck on a shoal or, disabled, drifted towards the shore. Each gang of beachmen strove its hardest to get its boat first afloat, and the race for the endangered vessel was a sight to see. But the day has gone when the beachman's was a profitable calling ; now it is the steam tugs that go bustling out of port when a ship is in distress. The beachman of to-day is glad to earn a few shillings by 'longshore fishing or a few pounds by mackerel- catching " round at the Westward," and the older men, who can remember the good old times when a day's work some- times brought in enough money to maintain a family throughout a winter, sit in the old companies' wooden sheds and
in FISHERMEN'S QUARTERS 63
deplore the changes they have seen. They do this at Lovvestoft; and if you go down on to the north beach you may join them in the headquarters of the Old Company of Lowestoft Beachmen, which, adorned with the figureheads and name-boards of ships lost off the coast, still stands between the coastguard station and the sea.
That part of Lowestoft — the fishermen's quarter — which lies at the foot of the hanging gardens sloping down from the High Street, is far more interesting than the south beach with its throng of pleasure-seekers or the Esplanade with its fine
Lowestoft Harbour.
hotels and ugly houses, for the pebble-built cottages, battered net-chambers, and red-roofed curing-sheds tell the story of a Lowestoft that knew nothing of boarding-houses and never dreamt of catering for Clapham and Brixton. The men who lived here when many of these quaint old structures were built found them useful for other purposes than those for which they were presumably erected. Kegs of brandy and packages of foreign laces and silks not infrequently found temporary lodgings under heaps of brown nets, and their conveyance thither meant midnight expeditions to lonesome clefts in
64 A SMUGGLING YARN CHAP.
the cliffs. At times a daring spirit was displayed and not a little skilful subterfuge employed when a valuable cargo was to be landed unknown to the excisemen. One instance of this is still the theme of a favourite tale among the older men of the beach. A long-expected French lugger was seen making for the roadstead, and the Lowestoft freetraders were on the alert, anxiously seeking an opportunity for communicating with her crew. While they waited for a lapse in vigilance on the part of the excisemen, a boat was lowered from the lugger and rowed towards the shore. A curious crowd of beachmen and excisemen assembled to meet her, and as she came in on the crest of a roller it was observed that she contained a coffin. The French boatmen had a mournful tale to tell. On board the lugger had been an Englishman suffering from an illness which soon proved fatal. In his last moments of consciousness he had begged the captain not to bury him at sea ; but to keep his body until a resting-place could be found for it under the green turf of a churchyard in his native land. Sympathy with his sad fate, and the knowledge that the lugger was not far from the English coast, had induced the captain to consent ; and now he had sent the body ashore for burial. In spite of his broken English the Frenchmen's spokesman told his tale well. Both excisemen and beachmen — especially the latter — loudly expressed their admiration of the captain's conduct. A parson was summoned, and in a little while a mournful procession made its way from the beach to the churchyard ; even the chief officer of the excisemen was present and is said to have shed tears. That night the local " resurrectionists " were busy ; and at dawn the churchyard contained a desecrated grave. A little way in- land, however, in the midst of the marshes, a smugglers' store received the addition of a coffin filled with silks and lace !
It is in the fishermen's quarter that you may hear old sea songs sung which are unknown outside the beachmen's homes and the cabins of the North Sea smacks and drifters ; and if you are on sufficiently intimate terms with the singers
in LOWESTOFT WITCHES 65
they may shyly reveal to you a lingering belief in some strange old superstitions. Even within the last ten years I have heard of boatowners consulting " wise women " as to what would be the result of their season's fishing; and you may still find fishermen who will not go to sea unless they carry with them a charm against drowning. I cannot vouch for it, but I suspect it was from this quaint old colony below the cliffs that the men and women came who, in 1664, went up to the assizes at Bury St. Edmunds to give evidence against Rose Cullender and Amy Duny, two Lowestoft witches, who then and there were condemned to death for bewitching certain men, women.
X-' -• \ "} *l "'/U"''^l^"l^'}n/ W&1W
n >U " il>*^'
#Af ^ '%,
uft*J
,'dsrir .if
mim
Lowestoft from Lake Lathing.
and children of the town. The account of the trial contains few features that are not common in the records of similar cases of the period, except that the celebrated Doctor— after- wards Sir Thomas — Browne, author of Religio Medici, was one of the witnesses. He is described in the report of the pro- ceedings as a " person of great knowledge," who gave it as his opinion that in such cases as that before the court " the devil did work upon the bodies of men and women ... co- operating with the malice of these which we term witches, at whose instance he doth these villanies."
Inseparably associated with Lowestoft in my mind are the names of two literary Bohemians of the old school. One, whose
56
EDWARD FITZGERALD
home for several years we have already seen at Woodbridge, loved to join the fishermen in the bar-room of the Suffolk Inn — the old Suffolk Inn, now vanished — and talk of the sea and the ways of the men of the sea ; the other, although seldom seen in the town, lived near it, except when he was crouching by some gipsy's camp-fire or quaffing ale in the rural hostelries of "Wild Wales." Many of Edward FitzGerald's published letters from Lowestoft were inspired by his love of the sea and seamen. During his frequent visits to the town he generally stayed at a house in the London Road ; but it was in a dimly
Site of Barrow's Cottage, Oulton Broad.
lighted corner of the Suffolk bar-room, where the crews of the fishing boats assembled, or among the net chambers of the fishermen, that he was oftenest to be found. There he would talk for hours with his fisherman friend " Posh " Fletcher, who was his active partner in a herring-fishing venture, and who still lives to tell of the nights and days he spent on board FitzGerald's yacht Scandal, or their fishing boat, the Meum and Tuum. FitzGerald's experiences as a boatowner were a source of much entertainment to the local men, who could not understand what induced him to participate in a business in
in GEORGE BORROW 67
which it was impossible for him to compete successfully with practised owners and buyers. Yet for a time his whole heart was in it, and no details were too trivial for his attention. " Posh has, I believe," he writes, " gone off to Southwold in hope to bring his lugger home. I advised him last night to ascertain first by letter whether she were ready for his hands ; but you know he will go his own way, and that generally is as good as anybody's. ... I think he has mistaken in not sending the Meum and Tuum to the West this spring, not because the weather seems to promise in all ways so much better than last (for that no one could anticipate), but on account of the high price of fish of any sort, which has been an evident fact for the last six months." I wonder what Carlyle and Tennyson thought (if they knew) of their friend, ' Old Fitz," as a fish-merchant !
George Borrow was not so well known in the town. In his isolated home on the banks of Oulton Broad he lived, during his latter years, the life of a recluse ; or if he ventured abroad it was to stalk solitarily — a tall, striking figure, wrapped in a Spanish cloak — along the quiet Oulton lanes. There his piercing glance sometimes made the lonely farm-hand quail and think of the baneful effects of the "evil eye," while children, awed by the presence of the mysterious squire whose chief friends were the roving gipsies, ceased their playing until he had gone by. It is scarcely twenty years since Borrow died ; yet there are few dwellers in Lowestoft or Oulton who remember that he lived among them. His old home is pulled down ; and for the majority of the pleasure seekers who row or sail on Oulton Broad the little summer house on its bank has no associations. Yet it was in this quiet retreat, within hearing of the rustling of the water- side reeds and sheltered by a copse of storm-rent firs, that the " Walking Lord of Gipsy Lore " wrote Lavengro, The Romany Rye, and the Bible in Spain. Here, too, he enter- tained his Romany friend Jasper Petulengro, when that
F 2
68
"AFFAIRS OF EGYPT'
CHAP.
The Pier, Lowestoft.
garrulous chal "did him the honour," as he says, of paying him a visit and discoursing with him on the " affairs of Egypt." These " affairs of Egypt " were the affairs of the gipsies. " There is no living for the poor people, brother," said Petulengro to
in ROMANIES 69
Borrow ; " the fhokengres (police) pursue us from place to place, and the gorgios are becoming either so poor or miserly that they grudge our cattle a bite of grass by the wayside, and ourselves a yard of ground to light a fire upon. Unless times alter, brother, and of that I see no probability unless you are made either poknees or mecralliskoe geiro (justice of the peace or prime minister), I am afraid the poor persons will have to give up wandering, and then what will become of them ? " The " poor persons " still make the same complaint. The era of county and parish councils looks with little favour upon the English Tshmaelites, who have even greater difficulty than in Sorrow's day in finding a grazing ground by the wayside or a heath where they may light a camp fire. But they are still with us in East Anglia — the Greys, the Smiths, the Coopers, Borrows Griengres, Petulengros, and Wardo-engres — and not far from the site of their historian's old home, on a tract of waste land near a grove of elms and birches, I have sat by their fires and tried to rokker Romany with their wizened old crones. With passages from the Lavo-Lil (Borrow's Gipsies' Word-Booti) I have tested their knowledge of the strange tongue of their forefathers, and I have seen them exchange glances of surprise and suspicion at hearing a gorgio discourse of things he should not know. While the smoke rose in a blue cloud against the background of dusky trees, and the nightingales' heart-searching songs were heard from the grove, it was easy to understand why George Borrow moped and felt his soul fettered in murky London, and could find no peace nor joy in life until he took to the Great North Road, slept -in a gipsy's tent in a dingle, and heard a black-eyed Romany chi sing
" The Romany chi
And the Romany chal
Shall jaw tasaulor
To drab the bawlor,
And dook the gry
Of the farming rye."
70 "LENTEN STUFFE" CHAP.
Heathenish gibberish it sounds to modern ears, but smacks of the joy of life under summer sun, on " the field and heath and windy moor ! "
But the " Walking Lord of Gipsy Lore " has led me out of Lowestoft into the leafy lanes of Oulton, and I must return to the town for a while. I would like to find some indication that the name of Thomas Nash is not forgotten in his native town ; but a place which has little recollection of Borrow and ' FitzGerald, who were here twenty years ago, can scarcely be expected to cherish the memory of a satirist who was born here at the end of the sixteenth century. Yet he wrote Lenten Stuffe, or the Praise of the Red Herring, fitte of all elearkes of all noblemen's kitchens to be read, and not unnecessary by all serving men that have short board wages to be remembered ; and what Lowestoft does not know about herrings is not worth knowing. Doubtless the hardy seafarers who throng the quays could have told Nash a good deal about their calling that would have been news to him ; but they would have stood agape and aghast at his euphuistic rhapsodies. Listen to him. " To fetch the red herring in Trojan equipage, some of every of the Christ Cross alphabet of outlandish cosmopoli furrow up the rugged brine, and sweep through his tumultuous ooze. For our English Microcosmos or Phoenician Dido's hide of ground, no shire, county, county palatine, or quarter of it, but rigs out some oaken squadron or other to waft him along Cleopatraean Olympickly, and not the least nook or crevice of them but is parturient of the like super-officiousness, arming forth, though it be but a catch or pink, no capabler than a rundlet or washing bowl to imp the wings of his convoy. Holy St. Taurbard, in what droves the gouty Londoners hurry down, and dye the watchet air of an iron russet hue with the dust that they raise in hot spurred rowelling it on to perform compliments unto him." Lenten Stuffe — queer stuff!
