Through Ten English Counties ... with ... illustrations, etc

Front matter

THE CHRONICLE OF A DRIVING TOUR PRIEST'S TOWER, STOKESAY CASTLI ŒJjrougl) %en Cnglt0^ Counties BY JAMES JOHN HISSEY AUTHOR OF 'ON THE BOX SEAT,' *A HOLIDAY ON THE ROAD,' 'ACROSS ENGLAND IN A DOG-CART,' ETC. The lost art of travelling in one's own country. Linnæus WITH SIXTEEN FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS BY THE AUTHOR AND A MAP OF THE ROUTE LONDON RICHARD BENTLEY & SON, NEW BURLINGTON STREE JPubli0|)et0 in ©rBinarp to ftcr iKajcatg tt>t ©ucen 1894 All rights reserved TO MY MANY UNKNOWN FRIENDS I DEDICATE THIS BOOK THE LIES COMING OUT OF JUDGE JEFFREYS' MOUTH. Sec sage 313.

Preface

The following pages contain the chronicle of a journey by road taken through ten English counties. To the writer it seems that there can hardly be a pleasanter mode of spending a summer holiday than by driving about our own beautiful country, beyond the customary tourist's haunts, and out of the beaten track of travel, resting at the homely and homelike old-fashioned inns on the way, that still, the fates be praised, may be found scattered over the land, and what is more to the point, make the wayfarer exceedingly comfortable. To those in search of a quiet holiday without dulness, and who object to crowded watering-places and the bustle of ordinary travel, a driving tour offers manifold advantages ; the constant change of scene it provides keeps the attention always pleasantly occupied, whilst there is ever a feeling of delightful expectancy as to what each fresh bend of the road may reveal, so that anything approaching to ennui is impossible.

And the rural folk one meets with from time to time are an interesting study in themselves. In the pre-railway age the Briton who travelled by post-chaise or by coach, of necessity saw, what his descendants seldom do, the rural beauties of his native land. The peaceful progress of a driving tour is the very antithesis of the haste, bustle, and clamour of the railway, and combines change of air and scene with the least possible amount of annoy ance or fatigue. In such a storied land as Britain, so abounding in past memories, one can hardly drive anywhere without coming upon some interesting relic of departed days. It may be an old abbey, a ruined castle, a moated manor-house, a historic home, an ancient church, a sleepy medieval market town, or even a picturesque roadside hostelry with its weather-toned front and traditions of the coaching times.

And as for the country, away from large towns, the beauty of England is a dream of loveliness, gentle, mellow, and peace-bestowing ; there is no scenery like it in the world. It is something to leave one's commonplace everyday surroundings behind, to blot them out from memory, and to travel for a time in this true Arcadia. The illustrations, engraved by Mr. Pearson from a selection of my sketches made during the journey, may, I trust, add to the interest of the text. In an age of cheap and hasty process work, I further trust that the employment of good old-fashioned wood cuts may prove not unacceptable. J. J. HISSEY. 1894. CONTENTS

Chapter I Page

The pleasures of travelling by road — Various ways of spending a holiday — Planning our tour — The start — Richmond Park — Kingston — "An old-fashioned inn with oldfashioned ways " — The Coronation Stone of the Saxon kings — Facts versus traditions — A fine prospect — A new pleasure — Bolder Mere — Pine woods — English scenery . i

Chapter II

Ripley — The tyrants of the road — An old coaching inn — Old folk-lore — Guildford — Ancient buildings — A picturesque street — Past and present — A ruined fane — Godalming — A " thoroughfare " town — Gorse and heather — A lonely hostel — A gipsy encampment — At the sign of the Red Lion — Hindhead Hill — The highlands of Surrey . . 16

Chapter III

A wayside monument — The Devil's Punch Bowl — A bit of primeval England — A legendary inn — A story of the road — The " Anchor " at Liphook — A misty day — Inn signs — Petersfield — Chats with country folk — A Hampshire " Hanger" — A railless land — Homes of the people — A pseudo Druids' Circle — A joke by the way . . X

