THE GREAT NORTH ROAD.Part of design of sampler made by Lora Standish. May be seen in Pilgrim Hall, PlymouthPart of design of sampler made by Lora Standish. May be seen in Pilgrim Hall, Plymouth.THE GREAT NORTH ROAD.
THE GREAT NORTH ROAD.
Part of design of sampler made by Lora Standish. May be seen in Pilgrim Hall, Plymouth
Part of design of sampler made by Lora Standish. May be seen in Pilgrim Hall, Plymouth.
Three hundred and a few more years ago the Great North Road leading from London to Edinburgh ran through and by an English village in Nottinghamshire just as it had done three hundred years earlier than that and as it has these three hundred years. The streets of the village ran toward it and into it as brooks flow to a river, it being the main thoroughfare of travel and therefore source of all outside interests for the inhabitants of the village.
At the corner as one could say, of one of these little streets or roads where it joined the Great Road, one spring day of the sixteenth century, we might see a group of some of the villagers, young people principally, and it is plain some event of unusual interest has called them together; they are laughing and waving to a young man who rides away from them down the road, a friend who has been one of them from childhood and popular as evidenced by the number who have been wishing him a safe journey and all the usual farewells of any time and place. This young man with the pleasing face and manner is the son of the postmaster of the village and he goes to college; his erstwhile companions gaze after his retreating figure down the Great Road through the meadows andfarm lands and there is one girl looks the longest—a girl named Mary.
Other times other manners in some things—yet even today in another country village we have seen the postmaster’s son leave home for college, not on horseback but in an automobile, and a gay crowd of his friends seeing him off, his presence to be missed in much the same degree as among those we are now viewing with the mind’s eye. Though time and circumstance be the result of the passing of three hundred years, human nature remains as unchanged as the sky and sea; the student of the present whom we mention may be cousin of a Cabinet official, that scarcely is remembered at the moment, neither is it thought of that the boy who rides on the Great Northern Road is a member of one of the most substantial county families, with powerful friends ecclesiastical and lay. As the turn of the road will soon take him from sight, he looks back at the group watching him for a final wave of his hat, then rides on towards his destination, Cambridge, thinking, perhaps, of the gentle Mary, whom we have noted, whose fine character and winning ways are already an influence with him and not thinking at all, or knowing, of another Mary who is to be perhaps an equal if not more potent influence in his life—a woman in as great a contrast in rank and circumstance as the difference may be between a queen and a village maid.
The gay group now lessens as some turn their steps towards their daily tasks, a few of the boysperchance to a long walk to the nearest school, few and far between in those days; others to help in the farm work, if parents could not spare them; the girls to look after the flocks on the Commons, or home work, such as cooking, wool spinning, caring for the children or the sick. In this time and locality no hospitals, orphanages or homes for the aged were there to relieve the sick or homeless; friendship and charity must indeed have reached a crest among these only moderately well to do people, education was backward from conditions easily found, yet a thread of knowledge of life in other countries as well as their own came almost daily to these quiet, rustic people, not by books or newspapers, (the first seen rarely, the last not existing), nor by letters which were not publicly delivered by the government until some time later, but by the constant travellers on foot or on horseback by the Great Road. The post house, both an inn, relay station and receptible for news, though not a post office as is today thought of by the words, was the finest house in this particular town and well known, from the north country to London. The position of postmaster was a coveted benefaction of the government, the salary being large and enabling the official to lease the manor house from a wealthy ecclesiastic. The office at this time had been retained in one family for several generations. Thus the men and women and children, of course, had plenty to talk about beside their local interests at gatherings at the inn or after church services onSundays, for the old Church still was revered and followed, the changes that were coming to some of its then supporters not yet discernable.
As we have selected a spring day for our glimpse into this long ago life we may hear conversation among our young friends of the coming May Day fetes and procession of mummers and maskers, and plans being formed and opinions given as to who should act the usual characters in the masque of Robin Hood. It was a pity indeed that “Will” would not be with them this year; who might be Alan a Dale in his stead? But Will was graver since learning Latin and Greek, perhaps he would not care for their good times as much as he used to. A mistake surely—Will was just as sociable and genial as ever.
