CHAPTER XII

“Whoe’er has travelled life’s dull roundWhere’er his stages may have been,May sigh to think he still has foundThe warmest welcome at an inn.”

By way of antithesis we subjoin the following poem on a window in theStar and Garterat Brighton:

“Wm. VearSlept HereOctober the 1stLast Year.”

In the earlier chapters of “The Cloister and the Hearth,” a variety of characteristic mediæval inns are described, with much archæological accuracy and also with a sly satirical humour. “Like Father, like Son,” is a proverb very true in the unchanging byways of Central Europe. Charles Reade is for ever giving us graphic touches regarding the eccentricities and shortcomings of Black Forest and Burgundian inns of our own time. Delightful, too, is the scene at thePied Merlinin Conan Doyle’s “White Company,” and we appreciate it none the less that some of the appointments at Dame Eliza’s hostelry were scarcely likely to be found in a New Forest inn so early as the reign of Edward III.

For the coaching inns recourse must be had to the pages of “Joseph Andrews,” “Tom Jones,” and “Pickwick,” and for the smaller class of inns, “The Old Curiosity Shop.” Fielding and Dickens are each inimitable in their way; the earlier novelist concentrates on humanity in its many sorts and conditions; Dickens, on the contrary, revels in surroundingdetails. He loves to dally with every smoke-stained beam, lattice-window, or row of battered pewter pots and blue mugs, before ushering in the motley throng who gather round the tap-room fire, or the fine lady and gentleman in the smartly-appointed chaise whom the landlord receives so obsequiously.

Many of the best scenes in old comedies are laid in the inns. When they were a general place of resort for all classes, including men of rank and fortune, they naturally lent themselves to the unexpected meetings and odd blunders which serve to make up a farcical plot. County, racing and hunting balls were all held in the principal inn of a town; just the opportunity for a needy adventurer to introduce himself by impersonation or otherwise. The details of the scheme are arranged in the Coffee Room; and landlord or waiter supply the necessary information enabling the lover to pose successfully as Simon Pure. Then, again, the audience were familiar with the surroundings and were easily drawn into sympathetic interest. Waiter, boots, and ostler were all valuable properties to be utilized in supplying the humorous element as occasion served.

George Colman, the younger, chose for muchof the action of his play, “John Bull, or the Englishman’s Fireside,” a little wayside inn on the Cornish border. Sir Walter Scott praised this comedy as “by far the best example of our later comic drama. The scenes of broad humour are executed in the best possible taste; and the whimsical, yet native characters, reflect the manners of real life.” Not the least pleasing of these is Denis Brulgruddery, the warm-hearted impulsive landlord of theRed Cow. And so it ever is. We associate the inn with genial comfort and old English hospitality; the sight of it kindles every good sentiment of human kindness within us, and we hail with enthusiasm the reconciliation of father and child, the union of two constant lovers, and happiness restored all round. There is nothing so successful on the stage as an inn scene.

Artists have also shared in the making of the inns. A host of signboards are attributed to Hogarth or that eccentric and profligate genius, George Morland. Isaac Fuller was another eminent painter who turned his talents in this direction. TheRoyal Oaksign at Bettws-y-Coed, now in the possession of the Willoughby d’Eresby family, was painted by David Cox, theGeorge and DragonatHayes, in Kent, by Millais. Outside theKing’s Headat Chigwell—the Maypole of “Barnaby Rudge”—hangs a portrait of Charles I, by Miss Herring, while the sign of theGeorge and Dragonat Wargrave is the work of Mr. George Leslie, R.A. St. George is depicted as taking refreshment after the battle out of a tankard of respectable size. The old inn by the bridge at Brandon on the Little Ouse, and theOld Swanat Fittleworth on the Arun, are full of paintings by modern artists; the latter has one room ornamented with panel pictures by various hands, and the sign (too delicate to hang outside) was painted by Caton Woodville. There was at Horncastle, in Lincolnshire, a signboard painted by Hilton, the Royal Academician, which hung over the inn door for over forty years, finally being taken down and sold, on a change of tenancy.

Mr. J. F. Herring, the animal painter, used to relate how he once painted a signboard for a carpenter employed by him. The carpenter afterwards took a beer shop and put the sign, which represented the “Flying Dutchman,” over the door. Eventually he sold it for £50, and with the money emigrated to Australia.

