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AN ANCIENT VILLAGE
There was a large amount of gaiety in the old villages in those days. Men were not in so great a hurry to grow rich as they are now. The Church authorised many holidays in the course of the year; and what with May Day festivities, Plough Mondays, Hocktide and Shrovetide sports, harvest suppers, fairs, and “ales,” the villagers had plenty of amusement, and their lives certainly could not be described as dull. Sometimes the village would be enlivened by the presence of a company of pilgrims on their way to the shrine of St. Thomas at Canterbury, or to Holywell, blessed by St. Winifred, in order to be cured of some disease. Although these pilgrims were deemed to be engaged on a religious duty, they certainly were not generally very serious or sad. Chaucer describes a very joyous pilgrimage in hisCanterbury Tales, how the company met at the Tabard Inn, in Southwark, including the knight and the abbot, the prioress and the shipman, the squire and the merchant, the ploughman and sompnour (or summoner, “of whose visage children were sore afeard”), and rode forth gaily in the spring sunshine—
“The holy blissful martyr for to seek,That them hath holpen when that they were sick.”
Pilgrim crosses are numerous all over England, where the pilgrims halted for their devotions by the way, and sometimes we find churches planted on the roadside far from human habitations, with no parishioners near them; and some people wonder why they were so built. These were pilgrim churches, built for the convenience of the travellers as they wended their way to Canterbury. The villages through which they passed must have been much enlivened by the presence of these not very austere companies.
The ordinary lives of the farmers were diversified by the visits to the weekly markets held in the neighbouring town, where they took their fat capons, eggs, butter, and cheese. Here is a curious relic of olden times, an ancient market proclamation, which breathes the spirit of former days, and which was read a few years ago at Broughton-in-Furness, by the steward of the lord of the manor, from the steps of the old market cross. These are the words:—
“O yes, O yes, O yes![10] The lord of the manor of Broughton and of this fair and market strictly chargeth and commandeth on Her Majesty’s behalf, that all manners of persons repairing to this fair and market do keep Her Majesty’s peace, upon pain of five pounds to be forfeited to Her Majesty, and their bodies to be imprisoned during the lord’s pleasure. Also that no manner of person within this fair and market do bear any bill, battle-axe, or other prohibited weapons, but such as be appointed by the lord’s officers to keep this fair or market, upon pain of forfeiture of all such weapons and further imprisonment. Also, that no manner of person do pick any quarrel, matter, or cause for any old grudge or malice to make any perturbation or trouble, upon pain of five pounds, to be forfeited to the lord, and their bodies to be imprisoned. Also, that none buy or sell in corners, back sides, or hidden places, but in open fair or market, upon pain of forfeiture of all such goods and merchandise so bought and sold, and their bodies to imprisonment. Also, that no manner of persons shall sell any goods with unlawful mete or measures, yards or weights, but such as be lawful and keep the true assize, upon pain of forfeiture of all such goods and further imprisonment. Lastly, if any manner of persons do here find themselves grieved, or have any injuries or wrong committed or done against them, let them repair to the lord or his officers, and there they shall be heard according to right, equity, and justice. God save the Queen and the lord of the manor!”
And besides the weekly markets there were the great annual fairs, which lasted many days, and were frequented by all classes of the population. These fairs were absolutely necessary for the trade of the country in the days when few people travelled far from their own homesteads, and even the towns with their small number of inhabitants did not afford a sufficient market for the farmer’s and trader’s stock.
The greatest of all English fairs was held in the little village of Stourbridge, near Cambridge, now almost absorbed by the University town. Hither flocked merchants and traders from all parts of Europe. Flemish merchants brought their fine linen and cloths from the great commercial cities of Belgium. Genoese and Venetian traders came with their stores of Eastern goods. Spaniards and Frenchmen brought their wines, and the merchants of the Hanse towns of Germany sold furs and flax, ornaments and spices, while in return for all these treasures our English farmers brought the rich fleeces of their sheep, their corn, horses, and cattle. The booths were planted in a cornfield, and the circuit of the fair, which was like a well-governed city, was over three miles. The shops were built in streets or rows, some named after the various nations that congregated there, and others after the kind of goods offered for sale. There were Garlick Row, Bookseller’s Row, Cook Row; there were a cheese fair, a hop fair, a wool fair, and every trade was represented, together with taverns, eating-houses, and in later years playhouses of various descriptions. In the eighteenth century one hundred thousand pounds’ worth of woollen manufactures was sold in a week in one row alone. A thousand pack-horses were used to convey the goods of the Lancashire merchants to this famous fair. Now railways have supplanted the pack-horses; fairs have had their day; the trade of the country can now be carried on without them; and their relics with their shows and shooting-galleries and steam roundabouts have become a nuisance.