Outside the metropolis there are few scenes of more bustling activity than the Lowestoft fishmarkets on a busy day, when
Ill
FISHMARKETS
scores of smacks from the North Sea trawling grounds have arrived in port, and the wharves are heaped with fish boxes
Lowestoft Inner Harbour.
and clamorous with the cries of the salesmen. In the basins the smacks lie so close together that one may walk from pier to pier
72 FISH MARKETS CHAP.
upon them. Here, a little crowd of idlers is gathered around a monster halibut or sturgeon, or, maybe, a vicious-looking thresher shark, which while ravaging the mackerel shoals found its way into a drifter's nets ; there, tackling on to a rope, a row of smacksmen are hauling ashore a broken trawl beam. Mingled with the sturdy, ruddy-cheeked East Coast men are a few Frenchmen or Belgians, whose clumsy boats, from Boulogne, Trouville, Calais, and Ostende, are moored alongside the smarter and more graceful Lowestoft trawlers ; occasionally a clatter of sabots betokens the presence of heavy-gaited Dutchmen. Or if it be late autumn, when herring and mackerel are plentiful off the coast, a large fleet of fast sailing luggers from Kirkcaldy, Banff, and Inverness will be inter- mingled with the dandy-rigged Lowestoft boats which make for port every morning ; and everywhere in the streets you will rub shoulders with sturdy Scotchmen. Then is the herring market heaped from end to end with glistening herring and rainbow- hued mackerel, and you need be wary in walking among them to escape the clattering barrows. But to fully appreciate the extent and importance of the Lowestoft fishing industry you must be in touch with it from January to December, and not for one year only but many years ; and even then you will have something to learn. For one year's fishermen's harvest differs from another as do the farmers' harvests, and it is always the weather that rules the harvesting.
I stay longer in Lowestoft than will most people who follow the route I have travelled, and it is early summer when I resume my ramblings. I then set out for Yarmouth ; but on my way thither turn aside and visit Fritton, where is one of the loveliest lakes in Broadland. It is not a broad, as the term is understood in Norfolk, where it means the " broadening " of a river ; but it possesses all the beauty that Wroxham and Barton boast and many charms of its own. Engirdled by woods, scarcely a murmur of human life disturbs its brooding peace ; you may
ill FRITTON LAKE 73
float on its waters all day and hear only the whispering of the reeds, the crowing of the pheasants in the woods, and the chuckling of the reed birds. In the Old Hall garden which slopes down to the lake you inhale the fragrance of old- fashioned flowers. Winding paths through the woodlands lead you into bosky dells bright with pink-blossomed willow-herbs, and sunlit glades where the scattered bushes are garlanded with wild roses. Here, if anywhere, a man cannot say that the world is too much with him. Bright green of larch and dusky foliage of fir, scent of eglantine and blossom of wild strawberry, mavis in the brake and wood-dove on the tree-top — these are the delights of Fritton — these and the gleaming of sunlit waters between the boles of rugged oaks and smooth green beeches, and the flickering fretwork of light and shade beneath the trees.
It is not enough to spend only the sunlit hours of a summer day on Fritton Lake ; you must linger on its waters or its shores until the daylight fades and the moon is mirrored where the sunbeams lately played. Draw your boat up close beneath the boughs of some waterside tree, or seat yourself on some rugged limb which commands a view of the. lake, and then be content just to look at and listen to what you see and hear around you. Mark the moonglade on the water, stretching like a silvern pathway to the distant woods ; the swans stealing silently out of the shadow into the silver light. Listen to the rustling of the night-prowling woodland creatures and the complaining of startled woodland birds. There is no need to listen for the songs of the nightingales ; you cannot help hearing them. All the other night sounds of wood and water are simply interludes of their outbursts of enchanting melody. All day long they have been singing, but their songs were mingled in the general chorus of feathered minstrels ; now the thrushes, blackbirds, and linnets are silent, and the night- ingales hold the night spellbound while they answer each other from shore to shore. " There can be no very black melancholy
74 AN ENGLISH WALDEN CHAP.
in him who lives in the midst of Nature, and has his senses still, :> wrote Thoreau while musing by the side of Walden ; and I am disposed to defy any man who spends a day and night, or a succession of days and nights, by the side of Fritton Lake to experience a very black melancholy. Melancholy he may feel ; but it will be that pleasing melancholy which is half the delight derived from looking upon loveliness and listening to the singing of birds and the whispering of the wind among the trees. Such melancholy may even move to tears ; but the " divine despair " which sets the eyes brimming is no heart-searching sorrow to leave its mark on a man and embitter the cup of life from which he drinks. Rather, it sends him back to the busy ways of man conscious of having learnt a lesson which will lighten his load of care and help him to estimate most things at their proper value. Amid the distraction of business and wearying worries he will not fail to remember that there are still "haunts of ancient peace," even within the narrow limits of his native land, where, if he chooses to live like Thoreau and let the world go its own way, he may find quietude and rest. And even if this knowledge does not tempt him to follow the example of the Walden philosopher, he may, by pondering over it in the night watches and Sabbath evenings of his weeks and days, experience a good deal of contemplative and retrospective enjoyment, which will, in a measure, compensate for inability to participate in the real thing.
I fancy that Thoreau, had he been an East Anglian, would have chosen a site on the shores of Fritton Lake for the building of his log hut. His Week on the Concord would then have been a Week on the Waveney ; he would have found defiance in the crow of a cock pheasant or the call of a heron instead of in the laugh of the loon. In the Fritton woods he would have enjoyed that solitude which he considered essential to the making of a man ; here, too, he would have watched the little wild creatures — the squirrels, mice, and rabbits —
in AN ENGLISH WALDEN 75
come quite close to the door of his hut, and listened to the loud honking of the wild geese and the mournful hootings and mewings of the woodland owls. His Fritton would have been full of notes on the natural history of his woodland retreat ; he would have told us how it came about that the herons ceased to nest in the Fritton trees, and when the bustard was last seen on the neighbouring heathlands. He would have known whenever a golden oriel was haunting the woods, or a flock of crossbills had settled there ; he would have had strange stories to tell about the huge pike and ancient bream which lurked in the deep dark waters of the lake. Careless of tearing his clothes or lacerating his face and hands, he would have plunged through the thorniest of thickets if by so doing he might learn something of the craft of a Fritton poacher ; regardless of chills, he would have crouched for hours behind the screens of a wild fowl decoy to watch the luring of the duck and teal. The tapping of the Fritton woodpeckers, the chuckling of the Fritton reed birds, and the singing of the Fritton nightingales would have inspired all that was best in him and confirmed him in the opinion that " Nature has no human inhabitant who appreciates her." " She flourishes most alone, far from the towns where they reside," he tells us. She flourishes at Fritton ; and even if we cannot fully appreciate her, a Thoreau would have made us understand something of the charm of her wild beauty and the fascination of her many moods. He would have given us the fruits of his^ musings as he sat by the door of his hut, gazing upon the red sunsets behind the dusky firs, and the mystic beauty of the moonlit lake. I fancy I see him, clad in garments of the russet hue of the autumn woods, " a-gipsying among the pines " ; acquainted with every bird-cry from the thickets and wild flower of the woods and waterside ; day after day treading the same winding footpaths strewn with fallen beechmast and fir cones ; brushing his way through shady copses, ankle deep in a rustling carpet of withered leaves. Fritton Lake is his
76 WILD-FOWL DECOYS CH. in
forest mirror; in it he sees reflected all the pageantry of beauty the fringing woodlands assume and his vivid pen describes. The rising of the moon above the sombre woods and its mystic light in their shadowy aisles sets him pon- dering over the curious turning of the tide of thought which is brought about by lunar influence ; the setting sun paints for him the glory of vanished nations on the western sky. Nothing is too mean or too grand for his range of thought; the lakeside myosotis and humble bank vole appeal to him as well as the flush of dawn and the splendour of the dying day. Only in summer and autumn are the waters of Fritton Lake accessible to the world in general ; in winter seldom does a boat glide over its steely surface or a footfall break the silence of its woods. For it is in winter the decoyman crouches behind his reed screens and lures the wild fowl into his tunnel- like decoys ; and to make the capture of the fowl possible they must not be alarmed by any disturbing sound. But decoying is little practised nowadays, and, like the broadsman, the decoyman will soon find his occupation gone. The wholesale slaughter of wild fowl — thousands of duck, teal, and widgeon were sometimes taken weekly in the old decoys — is now condemned as unsportsmanlike, and it is only where, as at Fritton, decoys are worked for the amusement of their owners rather than for profit that this old-time method of wild-fowl- capture is still pursued. Still, if it is a doubtful "sport" there is excitement enough attached to the working of a decoy. Cramped limbs and frost-nipped fingers are forgotten when the decoyman's dog begins its antics at the mouth of the pipe and the inquisitive fowl come swimming towards the shore. A good decoyman will allow himself to be suffocated by the smoke of the smouldering peat he carries rather than cough and alarm the fowl, and he will risk the salvation of his soul in muttering imprecations on the head of the gunner who shoots within a mile of the lake or the trespasser who forces a way noisily through the undergrowth of the woods.