Most old inns contain pictures more or less valuable, or at least old sporting prints. Few can compare in this respect with theGeorgeat Aylesbury, rebuilt about 1810, which from time immemorial has possessed a remarkable collection of good pictures; portraits by Sir Joshua Reynolds and Mytens, besides some well executed copies of Rubens, Raphael and others. It is supposed to have been brought from Eythorpe House, demolished in the early years of the nineteenth century.

FANCIFUL SIGNS AND CURIOUS SIGNBOARDS

The antiquarian magazines of the last century are full of correspondence and ingenious explanations of such signs as thePig and Whistle,Cat and Fiddle, orGoat in Boots. Many of the suggestions offered are far more whimsical in character than the devices they profess to explain. “Cat and Fiddle” is supposed to be a corruption ofCaton Fidèle, a certain incorruptible Governor of Calais.Pig and Whistlehas been traced to “Peg and Wassail,” with reference to the pegged tankards formerly passed round for the loving cup, each guest being expected to drink down to the next peg. “Pix and Housel,” in honour of the Blessed Sacrament, or the DanishAve Maria, and “Pige Washail” have also been suggested by the learned. Mr. T. C. Croker, in his “Walk to Fulham,” attempted to derive theGoat in Bootsat Fulham fromder Goden Boode, the “Messenger of the Gods,” or Mercury; the idea being that the house was originally a posting inn. ThePig andWhistlemay possibly be a rustic corruption of theBear and Ragged Staffon a somewhat faded signboard.

Animals masquerading in human attire or performing human actions were a favourite conceit of the mediæval craftsman, as may be seen by the carvings on the stalls of our old cathedrals. Most likely we owe these humorous signs to the sign-painter himself. He was commissioned to design an advertisement that would puzzle inquisitive people and so attract customers.

TheGoat and Compassesis supposed to be a corruption of a motto set up over inns during the period of puritan tyranny, “God encompasses us”;Bag of Nailsof “Bacchanals.” In default of better explanations we must accept these. Until recently a public house existed in St. James’ Street, called theSavoy Weepers—a name which might open up an endless mystification if we did not know that the house was previously occupied by theSavoir VivreClub. TheGoose and Gridironis, according to theTatler, a parody of the favourite trade-mark of early music houses, theSwan and Harp; while theMonsterin Pimlico may have been the monastery inn, built during the time that themonks of Westminster Abbey farmed this estate.

Why Not, andDew Drop Innare, of course, invitations to the wayfarer;Bird in HandandLast House, orFinal, suggestion that he should not waste his opportunities to imbibe.

In the village of Sennen, Cornwall, is one of the best known inns, having for its sign theFirst and Last, which is quite obviously not intended as a limit to the drinker. It has reference, of course, to the fact that if you should be journeying to the south-west the inn will be thelastone you will meet with before reaching the sea, whereas it will be thefirstshould your journey be by ship coming eastward. As a matter of actual experience, hundreds of ships which in the course of a year “pick up” the light at Land’s End have not been in sight of a public-house for months, during which they have been crossing thousands of miles of ocean. So that in the case of sailors working these particular vessels the name of the inn has a very appealing significance.

He would be a bold man who would venture to assert positively which is the best-known inn in London; but if the map be consulted, theElephant and Castlewill be seen to occupy aposition at the junction of several great roads to the south, and if the volume of traffic which must daily go past the doors is considered, it needs very little more to convince most people that theElephantis probably better known by name at all events, than any other public-house within the four-mile radius of Charing Cross. In coaching times the inn was passed by every traveller bound for the south-east, and some authorities have contended that when Shakespeare recommended that “In the south suburbs at theElephantis best to lodge,”[14]he had in his mind the celebrated hostelry of Newington Butts. But this is probably a mistake, for theElephant and Castledid not come into existence until long after Shakespeare’s time. In 1658, the ground upon which it now stands was not built upon, but probably the first inn on the site came into existence about twenty years later. In 1824, the inn was rebuilt, and since then there have been many additions and alterations which have got farther and farther away from the original building as it was in the seventeenth century. TheElephant and Castle, as far as the antiquarian is concerned, is now merely a curiousname. Another extremely rare sign in London is theSieve, which as late as 1890 stood in the Minories. In 1669 there was aSievein Aldermanbury, but more is known of the one in the Minories. It was referred to in the “Vade Mecum for Malt Worms,” 1715, and was then considered one of the oldest and most noted public-houses of London. It adjoined Holy Trinity Church. Underneath were crypt-like cellars which may originally have had connection with the adjoining convent of the nuns of St. Clare. In the records of the Parish of Holy Trinity, which was all included within the ancient precincts of the convent, there is mention of the appointment of a “vitler to the parish.” On February 13th, 1705, is a record of a vestry meeting at theSieve“about agreeing to pull down the churchyard wall.” On this occasion so serious was the discussion that as much as six shillings was spent in refreshments before the matter was settled. A good deal of speculation on the origin of the name of this old inn has been indulged in, one solution being that the chalk foundations in the crypt may have suggested the sign. The Metropolitan Railway Company acquired the property, and closed the house in 1886,before its final disappearance four years later.

