Part 21 (1/2)

CHAPTER XVIII

AN OLD CHEs.h.i.+RE CLERK AND SOME OTHER WORTHIES

It is nearly fifty years since I used to attend the quaint old parish church at Lawton, Ches.h.i.+re, situate half-way between Congleton and Crewe. It is a lonely spot, ”miles from anywhere,” having not the vestige of a village, and the congregation was formed of well-to-do farmers, who came from the scattered farmsteads. How well I remember the old parish clerk and the numerous duties which fell to his lot! He united in his person the offices of clerk, s.e.xton, beadle, church-keeper, organist, and ringer. The organ was of the barrel kind, and no one knew how to manipulate the instrument or to change the barrels, except the clerk. He had also to place ten decent loaves in a row on the communion table every Sunday morning, which were provided by a charitable bequest for the benefit of the poor widows of the parish.

If the widows did not attend service to curtsy for them, the loaves were given to any one who liked to take them. Old Clerk Briscall baked them himself. He kept a small village shop about two miles from the church.

He was also the village shoemaker. A curious system prevailed. As you entered the church, near the large stove you would see a long bench, and under this bench a row of boots and shoes. If any one wanted his boots to be mended, he would take them to church with him and put them under the bench. These were collected by the cobbler-clerk, carried home in a sack, and brought back on the following Sunday neatly and carefully soled and heeled. It would seem strange now if on entering a church our eyes should light upon a row of farmers' dirty old boots and the freshly-mended evidences of the clerk's skill. All this took place in the fifties. In the sixties a new vicar came. The old organ wheezed its last phlegmatic tune; it was replaced by a modern instrument with six stops, and a player who did his best, but occasioned not a little laughter on account of his numerous breakdowns. The old high pews have disappeared, nice open benches erected, the floor relaid, a good choir enlisted, and everything changed for the better.

The poor old clerk must have been almost overwhelmed by his numerous duties, and was often much embarra.s.sed and exasperated by the old squire, Mr. C.B. Lawton, who was somewhat whimsical in his ways. This gentleman used to enter the church by his own private door, and go to his large, square, high-panelled family pew, and when the vicar gave out the hymn, he used often to shout out, ”Here, hold on! I don't like that one; let's have hymn Number 25,” or some such effort of psalmody. This request, or command, used to upset the organ arrangement, and the poor old clerk had to rummage among his barrels to get a suitable tune, and the operation, even if successful, took at least ten minutes, during which time a large amount of squeaking and the sounds of the writhing of woodwork and snapping of sundry catches were heard in the church. But the congregation was accustomed to the performance and thought little of it. (John Smallwood, 2 Mount Pleasant, Strangeways, Manchester.)

Caistor Church, Lincolns.h.i.+re, famous for the curious old ceremony of the gad-whip, was also celebrated for its clerk, old Joshua Foster, who was officiating there in 1884 at the time of the advent of a new vicar.

Trinity Sunday was the first Sunday of the new clergyman, who sorely puzzled the clerk by reading the Athanasian Creed. The old man peered down into the vicar's family pew from his desk, casting a despairing glance at the wife of the vicar, who handed him a Prayer Book with the place found, so that he could make the responses. He was very economical in the use of handkerchiefs, and used the small pieces of paper on which the numbers of the metrical psalm were written. In vain did the wife of the vicar present him with red-and-white-spotted handkerchiefs, which were used as comforters. The church was lighted with tallow candles--”dips” they were called--and at intervals during the service Joshua would go round and snuff them. The snuffers soon became full, and it was a matter of deep interest to the congregation to see on whose head the snuff would fall, and to dodge it if it came their way.

The Psalms of Tate and Brady's version were sung and were given out with the usual preface, ”Let us sing to the praise and glory of G.o.d the 1st, 2nd, 5th, 8th, and 20th verses of the ---- Psalm with the Doxology.”