The peaceful life of the villagers was sometimes disturbed by the sounds and sights of conflict. The exciting tales of war are connected with the history of many an English village, and many “little Wilhelmines” and labouring “grandsires” have discovered “something large and round,” traces of these ancient conflicts and “famous victories.”
“For often when they go to ploughThe ploughshare turns them out,‘And many thousand men,’ quoth he,‘Were slain in that great victory.’”
Many a lance and sword, and gilt spur, beautifully enamelled, which once decked the heel of a noble knight, have been found in our fields, and remind us of those battles which were fought so long ago.
“The knights are dust,Their good swords rust,Their souls are with the saints, we trust.”
Sometimes the spectres of armed knights and warriors are supposed to haunt these scenes of ancient slaughter, and popular superstition has handed down the memory of the battles which were fought so long ago. It tells us of the mythical records of the fights of King Arthur and his Knights of the Round Table by the banks of the River Douglas, which ran with blood for three days, so terrible was the slaughter. It tells us how stubbornly the Britons resisted the Roman armies, so that on one occasion not one Briton was left to tell the tale of their defeat.
When we visit the site of some battle with the history book in our hand, it is possible to imagine the lonely hillside peopled again with the dense ranks of English archers, or hear the clanging of the armour as the men-at-arms charged for “St. George and merry England”; and the air will be full again of the battle-cries, of the groans of the wounded and the shouts of the victors.
Visit the scene of the battle of Hastings. Here on the high ground, flanked by a wood, stood the brave English, under the leadership of Harold, with his banner, woven with gold and jewels, shining conspicuously in the morning sunlight. Here they stood in the form of a wedge; there they turned the Normans, and put them to flight. Then the Normans rallied, pretended to fly, decoyed the brave English from their position, and by stratagem succeeded in defeating them at last. Or go to the Madingley Windmill, near Cambridge, and see the fifteen miles of rich drained cornfields which intervene between “Ely’s stately fane” and the spot on which you are standing. Here read Kingsley’s well-known story ofHereward; or, The Last of the English, and instead of the rich cornfields you will see that black abyss of mud and bottomless slime into which sank the flower of Norman chivalry as they tried to cross that treacherous bog to conquer the gallant Hereward and to plunder the monastery of Ely, the last stronghold of the English. On they came, thousands upon thousands, rushing along the floating bridge which they had formed, until at last it gave way beneath the weight, and the black slime swallowed up the miserable wretches.
Or let us take our stand on the Round Tower, near the summit of the Edge Hill, and see the site of the first battle between the troops of Charles I. and the soldiers of the Parliament. The whole of that green lane was lined with troops. In a cottage which stood at our feet the king breakfasted before the battle; from that mound he surveyed the forces of the enemy. Just as the bells in yonder church had ceased to ring for service on Sunday afternoon the cannon began to roar, and the fight commenced. There Prince Rupert charged with headlong fury, carrying all before him. And so we can follow the fortunes of the fight until the brave Cavaliers retired to rest—
“And thousands had sunk on the ground overpoweredThe weary to sleep, and the wounded to die.”
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 Oxfordshire, 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 Lancashire. 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 crushing 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 passed. The king and a few faithful followers avoided the towns, passed 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 pass 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 Warwickshire 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 ship; 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 ship for the fugitive king, who set sail joyfully from Shoreham, 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, Cheshire. 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 ships 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 Berwickshire, 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 shores. 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 Lancashire, and on the various hills of Yorkshire and Derbyshire; 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 passed 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 wordoyez, “hear ye.”
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 Devonshire 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 passed a very joyous evening. In Herefordshire, Yorkshire, and other parts of England similar customs prevailed.
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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 cock-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 Gloucestershire 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.”
