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diff --git a/46716-0.txt b/46716-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..9442dd7 --- /dev/null +++ b/46716-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,7924 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Great North Road: London to York, by +Charles G. Harper + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most +other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of +the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at +www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have +to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. + + + + +Title: The Great North Road: London to York + The Old Mail Road to Scotland + + +Author: Charles G. Harper + + + +Release Date: August 28, 2014 [eBook #46716] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GREAT NORTH ROAD: LONDON TO +YORK*** + + +This ebook was transcribed by Les Bowler + + [Picture: Book cover] + + [Picture: Starting from G.P.O. in Lombard Street] + + + + + + _The_ + GREAT NORTH ROAD + + + The Old Mail Road to Scotland + + _By_ CHARLES G. HARPER + + * * * * * + + LONDON TO YORK + + * * * * * + + _Illustrated by the Author_, _and from old-time_ + _Prints and Pictures_ + + [Picture: Title Figure (man on bicycle)] + + LONDON: + CECIL PALMER + OAKLEY HOUSE, BLOOMSBURY STREET, W.C. 1 + + * * * * * + + _First published in_ 1901 + _Second and Revised edition_, 1922 + + * * * * * + + Printed in Great Britain by C. TINLING & Co., LTD., + 53, Victoria Street, Liverpool + and 187, Fleet Street, London. + + * * * * * + + IN LOVING MEMORY + OF + HERMAN MORONEY + + “_I expect to pass through this world but once_. _Any good_, + _therefore_, _I can do_, _or any kindness that I can show to any + fellow-creature_, _let me do it now_. _Let me not defer or neglect + it_, _for I shall not pass this way again_.” + + _Attributed to_ WILLIAM PENN. + + + + +PREFACE. + + + [Picture: Preface heading] + +_WHEN the original edition of the_ “GREAT NORTH ROAD” _was published—in_ +1901—_the motorcar was yet a new thing_. _It had_, _in November_, 1896, +_been given by Act of Parliament the freedom of the roads_; _but_, _so +far_, _the character of the nation’s traffic had been comparatively +little changed_. _People would still turn and gaze_, _interested_, _at a +mechanically-propelled vehicle_; _and few were those folk who had +journeyed the entire distance between London and Edinburgh in one of +them_. _For motor-cars were still_, _really_, _in more or less of an +experimental stage_; _and on any long journey you were never sure of +finishing by car what you had begun_. _Also_, _the speed possible was +not great enough to render such a long __journey exhilarating to modern +ideas_. _It is true that_, _the year before_, _the_ “_Automobile Club of +Great Britain and Ireland_,” _not yet become the_ “_Royal Automobile +Club_,” _had in its now forgotten role of a_ “_Society of Encouragement_” +_planned and carried out a_ “_Thousand Miles Tour_,” _which had Edinburgh +as its most northern point_; _but it was a very special effort_. _Those +who took part in it are not likely to forget the occasion_. + + * * * * * + +_To-day_, _all that is changed_. _Every summer_, _every autumn_, _sees +large numbers of touring automobiles on the way to Scotland and the +moors_, _filled with those who prefer the road_, _on such terms_, _to the +railway_. _From being something in the nature of a lonely highway_, _the +Great North Road has thus become a very much travelled one_. _In this +way_, _some of its circumstances have changed remarkably_, _and old-time +comfortable wayside inns that seemed to have been ruined for all time +with the coming of railways and the passing of the coaches have wakened +to a newer life_. _Chief among these is the_ “_Bell_” _on Barnby Moor_, +_just north of Retford_. _The story of its revival is a romance_. +_Closed about_ 1845, _and converted into a farm-house_, _no one would +have cared to predict its revival as an inn_. _But as such it was +reopened_, _chiefly for the use of motorists_, _in_ 1906, _and there it +is to-day_. + +_But_, _apart from the tarred and asphalted condition of the actual +roadway in these times_, _the route_, _all the way between London_, _York +and Edinburgh_, _looks much the same as it did_. _Only_, _where perhaps +one person might then know it thoroughly_, _from end to end_, _a hundred +are well acquainted with the way and its features_. _It is for those +many who now know the Great North Road that this new edition is +prepared_, _giving the story of the long highway between the two +capitals_. + + CHARLES G. HARPER. + +_April_, 1922. + + + + +THE GREAT NORTH ROAD + + + LONDON TO YORK + + MILES +Islington (the “Angel”) 1¼ +Highgate Archway 4¼ +East End, Finchley 5¾ +Brown’s Wells, Finchley Common (“Green Man”) 7 +Whetstone 9¼ +Greenhill Cross 10¼ +Barnet 11¼ +Hadley Green 12 +Ganwick Corner (“Duke of York”) 13 +Potter’s Bar 14¼ +Little Heath Lane 15¼ +Bell Bar (“Swan”) 17¼ +Hatfield 19¾ +Stanborough 21½ +Lemsford Mills (cross River Lea) 22¼ +Digswell Hill (cross River Mimram) 23¼ +Welwyn 25¼ +Woolmer Green 27¼ +Broadwater 29½ +Stevenage 31½ +Graveley 33½ +Baldock 37½ +Biggleswade (cross River Ivel) 45¼ +Lower Codicote 46¾ +Beeston Cross (cross River Ivel) 48¼ +Girlford 49¼ +Tempsford (cross River Ouse) 51 +Wyboston 54 +Eaton Socon 55¼ +Cross Hall 56¾ +Diddington 60 +Buckden 61¼ +Brampton Hut 63¾ +Alconbury 66¼ +Alconbury Weston 67 +Alconbury Hill (“Wheatsheaf”) 68 +Sawtry St. Andrews 71½ +Stilton 75½ +Norman Cross 76 +Kate’s Cabin 79½ +Water Newton 81¼ +Sibson 82 +Stibbington (cross River Nene) 83¾ +Wansford 84 +Stamford Baron (cross River Welland) 89 +Stamford 89½ +Great Casterton 91½ +Stretton 96 +Greetham (“New Inn”) 97½ +North Witham (“Black Bull”) 100½ +Colsterworth 102½ +Great Ponton 106¾ +Spitalgate Hill 109¾ +Grantham 110¼ +Great Gonerby 112 +Foston 116 +Long Bennington 118¼ +Shire Bridge (cross Shire Dyke) 120½ +Balderton (cross River Devon) 122¼ +Newark (cross River Trent) 124½ +South Muskham 127 +North Muskham 128 +Cromwell 130 +Carlton-on-Trent 131½ +Sutton-on-Trent 133 +Weston 134¾ +Scarthing Moor 135½ +Tuxford 137¾ +West Markham 139½ +Markham Moor 140½ +Gamston (cross Chesterfield Canal) 141½ +Retford (cross River Idle) 145 +Barnby Moor 148 +Torworth 149½ +Ranskill 150¼ +Scrooby 152 +Bawtry 153½ +Rossington Bridge (cross River Tome) 157¾ +Tophall 158¾ +Doncaster (cross River Don) 162¼ +Bentley 164 +Owston 167¾ +Askerne (cross River Went) 169¼ +Whitley (cross Knottingley and Goole Canal) 174 +Whitley Bridge 175 +Chapel Haddlesey (cross River Aire) 175½ +Burn (cross Selby Canal) 179¼ +Brayton 180¾ +Selby (cross River Ouse) 182¼ +Barlby 183¾ +Riccall 186 +Escrick 189¼ +Deighton 190½ +Gate Fulford 195 +York 196¾ + + + + + +CONTENTS. + + I Various Notes On Roads In General. 1 + II Road Construction And Makers. 10 + III Makers Of Coaches: G.P.O. Mails. 13 + IV Post Office History. 26 + V Stage Coach Timings. 33 + VI Travel Expenses And Difficulties. 39 + VII Journey Stages: Islington: Holloway. 49 + VIII Highgate: Dick Whittington. 53 + IX Highgate: Archway. 57 + X Highgate: Footpads. 61 + XI Finchley: Tally-Ho Corner And Common. 65 + XII Whetstone: Building Of New Road. 72 + XIII Barnet: Prize-Fighting. 75 + XIV Hadley Green: Potter’s Bar: Hatfield. 80 + XV Digswell Hill: Welwyn: Knebworth. 87 + XVI Stevenage: Posting Charges. 96 + XVII Baldock: Biggleswade: Tempsford. 101 + XVIII Some Cycling Records. Eaton Socon. 109 + XIX Buckden: Brampton: Matcham’s Bridge. 113 + XX Alconbury Hill: Stilton. 121 + XXI Norman Cross: Wansford: Burghley. 129 + XXII Stamford: Daniel Lambert. 145 + XXIII Stretton: Bloody Oaks: Ram-Jam Inn. 154 + XXIV Travellers. Some Road History. 164 + XXV Coming Of The Railways. 171 + XXVI Witham Common: Great Ponton. 175 + XXVII Grantham. 180 + XXVIII Oliver Cromwell: Gonerby Hill. 188 + XXIX Newark: Ringing For Gofer. 193 + XXX North And South Muskham. 203 + XXXI Retford. 210 + XXXII Barnby Moor: Scrooby. 213 + XXXIII Bawtry: Rossington Bridge. 222 + XXXIV Tophall: Doncaster: St. Leger. 226 + XXXV Askerne: Brayton: Selby. 235 + XXXVI Riccall: Invaders: York. 242 + + + + +LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS + + PAGE +To the North in the Days of Old: Mails starting Frontispiece +from the General Post Office, Lombard Street +Old and New Swan Nicks: Vintners’ Company 16 +Modern Sign of the “Swan with Two Necks” 17 +The “Spread Eagle,” Gracechurch Street 19 +The “Saracen’s Head,” Snow Hill 23 +The Mails starting from the General Post Office, 27 +1832 +The “Louth Mail” stopped by the snow 43 +Entrance to London from Islington, 1809 47 +Islington Green, 1820 50 +Old Highgate Archway, demolished 1897 63 +The Great Common of Finchley: A Parlous Place 67 +Turpin’s Oak 70 +“The Whetstone” 72 +High Street, Barnet 77 +Hadley Green: Site of the Battle of Barnet 81 +Old Toll House, Potter’s Bar 82 +Ganwick Corner 83 +Bell Bar 84 +Welwyn 89 +The “Six Hills,” Stevenage 95 +Trigg’s Coffin 102 +At the 39th Mile 106 +Biggleswade 108 +Buckden 115 +Matcham’s Bridge 119 +Alconbury Hill: Junction of the Great North Road 123 +and the North Road +The “Bell,” Stilton 127 +Norman Cross 129 +French Prisoners of War Monument, Norman Cross 132 +Sculptured Figure, Water Newton Church 133 +Water Newton Church 134 +Edmund Boulter’s Milestone 135 +The “Haycock,” Wansford 137 +Sign of the “Haycock” 138 +Wansford Bridge 139 +Burghley House, by Stamford Town 143 +Entrance to Stamford 147 +Stamford 151 +Daniel Lambert 152 +The “Highflyer,” 1840 155 +Bloody Oaks 157 +Interior of a Village Inn 159 +House, formerly the “Black Bull,” Witham Common 163 +Foster Powell 168 +Great Ponton 177 +Great Ponton Church 179 +The “Angel,” Grantham 182 +The “Wondrous Sign” 187 +Newark Castle 195 +Market Place, Newark 199 +Newark Castle 201 +Jockey House 210 +An Old Postboy: John Blagg 212 +Scrooby Church 216 +Scrooby Manor House 217 +The Stables, Scrooby Manor House 220 +The “Crown,” Bawtry 224 +Coach passing Doncaster Racecourse 229 +Brayton Church 237 +Market Place, Selby 239 +Micklegate Bar 245 +Micklegate Bar: Present Day 246 + + [Picture: Old steam train] + + + + +I. + + +THERE was once an American who, with cheap wit, expressed a fear of +travelling in the little island of Great Britain, lest he should +accidentally fall over the edge of so small a place. It is quite evident +that he never travelled the road from London to York and Edinburgh. + +You have to perform that journey to realise that this is, after all, not +so very small an island. It is not enough to have been wafted between +London and Edinburgh by express train—even although the wafting itself +takes seven hours and a half—for one to gain a good idea of the distance. +We will not take into consideration the total mileage between Dover and +Cape Wrath, which tots up to the formidable figure of eight hundred miles +or so, but will confine ourselves in these pages to the great road +between London and Edinburgh: to the Great North Road, in fact, which +measures, by way of York, three hundred and ninety-three miles. + +There are a North Road and a Great North Road. Like different forms of +religious belief, by which their several adherents all devoutly hope to +win to that one place where we all would be, these two roads eventually +lead to one goal, although they approach it by independent ways. The +North Road is the oldest, based as it is partly on the old Roman Ermine +Way which led to Lincoln. It is measured from Shoreditch Church, and +goes by Kingsland to Tottenham and Enfield, and so by Waltham Cross to +Cheshunt, Ware, and Royston, eventually meeting the Great North Road +after passing through Caxton and climbing Alconbury Hill, sixty-eight +miles from London. + +The Great North Road takes a very different route out of London. It was +measured from Hicks’s Hall, Smithfield, and, passing the “Angel” at +Islington, pursued a straight and continually ascending course for +Holloway and Highgate, going thence to Barnet, Hatfield, Welwyn, +Stevenage, Biggleswade, and Buckden to Alconbury; where, as just +remarked, the North Road merged into it. From London to Hadley Green, +just beyond Barnet, the Great North Road and the Holyhead Road are +identical. + +In these volumes we shall consistently keep to the Great North Road; +starting, however, as the record-making cyclists of late years have done, +from the General Post-office in St. Martin’s-le-Grand, to or from which, +or the neighbouring old inns, the coaches of the historic past came and +went. + +We travel with a light heart: our forbears with dismal forebodings, +leaving duly-executed and attested wills behind them. In the +comparatively settled times of from a hundred to two hundred years ago, +they duly returned, after many days: in earlier periods the home-coming +was not so sure a thing. + +These considerations serve to explain to the tourist and the cyclist, who +travel for the love of change and the desire for beautiful scenery, why +no one in the Middle Ages travelled from choice. From the highest to the +lowest, from the king in his palace to the peasant in his wattled hut, +every one who could do so stayed at home, and only faced the roads from +sheer necessity. No one appreciated scenery in those days; nor are our +ancestors to be blamed for their shortcomings in this respect, for +outside every man’s door lurked some danger or another, and when a man’s +own fireside is the only safe place he knows of, it is apt to appear to +him the most beautiful and the most desirable of spots. + +We cannot say whether the Romans appreciated scenery. If a love of the +wildly beautiful in nature is dependent upon the safety of those who +behold it, and upon the ease with which those scenes are visited, perhaps +only the later generations of Roman colonists could have possessed this +sense. The earlier Romans who made their splendid system of roads were, +doubtless, only military men, and, well aware of their dangers, found +nothing beautiful in mountain ranges. Their successors, however, during +four hundred years had leisure and plentiful opportunities of cultivating +taste, and travel was highly organised among them. A milliare, or +milestone, was placed at every Roman mile—4854 English feet—and +“mansiones,” or posting-stations, at distances varying from seven to +twenty miles. + +Roman roads were scientifically constructed. The following was the +formula:— + + I. Pavimentum, or foundation. Fine earth, hard beaten in. + II. Statumen, or bed of the road. Composed of large stones, + sometimes mixed with mortar. + III. Ruderatio. Small stones, well mixed with mortar. + IV. Nucleus. Formed by mixing lime, chalk, pounded brick, or + tile; or gravel, sand, and lime mixed with clay. + V. Summum Dorsum. Surface of the paved road. + +So thoroughly well was the work done that remains of these roads are even +now discovered, in a perfect condition, although buried from six to +fifteen feet, or even deeper, beneath the present surface of the land, +owing to the hundreds of years of neglect which followed the abandonment +of Britain, and the decay of Roman civilisation; a neglect which allowed +storms and the gradual effects of the weather to accumulate deposits of +earth upon these paved ways until they were made to disappear as +effectually as Pompeii and Herculaneum under the hail of ashes and lava +that hid those cities from view for eighteen hundred years. + +When that great people, the Romans, perished off the face of the earth, +and none succeeded them, their roads began to decay, their bridges and +paved fords were broken down or carried away by floods, and the rulers of +the nation were for over five hundred years too busily engaged in +subduing rebellions at home or in prosecuting wars abroad to attend to +the keeping of communications in proper repair. Social disorder, too, +destroyed roads and bridges that had survived natural decay and the +stress of the elements. Even those roads which existed in otherwise good +condition were only fair-weather highways. They were innocent of +culverts, and consequently the storm-water, which nowadays is carried off +beneath them, swept across the surface, and either carried it away or +remained in vast lakes on whose shores wayfarers shivered until the +floods had abated. Thieves and murderers were the commonplaces of the +roads, and signposts were not; so that guides—who at the best were +expensive, and at the worst were the accomplices of cutthroats, and lured +the traveller to their haunts—were absolutely necessary. + +To the relief of travellers in those times came the Church, for the civil +and secular power had not begun even to dream of road-making. The Church +did some very important things for travellers, praying for them, and +adjuring the devout to include them in their prayers for prisoners and +captives, the sick, and others in any way distressed. The very word +“travel” derives from _travail_, meaning labour or hardship. This alone +shows how much to be pitied were those whose business took them from +their own firesides. + +But to pray for them alone would not perhaps have been so very admirable, +and so the Church took the care of the roads on itself in a very special +sense. It granted indulgences to those who by their gifts or their +bodily labour helped to repair the highways, and licensed hermits to +receive tolls and alms from travellers over roads and bridges constructed +by the brethren, those revenues going towards the upkeep of the ways. +Benefactors to the Church frequently left lands and houses, whose +proceeds were to be applied for the same purpose; and for many years this +trust was respected, and all the road and bridge building and repairing +was done by the religious. By degrees, however, this trust was, if not +betrayed, allowed to gradually fall into neglect. False hermits set up +in remote places, away from the eyes of the bishops, and living idle and +dissolute lives on the alms they received, allowed roads and bridges +alike to fall into decay. These vicious, unlicensed hermits were great +stumbling-blocks to the godly in those times. They were often peasants +or workmen, who had observed how fat and idle a living was that gained by +those among the licensed who had betrayed their trust and fared +sumptuously on alms unearned, and so went and set up in the eremitical +profession for themselves. They fared well on bacon, had “fat chekus,” +toasted themselves before roaring fires in their too comfortable cells, +and lived “in ydelnesse and ese,” frequenting ale-houses and even worse +places. Accordingly many of them were eventually removed, or suffered +various punishments, and the neighbouring monasteries placed others in +their stead. + +By this time, however, the bishops and abbots, whose broad acres had +often come to them in trust for the welfare of the traveller, began to +forget their obligations. It was, of course, a natural process: the +possessions of the religious houses had grown enormously, but so also had +their hospitality to all and sundry. Travellers had increased, and as it +was a rule of conduct with the great abbeys to not only relieve the poor, +but also to entertain the great in those days before the rise of the +roadside hostelry, their resources must have been well exercised. +Meanwhile the statutes of the country had gradually been imposing the +care of the roads upon the laity, and at the time when the greater and +lesser monasteries were dissolved, in the reign of Henry the Eighth, +parishes and landowners were chiefly concerned in endeavouring to comply +with their new and strange obligations in keeping their ways passable. +Of course they did not succeed, and equally of course, because it was +impossible that they could, the pains and penalties threatened for foul +and dangerous roads were not enforced. + +A curious pamphlet on the condition of the roads in the seventeenth +century is that written by Thomas Mace, one of the “clerks” of Trinity +College, Cambridge, and published in 1675. Mace, there is no doubt, was +a man born out of his time. Had circumstances been propitious, he might +have become another and an earlier Macadam. His pamphlet, written both +in prose and verse, and addressed to the king, is styled _The Profit_, +_Conveniency_, _and Pleasure for the Whole Nation_, and is “a Discourse +lately presented to His Majesty concerning the Highways of England; their +badness, the causes thereof, the reasons of these causes, the +impossibility of ever having them well mended according to the old way of +mending; but may most certainly be done, and for ever so maintained +(according to this New Way) substantially, and with very much ease.” + +We find here, as in other publications until the mid-eighteenth century +was well past, that the country was for the most part unenclosed, so that +when the traffic had worn the old tracks into deep ruts, or when mud had +rendered them impassable, the wagons, carts, and laden horses were taken +round by the nearest firm spots. “Much ground,” says our author, “is now +spoiled and trampled down in all wide roads, where coaches and carts take +liberty to pick and chuse for their best advantages; besides, such +sprawling and straggling of coaches and carts utterly confound the road +in all wide places, so that it is not only unpleasurable, but extremely +perplexing and cumbersome both to themselves and to all horse +travellers.” + +These pickings and choosings were the original cause of the still +existing twists and turns in many of our roads. When we see an old road +winding snake-like through a flat country, with no hills or other obvious +reasons for its circuitous course, we may, in most cases, safely +attribute this apparent indecision and infirmity of purpose to these +ancient difficulties, thus perpetuated. + +This ancient state of things occasioned many disputes and even fatal +affrays between the packhorse men, who carried goods slung across their +horses’ backs from one part of the country to the other, and between the +market-folk and those who travelled on horseback and coaches. Mace would +himself seem to have experienced some of these contentions as to who +should take the clean and who the muddy part of the road, for he writes +with great bitterness about “these disturbances, daily committed by +uncivil, refractory, and rude, Russianlike rake-shames, in contesting for +the way.” + +“Hundreds of pack-horses,” he continues, “panniers, whifflers, coaches, +wagons, wains, carts, or whatsoever others,” fought and schemed for +precedence; and a horseman, his horse already exhausted by a long and +tedious journey, might, at the entrance to a town, especially on market +day, be compelled to go out of his way twenty times in one mile, owing to +the peevishness of these whifflers and market-folk. “I have often known +many travellers,” he continues, “and myself very often, to have been +necessitated to stand stock still behind a standing cart or wagon, on +most beastly and unsufferable wet wayes, to the great endangering of our +horses and neglect of public business: nor durst we adventure to stirr +(for most imminent danger of those deep rutts and unreasonable ridges) +till it has pleased Mr. Carter to jog on, which we have taken very +kindly.” + +His plan was to once get the roads in good repair, and then, he says, +with the employment of “day men” to every five miles or so, they could be +easily kept in order. The prospect induces him to rise to poetry: + + “First, let the ways be regularly brought + To artificial form, and truly wrought; + So that we can suppose them firmly mended, + And in all needful points, the work well ended, + That not a stone’s amiss; but all complete, + All lying smooth, round, firm, and wondrous neat.” + +So far good. But then comes the heavy traffic to destroy the good work: + + “Then comes a gang of heavy-laden wains + Of carts and wagons, spoiling all our pains.” + +But he is ready for this. His proposed “day men” by at once filling up +the ruts would make the damage good. All these things he commends to the +notice of his Majesty with the concluding lines: + + “There’s only one thing yet worth thinking on, + Which is, to put this work in execution.” + +That it was _not_ “put into execution” is a matter of history. + +We have seen that Mace calls the road to Scotland a “highway,” and the +terms “highroad” or “highway” are common enough; but what really is a +highroad? or rather, how did the term originate? Such a road is usually +understood to be a main artery of traffic between important towns, but +that was not precisely the original meaning, which indicated the physical +character of the road rather than its geographical status. “High roads” +were originally in fact, causeways constructed across, and above the +level of, marshes and low-lying lands, and the term was therefore +excellently descriptive. The changed meaning no doubt arose from the +fact that, as it would scarcely ever have been worth while to build +embanked roads for the purpose of connecting obscure villages out of the +way of trade, consequently the “high ways” and the “high roads” only came +into existence between important centres. But this highly specialised +meaning was destroyed when Turnpike Acts and Highway Acts began to be +passed. The first Turnpike Act, one relating to the road to the North, +referred to the Shoreditch, Stamford Hill, Ware, and Royston route, which +joined the Great North Road at Alconbury Hill. It was passed in 1663, +and authorised a toll-gate at Stilton, among other places. In the +preamble to this Act we find the road spoken of as “the ancient highway +and post-road leading from London to York and so into Scotland.” Later +Acts providing for the collection of tolls on the main roads and for the +formation of Turnpike Trusts, whose business it was to collect those +tolls and with them keep the “turnpike” roads in repair, named them +“turnpike roads”; while other legislation, culminating in the General +Highway Act of William the Fourth, perpetrated a delightful paradox by +especially designating by-roads “highways.” The cardinal difference, in +the eyes of the law, was that a turnpike road was a main line of +communication, to be maintained in proper order throughout its length by +taxes collected from the users of the road; while highways were only +local roads for local use and to be maintained by the respective parishes +in which they were situated. The ways in which these parish roads were +kept in repair were sufficiently curious. “Statute labour” preceded +highway rates, and was so called from a statute of Philip and Mary +providing for parish road-surveyors, and for men, horses, carts, and +materials to be supplied by the farmers at their orders, for repairs. +“Statute labour” survived in a fashion until the passing of the General +Highway Act of 1835, when it was wholly superseded by rates. In later +days parishes united and formed Highway Boards, just as they formed Poor +Law Unions; and choosing a surveyor, levied a common highway rate. These +surveyors were not always, nor often, competent men. They were, in fact, +generally elected by the Boards or the Vestries from some necessitous +inhabitants little above the status of the broken-down old men who were +paid a trifle to break or spread stones in order to keep them from being +burdens to the parish in the workhouse. These surveyors were appointed +and work done in fear of the parishes being indicted and heavily fined +for the dangerous condition of their roads, but it is obvious that they +must have been very badly repaired in those times. Nowadays the roads +are all highways, since the turnpikes have been abolished, and their +repair, outside the boroughs, is the business of the County Councils. + + + + +II + + +BEFORE Macadam and Telford appeared upon the scene, the office of +road-surveyor was very generally looked down upon. No self-respecting +engineer, before the time of these great men, condescended to have +anything to do with roads. It is true that a forerunner of Macadam and +Telford had appeared in Yorkshire in 1765, when “Blind Jack of +Knaresborough” began the construction of the Boroughbridge and Harrogate +road, the first of the long series for which he contracted; but he was +not an official road-surveyor, nor by profession an engineer. He was, in +fact, an engineer born and wholly untaught. + +John Metcalf, the famous blind roadmaker, was born in 1717, and lost his +eyesight at six years of age. A native of Knaresborough, he filled in +his time many parts; being fiddler, huckster, soldier, carrier, +proprietor of the first stage-wagon between York and Knaresborough, and +road and bridge maker and contractor by turns. The marvellous instinct +which served him instead of sight is scarce credible, but is well +authenticated. He joined Thornton’s company of Yorkshire volunteers +raised at Boroughbridge to meet the Scots rebels in the ’45, and marched +with them and played them into action at Falkirk. His marvellous +adventures have no place here, but his solitary walk from London to +Harrogate in 1741 concerns the Great North Road. Being in London, and +returning at the same time, Colonel Liddell of Harrogate offered Blind +Jack a seat behind his carriage, which Metcalf declined, saying that he +could easily walk as far in a day as the colonel could go in his carriage +with post-horses. This incidentally shows us how utterly vile the roads +were at the time. Metcalf, although blind and unused to the road, having +travelled up to London by sea, walked back, and easily reached Harrogate +before the colonel, who posted all the way. + +Liddell, who had an escort of sixteen mounted servants, started an hour +later than Metcalf. It had been arranged that they should meet that +night at Welwyn, but, a little beyond Barnet, on Hadley Green, where the +roads divide, Metcalf took the left hand, or Holyhead, road by mistake +and went a long distance before he discovered his mistake. Still he +arrived at Welwyn first. The next day he was balked at Biggleswade by +the river, which was in flood, and with no bridge to cross by. +Fortunately, after wandering some distance along the banks, he met a +stranger who led the way across a plank bridge. When they had crossed, +Metcalf offered him some pence for a glass of beer, which his guide +declined, saying he was welcome. Metcalf, however, pressed it upon him. + +“Pray, can you see very well?” asked the stranger. + +“Not very well,” replied Blind Jack. + +“God forbid I should tithe you,” said his guide. “I am the rector of +this parish; so God bless you, and I wish you a good journey.” + +In the end, Metcalf reached Harrogate two days before the colonel. + +Metcalf made many roads around Knaresborough and in different parts of +Yorkshire, but none actually on the Great North Road. He died, aged +ninety-three, in 1810, five years before Macadam and Telford began their +work upon the roads. Like them, he rather preferred boggy ground for +road-making, and forestalled both them and Stephenson in adopting fagots +as foundations over mires. At that time the ignorant surveyors of roads +repaired them with dirt scraped from ditches and water-courses, in which +they embedded the first cartloads of stones which came to hand; stone of +all kinds and all sizes. This done, their “repairs” were completed, with +the result that the roads were frequently as bad as ever and constantly +in the most rugged condition. Roads—it may be news to the +uninstructed—cannot be made with dirt. In fact, a good road through +anything but rock is generally excavated, and the native earth being +removed, its place is taken by coarse-broken granite or rock; this in its +turn receiving a layer of “macadam,” or smaller broken granite or +whinstone, which is finally bound together by a sprinkling of red gravel, +of the kind known by builders as “hoggin,” whose binding qualities are +caused by a slight natural admixture of clay. In his insistence upon +broken stones, Macadam proved a power of observation not possessed by the +generality of road-makers, whose method was the haphazard one of strewing +any kind upon the road and trusting in the traffic to pack them. With +rounded pebbles or gravel stones thus chafing against one another, they +never packed into a solid mass, but remained for all time as unstable as +a shingly beach. Generations of road-making had not taught wisdom, but +Macadam perceived the readiness of the angularities in broken stones to +unite and form a homogeneous mass, and in introducing his system proved +himself unwittingly a man of science, for science has in these later days +discovered that ice is compacted by the action of ice-crystals uniting in +exactly this manner. + +A great scheme for laying out the whole of the Great North Road between +London and Edinburgh on a scientific basis was in progress when the +successful trial of the competing locomotives at Rainhill, near +Liverpool, cast a warning shadow over the arrangements, and finally led +to the project being entirely abandoned. Had the work been done, it is +quite possible that the railways to the north would have taken another +direction; that, in fact, instead of land having to be surveyed and +purchased for them, the new, straight, and level road would have been +given up to and largely used by the railways. Telford was the engineer +chosen by the Government to execute this work, of which the portion +between Morpeth and Edinburgh was actually constructed. The survey of +the road between London, York, and Morpeth was begun as early as 1825, +and had been not only completed, but the works on the eve of being +started, when the Rainhill trials in 1829 stopped them short, and caused +the utter waste of the public money spent in the surveying. + + + + +III + + +IT were vain, nowadays, to seek any of the old starting-points from +London. The late Mr. Frederick Locker-Lampson asked in 1896, “Are ‘The +Bull and Mouth,’ ‘The Spread Eagle,’ The Swan with Two Necks,’ and ‘The +Green Man and Still,’ yet in existence?” With some little research he +would have discovered that—with the sole exception of the last-named—they +are not. The “Bull and Mouth” in later years became the “Queen’s Hotel,” +and was demolished only when the site was required for an extension of +the General Post Office in 1887. At the same time as the “Queen’s” +disappeared, the street at the side of it, called from the old inn “Bull +and Mouth Street,” was stopped up. In this street was the entrance to +the famous old coaching-stables which were in the last years of their +existence used as a railway receiving-office for goods. On their being +pulled down, the grotesque plaster sign, representing a giant face with +yawning mouth in which stood a bull, was removed to the Guildhall Museum, +where it may still be seen, together with the yet larger and more +elaborate sign which decorated the frontage of the “Queen’s.” This also +included a mouth and a bull, set amidst a frame of plaster fruits and +flowers, with the inscription:— + + “Milo the Cretonian, + An ox slew with his fist, + And ate it up at one meal, + Ye gods! what a glorious twist.” + +The origin, however, of the curious sign had nothing to do with this +hungry person. Precisely what was that origin is never likely to be +known; for although the legend that it derived from the capture of +“Boulogne Mouth”—_i.e._ Boulogne Harbour—in the reign of Henry the Eighth +is in general acceptation, it has been shrewdly suspected that this was a +tale wickedly invented by George Steevens, a literary practical joker, +who palmed off many similar stories upon unsuspecting antiquaries at the +end of last century. A perhaps more likely story is that the sign was +originally the “Bowl and Mouth.” + +Under Sherman’s rule the “Bull and Mouth” became a mighty resort of +coaches to and from all parts, but more especially the north, and his +underground stables formed one of the sights of London. + +Edward Sherman was a man of many parts, and had a varied career. +Originally a stockbroker, he followed Willans at the “Bull and Mouth” in +1823, and rebuilt it as the “Queen’s” in 1830, continuing the stables +under the old name, and eventually reconstructing them. The money for +these enterprises came from three old and wealthy ladies whom he married +in succession. If the stranger, unversed in the build and colour of +coaches, could not pick out the somewhat old-fashioned, bright-yellow +vehicles as Sherman’s, he was helped in identifying them by the pictorial +sign of the inn painted on the panels—rather a startling one, by the way, +to the rustics. Sherman, however, had not the prescience of Chaplin or +of Horne, who clearly foresaw the success of railways, and he kept his +coaches on the roads for some time after they were opened to their +destinations. He was sufficiently ill-advised not to come to terms with +the railway companies, and actually attempted, with the “Red Rover,” to +run the Manchester trains off. Of course this could not last very long, +and Sherman withdrew after having lost seven thousand pounds in a +gallant, but futile, competition with steam. + +In its prime the “Bull and Mouth” sent forth the Edinburgh and Aberdeen +Royal Mail by York; the Edinburgh, Glasgow, and Aberdeen coach by +Ferry-bridge to Newcastle, where the Glasgow passengers changed; the +Glasgow and Carlisle Royal Mail; the Newcastle “Wellington”; Shrewsbury +and Holyhead “Union” and “Oxonian”; Birmingham “Old Post Coach” and +“Aurora”; Leeds Royal Mail and “Express”; and Leicester “Union Post +Coach.” + +The site of the “Swan with Two Necks” is now occupied by the London and +North-Western and South-Western Joint Goods Depot, in Gresham Street. +Modern sculptured keystones may be seen over the entrances, bearing the +effigy of a double-headed swan. This sign, like that of the “Bull and +Mouth,” is a corruption of a widely different term; originally, indeed, +the “Swan with Two Nicks,” from the particular “nicks” with which the +bills of the swans belonging to the Vintners’ Company on the Thames were +marked. The City Companies each had their swans on the river, and even +nowadays they are maintained on the upper reaches. The young cygnets +were marked at the annual festival of “swan-upping,” at which the City +magnates used hugely to enjoy themselves. The old and the new “nicks” of +the Vintners’ Company are pictured here. + +[Picture: Old And New Swan Nicks] So far back as 1556, the “Swane with ij +Nekes at Mylke Street End” was known, and was then the property of the +Vintners. In the coaching era it is best remembered as the headquarters +of the great William Chaplin’s huge coaching business. Chaplin succeeded +William Waterhouse, who had established himself here in 1792, issuing a +curious token bearing the representation of a mail-coach on one side and +that of the Double-Necked Swan on the other, with the legend, “Speed, +Regularity, and Security. Payable at the Mail Coach Office, Lad Lane, +London, W.W.” + +Lad Lane was until recent years the name by which this part of Gresham +Street was known, while the inn itself was generally called by the +coaching fraternity the “Wonderful Bird.” + +Chaplin had in early days been a coachman himself. His career would have +delighted that sturdy moralist, Hogarth, painter of the successful career +of the Industrious Apprentice, for from that useful but humble position +he rose to be the largest coach-proprietor in England, Deputy-Chairman of +the London and Southampton (now London and South-Western) Railway, and +Member of Parliament for Salisbury. He is said to have accumulated half +a million of money. Twenty-seven mails left London every night, and of +these Chaplin horsed fourteen for various distances. Very many +stage-coaches were in his hands, and at the height of the coaching era he +is said to have owned nearly two thousand horses. He was an entirely +level-headed man, and, seeing at an early stage that railways must +succeed, threw in his lot with them. Railway directors were exceedingly +anxious to win over the coaching proprietors, and to induce them to +withdraw from the road, so that with no coaches running the public should +of necessity, whether they liked it or not, be compelled to travel by +rail. Chaplin sold off his stock before the oncoming railways +depreciated it, and, joining Benjamin Worthy Horne, of the “Golden +Cross,” Charing Cross, founded the great carrying firm of Chaplin and +Horne, which enjoyed the exclusive agency for the London and Birmingham +Railway. There can be little doubt, although it was denied by the early +officials of that line, that Chaplin and Horne were really bought off the +road, and the sum of £10,000 has been mentioned as the price of their +withdrawal. Before that time had come, coaches issued from Chaplin’s +yard for many places on the north-western roads: the Carlisle Royal Mail; +the Birmingham Royal Mail, “Courier,” and “Balloon Post Coach”; the +Chester “New Coach”; Coventry “Light Post Coach”; Liverpool Royal Mail; +Holyhead “New Mail” and a stage-coach without any particular name; and +the Manchester Royal Mail, “Defiance,” “Regulator,” and “Prince +Saxe-Cobourg.” The “Spread Eagle” in Gracechurch Street has also +disappeared. It was at one time a house of Chaplin’s, and was afterwards +owned in succession, together with the “Cross Keys” next door, by Mrs. +Nelson and Mrs. Mountain. + + [Picture: Modern sign of the “Swan with Two Necks”] + +The “Green Man and Still,” the last of the quartet of inns inquired after +by Mr. Locker-Lampson, is the only one now standing, and may be seen at +the corner of Oxford and Argyll Streets, close by Oxford Circus. It was +not a coaching hostelry in the fullest sense, being only a place of call +for the Oxford “Age,” and for the Harrow and other north-westerly “short +stages,” running between London and the suburbs. It is now a railway +receiving-office. This curious sign probably alludes to the old +profession of the “herb-doctors,” who distilled medicines from wild or +cultivated herbs. There were other inns whence Great North Road coaches +set out, but they have all vanished. The “George and Blue Boar,” +Holborn, whence the famous “Stamford Regent” started, has long since been +pulled down, and the “Inns of Court Hotel” stood on its site. The hotel +building remains, but about 1912 it ceased to be a hotel, and has since +been converted into offices for an Insurance Company. The “Regent” +originally left London at six o’clock in the evening, but in 1822 the +hour was altered to six in the morning, an unearthly time for those who +had to go some distance to reach Holborn, and necessitating, perhaps, +getting up at three o’clock. The announcement by the proprietors that +this alteration was for the “more perfect convenience” of their patrons +seems ironical:— + + SIX O’CLOCK IN THE MORNING + From London. + + * * * * * + + THE PROPRIETORS OF + THE REGENT COACH + + Respectfully inform the public and their friends in particular, that, + for their more perfect convenience, and to keep pace with the daily + improvements in travelling, the hour of its leaving London will be + altered on Monday, the 13th of May (and continued during the summer + months), + + TO SIX O’CLOCK IN THE MORNING, + _Instead of Night_. + + The arrangements that are forming in furtherance of this long-desired + alteration will ensure a steady and punctual conveyance of Passengers + to Stamford by a Quarter before Six o’clock, and to Melton by a + Quarter before Nine o’clock in the Evening. + + The hours of leaving Melton and Stamford will NOT be altered. + + The proprietors take this opportunity to acknowledge their sense of + the decided patronage shown to the REGENT COACH under their several + regulations, and to repeat their promise that no exertion shall be + wanting to make it one of the most desirable conveyances to and from + London. + + Passengers and Parcels booked at Mr. Weldon’s, and the Bull and Swan + Inn, Stamford; and at Mr. Sharp’s, Bell Inn, Melton.