78 YARMOUTH CHAP.
Scarcely an hour has passed since I left the lakeside, and now I am riding up the Southtown road and entering Yarmouth. As I cross the Haven Bridge, with the harbour on one hand and the wide expanse of Breydon on the other, I catch a glimpse of the spire of the largest parish church in England, while right in front of me, on Hall Quay, is the Old Star Hotel. For some time I am indisposed to look for more than I can see from the neighbourhood of the Haven Bridge — to venture into the quaint narrow " rows " of the " Norfolk Grid- iron." The Star Hotel itself has enough interest to occupy one for half a day. Not always was this fine old house an inn. In the latter years of the sixteenth century there came to Yarmouth a certain William Crowe, a younger son of an old Suffolk family whose moated manor hall, now degenerated into a farmhouse, is still to be seen near the small market town of Debenham. This William Crowe joined the Company of Spanish Merchants, and becoming a prosperous man of business was made bailiff of Yarmouth town. He built for himself the house now known as the Star Hotel, and was lavish of his wealth in its adornment. If you enter the bar you see that it was once the hall of the old bailiffs house. Its ceiling was exceedingly elaborate ; even now its beautiful workmanship is something to admire and wonder at. But it is the so-called Nelson Room on the first floor which is the glory of this old house. This is a room lined throughout with carved panelling, and with a grandly decorated ceiling. Over the fireplace is a panel bearing the arms of the Spanish Merchants ; curious cupboards are concealed in the panelling. Nelson is said to have lodged in this room on one occasion when he landed at Yarmouth, but whether he did or not I cannot say. It is a fact, however, that he landed at Yarmouth on November 6th, 1800, after he had fought and won the Battle of the Nile ; and that was a great day for the town. Of course, the enthusiastic populace took the horses from his carriage and drew him through the thronged streets to
Ill
LORD NELSON
79
the old Wrestlers' Hotel, where he received the freedom of the borough. "Your right hand, my lord," said the town clerk, when he went to administer the oath and Nelson laid his left hand on the book. " That is at Teneriffe," was the quiet reply ; but the civic fathers heard it and again shouted themselves hoarse in expressing their sympathy and admiration. Later in the day the hero of the Nile, accompanied by Sir William and Lady Hamilton and a mighty concourse of people, went to St. Nicholas Church, there to return thanks to God for the successes of the British fleet. Even the largest parish church
'1
The Quay, Yarmouth.
in England could scarcely contain that mighty congregation. After that eventful day there was no town in England where the career of the famous Norfolk admiral was watched with greater or more affectionate interest than at Yarmouth, and it is no wonder that after the victory at Trafalgar had cost him his life a lofty monument to his memory arose on the South Denes.
Along one side of the South Quay are several quaint old houses, one of which, a flint-faced building with dormer windows and a small room above the porch, must date from
8o DUTCH ASPECT OF YARMOUTH CH. in
before the days when Miles Corbet the regicide was Yar- mouth's recorder and representative in Parliament. Much of Yarmouth's architecture strikes one as un-English. The Continental influence that was felt here when the port was one of the most important in the kingdom has left its mark upon the place. The narrow rows remind one of Amsterdam; there is something Dutch, too, about the old Fishermen's Hospital ; and the tree-shaded quay might have been constructed from models of those of Rotterdam or Seville. The Dutch aspect of the town impressed David Copperfield when he first saw it " lying like a straight, low line under the sky." "I hinted," he says, "to Peggotty that a mound or so might have improved it, and also that if the land had been a little more separated from the sea, and the town and the tide had not been quite so much mixed up, like toast-and-water, it would have been much nicer." But when he got into the streets and "smelt the fish, and pitch, and oakum, and tallow, and saw the sailors walking about, and the carts jingling up and down over the stones," he felt that he " had done so busy a place an injustice." Still, he was quite right about the Dutch aspect, which even now is not only noticeable in the town but in the neighbourhood. Beyond the stone-walled banks of Breydon are miles and miles of level marshland, where the horizon in some directions is unbroken except by the gaunt outlines of the drainage windmills. Like Holland, Yarmouth has been won from the waves. Centuries ago the site on which it stands was little better than a mudbank at the mouth of a great estuary which stretched away inland as far as Beccles and Bungay in one direction and Norwich in another. Where countless herds of cattle now graze on lush pastures, Roman galleys sailed to conquer dwellers in the Icenic settlement the victors called Venta Icenorum, and Sweyn of Denmark, with his viking fleet, sped to plunder and burn the Norwich*, of the East Anglian kings. The early inhabitants of Yarmouth held their homes by a
Yarmouth Beach.
82 "DUTCH SUNDAY" CHAP.
frail tenure ; they never knew how soon the sea might claim what seemed - to be its own. Even now the possibility of a disastrous sea flood cannot be wholly ignored. In 1897, when the waves broke through the sandhill bastions of Palling and Horsey, there were not wanting alarmists who feared for the safety of the old town. When flat-bottomed boats from Scheveningen and Maassluis are moored by the quayside their crews feel quite at home. They see much that reminds them of their hard-won homeland. When the harbour mouth was altered "a certain Dutchman, Joost Jansen, a man of very rare knowledge and experience in works of this nature," was engaged to superintend the work. When hundreds of Dutch families were driven from the Netherlands by Alva's per- secution, many of them settled here, and some of the houses built by them and their descendants are still standing.
During the eighteenth century the Dutch and Yarmouth fishermen were on very friendly terms. At that time what was called " Dutch Sunday " was observed in the town on the Sunday before September 2ist, the day on which the herring fishing commenced with the ceremony of "wetting the nets," a proceeding the nature of which can be easily understood. The Dutchmen usually timed their arrival so that they were able to assist in the "wetting." Nail, the Yarmouth historian; quotes the words of an eye-witness to their arrival. " With the afternoon's tide the Dutchmen began to enter the haven's mouth ; and it was pleasing to see them proceed, one after the other, up the river to the town .... Of these vessels about fifty came up this year. All of them arrived in the course of Friday evening ; and at night I took a walk to view them by moonlight. The low line of masts, exactly uniform ; the yards and furled sails disposed in a regular row, the crews sitting on deck with their pipes, calmly enjoying their repose, and conversing in a strange tongue, impressed the imagination in a forcible but pleasing manner : the quiet and order which reigned among so large a number 'was much to be admired.
in "DUTCH SUNDAY" 83
On Saturday the streets were sprinkled with parties of Dutch- men, easily distinguished by their round caps, short jackets, and most capacious breeches .... On the ensuing Sunday, called ' Dutch Sunday,' all the country round, as far as Norwich, flocked to see the show. The Dutch did honour to their visitors by decorating their schuyts with flags in the gayest manner they were able. The whole length of the quay was crowded by people of all ranks, in their best apparel. . . . It was a view equally striking and singular, and not to be
Alms Houses, Yarmouth.
matched in any part of the kingdom." " Dutch Sunday " is now an obsolete festival, and the Dutchmen no longer " wet their nets " at Yarmouth ; but they still come here and to Lowestoft in considerable numbers at Christmas for pickled herring, and then look very like their forerunners of a century and a half ago. They are still distinguished by their " round caps, short jackets, and most capacious breeches."
Yarmouth owes its parish church to Herbert de Lozinga, the first Norman bishop of Norwich, a man concerning whom
G 2
84 HERBERT DE LOZINGA CHAP.
the old chroniclers tell us very little. He has been claimed by some as an East Anglian ; but it seems more probable that he was a native of Normandy. He was educated at the monastery of Fe'camp, and came over to England at the invitation of William Rufus, who had several bishoprics and abbacies to distribute among his favourites. Fortunately for East Anglia, Lozinga was an ambitious man and not too scrupulous how he gained his ends. Not content with the dignity of Abbot of Ramsey, he aspired to the bishopric of Thetford ; and finding Ralph Flambard disposed to sell the appointment to the see, the purchase money was soon forth- coming. As Bale says, "First he was here in England, by fryndeshyp made Abbot of Ramseye, and afterwards made byshop of Thetforde ; for the which he is named in the chronicles of his day the ' kyndeling match of simony,' and that noateth him no small doar in that feate." As a matter of fact, he bought the bishopric for ^1900 and the abbacy of Winchester for ^1000. Simony, however, was a serious ecclesiastical offence, and the new bishop had not long settled in his palace before his conscience pricked him. He deter- mined to make a pilgrimage to Rome and crave absolution from the head of his church. On arriving at Rome he resigned his bishopric ; but was at once reinstated, and he then obtained permission to remove his see from Thetford to Norwich. As a penance for his simony, he was ordered to build certain churches and monasteries in his diocese ; and so it came about that Norwich was beautified by its grand cathedral. Lynn by its fine priory church of St. Margaret, and Yarmouth was given a building which has since become the largest parish church in England. William of Malmesbury called Lozinga Vir Pecuniosus; Defoe thought he might have called him Vir Pecuniosissimus, " considering the times he lived in, and the works of charity and munificence which he has left as witness of his immense riches." He certainly, in spite of his name, which means " flatterer," was a warm-tempered man, for when
Ill
LOZINGA'S CURSE
The Wind Mill.
the only deer in his park at Homersfield was strangled and stolen he thus cursed the offenders : " May the flesh of all those who devoured my stag rot as the flesh of Herod rotted !
86
ST. NICHOLAS CHURCH
CHAP.
May they have their portion with Judas the traitor, with Ananias and Sapphira, with Dathan and Abiram ! Let them have the anathema maranatha, unless they come to a better mind and make me some reparation ! Amen."
Of Lozinga's church of St. Nicholas all that now remains is a part of the tower ; but there is plenty of his work in Norwich Cathedral. So, with the prospect of seeing the great Norman masterwork to-morrow, I am not greatly disappointed when I find the interior of Yarmouth church rather uninteresting. It contains few tombs and monuments ; but this is not surprising,
Yarmouth Church.
seeing that the seventeenth century churchwardens knew no better than to demolish a spendid altar-tomb so that they might build a doorway. About a century earlier the corporation had ordered all the sepulchral brasses to be sent to London and cast into " weights for the use of the town ! " There are some curious old books kept in the church ; but Lozinga's works " On the Length of the Ages " and " On the End of the World," and his " Book of Monastic Constitutions " are not among them : they are lost irretrievably.
It is difficult to get a good view of St. Nicholas Church
ill ASTLEY COOPER 87
owing to the old houses which abut closely on its main en- trance ; and after attempting it from various points I return to the market place. Looking back at the tapering spire, I am reminded of a boyish prank of young Astley Cooper, an account of which I have read somewhere. The father of the lad who was to become a distinguished physician was an incum- bent of St. Nicholas, and his son seems to have given him a good deal of trouble. One day, when the wind was in the north-east, he got possession of two of his mother's pillows and carried them up the church spire. There he ripped them open and dispersed their contents in the air. The descent of the feathers all over the market place caused great astonishment, and gave rise to curious conjectures, one of which was that a great storm in the north had blown immense quantities of wild-fowl feathers from the island of St. Paul ! On another occasion the ingenious youngster concealed himself close to the altar and during a wedding ceremony repeated after his father the words of the marriage service. That was the only time the Rev. Mr. Cooper observed an echo in the church.
The quaint old fishermen's almshouses in the market place, and the Tolhouse, which is probably the oldest municipal building in England, are interesting relics of a Yarmouth which did not owe its prosperity to the summer tripper. In some of the narrow "rows," too, you may see styles 01 architecture such as are sought in vain in Regent Road and on the Marine Drive. Of monastic remains the town pos- sesses few, and these are of little interest and* scanty propor- tions. Here and there are traces of the fortifications which Henry III. granted the inhabitants permission to erect and maintain " so long as they behaved themselves" — one of the old towers stands near the north-east corner of the churchyard, others are in Blackfriars Street and by the waterside. So the stranger within Yarmouth's gates is not entirely dependent on beach concerts, nigger minstrels, and revolving towers for
88
BREYDON WATER
CHAP.
entertainment, and may, if he choose, spend a day in the town without having the presence of these inevitable features of a popular pleasure-resort thrust upon him. Even if he has seen enough of the church and quay and quaint old houses, there is always Breydon to turn to. Out in a boat on that wide waste of waters, where the wild fowl flock to the ooze flats and the smelt-catchers' houseboats are moored in the scanty shelter of the " walls," not the faintest murmur of Yarmouth's boisterous merry-making will reach him.