Chapter IV Page

A country inn — An ancient poster — Changed times — A new mode of spending a holiday — A barren upland — Winchester — A hostelry with a history — A fifteenth-century half-timbered house — Winchester cathedral — Izaak Walton's tomb — A bit of eleventh-century ironwork — Ancient builders and modern restorers — A quaint conceit in words — Where Jane Austen lived and died . . 54

Chapter V

An ancient dole — A wonderful jump of a horse — Hursley — The grave of John Keble — Romsey and its Norman abbey — A beautiful monument — A ghastly relic — An evening walk — A curious mistake — The wrong use of words — An amateur angler — " Merrie England" — A lighthouse for land travellers — The finest view in England — Salisbury . 75

Chapter VI

Old Sarum — A windy spot — Gigantic earthworks — Salisbury Plain — Amesbury — Vespasian's Camp — Stonehenge — A chat with a caravanist — Over the downs — An ancient home — Old houses and new ones — Where Charles II. secreted himself for five days — " Hiding holes" — Woodford — A second Stratford-on-Avon — Old inscriptions . 94

Chapter VII

Salisbury Cathedral — Wilton — Good roads — A church and a museum — The flag of the ill-fated Captain — The valley of the Wylye — Wishford — A curious incised slab — Codford — A chat with an old villager- — How the poor live — Legendary inns — Warminster, past and present . . CONTENTS XI

Chapter VIII Page

A breezy day — A chartless cruise — Westbury White Horse — Turner's Tower — Beckington — Old English gardens — A quaint village — A fifteenth-century inn with a history — A great "hiding-hole" — Ancient chambers — Vanished curiosities — " The twin maidens of Foscote " — A horrible tradition — A haunted room — Cider-making — Farleigh Castle — A picturesque spot — Storm-overtaken . . 133

Chapter IX

Two old manor-houses — An ancient Saxon church — Unexplored England ! — An old monastic tithe barn — A stately Jacobean home — A mass chapel on a bridge — Great Chaldfield manor — A curious inscription on a window pane — A quaint church tower — A fifteenth-century mansion — Sir Walter Raleigh's smoke room — An interesting interior — Places and pictures — The legend of the lady with the white hand — A well in a living room . . . . . . . . .151

Chapter X

A land of stone — Corsham — Chippenham — A story of the road — Chance company at one's inn — Corston — Malmesbury — An ancient market cross — An ideal landlord — Trespassing — A "watching chamber" — Stories in stone — The Thames head — Cirencester — A misadventure . . 173

Chapter XI

The Cotswold Hills — " Posting " miles — A chat with a farmer — A twelfth-century churchyard cross — Old windows — A wooded valley — A picnic by the way — Cheltenham — Carriers' carts — Tewkesbury — Half-timbered inns — The Ideal versus the Real — Upton -on -Severn — A quaint church tower . . . . ■ • • •

Chapter XII Page

An ancient home — Old customs — A haunted room — A "Powder Chamber" — An old coach bill — The Malvern Hills — A country of orchards — Worcester — Old sayings — Knightsford — A picturesque spot — Inn yards — A quaintly -clipped yew tree — " Far from the madding crowd" 220

Chapter XIII

An old-fashioned garden — Amongst the hills — A steep bit of road — Storm and sunshine — Bromyard — Prosperous farmers — Twelve miles from Anywhere — Epitaph-hunting — Country life — Leominster — A quaint old home — A curious inscription — Nature's many moods . . . 242

Chapter XIV

The Teme valley — A romantic town — A quaint old hostelry — Round about Ludlow — The Whitcliff — Ludlow Castle — We come upon a character — A round chapel — " Buried history" — Old proverbs — A huge fireplace — Ludlow church — An ancient dole— Tales in carving — A pleasant land .......... 260

Chapter XV

Bromfield Priory Gateway — Craven Arms — A flourishing village — Stokesay Castle — Relics of a forgotten fight — A medieval hall — A fortified manor-house — Corve Dale — A quiet corner of England — A curious church tower — Munslow — A picturesque church — A ghastly tomb — A seller of tracts 279

Chapter XVI

The Wrekin — A Shropshire toast — Bridgenorth — A leaning tower — Thirsty souls — Abbreviation of names — Romantic CONTENTS XIII PAGE and picturesque towns. — Quatford — A curious effect — Kidderminster — Round about an old coaching inn — Hills and clouds — Droitwich — Satire in stone — Buildings with characters — Pleasant company — On the road . . 298