Then came the diversions of Hocktide, on the second Monday and Tuesday after Easter, when the men and women intercepted the public on alternate days with ropes, and boldly exacted money for pious purposes. There was a Hocktide play, which was acted before Queen Elizabeth, and caused her much amusement. She gave the players two bucks and five marks of money, which delighted them exceedingly.
Very shortly afterwards the great rural festival of our forefathers took place, the glad May Day, when, in the early dawn, the lads and lassies left their towns and villages, and going into the woods to the sound of music, gathered the may or blossomed branches of the tree, and bound them with wreaths of flowers. At sunrise they returned, and decorated the lattices and doors with the sweet-smelling spoil of their joyous journey, and spent the rest of the day in sports and pastimes, and dancing round the Maypole. The setting-up of the May-pole was a very joyous ceremony. A long string of oxen, gaily decked with flowers, drew to the village green the time-honoured pole, decked with streamers, flowers, and flags, where it was raised amidst laughter and shouts; and the Queen of the May was enthroned in an arbour and all danced round; and the morris-dancers, Robin Hood, Friar Tuck, and Maid Marian performed wonderful antics as they led the revels. Targets were set up at the other end of the green, and archery formed an important part of the day’s pleasures. The preachers at the time of the Reformation thought the people made an idol of the Maypole, and condemned the innocent amusements, which were revived again when Charles II. came to the throne. After May Day our villagers had not long to wait until the Whitsuntide holiday came round—
“A day of jubilee,An ancient holiday;When, lo! the rural revels are begun,And gaily echoing to the laughing sky,On the smooth-shaven green,Resounds the voice of mirth.”
I have already given a description of these Whitsuntide rejoicings in a preceding chapter.
Then there were the miracle plays, or “mysteries,” as they were called, in June, on Corpus Christi Day, which were performed before the Reformation, principally in the neighbourhood of large monasteries; Coventry, Chester, London, York being specially renowned for these performances. The subjects were taken from Holy Scripture, or from the lives of saints, and were intended to teach the people religious knowledge, but the scenes were disfigured by many absurdities and grotesque perversions. Their history is a curious one, too long to enter upon in this chapter; but often in the open fields, at the bottom of natural amphitheatres, were these plays performed, very similar in construction to the famous passion play performed by the peasants, at Ober Ammergau, in Bavaria, the last surviving specimen of the ancient religious drama.
Then there were the bonfires to be lighted on St. John’s Day upon the hillsides, and the dance of the young people around them, the more venturesome youths leaping through the flames, all carrying home the firebrands and forming a glad procession. Afterwards followed the busy harvest-time, when everyone was too hard at work, and too tired at the end of the day’s labours, to think of holiday-making; but at length came the harvest home, when the last sheaf was gathered in, and the harvest supper was a very joyous occasion. With light hearts, smiling faces, and cheerful shouts, the harvest labourers and their wives and children, carrying green boughs, a sheaf of wheat, and rude flags, formed a glad procession to the farmer’s house, where they found the fuelled chimney blazing wide, and “the strong table groaning beneath the smoking sirloin.” The feast over, they retired to some near hillock, and made the welkin ring with their shouts, “Holla, holla, holla, largess!”—largess being the presents of money and good things which the farmer had bestowed. Such was the harvest home in the good old days, a joy and delight to both old and young. Shorn of much of its merriment and quaint customs, it still lingers on; but modern habits and notions have deprived it of much of its old spirit and light-heartedness.
The floors of the old churches were formerly unpaved and unbearded, simply made of clay, and were covered over with rushes. Once a year there was a great ceremony, called “rush-bearing.” Rushes were cut in the neighbouring marsh, and made up into long bundles, decked with ribands and flowers. Then a procession was formed, everyone bearing a bundle of rushes, or placing them in the rush-cart beautifully adorned; and with music, drums, and ringing of bells, they marched to the church and strewed the floor with their honoured burdens. Long after the rushes ceased to be used in church the ceremony was continued, and I have myself witnessed a rush-bearing procession such as I have described. A village feast, followed by dancing round the May-pole, generally formed the conclusion to the day’s festivities.
