Part 17 (2/2)
The memory of many a fight is recorded in the names of the fields, places, and hills on which the battle raged. Lichfield (_i.e._ the field of the dead), Battlefield, Battle, Battleflats, Standard Hill, Slaughterford, and many others, all tell the tale of war and slaughter.
In some parts of the country, especially in Oxfords.h.i.+re, there are fine avenues of trees, which appear to lead to a large house; but when you have walked to the end of the trees there is nothing to be seen. These avenues tell the tale of war, of the destruction of the manor-house of some old Royalist who fought for his king when the ”Roundheads” and Cromwell's ”Ironsides” were more than a match for the gallant Cavaliers.
His house was destroyed, he and his sons killed, unless they were fortunate enough to escape to France and wait the merry time ”when the king should enjoy his own again.” How many of our uplands and gentle vales have been stained with blood, and seen the terrible horrors of war, of which we in these favoured days know nothing from our own experience! We read about the sad battles and sieges which have taken place in other countries, but can hardly imagine the time when hostile soldiers were riding through our village lanes, and the noise of the cannon was booming in the distance, as on that famous Sunday morning in October, 1642, when Richard Baxter was disturbed in his preaching at Alcester by that strange sound, and knew that the terrible conflict had begun between the king and Parliament. Our English villages suffered very much. All farming was stopped, manor-houses destroyed, some of the best blood in England spilt, and many a home made desolate. Indeed, in some parts of the country the people had literally no bread to eat, and no clothing to cover their nakedness; and Cromwell ordered collections to be made in London for the relief of the distressed people in Lancas.h.i.+re. Then the old clergyman was driven from his flock, and some commissioner appointed who wrote in the register-books of the parish the names of the children who were born, but did not record their baptism as the clergyman did. And then some black-gowned Puritan, with his hair cut short, came and took possession of the living, and preached very long sermons about Cromwell ”girding his sword upon his thigh,” and about blinded Papists, and about Mahershalal-hash-baz, who made haste to divide the spoil.
But in the glorious year 1660 everyone began to throw up his cap and welcome right royally the king from over the water; and the long-faced Puritan disappeared, and the writing in the register-books changed into that of a scholarly hand; and many of our churches were enriched by thankofferings of plate and other gifts, because the good people of England rejoiced exceedingly that their loved Church and her services were restored to them; and ”the king at last enjoyed his own again.” The memory of the adventures of King Charles II., when he was endeavouring to escape from England after the last crus.h.i.+ng defeat of the royal troops at Worcester, called by Cromwell ”the crowning mercy,” still lingers in many of the country villages through which the unfortunate monarch pa.s.sed. The king and a few faithful followers avoided the towns, pa.s.sed the ford of the Salwarp at Hemford Mill, and proceeded by Chester Lane to Broadwaters and Kinfare Heath. Presently they reached Brewood Forest, where there stood two old hunting-lodges, built by the Giffards in troublous times as hiding-places for proscribed Papists. They were called White Ladies and Boscobel, and were inhabited by staunch Royalists named Penderel; so the king knew he would be safe there. He was disguised as a forester with leathern jerkin and trunk hose, his long hair cropped, and his hands blackened. All day he lay concealed in a coppice, and in the evening, under the name of Will Jackson, he supped with the Penderels, and then tried to cross the Severn, but all the fords and bridges were guarded. The next day he and Colonel Carlos remained concealed in a large oak near Boscobel, and the memory of Royal Oak day is still preserved. He had other narrow escapes, and was saved by Mistress Jane Lane, the beautiful daughter of Colonel Lane. A pa.s.s had been obtained for her and her groom to go to Abbot's Leigh, near Bristol. The plan was arranged that the king should act as groom; so Charles mounted his horse, and Mistress Lane sat behind him on a pillion, and together they rode through Warwicks.h.i.+re to Bristol. The king was nearly captured at Long Marston, for some troopers of Cromwell suspected the party, and came to examine the house where they rested.
The cook, however, set Charles to wind up the jack, and because he was awkward struck him with the basting-ladle just as the soldiers entered the kitchen. Their suspicions were thus removed; and in this old house the remains of the jack are still preserved. The poor king was disappointed of his s.h.i.+p; the skipper unfortunately told his wife that he was going to take the king to France, and she was angry, and locked him up in his room, so that he could not fulfil his engagement. At last Lord Wilmot procured a s.h.i.+p for the fugitive king, who set sail joyfully from Sh.o.r.eham, near Brighton, and reached Paris in safety. There must have been great excitement in the villages of England when the troopers were scouring the country in all directions, and the unfortunate king was known to be wandering about disguised as a servant.
If there are any hills or high ground in your neighbourhood commanding an extensive view of the country, it is probable that in olden days a beacon was placed there, so that the country might be aroused in case of an invasion, and frequently we find that the tower of a church was used as a beacon, and occasionally the iron brazier remains, as at Little Budworth, Ches.h.i.+re. When the Spaniards determined to invade England in the reign of ”Good Queen Bess,” and sent the Invincible Armada, consisting of an enormous number of s.h.i.+ps and men and guns, bonfires were placed on every hill; and when a gallant merchant vessel brought the news that the Spaniards were coming, the bonfires were lighted, and everyone prepared to resist their attack. Macaulay has told us in very stirring verse of how the news spread, as each fire was lighted,
”From Eddystone to Berwick bounds, from Lynn to Milford Bay”;
how Beachy Head caught the signal from St. Michael's Mount, and sent it swiftly over the country from tower to hill-top,
”Till Skiddaw saw the fire that burned on Gaunt's embattled pile, And the red glare of Skiddaw roused the burghers of Carlisle.”