It is towards Breydon I am drawn after an afternoon spent
Yarmouth, the Great Mill.
in distinguishing the old Yarmouth from the new. I know that down by the waterside, a little way above the Haven Bridge, I shall find a flight-shooter's gun-punt moored ; and I am bent on seeing the sun set beyond the Breydon marshes. The tide has begun to flow, so there is scarcely need to use the oars as I float up the wide channel, marked out by gaunt, weed-green posts ; and by the time I have left the boat-builders' yards behind me, the mud banks are awash, and the gulls, which have fed on them during the ebb, are flighting towards the marshes. A faint mist obscures the horizon, so that one might
ill NIGHT ON BREYDON 89
easily imagine Breydon were a great inland sea ; its waters seem limitless. But as the hour of sunset approaches, the level verge of the marshlands becomes clearly defined, and a few wind- mills, and here and there a cattle-bield or marsh farmstead, stand out like silhouettes against the background of burning sky. Until the tide has wholly covered a flat on which an abandoned hulk is stranded, a heron keeps a-fishing there for flounders; but suddenly it rises, flies with slow wing-beats westwards, and vanishes in the golden sunset glow. Most of the ark-like houseboats are deserted ; it is not the season for smelt-fishing and some months must elapse before the roar of a punt gun will be heard on these quiet waters. But the water- gipsies' floating homes remind me of an autumn night I spent in a naturalist's houseboat on Breydon, and of how a dense fog came down upon land and water, disturbing the gulls and curlews on the flats so that they kept us awake all night by their cries. We were quite content to remain awake. The wild life of Breydon and our experiences on the inland water- ways of East Anglia provided us with many subjects of interest- ing discourse. When morning came the fog had gone, and when we quietly opened our cabin door a heron got up within a few yards of our boat. The keen air of the marshes whetted our appetite for a breakfast cooked over a driftwood fire on the " wall," and the row back to Yarmouth quickened our pulses until we felt that the only life worth living was a life on the tidal waters.
But I have no intention of spending to-night afloat ; and as my return voyage must be against the tide I cannot linger late on lonesome Breydon. To avoid the strong inrush of the sea, I keep my punt close to the shore, where the current is less troublesome and I need only beware of shallow water and floating timbers. Sunset is succeeded by an amber afterglow, so it is not quite dark when I bring my boat back to its moorings. After stepping ashore, I ramble a little way along the crest of the " wall " which protects the marshes from the Breydon tides.
NIGHT ON BREYDON
CH. Ill
Behind me the sky is bright with the glow of the Yarmouth street lamps ; before me marsh and flood are only seen by the light of the stars. At night Breydon and its banks assume an aspect almost primeval ; only far away, like a fallen star, the light from a lonely marshland cottage gleams across the gloomy flood.
The Quay, Yarmouth.
I
Yarmouth from the Caister Road.
CHAPTER IV
CAISTER CASTLE, NORWICH, AND MOUSEHOLD HEATH
BEFORE Yarmouth is quite awake to the fact that another day has dawned, and while the night mists are still gathered over Breydon, I have left the old town behind me and am watching a pair of lapwings wheeling above the marshes near the Caister road. Away to the right of me is a stretch of waste and common land, sheltered from the sea winds by a ridge of tawny sand-hills ; to the left, almost as far as eye can see, are the Bure and Breydon marshes, dotted with rooks and cattle. Caister village soon comes in sight, but I pass through it without stopping, for I am bound for the " City of Churches," and Caister village has no charm for me while Caister Castle stands a mile or so beyond it. Even before I was astir this morning — while I lay and thought of the day's journey before me and planned the route I would take — the tall tower of Caister Castle loomed before me, and I imagined I heard a gruff voice hailing me from the broken battlements. Since then the figure of a bluff old knight has been ever before me ; and in fancy I have followed him to Agincourt, where he led
92 SIR JOHN FASTOLFF CHAP.
the English archers ; to the taking of Caen and the siege of Rouen ; and to Patay, where, deserted by his men and unable by threats or pleadings to rally them, he was compelled to flee before a host led by and inspired by the presence of the Maid of Orleans. I have seen him at the head of an English army marching to relieve a beleaguered garrison ; again as Governor of the Bastille ; and yet again, as the custodian of a captive king. And then, after more than sixty years' military service for his country, during which he has seen many ups and downs of fortune, and not escaped the slanderous mutterings of
Caister Castle
jealous tongues, I have seen him building himself a lordly castle on the border of the Norfolk fens, hoping that, having well earned a period of repose, he may enjoy for a few years a quiet life in his native land.
But he did not even live long enough to complete the building of the castle ; and somewhere amid the ruins of a marshland abbey, where lapwings wail over the lonesome flats and the heron fishes undisturbed for days together, Sir John Fastolff's dust lies mingled with that of the monks of St. Benet's-at-Holme. He was a brave old warrior, and I for one
IV CAISTER CASTLE 93
cannot credit the accusations brought against him. Quick- tempered, loud-voiced, and even given to the use of strong language at times he may have been, but a knight of the white feather never ! Like an old Norfolk historian, I am indignant that " this truly great and eminent character has, by a quibble on the name, been, by hypercritics, supposed the Sir John Falstaffe which our immortal bard Shakespeare has exhibited in the various characters of an old, humorous, vaporing, cowardly, lewd, lying, and necessitous debauchee, who was constantly lounging about Prince Henry's court."
Sir John Fastolffs castle was a long time building, for it covered some six acres of ground, and the materials of which it was constructed had to be brought to Caister by sea. For this purpose a special license from the Crown had to be obtained, permitting the old knight to keep six vessels in his service, to wit, two " playtes," a " cogship," a " farecoft," and two " balingers." Probably the waters of the wide estuary now shrunk into Breydon extended to Caister then, and the cogships, balingers, and other fearfully and wonderfully named craft could discharge their cargoes right under the castle walls. It was several years before the building was sufficiently habitable for Sir John to give up his London house and settle in Norfolk, and at the end of that time he was on the verge of his grave. His arrival at his new home must have been a great event to the members of the Paston, Heydon, Tuddenham, and other county families, who knew him well and had learnt to detect the true metal of worthiness amid the dross of testy manners. Still, all the evidence goes to show that he was a difficult man to live with ; and that in spite of his college-founding and sup- porting of charitable institutions he was somewhat close-fisted towards his relations, friends, and retainers. " Instances will be found in his letters in abundance," writes the editor of the Paston Letters, " showing with what vehemence (testy old soldier that he was ! ) he perpetually insisted on what was due to himself ; — how he desired to know the names of those who
94 PASTON LETTERS CHAP.
would presume to resist his agent, Sir Thomas Howes, — how they should be requited by 'Blackbeard or Whitebeard, that is to say, by God or the Devil ' ; — how he noted that Sir John Buck had fished his tanks and helped to break his dam, — how he had been informed that at a dinner at Norwich certain gentlemen had used scornful language about him, and desired to know who they were. In this perpetual self-assertion he seems neither to have been over-indulgent towards adversaries nor even sufficiently considerate of friends and dependants." " He bought and .sold me as a beast — against all right and law," said his step-son Stephen Scrope, who was his ward, but"" who himself had afterwards to admit that " For very need I was fain to sell a little daughter I have for much less than I should have done by possibility." Of such dealings in human flesh and blood we get glimpses in the Paston Letters ; but apparently the victims thought little of being bought and sold, and submitted as a matter of course. At any rate when Scrope, a man of fifty and disfigured by a dreadful disease, made offers for the hand of Elizabeth Paston, a girl of twenty, the latter was said by her mother to be " never so willing as she is to him, if it be that his land is clear." What a mercenary young baggage !
But I am forgetting Sir John Fastolff, for the first time since I set out on my day's journey. He died in 1459, in his eightieth year ; and at Magdalen College, Oxford, it was ordained that
' ' The monks should sing and the bells should toll, All for the weale of FastolfFs soul."
After his death the Pastons occupied Caister Castle ; but were not permitted to dwell here in peace. A claimant arose in the person of Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk, who maintained that old Sir John had given him Caister, and that " he would have it plainly." But it was not until ten years after the old knight's body had been borne to St. Benet's Abbey that the
iv THE PASTONS 95
Duke, with a large body of retainers, laid siege to the castle. Then he found a stubborn resistance offered ; and it was not until a year later, when he brought three thousand men up to the castle walls, that the garrison, " from sore lack of victual and gunpowder," were compelled to surrender. Until his death, which occurred five years after the castle fell into his hands, he retained possession ; and then Caister was restored to the Fastens by -command of the King. Of the Fastens I could say a great deal, for of no other family's public and private affairs during the fifteenth century do we know so much as certain of the Pastons have revealed to us in their famous letters. Margaret Faston, whose girlhood was spent at Mautby, some three miles from Caister " as the crow flies," and who in her husband's absence from home so bravely defended his Gresham house against the rabble followers of Lord Molynes, has won her way to our hearts by her artless confessions and zealous guarding of her husband's interests. Among the many curious letters of the Pastons and their friends which have come down to us, hers are the most delightful. Whether she is advising her husband of the needs of the retainers who are defending his home, or of her own or her children's, she does it in a way that increases our respect for her. " Ryt wurchipful hosbond," she writes, " I recomawnd me to zu, and prey zu to gete me som crosse bowis and wyndacs to bind them with, and quarrels ; for zowr hwsis her ben so low that ther may non man shet owt with no long bowe, thow we had never so moche nede." And in the same letter, after retailing the gossip of the neighbourhood : — "I pray zu that ze wyl vowche save to don bye for me j. li. (i Ib.) of almands and j. li. of sugyr, and that ze wille do byen sume frese to maken of zowr child is gwnys ; ze xall have best chepe and best choyse of Hayis wyf, as it is told me. And that ze wyld bye a zerd of brode clothe of blac for an hode fore me of xliiijd or iiijs a zerd ; for ther is nether gode cloth nor gode fryse in this twn. As for the child is gwnys, and I have them I wel do hem maken." So careful a
96 VANDALISM CHAP.
wife and mother may be excused if she sometimes has a little fling at her relations. " As for tydyngs, the Quene (Margaret of Anjou) come into this town (Norwich) on Tewysday last past after none, and abode here tyll it was Thursday, iij. after none ; and she sent after my cos. Elysabeth Clere by Sharynborn, to come to her ; and she durst not dysabey her commandment, and come to her. And when she come in the Queny's presens, the Quene made ryght meche of her, and desyrid here to have a'n hosbond, the which ye shall know of here after. But as for that, he is never nerrer than he was befor."