Chapter XVII

Salwarp House — A paragon of perfection — Droitwich brine baths — Up and down hill — Alcester — Changeful weather — Histories in monuments — A veritable Arcadia — " Shakespeare's Town " — Beneath the sign of the Red Horse — Washington Irving's Parlour — Geoffrey Crayon's Sceptre — A storied chamber . . . . . 317

Chapter XVIII

Stratford-on-Avon from the old coach road — Charlecote Park — On the wrong track — Nature's music — Driving for health — An old Roman fossway — The unexpected in scenery — Kineton — Architectural details — A puzzling date — Edgehill and battle-ground — A stiff ascent — An evening drive — Banbury cross — Horses on the road . . 335

Chapter XIX

A pleasant road — A morning drive — Railways and roads — Aynho — Village stocks — A sketch — Old associations in buildings — A trysting-place — A curious dispute — A crop of Indian corn — Buckingham — The finest tonic in the world — Bell-ringing — A tramp at prayer — Sunsets — Winslow — A curious window — An amusing conversation . 354

Chapter XX

Mist and rain — An evening effect — Aylesbury— Notice to trespassers — Exploring — Old-fashioned hospitality — The building material of the country — Wayside inns — A PAGE peaceful progress — The Chiltern Hills— Tring — Life at a country hostelry — Commercial travellers — " Nothing new under the sun " — Quaint gargoyles . . . -373

Chapter XXI

A late drive — The hour of romance — The peace of evening — Berkhampstead — The last day of a holiday — Chance acquaintances on the road — A puzzling problem and a possible explanation — An ancient gabled house — The contrast of the old and new — A picturesque waterway — Watford — Bushey — A retrospect — Back again in London 387

Chapter XXII

Concerning driving tours ....... 397 Appendix 403 Index ILLUSTRATIONS Priest's Tower, Stokesay Castle . . . Frontispiece Hindhead Hill To face page 32 In the Heart of Hampshire . . . „ ,,58 An English Common „ ,, 88 Stonehenge . . . . . . . ,, ,, no George Inn, Norton St. Philips . . ,, ,,138 Mass House on Bridge, Bradford-on-Avon ,, ,, 156 Malmesbury Abbey . . . . . ,, ,,184 Old Bell Inn, Tewkesbury . . . „ ,,213 Talbot Inn, Knightsford ....„„ 236 Ludlow Castle ......,,„ 265 Stokesay Castle ......„„ 2S2 Roadside England ,, „ 306 Salwarp House near Droitwich . . „ ,,318 The View from Edgehill . . . „ „ 348 An old English Farmstead ...„,, 376 Map of Route ...... End of Book

Chapter I

The pleasures of travelling by road — Various ways of spending a holiday — Planning our tour — The start — Richmond Park — Kingston — " An old-fashioned inn with old-fashioned ways " — The Coronation Stone of the Saxon kings — Facts versus traditions — A fine prospect — A new pleasure — Bolder Mere — Pine woods — English scenery. What a pleasant thing it is to drive through a pretty country in the summer time ; and granted this, how much more enjoyable must it be when — as in the case of an old-fashioned journey by road — a drive is extended to weeks through some portion of rural England, than which if there exists a more beautiful country it has yet to be discovered ! Given a horse and carriage (owned or hired), a suitable companion, and a sufficiency of time, what can be more delightful than to start upon a lengthened driving tour with the whole of fair England before one and all sorts of pleasant possibilities in prospect ?

It is of itself a novel and agreeable sensa tion to be able to leave home without even havingto consult a time-table or to call a cab ! It is a relief also to avoid the rush and crush of crowds, to know that your belongings cannot go astray (as these are always with you), and to escape wholly from the many petty and frequent annoyances that beset the ordinary tourist. There is, too, a charming feeling of independence about this wandering mode of life. Travelling thus, you can rise early or late as the mood inclines ; having no train to catch, you can breakfast at your leisure, and can start on the day's journey without consulting any one's convenience but your own : you can stop on the way, when and where you please, diverge therefrom, or even change your route altogether at any point should you be so minded.