—_Stamford_, + _May_ 1, 1822. + + [Picture: The “Spread Eagle,” Gracechurch Street] + +The “Saracen’s Head,” Snow Hill, which must not he confounded with the +other and equally celebrated “Saracen’s Head” in Aldgate High Street, was +another very notable coaching establishment, and a galleried inn of +picturesqueness and antiquity. Alas! that it has long since disappeared. +Its history went back beyond the fifteenth century, and a reference made +to it in 1522, when the suite of the Emperor Charles the Fifth lay here, +speaks of the house as of some importance:—“The signe of the Sersyns hed: +xxx beddes, a stable for xl horses.” + +The sign, of course deriving from the Crusades, itself gives the inn a +very high antiquity. It was a sign of a gruesome and savage aspect, and +had its origin in the pictures the returning Crusaders drew of their +adversaries. As Selden says:—“Our countrymen pictured them with huge, +big, terrible faces, when in truth they were like other men. But this,” +he adds slyly, “they did for their own credits.” The inn owed its later +celebrity to Dickens, who made it the London inn of Mr. Squeers. Thus he +describes it:—“Near to the jail, and by consequence near to Smithfield, +on that particular part of Snow Hill where omnibus horses going eastward +seriously think of falling down on purpose, and where horses in hackney +cabriolets going westward not unfrequently fall by accident, is the +coachyard of the Saracen’s Head Inn; its portal guarded by two Saracens’ +heads and shoulders frowning upon you from each side of the gateway. The +inn itself, garnished with another Saracen’s head, frowns upon you from +the top of the yard. When you walk up this yard you will see the +booking-office on your left and the tower of St. Sepulchre’s Church +darting abruptly up into the sky on your right, and a gallery of bedrooms +upon both sides.” + +There is a “Saracen’s Head” on Snow Hill to this day, but it is a modern +building. From the old house went the “Lord Nelson,” York, Newcastle, +and Edinburgh coach; the “Post,” despite its name, a slow-coach, for +Carlisle and Penrith, by Doncaster, Ferrybridge, and Greta Bridge, +doubtless the one by which Mr. Wackford Squeers took his “dear pupils” to +Dotheboys Hall; and coaches to Hull, Liverpool, Manchester, Birmingham, +and Shrewsbury, besides others for the western roads. The “Saracen’s +Head” was kept by Mrs. Mountain, in succession to her husband and her +husband’s father. Her son, Peter, managed the business for her, but it +must not be supposed that she took no active part in it. To the +contrary, Mrs. Sarah Ann Mountain, like her contemporary, Mrs. Nelson, of +the “Bull,” Aldgate, possessed the most brilliant business capacity. She +built coaches, as well as horsing them, and earned a profit by charging +her partners down the road the mileage which in the usual course of +business would have been paid over to a coach-builder. There was no more +expressive sight in the London of the beginning of the nineteenth century +than the simultaneous starting of the mails every evening from the +General Post Office. Londoners and country-cousins alike were never +weary of the spectacle of the smart coaches, the business-like coachmen, +and the resplendent, scarlet-coated guards preparing to travel through +the night, north, south, east, or west, with his Majesty’s mails. Even +the passengers shone with a reflected glory, and felt important as, one +after the other, the twenty-seven mails began at the stroke of eight +o’clock to move off from the double file that lined the street. + + [Picture: The “Saracen’s Head,” Snow Hill] + +That street was not the broad thoroughfare of St. Martin’s-le-Grand, but +the narrow one of Lombard Street, in which the General Post Office was +situated for many years, until 1829, when what is now called the “old” +General Post Office, but was then the newly completed building of +Smirke’s, was occupied. The old headquarters can still be seen, in the +Lombard Street Post Office of to-day. It is from here that the picture +of the mails starting, forming the frontispiece of this volume, was +taken. To our eyes, accustomed to the crowded thoroughfare of modern +times, the street appears supremely dull and desolate, but that is only a +retrospective way of looking at it. + +Here is a testimony to the beauty of the scene. It is eloquent +testimony, for it is De Quincey’s:—“On any night the spectacle was +beautiful. The absolute perfection of all the appointments about the +carriages and the harness, their strength, their brilliant cleanliness, +their beautiful simplicity—but, more than all, the royal magnificence of +the horses—were what might first have fixed the attention. Every +carriage, on every morning of the year, was taken down to an official +inspector for examination—wheels, axles, linchpins, poles, glasses, +lamps, were all critically probed and tested. Every part of every +carriage had been cleaned, every horse had been groomed, with as much +rigour as if they belonged to a private gentleman; and that part of the +spectacle offered itself always. . . . Every moment are shouted aloud by +the post-office servants, and summoned to draw up, the great ancestral +names of cities known to history through a thousand years—Lincoln, +Winchester, Portsmouth, Gloucester, Oxford, Bristol, Manchester, York, +Newcastle, Edinburgh, Glasgow, Perth, Stirling, Aberdeen—expressing the +grandeur of the empire by the antiquity of its towns, and the grandeur of +the mail establishment by the diffusive radiation of its separate +missions. Every moment you hear the thunder of lids locked down upon the +mail-bags. That sound to each individual mail is the signal for drawing +off, which process is the finest part of the entire spectacle. Then came +the horses into play. Horses! Can these be horses that bound off with +the action and gestures of leopards? What stir! what sea-like ferment! +what a thundering of wheels! what a trampling of hoofs! what a sounding +of trumpets!” + + + + +IV + + +NOW for Post Office history. Much has been made at the “old” General +Post Office in St. Martin’s-le-Grand; and although the building was not +in existence until 1829, it has sent forth and received many +mail-coaches. Its disappearance in 1912, we say, therefore severs the +last link by which this busy quarter was connected with the old days. + + [Picture: The Mails starting from the General Post Office, 1832] + +The story of the Post Office goes back long before the G.P.O. was +situated either here or at Lombard Street. The original Post Office was +off Eastcheap. When it was there, the course of post between London and +Edinburgh took three days. The first regular service was established in +1635, when Charles the First, to end the inefficiency of the +communications between the two capitals, inaugurated “a running post or +two, to run night and day, between Edinburgh and London, to go thither +and come back again in six days.” We may suppose that this did not work +very well, for in 1649 we find the city of London establishing a post of +its own with a regular staff of runners and postmasters between London +and the North. + +But with the Restoration came the establishment of the General Post +Office and an instantaneous decline in the efficiency of the post, six +days instead of three being taken for the single journey to or from +Edinburgh. This roused the towns on the way to indignant protests, and +the post was accelerated to “three and a half or four days,” the +acceleration being slower than the original time. + +But however keenly the intermediate towns may have felt this, it could +not have mattered much to Edinburgh, whose mail-bag was very scanty. One +day in 1745, we are told, the mail brought only one letter, for the +British Linen Company; and on another day in the same year only one was +despatched to London, for Sir William Pulteney, the banker. + +In 1750 things were no better, but eight years later an Edinburgh +merchant, George Chalmers, procured an improvement. Before 1758 the +Great North Mail set out three times a week and took eighty-seven hours +in going north, and not fewer than one hundred and thirty-one from +Edinburgh to London. This last itinerary was lengthened so greatly in +time on account of stoppages made at Berwick and at Newcastle, ranging +from three hours at one to twenty-four at the other. These delays +Chalmers, in corresponding with the officials, proved to be quite +needless. He also induced them to avoid the old and longer route through +Thorne and York and to take the alternative road by Boroughbridge, thus +shortening the journey by twelve miles. The times were then fixed at +eighty-two hours for the northward-bound mail, and eighty-five for the +south. For his services the Government made Chalmers a grant of £600. +Some years afterwards he induced the Post Office to run the mails six +days a week. + +But a greater than Chalmers was at hand in Palmer, the organiser of the +mail-coach service. Palmer accomplished, according to De Quincey, “two +things very hard to do on our little planet, the earth, however cheap +they may be held by eccentric people in comets: he had invented +mail-coaches, and he had married the daughter of a duke. He was +therefore just twice as great a man as Galileo, who did certainly invent +(or, which is the same thing, discover) the satellites of Jupiter, those +very next things extant to mail-coaches in the two capital pretensions of +speed and keeping time; but, on the other hand, who did not marry the +daughter of a duke.” Palmer married, in point of fact, Lady Madeline +Gordon, daughter of the Duke of Richmond, but De Quincey does not lay the +stress he should have done on his having fought his postal scheme to +success against the obstinacy and red-tapeism of the Post Office +officials, itself an enterprise sufficient to daunt any but the stoutest +heart. Government officials have a wonderful power of passive resistance +and an insensibility to argument and proof which might be envied by a +lamp-post. It was thought a brilliant rejoinder when one of these Post +Office dunderheads replied to Palmer’s scheme for supplanting the slow +and uncertain post-boys by fast coaches with the observation that there +was no reason why the post should be the swiftest conveyance in England! +No doubt this witty gentleman resigned in an access of mortification when +Palmer actually succeeded in being appointed Controller-General of the +Post Office, with a salary of £1,500 a year and a two and a-half per +cent. commission on a rise of the income above the £240,000 at which it +stood when he was placed at the head of affairs. The first mail-coach +was put upon the Bath Road on the 8th of August 1784, and its success was +so great and immediate that the chief towns of the kingdom presently +began to petition for similar facilities to be accorded them. York was +the first successful applicant, and a mail was put on the road between +London, York, and Edinburgh in October of the same year, taking three +nights and two days to perform the journey. This was not a very +remarkable rate of speed, to be sure, but the times were not so hurried +then. A greater speed was attained when the roads began to be +reorganised by Telford and Macadam. Macadam’s method of metalling the +existing roads and Telford’s reconstruction of steep and winding highways +produced great results. To Macadam was due the greater speeds attained +at last on the mail route between London and Edinburgh; for, although +Telford’s improved road was begun in 1824, it was never completed owing +to the introduction of railways. Government had, in fact, by this time +recognised the necessity of good roads, and, fresh from the +reorganisation of the mail route between London and Holyhead, had +determined on an improved communication between England and Scotland. +This road, already referred to, was to be straight and as flat as +engineering science could contrive it, and a portion—that between +Edinburgh and Morpeth—was constructed about 1824, going by way of Soutra +Hill, Lauderdale, Coldstream, and Wooler. The route between London and +Morpeth was also surveyed and authorised, and portions between London and +York actually begun, when the opening of the Stockton and Darlington +Railway in 1825 convinced the authorities that the days of the road were +numbered. + +But although it was long apparent that a change was impending, coaches +were not entirely run off the Great North Road for another twenty years, +and Post Office surveyors were still busy expediting the mails over short +cuts and roads of more favourable gradients. Thus in 1832 we find the +Scotch mail going by way of Selby. Here is the official time-bill for +that year:— + +MILES + LONDON dep. 8.00 P.M. + 12½ Waltham Cross arr. 9.25 ,, + 22 Ware ,, 10.26 ,, + 35½ Buckland ,, 11.52 ,, + 45½ Arrington ,, 12.57 A.M. + 60 Huntingdon ,, 2.30 ,, + 65¼ Alconbury Hill ,, 3.03 ,, + 72¼ Stilton ,, 3.45 ,, + 87 Stamford ,, 5.15 ,, + 95 Stretton ,, 6.03 ,, + 108½ GRANTHAM arr. 7.23 ,, + dep. 8.03 ,, + 115½ Long Bennington arr. 8.53 ,, + 122¼ Newark ,, 9.30 ,, + 132¾ Scarthing Moor ,, 10.34 ,, + 145½ Barnby Moor ,, 11.49 ,, + 155¼ Rossington Bridge ,, 12.47 P.M. + 159½ Doncaster ,, 1.12 ,, + 166¼ Askerne ,, 1.55 ,, + 179¾ Selby ,, 3.21 ,, + 194 YORK arr. 4.54 ,, + dep. 5.34 ,, + 207¼ Easingwold arr. 6.54 ,, + 218 Thirsk ,, 7.58 ,, + 227 Northallerton ,, 8.52 ,, + 243 Darlington ,, 10.28 ,, + 261½ Durham ,, 12.23 ,, + 276 NEWCASTLE-ON-TYNE arr. 1.50 ,, + dep. 1.53 ,, + 290½ Morpeth arr. 3.22 ,, + 300½ Felton ,, 4.23 ,, + 309¾ Alnwick ,, 5.17 ,, + 324½ BELFORD arr. 6.47 ,, + dep. 7.17 ,, + 329¾ Berwick-on-Tweed arr. 8.47 ,, + 353½ Houndswood ,, 10.09 ,, + 369¼ Dunbar ,, 11.41 ,, + 380¼ Haddington ,, 12.45 P.M. + 397¼ EDINBURGH ,, 2.23 ,, + _Time_—42 hours 23 minutes + +The “up” mail was timed considerably slower, 45 hours 39 minutes. + +The punctuality of the mails was so great that the Glasgow and the +Edinburgh mails, which went by Shoreditch and Islington respectively, and +took different routes as far as Alconbury Hill, where their roads met, +could always be depended upon to keep the official interval of four +minutes which divided them at that point. Their route was identical +between Alconbury Hill and Doncaster, where the Glasgow mail branched off +to the left to Ferrybridge and Greta Bridge. + +This was the _ne plus ultra_ of Post Office enterprise on the Great North +Road, and closes an era. + + + + +V + + +WE have seen with what extraordinary speed letters were carried in the +time of Charles the First between London and Edinburgh; but how did folk +travel? They rode horseback, from kings, to nobles, and down to +merchants; princesses, madam, or my lady riding pillion. Private +carriages—“coaches,” they were called—had been introduced in 1553, when +Queen Mary rode in one, as a novelty, from London to Westminster, drawn +by six horses. In 1556 Sir Thomas Hoby had one of these strange +machines, and just because the fact is expressly mentioned we see how +rare they were. In fact, they went out of use altogether for a time, and +were reintroduced by William Boonen, Queen Elizabeth’s Dutch coachman, in +1564. On this occasion they came into better favour, and their numbers +must have greatly increased, for a Bill “to restrain their excessive use” +was introduced to Parliament, and rejected, in 1601. But both their make +and the fearful condition of the roads forbade them being used in the +country. Moreover, they had only shutters in place of windows, the first +“glass coach” being that used by the Duke of York in 1661. + +It was in 1658 that the first stage-coach between London and Edinburgh +was put on the road. It set out once a fortnight, but the length of the +whole journey and just what kind of vehicle it was are unknown. Four +days, however, and two pounds were consumed in travelling between London +and York. The cost of the whole journey was four pounds. + +In 1734 things do not seem to have been much better, John Dale +advertising in the May of that year that a coach would take the road from +Edinburgh for London “towards the end of each week, to be performed in +nine days, or three days sooner than any coach that travels that road.” +After this matters went from bad to worse, and speed was slower twenty +years later than it had been for a long time. + +The _Edinburgh Courant_ of 1754 contained the following advertisement:— + + THE EDINBURGH STAGE COACH, + + for the better accommodation of passengers, will be altered to a new + genteel, two-end, glass coach machine, being on steel springs, + exceeding light, and easy to go in ten days in summer and twelve in + winter; to set out the + + FIRST TUESDAY IN MARCH, + + and continue it from HOSEA EASTGATE’S, the COACH AND HORSES in DEAN + STREET, SOHO, LONDON, and from JOHN SOMERVILLE’S in the CANONGATE, + EDINBURGH, every other Tuesday, and meet at BURROW BRIDGE on Saturday + night and set out from thence on Monday morning, and get to LONDON + and EDINBURGH on Friday. In winter to set out from LONDON to + EDINBURGH every other (alternate) Monday morning, and to go to BURROW + BRIDGE on Saturday night. Passengers to pay as usual. + + Performed, if God permits, by + + Your dutiful servant, + HOSEA EASTGATE. + +Even Hosea Eastgate’s conveyance stands forth as a miracle of swiftness +and frequency when compared with the coach of 1763, which set out once a +month and took a _fortnight_, _if the weather was favourable_! Probably +this degeneracy of coaches was due to the practice of travellers clubbing +together to hire a post-chaise for the journey. This was a plan +eminently characteristic of the Scottish mind. It both secured quicker +travelling and saved expense. The Edinburgh papers of that time often +contained advertisements inquiring for a fellow-passenger to share these +costs and charges. + +Edinburgh, as a matter of fact, even now a far cry, was beyond the ken of +most Londoners in those times, and London was to Edinburgh folks a place +dimly heard of, and never to be visited, save perhaps once in a lifetime. +York, half-way, was better known, and was well supplied with coaches. +The “Black Swan” in Coney Street, York, received and sent forth a +coach—in after years known as the “York Old Coach”—so early as 1698. +This appears to have always laid up for the winter and come out again in +April, like the cuckoo, as a harbinger of spring. One of these spring +announcements was discovered, some years since, in an old drawer at the +“Black Swan.” It runs:— + + YORK Four Days + + Stage-Coach. + + _Begins on Friday the_ 12_th_ _of April_ 1706. + + ALL that are defirous to pafs from _London_ to _York_, or from York + to London, or any other Place on that Road; Let them Repair to the + _Black Swan_ in _Holbourn_ in _London_, and to the _Black Swan_ in + _Coney Street_ in _York_. + + At both which Places they may be received in a Stage Coach every + _Monday_, _Wednefday_, and _Friday_, which performs the whole Journey + in Four Days (_if God permits_). And fets forth at Five in the + Morning. + + And returns from _York_ to _Stamford_ in two days, and from + _Stamford_ by _Huntingdon_ to _London_ in two days more. And the + like Stages on their return. + + Allowing each Paffenger 14lb. weight, and all above 3d. a Pound. + + Performed By + + _Benjamin Kingman_. + _Henry Harrifon_. + _Walter Bayne’s_. + + Alfo this gives Notice that Newcaftle Stage Coach fets out from York + every Monday and Friday, and from Newcaftle every Monday and Friday. + +It is singular that this coach should have had a “Black Swan” at either +end of its journey. The London house was in later years the well-known +“Black Swan Distillery” in Holborn. + +To display the many coaches, their names and times of arrival and +departure in these pages would afford but dull reading. Besides, +Paterson and Cary, those encyclopædic old road-books, contain lists of +them in interminable array: the “Highflyers,” “Rockinghams,” “Unions,” +“Amitys,” “Defiances,” “Wellingtons,” “Bluchers,” “Nelsons,” “Rodneys,” +and what not. There was so extraordinary a run upon these popular names +that they are often triplicated—and sometimes occur six times—on the +local and byroad coaches; with the result that if the traveller desired +to travel by the “Highflyer,” let us say, to Edinburgh, he had to +carefully sort it out from other “Highflyers” which flew not only to +Leeds but to all kinds of obscure places. + +The early stage-coaches must have been terribly trying. They were, as +Byron says of the “kibitka,” “a cursed kind of carriage without springs.” +As time went on they were not only provided with glass windows, but—as +duly set forth in the advertisements—were furnished with springs and +cushions. The resources of civilisation were not exhausted at this +point, for it was gravely announced that the guards were armed, and the +coaches were bullet-proof! + +The life of a coach-proprietor was all hard work, with no little anxiety +attached. Up early and to bed late—for on however large a scale his +business might be, it was one peculiarly dependent upon the master’s +eye—he knew the inner meaning of the primeval curse, and earned his +living by the sweat of his brow. And, lest that was not sufficient, the +Government sweated him in a financial sense. The coaching business was +the especial prey of Chancellors of the Exchequer, and yielded huge +returns. If it be argued that coach-proprietors, unlike railway +companies, had no parliamentary powers to obtain, and no enormous +expenses for purchase of land and construction of lines, this can be met +by setting forth the heavy duties and taxes, the great outlay on turnpike +tolls, and the relatively high cost of haulage by horses. The initial +expenses of a railway are immense, the upkeep of lines and buildings +large; but the actual cost of steam-power as against horse-traction is +absurdly little. Railways, of course, pay passenger duty, and immense +sums in the aggregate for rates and taxes; but they are not burdened as +the coaches were. If it cost from £3 10s. to £6 15s. to travel “outside” +or “inside” by ordinary stage-coach between London and Edinburgh, those +high figures were the necessary results of Government exactions and +turnpike imposts. Duties and taxes varied from time to time, but a +stage-coach licensed, about 1830, to carry fifteen passengers paid a duty +of threepence a mile, whether the coach carried a full load or not. +Thus, for every single journey, a coach licensed to that extent paid £4 +19s. 3d. A coach could be licensed to carry a smaller number, when the +duties would be proportionately lighter, and coaches licensed for fifteen +or so during the summer would take out a licence for perhaps six or eight +in winter, when travellers were few and far between. + +Suppose, now, that we roughly add up the working expenses of a +stage-coach to Edinburgh. We start with the passenger-duty of £4 19s. +3d. To this we add, say, £4 for hire of coach at the rate of 2½d. a +mile; £4 19s. 3d. for horsing, at 3d. a mile; and £6 12s., turnpikes, at +4d. This gives a total of £20 10s. 6d. But we have not yet done with +expenses, including wages for coachmen, guards, ostlers, and helpers; +advertising, rent, oil for lamps, greasing, washing, etc. + +There would be six, or perhaps seven, coachmen, one driving about sixty +miles, when he would be relieved by another; and perhaps four guards, +because guards, not having the physical exertion of driving, could go +longer journeys. The proportion of their week’s wages must be added to +the debit account for the one journey, together with the proportion of +the £5 yearly tax payable for every coachman and guard employed, and a +similar annual sum for the coach itself. Any more items? Oh yes! +Office expenses, clerks, etc., and incidentals. If we lump all these +items together, they will mean an additional £12 cost on every journey to +or from Edinburgh, bringing the cost to the proprietors to over £32. + +Now for the other side of the account. Our coach is licensed for +fifteen, and if we carry our four insides and eleven outsides all the +way, it holds £65 10s. at the fares named above—about 4d. and 2d. a mile +respectively. But how often were those fifteen “through” passengers? +Not more, perhaps, than half would be bound for Edinburgh. Others might +alight at York, or even at Grantham or Stamford. Others, again, might go +to Newcastle. For fares thus lost, the proprietors looked to chance +passengers; but the shillings and perhaps the two shillings taken on the +way for short distances went, by common consent, into the coachmen’s and +guards’ pockets, and were never entered on the way-bill. In this manner, +and by their “tips,” the men added to their somewhat meagre wages, which, +rightly considered, were retaining-fees rather than full payment. This +practice was generally known as “shouldering.” Some proprietors, +however, were stricter than others, and did not allow it. Of course it +went on all the same, and the standing toast which they were compelled to +give at annual coaching dinners, “Success to shouldering,” with the +proviso, “but don’t let me find you at it,” was a tacit acknowledgment of +the custom. In later days, when proprietors paid slightly higher wages +and tried to forbid tips, the coachmen were loth to give up these odd +sums, for the diminution of tips was greater than the increase of wages. +They then pocketed larger fares, and called the practice “swallowing.” A +tale is told of a coach approaching town, and the coachman asking his +box-seat passenger if he had any luggage. “No,” said the passenger. +“Then,” rejoined the coachman, “do you mind getting down here, sir, +because I mean to swallow you.” The passenger got down, and was +“swallowed” accordingly. + +The average takings of the coach would certainly never, at the best of +it, come to more than £50 a journey, leaving a balance of £15 10s. +profit. Now, taking a year of three hundred and thirteen days, and +coaches “up” and “down,” this gives a profit of £9,702—not, be it borne +in mind, going to one man. The “end men” had the greatest share, as they +had also the heaviest expenses, and the “middle-ground men” got little +beyond the mileage on which they horsed the coaches; but with twenty-five +stages or so, and twenty-five participants in the profits, it will be +seen that the individual earnings on one coach could not be classed very +high. + + + + +VI + + +IT was a costly as well as a lengthy business to travel from London to +Edinburgh. Not so lengthy, of course, by mail as by stage-coach, but +much more expensive. If you wished to take it comfortably during the +forty-two hours and a-half or so of travelling, you went inside, +especially if it happened to be in winter; but an inside place cost +eleven guineas and a-half, which was thought a much larger sum in 1830 +than it would be nowadays. Accordingly, the stalwart and the not +particularly well-to-do, who at the same time wanted to travel quickly, +went outside, whereby they saved no less than four guineas. + +But let not the reader think that these respective sums of eleven and +a-half and seven and a-half guineas comprised the whole of the +traveller’s expenses in the old days. There were numerous people to tip, +such as porters, waiters, and last, but certainly not the least of them, +the coachmen and guards, who at the end of their respective journeys, +when they left their seats to a new guard or a new Jehu, “kicked” the +passengers, as the expressive phrase went, for their respective two +shillings or so. To be kicked at intervals in this figurative manner, +all the way between London and Edinburgh, was not physically painful, but +it came expensive; and what with the necessary meals and refreshments +during those forty-two hours or so, it could scarce have cost an “inside” +less than fifteen guineas, or an “outside” less than eleven. + +Now let us take the mazy “Bradshaw” or the simpler “A B C” railway +guides, and see what it will cost us in time and pocket to reach the +capital of Scotland. A vast difference, you may be sure. It is possible +to go by three different routes, but the distance is much the same, and +the times vary little, whether you go by Midland, London and +North-Western, or by the Great Northern Railway. The last-named has, on +the whole, the best of it, with a mileage of 395 miles, and a fast train +performing the journey in seven hours and twenty-five minutes. It costs +by any of these routes for first-class travelling, which answers to the +“inside” of old times, fifty-seven shillings and sixpence, and thirty-two +shillings and eightpence by third-class, equivalent to the “outside.” +{40} You need not tip unless you like, and even then but once or twice, +and assuredly no one will ask you for one. Whether you travel “first” or +“third,” a dining-saloon and an excellent dinner are at your service for +a moderate sum, and the sun scarce rises or sets with greater certainty +than that the Scotch express or its London equivalent will set out or +reach its destination at its appointed minute. + +Accidents—when they happen—are beyond comparison more fearful on the +railway than ever they were on the coaches; but they are rare indeed when +it is considered how many trains are run. Coaching accidents were +frequent, but just because they seldom ended fatally they do not figure +so largely in coaching annals as might be expected. A dreadful accident, +however, happened in 1805 to the Leeds “Union” coach, owing to the reins +breaking and the horses dashing the vehicle against a tree. This +occurred at a point about half a mile from Ferrybridge. William Hope, +the coachman, and an outside passenger were killed, and many others +seriously injured. The jury imposed a deodand of £5 on the coach and £10 +on the horses. + +In later years, an almost equally serious disaster happened to another +Leeds coach, the “Express.” It was racing with the opposition “Courier,” +which had been stopped at the bottom of the hill for the purpose of +taking off the drag, and in the effort to pass was upset, with the result +that a woman was killed on the spot, another was laid up for a year with +a broken leg, and other passengers were more or less injured. Probably +because of the evident recklessness displayed by the coachman, a deodand +of £1,400 was laid on the coach. The mail-coaches were not so often +involved in disasters as the stages. They had not the incentive to race, +and smashes arising from this form of competition were infrequent. But +other forms of accident threatened them and the stage-coaches alike. +There were, for instance, fogs, and they were exceedingly dangerous. +Penny, an old driver of the Edinburgh mail, was killed from this cause. +Starting one foggy night, he grew nervous, and asked the guard, a younger +and stronger man, to take the reins. He did so, and drove up a bank. +The mail was upset, and Penny was killed. + +Snow and frost were the especial foes of the mails on the northern +stretches of the Great North Road, just as widespread floods were in the +Huntingdonshire and Nottinghamshire levels, by Ouse and Trent; so that no +mail-coach was completely equipped which did not in the winter months +carry a snow-shovel. + +But it was not always the north-country coaches that felt the fury of the +snowstorms. The famous storm of December 1836 blocked all roads +impartially. The Louth mail, which left the Great North Road at Norman +Cross, had to be abandoned and the mails transferred to the lighter +agency of a post-chaise, while numerous others were buried in the snow as +far south as St. Albans. + +The earlier and later periods of coaching were productive of accidents in +equal degrees. Stage-coaches may be said to date, roughly, from 1698, +and continued as lumbering, uncomfortable conveyances until competition +with the mails began to smarten them up, soon after 1784, when their +second period dawned. Stage-coachmen of the first period were well +matched with their machines, and not often fit to be trusted with any +other cattle than a team of tired plough-horses. Their want of skill +generally caused the accidents in those days, and the efficiency of +others was affected by the conditions of their employment. The “classic” +age had not arrived, and bad roads, ill-made coaches, and poor horses, +combined with long hours of driving to render travelling quite dangerous +enough, without the highwaymen’s aid. Coachmen drove long distances in +those days, and sometimes fell asleep from sheer weariness—a failing +which did not conduce to the safety of the passengers. But the old +coach-proprietors did not do the obvious thing—make the stages shorter +and change the coachman more frequently. No; they contrived a hard, +uncomfortable seat for him which rested on the bed of the axletree in +such a manner as to shake every bone in his body, and to render repose +quite out of the question. + + [Picture: The Louth Mail stopped by the snow] + +To these clumsy or worn-out fellows succeeded the dashing charioteers of +the palmy age of coaching, which we may say came into full being with the +year 1800, and lasted for full thirty years. Many broken heads and +limbs, and bruises and contusions innumerable, can be laid to the account +of these gay sportsmen. Washington Irving has left us a portrait of the +typical stage-coachman of this time, in this delightful literary jewel:— + + “He cannot be mistaken for one of any other craft. He has commonly a + broad full face, curiously mottled with red, as if the blood had been + forced by hard feeding into every vessel of the skin; he is swelled + into jolly dimensions by frequent potations of malt liquors, and his + bulk is still further increased by a multiplicity of coats in which + he is buried like a cauliflower, the upper one reaching to his heels. + He wears a broad-brimmed, low-crowned hat, a huge roll of coloured + handkerchief about his neck, knowingly knotted and tucked in at the + bosom, and has in summer-time a large bouquet of flowers in his + buttonhole—the present, most probably, of some enamoured country + lass. His waistcoat is commonly of some bright colour, striped; and + his small-clothes extend far below the knees, to meet a pair of + jockey-boots which reach about half-way up his legs. + + “All this costume is maintained with much precision; he has a pride + in having his clothes of excellent materials, and, notwithstanding + the seeming grossness of his appearance, there is still discernible + that neatness and propriety of person which is almost inherent in an + Englishman. He enjoys great confidence and consideration along the + road; has frequent conferences with the village housewives, who look + upon him as a man of great trust and dependence, and he seems to have + a good understanding with every bright-eyed country lass. The moment + he arrives where the horses are to be changed, he throws down the + reins with something of an air, and abandons the cattle to the care + of the ostler; his duty being merely to drive from one stage to + another. When off the box, his hands are thrust into the pockets of + his great-coat, and he rolls about the inn-yard with an air of the + most absolute lordliness. Here he is generally surrounded by an + admiring throng of ostlers, stable-boys, shoe-blacks, and those + nameless hangers-on that infest inns and taverns, and run errands, + and do all kinds of odd jobs for the privilege of battening on the + drippings of the kitchen and the leakings of the tap-room. These all + look up to him as an oracle, treasure up his cant phrases, echo his + opinions about horses and other topics of jockey-lore, and, above + all, endeavour to imitate his air and carriage. Every ragamuffin + that has a coat to his back thrusts his hands in the pockets, rolls + in his gait, talks slang, and is an embryo coachey.” + +But how different the last years of this gorgeous figure! When railways +were projected, the coachman laughed at the idea. He thought himself +secure on his box-seat, and witnessed the preparations for laying the +iron rails with an amused confidence that his horses could run the +“tin-kettles” off the road with little trouble. He kept this frame of +mind even until the opening of the line that competed with him; and even +when it was proved to demonstration that railways could convey passengers +at least three times as swiftly as coaches, and at about a quarter of the +cost, he generally professed to believe that “it couldn’t last long.” +His was the faith that should have moved mountains—to say nothing of +blighting locomotives; but it was no use. His old passengers deserted +him. They were not proof against the opportunities of saving time and +money. Who is? Nor did they come back to him, as he fondly thought they +would, half-choked with cinders and smoke. He was speedily run off the +road. There were those who liked him well, and, unwilling to see him +brought low, made interest with railway companies to secure him a post; +but he indignantly refused it when obtained; and, finding a cross-country +route to which the railway had not yet penetrated, drove the coachman’s +horror—a pair-horse coach—along the by-ways. Gone by now was his lordly +importance. He had not even a guard, and frequently was reduced to +putting in the horses himself. He grew slovenly, and was maudlin in his +drink. “Tips” were seldom bestowed upon him, and when he received an +infrequent sixpenny-piece, he was known to burst into tears. The +familiar figure of Belisarius begging an obolus is scarce more painful. +The last of him was generally in the driving of the omnibus between the +railway station and the hotel; a misanthropic figure, consistently +disregarded by his passengers, lingering, resolutely old-fashioned in +dress, and none too civil, superfluous on the stage. + + [Picture: Entrance to London from Islington, 1809] + + + + +VII + + +THESE long preliminaries over, we may duly start for the North from the +General Post Office, coming to Islington by way of Goswell Road. Here, +at the “Peacock” or the “Angel,” travellers of a century and a-half ago +were one mile from London, or from Hicks’s Hall, which was the same +thing. A milestone proclaimed the fact, and its successor, with a +different legend, stood until quite recently opposite the Grand Theatre, +on Islington Green. Here stood the first toll-gate as you went out of +London. Here also was the village pound for strayed horses and cattle. +Here again, according to those who do not know anything at all about it, +the bailiff’s daughter of Islington might have met her lover; only, +unhappily for this Islington, the old ballad refers to quite another +Islington, away in Norfolk. + +The usual suburban perils awaited wayfarers to Islington at any time +during the eighteenth century, and those bound for it from the city were +accustomed to wait at the Smithfield end of St. John Street until a +number had collected, when they were convoyed outwards by the armed +patrol stationed there for that purpose. But the footpads were quite +equal to the occasion, and simply waited until those parties dispersed +for their several homes, and then, like skilful generals, attacked them +in detail. The Islington Vestry were obliged to make a standing offer of +£10 to any one who should arrest a robber; but that this failed seems +certain, for at a later period we find the inhabitants subscribing a fund +for rewards to those who arrested evildoers. + +Time has wrought sad havoc with Islington’s once rural aspect, and with +its old coaching inns. That grand coaching centre, the “Peacock,” has +utterly vanished, and so has the picturesque “Queen’s Head,”—gabled, +Elizabethan—wantonly destroyed in 1829; while the “Angel,” pulled down in +1819 and rebuilt, and again rebuilt in 1900, has since retired from +business as a public-house, and is now a tea and lunch place, in the +hands of a popular firm of caterers. In early days, and well on into the +nineteenth century, the Green was really a pleasant spot, with tall elms +shading the footpaths, and a very rustic-looking pound for strayed +cattle. Near by stood for many years a little hatter’s shop, bearing the +legend in large characters, “Old Hats Beavered,” and it is curious to +note how, in a long succession of old prints, this shop and its now +curiously sounding notice kept their place while all else was changing. + + [Picture: Islington Green, 1820] + +Islington was once a Cockney paradise, and to it retired, as into the +country, the good citizens and shopkeepers of London, setting up +miniature parks and pleasances of their own. So favourite a practice was +this that the witlings of that period, a hundred and fifty years ago, +used to publish absurd notices supposed to have been found displayed at +the entrances of these haunts. “The New Paradise,” ran one of them, +“Gentlemen with Nails in their Boots not Admitted.” Perhaps also +“Serpents Warned Off.” At that time, and long before, Islington was +resorted to on account of some alleged mineral waters existing here. +“Islington,” according to M. Henri Misson, who travelled in England, and +wrote a book about us and our country in 1718, “is a large village, half +a league from London, where you drink waters that do you neither good nor +harm, provided you don’t take too much of them.” This is decidedly a +“palpable hit,” and may be commended to those who take medicinal waters +in our own time. + +“It is not much flock’d to by People of Quality,” he goes on to observe. +Here, at least, he is not out of date. People of Quality do not flock to +Islington. The medicinal waters are all gone; and that Islington is, +even now, not in any great degree a resort of fashion is an +incontrovertible fact. + +Between this and Highgate, the road leading to what the poets call the +“true and tender North” is by no means happy. Any other of the classic +highways of England begins better, and however delightful the Holloway +Road may have been in the coaching age, it is in these crowded days a +very commonplace thoroughfare indeed. The long reaches of mean streets +and sordid bye-roads combine with the unutterably bad road surface to +render the exit from London anything but pleasurable. + +Sir Walter Scott, on his way down to Abbotsford in 1826, calls the Great +North Road “the dullest road in the world, though the most convenient,” +and the description, minus the convenience, might well stand for its +suburban portion to-day. In Sir Walter’s time, however, these first few +miles were only just emerging from a condition in which dulness could +have had no part. In fact, it may well be supposed that the travellers, +who up to that time went by coach to York, well armed, found the journey +a thought too lively. Indeed, the Holloway Road, into which they came, +from the last outposts of civilisation, was, as it were the ante-chamber +into that direful territory of highwaymen and footpads, the veritable +Alsatias of Finchley Common and Whetstone. In fact, a few years earlier +still, when there were no houses at Holloway at all, and no district +known by that name, what is now called the Holloway Road was a lonely +track, full of mud and water, through which the coach route ran, infested +all the while by the most villainous characters, compared with whom the +gay highwayman in ruffles and lace, and mounted on a mettlesome horse, +was a knight indeed—a chevalier without fear or reproach. This stretch +of road lay then between high banks, and considerably below the level of +the surrounding fields. It was a “hollow” road, as such roads are called +wherever they exist in the country—the actual, original Hollow Way from +which, in the course of time, a whole residential district has obtained +its name. Such roads, worn down through the earth by constant traffic, +are always very ancient, and though the story of the Holloway Road at a +period from a hundred and fifty to eighty years ago was a disgraceful +one, the inhabitants of that part can console themselves by the soothing +thought that, although it cannot claim the Roman ancestry of the route by +Shoreditch, Waltham Cross and Cheshunt, which was the Ermine Way, the +road in question probably dates back to the respectable antiquity of +mediæval times. + + + + +VIII + + +THE road has been ascending ever since the General Post Office was left +behind, and now we come to the beginning of Highgate Hill, where the old +way over the hill-top, and the more recent one, dating from 1813, divide +left and right. Here, at the junction of Salisbury Road with Highgate +Hill, stands the Whittington Stone, marking the traditional spot where +Dick rested on his flight, and heard the bells inviting him to + + “Turn again, Whittington, + Thrice Lord Mayor of London.” + +It is a pretty story, and one which, let us hope, will never be forgotten +or popularly discredited; how the boy, running away from ill-treatment at +his master’s house in the city, halted here in his four-miles’ flight, +and resting on the slope of Highgate Hill, saw the clustered spires of +London and the silvery Thames—it _was_ silvery then—down below, and heard +the prophetic message of Bow Bells inviting him to return. If we can +believe that he had his favourite cat with him, let us believe with joy, +because it goes far to complete the tender story which has always held +captive the hearts of the children; and God forbid we should grow the +less tender towards the beautiful legends of our forbears as we grow +older. + +Bow Bells fulfilled their prophecy in full measure and running over, for +Dick Whittington was chosen to complete the year of Mayor—Adam Bamme—who +died in 1397, and was Mayor on three separate occasions as well; in 1397, +1406, and 1420. He was knighted, of course, and, moreover, he became one +of the richest men of his time. Perhaps the most dramatic thing recorded +of his prosperous career as Mayor and a member of the Mercers’ Company, +is that splendid entertainment which he gave to Henry the Fifth and his +Queen at Guildhall in his last year of office, when he threw into the +fire bonds equal to £60,000 of our money, due to him from the king—a +generous, nay, a princely gift. + +But he was not “Lord” Mayor. The tradition is wrong in that respect. +There were “Mayors,” but no “Lord Mayor” until 1486. + +Who was Richard Whittington? We know him well in his later career as a +Mercer, and as a pious and patriotic citizen; but whence came he? Was he +the poor and friendless lad of legend? Well, not quite that. Poor, +perhaps, because he was the youngest of three brothers; but not +friendless, for his family was of no mean descent. His father, Sir +William Whittington, had an estate on which he lived, at Pauntley, in +Gloucestershire, and other possessions of the family were at Sollers +Hope, Herefordshire. Misfortunes fell upon Sir William, who seems to +have died not long after Dick was born; but the family had friends in the +FitzWarrens, of whom one, Sir John, was a prominent Mercer in London. +Dick’s brothers had, as elder brothers have nowadays, the best chances, +as it seemed, and remained in the country, enjoying the family property, +or following rural employments. Dick we may readily picture as being +sent to FitzWarren, to learn a trade. The great man probably took him +for old acquaintance’ sake, and, having received the lad of thirteen, and +turned him over to one of his many underlings, promptly forgot him. It +is a way with the great, not yet obsolete. We may with a good conscience +reject that part of the legend which tells how Dick was found, an obscure +waif and stray, on FitzWarren’s doorstep, and taken, in compassion, to +serve as a scullion. The pantomimes always insist on this, and on the +ferocious cook’s ill-treatment of him; but pantomime librettists have +many sins to answer for. + +No; Dick was an apprentice, a poor one, and doubtless taken without a +premium; but not scullion. There can be little doubt that the country +lad, thus thrown into the midst of many other apprentices in FitzWarren’s +house, must have been an object of sport. They would taunt him with his +country ways, and, superior in their clothes of London cut, ridicule, +with the cruel satire of boys, his homely duds. Possibly his flight had +some such origin as this. + +But it is chiefly on the legend of the cat that more or less learned +antiquaries have so savagely fallen, with intent to explain it away. The +cat, they assure us, was a fable, and they go on to say that it was from +coal vessels called “cats,” in which Whittington embarked his money, that +the story grew. Another school of commentators, eager to reduce the +pretty tale to commonplace, tell us that it originated in the old French +word for a purchase, _achat_. To what shifts will they not proceed in +this hunt for an ignoble realism! Whittington is not known to have +engaged in the ownership of colliers, or in the carrying of coal. A +Mercer has no commerce with such things. Then, that derivation from the +French _does_ smell of the lamp, does it not? + +Now for the truth of his embarking his favourite cat as a venture, to be +sold at a profit in some foreign port. The story, regarded with a +knowledge of those times, is by no means an improbable one. Indeed, to +go further, it is quite likely. Cats were in that era comparatively +rare. They had a high value at home; were even more valuable in Europe, +and in the darkly-known countries on the confines of the known world—a +small world, too, before the discovery of America—they were almost +priceless. + +Many childish searchings of heart have arisen over Dick’s parting with +his cat for love of gain. Did Dick, like the Arab who sold his steed, +repent with tears? Perhaps Dick was the happy possessor of two cats, and +his favourite was a “tom.” If the other was a she-cat, and as prolific +as are our own, no doubt Dick would have been glad to have got rid of +her; except that the progeny themselves were marketable. To this, then, +we are reduced: that Dick Whittington as a boy bred cats for exportation, +and that his black-and-white Tom, as the progenitor of them all, was the +founder of his fortunes. The legend tells us of only one cat, which, +when the vessel was driven out of her course to the coast of Barbary, was +sold for immense riches of gold and precious stones to the Sultan, whose +palace was infested with mice. That may do for the pantomimes; but, +unhappily, the ships that were so unfortunate in those times as to be +driven on those shores were plundered and their crews slain. It was +cheaper than buying. + +But whatever the details, it is certain that Whittington owed his first +successes to his cat. Several things, despite all destructive criticism, +point to the essential truth of the popular story. Firstly, original +portraits, painted from the life, testify to it by showing Whittington’s +hand laid caressingly on a black and white cat. Then, Whittington was +the rebuilder of the old New Gate, and his effigy, with a cat at his +feet, stood in one of its niches until the building was pulled down +hundreds of years afterwards. Finally, a very remarkable confirmation of +the story came from Gloucester in 1862, when, on a house occupied by the +Whittington family until 1460 being repaired, the fragment of a carved +chimney-piece of that century was discovered, bearing the sculpture of a +boy carrying a cat in his arms. It may reasonably be claimed that these +evidences, together with the popular belief in the story, which can be +traced back almost to Whittington’s own day, confound unbelievers. + +The present Whittington Stone is the degenerate and highly unornamental +descendant of quite a number of vanished memorials to the great Lord +Mayor which have occupied this spot since his day. It is not by any +means a romantic spot to the sight nowadays, but for those who can bring +romance with them in their own minds, it matters little that the heights +just here are crowned with suburban villa roads, that a public-house—the +“Whittington Stone Tavern”—stands by, or that the whole neighbourhood +reeks vulgarity. The present stone is dated 1821, and succeeded one +which had disappeared shortly before, itself the successor in 1795 of a +cross. The existing inscription was recut, and railings enclosing the +stone put up in 1869; a public-house gas-lamp now crowning and +desecrating the whole. + + + + +IX + + +IT is a far cry from the London County Council, the present highway +authority at Highgate, to the first roadmaker here, in 1364. A hermit, +William Phelippe by name, at that time lived in a little cell on the +lower slope of Highgate Hill, looking down upon London. From that remote +eyrie, had he been a man of imagination, he might have beheld prophetic +visions of London’s future sprawling greatness, when the tide of life +should rise to the crest of his hill and bring with it bricks and mortar, +wood-pavements, cable-tramways, and other things of equal use and beauty. +He foresaw none of these things, possibly because he did not sufficiently +mortify the flesh. Certainly he was a hermit not without wealth, and +perhaps therefore not one of your sad-eyed ascetics. He had a goodly +balance in some old earthenware crock under the floor, or at the bank—the +road bank of the Hollow Way, very old-established—and he had ample +leisure, unencroached upon by toilette requirements, for which hermits +had no use. Lazing in his cell commanding the road—it stood near where +the Whittington Stone stands now—he had often noticed how wet, miry, and +full of sloughs was the Hollow Way, and with what difficulty travellers +ascended by it. Accordingly he devised a scheme by which he conferred +benefits alike upon the travellers along the road and the farmers of +Highgate. He directed and paid for the digging of gravel and the laying +of it along the road, and in the work presently expended all his money. +But in so doing he had made an excellent investment; much better than +leaving it on deposit at the bank mentioned above, where, in the nature +of things, it accrued no interest; for he procured a decree from Edward +the Third, authorising “our well-beloved William Phelippe, the hermit,” +to set up a toll-bar, and licensing him to levy tolls and keep the road +in repair for “our people passing between Heghgate and Smethfelde.” Thus +were the first toll-bar and the first turnpike-keeper established, and we +may judge that the undertaking was profitable from the records that show +how very largely the roadside hermits throughout the country went into +the business of road and bridge making or mending shortly afterwards. +There were hermits of sorts: some authorised, and some not; some who did +good work in this wise and some who did nothing at all, and yet continued +to live substantially on the mistaken gifts of wayfarers. The profession +of the eremite was not without its jealousies. An industrious road-maker +might have a cell placed in a position outside a town favourable for the +collection of dues, when another would set up business, say a quarter of +a mile further out, and so intercept the money; so that travellers having +paid once, had nothing for the real Simon Pure. Having satisfied Codlin, +they disregarded Short; whereupon it not infrequently happened that if +Short were the more muscular of the two he would go and have it out with +his rival, while the world went by, scandalised at the apostolic blows +and knocks these holy men were dealing one another. + +William Phelippe’s licence was renewed every year. His tariff of tolls +is still extant, and we read that for every cart carrying merchandise, +its wheels shod with iron, twopence per week was paid; if not shod with +iron, one penny. Every horse carrying merchandise was charged one +farthing per week. Pedestrians and horsemen without goods went free. +These charges seem absurdly small until we multiply them by twenty, which +gives results representing the present value of money, and then it will +be found that those ancient tolls were on much the same scale as those +which existed until July 1st, 1864, when all turnpikes on public highways +within fifty miles of London were abolished by Act of Parliament. + +A great gap stretches between the time of our road-making hermit and that +of Telford—a gap of four hundred and fifty years. Yet, although Highway +Acts were from time to time devised for the betterment of the roads, +their condition remained bad, and there was always, since 1386, the crest +of Highgate Hill to surmount. + +Unless we take this hill-top route to the left we shall not have seen +Highgate; nor, in truth, is there much to see, now that the old Gatehouse +Tavern is gone, and with it the last outward and visible connection with +the days of yore. The tavern marked the site of the old turnpike-gate +that stood here, the lineal successor of the hermit’s original pitch +lower down, when the old route to Barnet by Tallingdon Lane, Crouch End, +Hornsey Great Park, Muswell Hill, Friern Barnet, and Whetstone was +superseded by the new one through the Bishop of London’s estate, by +Finchley and Whetstone, in 1386. It is in the existence at that time of +the Bishop’s park that we may perhaps seek with success the origin of the +name of “Highgate,” which does not necessarily allude to the very +obviously “high” gate situated here—more than 350 feet above sea-level. +No; it was the “haigh” gate, the portal which gave access through the +enclosure (_haia_) with which my Lord Bishop’s domain was presumably +surrounded. Through his land all traffic passed until it emerged on the +other side of Whetstone, where, commanding the entrance to Barnet, stood +another gate in receipt of tolls, swelling the income of that very +business-like ecclesiastic and his successors for hundreds of years. + +At the Highgate end dues were collected on horned cattle, among other +things, and here originated the practice of being initiated into the +freedom of Highgate, a mock ceremonial founded upon Roman Catholic rites +at the time of the Reformation. For three hundred years this farcical +observance was continued at the tavern by the gate, and only fell into +disuse with the decay of coaching. Those who had not previously passed +this way were “sworn in on the horns,” a practice traced to the +unwillingness of the cattle drovers who frequented the tavern to allow +strangers to mix with them. This exclusiveness no doubt originated in +the fear of trade secrets being divulged, a feeling which may still be +met with among commercial travellers of the older school, who resent the +appearance of the mere tourist in their midst. The stranger who in olden +times happened upon these drovers at Highgate was discouraged from taking +bite or sup here, and only permitted to join them after having kissed the +horns of one of their beasts. This speedily became elevated (or +degraded, shall we say?) into a sort of blasphemous ritual parodying the +admission of a novice into the Church, and this again, with the lapse of +time and the dying of religious hatreds, developed into the merely +good-natured farce played during the last hundred years of the existence +of the custom. + +When the coaches pulled up here, it was soon discovered, by judicious +questioning, who were the strangers who had not been made “free.” They +were made to alight, and, having removed their hats and kissed a pair of +horns mounted on a pole, “the oath” was administered by the landlord in +this wise:—“Upstanding and uncovered: silence. Take notice what I now +say to you, for _that_ is the first word of the oath; mind _that_. You +must acknowledge me to be your adopted father. I must acknowledge you to +be my adopted son. If you do not call me father you forfeit a bottle of +wine; if I do not call you son I forfeit the same. And now, my good son, +if you are travelling through this village of Highgate, and you have no +money in your pocket, go call for a bottle of wine at any house you may +think proper to enter and book it to your father’s score,” and so forth. + +An initiate had to swear never to drink small beer when he could get +strong (unless he preferred small); never to eat brown bread when he +could get white (unless he preferred brown); never to kiss the maid when +he could kiss the mistress (unless he preferred the maid, and in case of +doubt he might kiss both); after which he had to kiss the horns or the +woman in the company who appeared the fairest, as seemed good to him, the +ceremony concluding with the declaration of his privileges as a freeman +of Highgate. Among the well-known privileges were—that if he felt tired +when passing through Highgate and saw a pig lying in a ditch, he might +kick the pig away and take its place, but if he saw three lying together +he must only kick away the middle one and lie between the other two! + + + + +X + + +IT was on Highgate Hill that the great Francis, Lord Bacon, whom some +believe to have written Shakespeare’s dramas, fell a martyr to his +scientific enthusiasm. Driving up this chilly eminence one winter’s day +when the snow lay on the ground, it occurred to him that, from its +chemical constituents, snow must possess admirable preservative +properties, and he accordingly resolved immediately to put this theory to +the proof. Stopping his carriage at a neighbouring farmhouse, he +purchased a fowl and stuffed it carefully with snow. Being in weak +health at the time, he took a chill, and before he could be driven home, +became so alarmingly ill that he was obliged to be carried to Lord +Arundel’s house at Highgate. There a damp bed aggravated his seizure, so +that in a few days he died, in 1626. + +Farmhouses are far to seek from Highgate Hill nowadays, new roads and +streets of shops being more general. With the end of the eighteenth +century, Highgate became a populous little town, but its outskirts did +not altogether lose their terrors for travellers. Suburban villas had +begun to sparsely dot these northern heights of London with the coming of +the new era, but the New Police had not yet been brought into being; and +so belated dwellers in these wilds afforded fine sport for the footpads, +who, hunting in couples, and armed with horrible pitch-plasters, attacked +the mild citizen from behind, and, clapping a plaster over his mouth, +reduced him to an enforced silence, while they emptied his pockets at +leisure. It was late one night in 1807 that Grimaldi, the most famous of +all clowns, was robbed on Highgate Hill by two footpads. They spared him +the usual plaster, perhaps because there was no one else about, and so it +did not matter in the least how loudly he might shout for help. Among +minor articles of spoil, they secured a remarkable watch which had been +given him two years before as a testimonial by his many admirers. The +dial represented his face in character when singing his popular comic +song, “Me and my Neddy.” The robbers, seeing this, immediately +recognised him. Looking at one another, they could not make up their +minds to rob him of his treasure, and so they gave it back, Grimaldi +goggling and grinning at them the while, as on the stage. So, with a +vivid recollection of Sadler’s Wells, and bursting with laughter, they +left him. + +It is peculiarly unfortunate for those who are uncertain about their +aspirates that London and its neighbourhood should abound in place-names +beginning with the letters “A” and “H.” Cockneys have ever—or ’ave +hever, shall we say?—been afflicted with this difficulty; but they are +overcoming the tendency of their forbears to speak of “’Ornsey, +’Ampstead, ’Igit, ’Arrow, ’Omerton, ’Ackney, ’Endon or ’Atfield.” The +classic anecdote in this connection is that of the City Alderman who +lived at Highgate, praising his locality to a distinguished guest at a +Mayoral banquet. + + [Picture: Old Highgate Archway, demolished 1897] + +“Don’t you think ’Iget pretty?” he asked. + +“Really,” the guest is supposed to have replied, “I haven’t known you +long enough to say.” + +“I’m not talking of meself,” returned the Alderman, “but of ’Iget on the +’Ill.” + +Until 1813 coaches and foot-passengers alike toiled over the Hill, +through Highgate village, and by a roundabout road into East End, +Finchley, which, with its adjoining hamlets, was until quite recently so +greatly cut off from London by these comparatively Alpine heights and the +lack of suburban railways, that it was, for all practical purposes, as +distant as many other places fifty or sixty miles away, but situated on +more level roads or on direct railway routes. To remedy this the Archway +Road was cut direct from the Upper Holloway Road to East End, saving half +a mile in the distance to be travelled and a hundred feet in the height +to be climbed. + +The Archway and the Archway Road were constructed about 1813, following +upon the failure of the original idea of driving a tunnel through the +hill-top. The Hill is a great outstanding knob of London clay, a +substance both difficult and dangerous to pierce; but it was not until +the work was nearly completed that it fell in, one day in 1812, happily +before the labours of the day had been begun. The present open cutting +of the Archway Road, rather over a mile in length, took the place of the +projected tunnel, and the Archway was constructed for the purpose of +carrying Hornsey Lane across the gap. If an unlovely, it was in its way +an impressive, structure, even though the impression was, rather of the +nightmare sort. It was scarcely necessary, for Hornsey Lane has been at +no time a place of great resort, and the traffic along it could have been +diverted at small cost, and with little inconvenience made to cross the +Archway Road by a circuitous route. Highgate Archway has now +disappeared, giving place to a lighter structure, spanning the road +without the support of the cumbrous old piers which, until the summer of +1900, continued to block three-fourths of the way. It has gone because +the road-traffic has grown with the suburbs and the way was not wide +enough; but its disappearance removes a landmark proclaiming where town +and country met. + +The making of the Archway and the road was no public-spirited act, but +the commercial undertaking of a Company, whose total expenses were very +large, and, by consequence, the tolls exacted extremely high. +Pedestrians were not chargeable at ordinary toll-gates, but here they had +to pay a penny, or go the tedious way over the Hill. Sixpence was levied +on every laden or draught horse. + +It was not a profitable undertaking, even at these rates, and the tolls +had a very decided effect in stemming the advance of Suburbia in this +direction. In 1861, when the abolition of tolls within fifty miles of +London was a burning question, the Company owed the Consolidated Fund no +less than £13,000. The Government bought it out for £4,000, receiving +£9,000 by instalments spread over fifteen years, after which period the +road was to be declared free. It was accordingly opened free of toll in +1876. And thus it remained, as in the illustration, until 1897, when it +was demolished and the roadway widened. The present Archway was opened +in 1900. + + + + +XI + + +EAST End, Finchley, to which we now come, is one of the many straggling +settlements built upon Finchley Common. Stretches of fields alternate +with rows of new shops and tiny old-world cottages. Here stands the +“Bald-Faced Stag,” with the effigy of a stag surmounting the +appropriately bald elevation of that huge and ugly public-house. The +yards of monumental masons jostle it on either hand; a grim and +unpleasing conjunction, and a prelude to those vast townships of London’s +dead, the St. Marylebone, Islington, and St. Pancras Cemeteries, which +with other properties of the Cemetery Companies render the road dismal +and people these northern heights with a vast population of departed +citizens. The merry market-gardener has betaken himself and his cabbages +to other parts, and the builder builds but sparely. + +Just where the Great Northern Railway bridge crosses over the road at +East End stands the “Old White Lion,” in a pretty wooded dip of the road. +The house was once known, and marked on the maps as the “Dirt House,” +from its having been the house of call of the market-wagons on the way to +London with produce, and on the way back with loads of dirt and manure. +The wood was also known as “Dirt House Wood.” It was here also that +Horne the coachmaster’s stables were situated. + +To this succeeds North Finchley, beginning at the junction of a road from +Child’s Hill with the Great North Road, known as Tally Ho Corner. North +Finchley, called by the genteel “Torrington Park,” is yet another +settlement, filched, like the cemeteries, from Finchley Common by +successive iniquitous Acts of Parliament at the beginning of the +nineteenth century. Could the gay highwaymen who, a hundred years ago, +were gathered to their fathers at the end of a rope down Tyburn way +revisit Finchley, the poor fellows would sadly need a guide. Where, +alas! is Finchley Common, that wide-spreading expanse of evil omen on +which these jovial spirits were so thoroughly at home? Finchley Common, +once second only to the far-famed Hounslow Heath, has long since been +divided up between the many who, more than a hundred years ago, conspired +to cheat the people of their birthright in this once broad expanse of +open space. The representatives of the people at Westminster allowed it, +and my Lord Bishop of London profited by it, together with lesser folk, +each in their several degrees. The Common then extended to considerably +over two thousand acres. Of this vast tract only a few acres are left, +beyond North Finchley. The rest was sold quietly, and by degrees, for +absurdly small sums. + + [Picture: The Great Common of Finchley: a parlous place] + +Between 1700 and 1800 the great Common of Finchley was a parlous place, +and not one of the better-known highwaymen but had tried his hand at +“touching the mails” as they went across this waste; or patrolled the +darkest side of the road, ready to spring upon the solitary traveller. +Indeed, the childlike simplicity of the lonely travellers of those days +is absolutely contemptible, considering the well-known dangers of the +roads. For instance, on the night of the 28th August, 1720, a horseman +might have been observed in the act of crossing Finchley Common. He had +fifteen guineas in his pocket, and ambled along as though he had been in +Pall Mall instead of on perhaps the most dangerous road in England. At a +respectful distance behind him came his servant, and just in front of +him, midway of this howling wilderness, stood three figures. “There is +an eye that notes our coming,” says the poet, and three pairs of eyes had +perceived this wayfarer. They belonged to an enterprising individual +named Spiggott and to two other ruffians, whose names have not been +handed down to posterity. The weirdly named Spiggott was apparently +above disguising himself; his companions, however, might have stood for +stage brigands, for one of them had the cape of his coat buttoned over +his chin, and the other wore a slouched hat over his eyes. In addition +to this, he kept the ends of his long wig in his mouth—which seems rather +a comic opera touch. It is to be hoped, rather than expected, that the +traveller with the guineas saw the humour of it. In the twinkling of an +eye one brigand had seized his horse and made him dismount, while the +others covered him with their pistols. The servant also was secured, the +guineas transferred with the dexterity of a practised conjurer, the +horses turned loose, and then the three rode away, leaving the traveller +and his servant to get on as best they could. Spiggott eventually paid +the penalty of his rashness in not disguising himself in accordance with +the canons of the hightoby craft, for when, a little later in his career, +he was caught, with some others, in an attempt on the Wendover wagon at +Tyburn, he was identified by the Finchley traveller. The end of him was +the appointed end of all his kind. The moral of this story seems to be +“Wear a mask when engaged in crime.” + +In 1774, Edmund Burke, travelling to Malton, in Yorkshire, was stopped +here by two highwaymen, who robbed him of ten guineas, and his servant of +his watch, in the most easy way. Some of these highwaymen were, indeed, +persons who took their calling in an earnest and whole-hearted manner, +and doubtless regarded Jack Sheppard as a mere scatterbrain, quite +unfitted to be in business for himself. Thoroughly business-like men +were Messrs. Everett and Williams, who entered into a duly drawn and +properly attested deed of partnership, by which it was agreed that they +should work together on Finchley Common and elsewhere and divide the +profits of their labours into equal shares. Their industry prospered, +and the common fund soon reached the very respectable total of £2,000. +But when required to render accounts and to pay over half this amount, +Mr. Williams refused; whereupon his partner brought an action-at-law +against him, in 1725. A verdict for £20 was actually obtained, and +appealed against by the defendant. The court then very properly found +the matter scandalous, and sentenced Everett to pay costs, the solicitors +engaged on either side being fined £50 each for their part in this +discreditable affair. One partner was executed, two years later, at +Maidstone, and the other at Tyburn, in 1730. + +There still exists an ancient oak by the road at a place called Brown’s +Wells, at the corner of a lane nearly opposite the “Green Man,” and in +the trunk of this last survival of the “good old days” there have been +found, from time to time, quite a number of pistol bullets, said to have +been fired by passing travellers at the trunk to frighten the highwaymen +who might chance to be hiding behind it, under cover of the night. The +tree itself has long borne the name of Turpin’s Oak, no less celebrated a +person than the re-doubtable Dick himself having once frequented it. +History fails to inform us who was the Brown after whom the Wells were +named. I suggest they should be, and were in the first place “Brent +Wells”; a source of the river Brent. Nor are those Wells—whatever they +may have been—now in existence, while the name itself is only perpetuated +by two or three old stuccoed villas beside the road. + +[Picture: Turpin’s Oak] Turpin, of course, is the greatest of all the +rascals who made the name of the Great North Road a name of dread. +Before him, however, the redoubtable Jack Sheppard figured here, but not, +it is sad to relate, in an heroic manner. In fact that nimble-fingered +youth, after escaping from the Stone Jug (by which piece of classic slang +you are to understand Newgate to be meant) had the humiliation to be +apprehended on Finchley Common, disguised in drink and a butcher’s blue +smock. That was the worst of those roystering blades. The drink was the +undoing of them all. If only they had been Good Templars, and had +sported the blue ribbon, it is quite certain that they had not been cut +off untimely; and might, with reasonable luck, even have retired with a +modest competence in early years. It was in 1724 that Jack Sheppard was +arrested by Bow Street runners on the Common, and the fact somewhat +staggers one’s belief in the wild lawlessness of that place. To capture +a highwayman in his own peculiar territory! One might just as soon +expect to hear of the Chief Commissioner of Police being kidnapped from +Scotland Yard. And yet it is quite certain that Finchley was no safe +place for a good young man with five pounds in his pocket and a mere +walking-stick in his hand, whether he proposed to cross it by night or +day. Even sixty-six years later this evil reputation existed; for, in +1790, the Earl of Minto, travelling to London, wrote to his wife that +instead of pushing on to town at night, he would defer his entry until +morning, “for I shall not trust my throat on Finchley Common in the +dark.” Think of it! And Dick Turpin had been duly executed fifty years +before! + +Of the many names in the long and distinguished roll of road agents who +figured here at some time or another in their meteoric careers, it is not +possible to say much. There was the courageous and resourceful Captain +Hind, the whimsically nicknamed “Old Mob,” burly Tom Cox, Neddy Wicks, +and Claud Duval. Duval’s proper territory is, however, the Bath Road. + +The palmy days of the highwayman were before 1797, the year of Pitt’s Act +for Restricting Cash Payments. Before then, travellers carried nothing +but gold, and as they required plenty of that commodity on their long and +tedious journeys, the booty seized by these gentry was often +considerable. Bank notes then came into favour, and were issued for as +low a denomination as one pound. These would have been a perilous kind +of plunder, and accordingly as they grew popular, so did the certainty of +a good haul from coaches and post-chaises diminish, until panics came, +banks failed, and paper money became for a time a discredited form of +currency. By that time the roads were better patrolled, and coin was to +be conjured from the pockets of the lieges with less safety than before. +From these causes, and from the new law which made it penal to receive +stolen goods as well as to steal them, we may date the decadence of a +great industry, now utterly vanished from the roads. + + + + +XII + + +[Picture: “The Whetstone”] WHETSTONE, coming next after the Finchleys, is +held in local legends to have acquired its name from the battered old +stone still to be seen embedded in the ground by the signpost of the +“Griffin” inn. On it the men-at-arms are said to have whetted their +swords and spears before the battle of Barnet. The sceptical smile at +this antiquity, and for their benefit there is a rival legend which gives +the date as that of 1745, when King George’s army marched down to meet +Prince Charles and his Highlanders. Antiquaries have often demolished +this derivation of the place-name; but the hoary (and quite unveracious) +tale survives, and is doubtless immortal. You may explain it away, but +the stone is there, and your local patriot is ever a materialist in such +a resort. + +It is a straggling, broad-streeted village, with a breadth implying the +originally small value of the land, and encroachments here and there upon +the old building-line proving both the implication and the fact that, +many years ago, there were those who, having the foreknowledge of a +coming betterment, and more daring than their neighbours, grabbed while +they might. Many inns, laundries, dairy-farms, great black-timbered +barns, and a few rotting hoardings and unfinished houses make up the long +street and tell alike of a vanished rusticity and of an arrested +development. + +Chaplin, the great coach-proprietor, had large stables here, his first +stage out of London on the northern roads. They were placed here, rather +than at Barnet, in order to avoid expenses at Whetstone Gate, situated +down the road, near Greenhill Cross. Whetstone Gate gave travellers +going north the welcome intelligence that they had finally passed +Finchley Common and come to the better roads and more reputable society +of Barnet, where they were safe from highwaymen. + +The road across Finchley Common was in passive alliance with these +gentry. When Pepys visited Barnet, in 1660, partly for sake of its now +forgotten medicinal waters, he found the highway “torne, plowed, and +digged up,” in consequence of the heavily laden wagons and their long +struggling teams of horses and oxen, which had made havoc with what had +been a fairly good roadway. Progress was difficult, even in the best +circumstances, and when stress of weather made it almost impossible, the +highwaymen robbed with impunity, and absolutely at their leisure. + +The road remained more or less in this condition up to the early years of +the nineteenth century. This was partly owing to the mistaken local +patriotism which had prevented the remodelling of it in 1754, when the +rustics of Whetstone routed the surveyor and his labourers at the point +of the pitchfork. Better counsels prevailed in the first decade of the +new era, and the eight miles of highway under the control of the +Whetstone and Highgate Turnpike Trust rose in 1810 to be considered as +good as any in the kingdom. It then became possible, for the first time +in its history, for the Barnet stage to leave for London and to reach its +destination without the necessity of stopping on the way for tea. The +Trustees were naturally pleased with their road, and so in 1823 received +with some surprise, under the new Act for the improvement of the line of +road from London to Holyhead, a demand for the reconstruction of the +highway between Prickler’s Hill and the southern end of Barnet town. +They pointed out how greatly superior their portion of the road was to +others, but to no purpose. The Government admitted the excellence of the +surface, but boggled at the severity of the gradient, and practically +insisted on its being reduced. + +The Trustees were dismayed. Telford and Macadam supplied rival plans, +and both foreshadowed heavy expense. Telford’s idea was to slice off the +top of Barnet Hill, and to run the road through a more or less deep +cutting through the street; a plan which, if adopted, would have left the +houses and the footpaths in the position of buildings overhanging a +cliff. Fortunately for Barnet the scheme drawn up by Macadam prevailed. +It was for the partial filling up of the dip in the road between +Prickler’s Hill and the excessively steep entrance into the town, an +entrance even now by no means easily graded. What it must originally +have been may readily be judged by looking down from the present embanked +road to the old one, seen going off to the left, in the hollow where the +old roadside houses still stand, among them the “Old Red Lion,” on the +site of the inn where Pepys stayed. The end one of a row of ten or +twelve cottages, at the corner of May’s Lane, was once a toll-house. + +The work of making the new road, begun in 1823, was not completed until +four years later, at a cost of £17,000. A large portion of this heavy +sum went in compensation to the Sons of the Clergy Corporation, for land +taken. The cost of these improvements came eventually, of course, out of +the pockets of travellers along the road. On this Trust they were +mulcted severely, for the Trustees, finding the existing tolls to be +utterly inadequate to their expenses, obtained powers in 1830 to increase +them. They considered themselves hardly treated in being obliged to +undertake such costly works on the eve of the London and Birmingham +Railway being constructed—a railway which would have the effect of +withdrawing traffic from the road, and reducing receipts at the +toll-gates to a minimum; but the end, although not far off, was not yet, +and on the 3rd of July they succeeded in letting the tolls by auction for +one year at the handsome sum of £7,530. Accordingly they commenced to +pay off their debts, and succeeded in liquidating the whole of them by +the beginning of 1842, notwithstanding two successive reductions of tolls +in 1835 and 1841. + +It was in 1833 that the London and Birmingham Railway obtained its Act, +and it was opened throughout on September 7, 1838, the first of the +railways which were to contribute to the ruin of Barnet’s great coaching +and posting trade. The annual takings at Whetstone Gate immediately fell +to £1,300, but it lingered on until the Trust expired, November 1, 1863. + +It is interesting, as showing the growth of road traffic, to compare the +figures still available, giving the annual sums at which the tolls at +this gate were let in the old days. Thus, in Queen Elizabeth’s time, +they were farmed at £40 per annum, and in 1794 they fetched only £150. +But few vehicles passed then. Forty years later, no fewer than ninety +coaches swept through Whetstone Gate every twenty-four hours! + + + + +XIII + + +BARNET, or Chipping Barnet, or High Barnet, as it is variously called, +stands on the summit of a steep and high ridge running east and west. On +the east the height of Muswell Hill, now suburban and crowned +conspicuously with that unfortunate place of entertainment, the Alexandra +Palace, is prominent; and on the west are Totteridge and the range of +hills stretching away to Elstree. Other Barnets, old and new, are +plentiful: East and Friern Barnet, and the modern suburb of New Barnet. +Chipping Barnet derives the first part of its name from its ancient +chepe, or weekly market, granted by Henry the Second, and its more common +prefix of “High,” from its situation on the ridge just mentioned. + +Barnet was, to many coaching proprietors, the first stage out of London, +and the town prospered exceedingly on the coaching and posting traffic of +those two great thoroughfares—the Great North Road and the Holyhead Road. +When the Stamford “Regent,” the York “Highflyer,” and the early morning +coaches for Shrewsbury, Birmingham, Manchester, or Liverpool arrived, the +passengers, who had not found time for breakfast before starting, were +generally very sharp-set indeed, and the viands already prepared and +waiting in the cosy rooms of the old hostelries, disappeared before their +onslaught “in less than no time.” The battle of Barnet was fought over +again every morning, but they were not men-at-arms who contended +together, nor was the subject of their contention the Crown of England. +They were just famished travellers who struggled to get something to eat +and drink before the guard made his appearance at the door, with the +fateful cry, “Time’s up, gentlemen; take your seats please.” When the +horn sounded in the yard, desperate men would rush forth with hands full +of food, and finish their repasts as best they might on the coach. + + [Picture: High Street, Barnet] + +The two principal inns were the “Red Lion” and the “Green Man.” It was, +and is now in some degree, a town of inns, but these were the +headquarters of the two great political parties. Neither was a +“coaching” inn, for they despised trafficking with ordinary travellers, +and devoted themselves wholly to the posting business. The “Red Lion” +was originally the “Antelope.” Standing in the most favourable position +for intercepting the stream of post-chaises from London, it generally +secured the pick of business going that way, unless indeed the political +bias of gentlemen going down into the country forbade them to hire +post-horses at a Tory house. In that case, they went to the “Green Man,” +further on, which was Whig. And perhaps, in sacrificing to politics, +they got inferior horses! The “Green Man” placed in midst of the town, +was in receipt of the up traffic, and was the largest establishment, +keeping twenty-six pairs of horses and eleven postboys, against the +eighteen pairs and eight postboys of the “Red Lion”; and it is recorded +that between May 9th and 11th, when, on May 10th, 1808, two celebrated +prizefighters, Gully and Gregson, fought at Beechwood Park, Sir John +Sebright’s place down the road, near Flamstead, no fewer than one hundred +and eighty-seven pairs were changed. Those three days formed a record +time for the “Green Man,” according to these figures:— + +Posting £141 17 10½ +Bills in the house 54 19 0 +Bills in the yard 14 10 0 + £211 6 10½ + +The “boys” of the “Green Man” wore blue jackets; those of the “Red Lion,” +yellow jackets and black hats. + +An inn called the “Green Man” stands on the site of that busy house, but +it is of more recent date than the old Whig headquarters. It may be seen +at the fork of roads where the “new” road to St. Albans, driven through +the yard of the old “Green Man” in 1826, branches off. + +Thus the “Red Lion” remains, long after the eclipse of its rival. Its +frontage is impressive by size rather than beauty. With a range of +fifteen windows in line, and its fiercely-whiskered red lion balancing +himself at the end of a prodigiously long wrought-iron sign, it is +eloquent of the old days. The lion turns his head north, gazing away +from the direction in which his chief customers came. + +But this white-stuccoed frontage does not hide anything of antiquity, for +this is not that original “Red Lion” to which Samuel Pepys resorted. The +house he refers to in his diary is the “Old Red Lion”; down the hill, at +the approach to Barnet. There he “lay” in 1667. “August 11th, Lord’s +Day,” he writes: “Up by four o’clock . . . and got to the wells at Barnet +by seven o’clock, and there found many people a-drinking.” After +“drinking three glasses and the women nothing,” the party sojourned “to +the Red Lion, where we ’light and went up into the great room, and there +drank, and ate some of the best cheesecakes that ever I ate in my life.” + +The keenness of the innkeepers who let post-horses during the last few +years of the coaching age is scarcely credible. It was a fierce +competition. The landlord of the “Red Lion” at Barnet thought nothing of +forcibly taking out the post-horses from any private carriage passing his +house, and putting in a pair of his own, to do the next stage to St. +Albans. This, too, free of charge, in order to prevent the business +going to the hated rival. Mine host of that hotel also had his little +ways of drawing custom, and gave a glass of sherry and a sandwich, +gratis, to the travellers changing there. But things did not end here. +The landlord of the “Red Lion,” finding, perhaps, that the sherry and +sandwich at the “Green Man” was more attractive than his method, engaged +a gang of bruisers to pounce upon passing chaises, and even to haul them +out of his rival’s stable-yard. Evidently a man of wrath, this licensed +victualler! After several contests of this kind, the authorities +interfered. The combatants were bound over to keep the peace, the +punching of conks and bread-baskets, and the tapping of claret ceased, +and people travelling down the road were actually allowed to decide for +themselves which house they would patronise! + + + + +XIV + + +FROM Barnet the road runs across Hadley Green, a broad and picturesque +expanse, cursed nowadays with the ubiquitous golfer. Here, where the +road divides—the Great North Road to the right and the old Holyhead Road +to the left—stands the obelisk known as Hadley Highstone, which serves +both as a milestone and as a memorial of the great battle of Barnet, +fought here on that cold and miserable Easter Day, April 14, 1471, when +Edward the Fourth utterly defeated the Lancastrians under the Earl of +Warwick, the “King Maker.” Warwick fell, and the Red Rose was finally +crushed. Hadley Green was then a portion of a wide stretch of unenclosed +country known as Gladsmoor Heath, extending up to Monken Hadley church, +away on the right. The obelisk was erected by Sir Jeremy Sambrooke in +1740 on the spot where Warwick is said to have been slain. There is, +however, another spot which aspires to the honour, at Rabley Park, near +South Mimms. This also has its monumental pillar, but without +inscription. Among the guileless youth of the neighbourhood it is said +to mark “the place where a soldier was knocked down,” which is a +commonplace way of stating the fact. But who knocked him down, or why, +or when, is beyond them when questioned. + +Past the lodge gates of Wrotham Park and by Ganwick Corner, where stands +the “Duke of York” inn with its bust of that wonderful strategist. He is +looking enquiringly south, from his alcove over the front door, as though +wondering what has become of all the post-chaises and coaches of old. He +is that great commander who managed, according to the well-known rhyme, +to march his ten thousand men to the top of a hill and then down +again—but he never otherwise distinguished himself—except by the +magnitude of his debts. + + [Picture: Hadley Green: Site of the Battle of Barnet] + +Potter’s Bar marks where the counties of Middlesex and Hertford join. It +is not a place of delirious delights, consisting of stuccoed villas +fondly supposed to be Italian, and unfinished roads, and streets in a +state of suspended animation. Until 1897, when it was pulled down, an +old toll-house, the last in a long succession of toll-houses and +toll-bars which had stood here from the earliest times and had given +Potter’s Bar its name, occupied the fork of the roads at the north end of +the village, commanding the high-road and the road on the right to +Northaw. [Picture: Old Toll-House, Potter’s Bar] It was not a beautiful +building, but it hinted of old times, and its disappearance is to be +regretted. It was taken down because already, in the first twelve months +of the new automobile era a car had dashed into it and done most of any +demolition necessary. A War Memorial now stands on the site. Between +this and Hatfield the road goes in undulating fashion, with the Great +Northern Railway on the left hand nearly all the way, but chiefly +downhill. Down Little Heath Hill and then half-way up the succeeding +incline we come to a cutting which affords a newer and easier road than +the hilly route to the left. [Picture: Ganwick Corner] Where this joins +the old road again, nearly two miles onward, at Bell Bar, stands the +pretty “Swan” inn. The “bar” has, of course, long since disappeared. +Immediately ahead is Hatfield Park, stretching away for over three miles. +Through the park, by where the present south lodge stands, the highway +used to run in former times, and brought wayfarers between the wind and +the nobility of the Cecils. Accordingly the road was diverted at the +instance of the then Lord Salisbury, and the public no longer offend him, +his heirs, executors, or assigns. And now, for ever and a day, those who +use the road between Potter’s Bar and Hatfield village must go an extra +half mile. This is indeed a free and happy country. + + [Picture: Bell Bar] + +Hatfield village touches the extremity of wretchedness, just as Hatfield +House marks the apogee of late feudal splendour. And yet, amid its +tumbledown hovels there are quaintly beautiful old-gabled cottages with +bowed and broken-backed red-tiled roofs, delightful to the artistic eye, +if from the builder’s and decorator’s point of view sadly out of repair. +Motor repair-shops and garages, with their squalid advertisements, have +helped to ruin Hatfield, and the railway does its share, running closely +to the main road, and, with the station directly opposite the highly +elaborate modern wrought-iron gates that lead to Hatfield House, +detracting not a little from that state of dignified seclusion by which, +as we have just seen, a former Marquis of Salisbury set such store. Let +us hope his pale ghost does not revisit his old home. If it does, it +must be sorely vexed. + +But at any rate, that Marquis who was one of Queen Victoria’s Prime +Ministers, sits there in bronze portrait-effigy. He gazes mournfully, +directly at the railway booking-office, as one who has long been waiting, +without hope, for a train. It is a fine statue, by Sir George Frampton, +R.A., and bears the inscription:— + + ROBERT ARTHUR TALBOT, + Marquess of Salisbury, K.G., G.C.V.O., + Three times Prime Minister of + Great Britain and Ireland, + 1830–1903. + Erected to his memory by his Hertfordshire friends + and neighbours in recognition of a great life devoted + to the welfare of his country. + +Hatfield House, that great historical museum and ancient repository of +State secrets, is little seen from the village, nor have we, as wayfarers +along the road, much to do with it. It is by the parish church, its +characteristic Hertfordshire extinguisher spire so prominent above the +tumbled roofs of Hatfield, that we may glimpse the older parts of the +house. In that church lies its builder, the great Robert Cecil, his +effigy, with the Lord Treasurer’s wand of office, recumbent on a slab +uplifted by statues emblematic of Fortitude, Justice, Prudence, and +Temperance, and a skeleton below, to show that even Lord Treasurers, +possessed though they be of all the virtues, are mortal, like less +exalted and less virtuous men. + +The house that he built seems sadly out of repair. The history of it is +romantic to a degree. Originally the palace of the Bishops of Ely, whose +delicate constitutions could not stand the fen-land vapours which +enwrapped the neighbourhood of their glorious Cathedral (but perhaps were +not harmful to the less dignified clergy!), it remained in their +possession until it was coveted by Henry the Eighth, who gave some land +at Ely in exchange. So the bishops had, doubtless with an ill grace, to +go back to that fertile breeding-ground of agues and rheumatism, and one +can well imagine the resident inferior clergy, between their aches and +pains, chuckling secretly about this piece of poetic justice. + +And so in Royal possession the old palace continued until James the First +in his turn exchanged it for the estate of Sir Robert Cecil at Theobalds. +Previously it had been the home—the prison, rather of the Princess +Elizabeth during her sister Mary’s reign. The oak is still shown in the +park under which she was sitting when the news of Mary’s death and the +end, consequently, of the surveillance to which she was subjected, was +brought her, November 17, 1588. (But is tradition truthful here? Would +she have been sitting under an oak in November?) “It is the Lord’s +doing, it is marvellous in our eyes,” she exclaimed, quoting from the +Psalms. Three days later she held her first council in the old palace, +and then on the 23rd set out for London. + +There are relics of the great queen at Hatfield House: a pair of her +stockings and the garden hat she was wearing when the great news came to +her. But the house is nearly all of a later date, for when Sir Robert +Cecil obtained it in exchange for Theobalds, he pulled down the greater +part of the old palace and built the present striking Jacobean building, +magnificent and impressive, and perhaps not the less impressive for being +also somewhat gloomy. This is no place to recount the glories of its +picture-galleries and its noble state-rooms, or of the long line of the +exalted and the great who have been entertained here. Moreover, the +great are not uncommonly the dullest of dull dogs. It is rather with +those of less estate, and with travellers, that in these pages we shall +find our account. Pepys, for instance, whom we need not object to call +the natural man (for does not Scripture tell us that the human heart in a +natural state is “desperately wicked”? and Samuel was no Puritan), who +was here lusting to steal somebody’s dog, as he acknowledged in that very +outspoken _Diary_ of his:—“Would fain have stolen a pretty dog that +followed me, but could not, which troubled me.” + +There was a tragical happening at Hatfield, November 27, 1835, when the +house was greatly injured by fire, and the old and eccentric Dowager +Marchioness of Salisbury burnt to death, in her eighty-fifth year. The +pious declared it to be a “judgment” for her playing cards on Sunday; but +what a number of conflagrations we should have if that were true and +Providence consistent in its vengeance! + + + + +XV + + +LEAVING Hatfield and its memories behind, we come, past the tree-shaded +hamlet of Stanborough, to the long gradual rise of Digswell Hill, +beautifully engineered over the uplands rising from the marshy banks of +the little river Lea. Off to the left, at the foot of the hill, goes the +old road at a wide tangent, and with a decidedly abrupt plunge down into +the water-meadows, crossing the Lea by Lemsford Mills, and rejoining the +newer road on an equally abrupt and difficult rise half-way up the hill, +by the wall of Brockett Hall Park. It was here that Brickwall turnpike +gate was situated in the old days. The brick wall of the park that gave +the gate its name is still there and a very old, substantial, and +beautifully lichened red-brick wall it is—but the gate and the toll-board +and the toll-house have all vanished. Digswell Hill is beautiful, and so +is Ayot Green, at the summit, with its giant trees and humble cottages +stretching away on the left to the Ayot villages. Not so the “Red Lion” +close by. More beautiful still—and steeper—is the descent into Welwyn, +beneath over-arching trees and rugged banks, down from which secluded +rustic summer-houses look upon the traffic of the highway. + +Welwyn lies in a deep hollow on the little river—or, more correctly +speaking, the streamlet—of the Mimram. Street and houses face you +alarmingly as you descend the steep hillside, wondering (if you cycle) if +the sharp corner can safely be rounded, or if you must needs dash through +door or window of the “White Hart,” once one of the two coaching inns of +the village. + +The “White Hart” at Welwyn was kept in the “twenties” by “old Barker,” +who horsed the Stamford “Regent” a stage on the road, and was, in the +language of the coachmen, a “three-cornered old beggar.” That is to say, +he kept a tight hand over the doings of coachmen and guards, did not +approve of “shouldering,” and objected to the coachmen giving lessons to +gentlemen coachmen, or allowing amateurs to “take the ribbons.” From the +passengers’ point of view this was entirely admirable of “old Barker,” +for many an inoffensive traveller’s life had been jeopardised by the +driving of unqualified persons. Colonel Birch Reynardson tells a story +of him and of Tom Hennesy, the best known of the “Regent” coachmen—one +who could whistle louder, hit a horse harder, and tell a bigger lie than +any of his contemporaries. Hennesy had resigned the reins to him one day +between London and Hatfield, but when they neared Welwyn, the +accomplished Tom thought he had better resume them. “It would never do +for old Barker to see you driving,” said he. The words were scarcely out +of his mouth before the “three-cornered old beggar” himself appeared, +walking up the hill, with the double object of taking a constitutional +and of seeing if any “shouldering” was going on. + +“Don’t look as if you seed him,” said Tom. “We’ll make the best of it we +can.” + + [Picture: Welwyn] + +Down they went to the inn door, where the fresh team was standing. By +the time the horses had been got out of the coach, old Barker, who had +turned back, looking anything but pleasant, was upon them. + +“Good morning, Mr. Barker, sir,” said Tom, with all the impudence he +could command. “Did you ever see a young gentleman