The flitch of bacon; or, The custom of Dunmow, a tale of English home

Front matter

LIBRARY

RIVERSUDI

SS^W-

Preface

" Among the jocular tenures of England, none have been more talked of than the Bacon of Dunmow." So says Grose, and truly. The Dunmow Flitch has passed into a proverb. It is referred to by Chaucer, in a manner which proves that allusion to it was as intelligible in his day, as it would be in our own.

The origin of the memorable Custom, hitherto enveloped in some obscurity, will be found fully explained in the course of this veracious history. Instituted by a Fitzwalter in the early part of the Thirteenth Century, the Custom continued in force till the middle of the Eighteenth — the date of the following Tale. The last delivery of the Flitch occurred on the 20th June, 1751 ; and I possess a very curious print, quite Hogarthian in its character, froni a drawing taken on the spot by David Ogborne, representing (apparently with great accuracy) the Ceremony and Procession on that occasion. This print has furnished me with a few hints for my Story

A Custom, almost precisely similar to that of Dunmow, existed at Whichenoure, in Staffordshire, but is much less generally known. Pennant, who visited Whichenoure House in 1780, states, that it was " remarkable for the painted wooden Bacon Flitch, still hung up over the hall chimney, in memory of the singular tenure by which Sir Philip de Somervile, in the time of Edward the Third, held the Manor." The Oath ran as follows: — " Hear ye, Sir Philip de Somervile, lord of Wichenoure, maintainer and giver of this Bacon, that I, A., syth I wedded B., my wyfe, and

PltRPAOB V

sy tli I had her in my kepyng and at wylle, by a Yere and a Daye alter our Marryage, I would not have changed for none other, farer ne fowler, richer ne powrer, ne for none other descended of gretter lynage, sleeping ne waking, at noo time; and if the said l>. were sole, and I sole, I would take her to be my wyfe before all the wymen of the worlde, of what condytimis soevere they be, good or evyle, as helpe me Liod, and his Seyntys, and this flesh, and all fleshes." If the claimant were a " villeyn," corn and a cheese were given hint in addition to the Flitch, and a horse was likewise provided to take him out of the limits of the Manor — all the free tenants thereof conducting him on his way with " trompets, tabourets, and other manoir of mynstralcie." In respect to the Whichenoure Flitch Pennant remarks, that it has " remained untouched from the first century of its institution to the present ; " adding, jocosely, " we are credibly informed, that the late and present worthy owners of the Manor were deterred from entering into the holy state, from the dread of not obtaining a single rasher of their own bacon."

Our Dunmow Flitch was in greater request. Despite the difficulties of the conditions annexed to the gift, it was thrice successfully claimed before the Dissolution of the Monasteries ; and thrice subsequently to that period. Of late years the Custom, I regret to say, has been discontinued. " Some persons having demanded the Flitch," observes Grose, " it has, as is said, been refused, probably from conjugal affection not being now so rare as heretofore, or because qualification oaths are now supposed to be held less sacred."

Many years ago I planned this Tale ; but it is only now that my long-meditated design has been accomplished.

The Procession of the Flitch 256

THE FLITCH OF BACON;

«JK, fart % first.

THE OLD INN AT DUNMOW.

I

FROM WHICH IT MAT BE INFERRED THAT PERSEVERANCE IN A GOOD CAUSE WILL MEET ITS REWARD.

A good Old Inn was the Dunniow Flitch. .None better in Essex.

The house had known better days, and wealthier inmates — though not merrier, perhaps — than it did, since it bad come into the occupation of Jonas Nettlebed : " Jovial Jonas," as he called himself, — or " Friar Bacon," as some of his customers styled him : and who, out of his exceeding love and lvspect for the time-honoured custom of tbe Manor of Dunmow, had adopted the Flitch as his sign, and underneath the great gilded daub, supposed to represent a side of fatted bacon, that hung before his door, had caused these lines to be written .

Painted in gold,

The Flitch behold, Of fam'd Dunmow the boast'.

Then here should call

Fond couples all.

And pledge it in a tonst'

This sign caused much laughter, and provoked much rustic wit, chiefly at the landlord's expense ; bu+- as it lured most of the jesters into the house, it perfectly answered its purpose.

Though Jovial Jonas had prospered in his calling, which he richly deserved to do, seeing that he brewed the best ale in Essex ; the one grand wish of his life was still ungratified, — namely, the possession of the Flitch — not metaphorically, but literally. He coveted the prize more than any other worldly honour, and though often disappointed, he had not given up the expectation of gaining it.