Sign of Fox and Hounds, Barley

TheAdam and Eve, another common London sign, is, we have reason to believe, frequently a repainting of the Zodiacal sign of theTwins, the city having according to astrologers, its ascendant in Gemini, the House of Mercury, who rules merchandise and all ingenious arts.

An odd sign to find in the heart of Essex is theWhalebone, and in the same county at Great Leighs, there is aSaint Anna’s Castle, which is supposed to stand on the site of a hermitage made sacred by the presence of some local saint.

Dean Swift was once asked by the village barber of Co. Meath, by whom he was regularly shaved, to assist him in the invention of aninscription for the sign of theJolly Barber, a house which it was intended to conduct as an inn and a barber’s shop combined. Swift at once composed the following couplet, which remained under the painted sign depicting a barber with a razor in one hand and a full pot in the other, for many years:

“Rove not from pole to pole, but step in hereWhere nought excels the shaving but—the beer.”

The Three Loggerheads, generally in the form of two silly looking faces and the motto:

“We threeLoggerheads be,”

is an attempt to take a mean advantage of the unwary spectator. Sometimes two asses appear on the signboard with the inscription “When shall we three meet again?” and this sign is alluded to by Shakespeare in “Twelfth Night.” At Mabelthorpe is a unique sign called theBook in Hand. It is not so much on account of its name that it is curious, for this might have occurred to anyone, particularly in days when the ability to read was not so conspicuously common as it is to-day. But the sign itself is so odd. A rudely shaped hand and forearm sticks out straight from the brick wall and in the hand is an open book with three Latin crosses on the right pageand one on the left. The origin of the sign is lost, but it seems obviously to have had at one time some ecclesiastical connection.

Many names of inns have arisen from the puns on the landlord or locality. TheBlack Swanin Bartholomew Lane, once a resort for musical celebrities was kept by Owen Swan, parish clerk of St. Michael’s Cornhill. TheBraceTavern, in Queen’s Bench Prison, was opened by two brothers of the name of Partridge.Hat and Tunwas the sign of a public-house in Hatton Garden, and theWarbolt in Tunof the little inn at Warbleton, in Sussex. At least oneThree Pigeonsbegan business with a worthy surnamed Pigeon for landlord, although this sign is usually derived from a coat of arms charged with three martlets. According to a correspondent, theBell Innof a village not far from Oxford was formerly kept by John Good, who set up this inscription under a gigantic representation of a bell:

“My name, likewise my ale, is good,Walk in, and taste my own home-brewed,For all that know John Good can tellThat, like my sign, it bears the Bell.”

Ben Jonson in the “Alchymist” satirised this kind of wit:

“He shall havea bellthat’s Abel,And by it standing one whose name isDeeIn a rug gown, there’sDandRug, that’s Drug;And right anenst him a dog snarlingerr,There’sDrugger, Abel Drugger. That’s his sign.”

The lastHonest Lawyerin London has just ceased to exist, but there is still anHonest Millerat Withersden, near Wye, in Kent. It is approached by devious ways and difficult to find. Hence perhaps the name. Like theSilent Woman, the honest lawyer was represented with his head cut off. A very famous signboard, said to have been painted by Hogarth, wasThe Man loaded with Mischief, in Oxford Street. The man was carrying a woman, glass in hand, a magpie, and a monkey. Underneath was the rhyme:

“A monkey, a magpie, and a wifeIs the true emblem of strife.”

