Old Church Lore Part 8

In front of Tothby House, near Alford, Lincolns.h.i.+re, under a spreading tree, is a large stone, which formerly stood on Miles Cross Hill, and, when the town was plague-stricken, in the year 1630, on this stone, money immersed in vinegar was deposited, in exchange for food brought from Spilsby and other places. From July 22nd, 1630, to the end of February, 1631, 132 burials are recorded in the parish register, and this out of a population of under 1000 persons, a proportion equal to that of London during the Great Plague. In one homestead, within twelve days, were six deaths. The Rev. Geo. S. Tyack, B.A., who has contributed a carefully-prepared chapter to "Bygone Lincolns.h.i.+re" on this theme, does not state how the scourge was brought to Alford.

The dead were, as a rule, buried at night, without coffin and ceremony, and frequently in a common grave outside the usual graveyards, like, for example, those in the pest pit of London. "Bring out your dead! Bring out your dead!" was the dismal cry which was heard in London during the Great Plague. The people were dead and buried in a few hours, and it is believed that many were interred alive. A well-known instance occurred at Stratford-on-Avon. The plague raged at the town in 1564, and swept away one-seventh of the inhabitants. The council chamber was closed, but the councillors did not neglect their duties; they met in a garden to discuss the best means of helping the sufferers. The visitation was not confined only to the homes of the poor. The Manor House of Clopton was attacked, and one of its fair inmates, a beautiful girl named Charlotte Clopton, was sick, and to all appearance died. She was buried without delay in the family vault, underneath Stratford Church. A week pa.s.sed, and another was borne to the same resting place. When the vault was opened, a terrible sight was presented. Charlotte Clopton was seen leaning against the wall in her grave clothes. She had been buried alive, and, on recovering from the plague, had attempted to get out of the vault, when death had ended her sufferings.

At Bradley, in the parish of Malpas, Ches.h.i.+re, an entire family, named Dawson, consisting of seven members and two servants, died of the plague, in the year 1625. One of Dawson's sons had been in London, and returned home sick, died, and infected the whole household. The deaths commenced towards the end of July and ended September 15th. Respecting Richard Dawson, the following particulars are given in the parish register, after stating that he was the brother of the head of the house: "being sicke of the plague, and perceyving he must die at yt time, arose out of his bed and made his grave, and caused his nefew, John Dawson, to cast strawe into the grave, w'ch was not farre from the house, and went and lay'd him down in the say'd grave, and caused clothes to be layd uppon, and so dep'ted out of this world; this he did, because he was a strong man, and heavier than his said nefew and another wench were able to bury. He died about xxivth of August. Thus much I was credibly tould he did." The next entry in this distressing record bears date of August 29th, and is that of the nephew just named, and, on September 15th, Rose Smyth, the servant, doubtless the wench referred to, was buried, "and the last of yt household."

At Braintree, in Ess.e.x, in 1665, the plague made great ravages. In that year, 665 persons died of it, being fully one-third of the inhabitants of the place. Business was at a standstill, the town was shunned, and the inhabitants had to depend on charity. Long gra.s.s grew in the streets, and the whole place was one of desolation. At this time, Dr. Kidder, afterwards Bishop of Bath and Wells, was looking after the spiritual welfare of the place. His life contains a painful picture of the sufferings of the inhabitants. In his own house, a young gentleman was attacked and died. "My neighbours," he writes, "durst not come near, and the provisions which were procured for us were laid at a distance, upon a green before my house. No tongue can express the dismal calamity which that part of Ess.e.x lay under at that time. As for myself, I was in perpetual danger. I conversed daily with those who came from the infected houses, and it was unavoidable. The provisions sent into the neighbouring infected town were left at the village where I was, and near my house.