Thus Mary and an Alice and Elizabeth and another Mary and Katherine chatted away of coming pleasures and absent friends as blithe as any similar bevy of girls in a far futured century from theirs can do.
In front of one of the cottages another group has gathered; a peddler has come in and the older women have let the brew and baking wait a few moments to hear the news of the towns he has come from on his chain of travel, where other friends dwell, and to see his merchandise. The girls’ eyes gleam as they join the listeners and prospective buyers, departing Will and coming dances forgotten for the moment in this new interest of the day. Joy! Patty, across the river, has sent a message toBess; not a written note, oh, no, for neither she could write nor Bess could read it, but a message well delivered by the friendly vender of trifles, so why give a thought to a lack of ability to read or write just then, when one has learned, nevertheless, the latest important event in the life of a dear friend in her very own words. The peddler was a reliable and patient transmitter of words or gifts; a telephone and parcel post in one, and always a welcome visitor. Today he might be telling of the pageant lately given in a city not far away in distance, but far in fact to them, to entertain the Queen on a visit she had made there in the interests of the enterprise and industry that “Good Queen Bess” endeavored to prosper in her land. Fashions were also described, as the old time peddlers were indeed specialists in much beside selling commodities and fancies. It is decided that Molly “shall have a new ribbon to tie in her nut brown hair.” A new clasp knife is needed by some one;—listen to the tale of the strange vegetables now being brought for the nobles and gentry from the place called the Queen’s kitchen garden in Holland. He had seen them and they were good to taste;—a measure of linen? yes; starch just imported and the use explained; a looking-glass, none too many on hand for comfort; a Bible printed in English by a Dutch printer—he has just sold one to the rector in a neighboring town—and so the peddler passes by.
An arrival at the inn, later in the day, of a high dignitary of the Church with his train of employeesmade bustle about the village while horses were changed. Towards evening, many of the people gathered about the manor house, old in their day, and while the sunset gleamed in the fish ponds on the estate and touched the church’s spire, they talked of that day’s and other day’s events, discussed the curtailment of the commons, as the landlords enclosed more and more, whereof one had said not that geese were stolen from the common but the common taken from under the geese; stories heard from travellers, or doubted what they could not believe. A noted personage had passed that way quite recently who had made more than ordinary impression, a gentleman of the court going on an important mission to Scotland, then quite as foreign seeming a country as Holland, where this gentleman had lived also. He had talked especially with Will, the postmaster’s son and seemed glad to hear about his studies, and was altogether friendly. But few travellers changed the course of the lives of any of the dwellers in this community as this same pleasant gentleman was to do for some. Could Mary have dreamed that she should see her Will one day riding away again, not to studies of Latin and Greek but in company with this same gallant gentleman, to the study and knowledge of a new world and language, as private secretary of Queen Elizabeth’s ambassador to Holland?
Neighborly visits, while the twilight lingers after babies are in their cradles, for recounting impressions and retelling news; thus the women of thatlittle village close a day like many another of which their lives were made.
“Weaving through all the poor detailsAnd homespun warp of circumstanceA golden woof-thread of romance.”
Time to measure of several years, is spent almost unnoted by these quiet dwellers in the village of Scrooby, the village we have pictured; life for them does not greatly change, but for William Brewster, the postmaster’s son, change, variety, experience, have filled each day sinceMr.Davidson, the Queen’s ambassador and advisor, called him to become his secretary and confidential friend. The experiences of this period both abroad and in his own country have been narrated by many and may be read in various writings. At the close of these interesting years, when all things pointed to a continuance of the brilliant life stretching before him as courtier or politician, suddenly all was changed. One day, news came to Scrooby, as to the rest of the country, that Mary the Beautiful, exiled Queen of Scots, was dead. How this event directly affected William Brewster and brought him to his home again may also be read elsewhere. He became once more a country resident, welcomed and beloved by all his old friends. The day of days dawned for Mary and smiled upon her marriage with Will. He received the appointment to the Scrooby post, in succession to his father, so the old manor house became home to Mary for many years, and as the wife of the mostrespected and admired man of the community—the leader in thought and opinion, her days must have been filled with honest pride and pleasure and love for her husband and children. That these happy years should close with anxiety, distress, poverty as her portion was because of the very importance of her husband’s position.