take a coach steadier +down a hill? ’Pon my word, sir, he could not have done it better. He’s +a pupil of mine, sir, and I’m blessed if he did not do it capital; don’t +you think he did, sir, for you seed him?” “Hum,” said old Barker; “you +know it’s all against the laws. Supposing anything happened, what then?” +“Well, sir, I did not expect anything _would_ happen, with such horses as +these of yours; there’s no better four horses, sir, betwixt London and +Stamford; and as for those wheelers, why, they’ll hold anything.” This, +of course, was pouring balm into old Barker’s wounds, which seemed to +heal pretty quickly, and he put on a pleasanter face, and said, “Well, +Hennesy, you know I don’t like ‘gentlemen coachmen,’ and, above all +things, very _young_ ones. Don’t you do it again.” + +Was Hennesy grateful? Not at all; for, when they had driven away, he +said, “Well, he was wonderful civil for _him_,” and added that if he +could only catch him lying drunk in the road, he would run over his neck +and kill him, “blessed if he wouldn’t!” + +This bold and independent fellow, like many another coachman, came down +in the world when railways drove the coaches off the main roads, and was +reduced to driving a pair-horse coach between Cambridge and Huntingdon. + +More picturesque than the “White Hart” is the “Wellington,” which +composes so finely with the red-brick tower of the church, at the further +end of the village street, where the road abruptly forks. It is a street +of all kinds and sizes of houses, mostly old and pleasingly grouped. + +But Welwyn has other claims upon the tourist. It was the home for many +years of Young, author of the once-popular _Night Thoughts_. Who reads +that sombre work now? He was rector here from 1730 until 1765, when he +died, but lives as a warning to those who inevitably identify an author +with his books. His work, _The Complaint_, _or_, _Night Thoughts on +Life_, _Death_, _and Immortality_, is dour reading, but he was so little +of a sombre man that we find him not infrequently in the company of, and +a fellow spirit among, the convivial men of his time. This was only a +product of his “sensibility,” that curious quality peculiar to the +eighteenth century, and did not necessarily prove him a weeping +philosopher. He had, indeed, a mental agility which could with ease fly +from the most depressing disquisitions on the silent tomb, to the proper +compounding of a stiff jorum of punch. Young, on his appointment to +Welwyn, married Lady Elizabeth (“Betty”) Lee, daughter of the Earl of +Lichfield. He found the rectory too small (or perhaps not good enough +for her ladyship), and so purchased a more imposing house called the +“Guessons”—anciently the “Guest House” of some abbey. With it he bought +land, and planted the lime-tree avenue which still remains a memorial of +him. There is a votive urn here, erected by Mr. Johnes-Knight, a +succeeding rector; but probably the most enduring memorial of Young is +the very first line of the _Night Thoughts_, the fine expression:— + + “Tired Nature’s sweet restorer, balmy sleep.” + +No one reads Young nowadays, and so every one who sees this, one of the +most hackneyed of quotations, ascribes it to Shakespeare. Alas, poor +Young! + +Young erected a sundial in his garden here, with the motto, “_Eheu_, +_fugaces_!” “Alas, how fleeting!” It was not long before some midnight +robbers came, and, carrying it off, justified the inscription. Nowadays, +besides the avenue and the votive urn, all that remains to tell of him is +the tablet to his memory on the south wall of the aisle. + +Knebworth Park, with mansion and an ancient parish church full of +monuments to Strodes, Robinsons and Lyttons, is just off to the left. +There is no Lytton blood in the Earls “of” Lytton, who are not of Litton, +near Tideswell, in Derbyshire, whence came the now extinct Lytton family. +The whole assumption is romantic rather than warranted by facts. + +Knebworth is a place of much combined beauty and historic interest, +together with a great deal of vulgar and uninteresting sham. It has been +described as “a sham-old house, with a sham lake, sham heraldic monsters, +and sham-ancient portraits.” Bulwer, the first Lord Lytton—“Bulwig,” as +someone, to his intense annoyance, called him—was intensely fond of +Gothic architecture and ornamentation; fond of it in an undiscriminating, +Early Victorian, uninstructed way, and he stuck his house of Knebworth +all over with gimcrackery that he fondly thought to be mediæval. +Crockets, tourelles, pinnacles and grotesque gargoyles were added in +wholesale fashion, and in a very carpenterish way. One might almost say +they were _wafered_ on. They were not carved out of stone, but moulded +cheaply in plaster, and in his son’s time were always falling. As they +fell, they were relegated to the nearest dustheap, and their places +remained vacant. A visitor to the second Lord Lytton tells, apropos of +these things, how he was walking on the terrace with his host, when the +gardener came up and said, “If you please, my lord, another of them +bloody monkeys has fallen down in the night.” It was, of course, one +more of “Bulwig’s” quasi-Gothic abominations come to its doom. + +The Earls Lytton are neither baronial Bulwers nor ancient lordly Lyttons. +Their real name is the very much more plebian one of Wiggett. So far +back as 1756, William Wiggett assumed the name of Bulwer on his marriage +with a Sarah of that ilk. His youngest son, the novelist, the child of +another wife, who had been an Elizabeth Warburton, added the name of +Lytton to his own on succeeding to his mother’s property of Knebworth. + +But that does not at once bring us to the Lytton connection. For that, +we must quote the late Augustus J. C. Hare, who was an adept at +relationships to the remotest degree. He had hundreds of cousins of his +own, and knew who was everybody else’s twentieth or thirtieth cousin. He +tells us that this Elizabeth Warburton’s very remote connection with the +real Lyttons lay in the fact that “her grandfather, John Robinson, was +cousin (maternally) to Lytton Strode, who was great-nephew of a Sir +William Lytton, who died childless in 1704.” It will be allowed that the +connection _is_ remote; practically indeed, non-existent. + +Nor is the name of Bulwer as distinguished as the novelist wished it to +appear. He sought to range it with Bölver, one of the war-titles of the +Norse god, Odin; but it really derived from some plebian cattle-driver, +or Bullward. + +The road rises steeply out of Welwyn, in the direction of Stevenage. +Here some of the coaches had a narrow escape from destruction at the +hands of unknown miscreants, ancestors of the criminal lunatics who place +obstacles upon the railways in our times. Our murderous larrikins had +their counterparts in the old days, in those who placed gates across the +roads, so that the coaches should run into them in the darkness. An +incident of this kind happened here on the night of June 5, 1805, when +two gates were found set up in the main road, and another at Welwyn +Green. Fortunately, no accident resulted, and the ruffians, who +doubtless were waiting the result of their work, must have gone home +disappointed. + +From the beautiful expanse of gorsy and wooded hillside common above the +village may be glimpsed the great red-brick viaduct of Welwyn, carrying +the main line of the Great Northern Railway across the wide and deep +valley of the Mimram, an insignificant stream for such a channel. +Woolmer Green and Broadwater, between this point and Stevenage, are +modern and uninteresting hamlets, created out of nothingness by the +speculative builder and the handy situation of Knebworth station, beside +the road, which now begins to give another example of its flatness. + +Leisurely wayfarers will notice the old half-timbered cottage at the +entrance to the churchyard. On its side wall are hung two stout long +poles with formidable hooks attached. These are old fire-appliances, +used in the days of thatched roofs, for pulling off the whole of the +blazing thatch. Travellers, leisured or otherwise, will scarce be able +to miss seeing the great and offensive boards hereabouts, advertising a +new suburban or “Garden Suburb” settlement in course of building away to +the right, since 1920; blessed and boomed by Lord Northcliffe, and +apparently to be given the name of “Daily Mail.” Horrible! + +The entrance to Stevenage is signalised by a group of new and commonplace +cottages elbowing the famous Six Hills, a series of sepulchral barrows of +prehistoric date, beside the highway. These six grassy mounds might not +unreasonably be passed unthinkingly by the uninstructed, or taken for +grass-grown heaps of refuse. Centuries of wear and weather have had +their effect, and they do not look very monumental now; but they were +once remarkable enough to give the place its name, Stevenage deriving +from the Saxon “_stigenhaght_,” or “hills by the highway.” + +To coachmen, who were adepts in the art of what the slangy call +“spoofing,” and were always ready—in earlier slang phrase—to “take a rise +out of” strangers, the Six Hills afforded an excellent opportunity of +practising a diluted form of wit, and often brought them a glass of +brandy or rum-and-milk at the next pull-up, in payment of the bets they +would make with the most innocent-looking passenger, that he could not +tell which two of the hills were furthest apart. They are, as nearly as +possible, equi-distant; but strangers would select one couple or another, +according to their fancy; whereupon the coachman would triumphantly point +out that the first and the last were, as a matter of fact, the most +widely divided. This perhaps does not exhibit coaching wit in a +strikingly robust light; but a very weak kind of jocularity served to +pass the weary hours of travel in our grandfathers’ days. + + [Picture: The “Six Hills,” Stevenage] + + + + +XVI + + +STEVENAGE is the first of the many wide-streeted towns and villages whose +emptiness proclaims the something missing that was provided for by all +this vast roominess. Its one street, lining the old road, was originally +laid out so spaciously for the purpose of affording room for the traffic +for which, once upon a time, it was not too spacious. It is all too wide +now that the intercourse of two nations proceeds by rail, and many of the +old inns that once did so famous a trade are converted into private +residences. Prominent among them was the “Swan,” which may now be sought +in the large red-brick house on the right-hand side of the forking roads, +as the town is left for Baldock. It may readily be identified by its +archway, which formerly led to the spacious stables. + +The “Swan” at Stevenage, kept in pre-railway days by a postmaster named +Cass, was one of those exclusive houses which, like the “Red Lion” and +the “Green Man” at Barnet, did not condescend to the ordinary +coach-traveller. Cass kept post-horses only, and his customers ranged +from princes and dukes down to baronets and wealthy knights. + +“Posting in all its branches,” as the postmasters used to say in the +announcements outside their establishments, was at the beginning of the +nineteenth century essentially aristocratic; but it had many changes, +from its beginning, about the dawn of the seventeenth century, to its +end, before the middle of the nineteenth. Originally “posting” meant the +hire of horses only, and the traveller rode horseback himself, +accompanied perhaps by a mounted guide. Thus Fynes Morison, in his +_Itinerary_, published in 1617, speaks of the early days of posting:—“In +England, towards the south, and in the west parts, and from London to +Barwick upon the confines of Scotland, post-horses are established at +every ten miles or thereabouts, which they ride a false gallop after some +ten miles an hour sometimes, and that makes their hire the greater; for +with a commission from the chief postmaster or chiefe lords of the +councell (given either upon publike businesse, or at least pretence +thereof), a passenger shall pay twopence halfpenny each mile for his +horse, and as much for his guide’s horse; but one guide will serve the +whole company, though many ride together, who may easily bring back the +horses, driving them before him, who ‘know the waye as well as a beggar +knowes his dishe.’ This extraordinary charge of horses’ hire may well be +recompensed with the speede of the journey, whereby greater expences in +the innes are avoided; all the difficultie is, to have a body able to +endure the toyle. For these horses the passenger is at no charge to give +them meat onely at the ten miles, and the boy that carries them backe +will expect some few pence in gift.” + +When carriages were introduced, the very great personages of the realm +“progressed” in them, and had their love of display gratified thereby. +But what they gained in pomp they lost in speed, for at the best of it +they rarely travelled at a greater pace than seven miles an hour. + +An odd institution with the noble and the wealthy families of that bygone +age was the “running footman.” It has sometimes been supposed that these +deer-footed servitors were for town service, perhaps because “old Q,” the +profligate Marquis of Queensberry, who was the last to keep one, lived in +town during his last years and necessarily kept his lackey running London +streets. The unique sign of the “running footman,” with the portrait of +such an one in costume, is also in London, and may be seen any day on a +little public-house, still chiefly frequented by men-servants, in Charles +Street, Berkeley Square. He wears a uniform consisting of blue coat and +breeches, trimmed with gold lace. Round his waist is a red sash, on his +head a cap with a nodding plume, and in his hand the long staff carried +by all his tribe. This is an outfit somewhat different from that usually +worn, for we are told that they wore no breeches, but a short silk +petticoat kept down by a deep gold fringe. + +The function of a running footman was to run ahead of his employer’s +carriage, to point out the proper turnings to take, or to arrange for his +reception at the inns; but as time went on and accommodation increased, +he was not of any practical use, and became simply a kind of unnecessary +fore-runner, who by his appearance advertised the coming of my lord and +upheld my lord’s dignity. It is said that these ministers to senseless +pomp and vanity usually ran at the rate of seven miles an hour, and +frequently did sixty miles a day. The long and highly ornamented staff +they carried had a hollow silver ball at the end containing white wine. +Unscrewing it, the footman could refresh himself. More white wine, mixed +with eggs, was given him at the end of his journey, and he must have +needed it! Over the bad and hilly roads of a hundred and fifty years +ago, the running footman could readily keep ahead of a carriage; on the +flat the horses, of course, had the advantage. + +Post-chaises were unknown in England until after the middle of the +eighteenth century had come and gone. Thus we find Horace Walpole and +Gray, taking the “grand tour” together in 1739, astonished to laughter at +the post-chaises which conveyed them from Boulogne towards Paris. This +French vehicle, the father of all post-chaises, was two-wheeled, and not +very unlike our present hansom-cab, the door being in front and the body +hung in much the same way, only a little more forward from the wheels. +The French _chaise de-poste_ was invented in 1664, and the first used in +England were of this type; but they proved unsuitable for use in this +country, and English carriage-builders at length evolved the well-known +post-chaise, which went out only with the coaching age. But it was long +before it began to supplant the post-horses and the feminine pillion. + +Every one is familiar with the appearance of the old post-chaise, which, +according to the painters and the print-sellers, appears to have been +used principally for the purpose of spiriting love-lorn couples with the +speed of the wind away from all restrictions of home and the Court of +Chancery. A post-chaise was (so it seems nowadays) a rather cumbrous +affair, four-wheeled, high, and insecurely hung, with a glass front and a +seat to hold three, facing the horses. The original designers evidently +had no prophetic visions as to this especial popularity of post-chaises +with errant lovers, nor did they ponder the proverb, “Two’s company, +three’s none,” else they would have restricted their accommodation to +two, or have enlarged it to four. + +It was an expensive as well as a pleasant method of travelling, costing +as it did at least a shilling a mile, and, in times when forage was dear, +one shilling and threepence. The usual rates were chaise, nine-pence a +mile, pair of post-horses, sixpence; four horses and chaise, supposing +you desired to travel speedily—say at twelve miles an +hour—one-and-ninepence. But these costs and charges did not frank the +traveller through. The post-boy’s tip was as inevitable as night and +morning. Likewise there were the “gates” to pay every now and again. +One shudders to contemplate the total cost of posting from London to +Edinburgh, even with only the ordinary equipment of two horses. There +were thirty post-stages between the two capitals, according to the books +published for the use of travellers a hundred years ago. Those books +were very necessary to any one who did not desire to be charged for +perhaps a mile more on each stage than it really measured, which was one +of those artful postmasters’ little ways. Here is a list of these stages +with the measurements, to which travellers drew the attention of those +postmasters who commonly endeavoured to overcharge:— + + Miles Furlongs Miles Furlongs +Barnet 11 0 York 9 3 +Hatfield 8 4 Easingwold 13 3 +Stevenage 11 7 Thirsk 10 3 +Biggleswade 13 5 Northallerton 9 0 +Buckden 15 7 Darlington 16 0 +Stilton 13 7 Durham 18 2 +Stamford 14 2 Newcastle 14 4 +Witham Common 11 2 Morpeth 14 6 +Grantham 9 5 Alnwick 18 6 +Newark 14 3 Belford 14 5 +Tuxford 13 2 Berwick 15 3 +Barnby Moor 10 4 Press Inn 11 5 +Doncaster 12 0 Dunbar 14 3 +Ferrybridge 15 2 Haddington 11 0 +Tadcaster 12 7 Edinburgh 16 0 + +Nearly four hundred miles by these measurements. This, at a shilling a +mile for the posting, gives £20; but, including the postboys’ tips, +“gates,” and expenses at the inns on the road, the journey could not have +been done in this way under £30, at the most modest calculation. This +list of post-stages was one drawn up for distances chiefly between the +towns, but nothing is more remarkable along the Great North Road than the +number of old posting-houses which still exist (although of course their +business is gone) in wild and lonely spots, far removed from either town +or village. + +Another “branch” of posting was the horsing alone, by which a private +carriage could be taken to or from town by hiring posters at every stage. +This was a favourite practice with the gentry of the shires, who thus had +all the _éclat_ of travelling in private state, without the expense and +trouble of providing their own horses. It is probably of this method +that De Quincey speaks in the following passage:— + + “In my childhood,” says he, “standing with one or two of my brothers + and sisters at the front window of my mother’s carriage, I remember + one unvarying set of images before us. The postillion (for so were + all carriages then driven) was employed, not by fits and starts, but + always and eternally, in quartering, _i.e._ in crossing from side to + side, according to the casualties of the ground. Before you + stretched a wintry length of lane, with ruts deep enough to fracture + the leg of a horse, filled to the brim with standing pools of + rain-water; and the collateral chambers of these ruts kept from + becoming confluent by thin ridges, such as the Romans called _lirae_, + to maintain the footing upon which _lirae_, so as not to swerve (or + as the Romans would say, _delirare_), was a trial of some skill, both + for the horses and their postillion. It was, indeed, next to + impossible for any horse, on such a narrow crust of separation, not + to grow _delirious_ in the Roman metaphor; and the nervous anxiety + which haunted me when a child was much fed by this image so often + before my eyes, and the sympathy with which I followed the motion of + the docile creatures’ legs. Go to sleep at the beginning of a stage, + and the last thing you saw—wake up, and the first thing you saw—was + the line of wintry pools, the poor off-horse planting his steps with + care, and the cautious postillion gently applying his spur whilst + manoeuvring across the system of grooves with some sort of science + that looked like a gipsy’s palmistry—so equally unintelligible to me + were his motions in what he sought and in what he avoided.” + + + + +XVII + + +BEFORE we leave Stevenage, we must pay a visit to the “Old Castle” inn, +in whose stable the body of the eccentric Henry Trigg is deposited, in a +coffin amid the rafters, plain for all to see; somewhat dilapidated and +battered in the lapse of two centuries, and with a patch of tin over the +hole cut in it by some riotous blades long ago, but doubtless still +containing his bones. His Will sufficiently explains the circumstances. + + IN THE NAME OF GOD, AMEN. + + I, HENRY TRIGG, of Stevenage, in the County of Hertford, Grocer, + being very infirm and weak in body, but of perfect sound mind and + memory, God be praised for it, calling into mind the mortality of my + body, do now make and ordain this my last Will and Testament, in + writing, hereafter following: that is to say:—Principally I recommend + my soul into the merciful hands of Almighty God that first gave me + it, assuredly believing and only expecting free pardon and + forgiveness of all my sins, and eternal life in and through the only + merits, death, and passion of Jesus Christ my Saviour; and as to my + body I commit it to the West end of my Hovel, to be decently laid + there upon a floor erected by my Executor, upon the purlin, for the + same purpose; nothing doubting but at the general Resurrection I + shall receive the same again by the mighty power of God; and as for + and concerning such worldly substance as it hath pleased God to bless + me with in this world, I do devise and dispose of the same in manner + and form here following. + + [Picture: Trigg’s Coffin] + + _Imprimis_. I give and devise unto my loving brother Thomas Trigg, + of Letchworth, in the County of Hertford, Clerk, and to his Heirs and + Assigns for ever, all those my Freehold Lands lying dispersedly in + the several common fields in the parish of Stevenage aforesaid, and + also all my Copyhold Lands, upon condition that he shall lay my body + upon the place before mentioned; and also all that Messuage, Cottage, + or Tenement at Redcoats Green in the Parish of Much Wymondly, + together with those Nine Acres of Land (more or less) purchased of + William Hale and Thomas Hale, Jun.; and also my Cottage, Orchard, and + barn, with four acres of Land (more or less) belonging, lying, and + being in the Parish of Little Wymondly, and now in the possession of + Samuel Kitchener, labourer; and all my Cottages, Messuages, or + Tenements situate and being in Stevenage, aforesaid: or, upon + condition that he shall pay my brother, George Trigg, the sum of Ten + Pounds per annum for life: but if my brother shall neglect or refuse + to lay my body where I desire it should be laid, then, upon that + condition, I will and bequeath all that which I have already + bequeathed to my brother Thomas Trigg, unto my brother George Trigg, + and to his heirs for ever; and if my brother George Trigg should + refuse to lay my body under my Hovel, then what I have bequeathed + unto him, as all my Lands and Tenements, I lastly bequeath them unto + my nephew William Trigg and his heirs for ever, upon his seeing that + my body is decently laid up there as aforesaid. + + _Item_. I give and bequeath unto my nephew William Trigg, the sum of + _Five Pounds_, at the age of Thirty years; to his sister Sarah the + sum of _Twenty Pounds_; to his sister Rose the sum of _Twenty + Pounds_; and lastly to his sister Ann the sum of _Twenty Pounds_; all + at the age of Thirty Years: to John Spencer, of London, Butcher, the + sum of _One Guinea_; and to Solomon Spencer, of Stevenage, the sum of + _One Guinea_, Three Years next after my decease; to my cousin Henry + Kimpton, _One Guinea_, One Year next after my decease, and another + _Guinea_ Two Years after my decease; to William Waby, _Five + Shillings_; and to Joseph Priest, _Two Shillings and Sixpence_, Two + Years after my decease; to my tenant Robert Wright the sum of _Five + Shillings_, Two years next after my decease; and to Ralph Lowd and + John Reeves, _One Shilling_ each, Two Years next after my decease. + + _Item_. All the rest of my Goods and Chattels, and personal Estate, + and Ready Money, I do hereby give and devise unto my brother Thomas + Trigg, paying my debts and laying my body where I would have it laid; + whom I likewise make and ordain my full and sole Executor of this my + last Will and Testament, or else to them before mentioned; ratifying + and confirming this and no other to be my last Will and Testament, in + witness whereof I have hereunto set my hand and seal this + Twenty-eighth day of September, in the year of our Lord One Thousand + Seven Hundred and Twenty-four + + HENRY TRIGG. + + Read, signed, sealed, and declared by the said Henry Trigg, the + Testator, to be his last Will and Testament, in the presence of us + who have subscribed our names as witnesses hereto, in the presence of + the said Testator. + + JOHN HAWKINS, Sen. + JOHN HAWKINS, Jun. + × The mark of WILLIAM SEXTON. + + Proved in the Archdeaconry of Huntingdon, the 15th day of October, + 1724, by the Executor Thomas Trigg. + +The inn-signs of Stevenage afford some exercise for the contemplative +mind. As the town is approached from London, the sign of “Our Mutual +Friend” appears, nearly opposite a domestic Gothic building of red and +white brick, originally a home for decayed authors, founded by Charles +Dickens and the first Lord Lytton. The decayed authors did not take +kindly to the scheme. Perhaps they did not like being patronised by +authors of better fortunes than their own. The institution was a +failure, and the building is now put to other uses. No doubt the sign of +“Our Mutual Friend” derives from those times when Dickens and Lytton +foregathered here and at Knebworth. At quite the other end of the town +appears the obviously new sign of the “Lord Kitchener,” almost opposite +that of another military hero, the “Marquis of Granby.” + +Passing through the little old-world village of Graveley, succeeded by +the beautifully graded rise and fall of Lannock Hill, we come into the +town of Baldock, with its great church prominent in front, and its empty +streets running in puzzling directions. It was at Baldock that Charles +the First, being conducted as a prisoner to London, was offered wine in +one of the sacramental vessels by the vicar, Josias Byrd, and it was on +the road outside the town, near where the old turnpike gate stood, that +the Newcastle wagon, on its way to London, was plundered of £500 in coin +by three mounted highwaymen, on a February morning in 1737. + +Our old friend Mr. Samuel Pepys, journeying on August 6th, 1661, from +Brampton, came into Baldock, and stayed the night, at some inn not +specified. He says, “Took horse for London, and with much ado got to +Baldwick. There lay, and had a good supper by myself. The landlady +being a pretty woman, but I durst not take notice of her, her husband +being there.” + +Always some spoil-sport in the way! + +Baldock, from its stunted extinguisher spire to its fine old brick houses +and nodding plaster cottages, is characteristically Hertfordshire. Among +other things of general interest, it has a row of almshouses, duly +inscribed:— + + “Theis Almes Howses are + the gieft of Mr. John Wynne + cittezen of London, Latelye + Deceased, who hath left a + Yeareley stipend to everey + poore of either howses to + the Worldes End. September + Anno Domini 1621.” + +The worthy citizen reckoned without the Charity Commissioners, who may +confidently be expected to propound a “scheme” some day long anterior to +the final crash, by which his wishes will be entirely disregarded. + +Away to the left of Baldock will be noticed a new town, and the factory +chimneys of it. This is Letchworth, the “Garden City,” developed out of +Letchworth, the little village of old. This “First Garden City,” founded +in 1902, on a nominal capital of £300,000 actual £125,000, by the Garden +City Association, itself founded in June, 1899, with a capital of about +thirty shillings, represents a passionate quest of the ideal life on a 5 +per cent. basis of profit. The problem of how to create an earthly +paradise (plus industrial factories) was here to be tackled. The +beginnings of such things are always the most charming; and Letchworth +began ideally. But the factories and the five per cent. always have a +way of overcoming ideals; and we shall see. + + [Picture: At the 39th mile] + +The stone outside Baldock, marking the thirty-ninth mile is milestone and +upping-block as well. + +Midway between Baldock and Biggleswade, at Topler’s Hill, the +Bedfordshire border is crossed. We may perhaps be excused if we pass +Topler’s Hill unwittingly, for the rises called “hills” on the Great +North Road would generally pass unnoticed elsewhere. Biggleswade town +and neighbourhood are interested wholly in cabbages and potatoes and +other highly necessary, but essentially unromantic, vegetables. The +surrounding country is in spring and summer one vast market-garden; at +other times it is generally a lake of equal vastness, for the Ivel and +the Ouse, that run so sluggishly through the flat lands, arise then in +their might and submerge fields and roads for miles around. + +As for Biggleswade itself, it is a town with an extraordinarily broad and +empty market-place, a church with a spire of the Hertfordshire type, and +two old coaching inns—the “White Swan” and the “Crown”—facing one another +in an aggressive rivalry at a narrow outlet of the market-place. The +“White Swan” was the inn at which the up “Regent” coach dined. It was +kept at that time by a man named Crouch, “that long, sour old beggar,” in +the words of Tom Hennesy. Here “the process of dining on a really cold +day in winter,” to quote Colonel Birch Reynardson, “was carried on under +no small amount of difficulty. Your hands were frozen, your feet were +frozen, your very mouth felt frozen, and in fact you felt frozen all +over. Sometimes, with all this cold, you were also wet through, your hat +wet through, your coat wet through, the large wrapper that was meant to +keep your neck warm and dry wet through, and, in fact, you were wet +through yourself to your very bones. Only twenty minutes were allowed +for dinner; and by the time you had got your hands warm enough to be able +to untie your neck wrapper, and had got out of your great-coat, which, +being wet, clung tenaciously to you, the time for feeding was half gone. +By the time you had got one quarter of what you could have consumed, had +your mouth been in eating trim and your hands warm enough to handle your +knife and fork, the coachman would put his head in, and say: “Now, +gentlemen, if you please; the coach is ready.” After this summons, +having struggled into your wet greatcoat, bound your miserable wet +wrapper round your miserable cold throat, having paid your two and +sixpence for the dinner that you had the will, but not the time, to eat, +with sixpence for the waiter, you wished the worthy Mr. Crouch good day, +grudged him the half-crown he had pocketed for having dined so miserably, +and again mounted your seat, to be rained and snowed upon, and almost +frozen to death before you reached London.” + + [Picture: Biggleswade] + +Leaving Biggleswade, the Ivel is crossed and Tingey’s Corner passed. +Tingey’s Corner marks the junction of the old alternative route from +Welwyn, by Hitchin to Lower Codicote, the route adopted by +record-breaking cyclists. The hamlets of Lower Codicote and Beeston +Green open up a view of Sandy, away to the right, with its range of +yellow sand-hills running for some three miles parallel with the road, +and seeming the more impressive by reason of the dead level on which they +look. The canal-like, bare banks of the Ivel are passed again at +Girtford, and the roadside cottages of Tempsford reached; the village and +church lying off to the left, where the Ouse and the Ivel come to their +sluggish confluence, and form a waterway which once afforded marauding +Danes an excellent route from the coast up to Bedford. Even now the +remains of a fortification they constructed to command this strategic +point are visible, and bear the name of the “Dannicke”; that is to say, +the “Danes’ work,” or perhaps the “Danes’ wick,” “wick” meaning +“village.” + +An infinitely later work—Tempsford turnpike-gate, to wit—has disappeared +a great deal more effectively than those ancient entrenchments, and the +way is clear and flat, not to say featureless, over the Ouse, past the +outlying houses of Wyboston, and so into Little End, the most southerly +limit of Eaton Socon. + + + + +XVIII + + +PAST Tempsford some of the coaches, notably the Stamford “Regent,” turned +off into the loop road by St. Neots and Huntingdon. In the winter time, +or when the spring rains were falling, they did this at some risk, for +the low-lying land by the river Ouse was often awash. Two old ladies +were on one occasion given a terrible fright, the road being deeply +flooded and the water coming into the coach, so that they had to stand on +the seats. They quite thought they were going to be drowned, and perhaps +they would have been had the “Regent” been driven by one unused to the +road. Had the coachman driven into a ditch—as he might easily have done +with the floods covering all the landmarks—it would have been “all up” +with the “insides” for certain and perhaps for the “outsides” as well. + +The most prudent coachmen in winter time kept to the main road, which +lies somewhat higher, and passed through Eaton Socon. Once—to judge by +its name—a place of importance, this is now only a long village of one +straggling street. At some undetermined period the head of a “soke,” or +separate legal jurisdiction, all memories of the dignity implied are +gone, save only the empty title, which Dickens makes fun of by calling +the village in _Nicholas Nickleby_ “Eton Slocomb.” The “White Horse,” a +picturesque roadside inn, may be looked upon with interest by those keen +on identifying Dickens landmarks. In later days it became a favourite +resort of the North Road Cycling Club, and witnessed the beginning and +ending of many a road race in the “eighties” and early “nineties,” when +such things were. + +The story of the London to York cycling record is fitly to be told in +this page. It is not so long a tale as that of the famous one from +London to Brighton and back, but it stands for greater efforts and for a +vast amount of pluck and endurance. There have been those +unsportsmanlike souls who, not finding sport an end in itself, have +questioned the use of record making and breaking. But it has had its +use, and even from this point of view has amply justified itself, for the +continually increasing speed required out of cycles for these purposes +has led to the perfecting of them within what is, after all, a +comparatively short time; so that the sporting clubman has, after all, +while strictly occupied within the range of his own ambitions, +contributed to the general good by bringing about the manufacture of a +vehicle which, used by many hundreds of thousands of people who never +raced in their lives, and are probably incapable of a speed of more than +twelve miles an hour, has brought the roads and lanes of the country +within the knowledge of many to whom rural life was something new and +strange. + +The first recorded cycle ride to York in which speed was an object was +that of C. Wheaton, September 1872. That pioneer took two days to +perform the journey, making Stamford, a distance of eighty-nine miles, +the end of his first day’s adventure, in 15½ hours, and on the second day +reaching York in a further 26 hours 40 minutes: total, 42 hours 10 +minutes. This, with the front-driving low cycle of those days, was an +achievement. Wooden wheels and iron tyres did not conduce to either +speed or ease, and that now historic figure, painfully crawling (as we +should now think his progress) to York is heroic. + +Perhaps this tale of hardship was calculated to deter others from trying +their mettle, but at any rate it was not until July 9, 1874, that two +others, Ian Keith-Falconer and J. H. Stanley Thorpe, followed, and they +failed in the effort. After another two years had almost passed, on June +5, 1876, Thorpe made another attempt. Leaving Highgate Archway at 11.10 +P.M., he arrived the next day at York at 9.40 P.M. = 22 hours 30 minutes; +chiefly, of course, by favour of that then “improved” form of bicycle, +the tall “ordinary.” + +Thirteen years passed before this record was lowered, and the one that +replaced it was not a remarkable performance, considering the further +great improvements in cycles. This ride, in the summer of 1889, +performed on a solid-tyred “safety,” took 21 hours 10 minutes, and was +beaten in the same year by six minutes by H. R. Pope, riding a tricycle; +himself displaced, shortly after, by F. T. Bidlake, also mounted on a +tricycle, who did the 197 miles in 18 hours 28 minutes. + +In 1890, and for several years following, records came and went with +increasing rapidity. In 1890 J. M. James put the safety record at 16 +hours 52 minutes, and T. A. Edge soon followed, reducing it to 14 hours +33 minutes, James regaining the record again in 1891 by a bare thirteen +minutes. In the following year, S. F. Edge, on a front-driving safety, +made a splendid record of 12 hours 49 minutes, but had the mortification +to see it beaten the next day, June 27, by F. W. Shorland, in 39 minutes +less. In this year there were several rival tricycle records: that of W. +J. A. Butterfield, of 18 hours 9 minutes being lowered by F. T. Bidlake +by nearly three hours, and beaten again, on September 29, Bidlake’s +figures on this occasion being 13 hours 19 minutes. On the same day M. +A. Holbein and F. W. Shorland rode to York on a tandem tricycle in +exactly the same time. + +C. C. Fontaine went for the safety record on August 29, 1894, when he put +the figures down to 11 hours 51 minutes. Fontaine lowered his own record +in the following year, on October 18, by 21 minutes 45 seconds, and this +was disposed of by George Hunt on May 7, 1896, when he got well within +the eleven hours, at 10 hours 48 minutes. + +This was lowered by F. R. Goodwin on July 19, 1899, his time being 10 +hours 16 minutes; the speed on this occasion averaging rather over +nineteen miles an hour. Even this could not have been accomplished +without the aid of the most perfect motor pace-making arrangements. +Goodwin smashed all these previous records on his way to establish the +London to Edinburgh record of 25 hours 26 minutes, in which the average +was somewhat higher; nearly twenty miles an hour. + +The next, and latest, safety cycle record to York was made, unpaced, in +1900; when H. Green performed the journey in 10 hours 19 minutes. + +The tandem safety London to York records should be mentioned. The first +two were set up on July 24, 1895, and October 2, 1896, respectively: by +G. P. Mills and T. A. Edge; and T. Hobson and H. E. Wilson, the times +being 12 hours 33 minutes, and 11 hours 35 minutes. + +These were followed by:— + + Hrs. Mins. +1901. A. H. and P. S. Murray (unpaced) 10 59 +1905. R. L. I. Knipe and S. Irving 10 52 + (unpaced) +1907. F. H. Wingrave and R. A. Wingrave 9 30 + (unpaced) + +The London to Edinburgh records are: + + SAFETY BICYCLE. + + Hrs. Mins. +1889. F. W. Shorland 44 49 +1891. P. A. Ransom 43 25 +1892. R. H. Carlisle 32 55 +1894. G. P. Mills 29 28 + ,, C. C. Fontaine 28 27 +1895. W. J. Neason 27 38 +1897. J. Hunt 26 47 +1899. F. R. Goodwin (motor-paced) 25 26 +1903. F. Wright (unpaced) 31 48 +1904. E. H. Grimsdell 28 3 + ,, G. A. Olley 27 10 +1905. E. H. Grimsdell 26 10 + ,, R. Shirley 23 43 + +A tricycle record, unpaced, made by F. W. Wesley in 1905, at 32 hours 42 +minutes yet stands. + +Tandem safety records:— + + Hrs. Mins. +1894. E. Oxborrow and H. Sansom 27 33 +1905. E. Bright and P. H. Miles (unpaced) 27 54 + +XIX + + +EATON Socon, its long straggling street and beautiful church-tower, left +behind, the road descends to the “river Kym,” as the guidebooks call the +tiny stream which, bordered by marshes, crosses under the road at a point +known as Cross Hall. The “river Kym” certainly is, or was, important +enough to confer its name upon the neighbouring townlet of Kimbolton, but +the country folk now only know it as Weston Brook. The descent to it has +of late years acquired the name of “Chicken Hill,” given by the North +Roaders, racing cyclists, who must often have run over the fowls kept by +the people of a cottage at the bottom. This is succeeded by Diddington +Bridge, a picturesque, white-painted timber structure spanning the little +Diddington Brook, which has eaten its way deeply into the earth, and is +romantically shaded by tall trees and bordered by the undergrowth that +fills the pretty hollow. + +The slight rise from this spot is succeeded by an easy descent into +narrow-streeted Buckden, one of those old “thoroughfare” coaching +villages which imagined themselves on the way to becoming towns in the +fine, free-handed old days. The huge bulk of the “George” is eloquent of +this, with its fifteen windows in a row, and the signs still noticeable +in the brickwork, showing where the house was doubled in size at the +period of its greatest prosperity. Nowadays the “George” is all too +large for its trade, and a portion of it is converted into shops. As for +the interminable rooms and passages above, they echo hollow to the +infrequent footfall, where they were once informed with a cheerful bustle +and continuous arrival and departure. There was a period, a few years +ago, when the North Road Club’s road-racing events brought crowds of +cyclists and busy times once more to the “George,” but they are +irretrievably gone. + +To and from Buckden and Welwyn in coaching times drove every day the +notable Cartwright, of the York “Express”; a day’s work of about seventy +miles. Cartwright was something more than a coachman, being himself +landlord of the “George” at Buckden, and horsing one or two of the stages +over which he drove. “Peter Pry,” one of the old _Sporting Magazine’s_ +coaching critics, waxes eloquent over him. It was a vile day when, to +sample Cartwright’s quality, he set out by the York “Express” from London +for Grantham; but neither the weather nor the scenery, nor anything in +Heaven or Earth drew his attention from Cartwright. He starts at once +with being struck at Welwyn with Cartwright’s graceful and easy way of +mounting the box, and then proceeds to make a kind of admiring inventory +of his person. Thus, he might have been considered to be under fifty +years of age, bony, without fat; healthy looking, evidently the effect of +abstemiousness; not too tall, but just the size to sit gracefully and +powerfully. His right hand and whip were beautifully in unison; he kept +his horses like clock-work, and to see the refinement with which he +managed the whip was well worth riding many hours on a wet day. But the +occasions on which he used the whip were rare, although the tits were +only fair, and not by any means first-rate. No dandy, but equipped most +respectably and modestly, and with good taste, he was the idol of the +road, both with old and young; while his manners on the box were +respectful, communicative without impertinence, and untarnished with +slang. Acquainted with everybody and every occupation within his sphere, +he was an entertaining companion even to an ordinary traveller; but he +enchanted the amateur of coaching with his perfect professional +knowledge, which embraced all niceties. His excellent qualities, we are +glad to notice, in conclusion, had gained their reward; he was +well-to-do, lived regularly, had a happy family, and envied neither lord +nor peasant. + + [Picture: Buckden] + +Welwyn, the road to Buckden, and Buckden itself seem quite lonely without +this figure of all the virtues and the graces. + +Spelt “Bugden” in other times, the inhabitants still pronounce its name +in this way. There is a well-defined air of aristocracy about this +village, due partly to the ruined towers of the old palace of the Bishops +of Lincoln, and to the sturdy old red-brick walls that enclose the +grounds in which they stand. They are walls with a thickness and lavish +use of material calculated to make the builder of “desirable villa +residences” gasp with dismay at such apparently wanton extravagance. But +the Bishops of Lincoln, who built those walls in the fifteenth century, +had not obtained their land on a building lease; and, moreover, they were +building for their own use, which makes a deal of difference, it must be +conceded. + +You cannot help noticing these walls, for they run for some distance +beside the road. Through a gateway is seen a pleasant view of lawns and +the front of a modern mansion. The Bishops have long left Buckden, and +have gone to reside at their palace at Lincoln, Buckden Palace having +been wantonly demolished when the Order in Council, authorising these +Right Reverend Fathers in God to alienate the property, was obtained. +The church adjoins their roofless old gatehouse, and is a fine old place +of worship, with a stone spire of the Northants type. + +In this church will be found a singular example of modesty. It is an +epitaph without the name of the person:— + + “Sacred to the memory of + AN OFFICER, + who sincerely regarded this + his native village + and caused an asylum to be erected, to protect + Age, and to reward Industry. + Reader, ask not his name. + If thou approve a deed which succours + the helpless, go and emulate it. + Obiit 1834, aet 65.” + +The tiny hamlet of Hardwick, dignified with mention on the Ordnance map, +is passed without its existence being noticed, and the road, flat as +though constructed with the aid of a spirit-level, proceeds straight +ahead for the town of Huntingdon, swinging acutely to the left for York. +Beyond, at the cross-roads, stands Brampton Hut, the modern vivid +red-brick successor of the old inn of that name. Brampton village lies +down the cross-road to the right, and is the place where Samuel Pepys, it +is thought, was born in 1632. {117} The registers afford no information, +for they do not begin until twenty-one years later, and the old gossip +himself makes no mention of the fact. His father and mother lived here, +and both lie in the church. Their home, his birthplace, stands even now, +but so altered that it is practically without much interest. It was in +its garden, in October, 1666, that Samuel caused his £1,300 to be buried +when the Dutch descent upon London was feared. A timorous soul, poor +Samuel! sending his father and his wife down from London to Brampton with +the gold, and with £300 in a girdle round where his waist should have +been, but was not, for Samuel was a man of “full habit,” as the elegant +phrase, seeking to disguise the accusation of exceeding fatness, has it. +Great was his anxiety when, the national danger over, he came down to +disinter his hoard. “My father and I with a dark lantern, it being now +night, into the garden with my wife, and there went about our great work +to dig up my gold. But Lord! what a tosse I was for some time in, that +they could not justly tell where it was; but by and by, poking with a +spit, we found it, and then begun with a spudd to lift up the ground.” + +But they had not been cautious in their work. “Good God!” says he, “to +see how sillily they hid it, not half a foot under ground, in sight of +passers-by and from the neighbours’ windows.” Then he found the gold all +loose, and the notes decaying with the damp, and all the while, routing +about among the dirt for the scattered pieces, he was afraid lest the +neighbours should see him, and fancy the Pepys family had discovered a +gold mine; so he took up dirt and all, and, carrying it to his brother’s +bedroom, washed it out with the aid of several pails of water and some +besoms, with the result that he was still over a hundred pieces short. +This “made him mad.” He could not go out in the garden with his