The most imposing portion of the castle ruins is a lofty circular tower, formerly divided into five storeys, but now hollow, unclimbable, and open to the sky. About its single turret the pigeons are fluttering, now and again resting on a narrow window ledge or cranny in the time-worn brickwork. Apart from this tower there remain only two long walls, pierced with window holes and one or two doorways ; and a building known as the Barge House, which forms part of a modern dwelling-house. Above the walls, where the dyer's rocket has found rooting-space in the crevices, the boughs of trees which grow beyond the muddy moat sway to and fro in a breeze from off the sea. Viewed from a slight distance — say from the south-east corner of the courtyard — the castle is striking and picturesque in its decay. A closer inspection reveals much that is desecrating and objectionable. This is the work of innumerable Yarmouth trippers. Scarcely a square inch of accessible brickwork has escaped the scratchings and scrawlings of empty-headed excursionists, who apparently considered that they did not get their money's worth — a charge of twopence is made for admission to the grounds in which the castle stands — unless it purchased the privilege of leaving some obnoxious mark of their undesirable presence. Would that the bluff old knight who reared these walls could have come back for a while and caught the idiotic " 'Arries " at their hackings and scribblings ! I warrant that, like one of his servants, they
IV
SIR JOHN FASTOLFF
Burgh St. Mary Church.
would have had cause to say he was a man " without pity and mercy.'
98 A NORSE SETTLEMENT CHAP.
Although the castle stands on low ground, its lofty tower is a conspicuous feature of the landscape, and for some time after I take to the road again, I see its bold turreted summit standing out clear above the corn and ridges of the Caister fields. When, at length, it is hidden from view I am in the midst of a cluster of hamlets the terminal syllable of whose names indicates that here was one of the old Scandinavian settlements in East Anglia. Ormesby, Filby, Rollesby, Mautby, Stokesby all adjoin one another and comprise the greater part of a division of land which even now is known as the Flegg (Norse, flegg, flat) Hundred. Philological evidence is often, and not without reason, discredited ; but here it seems conclusive. If, however, it is not sufficient for some reader, I can show him men in this district who retain the characteristic features — tall sturdy frames, ruddy cheeks, fair hair, and bright blue eyes— of the Norsemen. There are few traces in Norfolk and Suffolk of the permanent settlement of the old viking rovers, so to find them here, and the Norsemen's descendants still occupying some of the holdings which their ancestors seized when they sailed up the great eastern estuary, is the more interesting. Their survival is probably due to the fact that many men live lonely lives in these isolated marshland parishes, and seldom marry outside their own particular communities. Until the middle of the nineteenth century not a few of them gained their livelihood in much the same manner as did their fore- fathers when their viking ships lay idle on Scandinavian beaches. They fished the rivers as the Norsemen did the fiords, and lured the wild fowl of the fens as the Norsemen did those of their own rock-bound coast. Now they tend the cattle on the misty marshes and take charge of the drainage windmills, for they may shoot wild duck at certain seasons only and snare a pike only when the water bailiff is asleep or far away.
There is no excuse for losing one's way along this old coach
iv FILBY BROAD 99
road, for signposts are plentiful, and even direct you to off-lying farms and out-of-the-way marshes. One of these by-roads leads to Mautby, where Margaret Paston was born ; but all traces of the home from which John Paston took her to live in, and hold for him, his castellated houses at Gresham, Drayton, and Hellesdon, have vanished. In the long strag- gling village of Filby half the cottages are roofed with reed- thatch from Filby Broad, whose blue waters, gleaming between the boles of a few scattered alders, firs, and birches, are seen just beyond the last houses in the village. It is a fine sheet of water, and many anglers will tell you that they would rather spend a day on it than a week on any other broad in East Anglia; but it is not so beautiful as Wroxham or Barton, nor so wide as Hickling. Its shores are low and their scenery rather tame ; still there are picturesque spots here and there, and I find much enjoyment in leaning on the stone parapet of the bridge and watching the smoke curl upwards from a little cottage half hidden in a waterside grove of trees. A soft breeze sets the green reeds whispering ; swallows are busy midge-chasing so close to the surface of the broad that their wings often touch the still waters ; somewhere not far from the bridge a reed- warbler is singing incessantly. In the full blaze of the sun the stone parapet is as hot as an oven, and I wonder how the flies, which to my distress are very numerous, dare settle down on it. Very different was the scene here when last I came this way — in "fill-dyke" February, which that year did not belie its name. The reed-cutters' winter harvest was still in pro- . gress, and the amber reed culms, gleaming brightly when the pale sunlight filtered through the dun clouds, rustled boisterously and wildly tossed their feathery plumes. Then, the broad was deserted except for a few wild fowl flying low over the wind-ruffled water. Now, there are anglers' punts drawn up close to the green reeds, and though yachts and wherries are never seen at Filby, owing to the channel
II 2
ioo ACLE DAM CHAP.
connecting the broad with the Bure being unnavigable, there is quite a little fleet of rowing boats gliding between the low green banks.
The slight rising ground which contains the waters of the broad soon gives way again to marshland, and scarcely have I passed the two ruined churches which stand to the right of the road than I am exposed to a full sun-blaze on Acle Dam. On either hand the marshes stretch away for miles, flat and featureless, except where a pollard willow lifts its bushy head, a windmill stands out boldly on the river-wall, or an alder
»^^ w^h
Acle.
copse shelters a marshman's lonesome home. Like fen isles in miniature, these copses are dotted over the marshes, and when the floods are " out " become islands indeed, on which the cattle-tenders and their families dwell securely in the midst of a vast inland sea. As I cross the dusty, willow-fringed dam, very vivid are my recollections of that February day I have already referred to ; for then I had to fight my way against a raging rain-squall which swept down on the flats, stung the face like hail, and filled the eyes with involuntary tears. Along the borders of the marshes the clouds at midday brooded
iv A MARSHLAND TRAGEDY 101
black as night, and against them the wind-blown gulls— there were thousands of them on the marshes — showed white as snowflakes on a pall. From beneath my half-closed eyelids 1 saw the dark-sailed wherries bearing so swiftly down on Acle Bridge that it seemed they must drive it from its foundations. But there were Norfolk river-men on board them — not the amateur yachtsmen who disport themselves on these waterways in summer — and when the wherries were within a hundred yards of the bridge, down came their heavy sails and masts
Round-t(Kvcred Church, near Acle.
and they sped under the low, narrow arch as easily as swallows. Glad I was when I had crossed the bridge and found shelter and warmth at the Angel Inn ; though my pleasure was marred by finding myself close on the heels of a marshland tragedy. Scarcely had I doffed my dripping garments and wiped the raindrops from my face, when two young wherrymen entered the inn. They had come to take charge of a wherry moored near the bridge. During rough weather an old man, who, with his wife, had sailed the wherry for many years, had fallen overboard. He was a good swimmer, but in falling struck his
AROUND ACLE
CHAP.
head against a balk, and stunned by the blow was unable to make a fight for his life. So he was drowned; and the two young fellows were to succeed him and his wife as the wherry's crew. They seemed little affected by the old man's death, and laughed when they heard that his wife after re- moving her belongings, had, through force of habit, locked the cabin door, so that they could not get in without breaking the lock.
There are white-sailed pleasure wherries among the dingier trading craft at Acle Bridge to day, and the little village has
Acle Bridge.
received an appreciable addition to its population in the shape of one or two cruising parties who have come ashore to explore the neighbourhood. There is not much for them to see. The ruins of Weybridge Priory — one of the several religious houses founded by the Bigods — are very scanty and not worth going out of one's way to visit. But Acle is a favourite yachting centre, for St. Benet's Abbey is only a few miles up the river, and beyond the abbey are the largest and loveliest of the Norfolk broads. Recollecting delightful days spent on these beauti- ful lagoons, I am almost moved to stay here a few days, even if I have to sleep in a hayloft and perform my ablutions
iv ACLE TO NORWICH 103
at the village pump. A blue-jersied broadsman lounging by the bridge is enthusiastic over the merits of the " best little four-tonner in Broadland " ; in the Angel bar-room some anglers are rejoicing over the excellence of the local fishing. Slow- flowing river, sunny meads, grazing cattle, whispering reeds, and songful birds, all unite in tempting me to linger here — to keep away from the hot, dusty city ; but with an effort I resist them. Amid the pastures and cornfields, I try to forget that I am abandoning the sleepy lowlands for busy streets, yachts for cabs, and thatched homesteads for electric lighted hotels ; but when I have passed through Burlingham, and see the land sloping downward to the misty, leafy valley of the Yare, I can think of nothing in the cathedral city that will com- pensate me for the absence of the sedge warblers and the summer wind whispering through the reeds. So when at length I get a glimpse of the cathedral spire, apparently rising from the midst of a dense grove of trees, it is the most laggard of wayfarers who enters suburban Thorpe and sees the hedges give way to houses, and the farm waggons to electric trams.
But this Norwich is a grand old city, and if these were not the golden days of summer, and I had not so many miles to travel and so many pleasant places to see, I might well rest content if I ended my journeyings here, and devoted the rest of this book to an attempt to do something like justice to its cathedral, castle, fine old churches, and long roll of famous citizens. For many centuries it has been the chief town of East Anglia. Even so long ago as the days of the Iceni there was a large settlement here, and the Romans, when they sailed up the great estuary Gariensts, considered the place of sufficient importance to deserve the protection of one of their strongest camps. Later on the East Anglian kings held their courts on the great mound of unknown origin on which the castle stands, and when the castle was built, the city became the seat of the great Norman lords who ruled over Eastern England. After the Norman era — during which Ralph de Guader rebelled against
104 GROWTH OF NORWICH CHAP.
the Conqueror, the Bigods built their strongholds and founded many religious houses, and Lozinga removed the see of East Anglia from Thetford to Norwich and began that " Norman masterwork " the cathedral — the city fast increased in size and importance, until a time came when every leading Norfolk family felt bound to have a town house here, and only the lack of a court and king's palace made the citizens grudgingly ad- mit that they were not quite so well off as those of London. The Erpinghams and Fastolffs, Boleyns and Pastons seldom cared to make the long journey to London when they could meet here and enjoy almost all the pleasures and advantages of London life. Men renowned for their learning early helped to extend the city's fame. Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey, whose life came to a tragic end on the Tower Hill, had a house in Surrey Street and another on Household Heath. Dr. Caius lived here in the sixteenth century ; and a little later Sir Thomas Browne left Shipley Hall and settled down to spend the rest of his days in a house which stood in the market place, near St. Peter Mancroft Church. Modern alterations have obliter- ated most of the traces of the existence here of those dis- tinguished citizens, but cannot erase their names from the roll of fame. The reputation they gained for the old city was well maintained in later years by Borrow, Crome, the Martineaus, Cotman, the Opies, the Gurneys, and other members of that noted coterie which had its headquarters here during the latter part of the eighteenth and the early years of the nine- teenth centuries. The Norwich School of Artists, founded by " Old Crome," has given us works which are among the most prized art treasures of England.