“Beating the bounds” of the parish was another annual ceremony, which often took place on Ascension Day and is still in use at Oxford. Boundaries of property were not so clearly defined in those days as they are now; and hedgerows, walls, and railings were scarce. The bounds of the parish were often marked by trees, called “gospel trees,” because the clergyman used to read the gospel for the day under their shade. The people carried a processional cross and willow wands, and boys were generally flogged at the boundaries, or ducked in the river, if that constituted a boundary, in order to impress upon their memories where the bounds were. The village feast afterwards made some amends to them for their harsh treatment.
The village sports were a great source of enjoyment, and were frequently indulged in. The time-honoured archery developed the skill of our English bowmen, and won for them many a battle before the days of gunpowder and cannons. Then there was the very ancient game of the quintain, which consisted of an upright post with a cross-post turning upon a pin. At one end of the latter was a broad board, at the other a heavy sand-bag. The play, which required skill and dexterity, was to ride against the broad end with a lance, and pass by before the sandbag, swinging round, could strike the player to the ground. This was a common sport at wedding festivities. There were also the games of singlestick, cudgelling, and wrestling, which had many votaries, and the famous game of quarter-staff, so general in Berkshire, and so graphically described inThe Scouring of the White Horse, by Mr. Hughes. An old parishioner of mine was the reputed champion of this game, which has now almost died out. Football is an ancient sport, and the manner formerly in vogue most nearly resembles the game authorised by the Rugby rules. The football was thrown down in the churchyard, and the object was to carry it perhaps two or three miles, every inch of ground being keenly contested. “Touch-downs” were then unknown, but it is evident from old records that “scrimmages” and “hacking” were much in vogue. Sack-racing, grinning through horse-collars, running after pigs with greased tails, were some of the lighter forms of amusement which pleased the villagers.
Then in the winter evenings there were “carols” to be practised for Christmas, and each village boasted of its own musicians, who played violins, flutes, clarionets, and other instruments in church, before the days of harmoniums and organs. Their music might not be of a very first-rate order, but they delighted in it, took an interest in it; and how pleased they were to take part in the service, and to play over their favourite hymn tunes, with a great many twirls and variations, to their children during the winter evenings! Christmas brought its accustomed merry-makings. In the north every farmer gave two feasts, one called “t’ ould foaks’ neet,” and the other “t’ young foaks’ neet.” Here is Sir Walter Scott’s description of an ancient Christmas:—
“And well our Christian sires of oldLoved when the year its course had roll’dAnd brought blithe Christmas back again,With all its hospitable train.Domestic and religious riteGave honour to the holy night:On Christmas Eve the bells were rung;On Christmas Eve the Mass was sung;That only night in all the yearSaw the staled priest the chalice rear.The damsel donn’d her kirtle sheen;The hall was dressed with holly green;Forth to the wood did merry men go,To gather in the mistletoe.Then open wide the baron’s hall,To vassal, tenant, serf, and all;Power laid his rod of rule aside,And Ceremony doft’d his pride.The heir with roses in his shoes,That night might village partner choose;The lord, underogating, shareThe vulgar game of ‘post and pair.’All hailed with uncontrolled delightThe general voice, the happy night,That to the cottage, as the crown,Brought tidings of salvation down.“The fire, with well-dried logs supplied,Went roaring up the chimney wide;The huge hall-table’s oaken faceScrubb’d till it shone, the day of grace,Bore then upon its massive boardNo mark to part the squire and lord.Then was brought in the lusty brawn,By old blue-coated serving man;Then the grim boar’s head frowned on highCrested with bays and rosemary.Well can the green-garb’d ranger tellHow, when, and where the monster fell;What dogs before his death he tore,And all the baiting of the boar;While round the merry wassail bowl,Garnished with ribbons, blithe did trowl.Then the huge sirloin reek’d: hard byPlum-porridge stood, and Christmas pie;Nor fail’d old Scotland to produceAt such high time her savoury goose.Then came the merry maskers in,And carols roared with blithesome din;If unmelodious was the song,It was a hearty note, and strong.Who lists may in this mumming seeTraces of ancient mystery;White shirts supply the masquerade,And smutted cheeks the visor made;But, oh! what masquers, richly dight,Can boast of bosoms half so light!England was merry England whenOld Christmas brought his sports again.’Twas Christmas broach’d the mightiest ale;’Twas Christmas told the merriest tale.A Christmas gambol oft would cheerA poor man’s heart through half the year.”