Again, within the memory of the old inhabitants of your village, the hill beacons were brought into use when Napoleon I. threatened to invade England; and on January 31, 1803, by some mistake, the fire on Hume Castle, in Berwicks.h.i.+re, was lighted; other beacons responded, and ere morning dawned thousands were marching ankle-deep through the dense mud of the winter roads to their appointed stations. The mistake was not without its uses, as Napoleon saw that England was ready, and did not venture to attack our sh.o.r.es. A similar accident took place in the reign of Henry VIII. There was a conspiracy against the king by the Roman Catholics, who did not like their monasteries being destroyed, called ”The Pilgrimage of Grace.” Beacons were erected on the heights of Pendel, in Lancas.h.i.+re, and on the various hills of Yorks.h.i.+re and Derbys.h.i.+re; but the beacon on Pendel was fired before the conspirators were quite ready for action, and their plot came to nothing.
Once again in the history of our country were these beacon fires lighted; but it was not to announce the approach of an enemy, but to reflect the gladness of the nation which for so many years had enjoyed the reign of so good a ruler as Queen Victoria, who has now pa.s.sed away from us, and whom the whole nation mourns. And as we witnessed the sudden blaze of the beacons we thought, perhaps, of other occasions when they were used, and were thankful that rejoicings and thanksgivings were the cause, and not invasions or conspiracies.
[10] This is a corruption of the old Norman-French word _oyez_, ”hear ye.”
CHAPTER XXI
VILLAGE SPORTS AND PASTIMES
Decay of old sports--Twelfth Night--Shrovetide--Mothering Sunday-- Hocktide--May Day--Miracle plays--St. John's Day--Rush-bearing--Beating the bounds--Archery--Quintain--Football--Christmas games--Stocks-- Cucking-stool.
It is the custom of some writers to represent the lot of an English villager in past ages as having been particularly hard and disagreeable; to enlarge upon the scanty wages which he received; and to compare his position unfavourably with that of the agricultural labourer of the present day. I have already pointed out that the small wages which he received are no test of his poverty, because he received so much more in lieu of wages; and certainly he had far more opportunities of enjoyment and recreation than the present generation has. Now we have scarcely any village games or sports, except when some energetic rector or curate starts a cricket club. Old social customs, which added such diversity to the lives of the rustics two centuries ago, have died out. The village green, the source of so much innocent happiness, is no more; and a recent writer has observed that the ordinary existence of agricultural labourers is so dull that in East Anglia they have almost forgotten how to laugh!
We will now try to realise how our village forefathers used to enjoy themselves, how they used to spend their holidays, and to picture to ourselves the scenes of happy social intercourse which once took place in our own hamlet. Every season of the year had its holiday customs and quaint manner of observance, some of them confined to particular counties, but many of them universally observed.
On the eve of Twelfth Night, January 5th, we see the good farmer and his labourers in Devons.h.i.+re joining hands round his apple trees, and singing--
”Here's to thee, old apple tree!
Hence thou mayst bud, and whence thou mayst blow!
And whence thou mayst bear apples enow!
Hats full! caps full!
Bushel, bushel, sacks full, And my pockets full too! Huzza!”
A hearty supper followed, and with laughter, songs, and good wishes to the farmer and his wife, the company pa.s.sed a very joyous evening. In Herefords.h.i.+re, Yorks.h.i.+re, and other parts of England similar customs prevailed.
[Ill.u.s.tration: ANN HATHAWAY'S COTTAGE]
Then followed Twelfth Night, which was celebrated by great rejoicings and merry-makings, a game called the choosing of kings and queens being played, and Twelfth Night cakes consumed in plenty. The next Monday was called Plough Monday, when the labourers used to draw a plough round the parish and receive presents of money, favouring the spectators with sword-dancing and mumming, preparatory to beginning to plough after the Christmas holidays. The men were decked out with gay ribbons, and were accompanied by morris-dancers. The Christmas holidays lasted these twelve days, and during them it was customary for the gentlemen to feast the farmers, and for the farmers to feast their labourers. Then came the Shrovetide festivities, on Shrove Tuesday, when pancakes, football, and c.o.c.k-fighting, and a still more barbarous custom of throwing sticks at hens, were generally in vogue. On Mid-Lent Sunday, commonly called ”Mothering Sunday,” it was the pleasing custom for servants and apprentices to carry cakes or furmity as presents to their mother, and to receive from her a cake with her blessing. This was called ”going a-mothering.” The old poet Herrick alludes to the custom in Gloucesters.h.i.+re in these words:--
”I'll to thee a simnell bring, 'Gainst thou go'st a-mothering; So that when she blesseth thee, Half that blessing thou'lt give me.”
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