East Anglia has been prolific of painters, some of whom have_ become world-famous. Gainsborough was born at Sudbury ; Constable was the son of a miller who lived at East Bergholt, on the Suffolk bank of the Stour ; Crome's father was a journeyman weaver who kept an inn in one of the most disreputable quarters of Norwich ; and Cotman was the son of
IV
EAST ANGLIAN ARTISTS
105
Bishop's Bridge, and the Cathedral, Norwich.
a Norwich silk-mercer. In the cases of Crome and Constable, and, in a less degree, in that of Cotman, these artists found
106 OLD CROME CHAP.
inspiration in the familiar scenes of their loved home-land. Constable's famous pictures, the "Valley Farm," the " Cornfield," and the "Hay Wain," all of which are in the National Gallery, were painted not far from the banks of the river by which he spent his childhood ; Crome found the subjects for his " Windmill," " Mousehold Heath," and " Poringland Oak " in the neighbourhood of his native city. When Crome was a sign-painter's apprentice, he and his friend Ladbrooke, who was a printer's apprentice, lived together in a garret and devoted their spare time to copying prints. Now and again, when he could afford a holiday, Crome would ramble into the country and paint rural pictures, using an oyster shell for a palette. Everything was against his work ever rising above mediocrity : his general education had been of the scantiest, and for a long time the master sign painter was his only instructor in art matters. William Beechey says that " Crome, when first I knew him, must have been about twenty years old, and was a very awkward, uninformed country lad, but extremely shrewd in all his remarks upon art, though he wanted words and terms to express his meaning." Both Crome and Ladbrooke, however, forced their way to the front, and in after years when George Borrow wished to im- press upon his artist brother the needlessness of looking abroad for models when there were Gainsborough and Hogarth at home, and a living master in his own city, he thus declaimed " A living master ? Why there he comes ! thou hast had him long, he has long guided thy young hand towards the excellence which is yet far from thee, but which thou canst attain if thou shouldst persist and wrestle, even as he has done, midst gloom and despondency — ay, and even contempt ; he who now comes up the creaking stair to thy little studio in the second floor to inspect thy last effort before thou departest, the little stout man whose face is very dark, and whose eye is vivacious ; that man has attained excellence, destined some day to be acknowledged, though not
IV
OLD CROME
107
till he is cold, and his mortal part returned to its kindred clay. He has painted, not pictures of the world, but English pictures,
The River, Norwich.
such as Gainsborough himself might have done; beautiful rural pictures, with trees which might well tempt the little birds
io8 SIR THOMAS BROWNE CHAP.
to perch upon them : thou needst not run to Rome, brother, where lives the old Mariolater, after pictures of the world, whilst at home there are pictures of England ; nor needst thou even go to London, the big city, in search of a master, for thou hast one at home in the old East Anglian town who can instruct thee whilst thou needst instruction : better stay at home, brother, at least for a season, and toil and strive, 'midst groanings and despondency, till thou hast attained excellence even as he has done — the little dark man with the brown coat and the top-boots, whose name will one day be considered the chief ornament of the old town, and whose works will at no distant period rank amongst the proudest pictures of England — and England against the world ! — thy master, my brother, thy, at present, all too little considered master — Crome."
Borrow's ideas about art may not find general acceptance in art circles ; but he was right about Crome's posthumous fame. Not every one will agree with him when he says that the painter's name will one day be the city's " chief oinament." Some, undoubtedly, will consider that modern pilgrims to Norwich should make their way to St Peter Mancroft, and read a tablet there, before entering St. George Colegate and finding out the monument to Old Crome. For in St. Peter Mancroft were interred the remains of Sir Thomas Browne, and Sir Thomas Browne was one of the most learned men who ever dwelt in this grand old city. But Sir Thomas was not, like Crome, a native of the place : it was not until he was in his thirty-third year that he took up his abode here. His fame chiefly rests upon his Religio ^fedici and Enquiry into Vulgar Errors ; but as a Norfolk man I may perhaps be forgiven if I like to think of him as an antiquary as well as a philosopher, and a naturalist as well as a scholar. I envy Evelyn his ex- periences on that morning when he called upon Sir Thomas and was shown "a collection of all the eggs of all the foule and birds he could procure," and was told that " that country, especially the promontory of Norfolck," was "frequented
SIR THOMAS BROWNE
109
Market Place and St. Peter Mancroft Church, Norwich.
by several kinds, which seldom or never go further into the land, as cranes, storkes, eagles, and a variety of water foule." After the learned doctor's death several treatises on the birds
i io SIR THOMAS'S BONES CHAP.
and fishes of Norfolk were found among his papers, giving evidence of his delight in acquainting himself with the wild life of the county's rivers, shores, and marshes. He was the most renowned antiquary of his day. If an urn were un- earthed at Old Walsingham or Caister, or a Roman coin at Thetford, he was sure to hear of it. It was the digging up of some funeral urns near Norwich that suggested the writing of his famous Urn Burial. Such a subject could not but have/ a fascination for a mind such as his, for, as the late John Addington Symonds says, it is around such topics that " his thought eddies like a dark and swirling stream," adding that " there is Something inconclusive in the habit of his fancy, a delight in intellectual twilight, a moth-like flitting to and fro in regions where no certainty can be attained."
" When the furneral pyre was out, and the last valediction over," wrote Sir Thomas in an " Epistle Dedicatory " at the beginning of Urn Burial, " men took a lasting adieu of their interred friends, little expecting the curiosity of future ages should comment upon their ashes ; and, having no old experi- ences of the duration of their relicks, held no opinion of such after considerations. But who knows the fate of his bones, or how often he is to be buried? Who hath the oracle of his ashes or whither they are to be scattered ? " It would almost seem that Sir Thomas, when he wrote those words, was thinking of the possible fate of his own bones. At any rate, many readers of his works must have been struck with the truth of them when they read of what occurred at Norwich in 1840, just a hundred and fifty-eight years after his death. I quote from the Gentleman's Magazine: — "Some workmen, who were employed in digging a vault in the chancel of the church of St Peter Mancroft, Norwich, accidentally broke with a blow of the pickaxe the lid of a coffin, which proved to be that of one whose residence within its walls conferred honour on Norwich in old times. This circumstance afforded me an opportunity of inspecting the remains. The bones of the
iv SIR THOMAS'S BONES in
skeleton were found to be in good preservation, particularly those of the skull. The forehead was remarkably low and depressed, the head unusually long, the back part exhibiting
The Castle, Norwich.
an uncommon appearance of depth and capaciousness. . . . Instead of restoring the remains to the grave, the sexton dishonestly appropriated the skull and hair, which he offered
112 NORWICH CASTLE CH. iv
for sale, and they were purchased by a Dr. Lubbock, in whose collection they remained until the year 1847, when they were presented to the Norfolk and Norwich Hospital Museum. It is said that Sir Thomas Browne's skull is exhibited with the remains of the malefactors who were executed in front of Norwich Castle."
J
When one sees how the square old castle, raised on its prehistoric mound, dominates its surroundings, it is impossible not to regret that its history is so incommensurate with its structural dignity. For since the death of the last of the Bigods no event of historical importance, save the hanging of the unfortunate Kett, has been connected with it, and even before 1345, when it was turned into a county gaol, it played only a small part in the making of East Anglian history. True, in the eleventh century, when Ralph de Guader was its Constable, his wife held it for three months against the King's troops ; and in the thirteenth century it was for a while in the possession of Louis, the French Dauphin ; but that is practic- ally all the old chroniclers have to tell us concerning it. For more than five hundred years it was a gaol ; and it is only of late years, since it has contained the finest museum outside the metropolis, that it has possessed other interest than attaches to its grim old Norman keep and dismal dungeons. As a museum it is likely to attain to an importance far greater than is conferred upon it by its historical associations.
It is an imposing structure ; but the castle itself consists 01 only the old keep ; all the rest of the buildings on the castle mound are of comparatively recent date. The view from the battlements is a grand one, for the castle stands in the centre of the city, and all the city's important buildings can be seen from it. Indeed, if I were a stranger in Norwich, and had only a little time in which to see the city, I would, I think, content myself with this view of it, and leave the place conscious of having seen almost everything a stranger here could
The Nave of Norwich Cathedral
ii4 NORWICH CASTLE HILL CHAP.
wish to see. Even if I came away with only vague impressions of many of the buildings I had gazed upon, I could not help being struck with the extent and charming surroundings of the Norfolk capital. Norwich has been called the "City of Churches " and the " City in an Orchard." How well these names apply to it can only be appreciated by those who see it from the battlements of the keep. Look upon the city wherever you will and you will see church towers standing out boldly above the roofs of the houses ; and beyond them that sylvan, heathland, and pastoral scenery amid which Crome found the subjects of his greatest pictures. Away beyond the cathedral the heather and gorse-clad heights of Mousehold are backed by pleasant woodlands ; eastward is the sunlit valley of the Yare. Right at your feet is that famous cattle mart where Borrow, escaped from his desk in a lawyer's office, fraternised with the horse-dealing gipsies from the historical heath. On Saturdays, when the mart is thronged with cattle and dealers, you have little difficulty in imagining the scene it presented in Borrow's day; and a glimpse of a swarthy face among many ruddy ones may help you to understand the feelings of the silent, moody youth who saw some strange-looking men on horseback forcing their way through the crowd. "They are widely different in their appearance from the other people of the fair ; not so much in dress, for they are clad something after the fashion of rustic jockeys, but in their look — no light brown hair have they, no ruddy cheeks, no blue quiet glances belong to them ; their features are dark, their locks long, black, and shining, and their eyes are wild; they are admirable horsemen, but they do not sit the saddle in the manner of common jockeys, they seem to float or hover upon it, like gulls upon the waves ; two of them are mere striplings, but the third is a very tall man with a countenance heroically beautiful, but wild, wild, wild." And a few minutes later, here on the Castle Hill, the youthful sapengro, or snake-charmer, of Norman Cross again meets Jasper Petulengro, his " pal,"
NORWICH CATHEDRAL
Tombland, Norwich.