At Grantham, an eccentric lord of the manor about a century ago insisted on having all the signs of public-houses on his estate painted with the political colour which he favoured. Thus the town possessed, in 1830, the following:Blue Boat,Blue Sheep,Blue Bull,Blue Ram,Blue Lion,Blue Bell,Blue Cow,Blue Boar,Blue Horse, andBlue Inn. By way of retaliation, a neighbouring landowner and political opponent actually named one of his houses theBlue Ass. Grantham also can boast of the originalBeehive Innwith the motto:

“Stop! Traveller, this wondrous sign explore,And say when thou hast viewed it o’er,Grantham, now, two rarities are thine,A lofty steeple, and a living sign.”

On Gallows Tree Heath, near Reading, there stands aReformation Inn, somewhat grim and tantalizing in its greeting to the unfortunate wretches who were led past it to execution, and had lost the opportunity to profit by the advice. A cynical humour of the same description must have suggested theHalf Brickfor the sign of an inn at Worthing. It is said that the aborigines of some towns in England invariably welcome a stranger by “heaving half a brick at him.”

The originalHole in the Wallis believed to have been either (1) a highwayman’s retreat, such as theHole in the Wallin Chandos Street, where Claude Duval was captured, or (2) an aperture made in the wall of a debtor’s prison through which charitable people might offer gifts of money or victuals to the unfortunate inmates. At theHole in the Wallin the Borough there is a museum of curiosities worth a visit, and another under the railway arches of Waterloo Station is a noted depot for Petersfield ales, much frequented by railway men and various odd characters. There is to this day a very suggestive hole in the wallatTurpin’s Cave, a small inn near High Beech, Epping Forest. In this hole it is commonly believed that the celebrated highwayman hid himself on many occasions when hard pressed by the police. The story can very easily be believed by anyone with a spark of imagination, for the inn lies in a secluded nook which even to-day is not at all easy to find, in spite of a signboard stuck up in the gorse bushes some little distance from the road. The hole itself is a kind of arched ruin, bricked over, and might at a pinch have held Black Bess and her famous rider.

Sign of Black’s Head, Ashbourne

Almost gone are the heavy frames and beams which once stretched across the highways and effectually proclaimed the name and style under which the innkeeper carried on his business. On these beams a group ofswans disported in effigy before theFour Swansat Waltham Cross. A fine magpie dangled from the centre at Stonham, Suffolk, while elsewhere a fox was represented crossing the beam and followed by a bevy of hounds. There is still remaining such a beam, from the centre of which a bell is suspended outside theBellat Edenbridge. Another is still in use at Ashbourne, Derbyshire, where theGreen Man and Black’s Head, an old Georgian posting house, announces its existence by a long beam stretched across the street, supported at one end by a pole, the other end running into the red brick wall of the building, immediately over the typical archway leading to the inn yard. The black’s head is an effigy in carved and painted wood, planted firmly in the centre of the beam and looking for all the world as if it had only lately been cut off and put there to warn other blacks of a similar awful fate, if ever they should chance to come to Ashbourne. Under the head, suspended from the beam is a big framed picture, and a small secondary beam on each side has recently been placed to carry those two terribly modern words, “garage” and “petrol.” One can fancy the old driver of the four-in-hand, could he come to life again, scratchinghis head in perplexity over the hidden mysteries of these literary innovations to the familiar sign. Ashbourne, it may be remarked in passing, whilst perhaps not glorying in “one man one public-house,” is certainly as close to that condition of things as any town in England. To a stranger visiting Ashbourne in the middle of the week and feeling the charm of its quiet old-world streets with but few people walking about, it is a matter for wonder as to how all the licensed houses keep going. But go there on market days and note the waggons and farmers’ carts standing in rows outside every hostelry and the matter becomes much more easily understood. Ashbourne, like one or two other towns of the North Derbyshire and Staffordshire moors, has until quite recently been cut off from the run of the country’s traffic, and is still a market centre for a very extensive agricultural district. Within the last year or two a road motor service has placed it in rapid and frequent communication with the county town, so that this comparative isolation is likely to last very little longer.

TheWhite Hartat Scole, in Norfolk, once had the most expensive and elaborate sign of this character ever produced. High abovethe road it stretched, on one side attached to the house, and resting on a brick pier at the opposite end across the way. In the centre was a noble White Hart, carved in a stately wreath, while on each side were no less than twenty-four allegorical figures in compartments. The whole was designed by John Fairchild, in 1655, and cost £1,057. An engraving was published by Martin in 1740. By the way, this inn also possessed “a very large round bed big enough to holdfifteen or twenty couples in imitation of the great bed at Ware.”