father, +because the old man was deaf, and, in shouting to him, all the neighbours +would get to know. So he went out with W. Hewer, and by diligent +grubbing in the mould, made the sum nearly tally. The day after, leaving +his father to search for the remainder, we find him setting out for +London, with his belongings; the gold in a basket in the coach, and he +coming to look after it every quarter of an hour. + +Something over a mile distant from Brampton cross-roads, and passing over +two little bridges, we come to a third bridge, spanning one of the lazy +rivulets that trickle aimlessly through the flats. It is just an old +red-brick bridge, braced with iron and edged with timber; an +innocent-looking, although dull and lonely spot, with the water trickling +along in its deeply worn bed, and no sound save the occasional splash +made by a frightened water-rat. Yet this is “Matcham’s Bridge,” and the +scene of an infamous murder. + + [Picture: Matcham’s Bridge] + +Matcham’s Bridge, spanning the little river Wey, obtained its name from +the murder of a drummer-boy here by Gervase (or Jarvis) Matcham, on the +19th of August 1780. The murder was a remarkable one, and is made +additionally memorable by the after-career of the murderer, whose bloody +deed and subsequent confession, six years later, form the subject of the +_Dead Drummer_, one of Barham’s _Ingoldsby Legends_. + +Gervase Matcham, the son of a farmer living at Frodingham, in Yorkshire, +had a varied and adventurous career. When in his twelfth year, he ran +away from home and became a jockey. In the course of this employment he +was sent to Russia in charge of some horses presented by the Duke of +Northumberland to the Empress, and returning to London well supplied with +money, dissipated it all in evil courses. He then shipped as a sailor on +board the _Medway_ man-of-war, but after a short experience of fighting, +managed to desert. He had no sooner landed in England than he was seized +by one of the prowling pressgangs that then scoured the seaports, and was +shipped aboard the _Ariadne_, fitting out on an expedition to destroy the +pirate, Paul Jones. Succeeding in an attempt to escape when off +Yarmouth, he enlisted in the 13th Regiment of Foot, and deserting again, +near Chatham, set out to tramp through London to York, visiting +Huntingdon on the way. The 49th Regiment was then recruiting in the +district, and Matcham promptly enlisted in it. + +From Huntingdon, on the 19th of August 1780, he was sent to Major +Reynolds at Diddington, to draw some subsistence-money, amounting to +between £6 and £7. With him was a drummer-boy, Benjamin Jones, aged +about sixteen years, the son of the recruiting sergeant. The boy having +drawn the money, they returned along the high road, Matcham drinking on +the way. Instead of turning off to Huntingdon, Matcham induced the boy +to go on with him in the direction of Alconbury, and picking a quarrel +with him at the bridge, seized him and cut his throat, making off with +the money. He then fled across country to the nearest seaport, and +shipped again to sea. For six years he continued in the Navy and saw +hard fighting under Rodney and Hood, being at last paid off H.M.S. +_Sampson_ at Plymouth, on June 15, 1786. From Plymouth he set out with a +messmate—one John Shepherd—to walk along the Exeter Road to London. Near +the “Woodyates Inn” they were overtaken one afternoon by a thunderstorm +in which Matcham startled his shipmate by his abject terror of some +unseen apparition. Eventually he confessed his crime to Shepherd, and +begged his companion to hand him over to the nearest magistrate, so that +Justice might be satisfied. He was accordingly committed at Salisbury, +and, inquiries as to the truth of his confession having been made, he was +brought to trial at Huntingdon, found guilty, and executed on the 2nd of +August 1786, his body being afterwards hanged in chains on Alconbury +Hill. + + + + +XX + + +THE summit of this convenient Golgotha is the place where the North Road +and the Great North Road adjust their differences, and proceed by one +route to the North. Not a very terrible hill, after all, despite the way +in which it figures in the letters and diaries of old travellers; but +nowadays a very lonely place, although it is the meeting-point of two +main roads and that of a branch one. It was once different indeed, and +the great “Wheatsheaf” inn and posting-house, which stood a hundred yards +or so away from the junction, used commonly to send out thirty pairs of +post-horses a day. This establishment was kept in its prime by John +Warsop, who lived long enough to see his business ruined by railways. +Let no one imagine the “Wheatsheaf” public-house, standing where the +roads meet, to be the representative of that old posting-house. Face +north, and you will see a private house of considerable size standing on +the east side of the road, behind a hedge and lawn. Not a beautiful +house; in fact, an ugly house of a dingy whitey-buff brick, the colour of +pastry taken out of the oven before it is properly baked. Approaching +nearer, it will be observed that this building is now divided into two +private residences. This was once the “Wheatsheaf.” In the bygone days +it possessed a semicircular approach from the road, and afforded all the +year round, and round the clock of every day and night, a busy scene; +with the postboys, whose next turn-out it was, sleeping with spur on +heel, ready to mount and away at a minute’s notice, north, south, east, +or west. Those times and manners are as absolutely vanished as though +they never had existed, and even although there are yet living those who +remember the old “Wheatsheaf” of their youthful days, perhaps not one +wayfarer in a hundred has any idea of that once busy era on Alconbury +Hill. How many of all those who pass this way have ever noticed that +pathetic relic of the “Wheatsheaf’s” bygone prosperity, the old post from +which its sign used to hang? It is still to be seen, by those who know +where to look for it, facing the road, a venerable and decrepit relic, +now thickly covered with ivy, and somewhat screened from the casual +glance by the shrubs and trees growing close beside it. + +Travellers coming south could have a choice of routes to London from +Alconbury Hill, as the elaborate old milestone still standing at the +parting of the ways indicates, showing sixty-four miles by way of +Huntingdon, Royston, and Ware, and four miles longer by the way we have +come. This monumental milestone, now somewhat dilapidated, railed round, +and with some forlorn-looking wall-flowers growing inside the enclosure, +is a striking object, situated at a peculiarly impressive spot, where the +left-hand route by Huntingdon is seen going off on the level to a +vanishing-point lost in the distant haze, rather than by any dip or curve +of the road to right or left; the right-hand road diving down the hill to +Alconbury Weston and Alconbury at its foot. + + [Picture: Alconbury Hill Junction] + +The descent, going north, is known as Stangate Hill, and leads past the +lonely churchyard of Sawtry St. Andrews, whose church has disappeared as +utterly as Sawtry Abbey, which, less wealthy than the great abbeys of +Ramsey, Thorney, Crowland, or Peterborough, stood beside the road, and +was besieged by mediæval tramps: + + “Sawtry-by-the-Way, that old Abbaye, + Gave more alms in one day than all they.” + +Thus ran the old rhyme. To-day, the only vestiges of that vanished +religious house are in the names of Monk’s Wood, to the right of the +road, descending the hill, and of the Abbey Farm. + +The foot of Stangate Hill is no doubt the place called by Thoresby and +others “Stangate Hole,” where highwaymen were confidently to be expected. +De Foe, writing about 1720 of this road, says: “Some Parts are still +paved with stone, which strengthens the conjecture that the Name Stangate +was given it from thence. It traverses great woods between the Two +Saltries.” + +In his spelling of “Sawtry,” in that last line, although he does not +follow the invariable form, he has hit upon the original. For “Sawtry” +was in the beginning “Salt Reeth.” Salt marshes and creeks crept inland +even as far as this, past Ely and Ramsey. + +Stilton lies some three miles ahead, and, two miles before reaching it, +the old “Crown and Woolpack,” a very large red-brick posting-house, part +of it still occupied as an inn, the rest used as cottages, while the +stables are given over to spiders and lumber. + +Passing this, the road presently begins to rise gently, and then, level +again, widens out to almost treble its usual width, where a long street +of mingled old houses and cottages, a medley of stone, brick, and +plaster, stands, strangely silent. This is Stilton, dreaming of bygone +busy times. Had the railway touched here, things would have worn a very +different aspect at Stilton to-day. Let us, therefore, thank the shades +of that Marquis of Exeter, and of the others who resisted the railway, +and by causing it to describe a wide loop instead of hugging the road, +unwittingly contributed to the preservation in a glass case, as it were, +of this old coaching centre. + +Night and day the coaches kept Stilton awake, and if for a few minutes +there was no coach, the post-chaises at one end of the social scale, and +the fly-wagons at the other, kept the inns busy. Stilton buzzed with +activity then. From the far North came the drovers, doing twenty miles a +day, with their sheep and cattle, their pigs and geese; animal creation +marching, martyrs in their sort, to Smithfield. At Stilton they shod the +cattle, like horses, and one blacksmith’s business here consisted of +nothing else than this. + +The glory of Stilton has departed, and the “Bell” and the “Angel” face +one another, dolefully wondering in what channels the tide of business +now flows. The “Bell” is more racy of the soil than the “Angel,” just as +it is also much older. We are here in a stone district, and the “Bell” +is a building of that warm yellowish stone characteristic of these parts. +Built at the very beginning of the seventeenth century, it was already of +a respectable age when the brick “Angel” opposite began to rise from its +foundations. The older house is the feature of Stilton, its great sign, +with the mazy quirks and curls of its wrought-iron supports, projecting +far out towards the road, and arresting the eye on first entering the +street. The sign itself is painted on copper, for the sake of lightness, +but has long been supported by a crutch, in the shape of a post. With +this ornamental iron-work, incomparably the finest sign on the road, it +was in the old days the subject of many wagers made by coachmen and +guards with unwary strangers who did not, like those artful ones, know +its measurements. It measures in fact 6 ft. 2¾ inches in height. + +The old “Talbot” inn still has its coach gallery, or balcony, in front. + +The “Angel,” in the best days of posting, became the principal house at +Stilton, and the little public-house of that name next door to the +commanding brick building which is now a private residence was only the +tap of the hotel. But the “Bell,” that has seen the beginning and the +end of the “Angel,” still survives, with memories of the days when the +delicacy which renders the name of Stilton world-famous had its origin. +Allusion is hereby made—need one explain it?—to “Stilton” cheese. They +say those old stagers who knew it when its local reputation first began +to be dispersed throughout the country—that Stilton cheese is not what it +was. What is? The “English Parmesan,” they called it then, when their +palates first became acquainted with it, but it deserved better of them +than that. It was a species of itself, and not justly comparable with +aught else. But Stilton cheese is not, nor ever was, made at Stilton, or +anywhere near it. It originated with Mrs. Paulet of Wymondham, near +Melton Mowbray, who first supplied it to Cooper Thornhill, the once +celebrated landlord of the “Bell,” for the use of the table provided for +the coach passengers and other travellers who dined there. Mrs. Paulet’s +cheeses immediately struck connoisseurs as a revelation, and they came +into demand, not only on Thornhill’s table, but were eagerly purchased +for themselves or friends by those who travelled this way. Thornhill was +too business-like a man to give away the secret of the make, and he did +very well for himself, charging as he did half-a-crown a pound. Then the +almost equally famous Miss Worthington, of the “Angel,” began to supply +“Stilton” cheeses, so that scarce any one came through the place but was +asked to buy one. Nor did travellers usually wait to be asked. If it +happened that they did not want any for themselves, they were usually +charged by friends with commissions to purchase as they passed through. +Smiling waiters and maidservants, Miss Worthington herself, rosy, plump, +benevolent-looking, asked travellers if they would not like to take away +with them a real Stilton cheese. Miss Worthington, the kindly, whose +lavender-scented beds were famed along the whole length of the Great +North Road—there she stood, declaring that they were real Stilton +cheeses! Nor were travellers for a long while any the wiser. Stilton +folks kept the secret well. But it gradually leaked out. A native of +those parts, too, was the traitor. “Pray, sir, would you like a nice +Stilton cheese to take away with you?” asked the unsuspecting landlady, +as the coach on whose outside he was seated drew up. + + [Picture: The Bell, Stilton] + +“Do you say they are made at Stilton?” he asked in reply. + +“Oh, yes,” said she. + +Then came the crushing rejoinder. “Why, Miss Worthington, you know +perfectly well that no Stilton cheese was ever made at Stilton; they’re +all made in Leicestershire, and as you say your cheeses are made at +Stilton, they cannot be good, and I won’t have one.” The secret was +then, of course, exploded. + +Which of these two inns could it have been to which Mrs. Calderwood of +Coltness refers in her diary when, travelling from Scotland to London in +the middle of the eighteenth century, she mentions at Stilton a “fine +large inn,” where the linen was “as perfit rags as ever I saw: plain +linen with fifty holes in each towell.” It would be interesting to know, +but it is hopeless now to attempt to identify it. + + + + +XXI + + +UP-HILL from Stilton, three-quarters of a mile away, but well within +sight, stands the Norman Cross inn, where the Peterborough, Louth, +Lincoln, and Hull coaches turned off to the right. + + [Picture: Norman Cross] + +Norman Cross! how many have been those old-time cyclists who have +partaken of the hospitality of the inn here! Not always, though, has it +been a place of welcome memories. For years, indeed, during the long +struggles between England and France, this was the site of one of the +largest of the prisons in which captured French soldiers were +incarcerated. Over three thousand were placed here, officers and +privates, some remaining captive for more than ten years. Happy those +who, through influence or by mere luck, were selected to be exchanged for +our soldiers, prisoners in France. + +It was a weary time for those poor fellows. Many of them died in the +great insanitary sheds in which they were confined, and others lost their +reason. Desperate men sometimes succeeded in escaping to the coast, +where friends were awaiting them. Others, wandering over the lonely +flats, perished miserably in the dykes and drains into which they fell +when the mists shrouded the countryside. There were, again, those who +stabbed the sentries and made off. Such an one was Charles François +Marie Bonchew, an officer, who had wounded, but had not killed, a sentry +named Alexander Halliday. Being captured, he was sentenced to death at +Huntingdon, and was brought back to Norman Cross to be executed, +September 1808. All the prisoners were turned out to witness the +execution, and the garrison was under arms. + +But it was not all savagery and horror here among those military +captives, for they were often allowed out on parole, within certain hours +and well-defined bounds. It was understood that no prisoner out on +parole should leave the highroad, nor was he to be at large after sunset. +If he disregarded these rules he was liable to be shot at sight by any +one who had a gun handy. He was an Ishmael against whom every hand was +turned, and, indeed, the Post Office offered a reward of £5 to any mail +guard who, seeing a prisoner breaking parole, should shoot him. After +several inoffensive farm-labourers, going home after dusk, had been +peppered with shot in mistake by guards anxious to secure this reward, +the village streets and roads adjacent became singularly desolate when a +coach was heard approaching. + +There were exceptions to these strict rules, and officers of high +rank—and consequently assumed to have a nicer sense of honour than that +obtaining among subalterns and the rank and file—were permitted to take +private lodgings at Stilton. Those were the fortunate ones. Most of the +prisoners, unhappily, were penniless, and after a time even their own +Government refused supplies for their maintenance. Accordingly, they +obtained some few little luxuries, and employed the time that hung so +heavily on their hands, by carving toys and artistic nick-nacks out of +fragments of wood, or from the bones left from their rations, and selling +them to the crowds of country folks who came to gaze at them on certain +days. Straw-plaiting, too, was a prisoners’ industry, until it was +stopped by some of the military in charge. + +In March, 1812, Sergeant Ives, of the West Essex Militia, was stopped on +the highway between Stilton and Norman Cross by a number of persons +unknown, who, after having knocked him down and robbed him of his money +and watch, wrenched open his jaws, and with savage cruelty, cut off a +piece of his tongue. It was supposed that this outrage was in revenge +for his having been concerned in suppressing the plait trade at Norman +Cross barracks. + +The prisoners were not entirely without spiritual consolation, for the +good Bishop de Moulines appointed himself their chaplain, and, of his own +free will leaving France, took up residence at Stilton. He attended them +in sickness, and helped them out of his own resources. + +The officers in charge of these prisoners were often brutal, but that +there were some who sympathised with their sorrows is evident from the +tablet still to be seen in Yaxley Church, a mile distant, which tells of +the gratitude of the prisoners for the kindness shown them by Captain +John Draper, R.N., who died after being in charge of the prison for only +eighteen months. + +Norman Cross Prison, or “Yaxley Barracks”—Norman Cross being in the +parish of Yaxley—built in 1796; was demolished in 1816, and no vestige of +it is left. + +And so all recollection of these things might in time have faded away had +it not been for the monument erected by the wayside in the fateful year +1914. Let us pause to consider that moment. Events were hurrying +towards the beginning of the Great War of 1914–18, and the nation in +general was wholly ignorant of what was coming. Stupidly ignorant, for +there were many omens. It was at this moment, afterwards seen to be so +full of tragedy, that the memorial pillar on, or near, the site of Yaxley +Barracks, to the memory of those French prisoners of war, was unveiled, +July 28th, 1914, by Lord Weardale. A gilded bronze French Imperial eagle +stoops on the crest of a handsome pillar, and on the plinth is a tablet +stating that this is a memorial to 1770 French prisoners who died in +captivity. + + [Picture: French Prisoners of War Monument, Norman Cross] + +These incidents, “picked from the wormholes of long vanished days,” give +romance to the otherwise featureless road onwards to Kate’s Cabin and +Water Newton. The “Kate’s Cabin” inn is mentioned by every road-book of +coaching-times, but no one ever condescended to explain the origin of +this curious sign, and the inn itself, once standing in the receipt of +custom at the cross-roads, three miles and a half from Norman Cross, is +now a pretty cottage. + +[Picture: Sculptured figure, Water Newton Church] Nearly two miles +onward, Water Newton comes in sight, standing, dry and secure, on its +knoll above the water-meadows on the river Nene. On the western face of +its church tower, which originally, before Wansford bridge was built and +the road diverted, faced the highway, may yet be seen a tabernacle +containing an ancient effigy of a man in semi-ecclesiastical attire, his +hands clasped in prayer. An inscription in Norman French may with some +difficulty be deciphered beneath it, inviting the passer-by to pray for +the soul of Thomas Purden:— + + “VOVS KE PAR + ISSI PASSEZ + POVR LE ALME + TOMAS PVR + DEN PRIEZ.” + +Read aloud, we perceive this to be intended for rhyme. + +No one prays for the soul of Thomas Purden nowadays, for these two very +excellent and individually sufficient reasons—that prayers for the dead +are not customary in the Church of England, and that, since the road has +been diverted, there are no passers-by. + +This brings us to the reason why Thomas Purden should have expected +wayfarers to intercede for his soul. That he expected them to do this +out of gratitude seems obvious; but it is not at first evident for what +they should be so grateful. We are, however, to bear in mind that a road +passed down beside this church tower in those days, where no road—only a +meadow—exists to-day. The meadow slopes steeply to the river, and +doubtless a ford, a ferry, or some primitive bridge was established here +by Thomas Purden long before even a wooden bridge existed at Wansford. +In providing some safe method by which travellers might pass this river, +even now subject to dangerous floods, Purden would have been a benefactor +in the eyes alike of men and of Holy Church, and fully entitled to the +prayers and intercessions of all. + + [Picture: Water Newton Church] + +For many years the head of the figure had disappeared, but when the +church was restored, some years since, an ingenious mason fitted him with +another which had, in the usual careless fashion of restorers, been +knocked off something else. And it is a simple truth that since its +“restoration,” Water Newton church is sadly bare. + +By the wayside, on the left, against the wall of a farm-house residence, +will be noticed an old milestone and horseman’s upping-block combined. +It marks the 81st mile from London, and bears the initials “E. B.,” +together with the date, 1708. This is perhaps the only survivor of a +series which, according to De Foe, in his “Tour through the Whole Island +of Great Britain,” a Mr. Boulter was projecting “to London, for the +general benefit.” + + [Picture: Edmund Boulter’s Milestone] + +Edmund Boulter was one of the family who were then seated at Gawthorp +Hall, near Leeds, and who, not much later, sold that property to Henry +Lascelles, father of the first Lord Harewood. + +At the hamlet of Sibson, on the left hand in descending toward the +level-crossing at Wansford station, may still be seen the stocks and +whipping-post beside the road. To the right flows the winding Nene, +through illimitable oozy meadows, its course marked in the far distance +by the pollard willows that line its banks. The Nene here divides the +counties of Huntingdonshire and Northants, Wansford itself lying in the +last-mentioned county and Stibbington on the hither side of the river. +The famous Wansford Bridge joins the two, and helps to render Wansford +and Stibbington one place in the eyes of strangers. Both places belong +to the Duke of Bedford, Stibbington bearing the mark of its ownership +distinctly visible in its severe and uncomfortable-looking “model” +modern-gothic stone houses, with the coroneted “B” on their gables. In +this manner the accursed Russells have bedevilled many of the villages +and townlets unhappily owned by them, and the feelings of all who live in +their earmarked houses must be akin to those of paupers who inhabit +workhouses and infirmaries, with the important exception that the Duke’s +tenants pay rent and taxes. Wansford, fortunately, has not been rebuilt, +and it is possible for the villagers to live without an uncomfortable +sense of belonging, body and soul, to the Dukes of Bedford. + +The famous “Haycock” inn, usually spoken of as at Wansford, is, in fact, +on the Huntingdonshire side of the bridge, and in Stibbington. Its sign +alludes to the supposed origin of the curious nick-name of +“Wansford-in-England,” first mentioned in that scarce little early +eighteenth-century book, _Drunken Barnaby’s Four Journeys to the North of +England_. In its pages he describes being carried off by a flood:— + + “On a haycock sleeping soundly, + Th’ River rose and took me roundly + Down the current: People cry’d; + Sleeping, down the Stream I hy’d: + ‘Where away,’ quoth they, ‘from Greenland?’ + ‘No, from Wansforth-brigs in England.’” + +This “in England” has puzzled many. It really refers to the situation of +Wansford in Northamptonshire, near, but not in, “Holland”—the Holland +division of Lincolnshire. + + [Picture: The “Haycock,” Wansford] + +Wansford’s peculiar fame is thus more than local. Perhaps the queer +picture-sign of the grand old inn, representing Drunken Barnaby on his +haycock, helped to disperse it over England in days when it could not +fail to be seen by every passing traveller. The “Haycock” ceased to be +an inn, and is now occupied as a hunting-box. It affords a pleasing +relief from the Duke of Bedford’s almshouse-looking cottages, and is a +building not only of considerable age, but of dignified architectural +character. Stone-built, with handsome windows and steep slated roof, and +carefully designed, even to its chimneys, it is, architecturally +speaking, among the very finest of the houses ever used as inns in +England, and has more the appearance of having been originally designed +as a private mansion than as a house of public entertainment. The sign +is now hung in the hall of the house, the corbels it rested on being +still visible beside the present door, replacing the old archway by which +the coaches and post-chaises entered and left the courtyard of the inn of +old. + +The “Haycock,” even in its days as an inn, was a noted hunting centre. +Situated in the country of the Fitzwilliam Hunt, it afforded, with its +splendid accommodation for guests and for horses, headquarters for those +who had not a hunting-box of their own, and in those days stabled as many +as a hundred and fifty horses. + + [Picture: Sign of the “Haycock.”] + +“Young Percival” kept the “Haycock” from about 1826, and drove the +“Regent” between Wansford and Stamford, in place of “old John Barker.” +At that time he had more valour than discretion in driving, and on one +occasion at least nearly brought disaster upon the coach at the famous +bridge by “punishing” a spirited team which had given some trouble at +starting. At the steep and narrow entrance to the bridge they took it in +their heads to resent his double-thonging, the leaders turning round, and +the whole team presently facing towards London instead of Stamford. They +had to be driven back to the “Haycock,” and Barker took them on to +Stamford. + + [Picture: Wansford Bridge] + +That bridge would have been an exceedingly awkward place for a coach +accident. It is picturesqueness itself, and by consequence not the most +convenient for traffic. Originally built in 1577, with thirteen arches, +it was repaired in 1674, as a Latin inscription carved midway on it +informs the inquiring stranger. In the winter of 1795 an ice-flood +destroyed some of the southernmost arches, which were replaced the +following year by two wider spans, so that Wansford Bridge has now only +ten openings. The northern approach to it from Stamford leads down in a +dangerous, steep, sudden, and narrow curve, intersected by a cross-road. +Now that there is no longer a turnpike gate at this point to bring the +traffic to a slow pace, this descent is fruitful in accidents, and at +least one cyclist has been killed here in an attempt to negotiate this +sharp curve on the descent into the cross-road. An inoffensive cottage +standing at the corner opposite the “Mermaid” inn has received many a +cyclist through its window, and the new masonry of its wall bears witness +to the wreck caused by a heavy wagon hurtling down the hill, carrying +away the side of the house. + +The five miles between Wansford and Stamford begin with this long rise, +whose crest was cut through in coaching days, the earth taken being used +to fill up a deep hollow which succeeded, where a little brook trickled +across the road, the coaches fording it. Thence, by what used to be +called in the old road-books “Whitewater Turnpike,” past the few cottages +of Thornhaugh, and so to where the long wall of Burghley Park begins on +the right hand. Here the telegraph poles, that have hitherto so +unfailingly followed the highway, suddenly go off to the right, and into +Stamford by the circuitous Barnack road, in deference to the objections, +or otherwise, of the Marquis of Exeter, against their going through his +park. + +The famous Burghley House by Stamford town is not visible from the road, +and is indeed situated a mile within the park, only the gate-house to the +estate being passed in the long descent into that outlying portion of the +town known as Stamford Baron. + +There is, amid the works of Tennyson, a curiously romantic poem, “The +Lord of Burleigh,” which on the part of the literary pilgrim will repay +close examination; and this examination will yield some astonishing +results. It is, briefly stated, the story of an Earl masquerading as a +landscape painter and winning the heart and hand of a farmer’s daughter. +He takes her, after the wedding, to see— + + “A mansion more majestic + Than all those she saw before; + Many a gallant gay domestic + Bows before him at the door. + And they speak in gentle murmur + When they answer to his call, + While he treads with footstep firmer, + Leading on from hall to hall. + And, while now she wonders blindly, + Nor the meaning can divine, + Proudly turns he round and kindly, + ‘All of this is mine and thine.’ + Here he lives in state and bounty, + Lord of Burleigh, fair and free, + Not a lord in all the county + Is so great a lord as he.” + +The original person from whose doings this poem was written was, in fact, +Henry Cecil, tenth Earl, and afterwards first Marquis, of Exeter. He was +the lord of Burghley House (not “Burleigh Hall”), by Stamford town, and +his descendants are there yet. + +Not a landscape painter, but a kind of London man about town and Member +of Parliament for Stamford, 1774–1780, 1784–1790, and then plain Mr. +Henry Cecil (for he did not succeed his uncle in the title until +December, 1793), he is found rather mysteriously wandering about +Shropshire in 1789, calling himself (there is never any accounting for +taste) “Mr. Jones.” He was then a man who had been married fourteen +years, and was thirty-six years of age. + +The scene opens (thus to put it in dramatic form) on an evening towards +the end of June, 1789, when a stranger knocked at the door of Farmer +Hoggins at Great Bolas in Shropshire, and begged shelter for the night. +He was obviously a gentleman, but called himself by the very plebian name +of “John Jones.” He made himself so agreeable that his stay “for the +night” lasted some weeks, and he returned again in a month or so, taking +up his residence in the village. The attraction which brought him back +to Great Bolas was evidently Sarah Hoggins, the farmer’s daughter, at +that time a girl of sixteen, having been born in June, 1773. He proposed +for Sarah, and on April 17th, 1790, they were married in Great Bolas +Church, the register showing that he married in the name of “John Jones.” +Meanwhile he had purchased land in the village, and built a house which +he called “Bolas Villa.” Gossip grew extremely busy with this mysterious +stranger who had thus descended upon the place, and it was generally +suspected that he was a highwayman in an extensive way of business, +especially as some notable highway robberies happened coincidently with +his appearance. + +Early in 1794, “Mr. John Jones,” living thus at Great Bolas, learnt that +his uncle, the ninth Earl of Exeter, had died in December. Telling his +wife they must journey into Northamptonshire, where he had business, they +set out and arrived at “Burghley House, by Stamford town,” and there he +disclosed to her for the first time that he was not “John Jones,” but +Henry Cecil, and now Earl of Exeter. + +At what time he broke the news to her that he was already a married man +there is no evidence to show. Strictly speaking, he had made a bigamous +marriage, because, although his wife, one of the Vernons of Hanbury, in +Worcestershire, had eloped on June 14, 1789, with the Reverend William +Sneyd, curate of that place, he had at the time taken no steps to obtain +a divorce. + + [Picture: Burghley House, by Stamford Town] + +But he had every excuse. He had honestly fallen in love with Sarah +Hoggins after thus meeting her while wandering about the country a few +days after his wife’s flight; and he obtained a divorce by Act of +Parliament in March, 1791. Having done this, he married Sarah Hoggins +secondly some six months later (October 3) in the City of London Church +of St. Mildred, Bread Street, in whose register his name appears as +“Henry Cecil, bachelor.” + +Tennyson’s poem is, therefore, rather more romantic than truthful; and +the lines which tell us how she murmured— + + “Oh! that he + Were again that landscape painter + Who did win my heart from me,” + +have no authority. Nor is there any evidence to warrant the statement +that— + + “A trouble weighed upon her + And perplexed her, night and morn, + With the burthen of an honour + Unto which she was not born.” + +The poet continues— + + “So she droop’d and droop’d before him, + Fading slowly from his side; + Three fair children first she bore him, + Then before her time she died.” + +The Countess of Exeter, in fact, died on January 18, 1797, not quite +twenty-four years of age; but not from “the burthen of an honour unto +which she was not born.” Happily, accession to the ranks of the titled +nobility is not fatal, as the marriage of many distinguished ornaments of +the musical comedy stage assure us; and so we must charge the Poet +Laureate with the flunkey thought that blue blood is a kind apart, and +not to be admixed with other strains. This from the poet who wrote— + + “Kind hearts are more than coronets, + And simple faith than Norman blood.” + +is unexpected. + +She left two sons and one daughter. Her eldest son became second Marquis +of Exeter, his father, the Earl, having been raised a step in the peerage +in 1801. + +The enterprising Earl married, thirdly, in 1800, the divorced wife of the +eighth Duke of Hamilton, and died May 1, 1804, aged fifty; but his third +wife survived until January 17, 1837. In the billiard-room of Burghley +House is a portrait-group of “the Lord of Burleigh” and his wife, Sarah +Hoggins, by Sir Thomas Lawrence. + +“Bolas Villa” was given by the Earl to his godson. It has since been +enlarged, and is now styled “Burghley Villa.” The church of Great Bolas +is a grim-looking brick building of the eighteenth century, when many of +the Shropshire churches in that district were rebuilt. + + + + +XXII + + +STAMFORD compels enthusiasm, from the first glimpse of it on entering, to +the last regretful backward glance on leaving. It is historic, +picturesque, stately, aristocratic, and cleanly, all at once. Its +stone-built mansions and houses are chiefly of the Renaissance period, +from Elizabeth onwards to the time of George the First, and it is in this +sort the most beautiful town in England, after Oxford and Cambridge, and +even in some aspects surpassing them. + +Apart from its lovely churches, one seeks not Gothic architecture at +Stamford but the stateliness of classic methods as understood in the +sixteenth and seventeenth century revival. It is this especial +architectural character which gives the town such an air of academic +distinction and leads the stranger to compare it with the great +university towns, even before the fact comes to his knowledge that +Stamford itself was once the seat of a University. + +The entrance is of a peculiar stateliness, the broad quiet street +descending, lined with dignified private houses, to where the river +Welland flows beneath the bridge, dividing the counties of Northampton +and Lincoln, and Stamford Baron from Stamford town. On the right hand +rises the fine tower of St. Martin’s, its perforated battlements showing, +lace-like, against the sky, just as when Turner painted his view. Lower +down across the street straddles the sign of the great “George” inn, and +a few steps forward serve to disclose the exquisite picture of St. Mary’s +tower and spire soaring from the rising ground on the other side of the +river. The “distracting bustle of the ‘George,’ which exceeded anything +I ever saw or heard,” as the Reverend Thomas Twining wrote, in 1776, has +long since become a thing of the past, and a certain quiet dignity now +belongs to it, as to Stamford in general. + +The “George” is an inn with a history. Charles the First slept there, +August 23, 1645, and a whole train of dignitaries at one time or another. +“Billy the Butcher,” too, returning from Culloden, stayed in the house, +and with his officers celebrated that victory. “Billy the Butcher,” one +regrets to say, was the vulgar nickname by which the people called +William, Duke of Cumberland. + +Distinguished foreigners without number have rested here and wondered at +the habits of Englishmen. The foreigner, it is to be feared, never, with +every advantage, really understands us; sometimes, too, he is so perverse +that we find a difficulty in understanding him. Thus, Master Estienne +Perlin, who travelled the roads and sampled the inns of England so far +back as 1558, says we were great drunkards then. He wrote an account of +his travels, and of England, as it appeared to him; and the way in which +he wrestles with the pronunciation of the language is amusing enough. +Thus, according to this traveller, if an Englishman would treat you, he +would say in his language: “Vis dring a’ quarta uin oim gasquim oim +hespaignol oim malvoysi.” This is merely maddening, and it is a positive +relief to know that the meaning of it is, “Will you drink a quart of +Gascony wine, another of Spanish, and another of Malmsey?” According to +this, the Englishman of three hundred years ago mixed his drinks +alarmingly. “In drinking,” continues this amusing foreigner, “they will +say to you, a hundred times, ‘Drind iou,’ which is, ‘I drink to you’; and +you should answer them in their language, ‘Iplaigiou,’ which means ‘I +pledge you.’ If you would thank them in their language, you say, ‘God +tanque artelay.’ When they are drunk,” he concludes, “they will swear by +blood and death that you shall drink all that is in your cup, and will +say to you thus: ‘Bigod sol drind iou agoud uin.’” + + [Picture: Entrance to Stamford. (After J. M. W. Turner R.A.)] + +Such customs as these must have been excellent business for the “George” +and its contemporaries. + +To this inn belongs an incident not paralleled elsewhere. The daughter +of one of its landlords, Margaret, daughter of Bryan Hodgson, married a +bishop! Or, more exactly, one who became a bishop: the Reverend Beilby +Porteous, who at the time of his marriage, in 1765, was vicar of Ruckinge +and Wittersham, in Kent. In 1776 he became Bishop of Chester, and eleven +years later Bishop of London. This was long years before Whincup kept +the house. He reigned here in the full tide of the coaching age, and was +one of the proprietors of the “Stamford Regent.” + +Much history has been made at Stamford, from the time when it was the +“stone ford” of the Romans across the Welland, through the long ages of +blood and destruction, stretching, with little intermission, from the +days of Saxon and Danish conflicts to that final clash of arms in 1643, +when Cromwell held the town and besieged Burghley House; and to that +Monday in the first week of May, 1646, when Charles the First, having +slept the night before at the residence of Alderman Wolph (descended from +Wulph, son of King Harold) slipped through a postern-gate in the town +wall, and so escaped for a final few hours as a free man. The gate is +there yet, in the grounds of Barn Hill House, a mansion which, in 1729, +was purchased by Stukeley, the antiquary, vicar of All Saints. + +Here is no place to tell of the Councils and Parliaments held at +Stamford; but, as justifying the academic air the town still holds, it +must be said that it was indeed the home of a University, long centuries +ago. It was following the early quarrels of Oxford University and Oxford +town that a body of students left that seat of learning, in 1260, and set +up a temporary home at Northampton. Political troubles drove them, six +years later, to Stamford, where they founded several Colleges and Halls, +which were already flourishing when, in 1333, the northern students at +Oxford, disgusted with the alleged favouritism shown to the southerners, +left in a body and found a welcome at Stamford. Liberty in those days +was construed as permission given the strong to oppress the weak, and so +when Oxford University and Oxford town jointly petitioned the king to +forbid the seceders learning where they listed, those unhappy students +were promptly arrested and sent back to suck wisdom from _alma mater_ on +the Isis. Oxford and Cambridge both agreed not to recognise degrees +conferred by Stamford, and at length, by 1463, this University was +strangled. + +The actual relics of those times are few. Chief in point of interest is +the old Brasenose Gate, the only fragment of the College of that name, +said to have been founded by students from Brasenose College, Oxford. +Here remained until recent years the ancient bronze knocker, in the form +of a lion’s head with a massive ring in its mouth, brought, according to +the legend, from the Oxford college. This knocker certainly belongs to a +period not later than the thirteenth century, and may have been conveyed +away. Whether it was the original “brazen nose,” said to have originated +the odd name of the College, or whether that name arose from the +_brassen-huis_, or brew-house, whose site the original College was built +upon, is one of those mysteries of derivation never likely to be solved. +During the last years of its stay at Stamford, the knocker was kept in a +house adjoining, until it and the house were purchased by Brasenose +College, Oxford, in whose Common Room the ancient relic now occupies a +place of honour. + + [Picture: Stamford] + +Stamford was attached to the Yorkist cause in the Wars of the Roses, and +had occasion to regret the fact; for it offered an especial mark to the +victorious Lancastrians in 1461, after the battle of St. Albans, when Sir +Andrew Trollope, with the triple ferocity of the _trois loups_ from which +the name derives, fell upon the town and pillaged and burnt it. Eight +churches, two castles, and the town walls, together with many hundreds of +houses, were destroyed, and Stamford has never recovered its ancient +importance since then. It is enough for us that it is among the +stateliest of towns, stone-built and dignified; with its beautiful +churches of St. Mary, All Saints, and St. Martin; its old almshouses and +mansions, not exactly matched in all England. + +The histories tell of a long list of famous men, natives of Stamford; but +the mere mental capacity or personal bravery shown by these great ones is +sardonically overshadowed by the physical greatness of quite another kind +of person, who, although not even a native of Stamford, has, by his dying +here, shed an especial lustre upon the town. + +[Picture: Daniel Lambert] Far transcending the fame of all other +personages is that of Daniel Lambert, the Fat Man. In the computation of +avoirdupois and of the tape-measure, this was the greatest figure that +ever travelled the Great North Road. No king or noble can vie with him, +nor are saintly shrines more zealously visited than his grave in the old +churchyard of St. Martin’s. While the tomb of that great Cecil, the Lord +Treasurer Burghley, within the church, remains often unvisited, +photographs of Daniel Lambert and of his epitaph meet the traveller at +every turn. + +Although destined to this undying fame, and to pothouse canonisation, +Daniel’s career was short, as that epitaph tells us:— + + “In Remembrance of + That Prodigy in Nature + DANIEL LAMBERT + who was possessed of + An exalted and convivial mind + And in personal greatness + Had no Competitor + He measured three feet, one inch, round the leg + Nine feet, four inches, round the body + And Weighed + Fifty-two stone Eleven pounds + He departed this life + On the 21st of June + 1809 + Aged 39 years.” + +His diet is said to have been plain, and the quantity moderate, and he +never drank anything stronger than water. His countenance was manly and +intelligent, and he had a melodious tenor voice. For some years before +his death he had toured the country, exhibiting himself, and visited +London on two occasions. The weights and measurements quoted on his +tombstone were taken at Huntingdon only the day before his death. In the +evening he arrived at the “Waggon and Horses,” Stamford, in good health, +in preparation for “receiving company” during Stamford Races, but before +nine o’clock the next morning was dead in the room on the ground floor +which he had taken because of his inability to go upstairs. For many +years two of his suits were shown at the inn, seven men often succeeding +in squeezing themselves within the mighty embrace of his waistcoat, +without bursting a button. The “Waggon and Horses” has long since given +place to a school, and so here is a place of pilgrimage the less; but +Daniel’s fame is immortal, for he lives as the sign of many an inn and +refreshment-house, whose proprietors use him as an advertisement of the +plenteous fare to be obtained within, regardless of the fact that his +immense bulk was due rather to a dropsical habit than to much eating or +drinking. + + + + +XXIII + + +THE road, mounting steeply out of Stamford, reaches a fine, elevated +track commanding wide views. This is the spot chosen by Forrest for his +painting of the old “Highflyer” London, York, and Edinburgh coach which +ran from 1788 to 1840. In less than two miles the road crosses the +border of Lincolnshire, traversing for six miles an outlying corner of +little Rutland, the smallest county in England, and entering Lincolnshire +again on passing Stretton. Great Casterton, at the foot of the hill two +and a quarter miles from Stamford, is in Rutland. It is said to be +situated on the Guash, but that stream and the bridge over it, from which +the old road-books often called the village “Bridge Casterton,” are not +readily glimpsed. + +It is a pretty stone-built village, with a well preserved Early English +church beside the road. “Greatness,” either as a village or as the site +of a Roman “castrum” (whence derives the “Caster”-ton) has long ceased to +be a characteristic of this pleasant spot, and the ancient Roman camp is +now visible only in some grassy banks where the rathe primrose grows. + +Just beyond Casterton, coyly hiding down a lane to the left, is the +little village of Tickencote, preserving in its name some prehistoric +goat-farm, “Tyccen-cote” meaning in the Anglo-Saxon nothing more nor less +than “goat’s-home.” Of more tangible interest is the splendid Norman +church, of small size but extraordinary elaboration; a darkling building +with heavy chancel arch covered with those zigzags, lozenges, birds’ +heads, and tooth-mouldings so beloved by Norman architects, and with a +“Norman” nave built in 1792 to replace that portion of the building +destroyed many years before. The pseudo-Norman work of our own day is, +almost without exception, vile, and that of the eighteenth century was +worse, but here is an example of such faithful copying of existing +portions that now, since a hundred years and more have passed and the +first freshness of the new masonry gone, it is difficult to distinguish +the really old work from the copy. + + [Picture: The “Highflyer,” 1840 (After Forrest)] + +Returning to the highroad, a further two miles bring us to Horn Lane, the +site of a vanished turnpike gate, and to the coppices and roadside trees +of Bloody Oaks, where the battle of Empingham was fought, March 13, 1470, +between