The cathedral s story goes some way to make up for the lack of stirring episodes in the castle's history. Its founding
I 2
u6 LIVELY MONKS CHAP.
was contemporary with that of an adjoining monastery whose occupants seem to have been active and sturdy representatives of the church militant. Very soon after the monastery was established the monks got on bad terms with the citizens, mainly, it appears, on account of disputes as to the citizens' right to interfere with what went on within the monastery, and claims concerning a piece of open ground still known as Tombland, which was close to the monks' quarters. On this open space an annual fair was held for several centuries, and in the thirteenth century fair day seldom passed without a set-to — a sort of town and gown affair — between the citizens and the monks or the monks' retainers. At length feeling ran so high that the contests, instead of being simply boisterous, became bloody, and several citizens were killed. This naturally exas- perated the Norwich people, who got a warrant issued for the arrest of the slayers ; but the monks, secure behind their strong, high walls, not only laughed at the warrant, but amused themselves by stoning and shooting at such careless citizens as tried to take a quiet stroll across Tombland. The quarrel reached a climax on the Sunday before St. Lawrence's Day, 1272, when the monks sallied forth in force and gave the citizens the liveliest of times, killing some, plundering the houses of others, and generally diverting themselves in a manner which in monks was surprising. They ended the day in a tavern, and after a jovial carouse, in which they laughed and quaffed as long as they were able, returned home and rendered to the prior an account of their day's doings. That day's diversion proved more than the citizens could stand — it was the proverbial last straw. The magistrates sent a message to the King, telling him what had happened ; and then called a mass meeting of citizens to consider how they might best defend themselves against monkish vagaries. The meeting must have been well attended, and the citizens surprised at their strength in numbers, for instead of discussing the matter which had brought them together they went in a
IV A MILITANT BISHOP 117
body to the monastery, burnt the close-gates and an adjoining church, set fire to several of the conventual buildings, and carried off all the valuables they could lay hands on. Several of the clerks and laymen were killed, but the prior contrived to escape to Yarmouth, where he raised an armed force and led it against the Norwich citizens. Having done his best to prove to them how dangerous it was to attack the church or its representatives, he withdrew from the city to await the intervention of the King. The latter called a meeting of the hierarchy, and as a result of its investigations all persons con- cerned in the riots were excommunicated and several of the ringleaders either hanged or dragged about the streets by horses till they died. The prior was sent to prison, for it was agreed that his conduct before the outbreak had not been all it ought to have been. The citizens were ordered to contribute three thousand marks towards the restoration of the cathedral, and to pay one hundred pounds for a new pix.
About a century later another militant churchman, Henry le Spencer, Bishop of Norwich, distinguished himself by his personal prowess in arms and skill as a leader of men. The event which brought him to the front, and gave him an opportunity for displaying his martial enterprise, was a local in- surrection contemporary with those of Jack Straw and Wat Tyler. Excessive taxation, and the prospect of its becoming even more unbearable, led to the peasants' rising. In Suffolk they flocked to the standard of Jack Straw, but in Norfolk their chosen leader was a certain John Littester, a Norwich dyer. Apparently, however, he was only intended to be a temporary commander, for Froissart tells us that the rebels were very anxious that Sir Robert Salle, the Governor of Norwich, who was the handsomest and strongest man in England, but " not by birth a gentleman," should become their leader. With a view to ascertaining his feelings, Sir Robert was sent for, and as the rebels threatened to attack and burn the city if he
SIR ROBERT SALLE
CHAl'.
refused to come to them, he thought it best to visit their camp. He was received with every mark of respect and courtesy, and
S>* •«> -
^v>\\^^v\\v-s'- °< v^Vv^'^^v^\*r ^^x-v • --
In the Close, Norwich.
thus addressed : — ' Robert, you are a knight and a man ot great weight in this county, renowned for your valour ; yet, notwithstanding all this, we know who you are : you are not a
1V SIR ROBERT'S DEATH 119
gentleman, but the son of a poor mason, just as ourselves. Do you come with us as our commander, and we will make so great a lord of you that one quarter of England shall be under your command."
The rebels either mistook their man or (which seems equally likely) rubbed him the wrong way. Anyhow, his mind was soon made up, and, in spite of his precarious position, he let them have it straight from the shoulder. " Begone," he said, " wicked scoundrels and false traitors as you are ; would you have me desert my natural lord for such blackguards as you are? Would you have me dishonour myself? I would much rather you were all hanged, for that must be your end." And then, says Froissart, " he attempted to mount his horse ; but, his foot slipping in the stirrup, his horse took fright. Then they shouted out and cried 'Put him to death.' When he heard this he let his horse go; and drawing a handsome Bordeaux sword, he began to skirmish, and soon cleared the crowd from about him, that it was a pleasure to see. Some attempted to close with him ; but with each stroke he gave he cut off heads, arms, feet, or legs. There were none so bold but were afraid ; and Sir Robert that day performed marvellous feats of arms. These wretches were upwards of 40,000 : they shot and flung at him such things that had he been clothed with steel instead of being unarmed he must have been over- powered : however, he killed twelve of them, besides many whom he wounded. At last he was overthrown, when they cut off his legs and arms, and his body into piece-meals."
For an account of Bishop Spencer's suppression of the revolt, we must turn to the writings of Thomas de Walsingham, where we learn that Littester, who styled himself the King of the Commons, carried things with a high hand and compelled several Norfolk knights to act as his servants. For a while he and his followers did very much as they liked ; but their conduct at length became so outrageous that Bishop Spencer thought they had gone far enough, and determined to put
120 JOHN LITTESTER'S DEFEAT CHAP.
an end to their lawless actions. The knights and other county gentlemen, who seem to have stood in awe of the rebels, were glad to support the priest-militant who " wore a helmet and a coat of mail, and carried a sword in his hand," and he soon got together an army strong enough to justify him in taking to the field. At the head of this army he marched to North Walsham, near which town the rebels were encamped. He found they had " surrounded their encampment with a deep fosse, over which they had placed tables and windows, and doors and pales, as an additional defence ; and in the rear he saw their waggons and carts, for they little thought of flight." Their confident air and defiant attitude enraged the belligerent bishop, who ordered the trumpets to sound the charge, seized a lance, set spurs to his horse, and rushed so impetuously at the foe that he reached the summit of their defences before the arrows of his own archers. Incited by his example, his followers were soon engaged in a hand to hand fight with the rebels in the fosse. " The martial prelate," says Thomas de Walsing- ham, " grinding his teeth like a wild boar, and sparing neither himself nor his enemies, wherever he saw his troops in danger instantly directed all his energies to that point, stabbing one, knocking down another, and wounding a third ; nor did he relax his exertions till all his soldiers had cleared the fosse and were ready for the conflict. Then followed a fierce conflict on both sides, but at length the people gave way, and as their carts and waggons hindered their flight in that direction, tried to scramble through the neighbouring woods ; but the Bishop, like an experienced general, frustrated their object, and having captured the principal leaders, including John Littester their King, gained a complete victory."
Content with having played with effect the part of a military commander, the Bishop then became a priest again, and devoted himself to preparing John Littester, "the Idol of Norfolk," for his inevitable fate. He received his confession, granted him absolution, and afterwards accompanied him to
IV BISHOP HALL 121
his execution, and supported him when he was dragged to the gibbet.
A later bishop of Norwich was even more skilled with the pen than was Bishop Spencer with the sword, and his satire, while all in good taste, was quite as keen as the earlier prelate's
Erpingliam Gate, Norwich.
weapon. This was Bishop Hall, who, in addition to his satirical works, wrote Hard Measure, that notable complaint concerning the treatment he had received on account of his championship of the cause of Prelacy. His old palace is still standing at Heigham, and is known as the Dolphin Inn. It is a delightfully picturesque building, and has more the
122 A MATCH-MAKING MINISTER CHAP.
appearance of an old coaching inn than a palace. If it were not so far from the city it would probably be as famous and flourishing an inn as the old Maid's Head in Tombland, which is one of the most ancient inns in England, and claims to date from 1287. Long before Bishop Hall came to Norwich he held a living in what he calls " that sweet and civil county of < Suffolk," where a brother divine, taking compassion upon the " uncouth solitariness " of his life, set himself the task of finding him a wife. He said nothing about his matrimonial project, however, until one day when he and Hall were on their way to a certain wedding-feast. As they approached the house where the festival was to be held, Hall's attention was drawn to a " comely and modest gentlewoman " standing at the door. He asked his friend if he knew her, and received the astonish- ing response, " Yes, I know her, and have bespoken her for your wife." Hall naturally wished for an explanation, and the match making minister told him that the gentlewoman he so much admired was the daughter of Mr. George Whinniff, of Brettenham, a gentleman to whom he had already suggested the alliance and who was quite prepared to agree to it Hall, who all his life was for peace and quietness, and probably at the end of his days had experienced as little of either as any man, presumably could not find it in his heart to dash the hopes and upset the schemes of a friend so solicitous cf his comfort and interest. So having satisfied himself that the " modesty, piety, good disposition, and other virtues that were lodged in that seemly presence " had not been unduly exagger- ated, he assented to the match made for him, and "upon due prosecution " of his suit, " happily prevailed, enjoying the comfortable society of that meet-help for the space of forty- nine years."
Writing of the old monks and bishops of Norwich reminds me of a legend which, if it were true, would go some way to prove that the Norwich monks were not only often at logger- heads with the citizens on account of land disputes, but
iv AN AMOROUS FRIAR 123
sometimes caused unpleasantness by their too kindly interest in the citizens' women-folk. According to the legend, even the famous Sir Thomas Erpingham — he who fought at Agincourt and built the beautiful gate of which Norwich is justly proud — had cause to complain of their amorous proclivities. For we are told that when he returned home from the wars and settled down at Norwich his lady was bothered by the attentions of a certain Friar John, who became enamoured of her beauty and at length addressed a letter to her in which he asked for a meeting. This interesting missive Dame Erpingham, like a dutiful spouse, handed to her husband, who replied to it on her behalf, fixed a place of meeting, and, to the monastic Tartuffe's amazement and discomfiture, kept it in person and proceeded to give him the drubbing he well deserved. Unfortunately, Sir John allowed his indignation to exceed his discretion, for he finished his belabouring by bestowing upon the friar a buffet which knocked out what little life was left in him. Then, anxious to avoid suspicion of having caused his death, he instructed a faithful servant to hoist Friar John's body over the monastery wall and place it, in a sitting posture, in one of the out-buildings. Here it was seen by Friar Richard, an old enemy of Friar John, who, as the latter seemed unaware of his presence, seized the opportunity and threw a brick at him. The brick struck the dead monk's body, which fell to the ground ; and Friar Richard, fearful of being accused of the murder, dropped the body over the monastery wall.
