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    An Old English Home And Its Dependencies
    An Old English Home And Its Dependencies
    An Old English Home And Its Dependencies
    Ebook233 pages3 hours

    An Old English Home And Its Dependencies

    By S. Baring-Gould

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    About this ebook

    Many of the earliest books, particularly those dating back to the 1900s and before, are now extremely scarce and increasingly expensive. We are republishing these classic works in affordable, high quality, modern editions, using the original text and artwork.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherRead Books Ltd.
    Release dateFeb 20, 2015
    ISBN9781473371064
    An Old English Home And Its Dependencies

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      Book preview

      An Old English Home And Its Dependencies - S. Baring-Gould

      An Old English Home and its Dependencies

      by

      Sabine Baring-Gould

      Copyright © 2013 Read Books Ltd.

      This book is copyright and may not be

      reproduced or copied in any way without

      the express permission of the publisher in writing

      British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data

      A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

      Contents

      An Old English Home and its Dependencies

      Sabine Baring-Gould

      CHAPTER I.

      CHAPTER II.

      CHAPTER III.

      CHAPTER IV.

      CHAPTER V.

      CHAPTER VI.

      CHAPTER VII.

      CHAPTER VIII.

      CHAPTER IX.

      CHAPTER X.

      CHAPTER XI.

      CHAPTER XII.

      CHAPTER XIII.

      CHAPTER XIV.

      Sabine Baring-Gould

      Reverend Sabine Baring Gould was born on 28th January 1834, in the parish of St. Sidwell, Exeter, England. He is remembered as a priest, hagiographer, antiquarian, novelist and eclectic scholar – and his bibliography consists of more than 1240 publications. Baring-Gould is perhaps most famous for his hymns however, the best-known being ‘Onward, Christian Soldiers’ and ‘Now the Day is Over.’

      The eldest son of Edward Baring-Gould and his first wife, Sophia Charlotte (née Bond), Sabine was named after a great-uncle, the Arctic explorer Sir Edward Sabine. Because the family spent much of his childhood travelling round Europe, most of his education was by private tutors. He only spent about two years in formal schooling, first at King’s College School, London and then, for a few months at Warwick Grammar School. It was during his time at Warwick that Baring-Gould contracted a bronchial disease, of the kind that was to plague him throughout his life.

      In 1852, Baring-Gould was admitted to Cambridge University, earning the degrees of Bachelor of Arts in 1857, them Master of Arts in 1860 from Clare College, Cambridge. Shortly afterwards, he became the curate (assistant to the Parish Priest) at Horbury Bridge, West Riding of Yorkshire, and later relocated to become perpetual curate at Dalton, near Thirsk. Baring-Gould married Grace Taylor, the daughter of a millhand and thus of much lower social status, in 1868. The couple enjoyed a very happy marriage however, and had fifteen children, all but one of whom lived to adulthood. The pairing lasted until Grace’s death forty-eight years later, and when he buried his wife in 1916, Baring-Gould had carved on her tombstone the Latin motto, Dimidium Animae Meae (‘Half my Soul’).

      Baring-Gould became the rector of East Mersea in Essex in 1871, where he spent ten years, thereafter filling his father’s place at the family estates of Lew Trenchard in Devon – as the parson of the parish. Here, Baring-Gould lived at the beautiful family manor, which has been preserved to this day. It was during this time that Baring-Gould was really able to focus his attention on folksongs, that he mostly made and collected with the help of the ordinary people of Devon and Cornwall. His first book of songs; Songs and Ballads of the West (1889–91), was published in four parts between 1889 and 1891. The musical editor for this collection was Henry Fleetwood Sheppard, though some of the songs included were noted by Baring-Gould’s other collaborator Frederick Bussell. Baring-Gould and Sheppard produced a second collection named A Garland of Country Songs during 1895.

      Baring-Gould also collaborated with another folk song collector, Cecil Sharp, with whom he published English Folk Songs for Schools in 1907. This collection of fifty-three songs was widely used in British schools for the next sixty years. Although he had to modify the words of some songs which were too rude for the time, he left his original manuscripts for future students of folk song, thereby preserving many beautiful pieces of music and their lyrics. Baring-Gould was also a prolific writer himself, penning The Broom-Squire set, in the Devil’s Punch Bowl (1896), Mehalah and Guavas; The Tinner (1897), a collection of ghost stories, and a sixteen-volume The Lives of Saints. His folkloric studies resulted in The Book of Were-Wolves (1865), one of the most frequently cited works of lycanthropy (the study of Werewolves).