Such was the manner of keeping Christmas in olden times; and if “the mightiest ale” was sometimes too mighty, and although the intemperance of our forefathers was a vice much to be deplored, at any rate their hearty manner of keeping this annual feast was effectual in promoting “goodwill amongst men,” and in cheering the hearts of the poor.
In this chapter I have attempted to show the varied amusements and recreations in which our village ancestors took part. On the old village green, which in too many of our villages has been inclosed and become a thing of the past, many of these sports and pastimes once took place. There stood the village stocks, in which the refractory paid the penalty of their misdeeds; and sometimes, too, a pillory was added, which held fast the head, arms, and legs of the culprit, while the villagers, rude vindicators of the law, threw stones, rotten eggs, and other missiles at the unhappy victim. At the edge of the pond you might have seen a long plank which turned on a swivel, with a chair at the end overhanging the water. This was called a “cucking-stool,” and was used to duck scolds or brawlers. The culprit was placed in the chair, and the other end of the plank was raised several times, so that the ardour of the culprit was effectually cooled by frequent immersions. These were rough methods of administering justice, but often very effectual in checking vice.
The social customs which formerly existed in each village, the sports and pastimes associated with the village green, the May Day festivals, and the Christmas carollings were of great value, inasmuch as they tended to infuse some poetical feeling into the minds of the people, softened the rudeness of rustic manners, and gave the villagers simple pleasures which lightened their labours. They prevented them from growing hard, grasping, and discontented with their lot. They promoted good feeling between the farmers and their labourers. The customs of the town were a poor exchange for the ancient country manners and amusements; and it was a sad day for our country when the villagers lost their simplicity and the power of appreciating the primitive pleasures of rural England.
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OLD STOCKS AND WHIPPING-POST
Monastic inns—Village inns—Highwaymen—Inn signs—Famous inns— Man-traps.
In almost every village in England there is an inn. Before the Reformation there were very few of these hostelries, as travellers were always accommodated at the monasteries, each of which, as we have seen, had a hospitium, or guest-house, where their wants were attended to by special officers appointed for the purpose, and where they could remain for several days. But the destruction of the monasteries produced many changes in the condition of the country; it introduced the necessity of a poor law, for the poor were always relieved by the monasteries; it required the erection of schools and places for education, as all the education of the country had been carried on in these monastic buildings; and when the old guesthouses ceased to exist, travellers, merchants, and pedlars required some place in which to lodge when they moved about the country, and inns became plentiful as time went on. Hence in almost every village in England there is an inn, which is generally a landmark; and if you wish to direct a stranger to some place where he desires to go, you doubtless tell him to turn to the right by “The Bull,” or to keep straight on until he comes to “The Magpie.” Indeed, a friend of mine, who is a strong teetotaler, asserts that the only good use inns have is to help people to find their road. But old inns have a great history. In former days they used to be meeting-places of plotters and conspirators. All the distinguished people in the country used to pass through the villages and towns on the great roads through the country, and when the horses were being changed they used to partake of the good fare which the landlord provided. Those were busy times for the old inns, when there was stabling for fifty or sixty horses, and the coaches used to rattle through the village to the inn door long before the iron horses began to drag their freight of passengers along the iron roads, and the scream of the engines took the place of the cheerful notes of the posthorn.
Sometimes a gentleman would ride to an inn door on a beautiful, fleet-looking steed, and receive a hearty welcome from the landlord; but the pistols in his belt looked ominous, and presently some soldiers would steal noiselessly into the inn where the gentleman was refreshing himself, and there would be heard the sounds of vigorous fighting; and often, in some wonderful way, Claude Duval or the noted Dick would fight his way out, whistle to his steed, jump into the saddle, and ride away before his less nimble pursuers had recovered from their astonishment. Very many exciting scenes have taken place in our old inns, but in these days railways have changed all things; and in many streets where the coaches used to rattle along, and the place was alive with merry sounds, the moss now grows, and all is silence and desolation. We should certainly think it inconvenient to take three days to travel from London to Bath, and it would not be pleasant to have a visit from Dick Turpin on the way, and to have all one’s valuables appropriated by that notorious highwayman; but in these days of worry and busy bustling it would be refreshing to catch a glimpse of those quiet times when people were not so much in a hurry, and to hear the sound of the posthorn once more instead of the whistle of the steam-engine.