Thither the Earl of Warwick sent his fat bullocks, which he did every week give to the poor of Braintree. The servants were not willing to carry them further. This occasioned frequent coming from that infected place to my village, and, indeed, to my very door. My parish clerk had it when he put on my surplice, and went from me to his house, and died. Another neighbour had three children, and they all died in three nights immediately succeeding each other, and I was forced to carry them to the churchyard and bury them. We were alarmed perpetually with the news of the death of our neighbours and acquaintances, and awakened to expect our turns. This continued a great part of the summer. It pleased G.o.d to preserve me and mine from this noisome pestilence. Praised be his name." The plague at Colchester, in the same county, in 1665-6, made the death rate higher than that of the neighbouring town or even of London. Its deadly operations opened in August, 1665, and closed in December, 1666, and, in that period, pa.s.sed away 4,731 persons. Poverty prevailed, but help poured in from many places. Weekly collections were made in the churches of London, and by this means the sum of 1,311 10s. was obtained. The oath book of the Corporation contains the form of oath administered to men known as "Searchers of the Plague." It was the duty of the men to search out and view the corpses of all who died, and, in cases of death from the plague, to make known the fact to the constables of the parish, and the bearers appointed to bury them. The searchers had to live together, and apart from their families, and not go abroad, except in execution of their duty. They were careful not to go near any one, and they carried in their hands white wands, so that people might know them and so avoid them.

Collections in churches were very general for those suffering from the plague. The following entry, reproduced from the parish register of the small town of Cheadle, Staffords.h.i.+re, may be quoted as a specimen of similar records:

"1666. Collected on the first monthly fast, being second day of August, towards the relief of the persons and places visited by the plague 14s. 7d."

The plague penetrated into most unexpected places. Far away from London, in the Peak of Derbys.h.i.+re, is the delightfully-situated mountain village of Eyam, a place swept over by health-giving breezes. It is a locality of apparent security against infection. In September, 1665, a parcel of tailor's patterns was sent from London to Eyam, and with it came the disease. At that time the village had a population of 350 persons, and when the plague "was exhausted with excessive slaughter," only seventy-three were alive. From September 6th, 1665, to October 11th, 1666, 277 died, the death rate being much higher than that of London. The history of this visitation is heart-rending, and has been told by several writers, but by none more carefully than by William Wood, in his "History of Eyam," published by Richard Keene, of Derby. Two names in this dark story stand out in bright relief, one was the Rev. Thomas Stanley, the ejected rector of the parish, in 1662, and the Rev. William Mompesson, a successor, who was appointed in 1664. With their lives in their hands, these two brave men remained at the post of duty, visited, advised, and aided the sufferers unto death. Mrs. Mompesson administered daily to her husband's suffering paris.h.i.+oners until death closed her useful life, on the 24th August, 1666. This was a terrible blow to her devoted husband, and a heavy loss to the villagers. "At one time," we are told, "Mrs.

Mompesson's heart failed her, when she thought of her two children in the midst of the plague. She cast herself and her two children at the feet of her husband, and begged that they might all depart from the death-stricken place. In the most loving manner, however, he raised her from his feet, and pointed out the awful responsibility which would attach to his deserting his post. He then besought his wife to flee to some distant spot, where she and her babes might be safe. She refused, however, to leave him, but they mutually agreed to send the children to a relative in Yorks.h.i.+re."

About the middle of June, the more wealthy people fled to distant places from the plague-stricken village, and others built huts on the neighbouring hills, and in them took shelter. The entire population appeared determined to flee. Mr. Mompesson pointed out the folly of such a proceeding, observing that they would carry the disease to other places.

His earnest entreaties prevailed.

He wrote to the Earl of Devons.h.i.+re for a.s.sistance, to enable the inhabitants to remain in their own village. The Earl realised the importance of confining the disease within a certain limit. He readily made arrangements for a constant supply of food and clothing for the sufferers. A boundary was fixed round the village, marked by stones, and the residents solemnly agreed that not one should go beyond the radius indicated. The provisions, etc., were left early in the morning at an appointed place, and were fetched away by men selected for the work. If money was paid, it was placed in water. The men of Eyam faithfully kept their promise, so that the plague was not carried by them to any other places.

The churchyard was closed and funeral rites were not read; graves were made in fields and gardens near the cottages of the departed.

During the time the disease was at its height, the church was closed but the faithful rector did not neglect to a.s.semble his flock each succeeding Sabbath in a quiet spot on the south side of the village, and to proclaim to them words of comfort.

Shortly after the disease had stopped at Eyam, the rectory of Eaking was presented to Mr. Mompesson. The inhabitants of his new parish had such a terror of the plague that they dreaded his coming amongst them, and a hut was built for him in Rufford Park, where he remained until their fears had subsided.