Such freedom is altogether delightful ; and a holiday so spent in the midst of beautiful and changeful scenery is certainly not more expensive, and — to me at any rate — is infinitely more interesting and enjoyable than the ordinary sojourn at a crowded hotel, or at the dear and dull lodgings of a fashionable sea-side resort, with the usual accomrjaniments of shadeless sands or shingle, gritty and glaring promenades, the everlasting iron pier, and inevitable German band ; all most inspiriting — especially the German band ! Having elected to take our holiday thus, as had been our wont for years now past, and the time for our annual outing having once more arrived, the only matter to be arranged was, what portion of England we would select to explore. Sundry county maps, and our treasured copy of Patersoris OUR PLANS 3 Roads, last edition of 1829 (the Bradshaw of the pre-railway days), were consulted, and a long evening was spent in discussing the programme of our pro posed tour.

In former expeditions of a like nature we had fixed upon some distant point to drive to, such as the Land's End, or some spot in Scotland or Wales, and had set off thither by one line of country, returning by another.- This time, however, we con cluded that we would not aim for any special point or place, only roughly determining that we would first steer a southerly course for Romsey Abbey, and so by Salisbury and Stonehenge find our way to the west of England, striking from thence northward up to Ludlow and the Welsh border, and so see something of a part of England that we had not hitherto visited, returning home by another route to be arranged in due course. But we did not bind ourselves in any way to even this somewhat broad programme. Our tour was solely one of pleasure, and open to change in accordance with our latest fancy ; all that we really agreed upon was to spend a month or so driving about England — as far from railways as might be, in an age when the land is gridironed all over with them — simply in the search of healthful relaxation, such being the very essence of a real holiday.

For the nonce we made pleasure-seeking our sole business, we would take our ease on the road, at our inn, and suffer no guide-book dictation as to what we should or should not see. Guide-books are, to a certain extent, tyrants, and on such an expedition best left at home, then you do not feel any compulsion to visit this or that spot because they make special mention of it, — we preferred to make our own discoveries. We had no intention of completing any definite itinerary ; a restless desire to see everything turns holiday-making into genuine hard work. We set forth upon our wanderings one fine autumn afternoon, having during the morning carefully packed our roomy dog-cart with all necessary belongings for the journey, including some warm wraps in case of need, waterproofs, maps, sketch books, and photographic paraphernalia.

It is a wise precaution, and one that we always take upon the eve of such an expedition, to make out a list of everything down even to the smallest trifle that is likely to be required ; such articles as matches, a spare pair of brake blocks, also driving gloves, candles for carriage-lamps should one by chance be benighted, writing materials, a small flask of brandy (which we always take but luckily have never needed), a plentiful supply of tobacco, and sundry minor trifles likely to be forgotten at the last moment without such a list. It is a pleasant satis faction on starting to feel certain that you have got everything with you that can possibly be required, from the absolutely needful down to little luxuries. Having said our farewells and mounted our dog cart we set off from Kensington at a brisk trot and soon reached Hammersmith, where we crossed the Thames, and presently found ourselves on Barnes NATURE NEAR LONDON 5 Common, which bit of open gorse-dotted space gave us our first savour of the country.

Thence we proceeded by Sheen into Richmond Park, where the grand sweeps of green sward stretching down to dark woods, the tall waving bracken all around, and the great gnarled oaks beneath whose spreading branches the deer were resting, imbued us at the very outset of our journey with a feeling of the real country. Richmond Park has in parts a genuine look of wild nature about it, in such pleasing contrast with the nature trimmed and tamed of town parks. So much indeed did its wildness impress us, that as we drove along a curious seeling of being far away from everywhere came over us, a very real seeling, yet one wholly beyond analysis. It seemed almost as thouo-h it must have been an illusion of our senses that so short a time ago we had been threading our way through the thronged and noisy streets of the greatest city in the world.