Not long afterwards Sir Thomas Erpingham's retainer chanced to come by, and was amazed to find the body he thought he had satisfactorily disposed of. Knowing that he was relied upon to divert all suspicion from his master, he conjured his brain till he thought of another plan for getting rid of the corpse. At last an idea struck him. Fetching a suit of rusty mail, he dressed the dead monk in it, placed him on the back of a worn-out horse which was grazing near the monastery, and there left him. Meanwhile Friar Richard, much troubled by an
124 THE BOY MARTYR CHA!>.
uneasy conscience, had decided to flee from the city. As an excuse for leaving the monastery, he suggested he should go out for some meal. Having obtained permission to do so, he took some meal bags, mounted a horse, and set out with the avowed intention of riding to a mill. Scarcely had he left the monastery gate when he heard the clattering of hoofs behind him, and, looking back, was horrified to find himself pursued by a mounted, mail-clad warrior. Urging his horse to the utmost the friar fled ; but his pursuer gradually gained upon him, and at length the two steeds came in contact. Then the mailed rider fell to the ground, his helmet came off, and the face of Friar John was revealed. This unaccountable encounter so terrified Friar Richard that he went straight away and confessed the crime he believed himself guilty of, and would in all probability have been executed if Sir Thomas Erpingham had not heard of his trouble, and explained the real circumstances of the monk's death. Unfortunately, a similar story to this is told of other knights and friars in other countries than England.
A story without the humorous relief which enlivens that of Dame Erpingham and Friar John is that of " St. William the Boy and Martyr," a youthful saint to whom there was once a shrine here. Blomefield tells us that this William was the son of a certain Wenstan and Elwina, daughter of Welward the Priest, and that he was bound apprentice to a Norwich tanner. For some reason or other this unlucky boy excited the ire of the local Jews, who about Eastertide enticed him into a house and there "gagged him, bound, mocked, and crucified him with great torment, wounding him on his left side." Having killed him, they placed his body in a sack and bore it secretly into the midst of Thorpe Wood, hoping to be able to bury it un- observed. But as they entered the wood they were seen by one Eilward, a Norwich citizen, who, suspicious of their strange move- ments and curious as to what was in the sack, silently followed them until he ascertained that they were hiding a human body.
iv MOUSEHOLD HEATH 125
His surprise at this discovery betrayed his presence to the murderers, who, fearing they might be caught with the body in their possession, fled with it into the darkest depths of the wood and there hanged it on a tree. Returning home, they took counsel with other Jews as to how they might escape the just punishment of their crime. As a result of their discussions the city sheriff was approached and offered a hundred marks if he would " free them from their danger." This the corrupt official agreed to do, and sending for Eilward, forced him to take oath that he would never so long as he lived reveal what he had seen or accuse the Jews of the murder. For five years Eilward kept his oath ; but on his death-bed, haunted by his recollections of the crime, he disburdened his soul of its secret. Apparently Thorpe Wood was in those days (some nine hundred years ago) little frequented, for the body of the murdered boy had remained there undiscovered ; but it was now found and interred in the monastery bury ing-ground. There it rested until 1150; but many miracles having by that time been wrought by it, it was then removed into the monastery church and enshrined. And, says Blomefield, " the boy-saint became so famous for the many miracles said to be wrought here, that Thomas, a monk of Monmouth, who was by his abbot assigned to write history (the italics are Blomefield's), pitched upon this fact, it being done in his own time, and accordingly he wrote seven books about William the Boy and Martyr and one about the Miracles done by him."
Late in the afternoon I cross the old Bishop's Bridge — on which, in the thirteenth century, a hermit lived — and climb the hill-road leading on to Mousehold Heath. The setting sun shines warmly on the gorsy hillocks ; but into the dingles where Borrow's gipsy friends, the Petulengros, used to camp, the shadows are creeping, silencing the linnets and whinchats whjch have flitted from bush to bush all through the summer
126 KETT'S REBELLION CHAP.
day. Leaving the footpath I ramble knee-deep in bracken and ling into the midst of the heath, meeting only two schoolboys who are peering into the gorse-clumps in search of linnets' nests. Wishing to get away from every indication of modern cultivating of this wide stretch of heathland, I hasten on until I have left the new shrubberies and rows of rhododendrons behind me. Then I can form some idea of what Household was like three centuries and a half ago, when it was the scene of one of the most shameful battles ever fought in England. As I climb the knolls on which the followers of Kelt, the Wymondham tanner, encamped during nine eventful weeks of a long-gone summer, I ask myself what the men in the great cavalry barracks yonder would say if ordered to slay thousands of Norfolk peasants who were willing to return to their homes if only they were granted a few reasonable reforms. But I forget. They were not English soldiers, but for the most part foreign mercenaries who fought the Norfolk rebels. Still they were in the army of an English King and fought under English commanders.
It is a sad story — one of the saddest in the history of Eastern England since the Romans failed to respect the trust of Prasulagus, King of the Iceni, and wrested the country from the hands of his widowed queen. The Norfolk rebellion was the natural result of harsh treatment and many grievances. For a long time discontent had smouldered in the county, or only found expression in fireside growlings and muttered curses upon the " covetous cormorants," as Bernard Gilpin called the lords of the manors, who took it for " no offence to turn poor men out of their lands." But in the summer of 1549 the smouldering fire burst into flame. At Wymond- ham, Attleborough, Eccles, and Hethersett, bands of deter- mined rustics armed themselves with pikes and scythes and swore to abolish certain abuses existing in church and state. Robert Kelt, a tanner by trade, but a man of some means and education, was elected their leader, and under his direction
IV
KETT'S REBELLION
the bands united and marched through Norwich to Mouse- hold Heath. At first some sort of order was preserved among the insurgents ; but their assembling led to the congregating of a host of questionable characters, glad of any excuse for indulging in robbery and debauchery. In a few days 20,000 men were encamped on the heath, where they built themselves turf huts and roofed them with boughs. Their presence was very unwelcome to the Norwich citizens, for Kett converted the Earl of Surrey's fine mansion into a gaol and imprisoned
Norwich from Mouse/told Heath.
in it all the leading gentlemen of the county he could capture. Among them was the Mayor of the city, who was brought out of prison from time to time and compelled to assist at a court which Kett held daily under a tree called the Oak of Reform- ation. Many depredations were undoubtedly committed, both in Norwich and the surrounding district ; but these were probably the result of hunger or the work of the thievish rapscal- lions who had joined the reformers. As Mr. Froude remarks, " Considering the wild character of the assemblage, the order
128 A PATHETIC PETITION CHAP.
observed was remarkable." There is no reason for doubting that Kett and the better informed of his supporters were dis- inclined to resort to strong measures unless an unsatisfactory answer was made to a petition they had sent to the King.
That petition is a pathetic document, and many writers have done Kett and his followers an injustice in ignoring its existence. It contains a list of the grievances under which the Norfolk peasants were labouring; and to modern minds it may well seem amazing that neither King, Privy Council, nor Parliament were able to discover means by which the peti- tioners' wrongs might be redressed, their anger appeased, and bloodshed avoided. The peasants pleaded that lords of manors should be prevented from enclosing any more common-lands ; that " rede-grounde and meadowe grounde may be at suche price as they were in the first yere of King henry the seventh ; that all bushells within your realm be of one slice, that is to say, to be in measure eight gallons ; that prests or vicars that be not able to preche and sett forth the woorde of God to hys parisheners may be thereby putt from hys benyfice ; that all bonde men may be ffre, for God made all ffre with hys precious blode sheddyng ; that all ryvers may be ffre and comon to all men for fyshyng and passage ; that the pore mariners or fysher- mene may have whole profights of their fyshyngs as purpses (porpoises), grampes (grampuses), whalles, or any grett fyshe, so it be not prejudicall to your grace ; " that in every parish some one might be appointed to " teche pore mens chyldren of ther paryshe the boke called the Cathakysme and the prymer " — but I cannot go on through the whole Harleian manuscript. Suffice it to say, there was no reform suggested or benefit asked that did not deserve the careful consideration of the authori- ties.
The King, we are told, looked upon it as an indignity to his person that such a petition should be addressed to him ; but he promised that if the peasants returned to their homes and gathered in the harvest, he would approach Parliament and see
IV KETT REBELLION 129
what could be done in the way of reforms. Kett may have been willing to await the fulfilment of this promise ; but some of his followers had, by the time it was made, got out of hand and were scouring the country, burning and pillaging as they went. Still, the greater number of them remained on Mouse- hold, where, on a July day, a herald arrived and promised pardon to " all that wolde humbly submit themselves and de- part quietly every man to his howse to enjoye the benefyt there- of." A few weak spirits were inclined to make the required sub- mission ; but the majority were of Kelt's opinion when he replied to the herald, " Kings are wont to pardon wicked persons — not innocent and just men. We have done nothing to deserve such pardon and have been guilty of no crime. We therefore despise such idle speeches as unprofitable to our purpose." After this the Norwich citizens were in worse trouble than ever, for the insurgents, getting impatient, resorted to bows and arrows instead of arguments. A small body of troops sent by the Privy Council, arid commanded by the Marquis of North- ampton, was defeated after some tough fighting, in which, according to an old chronicler, the rebels, " half dead, drowned in their own and other men's bloud, even to the last gasp, furiously withstood our men when they could scarce hold their weapons. Yea, many also strooken thorow the brests with swordes, and the synewes of their legs cut asunder, yet creeping on their knees, were mooved with such furie, as they wounded our souldiers lying amongst the slaine, almost without life." So these Norfolk peasants — men accustomed to handle only the spade and reaping-hook — fought for what they considered to be their just rights !
In the face of this defeat of its troops, the Privy Council could not but realise the seriousness of the Norfolk outbreak, and decided that there must be no more half measures — that the sturdy insurgents must be crushed by a strong force. So the Earl of Warwick, then about to lead an expedition into Scotland, was despatched to Norwich, and with him a consider-
K
130 BATTLE ON MOUSEHOLD CHAP.
able army, largely made up of foreign mercenaries. He found the city practically in the rebels' hands, and his soldiers had to make breaches in the walls before they could enter it. Even then his task was no easy one, for his troops, unacquainted with the highways and byways of the city, found it difficult to dislodge the bands of peasants who surprised them at street corners, and came down upon them from side streets and alleys. After a good deal of skirmishing, however, in which many lives were lost, Kelt's men were compelled to retreat to Dussyn's Dale, on Household, where they determined to make a stand, and risk everything in one last strenuous effort for victory.
The final battle was fought on an August day about two months after the raising of the standard of revolt. Setting fire to their turf huts, the insurgents, under cover of the smoke which drifted over the heath, swarmed down into the dale and attacked the Earl's army. From the outset of the conflict, the result was a foregone conclusion, for the Earl had received reinforcements since he entered the city, and as Kelt's followers had had no experience of artillery they were soon thrown into confusion. Still they fought desperately, and not until 2,000 — some say 3,000 and 3,500 — of them were slain did the rest surrender. The losses on the Earl's side were, in comparison, small ; but in the register of burials kept in St. Simon's Church is the following entry : —
Henry Wylby, of Middleton Hall, in the county of War-