      Baring-Gould died on 2nd January 1924, at his home in Lew Trenchard, and was buried next to his beloved wife, Grace. He wrote two volumes of reminiscences: Early Reminiscences, 1834-1864 and Further Reminiscences, 1864-1894.

      AN OLD ENGLISH HOME

      AN

      OLD ENGLISH HOME

      AND ITS DEPENDENCIES

      BY

      S. BARING-GOULD

      ILLUSTRATED BY F. BLIGH BOND

      CHAPTER I.

      There lives in my neighbourhood a venerable dame, in an old bacon box in a fallen cottage, whose condition will be best understood by the annexed illustration.

      Fifteen years ago the house was in habitable condition, that is to say to such as are not particular. It was true that the thatched roof had given way in places; but the proprietress obtained shelter for her head by stuffing up the chimney of the bedroom fireplace with a sack filled with chaff, and pushing her bed to the hearth and sleeping with her head under the sack.

      But access to this bedroom became difficult, as the stairs, exposed to rain, rotted, and she was compelled to ascend and descend by an improvised ladder.

      After a while the ladder collapsed.

      Then the old lady descended for good and all, and took up her abode on the ground floor—kitchen, and parlour, and dining-room, and bedroom all in one.

      And terr’ble warm and comfortable it be, said she, when the roof fell in bodily, and covered the floor overhead.

      But when the walls were exposed, rain and frost told on them, and also on the beam ends sustaining the floor, and the next stage was that one side of the floor gave way wholly.

      Tes best as it be, said the old woman; now the rain runs off more suant.

      But in falling the floor blocked the fireplace and the doorway. The consequences are—now we come to the present condition of affairs—that the old lady has had to do without a fire for certainly three winters, amongst others that bitter one of 1893-4, and her only means of egress and ingress is through the window. Of that not one half of the panes are whole; the gaps are stopped with rags.

      MARIANNE’S COTTAGE

      And now the floor is rotted through overhead by the mouldering thatch that covers it in part, and the rain drips through.[1]

      Accordingly my lady has taken refuge in an old chest, and keeps the lid up with a brick.

      Tes terr’ble cosy, says she.

      Last year, having a Scottish gentleman staying with me, I took him over to call on Marianne. We had a long interview. As we left, he turned to me with a look of dismay and said, Good heavens! in the wildest parts of the Highlands such a thing would be impossible—and in England!—he did not finish the sentence.

      I went back to Marianne and said, Now, tell me why you will go on living in this ruin?

      My dear, said she, us landed proprietors must hold on to our houses and acres. Tes a thing o’ principle.

      There is perhaps a margin of exaggeration in this—in speaking of acres, as I believe the said estate spreads over hardly a quarter of an acre.

      How was it, and how were similar little properties acquired?

      By squatting.

      Formerly there was a considerable amount of common land, on which the peasants turned out their asses and geese. Then some adventuresome man, who took a wife and had no house into which to put her, annexed a piece of the common, just enough for a cottage and a garden, and none said him Nay. There was still plenty for all, and so, in time, it became his own, and was lost to the rest of the parishioners. Little by little the commons were thus encroached upon. Then, again, formerly there was much open ground by the sides of the roads. Cattle were driven along the highways often for great distances, and the turf and open spaces by the sides of the roads were provision made for their needs.

      But squatters took portions of this open ground, enclosed, and built on it. There was no one to object. The lord of the manor might have done so, but he was a little doubtful as to his right to forbid this annexation of ground on the side of the highway, and he and the parishioners generally agreed to let be. It might save the man coming on the rates if he had a garden and house—no harm was done. There was still plenty of food for the flocks and herds driven along. So we find thousands and tens of thousands of these cottages thus planted by the roadsides, with their gardens—all appropriations by squatters.

      A curious thing happened to me when I was Rector of East Mersey in Essex. At the edge of the Marshes were a couple of cottages near a copious spring of limpid water. They had been built, and a tract of garden enclosed, some two hundred years ago, and occupied, rent free, by the descendants of the original appropriator. During my tenure of the rectory, the last representatives left, in fact abandoned the tenements. The Rector was lord of the manor. Accordingly these cottages, in very bad repair, fell to me, and I suddenly found myself responsible for them. Should I leave I could be come upon for dilapidations, and it would have cost me something like three hundred pounds to put these houses to right, from which I had not received a penny. Moreover, when rebuilt, no one would have rented them, so aguish and unhealthy was the spot. Accordingly I had to obtain, at some cost, a faculty to enable me to pull them down.