Sign of White Hart, Witham

Of existing signs, the most remarkable is theRed Lionof Martlesham outside an inn which is itself both old and curious. This monster, a byword all over Suffolk, was probably at one time the figure-head of a ship, and local tradition ascribes it to one of the Dutch warships destroyed in the battle of Sole Bay, fought off Southwold in 1672. Outside theBearat Wantage stands a lifelike carved bear on a high pedestal; at theBearat Chelsham, in Surrey, a large white bear lurks amongst the shrubs of the front garden in a way very startling to timid passers-by, especially at dusk. TheSwanat Great Shefford, in Bucks, has a most effective sign, in the form of a large vane representing a swan; while theWhite Horseat Ipswich, as in Mr. Pickwick’s time, “is rendered the more conspicuous by a stone statue of some rapacious animal with flowing mane and tail distantly resembling an insane cart-horse, which is elevated above the principal door.”

The disusedSun Innat Saffron Walden, built about 1625, has for its sign a noble piece of plaster work in the tympanum representing the Sun supported by two giants. A curiousold piece of carving which displays a white swan chained to a tree flanked by the arms of England and France forms the sign of theSwan Innat Clare, and probably is intended to commemorate some triumph of the House of Clarence over the Lancastrians. Another beautiful little inn, now disused and sadly neglected, theAngelat Theale, has angel heads introduced over each of its dainty oriels.

Angel Inn, Theale

Many of theWhite Hartinns retain painted signboards of quite passable quality. At Chelmsford, the animal is carved and rests on a projecting bracket. More prominent, though not conceived in a very artistic spirit, is theWhite Hartat Witham, cut out and painted on a huge piece of sheet copper. This is widely known as the most conspicuous and telling sign on the road from London to Ipswich.

TheWhite Hartin the Borough, now converted into a club in honour of Sam Weller, possessed anciently the largest signboard in London. Perhaps this is why Jack Cade selected it in 1450 for his headquarters. Of existing signboards the most elaborate is theFive Allsat Marlborough, once a very common subject for the tavern picture. The first compartment portrays the Queen with the label, “I rule all.” In the second is a Bishop, “I pray for all.” Next comes a lawyer, “I plead for all,” followed by a truculent soldier, “I fight for all.” The last figure is the taxpayer, “I pay for all.” Some facetious innkeepers added a sixth, the Devil with the motto, “I take all!” This sign with local modifications is not unknown outside the drinking shops in Holland, and, accordingto Larbert, a characteristic example may be seen swinging under the blue sky in the sunny street of Valetta in Malta. The largest sign we have ever come across is the tile painting on the front of theKentish Droversin the old Kent Road.

But the number of these quaint and comical signs is diminishing every year. The innkeeper plies his trade under more difficult conditions and is glad to accept the tempting cash offers made to him by collectors. In place of the old carved figures or painting, last survival of the days when every building in a town was distinguished by some badge or device, the name of a public-house now generally appears written in gilt letters on the signboard. Even this is frequently lost amid the flaring advertisements of the brewer, and of the various brands of whiskey retailed in the establishment. In fact, the frequenters of such a house of entertainment, especially in the London district, are sometimes ignorant of its ancient designation, and refer to it either by the name of the landlord, or of the wholesale dealer, “Mooney’s” or “Guests,” for whose business it serves as a local branch.

Landlords of inns near London are not usually very original in their views of life,and rarely advertise any spark of humour. Perhaps they take their duties to the public too seriously. Occasionally, however, one comes across evidence that the keeper of an inn is sufficiently detached in mind as to admit within the walls of his house of business a jest or two in print. These are usually framed and hung up in the bar, and as they have never been seen quite new, but are frequently fly-blown and yellow with age, it would seem to follow that the race of facetious landlords has come to an end. In theDuke of Wellington Inn, near High Beech, Epping Forest, the following rules hang in the bar. They are probably from their phraseology American in origin, and the second was evidently designed as a sarcastic if not effectual check upon manners and customs in business houses of the States.

NOTICE1. A man is kept engaged in the yard to do all theCursingandSwearingat this establishment.2. A Dog is kept to do all theBarking.3. Our Potman or “Chucker Out” has won seventy-five prizes, and is an excellent shot with a Revolver.4. TheUndertakercalls every morningFor Orders.5. The Lord helps those who help themselves; but the Lord help those that are caught helping themselves here.