Richmond Park was strangely deserted that gloriously sunny afternoon, not a living thing was to be seen, excepting the quiet deer under the trees and the restless birds above. It is surprising how comparatively few Londoners find their way to the more secluded portions of this fine demesne ; for there is nothing-, as far as I am aware, within anything like the same distance of town, to at all approach it for wild beauty and for the restful impression it affords of remoteness from " the busy haunts of men." For ourselves, until we neared Kingston Gate, we did not see a single human creature ; we might indeed have been in some distant Midland or Western shire, for all that our eyes could tell. So we drove on through this woodland solitude towards the golden sunset and the ancient market town of Kingston, where we sought accommodation for the night beneath the sign of the Griffin, an old-time coaching house, duly mentioned in our Paterson's Roads.

Driving under the low arch way, that gives entrance to the inn, we discovered the waiter at the side door very successfully occupied in doing nothing. In answer to our inquiry he replied, "Certainly we can put you up, if you don't mind an old-fashioned inn with old-fashioned ways." Why he made such a reservation we could not exactly comprehend, but we hastened to assure him that such an inn and such ways was just what we especially liked; and certainly the old-fashioned mellow light of candles on our table, and the chops, cooked to perfection, which we had with our evening meal, made us gladly pardon the absence of the flare of gas, or the glare of electricity, and the long drawn-out table d'hote of the grander modern hotel. Old stagers by road as we are, we have learnt infinitely to prefer the comfortable homely inn, whereat our port-wine-loving, hail-fellow-well-met forefathers made merry, to the dearer showiness of the more pretentious nineteenth-century hotel, — the product of the railway age.

Next morning, following the example of the famous and entertaining Samuel Pepys of Diary renown, we " awoke betimes " to a beautifully OLD TRADITIONS 7 fine day which made us all the more eager to commence our journey in earnest ; for we only looked upon our short drive of the previous after noon as a sort of preliminary affair, like as one regards the preface to a book, — an introduction rather than an integral part of it. As we drove out of Kingston we passed by the famous Coronation Stone of the early Saxon kings that gives to the town its name (i.e. King's stone abbreviated to Kingston). This stone is carefully enclosed by railings, and to prove its genuineness has it not the names of several Saxon kings en graved thereon in quaint antique lettering, and after that who would dispute its authenticity?

Not we, at any rate ! Moreover, in spite of certain learned and hard-headed antiquaries the stone may really have served the purpose which tradition credits it with having done : there is no special reason why it should not, — and after all tradition is sometimes right ! A too matter-of-fact spirit ruins a good deal of pleasant old-world romance, and spoils many an ancient legend that does no one any harm to believe, and that has been accepted by our un critical ancestors for generations past as Gospel true. Modern historians, with no sense of poetry in their compositions, have even dared to call in question the truth of the story of Lady Godiva and her famous ride through the streets of Coventry, " for the all-sufficient reason that at the date of her celebrated escapade there was no town of Coventry in existence through which to ride."

In like manner amongst a number of other pretty traditions the one of King Canute struggling with the tide, and that of King Alfred letting the cakes burn in the neatherd's cottage, have also been declared on the same hard hearted, but, I fear, unimpeachable authority to be apocryphal, and oh the pity of it ! What -a lot of romance is lost to one by living in an over-critical age ! It was, doubtless, this feeling of loss that caused a modern American poet (Russell Lowell) to sing thus regretfully of the unsophisticated past — O days endeared to every muse, When nobody had any views. . . . O happy days, when men received From sire to son what all believed, And left the other world in bliss, Too busy with bedevilling this ! Leaving the Coronation Stone, that has caused this over-long digression, we skirted the side of the Thames for a while.

The river, as we drove by, was gay with sailing boats ; amongst the number a small yacht with a huge red sail looked exceedingly and pronouncedly eccentric, — attractive I cannot add, one wants to get used to such novelties to admire them ! Sails of red and blue and yellow, if such should ever be fashion's decree, would certainly enliven the river with a pageant of moving colour — crossing, passing, and intermingling — that might cause frequented stretches of the Thames to out colour-rival even Turner's dream of Venice. Across the water we caught a glimpse of Hampton Court Palace and park, erst the stately abode of Cardinal and King, now a favourite rendezvous of the Cockney cheap-day-excursionist — from Harry the THE PORTSMOUTH ROAD 9 Eighth to 'Any the Tripper, so work Time's changes ! Then passing by some essentially utilitarian waterworks with a tall chimney belching forth black smoke in the most approved factory fashion that would not have disgraced Manchester itself, we parted company with the river, and, striking a southerly course along the old Portsmouth road, we soon came to Sandown Park with its pretty race course, and another half mile brought us to the little village of Esher, where the quaint and weather stained bell-turret of its ancient church peeping above the lowly buildings around gave a certain feeling of picturesqueness to the otherwise feature less collection of houses that lined the roadway.