Hitherto he had not been able to take the Oath prescribed by the Charter, which was rather strict in its conditions, requiring that any married couple claiming the Flitch, should swear that they had lived together in perfect amity for a Twelvemonth and a Day, and never for a single moment, whether sleeping or waking, in bed or at board, had repented them of their choice, or wished themselves asunder. This was more than Jonas could conscientiously affirm of any of his unions. Any, we say, for he had been thrice married, and in each instance the match was so ill-assorted, that both parties often sighed for freedom from their fetters. Jonas's first wife was a shrew, and never allowed him a moment's peace ; his second was soft-spoken enough, but a sad flirt, who drove him nearly distracted with jealousy ; and his third cared more about the bottle than she did about him. Nothing daunted, and animated by the same ambition as before, Jonas married again, in the full belief that this time his effort would 6e crowned with success. And the odds seemed no\* rather more in his favour, for his fourth wife, Nelly, was not only by far the prettiest of the bunch, but very amiable, and apparently very much attached to him. Moreover, Nelly was as anxious to gain the Flitch as her husband ; and that was something. The

THE CUSTOM OF DUNMOW. J>

worst that could be said of her was, that she was a little disposed to coquetry, and liked flattery ; " but this," Jonas said, " was quite natural in a pretty young woman." As to her personal graces, he had been known to sum them up thus : — " There is not toe much of Nelly — not half so much as there was of my last wife, Chloe — but, what there is, is good, and of the right sort. Her eyes are brighter than my first wife's, Kate — you recollect Kate's black eyes, eh, neighbour ? — and her waist is trimmer, and her ankles neater than Jane's — my second — you remember Jenny, neighbour— a fine woman, but rather too free in her manners — in short, Nelly's worth 'em all three put together. I'm a lucky man, neighbour — by the marry maskins ! I am. I envy no man his wife — not even you — and 1 care not if any man envies me, seeing I'm now as sure of the Flitch as I am that my name's Jonas — Jovial Jonas — ha ! ha ! I mean to claim it when the time of probation is over. So look out for rare doings, neighbour—rare doings — ho! ho!"

Sam Orpint, the village chum to whom these remarks were addressed, though he agreed with the uxorious landlord in his estimate of his wife's beauty, was by no means so sure that Jonas would win the prize. However, he kept his thoughts to himself, and merely nodded his head, as if in assent. He was married himself, and knew the difficulties and dangers of the case.

The claimant of the Flitch in expectation was by no means an ill-looking little fellow — in his own opinion. We are compelled to qualify the description, since most people thought him too short, too stout, too red in the gills, too puffy, too snub-nosed — too anything you please — except too handsome. But Jonas viewed his own figure and face in the glass in a very different light

B

4 THE FLITCH OF BAUOM , OR,

and thought himself an extremely personable man. He was rather a lady-killer too ; persuading himself that the women doted upon him — and he had some shew of reason for the belief, since he had obtained four wives ; but other explanations of his good luck had been given. Rowbeit, he took considerable pains in the adornment of his person ; wore flowered waistcoats, and coats of showy colour ; was particular about the tie of his wig, and the nice sit of his hose. Nor could *ny innkeeper boast a whiter apron than he.

In a conspicuous part of the house, placed there for the edification of his guests — for he knew it by heart himself — and fairly copied out and framed, was the Oath, administered to the claimants of the Flitch, which had always hitherto appeared so formidable to him, but which he now hoped to be able to enunciate without any omission, or the slightest mental reservation. And as this singular formula will be frequently referred to in the course of our story, it may be here recited in full.

You shall sirear by Custom of Confession,

That you ne'er made nuptial transgression ;

Nor since you were married man and wife

By household brawls or contentious strife,

Or otherwise at bed or at board

Offended each other in deed or word :

Or sincj the parish clerk said Amen

Wished yourselves unmarried again :

Or in a Twelvemonth and a Day

Repented not in thought any way ;

But continued true and in desire

As when you join'd hands in holy quire

If to these Conditions, without all fear,

Of your own accord you will freely swear-

A whole Gammon of Bacon you shall receive,

And bear it hence with love and good leave ;

For this is our Custom of Dunmow well known : —

Though the pleasure be ours, the Bacon's your own.

No Brawls. No Regrets. No Transgressions. Con.

stant Love and Devotion. Twelve Honeyed Moons ; and One Day over, to make all sure. The conditions were so hard, and so little applicable to the cases of married folk in general, and those of Dnnmow in particular, that they were never accepted.