NOTICE

1. A man is kept engaged in the yard to do all theCursingandSwearingat this establishment.

2. A Dog is kept to do all theBarking.

3. Our Potman or “Chucker Out” has won seventy-five prizes, and is an excellent shot with a Revolver.

4. TheUndertakercalls every morningFor Orders.

5. The Lord helps those who help themselves; but the Lord help those that are caught helping themselves here.

This notice hangs in an old frame over the door. On an adjoining wall is the following:

OFFICE RULES1. Gentlemen upon entering will leave the door open or apologise.2. Those having no business should remain as long as possible, take a chair and lean against the wall; it will preserve the wall and prevent it falling upon us.3. Gentlemen are requested to smoke, especially during office hours; tobacco and segars of the finest brands will be supplied gratis.4. Spit on the floor, as the spittoons are only for ornaments.5.Talk LoudorWhistle, especially when we are engaged. If this has not the desired effect,Sing.6. If we are in business conversation with anyone, gentlemen are requested not to wait until we are disengaged, but join us, as we are particularly fond of speaking to half a dozen or more at one time.7. Profane language is expected at all times, especially if ladies are present.8. Put your feet on the table, or lean against the desk. It will be of great assistance to those who are writing.9. Persons having no business to transact will call often or excuse themselves.10. Should anyone desire to borrow money do not fail to ask for it, as we do not require it for business purposes, but merely for the sake of lending.

OFFICE RULES

1. Gentlemen upon entering will leave the door open or apologise.

2. Those having no business should remain as long as possible, take a chair and lean against the wall; it will preserve the wall and prevent it falling upon us.

3. Gentlemen are requested to smoke, especially during office hours; tobacco and segars of the finest brands will be supplied gratis.

4. Spit on the floor, as the spittoons are only for ornaments.

5.Talk LoudorWhistle, especially when we are engaged. If this has not the desired effect,Sing.

6. If we are in business conversation with anyone, gentlemen are requested not to wait until we are disengaged, but join us, as we are particularly fond of speaking to half a dozen or more at one time.

7. Profane language is expected at all times, especially if ladies are present.

8. Put your feet on the table, or lean against the desk. It will be of great assistance to those who are writing.

9. Persons having no business to transact will call often or excuse themselves.

10. Should anyone desire to borrow money do not fail to ask for it, as we do not require it for business purposes, but merely for the sake of lending.

We copied the following from a placard either in theWindmillat Hollingbourne, or theTen Bellsat Leeds, in Kent:

GOOD ADVICECall Frequently,Drink Moderately,Pay Honourably,Be Good Company,Part Friendly,Go Home Quietly.Let these lines be no man’s sorrow, pay to-day and trust to-morrow.

GOOD ADVICE

Let these lines be no man’s sorrow, pay to-day and trust to-morrow.

In theGeneral Wolfeat Westerham:

THE LANDLORD’S PUZZLE

And at Groombridge:

My ale is good, my measure just,And yet—my friends, I cannot trust.

HAUNTED INNS

Why is it that haunted inns are so scarce and difficult to find? We have sought for them far and wide. During thirty years of wanderings among the old inns, we have retired for the night full oft into blackened oak-lined chambers with secret sliding panels in the walls, or traps in the ceiling, that offered golden opportunities for any ghost of enterprise; rooms where heavy tie-beams and dark recesses cast eerie shadows in the moonlight; vast churchlike dormitories with springy floors which if one jumped out of bed caused the door incontinently to unlatch and open in a distinctly ghostlike manner. But no supernatural visitor has ever favoured us. In vain we have tried the experiment of sleeping in bedchambers which the great ones of the earth have made memorable, from Queen Elizabeth to Dick Turpin. No cavalier knight has ever tried to unburden his conscience to us, no spectral dame has come to moan and wring her hands with grief, noclanking chains on the stairs, merely the peaceful dreamless sleep of the proverbial top.

The learned in occult lore tell us that the astral body must follow the habits of the departed to whom it once belonged. It would therefore prefer private dwellings to the inns which it merely occupied for a night or two. Ghosts with a grievance would find more congenial occupation in annoying surviving relatives rather than the passing traveller who is not interested in their concerns. Well-informed and intelligent spectres, of course (unless they had some private end in view), steer clear of inns altogether. At the baronial hall, the ghost is a cherished petted heirloom; the innkeeper regards him as a nuisance, driving away the more timid class of customers, and in case of trouble might call in the parson to exorcise him with bell, book and candle. Then, again, in the halcyon days for the spooks, say a hundred years ago, the traveller generally drank deeply to the good of the house. The spectral vision fell flat when tested on an individual well inoculated with spirit of a more material nature. In face of all these discouragements, the ghosts, as a rule, left hotels and taverns unmolested.