How that Doxology bothered the congregation! The Doxologies were all at the end of the Prayer Book, and it was not always easy to hit the right metre; but that was of little consequence. A word added if the line was too short, or omitted if too long, required skill, and made all feel that they had done their best when it was successfully over. After the old clerk's death, he was succeeded by his son Joshua, or Jos-a-way, as the name was p.r.o.nounced, whose son, also named Joshua the third, became clerk, and still holds the office.

The predecessor of the vicar was a pluralist, who held Caistor with its two chapelries of Holton and Clixby and the living of Rothwell. He was non-resident, and the numerous churches were served by a curate. This man was a great smoker, and used to retire to the vestry to don the black gown and smoke a pipe before the sermon, the congregation singing a Psalm meanwhile. One Sunday he had an extra pipe, and Joshua told him that the people were getting impatient.

”Let them sing another Psalm,” said the curate.

”They have, sir,” replied the clerk.

”Then let them sing the 119th,” replied the curate.

At last he finished his pipe, and began to put on the black gown, but its folds were troublesome, and he could not get it on.

”I think the devil's in the gown,” muttered the curate.

”I think he be,” dryly replied old Joshua.

That the clerk was often a person of dignity and importance is shown by the recollections of an old paris.h.i.+oner of the rector of Fornham All Saints, near Bury St. Edmunds. ”Mr. Baker, the clerk,” of Westley, who flourished seventy years ago, used to hear the children their catechism in church on Sunday afternoons. ”Ah, sir, I often think of what he told us, that the world would not come to an end till people were killed _wholesale_, and now think how often that happens!” She was probably not alluding to the South African or the j.a.panese war, but to railway accidents, as she at once told her favourite story of her solitary journey to Newmarket, when on her return she remarked, ”If I live to set foot on firm ground, never no more for me.”

The old clerk used to escort the boys and girls to their confirmation at Bury, and superintended their meal of bread, beer, and cheese after the rite. There was no music at Westley, except when Mr. Humm, the clerk of Fornham, ”brought up his fiddle and some of the Fornham girls.”

Nowadays, adds the rector, the Rev. C.L. Feltoe, the clerks are much more illiterate than their predecessors, and, unlike them, non-communicants.

Another East Anglian clerk was a quaint character, who had a great respect for all the old familiar residents in his town of S----, and a corresponding contempt for all new-comers. The family of my informant had resided there for nearly a century, and had, therefore, the approval of the clerk. On one occasion some of the family found their seat occupied by some new people who had recently settled in the town. The clerk rushed up, and in a loud voice, audible all over the church, exclaimed:

”Never you mind that air muck in your pew. I'll soon turn 'em out. The imperent muck, takin' your seats!”

The family insisted upon ”the muck” being left in peace, and forbade the eviction.

The old clerk used vigorously a long stick to keep the school children in order. He was much respected, and his death universally regretted.

Fifty years ago there was a dear, good old clerk, named Bamford, at Mangotsfield Church, who used to give out the hymns, verse by verse. The vicar always impressed upon him to read out the words in a loud voice, and at the last word in each verse to pitch his voice. The hymn, ”This world's a dream,” was rendered in this fas.h.i.+on:

”This world's a _drame_, an empty shoe, But this bright world to which I goo Hath jaays substantial an' sincere, When shall I wack and find me THEER?”

William Smart, the parish clerk of Windermere in the sixties, was a rare specimen. By trade an auctioneer and purveyor of Westmorland hams, he was known all round the countryside. He was very patronising to the a.s.sistant curates, and a favourite expression of his was ”me and my curate.” When one of his curates first took a wedding he was commanded by the clerk, ”When you get to 'hold his peace,' do you stop, for I have something to say.” The curate was obedient, and stopped at the end of his prescribed words, when William shouted out, ”G.o.d speed them well!”

This unauthorised but excellent clerkly custom was not confined to Windermere, but was common in several Norfolk churches, and at Hope Church, Derbys.h.i.+re, the clerk used to express the good wish after the publication of the banns.