This short study of a serious subject enables us to fully realise the force of the supplication in the Litany: "From Plague and Pestilence, Good Lord deliver us."

A King Curing an Abbot of Indigestion.

Many of the English monarchs have delighted in the pleasures of the chase.

Their hunting expeditions have often led them into out-of-the-way places where they were unknown, and their adventures gave rise to good stories, which have done much to enliven the dry pages of national history. Bluff King Hal was a jovial huntsman, and was one day enjoying the pastime in the glades of Windsor Forest, when he missed his way, and, to his surprise, found himself near the Abbey at Reading. He keenly felt the pangs of hunger, and resolved to try and get a meal at the table of the Abbey hard by.

After disguising himself, he made his way to the house, under the pretence of being one of the king's guards. He was invited to partake of a sirloin of beef, and he did such justice to it as to surprise not a little the worthy abbot. The latter pledged his guest's royal master, adding that if his weak stomach could digest such a meal as his visitor had just eaten he would gladly give a hundred pounds. He lamented that he could only take for his dinner the wing of a chicken, or other equally small dainty. The burly stranger pledged him in return, and, after expressing his grat.i.tude, departed without his ident.i.ty being discovered.

After a few short weeks had pa.s.sed, another stranger wended his way to the Abbey of Reading, armed with a warrant from King Henry VIII. to take the abbot a prisoner, and lodge him in the Tower. It was with a heavy heart that the abbot journeyed to London. His prison fare was very plain, and consisted of bread and water, and provided in small quant.i.ties, so that he not only suffered in mind, but also from the want of food. He often wondered what he had done to displease the king, but could not obtain any information on the subject. A change at last came over the scene. A fine sirloin of beef was placed on his table, and he was bidden to feast to his heart's content. He did not need any pressing to do justice to the joint, for he was almost famished, and dined more like a glutton than a man with a weak stomach. The king watched with amus.e.m.e.nt, from a secret place, the abbot enjoying his dinner, and, when he had nearly completed it, stepped forth from his hiding place, and demanded one hundred pounds for curing the poor abbot of his indigestion, and reminded him of their former meeting at the Abbey of Reading. The patient gladly paid his physician the stipulated fee, and, with a light purse and a merry heart, bent his steps homeward.

The Services and Customs of Royal Oak Day.

Writing in his diary, on May 29th, 1665, John Evelyn says: "This was the first anniversary appointed by Act of Parliament to be observed as a day of General Thanksgiving for the miraculous restoration of his Majesty: our vicar preaching on Psalm cxviii. 24, requiring us to be thankful and rejoice, as indeed we had cause." A special form of prayer in commemoration of the Restoration of Charles II. was included in the Book of Common Prayer until 1859, when it was removed by Act of Parliament.

On this day, the Chaplain of the House of Commons used to preach before the House, in St. Margaret's Church, Westminster. The service has been discontinued since 1858. It attracted little attention, and the congregation usually consisted of the Speaker, the Sergeant-at-arms, the clerks and other officers, and about half a dozen members.

It was, in bygone times, in many parts of England, the practice, on this day, to fasten boughs of oak to the pinnacles of church steeples.

The display of oak is in memory of the king's escape after the Battle of Worcester, in 1651, and of his successfully hiding himself in an oak tree at Boscobel. Tennyson, in his "Talking Oak," refers to the subject:

"Thy famous brother oak, Wherein the younger Charles abode, Till all the paths grew dim, While far below the Roundheads rode, And humm'd a surly hymn."

Richard Penderel greatly a.s.sisted Charles in his time of trouble, and he selected the oak in which safety was found. When Charles "came to his own," the claims of Penderel were not overlooked. He was attached to the Court. When he died, he was buried with honours at St. Giles-in-the-Fields.

It was customary, for a long period, to decorate his grave in the churchyard with oak branches.

Formerly, in Derbys.h.i.+re, it was the practice to place over the doors of houses, branches of young oak, and it is still the custom for boys to wear sprigs of the same tree in their hats and b.u.t.tonholes. If the lads neglect to wear the oak-leaf they are stung with nettles by their more loyal companions. At Looe, and other districts of East Cornwall, it was enforced by spitting at or "cobbing" the offender. In bygone times, the boys of Newcastle-on-Tyne had an insulting rhyme, which they used to repeat to such folk as they met who did not wear oak-leaves:

"Royal oak The Whigs to provoke."