the forces of Edward the Fourth and the hastily assembled +Lincolnshire levies of Sir Robert Welles and Sir Thomas de la Launde, +fighting, _not_ for the Lancastrian cause, as so often stated, but in an +insurrection fomented by the Earl of Warwick, whose object was to raise +Edward’s brother, the Duke of Clarence, to the throne. It was a +massacre, rather than a battle, for Edward’s army was both more numerous +and better equipped, and the rebels soon broke and fled. Flinging away +their weapons, and even portions of their clothing, as they went, the +fight was readily named “Losecoat Field.” The captured leaders paid for +their ineffectual treason with their blood, for they were executed at +Stamford. + + [Picture: Bloody Oaks] + +The country folks have quite forgotten Losecoat Field, and think the +woodlands of Bloody Oaks were so named from the execution of John +Bowland, a highwayman who was gibbeted at Empingham Corner in 1769. + +Greetham spire now rises away to the left, and shows where that village +lies hid. Here, away from the village and facing the highroad, stood, +and stands still, the “Greetham Inn.” It is now a farmhouse, and has +lost its stables, its projecting bar-parlour, and its entrance archway. +Once, however, it was one of the foremost inns and posting-houses on the +road. Marked on old Ordnance maps as the “Oak,” it seems to have been +really named the “New Inn,” if we may judge from an inscription cut on +stone under the eaves: “This is the New Inn, 1786.” However this may +have been, it was known to travellers, coachmen, and postboys along the +road only as “Greetham Inn.” Towards the last it was kept by one of the +Percivals of Wansford. At that time no fewer than forty-four +coaches—twenty-two up and the same number down—changed here and at the +“Black Bull,” Witham Common, every twenty-four hours. + +Less than a mile down the road is that humble little public-house whose +strange sign, the “Ram Jam,” has puzzled many people. Its original name +was the “Winchilsea Arms,” and it bore no other sign than the armorial +shield of the Earls of Winchilsea until long after coaching days were +done; but in all that time it was known only as the “Ram Jam House,” and +thereby hangs a tale, or several tales, most of them untrue. All kinds +of wild legends of the house being so crammed with travellers that it was +called “Ram Jam,” from that circumstance, have been heard. But +travellers, as a matter of fact, never stayed there, for the inn never +had any accommodation for them. It was more a beer-house than anything +else. It’s fame began about 1740, when the landlord was an officer’s +servant, returned from India. He possessed the secret of compounding a +liqueur or spirit which he sold to travellers down the road, this +eventually becoming as well-known a delicacy as Cooper Thornhill’s +“Stilton” cheeses. He called this spirit “Ram Ján,” which seems to be an +Indian term for a table servant, and sold it in small bottles, either +singly, for consumption on the journey, or in cases of half-dozens or +dozens. The secret of this liqueur was imparted to his son, but +afterwards died out, and it is said that “Ram Jam” ceased to be sold +before the beginning of the nineteenth century. + + [Picture: Interior of a Village Inn. (After Morland)] + +Although the “Ram Jam” was never more than a tavern of a very humble +description, and probably never sheltered guests above the rank of +cattle-drovers, it is noted as having been the house where Molyneux, the +black, slept before his fight with Tom Cribb at Thistleton Gap, three and +a half miles away, on September 28, 1811. Cribb, who was easily the +victor, had his quarters at the “Blue Bull,” another small roadside +house, which stood, until the beginning of 1900, at the cross roads on +Witham Common, where roads go right and left to Bourn and Melton Mowbray. +It has now been demolished. + +Here we have passed the little Rutlandshire village of Stretton on the +right, which obtained its name of “Street-town” from having been on the +ancient road called the Ermine Way. Here we come again into +Lincolnshire. + +For some twenty miles the Great North Road runs through this broad +county, the land of the “yellow-bellies,” as Lincolnshire folk are named, +from the frogs and eels that inhabit their fens and marshes. North and +South Witham, giving a name to Witham Common, lie unseen, off to the +left, and the once famous old “Black Bull” stands, as it always has +stood, solitary beside the road, out of sight from any other house. It +consists of two separate buildings, at right angles to one another and +erected at different times. The original house is a structure of +rag-stone, placed a little way back from the road, and facing it. The +second building, which bears a more imposing architectural character, and +with its handsome elevation of red brick and stone, bears witness to the +once extensive business of the “Black Bull,” stands facing south, with +its gable-end to the road, thus forming two sides of a courtyard. Long +ranges of stables extend to the rear. The place is now in use as a +farmhouse and hunting-box, and a screen of laurels and other evergreen +shrubs is planted on the site of the old coach-drive. Sturtle, who kept +the house in the old days, is gathered to his fathers, and the railway +whistle sounds across country, where the guards’ horns once aroused the +echoes of Morkery Woods or Spittle Gorse. + +How different the outlook now from the time when Sir Walter Scott made +entries in his _Journal_. “Old England,” he writes, from his hotel at +Grantham, “is no changeling. Things seem much the same. One race of +red-nosed innkeepers are gone, and their widows, eldest sons, or head +waiters exercise hospitality in their room, with the same bustle and +importance. The land, however, is much better ploughed; straight ridges +everywhere adopted in place of the old circumflex of twenty years ago. +Three horses, however, or even four, are often seen in a plough, yoked +one before the other. Ill habits do not go out at once.” + +A few years later, and these things, which had changed so little, were +revolutionised. The railway carried all the traffic and the roads were +deserted, the “red-nosed innkeepers” so rarely seeing a guest, that when +a stray one arrived they almost fell on his shoulder and wept. +Agriculture, too, converted even Witham Common into a succession of +fertile fields, and thus banished wayfaring romance to the pages of +history or of sensation novels. + + [Picture: House, formerly the “Black Bull,” Witham Common] + + + + +XXIV + + +LET us rest awhile by this sunlit stretch of road, where the red roofs of +distant farmsteads alone hint of life; always excepting the humming +telegraph wires whispering messages to Edinburgh and the Far North, or +perhaps the summer breeze bringing across country the distant echo of a +train. If it does, why then the sound renders our solitude the more +complete, and gives flight to a lagging imagination. It reminds us that +it was here, and not there, three miles away over the meadows in a +railway cutting, that the traffic of two kingdoms went, sixty years ago. + +These green selvedges of grass that border the highway so delightfully +were not then in existence. They were a part of the road itself, which +was, for all that, not too wide for the mail-coaches, the stages, the +fly-wagons, private chariots, post-chaises, and especially the runaway +couples _en route_ for Gretna Green, who travelled along it. “The +dullest road in the world, though the most convenient,” quoth Sir Walter +Scott, in his diary, when journeying to Abbotsford in 1826. Dull +scenically, but not historically. Had it been an unlettered cyclist who +had made this criticism, a thousand critical lashes had been his +portion—and serve him right; but what shall we say of the author of +_Waverley_? Dull! why, the road is thronged with company. One can—any +one can who has the will to it—call spirits from the vasty deep with +which to people the way. No need to ask, “Will they come?” They cannot +choose but do so; they are here. + +A strange and motley crowd: the pale ghosts of the ages. From Ostorius +Scapula and the Emperors Hadrian, Severus, and Constantine the Great, +down through the Middle Ages, they come, mostly engaged in cutting one +another’s throats. York and Lancaster, as their fortunes ebbed or +flowed, setting up or taking down the heads of traitors; obscure +murderers despatching equally obscure victims by the way, and in later +times—the farcical mingling with the more tragic humours—we see James the +First journeying to his throne, confirmed in his good opinion of himself +as a second Solomon by a sycophantic crowd of courtiers; Lord Chancellor +Littleton, fleeing from Parliament to Charles the First at York, carrying +with him that precious symbol of Royal authority, the Great Seal (the +third Great Seal of that reign), made in the year the Long Parliament +began to sit; Charles the First, a few years later, conducted by the +victorious Parliament to London, and, at the interval of another century, +the Rebel Lords. “The ’45,” indeed, made much traffic on this road: the +British army going down, with Billy the Butcher at its head, to crush the +rebellion, and the prisoners coming up—their last journey, as they knew +full well. They were pinioned on the way, for their better custody, and +so that Hanoverian heads might sleep the sounder at St. James’s. The +Hanoverians themselves rarely came this way, nor would their coming have +added greatly to the romance of the road. George the Third passed once. +He was a stay-at-home king, and of roads knew little, save of those that +led from London to Windsor, or to that western _Ultima Thule_ of his, +Weymouth. Indeed, it is said, on what authority it is difficult to +determine, that the third George never voyaged out of the kingdom. Even +Hanover, beloved of his forbears, he never knew, although the Jacobites +ceased not with their brass tokens, to wish him there. {165} His +furthest journey is said to have been to York. + +His son, afterwards George the Fourth, had occasion to remember this +road, for he was upset on it in 1789, when returning from a visit to Earl +Fitzwilliam at Wentworth Woodhouse. Two miles from Newark, a cart +overturned his carriage in a narrow part of the highway. It rolled over +three times down an incline, and fell to pieces like a box of tricks, but +the prince was unhurt. + +Of bygone sporting figures with which, in imagination, to people the way +we have a crowd. There has always been something in the great length of +the road to York, and of its continuation to Edinburgh, that has appealed +to sportsmen and all those interested in the speeds of different methods +of progression. Pedestrians, horsemen, and coaches—and in recent times +cyclists—have competed in their several ways, from an early period until +our own day, and the rival railways even have had their races to +Edinburgh. + +Of these feats, that of Sir Robert Cary, son of Lord Hunsdon, is not the +least remarkable. He carried the news of Queen Elizabeth’s death to +James at Edinburgh, and was the first to hail him King of England. +Riding in furious haste, and with fresh horses wherever he could obtain +them, he succeeded in covering the distance in the sixty hours between a +Thursday morning and a Saturday night. Again, a very few years later—in +May 1606—a certain esquire of James the First’s, John Lepton of York, +undertook for a wager to ride on six consecutive days between that city +and London. He started from Aldersgate on the 20th of May, and +accomplished his task every day before darkness had fallen; “to the +greater praise of his strength in acting than to his discretion in +undertaking it,” as Fuller remarks. He also, of course, had relays of +horses. Among the pedestrians is Ben Jonson, who walked to Scotland, on +his visit to Drummond of Hawthornden, starting in June 1618; but he +footed it less for sport than from necessity. + +When Charles the First was at York, according to Clarendon, it was a +frequent occurrence for gentlemen couriers to ride with despatches +between that place and London, completing the double journey—400 miles—in +thirty-four hours. Thus, a letter sent by the Council in London on the +Saturday, midnight, was answered on its arrival at York by the king, and +the answer delivered in London at ten o’clock on the Monday morning. + +Then there was Cooper Thornhill, landlord of the “Bell” at Stilton, who +for a wager rode to London and back again to Stilton, about 1740. The +distance, 154 miles in all, was done in eleven hours thirty-three minutes +and forty-six seconds. He had nineteen horses to carry him, and so is no +rival of Turpin’s mythical exploit in riding to York on his equally +mythical Black Bess; but he was evidently considered a wonderful person, +for there was a poem published about him in 1745, entitled “The Stilton +Hero: O Tempora! O Mores:” a sixpenny quarto of fourteen pages. + +Foster Powell is easily first among the pedestrians. He was an +eighteenth century notability, a native of Horsforth, near Leeds, and +born in 1734. Articled to an attorney, he remained a solicitor’s clerk, +undistinguished in the law, but early famed for his walking powers. In +1764 he backed himself for any amount to walk fifty miles on the Bath +Road in seven hours, and having accomplished this, despite his wearing a +heavy greatcoat and leather breeches at the time, he visited France and +Switzerland, and fairly walked the natives off their legs. It was in +1773 that he performed his first walk from London to York and back, doing +the 400 miles in five days and eighteen hours. This was followed by a +walk of 100 miles, out and home, on the Bath Road, done in twenty-three +hours and a quarter. His three great pedestrian records on the Great +North Road in 1788 and twice in 1792 are his most remarkable +achievements. Although by this time he had long passed the age at which +athletics are commonly indulged in, he performed the London to York and +back walk of 1788 in five days twenty hours, and its repetitions of 1792 +in five days eighteen hours and five days fifteen hours and a quarter, +respectively. The starting and turning-points were Shoreditch Church and +York Minster. This last effort probably cost him his life, for he died, +aged fifty-nine, early the following year. Powell figures—rightly +enough—as one of Wilson and Caulfield’s company of “Remarkable +Characters,” in which he is described as about five feet nine inches in +height, close-knit body, of a sallow complexion, and of a meagre habit. +He lived on a light and spare diet, and generally abstained from drink, +only on one of his expeditions partaking of brandy. He took but little +sleep, generally five hours. + + [Picture: Foster Powell] + +Robert Barclay of Ury, born 1731, died 1797, walked from London to Ury, +510 miles, in ten days. He is described as having been well over six +feet in height. He married, in 1776, Sarah Ann Allardice, and was the +father of the next notable pedestrian. + +Captain Barclay of Ury, an eighteenth century stalwart, born in 1779 and +living until 1854, walked the whole way from Edinburgh to London and +back. He was at the time Member of Parliament for Kincardineshire. +Another of his feats of endurance was driving the mail for a wager from +London to Aberdeen. He then offered to drive it back for another wager, +but Lord Kennedy, who had already lost, was not inclined to renew. +Barclay started the “Defiance” coach between Edinburgh and Aberdeen in +July 1829. He only once upset it, and thus described the event:—“She +fell as easy as if she had fallen on a feather bed, and looking out for a +soft place, I alighted comfortably on my feet.” A favourite axiom with +him was that no man could claim to be a thoroughly qualified coachman +until he had “floored”—that is, upset—his coach; “for till he has done so +he cannot know how to get it up again.” Barclay was the claimant of the +Earldom of Monteith and Ayr, and it was a source of genuine anxiety with +him whether, in the event of his proving his claim, he would have to give +up the reins. He consulted his friend the Duke of Gordon on this point. +“Why,” replied his Grace, “there is not much difference between an earl +and a marquis, and as the Marquis of Waterford drives the Brighton +‘Defiance,’ I see no reason why you may not drive its Aberdeen namesake. +At all events, if there be any objection to your being the coachman, +there can be none to your being the guard.” Barclay was snubbed! + +As for the many great people who were furiously driven back and forth, up +and down the road, the historian is dismayed at the prospect of +chronicling their whirling flight. Let us respectfully take the most of +their performances on trust. There was no occasion for all this haste, +save the spirit of the thing, as Byron hints:— + + “Now there is nothing gives a man such spirits, + Leavening his blood as cayenne doth a curry, + As going at full speed—no matter where its + Direction be, so ’tis but in a hurry, + And merely for the sake of its own merits; + For the less cause there is for all this flurry, + The greater is the pleasure in arriving + At the great end of travel—which is driving.” + +Thus there was Lord Londonderry, who made a speech in the House one +night, and the next evening was at his own place in Durham, 250 miles or +so away, having travelled down in his “chariot and four.” + +There were those, however, who scorned these effeminate methods. Like +Barclay of Ury, they walked or rode horseback, long after the +introduction of coaches. Foul-mouthed old Lord Monboddo, for instance, a +once famous Scots Lord of Session, persisted in the use of the saddle. +He journeyed between the two capitals once a year, and continued to do so +until well past fourscore years of age. On his last journey to London he +could get no further than Dunbar, and when his nephew asked him why he +gave up, “Eh, George,” said he, “I find I am noo auchty-four.” He was, +in fact, suffering from the incurable disease of “Anno Domini.” He held +it unmanly “to sit in a box drawn by brutes.” Would that we could have +his shade for a companion on a ’bus ride from Charing Cross to the Bank! + +At that period the stage-wagons performed the journey in fourteen days, +carrying passengers at a shilling a day. + + + + +XXV + + +THE list of equestrians is long and distinguished. Lord Mansfield rode +up from Scotland to London when a boy, on a pony, and took two months +over the enterprise. Dr. Skene, who left town in 1753 in the same +fashion, reached Edinburgh in nineteen days. His expenses, having sold +his mare on arrival for eight guineas—exactly the sum he had given for +her—amounted to only four guineas. + +This, indeed, was the usual plan to purchase a horse for the journey and +to sell it on arrival; a method so canny that it must surely be of Scots +invention. It had the advantage that, if you found a good market for +your nag, it was often possible to make a profit on the transaction. + +But it behoved the purchaser to make some inquiry as to the previous +owners, as no doubt the Scotsman, leaving London with one of these newly +bought mounts, discovered, after some embarrassing experiences. He went +gaily forth upon his way, and nothing befell him until Finchley Common +was reached. On that lonely waste, however, he met another horseman; +whereupon his horse began to edge up to the stranger, as though to +prevent him from proceeding. The Scotsman was at a loss to understand +this behaviour, but the other traveller, thinking him to be a highwayman, +was for handing over his purse forthwith. This little difficulty +explained away, our friend resumed his journey, presently meeting a +coach, when the performance was repeated. This time, however, +blunderbusses were aimed at him, and, the nervous passengers being in no +mood to hear or understand explanations, he had a rather narrow escape of +his life. At Barnet he sold this embarrassing horse for what he could +get, and continued his journey by coach. + +It was in 1756 that Mrs. Calderwood of Coltness travelled to London from +Edinburgh in her own post-chaise, her sturdy serving-man, John Rattray, +riding beside the vehicle on horseback, armed with pistols and a +broadsword by his side. She set out from Edinburgh on the 3rd of June +and reached London on the evening of the 10th—an astonishing rapid +journey, it was thought. Let it not be supposed that the armed +serving-man, or the case of pistols the good dame carried with her inside +the vehicle, showed an excess of precaution. Not at all; as was +instanced near that suspicious place, Bawtry, in whose neighbourhood a +doubtful character whom they took to be a highwayman made his appearance. +However, when John Rattray began talking ostentatiously about powder and +ball to the post-boy, the supposed malefactor was nonplussed; and on John +Rattray furthermore “showing his whanger,” the fellow made off. And so +Cox—and Box—were satisfied. Strangest of all travellers, however, was +Peter Woulfe, chemist, mineralogist, and eccentric, whose specific for +illness was a journey by mail-coach. He indulged this whim for years, +riding from London to Edinburgh and back, until 1803, when the remedy +proved worse than the disease, for he caught cold on these bleak miles +and died. + +John Scott, afterwards Earl of Eldon and created Lord Chancellor, left a +record of his early travels along this road—surely it were better named +the Road to Fortune! He left school at Newcastle in 1766 to proceed to +London on the way to Oxford, and travelled in a “fly,” so called because +it did the journey in the previously unheard-of time of three days and +four nights. This “fly” had probably once been a private carriage, for +it still bore the motto, “_Sat cito_, _si sat bene_”—that is to say, +“Quick enough, if well enough”—exquisitely appropriate, however, to that +slow pace. Young Scott had noticed this, and made an impudent remark to +a fellow-traveller, a Quaker, who, when they halted at Tuxford, had given +sixpence to a chamber-maid, telling her that he had forgotten to give it +her when he had slept at the inn two years before. “Friend,” said he to +the Quaker, “have you seen the motto on this coach?” + +“No,” said his companion. + +“Then look at it,” he rejoined, “for I think giving her sixpence now is +neither sat cito nor sat bene.” + +It is astonishing, indeed, how many future Lord Chancellors came from the +North. Lord Chancellor Campbell, who as a boy came up to London from +Fife in 1798, was among the early arrivals by mail-coach. At that time +his father was the admiration of his Fifeshire village, for he was the +only one in the place who had been to London. Every one, accordingly, +looked up to, and consulted, so great a traveller. He had seen Garrick, +too, and was used to boast of the fact, although, it is to be supposed, +with discretion and amid the inner circle of his friends, for play-actors +were not yet favourites in the dour Scottish mind. Great was the +excitement when young Campbell left home. The speed of the coaches had +been accelerated, and they now began to reach London from Edinburgh in +two days and three nights. Friends advised him to stay in York and +recuperate for a day or two after a taste of this headlong speed, lest +he—as it was rumoured had happened to others—should be seized with +apoplexy from the rush of air at that rate of travelling. But, greatly +daring, he disregarded their advice, and came to town direct and in +safety. + +When railways were introduced, they meant much more than cheap and speedy +travelling; they prefigured a social revolution and an absolute reversal +of manners and customs. The “great ones of the earth” were really great +in the old days; to-day no one is great in the old exclusive sense. +Every one can go everywhere—and every one does. Dukes travel in +omnibuses and go third-class by train because there is no fourth. If +there _were_, they would go by it, and save the difference. + +The judges kept up the practice of going on circuit in their carriages +for some little while after railways had rendered it unnecessary; and +barristers who used to post to the assizes were for a few years unwilling +to be convinced that it was quite respectable and professional to go by +train. The juniors were the readiest converts, for the difference in +cost touched them nearly. The clergy soon embraced the opportunity of +travelling cheaply, for the cloth has ever had, at the least of it, a due +sense of the value of money. + +Dignified and stately prelates therefore speedily began to look +ridiculous by contrast, and the old picture in _Punch_, once considered +exquisitely humorous, of a bishop carrying a carpet-bag, has lost its +point. Samuel Wilberforce, when elevated to the Bishopric of Oxford in +1845, was probably the first Bishop to give up his coach and four and his +gorgeous lackeys. He rode, unattended, on horseback, and scandalised +those who saw him. How much more scandalised would they have been to see +bishops ride bicycles: a sight not uncommon in our time. + +In the vanished era, only those who could afford it travelled; in the +present, only those who _cannot_ afford it go “first.” Jack is as good +as his master—“and a d—d sight better,” as the Radical orator said. +Caste, happily, is breaking down, and their privileges are being stripped +from the governing cliques who for centuries have battened on the public +purse. Perhaps it was because they had a prophetic fore-knowledge of all +this that the titled and other landowners so strenuously withstood +railways at their beginning. They sometimes opposed railways so +successfully that great trunk routes, planned to go as direct as possible +between two points, were diverted and made circuitous. When the Great +Northern Railway was projected it was proposed to follow the highway to +the North as nearly as possible, and to go through Stamford; but the +Marquis of Exeter opposed the Bill as far as it concerned his own +property, and procured a deviation which sent the main line through +Grantham, with the results that Stamford languishes while Grantham is +made to flourish, and that the short-sightedness of the then Marquis has +wofully affected the value of his successor’s property. If the thing +were to do again, how eagerly would the Company be invited to take the +route it was once forbidden! + + + + +XXVI + + +WE, none of us, who read the story of the roads, or who make holiday +along them, would really like those old times back, when railways were +undreamt of, and travelling for the pleasure of it was unknown. It is +sufficient to read the old travellers’ tales, to realise what +discouragements from leaving one’s own fireside existed then. There was, +for instance, toward the close of the seventeenth century, and well on +into the eighteenth, an antiquary of repute who lived at Leeds, and +journeyed very frequently in the Midlands, Ralph Thoresby was his name. +He travelled much, and in all weathers, and knew the Great North Road +well. In his day the coaches were often, through the combined badness of +the roads and the severity of the weather, obliged to lay up in the +winter, like ships in Arctic seas. Like his much more illustrious +contemporary, Pepys, he not infrequently lost his way, owing to the roads +at that period having no boundary, and once, he tells us, he missed the +road between York and Doncaster, fervently thanking God for having found +it again. Indeed, all his journeys end with more or less hearty +thanksgivings for a safe return. On one occasion we find him missing his +pistols at an inn, and darkly suspecting the landlord to be in league +with thieves and murderers; but he finds them, after a nerve-shaking +search, and proceeds, thanking the Lord for all his mercies. At another +time, journeying to London, he passes, and notes the circumstance, “the +great common where Sir Ralph Wharton slew the highwayman.” This was +doubtless Witham Common, but, although he alludes to the subject as +though it were in his time a matter of great notoriety, all details of +this encounter are now sadly to seek, and Sir Ralph Wharton himself lives +only in Thoresby’s diary. + +Thoresby was a very inaccurate person. He mentions “Stonegate Hole, +between Stamford and Grantham,” but he is out of his reckoning by forty +miles or so, Ogilby’s map of 1697 marking the spot near Sawtry. +Accordingly when we find him, going by coach, instead of by his usual +method, on horseback, in May 1714, and noting “we dined at Grantham: had +the usual solemnity (this being the first time the coach passed in May), +the coachman and horses being decked with ribbons and flowers, the town +music and young people in couples before us,” we shrewdly suspect he was +referring to the festivities of this kind held at Sutton-on-Trent, +twenty-three miles further north. + +Witham Common passed, we come to the village of Colsterworth, built on a +rise, with fine views from it of the upland copses and gentle hills and +dales of this hunting country, where the Cottesmore, the Atherstone, and +the Quorn overrun one another’s boundaries. Colsterworth is the last of +the stone-built villages for many a mile to come, red brick reigning from +Grantham onwards, to far beyond York. It is a narrow-streeted village, +with an old church, closely elbowed by houses beside the road; the church +where Sir Isaac Newton and his ancestors worshipped, and where, on the +wall of the Newton Chapel, may yet be seen one of the sundials he carved +with a penknife when only nine years of age. In a secluded nook, nearly +two miles to the left of the highroad, lies Woolsthorpe Manor House, the +Newtons’ ancestral home, now a small farmhouse, with a tablet built into +the wall of the room where the philosopher was born. The famous +apple-tree whose falling fruit suggested the Law of Gravitation has long +since disappeared. + +Lincolnshire now begins to thoroughly belie its reputation for flatness, +the road descending steeply from Colsterworth and rising sharply from +Easton Park to the park of Stoke Rochford, with another long sharp +descent beyond, and a further rise of some importance into Great Ponton, +another of the very small “Great” villages. + + [Picture: Great Ponton] + +Great Ponton, or Paunton Magna, as it was formerly called, was in early +days the site of a Roman camp, and of a turnpike gate in latter times. +Both have gone to a common oblivion. If the ascent to the tiny village +by the highroad is steep, the climb upwards to it by the country lanes +from the lowlands on the east, where the Great Northern Railway takes its +easeful course, is positively precipitous. Overlooking the pleasant vale +from its commanding eyrie stands the beautiful old church, in a by-way +off the main road; the church itself strikingly handsome, but the +pinnacled and battlemented tower its peculiar glory. It is distinctly of +the ornate Somersetshire type, and a very late example of Perpendicular +work. Having been built in 1519, when Gothic had reached its highest +development, and Renaissance ideals were slowly but surely obtaining a +hold in this country, we find in its lavish ornamentation and abundant +panelling an attempt to combine the florid alien Renaissance conventions +with that peculiarly insular phase of Gothic, the Perpendicular style. +The result is, as it chances, happy in this instance, the new methods +halting before that little further development which would have made this +a debased example. The building of this tower was the work of Anthony +Ellys, merchant of the staple, and of his wife, as a thank-offering for a +prosperous career, and of an escape from religious persecution; and his +motto, “Thynke and thanke God of all,” is still visible, carved on three +sides. His house, a crow-stepped old mansion next the church, is still +standing, and recalls the legend of his sending home a cask from his +warehouses in Calais, labelled “Calais sand.” Arriving home, he asked +his wife what she had done with the “sand.” She had put it in the +cellar. He then revealed the fact that it contained, not sand, but the +greater part of his wealth. + + [Picture: Great Ponton Church] + +Prominent on the south-east pinnacle of this tower is a curious vane in +the shape of a fiddle. The legend told of it says that, many years ago, +there wandered amid the fenland villages of Lincolnshire a poor fiddler +who gained a scanty livelihood by playing at fairs and weddings, and not +infrequently in the parlours of the village inns on Saturday nights. +After some years of this itinerant minstrelsy, he amassed a sufficient +sum of money wherewith to pay his fare as a steerage passenger to the +United States, to which country his relatives had emigrated some time +before. In course of time, this once almost poverty stricken fiddler +became rich through land speculation in the backwoods; and, revisiting +the scenes of his tuneful pilgrimages in the new character of a wealthy +man, offered to repair this then dilapidated church, as some sort of +recognition of the kindnesses shown him in bygone years. Only one +stipulation was made by him, that a vane representing his old fiddle +should take the place of the weathercock. This was agreed to, and, as we +see, that quaint emblem is there to this day. + +Candour, however, compels the admission that this pretty legend has no +truth in it; but the story has frequently found its way into print, and +so is in a fair way to become a classic. The original fell in 1899 and +was broken. The then rector would have replaced it with another vane of +different character, but the old folk were attached to their fiddle, and +so a replica was made by subscription, and fixed; and there it is to-day: +the first fiddle, said the rector, that ever he heard of in the guise of +a wind-instrument! + +Among the many curious inn-signs along the road, that of the “Blue +Horse,” at Great Ponton, is surely one of the most singular, and is a +zoological curiosity not readily explained. + + + + +XXVII + + +GRANTHAM, one hundred and ten and a quarter miles from London by road, +and five miles less by rail, is three miles and a half distant from Great +Ponton. Entered down the very long and steep descent of Spitalgate Hill, +the utterly modernised character of the town becomes at once apparent, +and all pleasurable anticipations based upon memories of the lettered +ease of Stamford are instantly dispelled. The expectant traveller comes +to Grantham hopeful of a fine old town with streets and buildings +befitting its historic dignity; but these hopes are soon dispelled by +grimy engine-shops and roads gritty with coal-dust, giving earnest of an +aggressive modernity fully unfolded when the level is reached and the +town entered at Spitalgate and St. Peter’s Hill. Grantham is a red-brick +town, and modern red brick at that. A cruelly vulgar Town Hall, all +variegated brick, iron crestings, and general spikiness, fondly believed +to be “Italian,” testifies at once to the expansive prosperity of +Grantham and to its artlessness. This monument of Grantham’s pride faces +the grass-plots that border the broad thoroughfare of St. Peter’s Hill +(which is flat, and not a hill at all) where stand bronze statues of Sir +Isaac Newton, Grantham’s great man, and of a certain Frederick James +Tollemache, M.P. for Grantham, who departed this life in 1888, after +having probably achieved some kind of local celebrity which, whatever it +may have been, has not sent the faintest echo to the outer world. It is +an odd effigy, representing the departed legislator in an Inverness +cloak, and holding in his right hand a something which looks curiously +like a billiard-cue, but is probably intended for some kind of official +wand. The untutored might be excused for thinking this a monument to a +champion billiard-player. + +Great are the Tollemaches in Lincolnshire, great territorially, that is +to say; for the Earls of Dysart, at the head of the family, own many +manors and broad acres; from Witham and Buckminster, away along the road +to Foston and Long Bennington, and so to where the Shire Dyke divides the +counties of Lincolnshire and Nottingham, on the marches of the Duke of +Newcastle’s estates. + +To an Earl of Dysart, Grantham owes the ugly polished granite obelisk in +the market-place, with a lying inscription which purports to mark the +spot where the ancient Eleanor Cross formerly stood, before it was +utterly demolished by Puritan fanatics in 1645. That spot was really on +St. Peter’s Hill, at quite the other end of the town! + +Grantham owes its name to the river on which it stands, now the Witham, +but once called the Granta, and its ancient prosperity to its position on +the road to the North. To this circumstance is due also its long +reputation as a town of many and excellent inns, from those early times +when the Church was the earliest inn-keeper, to those others when the +coaches were at their best and “entertainment for man and beast” a merely +secular business. The “Angel” and the “George” at Grantham have a long +history. The “Angel” still survives as a mediæval building, and, like +the equally famous “George” at Glastonbury, contrives to please alike the +antiquary and the guest whose desire for modern creature comforts takes +no account of Gothic architecture. Anciently a wayside house of the +Knights Templar, the existing building belongs to the mid-fourteenth and +fifteenth centuries. On either side of its great archway now appear the +carved stone heads of Edward the Third and the heroic Queen Philippa, and +at the crown of the arch, serving the purpose of a supporting corbel to +the beautiful oriel window above, is an angel, supporting a shield of +arms; not the old sign, indeed, but an architectural adornment merely. +This, and all the numerous “Angels” and the several “Salutations” on the +road, derived from the religious picture-sign of the Annunciation, of +which the saluting angel in the “Hail Mary” group in course of time alone +remained. + + [Picture: The “Angel,” Grantham] + +Before coaches or carriages were, kings and courtiers on their way north +or south made the “Angel” their headquarters, coming to it, of necessity, +on horseback. Thus, John held his Court here in the February of 1213, in +the building which preceded even this old one, and Richard the Third +signed Buckingham’s death-warrant in 1483 in the great room, now divided +into three, and that once extended the whole length of the frontage on +the first floor. Perhaps it was in the bay of this oriel window that he +“off’d with his head!” in the familiar phrase mouthed by many generations +of gory tragedians and aspiring amateurs; and exclaiming “So much for +Buckingham!” turned on his heel, in the attitude of triumphant villainy +we know so well. But, unhappily for the truth of this and similar +striking situations, it is to be feared that Richard, unappreciative of +the situation—the “situation,” that is to say, in the theatrical +sense—signed the warrant in a businesslike way, and neither mouthed nor +struck attitudes. He left that scene to be exploited by Shakespeare or +Colley Cibber as authors, and by Charles Kean and many another as actors. +Between them, _they_ could have shown him how to play the part. + +But let us to less dramatic—and safer—times. The “Angel” divided the +honours in coaching days with the “George,” a house with a history as +long, but not so distinguished, as this old haunt of bloody minded +monarchs. The old “George,” burnt down in 1780, was an equally beautiful +house, and was rebuilt in the prevailing Georgian taste—or want of +taste—that raised so many comfortable but ugly inns toward the close of +the eighteenth century. “One of the best inns in England,” says Dickens, +in describing the journey from London to Yorkshire in _Nicholas +Nickleby_, and there is not wanting other testimony to its old-time +excellence. + +“At the sign of the ‘George’ you had a cleaner cloth, brighter plate, +higher polished glass, and a brisker fire, with more prompt attention and +civility than at most other places,” says one who had occasion to know; +and so the local proverb, current among towns and villages adjacent to +Grantham, “Grantham gruel; nine grots and a gallon of water,” was +evidently no reflection upon the quality of this inn. The “George” was +busy with the coaches, early and late. First to arrive was the Edinburgh +mail, at twenty-three minutes past seven in the morning. Three +lengthened blasts of the horn announced its arrival, and out stepped +night-capped passengers, half asleep and surly, but fresh water and good +spirits dispelled the gloomy faces, and down went, for the allotted +period of forty minutes, hot rolls, boiled eggs, and best Bohea; good +fare after weary wayfaring, and calculated to make the surliest +good-tempered. + +Francis, Lord Jeffrey, writing from his hotel (doubtless the “George”) at +Grantham, when journeying to London in January 1831, is not so +enthusiastic on old-time travel as he might have been, considering the +high character of Grantham’s inns. “Here we are,” says he, “on our way +to you; toiling up through snow and darkness, with this shattered carcase +and this reluctant and half-desponding spirit. You know how I hate early +rising; and here have I been for three days, up two hours before the sun, +and, blinking by a dull taper, haggling at my inflamed beard before a +little pimping inn looking-glass, and abstaining from suicide only from a +deep sense of religion and love to my country. To-night it snows and +blows, and there is good hope of our being blocked up at Wytham Corner or +Alconbury Hill, or some of these lonely retreats, for a week or so, or +fairly stuck in the drift and obliged to wade our way to some such hovel +as received poor Lear and his fool in some such season. Oh, dear, dear! +But in the meantime we are sipping weak black tea by the side of a +tolerable fire, and are in hopes of reaching the liberties of Westminster +before dark on Wednesday.” He was writing on Monday evening! + +At any rate such as he could afford to take his ease and partake of the +best. Those who needed pity were the poor folk who had just enough for +the journey, and could not afford to stay at expensive inns, waiting +until better weather came. But, however much we may read in novels of +the charm of winter travelling in the old coaching days, if we turn to +contemporary accounts, by the travellers themselves, we shall always find +that even those who could afford the best did not like it. + +Henry St. George Tucker, afterwards Chairman of the East India Company, +travelled from Edinburgh to London in 1816, in the depth of winter. He +wrote:— + +“Throughout the whole journey, as far as Newcastle, we had a violent +storm of snow, rain and sleet; and the cold was more severe than I had +felt it before. The coach was not wind-tight at the bottom; and as I was +obliged to keep my window open to allow the escape of certain fumes, the +produce of whisky, rum, and brandy, I felt the cold so pinching that I +should have been glad of fur cap and worsted stockings. To aggravate the +evil, I had not a decent companion to converse with. We picked up sundry +vagabonds on the road, but there was only one, between Edinburgh and +York, who bore the ‘slightest appearance of being a gentleman.’” He, +however, we learn was “effeminate and affected.” + +In Mozley’s _Reminiscences_ we find a horrid story of the endurance +practised by a woman travelling by coach from Edinburgh to London. “I +once travelled,” he says, “to London _vis-à-vis_ with a thin, pale, +elderly woman, ill-clad in black, who never once got down, or even moved +to shake off the snow that settled on her lap and shoulders. I spoke to +the guard about her. He said she had come from Edinburgh and had not +moved since changing coaches, which she would have to do once; she feared +that if she once got down she would not he able to get up again. She had +taken no food of any kind.” + +There the picture ends, and this tragical figure is lost. Who was she +who endured so much? Had she come to London to purchase with her few +savings the discharge of an only son who had enlisted in the army? Had +she made this awful journey to bid good-bye to a husband condemned to +death or transportation? Surely some such story was hers, but we can +never know it, and so the gaunt figure, pathetic in its endurance, haunts +the memory and the baffled curiosity like an enigma. + +Grantham, it is true, has few things more interesting than its inns. +This is not the confession of a _bon vivant_, suspicious though it +sounds, but is just another way of stating the baldness of Grantham’s +street. One of these few things is the tall steeple of the parish +church, which has a fame rivalling that of some cathedrals miles away. +Journeying by road or rail, that lofty spire is seen, even while Grantham +itself remains undisclosed. If this were a proper place for it much +might be said of the church and spire of St. Wulfran’s: how the tower +rises to a height of one hundred and forty feet, and the slim crocketed +spire to one hundred and forty feet more; being sixth in point of +measurement among the famed spires of England. Salisbury is first, with +its four hundred and four feet, followed by Norwich, three hundred and +fifteen feet, Chichester, and St. Michael’s, Coventry, three hundred +feet, and Louth, two hundred and ninety-two feet. But generalities must +serve our turn here. If the spire is only sixth in point of measurement +it is first in date, being earlier than Salisbury’s. Sir Gilbert Scott +held it to be second only to Salisbury in beauty, but Scott’s reputation +in matters of taste had slight foundations, and, beautiful though +Grantham’s spire is, there are others excelling it. The majesty of +Newark’s less lofty spire is greater than this of Grantham, and indeed it +may be questioned whether a Decorated spire, comparatively so attenuated +and with its purity of outline broken and worried by an endless array of +crockets is really more admirable as a thing of beauty, or as a daring +and successful exercise in the piling up of fretted stones in so +apparently frail a fashion. + + [Picture: The “Wondrous Sign”] + +We cannot get away from the inns, and even the church is connected with +them, the town being annually edified by the so-called “Drunken Sermon” +preached at it in the terms of a bequest left in the form of an annual +rent-charge of forty shillings on the “Angel” by one Michael Solomon. + +But among the popular curiosities of Grantham, few things are more +notable than the unpretending inn at Castlegate known variously as the +“Beehive” or the “Living Sign.” Immediately in front of the house is a +small tree with a beehive fixed in its branches, and a board calling +attention to the fact in the lines: + + “Stop, traveller, this wondrous Sign explore, + And say, when thou hast viewed it o’er and o’er, + ‘GRANTHAM, now two rareties are thine, + A lofty Steeple and a living Sign.’” + +It may fairly be advanced that the suggestion to “explore” an inhabited +beehive is an unfortunate choice of a word. + +There is (unless it has lately been abolished) another curiosity at +Grantham. It is a custom. When the time-expired Mayor vacates his +office, what has aptly been called a “striking” ceremony takes place. +His robe is stripped off, his chain is removed from his shoulders, and +with a small wooden hammer the Town Clerk takes the ex-Chief Magistrate +on the head to typify the end of his authority. There is only one +possible method more derogatory than this humiliating treatment, but it +need not be specified. + + + + +XXVIII + + +IN history, Grantham and its immediate neighbourhood are notable as +having witnessed the rise of Oliver Cromwell. At the outbreak of +hostilities in March 1643, the town was taken and its fortifications +demolished by the Royalists, but was retaken shortly afterwards by the +Parliamentary troops under a hitherto undistinguished Cornet of Horse, +after some fighting at Gonerby. The rise of this cornet is picturesquely +described by De Foe. “About this time,” he says, “it was that we began +to hear of the name of Oliver Cromwell, who, like a little cloud, rose +out of the East, and spread first into the North, until it shed down a +flood that overwhelmed the three kingdoms.” It was on May 22, 1643, +that, with twelve troops, Cromwell defeated at Gonerby twenty-four troops +of the opposing forces, and thus commenced this meteorological career. + +The ascent of Gonerby Hill, where these events took place, is a part of +the journey to the North. It begins at the distance of a mile and a +quarter beyond Grantham, shortly before reaching the hundred and twelfth +milestone from