At Esher the comfortable-looking old Bear Inn, standing well back from the village street, tempted us to call a halt, for the day was hot and mortals are sometimes thirsty, but we resisted its allurements in consideration of the short distance we had travelled, and mindful of the fact that did we linger at every attractive wayside hostelry we came to, our journey might be indefinitely prolonged — so we hardened our hearts and proceeded on our way. Then began a gentle rise, and at the top of this, from a clump of Scotch firs that crowned a rugged knoll, we had a fine prospect reaching far away over a wild heathery common to a distance of dark woods, bounded on the horizon by low-lying faint blue hills. Our eyes, so long accustomed to the confined prospects of town streets and squares, delighted to range unrestrained over this goodly expanse of spreading heath and shadowy wood away to the dim misty hills where the sky seemed to drop to meet the earth.

It is well, as it is pleasant, to exercise the vision thus at times, for the eye wants training to understand the meaning that lies in the far-away, and to grasp the poetry of its mystery. The vision is apt to get cramped as well as the mind,— we should be able to see broadly as well as think broadly. Our road now commenced to give us a taste of its scenic capabilities, and a finer or more varied drive of seventy odd miles than the old road from London to Portsmouth affords it would be difficult to discover in all fair England. From the time Kingston, and with it the last suggestion of out lying Cockneydom, is left behind till Portsmouth comes into sight the traveller on that once busy and famous naval highway has an endless succession of rural pictures and landscape panoramas presented to him, ranging from the quiet pastoral, to what may be honestly termed the grand, where the wild Hind head Hill is crossed, with a long stiff pull of four miles or more.

But as we shall drive along this old Portsmouth road as far as Petersfield (fifty-two miles and a quarter from London to be precise), we shall have a fair opportunity, as we proceed, of observing and enjoying a goodly portion of its changeful scenery and characteristic features at our leisure. Continuing on our way, we passed Claremont Park to our left, shortly after which we crossed Fairmile Common with its excellent stretch of smooth straight road : surely it must be that this COUNTRY SOLITUDE 11 mile of good level highway has given its name to the common? Here, doubtless, of old the fast coaches made the most of the opportunity, and did the mile at their best speed : we also, for the mere delight of swift progress and the inspiriting seeling of the thing, indulged in a swinging trot that quickly brought us to the end of the common and to a sharp but short descent that took us to the very uninteresting, not to say downright ugly, hamlet of Cobham Street, which was primitive without, alas ! being picturesque.

Just beyond Cobham Street we crossed the little river Mole, a river that earns its name by burrowing underground here and there ; then followed a pretty stretch of road with grassy sides (an ideal spot for a quiet canter) ; after this we came upon another wide expanse of uncultivated ground, covered with gorse and heather, and encircled by dark gloomy pine woods. Wisley Common we made this out to be from our map. As we entered upon it no habitations were visible, nothing but the capital highroad we were on told of man. Here were we, within twenty - four miles of the mighty metropolis with its teeming millions, yet for all that a greater solitude you could hardly find anywhere, though different in kind. The pine woods now grew close to the roadside, and the air became laden with the resinous odours of the trees, mingled with the peculiar perfume of the gorse.

To simply inhale the sweet-scented air that was wafted to us on the warm summer breeze which, as it passed over them, gathered fragrance from tree and shrub and herb, made breathing for itself a delight,— we had discovered a new pleasure of life. Suddenly, as we proceeded onward, we espied the shimmering silver of a sheet of still water surrounded by a forest of red-stemmed, pointed pines which were doubled in reverse on its glassy surface. This tranquil lakelet — it looked too large and, above all, too dignified to be called a pond — is marked as Bolder Mere on the Ordnance map ; it certainly gave a sort of piquant picturesqueness to the landscape as well as an element of brightness, bringing down, as it did, into the heart of the sombre woods around a portion of the bright blue sky and glowing sunshine from above.