The quaint-looking pictures and curious names which attract our notice as we pass an inn door have some queer stories to tell. We notice a very curious collection of animals sometimes, and a strange assortment of things; and the reason why our ancestors put some of these curious things together is somewhat difficult for us to find out. In olden days, other houses of tradesmen besides inns had signs. Grocers, tailors, candlestick-makers, all had signs; but most of these have disappeared, except one belonging to a certain sweep of my acquaintance, whose house is adorned with the figure of a man coming out of a globe, with the motto, “Help me through the world.” Over their doors barbers still have their poles, which represented once the fact that the barber was prepared to bandage up wounded arms and legs, and to perform the office of blood-letting; the stripes on the pole were intended to represent the bandages, and the barber was the surgeon of the town. We do not seem to have so much blood to spare as our forefathers, as the barber always bled his customers once or twice a year, especially in the springtime, the operation being considered very beneficial.
One reason for the curious mixture of animals and other things which we see on signboards is that an apprentice, when he had finished his time and begun to set up for himself, adopted some sign, and then joined with it the sign of his old master. This will account for such curiosities as “The Lamb and Dolphin,” “The Goose and Gridiron,” “The Fox and Seven Stars,” combinations of things for which it would otherwise be difficult to account. Another reason is that signs were taken from the armorial bearings, or crests, of some popular character, or of some great family in the neighbourhood. For example, I may mention “The Bear with the Ragged Staff,” which was the crest of Richard Nevil, Earl of Warwick, commonly called “The Kingmaker,” who was slain in the battle of Barnet, 1471 A.D. “The Blue Boar” was one of the badges of the House of York. “The Bull” is a very common sign, because it was a very common crest, and we have them in all colours—black, red, white; lions also rage in blue, white, and red attire. Sometimes we meet with “The Cross Keys,” the keeper of which was probably an old servant or tenant of an abbey or monastery, and chose his sign from that of the monastery with which he was connected. Frequently, in olden times, a cross was erected at the meeting of two or three roads, or where the pilgrims to Canterbury used to pass; afterwards an inn was built near it, and was, in many cases, called the Cross Inn.
One very common cause of curious signs is the way in which the original word has been corrupted by ignorant people frequently repeating words which they did not understand, and thus changing their whole meaning. You may have seen an inn described as “The Swan with Two Necks”—a very rare bird indeed. But it was never intended to disfigure the bird by giving it two necks; the original sign was “The Swan with TwoNicks” and nicks were the marks which were cut on a swan’s bill to distinguish it from other swans, so that it might be known to whom the bird belonged. Butnicksbecamenecksin course of conversation, until at last a fabulous creature with two beautifully curved necks appeared on the signboard. This same cause will account for the two strange signs, “Bull and Gate” and “Bull and Mouth.” The original signs were “Boulogne Gate” and “Boulogne Mouth,”i.e.the gate and harbour of the town of Boulogne, in France, which was captured by the English under King Henry VIII. in the year 1544. The English were very pleased to hear of the defeat of the French, and of the taking of that important town, and several inns were named in honour of the event; but the French “Boulogne” was too much for our good English mouths to speak, so it became “Bull and.”
Another name which puzzled our forefathers was “La Belle Sauvage” (“the Beautiful Savage”), which was named after a noted savage beauty who was the rage at Paris. Others assert that the name of the landlady was Isabella Savage, shortened into Bella Savage. However, in course of time the name was altered into “Bell and Savage,” and a picture representing this odd combination stood over the door. In the same way the original sign, “Whip and Nag,” between which there is often a very close connection, became “Whip and Egg”; and the reason why these two articles should be placed together is not so evident. So also there does not seem any reason for an inn to be called “Bag o’ Nails”; but when we are told that the original word was “Bacchanals,”i.e.followers of Bacchus, the old god of wine, we can understand how the corruption, “Bag o’ Nails,” arose. Before the days of licensing, when everyone could sell liquor who chose without obtaining any licence from the magistrates, it was the custom to put a bush over the doorway, in order to inform the passers-by that liquor could be purchased there. This is the origin of the saying, “Good wine needs no bush.”
ENLARGE