An old custom this delivery of the Flitch. Its institution is attributed to Sir Reginald Fitzwalter, who, appearing in a rustic garb before the good Prior of the Convent of Dnnmow, received a side of bacon from him as a reward of his constancy. But this legend will be more fully narrated hereafter. The earliest claim on record was made in the seventh year of the reign of Edward the Fourth, and the guerdon of rare conjugal love and truth was bestowed upon Steven Samuel and his wife. Twice again in monkish times was the prize won : at long intervals indeed, for the second successful application occurred in the reign of Henry the Sixth, and the third at the commencement of the Eighth Harry's rule. But the good old custom was continued long after the dissolution of the monasteries ; in fact, it could not be dispensed with, being part of the manorial tenure. A portion of the venerable fabric, which had once sheltered the old Augustine canons and their superior, was still standing; where those, who had lived and loved as few love and live, had come in days gone by, to make their claim, and hold themselves up as a bright example to their fellows ; the very stones beneath the porch were left — sharp-pointed flints they wei-e, and little worn — on which three proud and happy couples had knelt to verify their faith, and receive the priestly benediction and reward : the ancient and curiouslyformed oak chair was still preserved in which those worthy folk had sat together, and thus placed had been borne upon men's shoulders round the precincts of the sacred edifice, to the sound of rebec, psaltery, and lute, and amidst joyous shouting from admiring crowds ; the Flitch of Bacon being carried before them on a lofty pole. All these forms and ceremonies were yet observed, or ready to be observed, save that Squire Monkbury, the present Lord of the Manor of Little Dunmow, together with his steward, Mr. Abel Roper, and other officers, were substituted for the prior and his whiterobed brethren. But alack ! and well-a-day ! Wedded love and faith would seem a fable. Only two more claims were made with success in two centuries. It was now the middle of the third — that is to say, in 1750 — and though a Flitch of Bacon was regularly salted and dried at Monkbury Place, and proclamation constantly made at the Court Baron of Little Dunmow that it was ready for delivery — secundum formam donationis — to any applicants, on due fulfilment of the conditions annexed to the gift — the prize was never won. The applicants were numerous, but the conditions were too hard.

We have seen who conceived themselves entitled to the prize. Jonas and Nelly fully expected to be Number Six on the list of winners.

Many years ago, the Old Inn had been the most important habitation near Dunmow ; in fact, the Hall. Abandoned by its owner, Sir Walter Fitzwalter, an eccentric personage, about whom strange tales were told, though none to the effect that he had much chance of gaining the Flitch, for indeed he behaved very cruelly to his lady, who destroyed herself, it was said ; and in the end sold, and for an old song, for like most deserted houses, it was supposed to be haunted, and for some time no one would inhabit it ; it was, at last, convei-ted into an inn, and was taken by Jonas Nettlebed immediately after his first marriage.

Of late years, the ghost of the unfortunate Lady

Juga Fitzwalter (for she it was who was said to " walk at midnight ") did not disturb the place so much as heretofore ; but there was one particular room, in a deserted wing of the house, in which whoever slept was sure to be scared by a female figure in white. With this exception, the Old Inn was quiet and comfortable enough, itnd the general accommodation excellent Good ale, clean sheets, civil host and buxom hostess : what moie could any reasonable traveller desire?

Look at the old house. Assuredly, it is picturesque, and rich enough in elaborate architectural detail. What a fine facade it presents ! high roof, quaint gables, twisted chimneys, and bay-windows, still full of stained glass. And what a large and hospitable porch ! Note those noble elm-trees growing near it. To an arm of one of the largest of them is suspended Jonas Nettlebed's gaudy signboard. But for that, and the circular bench embracing the tree, md the watering trough for horses, and some other matters, you would never have taken the house for an inn. The promise without is not belied by what we find within. Here is a spacious and lofty room, capable of accommodating any number of guests ; and here no doubt the old Fitzwalters — a hospitable race, save the last of the line — must often have feasted their friends, and held their Christmas revels. Is it much changed since their time ? We think not. Witness that high carve*/ mantelpiece, amongst the ornaments of which you may discern their many-quartered shield : and you may also find their armorial bearings in the blushing panes of the bay-windows. The wainscots are of oak as in days of yore ; and that ponderous table of the same dark material, and that massive carved sideboard, can never have left their places. They must have belonged to some Fitzwalter in the days of good Queen Bess, whuu tne Hall was built, and that fine oak staircase was reared, which you see leading to the railed gallery above. Many a light foot has tripped down those polished steps : many a heavy boot clanked up them. Kich silks have rustled in the gallery above : fair faces have looked down upon the gallants below, when beards were wagging at the board, and the damsels' names were on their lovers' lips as they raised the cup to them. Many a swift couranto has been danced upon the floor : many a song has echoed from the vaulted roof : many a Yule log has crackled upon the hearth : many a sport and pastime has been held round it. All are gone now. No wonder there is a ghost in the house. It must mourn over past splendours— over the buried joys of other days.

There are four doors opening upon the gallery, easily discernible from below. One of them must belong to the Haunted Chamber. No. They are all too public. A ghost requires seclusion. There is a dark corridor on the left. It must lead to the lonesome room, where the guest's slumbers have been broken at dead of night, and his blood frozen within his veins by a ghastly apparition.