The causes which made for the startling contrast were slow in gathering yet when accumulated, the effects followed with rapidity. Naturally, as William Brewster settled back into his old place at the home of his boyhood, the differences he had noted between life on the Continent and in his native country made an ever recurrent impression. The word pictures he drew of vastly different scenes and manners, customs and dress found an ever ready audience and were recounted in the effort to broaden and educate his hearers. At the same time, he resumed acquaintance with college friends in other places and persuaded some to move into his locality.
During these years, the farmers found living much more difficult, owing to landlord’s selfishness who were growing richer while their tenants grew poorer, also these country people found their religious life growing more difficult. Church and State were one, and ordered its subjects’ lives from the beginning to the end; persons who did not care to be so controlled were soon made to see the error of their ways. Nevertheless, as the Bible was made accessible to more of the people from being printed in their own language, and as workers from the Continent,chiefly Holland, came to live and mix with the English, other ideas and views were taken by some, quite different from the long dominant ones of the State Church.
Enough of these persons who thought alike separated from the old Church to call themselves a new Church and held religious services among themselves at their own houses. William Brewster was the leader in his part of the country, and so many gladly followed his teachings and example that the Church tried in every way to restrain them. Brewster’s personal charm and influence, his intellect and generous spirit drew countless numbers of men and women for miles around to his home for the worship they conducted according to their ideas of right and liberty of conscience. After the service in the old Chapel of the manor house, he entertained all the company at dinner.
Just here we can see Mary Brewster, the sympathetic and charming hostess, her fair face silhouetted against the dark, age old wainscot of the refectory or dining-room, of the manor inn, surrounded by her and her husband’s early friends and those of later years, loved by them all for herself no less than as the wife of their revered leader.
These gatherings came to be held in secret, of necessity, as the members were liable to arrest for absenting themselves from the regular Church services and teaching other views. Spies were set to report their actions, and some were called before the magistrates and sent to prison. It became plainthat they could not continue in that manner—uncertainty and anxiety becoming daily companions.
Queen Elizabeth died; her successor rode down from Scotland on the Great North Road and stopped with all his retinue at Scrooby. This was doubtless the last brilliant assembly that the manor saw, when the home of the Brewster’s. The people hoped for better things at his accession, but soon learned that he was to be just as hard upon them and times would be worse. Plans were made among them under the guidance of Brewster for emigration to Holland where, as he knew, there was liberty and welcome for all.
It is not difficult to realize the reluctance with which they came to this decision, to leave all their natural associations, to give up much that was dear with almost no hope of a return. Sad indeed were these days for Mary Brewster and the other women of the community who were preparing like her to part with much of their belongings, their homes and friends who could not think as they did but were cherished, notwithstanding.
“Well worthy to be magnified are theyWho with sad hearts of friends and country tookA last farewell, their loved abodes forsook,And hallowed ground in which their fathers lay.”
The final summer for them in the old home passed; that each sunset brought a certain regret, each rose that bloomed a more than passing attention we may believe. Yet it seemed the best thingthey could do for themselves and their children. In the place where they would make their new home others of English birth and similar experiences were already settled, having been, as they, forced to leave their own land; at least they would be welcomed by and could have intercourse and sympathy with those of their own race and country, advice and help also in the matter of the problem of living—a somewhat staring one, as they were ignorant of any solution but their own. Curiosity, too, supposed ever to be an attribute of women, might pierce their melancholy a little, and they had heard enough to wish to behold for themselves since the opportunity had come; the enthusiasm for adventure on the part of the children must have lightened the prospect as well. The pain was in giving up the dear interests, the fond associations of their lives.
Dull indeed the eye of fancy which cannot see Mary Brewster with her two little daughters coming down the stone steps of the manor house in a golden evening, to follow the path through the meadow fields towards Ryton stream and there wander on its banks, visiting favorite nooks and listening to the bird’s good night, for them seeming notes of farewell. As Experience wears ever the same dress, her mirror must reflect for each of us some such scene as this.