One exception is to be found at theOstrichat Colnbrook, a beautiful old Elizabethan coaching inn, retaining near the middle of its long half-timbered and gabled front, above the yard gate, the platform by which “the quality” embarked on the coach. It is an ideal place for a ghost to take sanctuary, with many corridors and low-ceilinged chambers, all lined through with carved chestnut panelling and twisted pilasters. There is a Queen’s room, said to have been used by Queen Elizabeth while awaiting the repair of her coach which had lost a wheel crossing the ford. Over the mantelpiece is her coat of arms. But chiefest of all is the Blue Chamber, sacred to the memory of Dick Turpin. This ubiquitous villain, so tradition states, once leaped from the first floor window and escaped into the street when pressed by the authorities.[15]

The ghost is also associated with the Blue Chamber. His name in the flesh was Thomas Cole, and his story is told in a very rare work of Jacobean date, published by Thowe, of Reading.

Once upon a time in the reign of Henry I, theOstrichwas already a flourishing inn kept by a man and his wife who were secretly robbers and murderers. When a guest of substance came along and was considered a suitable victim, the husband would remark aloud: “Wife, I know of a fat pig if you want one!” and she would answer, “Well, put him into the pigsty till to-morrow.” Then the visitor was put into the Blue Chamber above the kitchen. Underneath the bed there was a trap-door, so arranged that by pulling out two iron pins in the kitchen below the whole fell down, and plunged the unfortunate man into an immense iron brewing-vat filled with boiling water. The dead body was then thrown into the Colne which flows just behind the house. If other travellers asked for the murdered man in the morning, they were told that he had saddled his horse and ridden away before dawn. As a matter of fact, the horse had been saddled and taken away to a barn, some distance off, where the innkeeper cropped and branded it in such a manner that recognition was impossible.

Thomas Cole was a Reading clothier, rich and thrifty. He was in the habit of riding to London, and sleeping at theOstrichon hisreturn journey, when he usually carried a considerable sum of money, the proceeds of his sales. For a long time Cole had been marked out for the cauldron as he usually travelled alone. After the manner of most sixteenth-century legends—Arden of Faversham, for example—the murderers were on several occasions balked of their prey at the last moment when the guest had been shown into the Blue Chamber. Once it was his friends, Gray of Gloucester and William of Worcester, who also traded with cloth in London, and arrived unexpectedly late at night. Another time a tavern dispute kept the house in commotion; a third time a rumour came that his friend Thomas à Beckett’s house in Chepe was on fire, and he returned to town. On another visit he was so ill that a nurse must needs watch by his bedside.

The “Clothiers’ Arms,” Stroud

But at last the opportunity came. Poor Thomas was full of forebodings of some impending calamity all the evening. He dictated his will to the landlord, disposing of his wealth, half to his only daughter, half to his wife. His goodness failed to move the hearts of the greedy couple, and that night the bolts were withdrawn and he was scalded to death.

When the innkeeper had disposed of the body in the river, he found that the merchant’s horse had broken loose and wandered out into the street, where he was lost for the time being.

Next day, Cole’s family, who were expecting his return, were alarmed at his non-appearance. They sent his servants to make inquiries at the inn. The horse was found on the road. The servants were not satisfied with the explanations given them, and appealed to the authorities. On hearing this, the innkeeper lost courage and fled secretly away; but his wife was apprehended and confessed the truth. It appeared that sixty persons had been done away with by means of the falling floor. Both the murderers eventually suffered the extreme penalties of the law of that period.

On the credit of the above story the ghost of Thomas Cole enjoyed for centuries a magnificent notoriety, strutting proudly at midnight along the corridors and terrifying any unfortunate occupant of the Blue Chamber out of his wits. But the historical critic has found him out. There was no cloth trade either in Reading, Gloucester, or Worcester, when Henry I was king, nor was Thomas à Beckett a friend of his, nor did the Blue Chamber itself exist, indeed there were no bedsinvented for ages afterwards. Colnbrook is not so called because “Cole was in the Brook” as was pretended, nor did the river Colne receive that name because Cole was in it. If the shade of Mr. Cole has not fled away altogether, it takes care to hide its diminished head in some dark corner or cupboard. For at least ten years this detected impostor has not shown himself in the Blue Chamber. As a matter of fact, theOstrichwas a hospice founded by Milo Crispin about 1130, and given in trust to the Benedictines at Abingdon.