London. For this part of the world it is a remarkable +eminence, but although a long continuous climb, it does not come up to +the impressive old descriptions of it, and cannot compare with such hills +as Reigate Hill, or with Boughton Hill on the Dover Road. The village of +Great Gonerby, a poor, out-at-elbows kind of a place, stands on the crest +of the hill, with its great spired church as a landmark, a wide, bare +street, a little inn with the curious sign of the “Recruiting Sergeant,” +and an old posting inn, the “Rutland Arms,” its principal features. +Passing through the cutting by which the gradient of the northern side of +the hill has been eased, a remarkable view is unfolded of that flat +region, fertile as a land of promise, the Vale of Belvoir. + +We shall hear presently what Sir Walter Scott has to say of Gonerby Hill, +but in the meanwhile let us see how the view from it struck another +traveller, the Reverend Thomas Twining, an amiable clergyman of +Colchester, who in the eighteenth century was in the habit of taking +holidays along the roads, mounted on his horse “Poppet,” and writing +letters to his friends, describing what he saw. He was here in 1776. + +“You have a view,” says he, “somewhat sublime and striking from its mere +extent and suddenness but it is flat as a pancake. The road is through +level, moorish, unpleasant ground from the bottom of that hill to Newark, +but, as road, excellent.” No guide-book ever pictured a view so vividly +as this description, which may stand unaltered to-day. + +Gonerby Hill—“Gunnerby” is the correct pronunciation of the word—is +something more to us in these pages than merely a hill. It is a place of +literary eminence, whose terrors are enshrined in the pages of Scott and +Ainsworth. Jeanie Deans, of all the romantic and historic characters +that people this historic and romantic road the most prominent, is +especially to be identified with this height. Historic she is because +there is a substantial basis of truth in the character of Sir Walter +Scott’s heroine, and of Effie and many another figure in the _Heart of +Midlothian_. They have fictitious names, but some were real persons. +Helen Walker, who died in 1791 and was buried in the churchyard of +Irongray, near Dumfries, is the prototype of Jeanie. She had in 1737 +walked to London and sought a pardon for her sister, Isabella, condemned +to death by the ferocious Scots law on a _presumption_ of having murdered +her child. She actually did (as Scott’s heroine is described as having +done) seek the Duke of Argyle and through his interest obtain the object +of her journey; but Scott is responsible for the embroidery of this +simple and affecting story; for he never saw Helen Walker, and she, with +Scottish closeness, never described her adventures, being only too +anxiously concerned that the story of her sister’s shame should be +forgotten. + +It is a curious and (admirable or not, as one may personally think it) +unusual conscience that would hesitate to stretch a point in evidence +when to do so would be to save the life of a loved sister; and more +strange still to find so unbending a moralist enduring the toils and +dangers of a four-hundred miles’ tramp with the bare possibility of +preserving the life of the sinner in view at the end; but to understand +the workings of the Scottish conscience is beyond the mental reach of any +one who does not chance to be either a Scot or a Presbyterian. + +And here let it be said that the Jeanie Deans of the novel is by no means +so attractive a heroine as Scott wished to make her. There is heroism in +her walk from Scotland to London, and we rejoice when she is fortunate +enough to obtain a “cast in a wagon,” or pity her when she falls in with +thieves and murderers at Gonerby Hill foot; but when we find her +“conforming to the national (that is to say, the English) extravagance of +wearing shoes and stockings for the whole day,” we can scarce subdue a +snort of contempt at the very superior manner in which she thus yields to +the popular prejudice in favour of this extravagance in shoe-leather. +Nor is she a particularly lovable figure when she disputes theology with +the rector of Willingham, with all the assurance of a Doctor of Divinity +and all the narrow-minded bigotry of a Covenanter; coming in these things +perilously near the ideal of the perfect prig. + +We must here quote the landlord of the “Saracen’s Head” at Newark on +Gonerby Hill. He spoke of it as though it were some beetling eminence, +resembling at the very least a Snowdon or an Helvellyn. He called it a +“high mountain,” and indeed Scott has in putting this phrase into mine +host’s mouth made him characteristic of his age. + +The year of Jeanie Deans’ romantic expedition was 1737, and then, and for +long afterwards, travellers and all who had business with the roads +magnified hills in this manner. They disliked hills, and so for that +matter did most people, for the appreciation of scenery was not yet born. +“When I was young,” said Wordsworth, many years later, “there were no +lakes nor mountains,” and it was Thomas Gray, the author of the _Elegy_, +who really was the first to discover beauty instead of terror and +desolation in them. + +Jeanie Deans, on the other hand, was pleased to hear of Gonerby Hill. +Not, mark you, that she was educated up to an appreciation of the +picturesque. We know, in fact, that she was not, because when she and +the Duke of Argyle stood looking down upon the lovely expanse of woods, +meads, and waters seen from Richmond Hill, all she could find to say was +that “It’s braw feeding for the cows.” No, when she learned with +pleasure of the “mountain” she was to cross, it was only for +association’s sake: “I’m glad to hear there’s a hill, for baith my sight +and my very feet are weary o’ sic tracts o’ level ground—it looks a’ the +way between this and York as if a’ the land had been trenched and +levelled, whilk is very wearisome to my Scotch een. When I lost sight of +a muckle blue hill they ca’ Ingleboro’, I thought I hadna a friend left +in this strange land.” + +“As for the matter of that, young woman,” said mine host, “an you be so +fond o’ hill, I carena an thou couldst carry Gunnerby away with thee in +thy lap, for it’s a murder to post-horses. But here’s to thy journey, +and mayst thou win well through it, for thou is a bold and a canny lass.” + +Gonerby Hill was reputed the steepest bit between London and Edinburgh. +It was, at the time when Scott wrote, a great deal steeper than nowadays, +now that the road has been cut deeply through it, instead of climbing +painfully over the crest. Then also, as he remarks, the open ground at +its foot was unenclosed and covered with copses and swampy pools. Also, +as Jeanie discovered, there was “bad company” where the “bonny hill +lifted its brow to the moon.” But surely never did such odd company as +Sir Walter has invented lurk in these recesses. The _Heart of +Midlothian_, indeed, is a fantastic novel quite unworthy of the Wizard of +the North, and its wildly improbable characters and marvellous +rencounters are on a par with Harrison Ainsworth at his worst. Syston, +two miles away to the right, is, they say, the original of the Willingham +village in the novel, and Barkston, close by, is doubtless the “Barkston +town-end” where Mother Murdockson was put in the stocks; but the +references to them are of the haziest. + +It was not inadvisedly that Ainsworth was just mentioned, for Gonerby +Hill is named in Turpin’s Ride. Ainsworth always resorted to the gibbet +when he wanted to make a point in the gruesome. Accordingly, when Turpin +mounts the rise, what does he find but “two scarecrow objects covered +with rags and rusty links of chain,” depending from “the tree.” “Will +this be my lot, I wonder?” asks the hero with a shudder. We need only to +be slightly acquainted with Ainsworth’s methods to know that a +melodramatic answer was immediately forthcoming. Springing from the +briars and tussocks of rank grass between the foot of the gallows and the +road, a gaunt figure exclaimed, “Ay, marry will it!” These “gaunt +figures” never failed the novelist; but the plain man wants to know what +they were doing on these inclement spots, and by what unfailing instinct +they were always there at the precise moment demanded in the interests of +fiction. + +The descent of Gonerby Hill accomplished, and the level reached, a +singularly featureless and flat twelve miles leads into Newark, past +Marston cross-roads, where a turnpike gate used to trouble travellers, +past Foston, a forlorn village on a knoll, Long Bennington, a larger and +still more forlorn village on the flat, and thence, with the graceful +spire of Claypole far on the right, over the Shire Dyke, into +Nottinghamshire, and through Balderton. + + + + +XXIX + + +THE approach to Newark is long and dull, by way of the suburban “London +Road” and past the decaying Beaumond Cross, but this leads at length to +the great open square of the Market-place, the most striking of all such +centres of public resort to be found on the way to the North. +Newark-“upon-Trent” is a misnomer, for neither the town nor the castle, +which was once the “new work” that gave the place its name, are on that +river, but only on a branch of it—the Devon—which falls into the Trent at +Crankley Point, some miles below the town. The “new work” was only new +some eight hundred years ago, when Edward the Confessor’s castle on the +banks of the Devon was built, or when it was rebuilt or enlarged by +Bishop Alexander of Lincoln, 1123–47. Bishops and other mighty +castle-builders in those times not infrequently built their own prisons +when piling up their grim fortresses, and so the Bishop of Lincoln found, +when King Stephen seized him and kept him in durance within his own +stronghold. A judiciously low diet of bread and water, and confinement +in an unhealthy dungeon below the level of the river, soon broke the +haughty Churchman’s spirit, and he transferred the castle to the Crown. + +But Newark Castle has better claims to notice than as the dungeon of one +of those old bloody-minded prelates. As the place where King John ended +his evil life, we may well look upon its ruined walls with interest. His +rebellious barons scattered on his approach in that year of 1216, and +England seemed in danger of a long continuance of its troubles under the +profligate king. But a surfeit of peaches brought that wicked life to a +hasty conclusion, and here, on the banks of the sluggish Devon, one of +the worst of English monarchs died. We need not regard peaches with +apprehension because John is said to have died of them. We must consider +whence they came; from the monks of Swineshead Abbey, where the king had +stayed on his journey to Newark. Now, Holy Church had the very best of +reasons for hating that monarch, and from hatred to murder was not a far +cry in those days. So of peaches King John doubtless died; but of +peaches subtly flavoured with poison, there is little doubt. + +The castle was again seized by the barons, in the succeeding reign, but +they surrendered, after a week’s siege, and by the gift of the king, the +Bishops of Lincoln received their own again. Under Edward the Sixth it +again became the property of the crown, and when James the First +“progressed” through England to his throne, these walls sheltered him +during a week of festivity. + +A lawless and discourteous, as well as a weak-minded king, as we shall +see. Crowds assembled during the festivities set apart by the +corporation, and a fellow was caught in the act of pocket-picking. By +order of the king, the unfortunate wretch was strung up, instanter, +without the veriest semblance of a trial! There’s your lawlessness, and +here follows the discourtesy. + + [Picture: Newark Castle] + +There was a certain Dame Eleanor Disney, who, to do honour to this +strange kind of king, came, splendidly dressed, with her husband, Sir +Henry, to one of the receptions. James’s eye lighted upon all this +finery, and his frugal mind was shocked. “Wha,” he asked, “be that lady +wi’ a lairdship to her bock?” + +But the most stirring of Newark’s historic days were yet to come. Newark +to the last was loyal to Charles the First. Three times was the town +besieged by the Parliament, and never taken. All the inhabitants armed +and did excellent service, making sorties and capturing troops of +Parliamentary horse; and had not the royal cause failed elsewhere, Newark +must have emerged, triumphant, at the end. But at last all that remained +were some few outlying garrisons throughout the country. Newark was +especially commanded by the king to discontinue a hopeless resistance, +and accordingly the town laid down its arms in 1646. It was then that +the castle was ruined. + +It is a highly picturesque ruin to-day, and lacking nothing in itself of +grandeur, only needs a more effective site. As it stands, only slightly +elevated above the river and the surrounding levels, this historic castle +has not the advantages that belong to fortresses like Ludlow and Harlech, +perched on their rocky heights. But it has done its duty and still +serves to give a note of dignity to Newark town, as one approaches it by +the long straight levels of the road from the north. It looks much the +same to-day as when Rowlandson made his sketch of it, with the coach +dashing over the bridge, more than a hundred years ago; the projecting +Tudor oriel windows still looking forth upon the sullen tide from the +more ancient walls, their crumbling stones scarce more decayed than then. +The old wooden bridge, however, that formerly spanned the Devon, was +pulled down and rebuilt in 1775. + +The great glory of Newark is its beautiful church, with that soaring +spire which is visible for miles away, before the town itself is +glimpsed. Not so tall as Grantham spire, it is as beautiful in its +simpler style, and the church is better placed in the town than that of +Grantham. Especially striking is the view across the great market-place, +the grey Early English and Decorated spire, with its numerous +belfry-lights, and the fine windows and bold arcading of the tower +forming a splendidly effective contrast with the seventeenth and +eighteenth century red-brick houses facing the square. Newark and +Grantham spires are really the products of an old-time rivalry between +the two towns. Either town is satisfied that it possesses the best, and +so the peace is kept throughout the ages. + +A relic of old times is found in the custom at Newark known as “Ringing +for Gofer.” On six successive Sunday evenings, beginning twelve Sundays +before Christmas, the old parish church bells are rung for one hour, +complying with the terms of a bequest left by a merchant named Gofer, +over two centuries ago. He had on one occasion lost his way at night in +Sherwood Forest, then infested by robbers of no very chivalrous +instincts, who required, not “your money or your life,” but both. Just +as he had given up hope, he heard these bells of Newark, and by their +sound he made his way to safety. In memory of his deliverance he left a +sum of money for this bell-ringing. + +The market-square has always been the centre of Newark’s life. It is +singularly like the great market-square of Nottingham, on a smaller +scale, and, like it, is partly surrounded by houses with a colonnaded +piazza. An empty void now, save on the weekly market-day, that occasion +finds its broad, cobble-stoned space thickly covered with stalls, while +groups of farmers throng the pavements, and with their samples of corn +displayed in the palms of their hands sell and buy in immense quantities. +In the old times this vast empty square was peopled every day with +arriving or departing coaches, and its pavements beset with passengers +mounting or alighting, for the celebrated inns of Newark were mostly +situated here, and the chief of them are here, even now, on the opposite +side from the church, and adjoining one another. Newark is said to have +once had no fewer than fifty inns. The classical Town Hall, built in +1773, on the west side of the square, stands on the site of two of them, +and many others have been converted to different uses. Here on the south +side are the “Clinton Arms,” so called in honour of the Duke of +Newcastle’s family, powerful in these parts; the “Saracen’s Head,” with a +bust of an alleged (but very pallid and mild-looking) Saracen on its +frontage; and the “White Hart,” most ancient of all these existing +hostelries. An inn of this name is spoken of as existing here in 1113. +A “Saracen’s Head” stood here, certainly as far back as 1341, but +unhappily the existing house only dates from 1721. This house is the one +mentioned by Sir Walter Scott, who says, “The travellers who have visited +Newark more lately will not fail to remember the remarkably civil and +gentlemanly manners of the person who now keeps the principal inn there, +and may find some amusement in contrasting them with those of his more +rough predecessor.” + +Let us put on record the name of this remarkable person: William +Thompson, landlord from 1784 to 1819. His “more rough predecessor” was +perhaps the landlord who dispensed such open-handed and free hospitality +to Jeanie Deans, when that somewhat priggish young woman stayed there, +and on leaving asked for her “lawing.” + + [Picture: Market-Place, Newark] + +“Thy lawing!” exclaimed that “more rough” person; “Heaven help thee, +wench! what ca’st thou that?” + +“It is—I was wanting to ken what was to pay.” + +“Pay? Lord help thee!—why, nought, woman—we hae drawn no liquor but a +gill o’ beer, and the “Saracen’s Head” can spare a mouthful o’ meat to a +stranger like thee, that cannot speak Christian language.” + +Alas! whatever your language, the more smooth innkeepers of Newark, in +our times, do not do business on this principle. + +The “Clinton Arms” has seen many changes of name. It was originally the +“Talbot,” and as such is mentioned in 1341. At a later date it became +the “Kingston Arms.” Byron often stayed there, and writes from London in +1807, “The ‘Kingston Arms’ is my inn.” It was also the inn, during the +election contest of 1832, of Mr. Gladstone, soliciting for the first time +the suffrages of “free and independent” electors, who duly returned him, +in the Tory interest. Newark thus gave him an opportunity in Parliament +of defending his father as a slave-owner, and of whetting his youthful +eloquence to a keen edge in extolling the principle of slave-owning. The +Newarkers were long proud of having returned the “statesman” to the +House, but history will perhaps deny him that title. It has been denied, +and the term of “egotistical politician” found to fit better. He set a +fashion in surrender, and his country reaped shame while he lived; but +the bitterest harvest-home of his methods has come, after his death, in +the red vintage of English blood. It was when standing for this +pocket-borough of the Duke of Newcastle’s that Gladstone gave an early +and characteristic specimen of his peculiarly Jesuitical ways of thought. +He took the mail-coach on a Sunday from Newark for London, and beguiled +the tedium of the journey and the Sabbath by discussing the question of +Sunday travelling with a Tory companion. Not merely did he severely +condemn the practice, but he also gave some tracts to his +fellow-traveller! He gives the facts himself: it is no outsider’s +satire. Thus, in one moment of confidence, he reveals not only what he +is, but what he will be. He implicitly announces that he is a law unto +himself and that those things are permitted to him which in others must +be deadly sins. In the very moment of crime he can present an accomplice +with a tract, and glow with all the fervour of one helped to save a lost +soul. + + [Picture: Newark Castle (After Rowlandson)] + +The “Ram,” another old inn, is still standing, opposite the castle, on +Beast Market Hill. George Eliot stayed here in September 1868, “seeing +some charming quiet landscapes” along the Trent. Quiet, undoubtedly. + +Ridge, the printer and bookseller, Byron’s first publisher, who issued +his _Hours of Idleness_, carried on business in a fine old house still +standing at a corner of the square, and the house-door and the brass +knocker at which the new-fledged poet knocked exist to-day. + + + + +XXX + + +BY Beast Market Hill, past the castle and over the bridge, one leaves +Newark for the north. Level crossings of the railways now and again +bedevil the way, which is flat so far as the eye can reach—and much +farther, and the meadows on either side are intersected by runlets and +marshes, the road carried over them by a succession of red-brick bridges. +At a distance of one and a half miles, the true Trent is crossed by a +wooden bridge, and South Muskham reached, where the level-crossing gates +take the place of the old turnpike. + +The act of looking backwards at this point is a more pleasing physical +exercise than the mental retrospect is ever likely to be, anywhere. Sir +Walter Scott perceived the beauty of the view, for he introduces it in +Jeanie Deans’ journey south, and says, in a fine passage: “The +hundred-armed Trent and the blackened ruins of Newark castle, demolished +in the great Civil War, lay before her.” + +“Hundred-armed” is a good and eloquent figure, although on a prosaic +calculation likely to be found an exaggeration. Milton, indeed, writing +a hundred and ninety years or so before, gives the Trent but thirty arms, +on which, it must be allowed, Sir Walter’s computation is a great +advance. But here is Milton’s version:— + + “Trent, which like some earth-born giant spreads + His thirty arms along the indented meads.” + +Even Drayton, in his _Polyolbion_, does not more nearly approach to Sir +Walter’s computation, in the couplet:— + + “The bounteous Trent, that in herself enseams, + Both thirty sorts of fish and thirty sundry streams.” + +Shakespeare rather shirks the calculation, and contents himself with +describing it as the “smug and silver Trent.” As for mere travellers, +who did not happen to be poets or to be engaged in the exploitation of +scenery, they regarded this stream merely with apprehension, and they did +right so to look upon it, for Trent often overflowed its thirty or +hundred arms, as the case might be, and converted the flats for miles +around into the semblage of a vast lake. Then, indeed—if at no other +time—Newark was “upon” Trent, if not actually “in” it, and all the many +other towns and villages, which bear a similarly composite title, were in +like case. Doubtless it was on one of these occasions in 1739, before +the river was bridged here, that the Newcastle wagon was lost at the +ford, when the driver and the horses all perished. Nearly thirty years +later, on the 6th of June 1767, the poet Gray, writing from London, +before starting on a journey in these parts, says:—“Pray that the Trent +may not intercept us at Newark, for we have had infinite rain here.” Nor +are floods infrequent, even now, and many a boating-party has voyaged +down the Great North Road between Newark and Carlton-upon-Trent. + +North and South Muskham lie off the road to the right, and are not +remarkable, except perhaps for the fact that a centenarian, in the person +of Thomas Seals of Grassthorpe, who died in 1802, age 106, lies in North +Muskham churchyard. Cromwell, on the other hand, which now comes in +sight, although now a commonplace roadside village of uninteresting, +modern, red-brick cottages, with an old, but not remarkable, church, has +a place in history. According to Carlyle, “the small parish of Cromwell, +or Crumwell (the well of Crum, whatever that may be), not far from the +left bank of the Trent, simple worshippers still doing in it some kind of +divine service every Sunday,” was the original home of the Cromwell +family, from which the great Protector sprang. “From this,” he adds, +“without any ghost to teach us, we can understand that the Cromwell +kindred all got their name.” But the hero-worshipper will look in vain +for anything at Cromwell to connect the place with that family. Not even +a tablet in the church; nothing, in fact, save the name itself survives. + +Here is a blacksmith’s forge, with the design of a huge horseshoe +encompasing the door, and this inscription:— + + “F. NAYLOR + Blacksmith + + Gentlemen, as you pass by, + Upon this shoe pray cast an eye. + I’ll make it wider, + I’ll ease the horse and please the rider. + If lame from shoeing, as they often are + You may have them eased with the greatest care.” + +Hence to Carlton-upon-Trent, Sutton-upon-Trent, Scarthing Moor, and +Tuxford is an easy transition of nearly eight miles, with little scenery +or history on the way. An old posting-house, now retired into private +life, the level-crossing of Crow Park, and an old roadside inn, the +“Nag’s Head,” beside it are all the objects of interest at Carlton; while +Sutton is scarce more than a name, so far as the traveller along the road +is concerned. + +Weston, a village at a bend and dip of the road, stands by what was once +Scarthing Moor, whose famous inn, the “Black Lion,” is now, like the +old-time festivities of Sutton-on-Trent, only a memory. The farmers and +cottagers of Sutton-on-Trent long preserved the spring-time custom of +welcoming the coaches, and freely feasting guards, coachmen, and +passengers. It was an annual week’s merrymaking, and young and old +united to keep it up. Coaches were compelled to stop in the village +street, and every one was invited to partake of the good things spread +out upon a tray covered with a beautiful damask napkin on which were +attractively displayed plum-cakes, tartlets, gingerbread, exquisite +home-made bread and biscuits, ale, currant and gooseberry wines, +cherry-brandy, and sometimes spirits. These in old-fashioned glass jugs, +embossed with figures, had a most pleasing effect. As to the contents, +they were superlative. Such ale! such currant-wine! such cherry-brandy! +Half a dozen damsels, all enchanting young people, neatly clad, rather +shy, but courteously importunate plied the passengers. + +“Eat and drink you must,” says one who partook of these _al fresco_ +hospitalities. “I tasted all. How could I resist the winning manners of +the rustics, with rosy cheeks and sparkling eyes? My poor stomach, not +used to such luxuries and extraordinaries at eleven o’clock in the +morning, was, however, in fine agitation the remainder of the ride, fifty +miles. Neither time nor entreaties can prevent their solicitations; they +are issued to reward the men for trifling kindnesses occasionally +granted.” + +“Scarthing Moor” is a name of somewhat terrifying sound; but, as with all +the “moors” met with on the Great North Road, enclosure and cultivation +have entirely changed its character, and the “moor” is just a stretch of +fields undistinguishable from the surrounding country. It leads +presently to the little town of Tuxford-in-the-Clay, approached up a +steep rise passing under the bridge of the Lincolnshire and East Coast +Railway, and in view of Tuxford’s Great Northern Station, away on the +right, perched on a windy and uncomfortable-looking ridge. A red rash of +recent brick cottages has broken out at the foot of the rise, but Tuxford +itself, on the crest of the hill, seems unchanged since coaching days, +except that the traffic which then enlivened it has gone. It is a gaunt, +lifeless place, in spite of its three railway stations, and stands where +the roads cross on the height, and the church, the “Newcastle Arms,” +another inn which arrogates the title of “The Hotel,” and the private +houses and shops of the decayed town face a wide open street, and all +shiver in company. But Tuxford has seen gorgeous sights in its time. +Witness the gay and lengthy cavalcade that “lay” here in the July of +1503, when the Princess Margaret was on her way to her marriage with the +king of Scotland. The princess stayed at the “Crown,” demolished in 1587 +by one of the storms which hill-top Tuxford knows so well, and leaving us +the poorer by one ancient hostelry. Not that it would have survived to +this day had there been no storm, for the town itself was destroyed by +fire at a much later date, in 1702. + +The “Newcastle Arms” is one of those old houses built for the reception +of many and wealthy travellers in the Augustan age of the road, and is by +consequence many sizes too large for present needs, so that a portion of +the house is set apart for offices quite unconnected with hotel business. +Even the roomy old church away on the other side of the broad road seems +on too large a scale for Tuxford, as it is, and the stone effigies of the +Longvilliers and the mouldy hatchments of later families hanging on the +walls of its bare chapels tell a tale of vanished greatness. There is a +curious and clumsy carving in this church, representing the martyrdom of +St. Lawrence. The Saint is shown on his gridiron (which resembles +nothing so much as a ladder) and wears a pleased expression, as though he +rather liked the process of being grilled, while one tormentor is turning +him and another blowing up the fire with a pair of bellows. + +After the church, the old red-brick grammar-school, founded by “Carolo +Read” in 1669, is the most interesting building in Tuxford. “What God +hath built, let no man destroy,” says the inscription over the entrance, +placed there, no doubt, by the donor with a vivid recollection of the +destruction wrought in the Civil War of some twenty years before. + +The road leaves Tuxford steeply downhill and facing another hill. +Descending this, the villages of East and West Markham are just visible, +right and left; West Markham with a hideous church like a Greek temple, +its green copper dome conspicuous for a long distance. At the foot of +Cleveland Hill, as it is called, is, or was, Markham Moor, for it was +enclosed in 1810, with the great “Markham Moor Inn,” now looking very +forlorn and lonely, standing at the fall of the roads, where the turnpike +gate used to be, and where the Worksop road goes off to the left, and a +battered pillar of grey stone with a now illegible inscription stands. +This may or may not be the “Rebel Stone,” spoken of in old county +histories as standing by the wayside, bearing the inscription, “Here +lieth the Body of a Rebel, 1746.” + +Beyond this, again, is Gamston, a still decaying village, its red-brick +houses ruined or empty, the wayside forge closed and the handsome old +church on a hillock but sparsely attended; the whole a picture of the +failure and neglect which descended upon the roadside villages fifty +years ago. Many have found other vocations, but Gamston is not of them. + +For some one hundred and fifty years the Great North Road has gone +through Tuxford to East Retford and Barnby Moor; but this is not the +original road. That has to be sought, half-deserted, away to the left. +There is much romance on that old way, which is one of several derelict +branching roads just here. The time seems to be approaching when this +original road will be restored, to effect a relief to the heavy traffic +through Retford. + +We may branch off for the exploration of the old road either at Markham +Moor or at Gamston. Either turning will bring us in two and a half miles +to Jockey House, now a farmhouse, but once an inn at what were +cross-roads. Two of these roads are grass tracks, but the old Great +North Road on to Rushy Inn and Barnby Moor is quite good, although very +little used. + +A substantial stone pillar stands at the corner of the cross-roads +opposite the Jockey House, inscribed:— + + From + London 142 + Miles + and a half + Coach Road + Work/op Mannor + Hou/e + 7 Miles 3 qrs + 176 — + The Keys + in the Jockey + House. + +The “keys in the Jockey House” means that here was a turnpike-gate with +no turnpike keeper. The taking of toll seems to have been conducted from +the inn. + +In the churchyard of Elkisley, a mile or so distant, there is a tombstone +which refers to a tragedy in the Jockey House two hundred years ago. It +reads:— + + “Here lieth the body of + JOHN BARAGH, + gentleman, who was murdered by + Midford Hendry, officer of the Guards, + on the 24th day of June, 1721. + Age 29 years.” + +Hendry, it seems, was in command of a company of Guards travelling south +on the Great North Road. They had halted for refreshment at Jockey +House, and Hendry got into a violent political discussion in the inn with +Baragh, who was sitting there, a complete stranger to him. In the course +of their high words, Hendry drew his sword and stabbed Baragh to the +heart. + + [Picture: Jockey House] + + + + +XXXI + + +RETFORD, on the main road, is over three miles distant from Gamston, past +the more cheerful-looking little hamlet of Eaton, and the outlying +settlement by the “White House Inn,” at the beginning of the long +approach to the town. + +Retford is a town of varied industries, situated on either bank of the +river Idle, and by it divided into East and West Retford. Engineering +works, brick and tile making, and agricultural pursuits combine to render +it prosperous, if not progressive, for when Retford built its elaborate +Town Hall in 1867 it probably exhausted itself with the effort. In this +Square, on a plinth, stands the “Bread Stone,” or “Broad Stone,” a +seventeenth century Plague Stone with a hollow at that time filled with +vinegar and water for the immersion of coins passing in the market +against infection. The town centres in its Market Square, in which the +old Town Hall stood. When that building was pulled down a great amount +of additional room was obtained at the cost of a certain picturesqueness, +to which quality the town can now scarcely lay claim. The “White Hart,” +standing at this corner of the Market Square, is the only relic of old +coaching days. Its modernised frontage does not give the house credit +for the respectable age which it really owns, and it is only when we +explore the stableyard, a picturesque and narrow passage, extending from +the Market Square to Bridgegate, that we see the old-time importance of +the “White Hart.” It is perhaps unique in one respect. Nowadays, the +old innkeepers are, of course, all dead. In some instances their +families carried on the business for a while, but soon afterwards all +these old coaching-houses passed into other hands. Even the Percival +family, innkeepers and coach-masters for some generations at Wansford and +at Greetham, no longer have the “Haycock” or the “Greetham Inn,” but the +“White Hart” is still in the Dennett family, and has been since 1818, +when William Dennett took it over. He reigned here until 1848, and was +succeeded by his son, Joseph Dennett, who, dying in 1890, was in his turn +followed by Arthur Dennett, the present landlord. An old +coaching-house—the coaching-house of Retford—it occupied a particularly +favourable position on the main and cross-country coach-routes: those of +Worksop and Chesterfield on the one hand, and Gainsborough, Market Rasen, +and Boston on the other. Besides being in receipt of the local coaching +business between Stamford and Doncaster, Joseph Dennett horsed a stage of +the Doncaster and Stamford Amity Coach and the Stamford and Retford +Auxiliary Mail, among others. + + [Picture: An Old Postboy: John Blagg] + +Although overshadowed by the neighbouring “Bell” on Barnby Moor, kept by +the mighty George Clark, this house did a good posting business. For one +thing, the story of the “White Hart” as a posting-house does not go back +so far as that of the “Bell,” for when Clark came to Barnby Moor he found +a fine business already developed, but the rise of the “White Hart” into +prominence dates only from the coming of the Dennetts. Twelve +post-horses and three boys formed its ordinary posting establishment, and +among them the name of John Blagg is prominent. He left the “Bell” at an +early period and entered the service of the “White Hart” in 1834, +remaining for forty-five years, and dying, at the age of seventy-five, in +October 1880. The old posting-books of the house still show one of his +feats of endurance, the riding post from Retford to York and back in one +day, a distance of a hundred and ten miles. When posting became a thing +of the past, John Blagg was still in request, and his well-remembered +figure, clad in the traditional postboy costume of white breeches, blue +jacket, and white beaver hat, was seen almost to the last at weddings and +other celebrations when riding postillion was considered indispensable. +Here he is, portrayed from the life, a characteristic figure of a +vanished era. + +There are still some relics of that time at the “White Hart”: the old +locker belonging to the Boston coach, in which the guard used to secure +the valuables intrusted to him; and in the sunny old booking-office +looking out upon the Market Square there are even now some old +posting-saddles and postboys’ whips. + + + + +XXXII + + +LEAVING Retford by Bridgegate, the road rises at once to the long +five-miles’ stretch of Barnby Moor, home of howling winds and whirling +snow-wreaths in winter, and equally unprotected from the fierce glare of +the midsummer sun. At the further end of this trying place, just past a +huddled group of cottages at the bend of the road, stands the famous old +“Blue Bell” inn. But no one was ever heard to talk of this old coaching +hostelry as the “Blue Bell.” The “Bell,” Barnby Moor, was the title by +which it was always known. + +For the beginning of the well-earned fame of the “Bell” we must go back a +long way. Not, indeed, to ancient times, for there was never a mediæval +hostel here, but to very old coaching days. Already, in 1776, when the +Rev. Thomas Twining was ambling about the country on “Poppet,” making +picturesque notes, it was a “gentlemanlike, comfortable house,” and +Sterne knew it well. “I am worn out,” says he in one of his letters, +“but press on to Barnby Moor to-night.” Even the “worn-out” would make +an effort, you see, to reach this hospitable roof-tree. + +But a greater fame was earned by the “Bell” in its later days, when it +was kept by George Clark, at once innkeeper, sportsman, and breeder of +racehorses. He was famed for his anecdotal and conversational powers, +and when free from gout was reputed “a tough customer over the mahogany,” +in which testimony we may read, in the manner of that time, a crowning +virtue. Something—nay, a great deal—more than the “red-nosed innkeepers” +of whom Sir Walter Scott speaks, he was also a landed proprietor, and +supplied his extensive establishment from his own farm. Peculiarly the +man for this road, and especially for this portion of the road, his +personality made the “Bell” inn—the word “hotel” was in those days an +abomination and an offence—the especial resort of the sporting +fraternity, and racing men generally contrived to make his house their +halting-place. + +Clark reigned at the “Bell” for forty years, from 1800, dying of gout in +1842, shortly after he had sold the house to a Mr. Inett. His was that +famous mare, Lollypop, who gave birth to the yet more famous Sweetmeat. +But Clark did not live to learn the quality of that foal, and Sweetmeat +was sold at the dispersal of his stable for ten guineas. Three years +later, when he had won the Somersetshire Stakes at Bath, Lord George +Bentinck in vain offered four thousand guineas for him, and later in that +year, 1845, he won the Doncaster Cup. + +Clark was chiefly instrumental in bringing to justice two incendiaries, +disciples of “Captain Swing,” who had fired a hayrick not far from the +“Bell.” At that period—the early “thirties”—when the Reform agitation +was embittering the relations between the squires and the peasantry, +rick-burnings were prevalent all over the country. They went by the name +of the “Swing Riots,” from the circumstance of the threatening letters +and notices received being signed in the name of that entirely +pseudonymous or mythical person. One night Clark was roused from his bed +with the information that the rioters were at work close at hand. +Hastily rising and dressing by the glare of his neighbour’s burning +ricks, he told off fifty from his numerous staff of postboys and stable +helpers to mount and to thoroughly explore the country within a circuit +of ten miles, offering a reward of £5 to the one who would discover the +miscreants, together with five shillings a head to all who took part in +the chase. It was a successful foray; for, before morning dawned, two +shivering “rioters” were brought to him. They had been found hiding in a +ditch. Matches and other incriminating things were found on them, and, +being committed to York Castle, they eventually were awarded fourteen +years’ transportation. + +The old “Bell” is still standing. A hundred and twenty horses for the +road were kept here in those old times, but to-day, instead of horses, we +have motor-cars. + +Soon after railways had driven the coaches off the road, the “Bell” +ceased to be an inn. Its circumstances were peculiar. Standing as it +did, and still does, away from any town or village, its only trade was +with coaching or posting travellers, and when they disappeared altogether +there was nothing for it but to close down. And so for sixty years and +more the “Bell” became a private residence, and it would have remained so +had not a road-enthusiast taken it and re-opened the old house in 1906 as +a hotel for touring motorists. The enthusiast took other hotels on this +road. Took so many indeed that his resources as a private person were +overstrained, and he went bankrupt. But the “Bell,” in this, its second +time, flourishes exceedingly. + + [Picture: Scrooby Church] + +From hence the bleak hamlets of Torworth and Ranskill lead to Scrooby, +set amidst the heathy vale of the winding Idle, which sends its silver +threads in aimless fashion amidst the meadows. Here the road leaves +Nottinghamshire and enters Yorkshire. Beside the road at the little rise +called Scrooby Top, stands a farmhouse, once the old Scrooby Inn, kept by +Thomas Fisher as a kind of half-way house between Bawtry and Barnby Moor, +and calculated to intercept the posting business of the “Bell” and of the +Bawtry inns. Competition was keen-edged on the roads in those times. + + [Picture: Scrooby Manor House] + +There seems to have once been a turnpike gate at Scrooby, for a murder +was committed there in 1779, when John Spencer, a shepherd, calling up +William Geadon, the turnpike man, one July night under the pretence of +having some cattle to go through, knocked him down and killed him with a +hedge-stake and then went upstairs and murdered the turnpike man’s +mother. Spencer was hanged at Nottingham, and gibbeted on the scene of +his crime. The stump of the gibbet was still visible in 1833. + +This is the place whence came the chief among the “Pilgrim Fathers” who +at last, in 1620, succeeded in leaving England in the _Mayflower_, for +America. Scrooby is the place of origin of that Separatist Church which +refused allegiance to the Church of England. Here lived William +Brewster, son of the bailiff of Scrooby Manor, once a Palace of the +Archbishops of York. In those times the Great North Road wandered, as a +lane, down through Scrooby village, and all traffic went this way. +William Brewster the elder, bailiff and postmaster, was a government +servant who kept relays of horses primarily for the use of State +messengers. His salary was “twenty pence a day”; the equivalent of about +£300 per annum of our money. Although very definite regulations were +laid down by the Board of Posts for the conduct of this service, they +were not strictly observed, and a postmaster often traded for himself as +well, keeping horses for hire and being an innkeeper as well. + +At any rate, the Brewsters were considerable people; and William the +elder could afford to send his son to Peterhouse, Cambridge, and later +had sufficient influence to secure him service with one of Queen +Elizabeth’s Secretaries of State in Holland. But the Secretary fell into +disgrace, and young William’s diplomatic career ended at an early age. + +He returned home to Scrooby, where he found employment with his father, +and eventually succeeded him, in 1594, holding the position of postmaster +for seventeen years. + +Let us see, from one surviving record, what kind of business was his, and +how prosperous he must have been apart from his official emoluments. One +of his guests, as virtually an innkeeper, was Sir Timothy Hutton, in +1605. Sir Timothy paid him, for guide and conveyance to Tuxford, 10s., +and for candle, supper and breakfast 7s. 6d. On his return journey he +paid 8s. for horses to Doncaster, and a threepenny tip to the ostler. + +Meanwhile, Brewster, nourished in that old nest of Archbishops, had +imbibed distinctly anti-episcopal ideas, probably in Holland. His +activities in founding the Separatist Church led to his resignation of +the postmaster’s office in 1607. In that old Manor House where he lived +assembled others of his ways of thought: the Revd. Mr. Clifton, rector of +Babworth, near Retford, William Bradford of Austerfield, John Smyth, and +other shining lights and painful and austere persons. William Bradford +records how the congregation “met ordinarily at William Brewster’s house +on the Lord’s Day; and with great love he entertained them when they +came, making provision for them, to his great charge.” + +They would not attend services at the parish church; an offence then +punishable by fine and imprisonment, and thus, persecuted, there was no +ultimate course but to leave the country: itself not for some time +permitted. “They were,” wrote William Bradford, “hunted and persecuted +on every side. Some were taken and clapt up in prison, others had their +houses beset and watched, night and day, and hardly escaped their hands; +and the most were fain to fly and leave their houses and habitations and +the means of their livelihood.” + +The Manor Farm, where these early developments of the Puritan movement +took place, and where the Brewsters lived, remains in part, and bears an +explanatory bronze tablet placed there by the Pilgrim Society of +Plymouth, Massachusetts. And there, too, near the road, stands Scrooby +church, rather dilapidated, with its stone spire, much the same as ever. + + [Picture: The Stables, Scrooby Manor House] + +Yorkshire, upon which we have now entered, is the largest shire or county +in England. In one way it seems almost incredibly large, for it has more +acres than there are letters (not words) in the Bible. There are +3,882,851 acres in Yorkshire, and 3,566,482 letters in the Bible. +Yorkshire does not reveal its full beauty to the traveller along this +road. Its abbeys and waterfalls, its river-gorges and romantic valleys, +belong rather to the by-ways. Picturesqueness and romance spelt +discomfort, and the uneventful road was the one the travellers of old +preferred. Thus it is that those who pursue this route to the North, and +know nothing else of Yorkshire, might deny this huge county, more than +twice the size of Lincolnshire, the next largest, that variety and beauty +which, in fact, we know it to possess. For eighty miles the Great North +Road goes through Yorkshire with scarce a hill worthy the name, although +towards the north the Hambleton Hills, away to the east, give the views +from the road a sullen grandeur. + +But if the highway and the scenery bordering it are characterless, this +is a region of strongly marked character, so far as its inhabitants are +concerned. Many wits have been to work on the Yorkshireman’s +peculiarities. While they all agree to disregard his hospitality and his +frank heartiness, they unite to satirise his shrewdness, and his clannish +ways. The old Yorkshire toast is famous:— + + “Here’s tiv us, all on us, me an’ all. + May we niver want nowt, noan on us, + Nor me nawther.” + +And this other:— + + “Our Native County: t’biggest, + t’bonniest, and t’best.” + +The character of John Browdie is a very accurate exemplar of the +Yorkshire yeoman, and you could not wish to meet a better fellow, but you +would rather not have any dealings with the Yorkshireman of popular +imagination, whose native wit goes beyond shrewdness and does not halt on +the hither side of sharp practice. The Yorkshireman’s armorial bearings +are wickedly said to be a flea, a fly, and a flitch of bacon; because a +flea will suck any one’s blood, like a Yorkshireman; a fly will drink out +of any one’s cup, and so will a Yorkshireman; and a flitch of bacon is no +good until it is hung, and no more is a Yorkshireman! No native of the +county can be expected to subscribe to this, but no one ever heard of a +Yorkshireman objecting to be called a “tyke.” + +A “Yorkshire tyke” is a familiar phrase. By it we understand a native of +this immense shire to be