      Some years ago Mr. Greenwood drew attention to the North Devon Savages. These were squatters, or rather descendants of squatters, who held a piece of land and occupied a ruinous habitation, and lived in a primitive condition as to clothing and matrimonial arrangements.

      A lady, who was very kind to the family, wrote to me relative to them, in 1889: "Some fifteen or sixteen years ago there was a good deal of talk about the Cheritons, or Savages as they were called. The family had been long known as worthy of this latter name, by the manner in which they lived, and their violence and depredations, real and supposed, which caused them to be regarded with a great deal of dread and almost superstitious awe. The article in the newspaper, written by a correspondent, had called attention to them, and roused their bitter resentment, and some of my menservants said that on one occasion, when they tarried from curiosity on the confines of their little property, they were almost surrounded by the family, young and old, and some almost naked, with pitchforks and sticks, and that they had to continue on their way with haste. I do not know from what cause, but I think on account of some leniency he had showed them as a magistrate on one occasion, they had not as inimical a feeling towards my husband as towards the other landowners. One evening, on his return home from hunting, he told me he had heard a sad story of the head of the family, I suppose a man of thirty-eight or forty, having wounded himself badly in the foot, when shooting or poaching, and that he stoutly refused to see or have any help from clergyman or any other person; that the doctor declared it was necessary the foot should be amputated, but that the man had protested that he would sooner die as he was, and had bid him depart; that he was lying in a most miserable state. I then settled I would go to him, and if necessary stay the night there, and supposing I could persuade him to permit the operation, that I would nurse him through it, and then obtain further help. As Lord—— knew that this might be permitted by the savages, possibly, to one of his family, and as I was determined in the matter, I took a carriage and one of my little children, who could look after the horse (as it was deemed most inexpedient to have any servant with us); also all that we could think of for the comfort of an invalid; and I knew I could arrange to send back the child and trap with an escort, if I had to stay.

      THE COTTAGE OF THE SAVAGES

      "When we reached that part of the road to Nymet Rowland where their field touched, we stopped, and in a moment some very angry, excited women and children rushed out. I bade them be quiet and hear what I had to say, and then told them that Lord ---- had asked me to bring these comforts to the sick man, and that I was come to offer him my services in his illness. They were instantly pacified and pleased, and begged me to come to what they called the farm—a place with half a roof and three walls. There were, I should think, three generations who lived in this place. An old woman, not altogether illiterate, the wounded man, his son, and his wife, and three or four children, and one or two sisters of his, children of the old woman.

      "I did not see anything that answered to a bed there; the man was lying on two settles or sets of stools, with, I think, a blanket and something which might, or might not, have been a mattress under him.

      "In order to get his head under some certain shelter, it was resting on a settle in the chimney, side by side with a fire; his body and legs were on a settle in the room, if you could call a place with only three walls and half a roof by that name, and I think that the floor was in many places bare earth, and that the grass grew on it. The family were all pleasant enough—rough but grateful—and I found that though the doctor had thought amputation necessary, he now believed it might be avoided—that the man had decided against it, but allowed the doctor to continue to visit him. They were delighted with all I brought, and begged me to return soon to them, which I promised to do, and to send my children when I could not come. The old woman was a character, and quoted Scripture—certainly at random—but with some shrewdness.

      "After that time I and mine were always welcome. One of the married sisters of the wounded Cheriton, who quite recovered, had bad bronchitis, and some of my family visited her continually, and on one occasion found her sitting on the thatched bit of roof, against the chimney, for ‘change of air’ in her convalescence. She was a big powerful woman, who had on one occasion knocked down a policeman who was taking her brother to Exeter gaol, and her mother, the old woman, told me with pride that they had had to send a cart and three men to take her away. She afterwards married a labourer. The rest of the family sold their property, and only the other day when I revisited the place for the first time after many years, I found a smart house erected in the place of the old ‘Cheritons.’ The women became great beggars till the death of the old mother, and the dispersion on the sale of the property.

      "I remember once meeting the man Cheriton in the lane. He had decorated the collar of his horse that he was driving with horrible entrails of a sheep or pig. This was just the kind of savage ornament that would suit them.

      "In the case of the woman who married the labourer, this was brought about by the Rector of Nymet, but I fancy, according to any usually received ideas, that was the one marriage; and that my use of the words wife, etc., would not stand legal interpretation."

      I remember these savages between forty and fifty years ago, and then their manner of life was the same; the only clothes they wore were what they could pick from hedges where they had been put out after a wash to dry. A policeman

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