About two hundred years ago the owners of theHind’s Headat Bracknell tried to emulate the exploits of their rivals at Colnbrook. One winter’s night a stout-hearted farmer was benighted there and spent a merry evening round the fire with some jovial companions. At last a serving-maid showed him up to his chamber. In a scared whisper she warned him that he had taken refuge with a band of villains. By the side of the bedstead was a trap-door leading into a deep well. He threw the bed down the trap-door and escaped by the window. Then he roused the neighbourhood. The gang of ruffians were captured and all executed at Reading. In the well were found the bones of all their victims.

TheHind’s Headis a pleasant little inn, with a fine old garden, and we have slept in the haunted room—slept the sleep of the just undisturbed by visitors of any kind. But we have hopes of theHind’s Head, for the present occupier is a man of taste, who believes that behind the modern wainscot ingle-nooks and other treasures of the old time are waiting to be unveiled. The trap-door and the well are to be seenin situ, and perhaps when the old-fashioned appearance of the interior is restored, the ghosts may be induced to return.

On the western end of Exmoor there is an old inn, theAcland Arms, which supernatural visitants have rendered uninhabitable. It lies deserted and melancholy, with its ruined porch and the broken walls of its weed-choked garden. The wraith of Farmer Mole haunts its precincts. He was returning from South Molton market one dark night on a horse laden with sacks of lime. Many years afterwards horse and man were dug out of the bog close by, into which they must have wandered in the mist and become engulfed.

For the tale of the “Hand of Glory” we are indebted to Mrs. Katherine Macquoid, andwill let it be told in her own words, with only a few abbreviations.[16]

TheSpital Innon Stanmore in Yorkshire, was, in the year 1797, a long narrow building kept by one George Alderson. Its lower storey was used as stabling, for the stage-coaches changed horses at the inn; the upper part was reached by a flight of ten or twelve steps leading up from the road to a stout oaken door, and the windows, deeply recessed in the thick walls, were strongly barred with iron.

One stormy October night, while the rain swept pitilessly against the windows and the fierce gusts made the casements rattle, George Alderson and his son sat over the crackling log fire and talked of their gains at Broughton Hill Fair; these gains, representing a large sum of money, being safely stowed away in a cupboard in the landlord’s bedroom. A knock at the door interrupted them.

“Open t’ door, lass,” said Alderson. “Ah wadna keep a dog out sik a neet as this.”

“Eh! best slacken t’ chain, lass,” said the more cautious landlady.

The girl went to the door, but when she saw that the visitor was an old woman, she badeher come in. There entered a bent figure dressed in a long cloak and hood; this last was drawn over her face and, as she walked feebly to the armchair which Alderson pushed forward, the rain streamed from her clothing and made a pool on the oaken floor. She shivered violently but refused to take off her cloak and have it dried. She also refused the offer of food or a bed. She said she was on her way to the south, and must start as soon as there was daylight. All she needed was a rest beside the fire.

The innkeeper and his wife were well used to wayfarers; they soon said “Good-night,” and went to bed; so did their son. Bella, the maid, was left alone with the shivering old woman, who gave but surly answers to her advances, and the girl fancied that the voice, though low, was not a woman’s. Presently the wayfarer stretched out her feet to warm them, and Bella’s quick eyes saw under the hem of the skirt that the stranger wore horseman’s gaiters. The girl felt uneasy, and instead of going to bed, she resolved to stay up and watch.

The “Greyhound” Inn, Stroud

Presently Bella lay down on a long settle beyond the range of the firelight and watched the stranger while she pretended to fall asleep.All at once the figure in the chair stirred, raised its head and listened; then it rose slowly to its feet, no longer bent but tall and powerful looking; it stood listening for some time. There was no sound but Bella’s heavy breathing, and the wind and rain beating on the windows. Then the woman took from the folds of her cloak a brown withered human hand; next she produced a candle, lit it from the fire, and placed it in the hand. Bella’s heart beat so fast that she could hardly keep up the regular deep breathing of pretended sleep; but now she saw the stranger coming towards her with this ghastly chandelier, and she closed her lids tightly. She felt that the woman was bending over her, and that the light was passed slowly before her eyes, while these words were muttered in the strong masculine voice that had first roused her suspicions:

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