named. No one knows whence this nickname arose, +or whether it is complimentary or the reverse. To be sure, we call a dog +a “tyke,” and to describe any one as a dog is not complimentary, unless +qualifications are made. Thus, the man who is insulted by being called a +dog rather takes it as a compliment to be dubbed a “sad dog” or a “sly +dog,” and, like Bob Acres, lets you know, with a twinkle of the eye, that +on occasion he can be a “devil of a fellow.” + +By common consent, whatever its origin may have been, “tyke,” applied to +a Yorkshireman, is taken in the complimentary sense. Indeed, the +Yorkshireman’s good conceit of himself does not allow him to think that +any other sense could possibly be intended. He generally prides himself, +like Major Bagstock, on being “sly, devilish sly.” That he is so, too, +those who have tried to overreach him, either in his native wilds or +elsewhere, have generally discovered. “He’s a deep ’un,” says a +character in one of Charles Reade’s novels, “but we are Yorkshire too, as +the saying is.” When tyke meets tyke, then, if ever, comes the tug of +war. “That’s Yorkshire,” is a saying which implies much, as in the story +of the ostler from the county who had long been in service at a London +inn. “How is it,” asked a guest, “that such a clever fellow as you, and +a Yorkshireman, remains so long without becoming master of the house?” +“Measter’s Yorkshire too,” answered the servant. + +It is a sporting—more especially a horsey—county. “Shake a bridle over a +Yorkshireman’s grave, and he will rise and steal a horse,” is a proverb +which bears a sort of testimony to the fact. + + + + +XXXIII + + +YORKSHIRE and Yorkshiremen, their virtues and vices, bring us to Bawtry, +where the High Sheriff and those in authority used to welcome kingly and +queenly visitors to Yorkshire, or escort them over the border, on +leaving; performing the latter office with the better heart, there can be +little doubt, for royal progresses often left a trail of blood and ruin +behind them in those “good” old times. Happy Bawtry! for little or no +history attaches to the little town, and it lives in the memory only as +the home of that saddler who, although famous as a proverb, has come down +to us a nameless martyr to the Temperance Cause. + +“The saddler of Bawtry was hanged for leaving his ale,” runs the +Yorkshire saying; one eminently characteristic of this county of stingo +and plurality of acres. The history of this particular saddler, or the +crime for which he was condemned, are unknown either here or at York, but +his end is a terrible warning to all Blue Ribbonites. It was in this +wise that the artificer in pigskin lost his life. Led forth to the fatal +tree, the procession halted on the way to present the condemned with the +customary parting bowl of ale, an institution on the way to the gallows +both in York and London. But the saddler would take none of their +farewell courtesies, and refused the drink; whereupon the enraged mob +strung him up, double quick. A few minutes later a reprieve arrived, and +they cut him down; but he was already dead, a melancholy warning to all +future generations of non-convivial souls. + +Coaching days made Bawtry a busy townlet, for although the coaches and +the postmasters generally made a long stage of fourteen miles between +Doncaster and Barnby Moor, or else a nine and a half mile stage between +Doncaster and Scrooby Top, the by-roads gave a good proportion of +business to the “Angel” and the “Crown.” The “Crown” is still a +prominent feature of Bawtry’s now empty street, a street whose width is a +revelation of the space once considered necessary and now altogether +superfluous; just as the long pillared range of stableyards beyond the +old coach archway of the inn itself has now become. + +Bawtry to-day is a great emptiness. Four-square red-brick houses of a +certain modishness, being indeed built on the model of town houses, look +across the void roadway, with a kind of patronising air, upon the peaked, +timbered, or lath-and-plaster gabled cottages that border the opposite +side of the street. Much older they are, those old cottages, and more +akin to the country. They were built long centuries before the coaching +age came, bringing a greater prosperity and consequent expansion to +Bawtry, and for a time they were quite put out of countenance by the +new-fangled brick houses, with their classic porticoes and brass knockers +and impudent red faces. But a period of eighty or ninety years, at the +most, saw the beginning and the end of this expansion, and this once +fashionable air has altered to an aspect of old-world dignity. Both the +gabled cottages and these Georgian houses would feel greatly degraded if +confronted with examples of the way in which the small country builder +runs up his tasteless structures nowadays, but happily Bawtry has nothing +of this type to show, and the white stuccoed elevation of the “Crown” +alone hints at a later phase in building fashion, typifying the dawn of +the nineteenth century and the course of taste in its earlier years. +This white-painted frontage marks the close of Bawtry’s busy days. Soon +afterwards the place ceased to live a pulsing everyday life of business +and activity, and began to merely exist. There are shops here—old +bow-windowed, many-paned shops—which have long seen their best days go +by. They came into existence under the influence of the beatific Law of +Demand and Supply, when all the inns were full of travellers who wanted +the thousand and one necessities of civilisation. They did a brave trade +in those times, and continued it until the railway snuffed it out in +1842. Since then no one has come to buy, and their stock must contain +many curiosities. Probably the stationer has still some of that goffered +and perfumed pink notepaper on which the young ladies of sensibility +wrote their love-letters in the long-ago, together with a goodly supply +of the wafers with which they were sealed; and, doubtless, those who seek +could find flint and steel and tinder-boxes elsewhere. Bawtry, in fine, +is a monument to the Has Been. + + [Picture: The “Crown,” Bawtry] + +Austerfield, where William Bradford was born in 1580, is a grim and +unlovely village to the left of Bawtry. Here yet stands his birthplace, +in its time a manor-house, but now occupied as two cottage-dwellings, it +is not a romantic-looking relic to be the place of origin of one who +became the first Governor of the Pilgrim colony in New England. + +There was once a pond beside the road near Bawtry (where is it now, +alas!) to which a history belonged, for into it used to drive the +villainous postboys of lang syne, who were in the pay of the highwaymen. +They would, as though by accident, whip suddenly into it, and when the +occupants of the chaise let down the windows and looked out, to see what +was the matter, they were confronted with the grinning muzzle of a +pistol, and the dread alternative demand for their money or their lives. + +Past this dread spot, and over the rise and dip in the road on leaving +the town, the galloping stage is reached, a dead level by the palings of +Rossington Park and on to Rossington Bridge, where the tollgate was, and +now is not. The inn too, has, like many another, taken down its sign, +and retired into private occupation. Off to the left is Rossington +village, and in the churchyard, the grave, for those who like to turn +aside to see it, of Charles Bosvile, “King of the Gipsies.” Here we are +four miles and a half from Doncaster, or, as a Yorkshireman would say, +four miles “and a way-bit.” + +Ask a Yorkshireman how far it is to any place along the road, and he will +most likely answer you, so many miles “and a way-bit.” This is probably +his pronunciation of “wee bit.” It is often said that the “way-bit” is +generally as long as the rest put together. This expression compares +with the Scottish so many miles “and a bittock.” + + + + +XXXIV + + +FROM Rossington Bridge, a long pale rise, bordered by coppices of hazels +and silver birches, leads past Cantley to Tophall, where one of the old +road wagons was struck by lightning on the 22nd of May 1800. One of the +seven horses drawing the wagon was killed, and four others were stunned; +while the great lumbering conveyance and its load of woollen cloths, +muslins, cottons, rabbit-down and a piano were almost entirely burnt. +The disaster was a long-remembered event for miles round, and one of the +Doncaster inns was renamed from it, the “Burning Waggon.” This house has +long since been renamed the “Ship.” + +Passing Tophall, and by a bridge over the railway cutting, Doncaster is +seen, with its great church-tower, smoking chimney-stalks, and puffing +locomotives, map-like, down below, three miles away. Two miles further, +past Hawbush, or Lousybush, Green, on which unaristocratically named spot +old-time tramps used to congregate, Doncaster racecourse is reached, on +the old Town Moor. + +Doncaster, all England over, stands for racing and the St. Leger, just as +much as Epsom for the Derby, and racing has been in progress here +certainly ever since 1600, and perhaps even before. The renowned St. +Leger, which still draws its hundreds of thousands every September, was +established in 1778 and named by the Marquis of Rockingham after +Lieut.-Colonel Ashby St. Leger. All Yorkshire, and a large proportion of +other shires, flocks to witness this classic race, greatly to the benefit +of the town, which owns the racecourse and derives the handsome income of +some £30,000 per annum from it. Doncaster, indeed, does exceedingly well +out of racing, and the Town Council can well afford the £380 annually +expended in stakes. But the St. Leger week is a terrible time for quiet +folks, for all the brazen-throated blackguards of the Three Kingdoms are +then let loose upon the town, and not even this sum of £30,000 in relief +of the rates quite repays them for the infliction. + +Robert Ridsdale, originally “Boots” at a Doncaster inn, rose to be owner +of Merton Hall, about 1830. He was a bookmaker. Betting is a pursuit in +which only the bookmakers secure the fortunes. + +Dickens, who was here during the St. Leger week in 1857, in company with +Wilkie Collins, and stayed at the still extant “Angel,” saw this side of +horse-racing fully displayed. Looking down into the High Street from +their window, the friends saw “a gathering of blackguards from all parts +of the racing earth. Every bad face that had ever caught wickedness from +an innocent horse had its representation in the streets,” and the next +day after the great race every chemist’s shop in the town was full of +penitent bacchanalians of the night before, roaring to the busy +dispensers to “Give us soom sal-volatile or soom damned thing o’ that +soort, in wather—my head’s bad!” Night was made hideous for all who +sojourned at the “Angel” by the “groaning phantom” that lay in the +doorway of one of the bedrooms and howled until the morning, like a lost +soul; explanation by the landlord in the morning eliciting the fact that +the fearsome sounds were caused by a gentleman who had lost £1,500 or +£2,000 by backing a “wrong ’un,” and had accordingly drank himself into a +_delirium tremens_. + +Sir William Maxwell of Menreith, who won the St. Leger with Filho da +Puta, in 1815, celebrated his success by thrusting his walking-stick +through all the pier-glasses at the “Reindeer”; expressing his regret +that there were no more to smash, as an adequate relief to his feelings. + +Dean Pigou, once vicar of Doncaster, bears later testimony to the +character of a large proportion of the race-crowds, and tells amusingly +how the contingents of pickpockets who flock here on these occasions +disguise themselves as clergymen, a fact well known to the police, and +resulting in the arrest of a genuine cleric on one occasion. “You old +rascal!” said the constable; “we’ve been looking for you for a long +time.” + +Doncaster, out of the season, is a singularly quiet and inoffensive town, +and looks as innocent as its native butterscotch. Quiet, because the +locomotive and carriage-works of the Great Northern Railway are a little +way outside; inoffensive, because it is unpretending. At the same time +it is just as singularly devoid of interest. Almost its oldest houses +are those on Hall Cross Hill, as the traveller passes the elm-avenue by +the racecourse and enters the town from the direction of London; and they +are scarce older than the days of the Prince Regent. Very like the older +part of Brighton, this southern end of Doncaster is the best the town has +to show. + +Hall Cross—originally called “Hob Cross”—was destroyed in the +seventeenth-century troubles. It was a late Norman structure, and is +copied in the existing Cross, set up by the Corporation, as an +inscription informs the passer-by, in 1793. A weird structure it is, +too, consisting of a stone pillar of five engaged shafts, reflecting +credit on neither the original designer nor the restorers. But there it +stands, elevated above the modern road, as evidence of a momentary +aberration in favour of restoring antiquity of which the Corporation were +guilty, a century or so ago. Doncastrians have purged themselves so +thoroughly of that weakness in later years that they have left no other +vestige of old times in their streets. The finest example of an old inn +belonging to the town was destroyed in the pulling down of the “Old +Angel” in 1846, in order to clear a site for the Guildhall. Others are +left, but, if old-fashioned, they are scarcely picturesque: the “Angel,” +“Ram,” “Elephant,” “Salutation,” and “Old George.” + + [Picture: Coach passing Doncaster Racecourse] + +In old newspaper files we find Richard Wood, of the “Reindeer” and “Ram” +inns, High Street, advertising that his coaches were the best—“the horses +keep good time—_no_ racing”; from which we conclude that there _had_ been +some. It was Richard Wood, then the foremost coach-proprietor in +Doncaster, who first gave employment to that celebrated painter of horses +and coaches, John Frederick Herring, who, although a Londoner born, lived +long and worked much at Doncaster. It was in 1814, when in his +nineteenth year, that he first came to the town, the love of horses +bringing him all the way. Seeing the “Royal Union” starting at eight +o’clock in the morning with “Doncaster” displayed in large letters on its +panels, on the inspiration of the moment he took a seat, and arrived in +time to witness the horse “William” win the St. Leger. + +There is a tale of his observing a man clumsily trying to paint a picture +of the Duke of Wellington, seated on his charger, for the panel of a +coach to be called after that hero of a hundred fights. He had, somehow, +managed to worry through the figure of the Duke, and to secure a +recognisable likeness of him—because, for this purpose, all that was +necessary was the representation of an ascetic face and a large, +beak-like nose—but he boggled at the horse. Herring offered to paint in +the horse for him, and did it so well that he earned the thanks of the +proprietor, who happened to appear on the scene and commissioned him to +paint the insignia of the “Royal Forester,” Doncaster and Nottingham +coach; a white lion on one door and a reindeer on the other. These he +performed with equal credit, and taking a seat beside the proprietor in +question, who, with others, mounted for a ride to “prove” the springs and +christen the new coach, he at once offered himself as coachman. Mr. +Wood, for it was he, was naturally surprised at the idea of a painter +driving a coach, but consented to give him a trial the next day on the +“Highflyer,” and to abide by the decision of the regular driver of that +famous drag. The result was favourable, and Herring obtained the +box-seat, not of the “Royal Forester,” but of the “Nelson,” Wakefield and +Lincoln coach. He was, after two years, transferred to the Doncaster and +Halifax road, and thence promoted to the “Highflyer,” painting in his +leisure hours many of the signs of Doncaster’s old inns. It was when on +this road that he attracted the attention of a local gentleman, who +obtained him a commission for a picture which laid the foundation of his +success. + +Nearly all the local signs that Herring painted have disappeared. Some +were taken down when he became famous, and added to private collections +of pictures; while others were renewed from the effects of time and +weather by being painted over by journeyman painters. Some landlords, +however, knew the value of these signs well enough. There was, for +instance, mine host of the “Doncaster Arms,” who, having come from +cow-keeping to the inn-keeping business, determined to change the name of +the house to the “Brown Cow.” He induced Herring to paint the new sign, +which immediately attracted attention. According to one story, a +gentleman posting north chanced to see it and stopped the postboy while +he endeavoured to drive a bargain for the purchase. He offered twice as +much as mine host had originally paid; ten times as much, but without +avail. “Not for twenty times,” said that licensed victualler; and the +connoisseur went without it. + +The other version makes the traveller a very important man, travelling +with four post-horses, and represents the landlord as being away, and the +landlady as the obstinate holder. “I’s rare and glad, measter, my +husband’s not at home,” she said, “for p’r’aps he’d ha’ let thee hae it; +but I wain’t; for what it’s worth to thee it’s worth to me, so gang on.” + +A list has been preserved of the signs painted by Herring at Doncaster, +but they will be sought in vain to-day. They were— + +The Labour in Vain Marsh Gate. +The Sloop Marsh Gate. +The Brown Cow French Gate. +The Stag The Holmes. +The Coach and Horses Scot Lane. +The White Lion St. George Gate. + +The “Labour in Vain” represented the fruitless labour of attempting to +wash a black man white. + +The old sign of the “Salutation,” painted by a Dutchman in 1766, was +touched up by Herring. Many years ago it was removed, but has now been +replaced, and may be seen on the front of the house in Hall Cross. It is +much weather-worn, and represents, in dim and uncertain fashion, two +clumsy looking old gentlemen in the costume of a hundred and forty years +ago, rheumatically saluting one another. The sign of the “Stag,” painted +on plaster still remains, in a decaying condition. + +Herring continued as a coachman for several years, and only left the box +in 1830, when he went to reside in London. From that date until his +death in 1865 he devoted himself entirely to painting. + +Richard Wood, Herring’s first employer, was part-proprietor of the “Lord +Nelson” coach, among others. Especial mention must be made of this +particular conveyance, because if not the first, it must have been one of +the earliest, of the coaches by which passengers were allowed to book +through to or from London, and to break their journey where they pleased. +To those who could not endure the long agonies of a winter’s journey +except in small doses, this arrangement must have been a great boon. To +this coach belongs the story of a Frenchman, still preserved by Doncaster +gossips. + +It was in the early part of the century that he wanted to travel from +“Doncastare” to London. Inquiring at the booking-office for the best +coach, the clerk mentioned the “Lord Nelson.” + +“Damn your Lord Nelson!” says the Frenchman in a rage. “What others are +there?” + +The names of the others heaped greater offence upon him, for they were +the “Waterloo” and the “Duke of Wellington.” So perhaps he posted +instead, and saved his national susceptibilities at the expense of his +pocket. + +Another, and a later, coach-proprietor and innkeeper at Doncaster was +Thomas Pye, of the “Angel.” He lived to see railways ruin the coaching +business, but he kept the “Angel” for years afterwards, and his family +after him. The Queen, on her way to Scotland in 1861, slept there one +night, and the loyal family promptly added the title of “Royal” to the +old house. + +Coaching days were doomed at Doncaster in 1859, when the Midland Railway +was opened and diverted the traffic; and nine years later, when the Great +Northern Railway came, the last coach was withdrawn. + +Few think of Doncaster as a centre of spiritual activity. Racing seems +to comprehend everything, and to make it, like a famous winner of the St. +Leger a case of “Eclipse first; the rest nowhere!” Even Doncaster +butterscotch is more familiar than Doncaster piety, but the Church is +particularly active here, nevertheless. That activity only dates from +the appointment of Dr. Vaughan as vicar, in 1859. Before his time +religion was very dead, so that, when the great parish church of St. +George was burnt down in 1853, the then vicar, Dr. Sharpe, on seeing the +flames burst out, could at first only think of his false teeth, which he +had left in the building, and exclaimed in horror-stricken tones, “Good +gracious! and I have left my set of teeth in the vestry.” + +The church was rebuilt by Sir Gilbert Scott. It is a magnificent +building, but too palpably Scott, and the details of the carving +painfully mechanical. Also, the stone was so badly selected that the +crockets and enrichments were long ago found to be decaying, and +“restoration” of a building not then fifty years old was found necessary. + +Dr. Vaughan was a bitter opponent of horse-racing, and so was not popular +with the sporting element; and as Doncaster is, above everything, given +over to sport, this meant that his nine years’ vicariate was a sojourn in +a hostile camp. His predecessors had been more complaisant. Always +within living memory the church bells had been rung on the St. Leger day, +and generally at the moment the winning horse had passed the post. Dr. +Vaughan put an end to this and quietly inaugurated a new era, not by +raising a dispute, but by obtaining the keys of the belfry on the first +St. Leger day of his incumbency, and, locking the door, going for a walk +which kept him out of the town until the evening! + + + + +XXXV + + +LEAVING Doncaster and its racing and coaching memories behind, we come +out upon the open road again by Frenchgate, past the unprepossessing +“Volunteer” inn, in whose yard Mendoza and Humphries brought off their +prize-fight in 1790; past Marshgate and over the dirty Don to a parting +of the ways. To the left goes the Ferrybridge, Wetherby, and +Boroughbridge route to the North; to the right, that by way of Selby and +York. Both fall into one again at Northallerton; both claim to be the +true Great North Road; and both were largely travelled, so that we shall +have to pay attention to either. In the first instance, we will go via +York, the mail-route in later coaching days, and as flat and +uninteresting a road, so far as the cathedral city, as it is possible to +imagine. Beginning with the suburban village of Bentley, with its ugly +new cottages and handsome new church, it continues, with ruts and loose +stones as its chief features, to Askerne, passing through lonely woods +and past pools and lakes, with a stray grouse or so, and astonished hares +and rabbits, as the sole witnesses of the explorer’s progress in these +deserted ways. Off to the right-hand, two miles or so away, goes the +Great Northern Railway, one of the causes of this solitude, to meet the +North Eastern at Shaftholme Junction, where, as the chairman said, many +years ago, the Great Northern ends, ingloriously, “in a ploughed field.” + +Askerne, in a situation of great natural beauty, amidst limestone rocks +and lakes, and with the advantage of possessing medicinal springs, has +been, like most Yorkshire villages, made hideous by its houses and +cottages, inconceivably ugly to those who have not seen what abominable +places Yorkshire folk are capable of building and living in. Askerne’s +fame as what its inhabitants call a “spawing place” has not spread of +late, but its old pump-room and its lake are the resorts of York and +Doncaster’s trippers in summer-time, and those holiday-makers derive just +as much health from rowing in pleasure-boats on the lake as did their +forefathers, who, a hundred years ago, quaffed its evil-tasting +sulphurous waters. + +Thus Askerne. Between it and Selby, a distance of thirteen miles, the +road and the country around are but parts of a flat, watery, treeless, +featureless plain, its negative qualities tempered by the frankly mean +and ugly villages on the way, and criss-crossed by railways, sluggish +rivers, and unlovely canals. So utterly without interest is the road, +that a crude girder-bridge or a gaunt and forbidding flour-mill remain +vividly impressed upon the mental retina for lack of any other +outstanding objects. + + [Picture: Brayton Church] + +Nearing Selby, the octagonal Perpendicular lantern and spire of Brayton +church, curiously imposed upon a Norman tower, attracts attention as much +by the relief they give from the deadly dulness just encountered as for +their own sake; although they are beautiful and interesting, the lantern +having been designed to hold a cresset beacon by which the travellers of +the Middle Ages were guided at night across the perilous waste; the spire +serving the same office by day. Here, too, the isolated hills of Brayton +Burf and Hambleton Hough, three miles away, show prominently, less by +reason of their height, which is inconsiderable, than on account of the +surrounding levels, which give importance to the slightest rise. + +Brayton, which, apart from its beautiful church, is about as miserable a +hole as it is possible to find in all Yorkshire (and that is saying a +good deal), is a kind of outpost between Selby and these wilds, standing +a mile and a half in advance of the town. In that mile and a half the +builders are busy erecting a flagrant suburb, so that the traveller +presses on, curious to witness the prosperity of Selby itself, arguable +from these signs. Even without them, Selby is approached with +expectancy, for its abbey is famous, and abbeys imply picturesque towns. + +From this point of view Selby is distinctly disappointing. The glorious +Abbey, now the parish church, is all, and more than, one expects, and the +superlatively cobble-stoned Market-place, painful to walk in, is +picturesque to look at; but the rest is an effect of meanness. Mean old +houses of no great age; mean new ones; mean and threadbare waterside +industries; second-hand clothes-shops, coal-grit, muddy waters and +foreshores of the slimy Ouse, shabby rope-walks, and dirty alleys: these +are Selby. + +You forget all this before that beautiful Abbey, whose imposing west +front faces the Market-place, and whose great length is revealed only by +degrees. Alike in size and beauty, it shows itself in a long crescendo +to the admiring amateur of architecture, who proceeds from the combined +loveliness of the Norman, Early English, and Perpendicular west front, to +the entrance by the grand Transitional Norman-Early English north porch, +thence to the solemn majesty of the purely Norman nave, ending with the +light and graceful Decorated choir and Lady Chapel. The upper stage of +the tower fell in 1690, and destroyed the south transept. + +A very destructive fire occurred in October 1906, and opportunity was +afterwards taken of doing a good deal of general restoration. + +Before leaving the town of Selby, let us look at the commonplace little +square called Church Hill. A spirit-level might reveal it to be an +eminence of twelve inches or so above the common level of Selby, but to +the evidence of eyes or feet it is in no way distinguished from its +neighbouring streets. Yet it must have presented the appearance of a +hillock when the original founder of the Abbey came here in 1068, +voyaging up the Ouse and landing at this first likely place on its then +lovely banks. This founder was a certain Benedict, a monk of Auxerre, +who, having one of those convenient dreams which came to the pious ones +of that time when they wanted to steal something, made off with the Holy +Finger of St. Germanus; rather appropriate spoil, by the way, for the +light-fingered Benedict. Arriving in England, he met an Englishman who +gave him a golden reliquary. With this, he took ship from Lyme Regis and +sailed to the Humber and the Ouse; landing, as we have seen, here, and +planting a cross on the river bank, where he erected a hut for himself +under an oak-tree. A few days later, Hugh, the Norman sheriff of +Yorkshire, came up the Ouse, by chance, and not, as might be supposed, to +arrest Benedict on a charge of petty larceny. He was impressed by the +devoutness of the holy man, and sent workmen to build the original wooden +place of worship at Selby, on the spot now known as Church Hill, not a +stone’s throw from the existing Abbey. + + [Picture: Market Place, Selby] + +Centuries passed. The first building was swept away, and even the +cemetery which afterwards occupied the site was forgotten and built over, +becoming a square of houses, among which was the “Crown” inn. From 1798 +until 1876, when it was rebuilt, the old “Crown” kept an odd secret. To +understand this, we must go back to 1798, when the neighbourhood of Selby +acquired an ill name for highway robberies. Among other outrages, a +mailbag was stolen from the York postboy, on the evening of February 22 +in that year. The Postmaster of York reported the affair to the +Postmaster-General in the following terms:— + + “SIR, + + “I am sorry to acquaint you that the postboy coming from Selby to + this city was robbed of his mail, between six and seven o’clock this + evening. About three miles this side Selby he was accosted by a man + on foot with a gun in his hand, who asked him if he was the postboy, + and at the same time seizing hold of the bridle. Without waiting for + any answer, he told the boy he must immediately unstrap the mail and + give it to him, pointing the muzzle of the gun at him whilst he did + it. When he had given up the mail, the boy begged he would not hurt + him, to which the man replied, “He need not be afraid,” and at the + same time pulled the bridle from the horse’s head. The horse + immediately galloped off with the boy, who had never dismounted. He + was a stout man, dressed in a dark jacket, and had the appearance of + a heckler. The boy was too much frightened to make any other remark + upon his person, and says he was totally unknown to him. + + “The mail contained bags for Howden and London, Howden and York, and + Selby and York. I have informed the surveyors of the robbery, and + have forwarded handbills this night, to be distributed in the + country, and will take care to insert it in the first paper published + here. Waiting your further instructions,—I remain, with respect, + Sir, + + “Your Obliged and Obedient Humble Servant, + “THOS. OLDFIELD.” + +A reward of two hundred pounds was offered for the discovery of the +highwayman, but without effect, and the matter was forgotten in the dusty +archives of the G.P.O., until it was brought to notice again by the +singular discovery of one of the stolen bags in the roof of the “Crown” +when being demolished in 1876. Stuffed in between the rafters and the +tiles, the workmen came upon a worn and rotten coat, a “sou’wester” hat, +and a mail-bag marked “Selby.” Thus, nearly eighty years after the +affair, and when every one concerned in it must long since have been no +more, this incriminating evidence came to light. The Postmaster-General +of that time claimed the bag, and it was, after some dispute about the +ownership, handed over to him, and is now in the Post Office Museum. + +A number of skeletons were discovered in digging foundations for the new +inn, and it was darkly conjectured that the old house had had its +gruesome secrets, dating from the times when inns were not infrequently +the nests of murderers; until local antiquaries pointing out that the +name of the place was Church Hill, and that this was an ancient +grave-yard, the excitement ceased. This view was borne out by the fact +that in many cases the bodies had been enclosed in rude coffins, made of +hollowed tree-trunks; and it was rightly said that murderers would not +have buried their victims with so much consideration. + + + + +XXXVI + + +TO leave Selby for York, one must needs cross the Ouse bridge, one of +thee few places where tolls still survive. Foot-passengers and cyclists +are on an equality, paying one penny each. + +Level-crossings again have their wicked will of the road, and are indeed +its principal features, through Barlby and Riccall. We need some modern +Rebeccaites for the abolition of these unpaid-for easements granted to +the Railway Companies by an indulgent legislature, composed largely of +Railway Directors, for the mingled danger and waste of public time caused +by level-crossings over public roads constitute a scandal urgently in +need of being removed. Yorkshire people might be recommended to see to +it, as their forefathers saw to the abolition of turnpikes, collecting in +armed and disguised bands and wrecking and burning the obnoxious gates +for great distances. In May 1753 they assembled at Selby at the summons +of the public crier’s bell, and proceeded at midnight to demolish all the +gates in that neighbourhood. The military were called out to quell these +Hampdens. They did not succeed in saving the gates, but shot and +captured a number of the “rioters,” who were sent for trial to York +Castle. + +Riccall, near the confluence of the Ouse and the Derwent, looks an +unlikely seaport in these times, now that those rivers and the confluent +Foss, a mile or so nearer York, flow soberly in their channels and cease +from spreading over the land. Eight hundred years ago, however, things +were very different—as indeed they well might be in that tremendous space +of time. So different, in fact, that when the invasion of the North, +under Tostig and Harald Hardrada, took place in 1066, before that greater +invasion in the South by William “the Conqueror,” whose success has +overshadowed these operations, the invaders’ fleet sailed up the Humber +and the Ouse and blockaded the waterways by anchoring at Riccall. From +this base they advanced, defeating Earl Morcar at the battle of Fulford, +and seized York; retiring on the approach of English Harold to what the +Anglo-Saxon Chronicle calls “Staenfordesbryege,” on Derwent, east of the +city. In this we find the original spelling of Stamford Bridge, where +the great battle which ended in the utter defeat of the invaders was +fought and their leaders, Tostig and the gigantic Norwegian king, both +slain. A fortnight later, and the Duke of Normandy had landed at +Pevensey, the battle of Hastings had been lost and won, and the victor of +Stamford Bridge himself lay dead. + +Riccall, and the country between it and York, should therefore be +interesting, as the scene of the earlier of these invasions. Aside from +the village flows the Ouse, deep in its channel and navigable for barges, +than which the Norwegian ships were not much larger; but it could not in +these days harbour a fleet, even of these primitive transports. The +village itself bears nothing on its face telling of great events, and is +of a placid dulness, a character shared by Escrick and Deighton, on the +way to York; the road itself gradually becoming an abomination of +desolate fields until the village of Gate Fulford is reached. The Great +North Road is a businesslike highway. It goes as direct as may be to its +destination, and gets there quite regardless of scenery or interest to +right or left. Thus, although Escrick Park is reputed to be a demesne of +great beauty, and the village of Naburn, lying hidden off the road, is a +typical old English village actually boasting a maypole, all the +traveller along the road perceives is an unromantic vista of +cabbage-fields and other necessary but uninspiring domestic vegetables, +through a haze of a particularly beastly kind of black dust peculiar to +the last few miles of the way into York. Fulford itself is no fit herald +of a cathedral city. A wide street, the terminus of a tramway, a +mile-long row of cottages, a would-be Gothic church; here you have it. +Before you, by degrees, York unfolds itself, past the military barracks +and nondescript, but always disappointing, streets, until, emerging from +Fishergate, the ancient city, free from suburban excrescences, opens out, +with the grim castle in front, and the Ouse and Skeldergate Bridge to the +left. The so-called “London Road” lies away beyond the Ouse, its name +referring to the Doncaster, Ferrybridge, Sherburn, and Tadcaster route +taken by some of the old-time coaches. By that route York is most +romantically entered, across Knavesmire, where York’s martyrs, felons, +and traitors were done to death in the old days, and where the racecourse +now runs; coming to the walled city through Micklegate, the finest of all +the mediæval defensible gateways which are York’s especial glory. By the +Selby route, through Gate Fulford and along Fishergate, we seem to slink +in by the back door; through Micklegate we follow in the steps of those +who have marched with armed hosts at their heels, and have entered with +the unquestioned right of conquerors. Thus came the young Duke of York +at the head of his victorious army, after the crowning victory of Towton; +the first thing to meet his gaze his father’s head, fixed on the topmost +turret, and crowned in mockery with a paper crown by the fierce +Lancastrians under whose swords he had fallen at the battle of Wakefield, +three months before. Filial piety could not in those times rest content +with removing the head from its shameful eminence, and so the Duke caused +the Earl of Devon and three others among his prisoners to be immediately +beheaded and their heads to be placed there instead. Of such, and still +more sanguinary, incidents is the ancient city of York composed. + + [Picture: Micklegate Bar. (From an old Print)] + +Micklegate, like the other “bars” of York, had its barbican, and equally +with them, lost that martial outwork at the dawning of the nineteenth +century. Its appearance then and now may with advantage be compared in +the old print and the modern drawing, reproduced here, which also serve +to show the difference between the road-surface of these times and of a +century ago. + + [Picture: Micklegate Bar: present day] + + + + +INDEX + + +Alconbury, 2 + +Alconbury Hill, 2, 121 + +Askerne, 236 + +Ayot Green, 87 + +Austerfield, 225 + + * * * * * + +Balderton, 193 + +Baldock, 105 + +Barlby, 242 + +Barnby Moor, 209, 212–216 + +Barnet, 11, 75–79, 171 + +Barnet, Battle of, 80 + +Bawtry, 223–225 + +Bedford, Dukes of, 136 + +Beeston Green, 108 + +Bell Bar, 84 + +Bentley, 236 + +Biggleswade, 2, 107 + +Bloody Oaks, 157 + +Boulter, Edmund, 135 + +Bradford, William, 219, 225 + +Brampton, 105, 117 + +Brayton, 237 + +Brewster, William, 218–220 + +Brickwall, 87 + +Broadwater, 93 + +Brown’s Wells, 69 + +Buckden, 2, 114–117 + +Burghley House, 141–145, 149 + + * * * * * + +Cantley, 226 + +Carlton-upon-Trent, 205 + +Chicken Hill, 113 + +Coaches— + + “Amity,” Doncaster and Stamford, 212 + + “Courier,” Leeds, 41 + + “Edinburgh Mails” 15, 29–33, 184 + + “Edinburgh Express” 15, 114 + + “Edinburgh Stage” 34 + + “Express,” Leeds, 41 + + “Express,” York, 114 + + “Highflyer,” London and York, 76 + + “Highflyer,” London, York, and Edinburgh, 154 + + “Lord Nelson,” London and Edinburgh, 22, 233, 234 + + Mail Coaches, 30–33 + + “Nelson,” Wakefield and Lincoln, 232 + + “Post,” London and Carlisle, 22 + + “Royal Forester,” Doncaster and Nottingham, 232 + + “Royal Union,” London and Newcastle, 231 + + Stage Coaches, 33–49 + + “Stamford Regent” 18–21, 76, 107, 109, 138 + + “Stamford and Retford Auxiliary Mail” 212 + + “Union,” Leeds, 15, 41 + + “Wellington,” London and Newcastle, 15, 234 + + “York Four-Days Stage” 35 + +Coaching Accidents, 41 + +Coaching Notabilities— + + Barclay of Ury, 169 + + Barker, of Welwyn, 88–90 + + Barker, John, 138 + + Cartwright, of Buckden, 114 + + Chaplin, William, 16–18, 73 + + Clark, George, 212, 214, + + Dennetts, The, of Retford, 211 + + Hennesy, Tom, 88–90 + + Herring, J. F., 231–234 + + Horne, B. W., 17, 66 + + Mountain, Mrs., 18, 22–25 + + Nelson, Mrs., 18, 25 + + Percivals, The, of Wansford and Greetham, 138, 158, 211 + + Sherman, Edward, 14 + + Waterhouse, William, 16 + + Whincup, of Stamford, 149 + + Wood, Richard, 231, 232, 233 + +Colsterworth, 176 + +Cromwell, 205 + +Cromwell, Oliver, 188 + +Cross Hall, 113 + +Crow Park, 206 + +Cycling Notabilities— + + Badlake, F. T., 112 + + Butterfield, W. J. H., 112 + + Edge, T. A., 111 + + Edge, S. F., 111 + + Fontaine, C. C., 112 + + Goodwin, F. R., 112 + + Hobson, T., 112 + + Holbein, M. A., 112 + + Hunt, G., 112 + + James, J. M., 111 + + Keith-Falconer, Hon. Ian, 111 + + Mills, G. P., 112, 113 + + Oxborrow, E., 113 + + Pope, H. R., 111 + + Sansom, H. H., 113 + + Shirley, R., 113 + + Shorland, F. W., 112 + + Thorpe, J. H. Stanley, 111 + + Wheaton, C, 111 + + Wilson, H. E., 112 + +Cycling Records, 110–113 + + * * * * * + +_Dead Drummer_, _The_, 120 + +De Foe, Daniel, 135, 188 + +Deighton, 243 + +De Quincey, Thos., 25, 30, 101 + +Diddington, 113, 120 + +Digswell Hill, 87 + +Doncaster, 226–235 + + * * * * * + +East End, Finchley, 65 + +East Markham, 208 + +Eaton, 210 + +Eaton Socon, 110, 113 + +Elkisley, 209 + +Empingham, 157 + +Escrick, 243 + + * * * * * + +Finchley, 65 + +Finchley Common, 66–72, 171 + +Foston, 193 + +Fulford, 243 + + * * * * * + +Gamston, 208 + +Ganwick Corner, 80 + +Gate Fulford, 243 + +General Post Office, 2, 25–33, 241 + +Girtford, 109 + +Gonerby Hill, 189–193 + +Grantham, 176, 180–188, 197 + +Graveley, 105 + +Great Casterton, 154 + +Great Gonerby, 189 + +Great Ponton, 178–180 + +Greenhill Cross, 73 + +Greetham, 158 + + * * * * * + +Hadley Green, 2, 80 + +Hadley Highstone, 80 + +Hardwick, 117 + +Hatfield, 2, 84–87 + +_Heart of Midlothian_, 189–193 + +Herring, J. F., 231–234 + +Hicks’s Hall, 2, 49 + +Highgate, 2, 51–65 + +Highgate Archway, 63–65, 111 + +Highgate Hill, 57–62 + +Highway Acts, 9 + +Highwaymen, 62, 69–72, 124, 175 + + Bowland, John, 158 + + Everett and Williams, 69 + + Sheppard, Jack, 70 + + Spiggott, — 68 + + Turpin, Dick, 70, 193 + +Holloway, 2, 52 + +Horn Lane, 157 + + * * * * * + +Inns (mentioned at length) + + “Angel,” Grantham, 182 + + “Angel,” Islington, 49, 50 + + “Angel,” Stilton, 125 + + “Bald-faced Stag,” Finchley, 65 + + “Beehive,” Grantham, 188 + + “Bell,” Barnby Moor, 212–216 + + “Bell,” Stilton, 125–128 + + “Black Bull,” Witham Common, 158, 161 + + “Black Lion,” Scarthing Moor, 206 + + “Black Swan,” Holborn, 35 + + “Black Swan,” York, 35 + + “Blue Bell,” Barnby Moor, 212–216 + + “Blue Bull,” Witham Common, 161 + + “Blue Horse,” Great Ponton, 180 + + “Brampton Hut” 117 + + “Brown Cow,” Doncaster, 232–233 + + “Bull and Mouth,” St. Martin’-le-Grand, 13–15 + + “Clinton Arms,” Newark, 198, 200 + + “Crown,” Bawtry, 223 + + “Crown,” Selby, 241 + + “Crown and Woolpack,” nr Stilton, 124 + + “Dirt House,” Finchley, 66 + + “Duke of York,” Ganwick Corner, 80 + + “Gatehouse Tavern,” Highgate, 59 + + “George,” Buckden, 114 + + “George,” Grantham, 182–184 + + “George,” Stamford, 146 + + “George and Blue Boar,” Holborn, 18 + + “Green Man,” Barnet, 76–79 + + “Green Man,” Brown’s Wells, 69 + + “Green Man and Still,” Oxford Street, 13, 18 + + “Greetham Inn” 158, 211 + + “Griffin” Whetstone, 72 + + “Haycock,” Wansford, 136–140, 211 + + “Jockey House” 209 + + “Kate’s Cabin, 132 + + “Lord Kitchener,” Stevenage, 105 + + “Markham Moor” 208 + + “Newcastle Arms,” Tuxford, 207 + + “Norman Cross” 129 + + “Old Castle,” Stevenage, 101 + + “Old Red Lion,” Barnet, 79 + + “Old White Lion,” Finchley, 66 + + “Our Mutual Friend,” 104 + + “Peacock,” Islington, 49 + + “Ram,” Doncaster, 231 + + “Ram,” Newark, 203 + + “Ram Jam,” Stretton, 158–161 + + “Red Lion,” Barnet, 76–79 + + “Salutation,” Doncaster, 231 + + “Saracen’s Head,” Snow Hill, 21–25 + + “Saracen’s Head,” Newark, 191, 198 + + “Scrooby” 216 + + “Spread Eagle,” Gracechurch Street, 13, 18 + + “Swan,” Stevenage, 96 + + “Swan-with-two-Necks,” Gresham Street, 13–17 + + “Volunteer,” Doncaster, 235 + + “Waggon and Horses,” Stamford, 152 + + “Wellington,” Welwyn, 90 + + “Wheatsheaf,” Alconbury Hill, 121 + + “White Hart,” Retford, 211–213 + + “White Hart,” Welwyn, 88 + + “White Horse,” Eaton Socon, 110 + + “White Swan,” Biggleswade, 107 + + “Whittington Stone Tavern,” 56 + +Islington, 2, 49–51 + + * * * * * + +Jeanie Deans, 190–192, 198, 204 + +Jockey House, 209 + + * * * * * + +Kate’s Cabin, 132 + +Knavesmire, 244 + +Knebworth, 92 + + * * * * * + +Lambert, Daniel, 152 + +Lannock Hill, 105 + +Lemsford Mills, 87 + +Letchworth, 103, 106 + +Little Heath, 82 + +Long Bennington, 193 + +Lord of Burleigh, Tennyson’s, 141–145 + +Lower Codicote, 108 + +Lytton family, Earls Lytton, 92 + + * * * * * + +Macadam, J. L., 6, 10, 12, 31 + +Mace, Thos, 6–8 + +Markham Moor, 208 + +Marston, 193 + +Matcham’s Bridge, 120 + +Metcalf, John, 10 + +Morison, Fynes, 97 + +Morpeth, 32 + + * * * * * + +Newark-upon-Trent, 193–204 + +Newton, Sir Isaac, 176 + +_Nicholas Nickleby_, 22, 110, 184 + +Norman Cross, 129–133 + +North Finchley, 66 + +North Muskham, 205 + +North Road Cycling Club, 110, 113, 114 + + * * * * * + +Old-time Travellers— + + Bacon, Francis Viscount Verulam, 61 + + Barclay of Ury, 169 + + Burke, Edmund, 69 + + Calderwood of Coltness, Mrs., 128, 171 + + Campbell, Lord Chancellor, 173 + + Cary, Sir Robert, 166 + + Charles I., 105, 149 + + Eldon, Earl of, 172 + + George III., 165 + + George IV., 165 + + Gladstone, W. E., 200 + + James I., 165, 194 + + Jeffrey, Lord, 184 + + Jonson, Ben, 166 + + Lepton, John, 166 + + Londonderry, Marquis of, 170 + + Mansfield, Earl of, 171 + + Minto, Earl of, 71 + + Misson, Henri, 51 + + Monboddo, Lord, 170 + + Pepys, Samuel, 73, 79, 105, 117 + + Perlin, Estienne, 146 + + Powell, Foster, 167 + + Skene, Dr., 171 + + Sterne, Rev. Laurence, 214 + + Thoresby, Ralph, 124, 175 + + Thornhill, Cooper, 126, 167 + + Tucker, Henry St. George, 185 + + Twining, Rev. Thomas, 146, 189, 214 + + Wharton, Sir Ralph, 175 + + Woulfe, Peter, 172 + +Old-time Travelling, 3–8, 11, 36–47, 96–101, 164–175, 184–186, 204–206, +214 + + * * * * * + +Palmer, John, 30 + +Pedestrian Records, 166–169 + +Pilgrim Fathers, The, 218–220, 225 + +Posting, 98–101 + +Potter’s Bar, 80–82 + +Powell, Foster, 167 + +Prickler’s Hill, 74 + + * * * * * + +Railways—37, 46, 75, 82, 93, 125, 174, 228, 234, 236 + + Great Northern, 174, 228, 236 + + London and Birmingham (now London and North-Western) 75 + + Midland, 234 + + North Eastern, 236 + +Ranskill, 216 + +Retford, 208, 210–213 + +Riccall, 242 + +Roman Roads, 2–4 + +Rossington Bridge, 226 + + * * * * * + +St. Martin’-le-Grand, 2, 14, 25–27 + +Sandy, 108 + +Sawtry St. Andrews, 124, 176 + +Sawtry Abbey, 124 + +Scarthing Moor, 205–207 + +Scott, Sir Walter, 51, 162, 164, 190, 192, 198, 204 + +Scrooby, 216–220 + +Selby, 238–242 + +Shaftholme Junction, 236 + +Sibson, 136 + +“Six Hills,” The, Stevenage, 94–96 + +South Muskham, 203, 205 + +Stamford, 140, 145–153 + +Stanborough, 87 + +Stangate Hill, 124 + +Statute Labour, 9 + +Stevenage, 2 93–96, 101–105 + +Stibbington, 136 + +Stilton, 9, 124–128 + +Stoke Rochford, 178 + +Stonegate Hole, 176 + +Stretton, 154, 161 + +Sutton-upon-Trent, 205 + + * * * * * + +“Tally-ho Corner” 66 + +Telford, James, 10, 13, 31 + +Tempsford, 109 + +Thornhaugh, 140 + +Tickencote, 154 + +“Tingey’s Corner,” 108 + +Tophall, 226 + +Toplar’s Hill, 107 + +Torworth, 216 + +Trent, River, 203–205 + +Turnpike Acts, 9 + +Turnpike Gates, 10, 58, 59, 73–75, 82, 87, 105, 209, 218, 242 + +Turpin’s Oak, 70 + +Tuxford, 205–208 + + * * * * * + +Wansford, 134 + +Water Newton, 133–140 + +Welwyn, 2, 88–91, 116 + +West Markham, 208 + +Weston, 206 + +Whetstone, 72 + +Whittington, Sir Richard, 53–56 + +Witham Common, 158, 161, 175 + +Woolmer Green, 93 + +Woolsthorpe Manor-House, 176 + +Wyboston, 109 + +Yaxley Barracks, 129–132 + +York, 244–246 + +Yorkshire, 220–223 + +Young, Revd. Edward, 90 + + + + +FOOTNOTES. + + +{40} These are pre-war (1914–18) prices. + +{117} He was baptised in the church of St. Bride, Fleet Street, +according to a discovery more recently made; and he would thus appear +really to have been a Londoner. + +{165} Tokens in imitation of the old guineas, which bore on their +reverse the George and Dragon device now used on our modern sovereigns. +The token represented the king on horseback (the Hanoverian White Horse), +with the legend “To Hanover.” + + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GREAT NORTH ROAD: LONDON TO +YORK*** + + +******* This file should be named 46716-0.txt or 46716-0.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/4/6/7/1/46716 + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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