On this day, many wore plane tree leaves, and would make a retort to the foregoing rhyme:

"Plane tree leaves; The Church folk are thieves."

Mr. John Nicholson, in his "Folk Lore of East Yorks.h.i.+re" (Hull, 1890), has an interesting note on this subject. "During the days of spring," says Mr.

Nicholson, "boys busily 'bird-nest' (seek nests), and lay up a store of eggs for the 29th of May, Royal Oak Day, or Mobbing Day. These eggs are expended by being thrown at other boys, but all boys who carry a sprig of Royal Oak, not dog oak, either in their cap or coat, are free from molestation. Not only wild birds' eggs, but the eggs of hens and ducks are used to 'mob' (pelt) with, and the older and more unsavoury the eggs are, the better are they liked--by the thrower. The children sing:

'The twenty-ninth of May, Royal Oak Day, If you don't give us a holiday We'll all run away.'"

At Castleton, Derbys.h.i.+re, an old custom still lingers of making a huge garland of flowers on this day, and afterwards suspending it on the top of the princ.i.p.al pinnacle of the church. The late Mr. Alfred Burton saw this garland constructed in 1885, and had a drawing made of it for his volume ent.i.tled "Rush-bearing." "The framework," says Mr. Burton, "is of wood, thatched with straw. Interior diameter, a little over two feet, outside (when covered with flowers), over three feet six inches. In shape it somewhat resembles a bell, completely covered over with wild flowers--hyacinths, water-b.u.t.tercups, b.u.t.tercups, daisies, forget-me-nots, wallflowers, rhododendrons, tulips, and ornamental gra.s.ses, in rows, each composed of the same flower, which have been gathered in the neighbourhood the evening before. The top, called the 'queen,' is formed of garden flowers, and fits into a socket at the top of the garland. It weighs over a hundredweight, requires two men to lift it, and has occupied four men from noon till five o'clock in the afternoon to make it."

[Ill.u.s.tration: CASTLETON GARLAND.]

At six in the evening, a procession is formed from a village inn, whose turn it is to take the lead in the festivities. A band of music heads the processionists, next comes the garland, which, we are told by Mr. Burton, is "borne on the head and shoulders of a man riding a horse, and wearing a red jacket. A stout handle inside, which rests on the saddle in front of him, enables him to hold it upright. It completely envelopes him to the waist, and is roomy enough to enable ale to be pa.s.sed up to his mouth, of which he takes good care to have a share. His horse is led for him, and he is followed by another man on horseback, dressed as a woman, who acts the fool. These are followed by the villagers, dancing, even old people who can scarcely walk making a point of attempting to dance on this, the greatest day in the year at Castleton. After parading the village, the 'queen' is taken off the garland and placed in the church, the garland being hoisted with ropes to the top of the church tower, where it is placed on one of the pinnacles, and left till it has withered away, when the framework is taken down and kept for another year. The other pinnacles have branches of oak."

In the churchwardens' accounts of Castleton, are entries as follows:

"1749. Pd. for an iron rod to hang singers' garland on 0 0 8.

1750. Pd. ringers on 29th May 0 3 0."

Payments for ringing bells on the 29th May occur frequently in churchwardens' accounts, and a few examples may be quoted. The first is from Wellington, Somerset:

"1688. Pd. for ringing, the 29th May 0 5 0."

The accounts of St. Michael's, Bishop Stortford, state:

"1703. Pd. ringers 29th May 0 6 8."

St. Mary's, Stamford, contain an item as follows:

"1709. Pd. Richard Hambleton for ale for the ringers on ye 29th May 00 06 08."

Northampton is loyal to the memory of Charles II. He was a benefactor to the borough, and helped the inhabitants after the great fire of 1675. In the Baptismal Register of All Saints', Northampton, it is recorded, under September 1675, as follows: "In this month, a very lamentable fire destroyed 3 parts of our Towne and Church." The Marriage Register says: "While the world lasts, remember September the 20th, a dreadfull fire, it consumed to ashes in a few houres, 3 parts of our Towne and Cheef Church."