Fragments of Two Centuries Part 24

Plant-pots and plants alike were strown, And gilded names in swaths were mown.

Some thought it was an earthquake, and others that the end of all things had come. Amongst the terrified shopkeepers, George Rivers, the witty thespian, is credited with exclaiming:--

"The windows and the frames are gone, And all the house is tumbling down"!

Not till the wagon reached the Warren did that and the old sign-post part company, and even then the sleepy driver wended his ponderous way towards Buntingford in blissful ignorance of the devastation he had wrought upon the shop windows! "Nor did he learn the strange affray till he returned another day."

1836. The great snowstorm of 1836 was even more memorable than the two preceding storms of 1799 and 1814, for its suddenness, its extent, and the greatly increased number of stage-coaches "on the road" at that time, which suffered from the interruption of traffic. It commenced to snow on the night of Christmas Eve (Sat.u.r.day) and snowed all day on Sunday, and the next day. No snowstorm in Great Britain for the previous hundred years equalled it in violence and extent. On the evening of the 26th, after it had been snowing for 48 hours, the wind increased to a hurricane, and in the night the fall of snow was from four to six feet, while the drifts were from 20 to 30 feet in depth, and the condition of all exposed to it was appalling! The storm spread all over Europe, and in this island all communication was cut off for nearly a week. No coach got through from Cambridge till the following Thursday. Many a Christmas party that Christmas were minus their guests, for coaches were "snowed up" all over the land, and, but for the timely shelter of inns and private houses, many of the pa.s.sengers must have perished. There were three coaches almost within sight of each other placed _hors de combat_ in and near Royston. One coach was actually stuck fast in the snow at the Cross, in the centre of the town; another just below the present railway bridge, and another at the bottom of the Kneesworth Hill. These coaches were the Edinburgh Mail, the Boston Mail, and the Stamford Coach, and were all on their way to London at the time. The unfortunate pa.s.sengers were obliged to spend the Christmas holidays in Royston as best they could, and the mails were sent forward on horseback as soon as practicable. For a whole week no mail coach went into, or came from, London through Buntingford and Royston. Between Royston and Wadesmill, on the portion of the North Road known as the {186} Wadesmill Turnpike Trust, the difficulties of opening up communication were of the most formidable character.

Near the gates at the entrance to Coles Park, Westmill (now the residence of R. P. Greg, Esq.), there were drifts 20 feet deep, and the labour of cutting through the snow between Royston and Wadesmill, was believed to have cost no less than L400, and so great was the loss to the toll-keepers that the Turnpike Trust found it necessary to compensate Mr. Flay, the lessee, to the extent of L200 for the loss of toll through this unexampled interruption of traffic. It may be of interest just now to mention that the above remarkable storm was followed by a serious epidemic of influenza.

1837. Following the important undertaking of cutting through Burloes Hill on the Newmarket Road, came the great work of cutting through the hill on the London Road, south of Royston. The undertaking was begun in 1836, the contract price for the work in this case being L1,723.

This work proved more difficult in one sense than that of the Newmarket Road, from the fact that the coaching and other traffic was so much greater along this road and that the work had to be adapted to the continuation of this heavy traffic. The pa.s.sage of coaches over the temporary roadway was not of the smoothest, and it is said that one pa.s.senger became so alarmed that he jumped from the coach, being afraid it would upset, and in doing so broke his leg. The Turnpike Trust, being responsible for the state of the road, though not for the pa.s.senger's want of courage, made him a compensation of L50 for the injury.

In 1837 the coronation of Her Majesty, Queen Victoria, was worthily celebrated in Royston. There were free dinners for the townspeople on the Market Hill, with bands of music, and the princ.i.p.al residents dined together at the Bull Hotel afterwards--much the same as in the celebration of the jubilee of Her Majesty's reign fifty years afterwards in 1887.

1840. In this year the Royal Agricultural Society held their second annual show on Parker's Piece, Cambridge, and, as an ill.u.s.tration of how such exhibitions have advanced since then, it may be mentioned that at the show of the "Royal" at Oxford in the previous year there were only fifty exhibits of live stock and twenty-three of implements, and the exhibition at Cambridge brought not very many more.

1842. During the winter months of this year a mail-coach driver was killed near the turnpike, Mill Road, Royston, by the coach being overthrown owing to the snow.

In the same year the Rev. J. Snelgar, vicar of Royston, hung himself in his own rooms at the residence (now Mr. Walter --ale's) [Transcriber's note: several characters missing from Walter's surname] near the Sun Inn, at the top of Back Street.

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[Ill.u.s.tration: TRIUMPHAL ARCH AT BUNTINGFORD.]

1843. Her Majesty the Queen and Prince Consort visited Wimpole and Cambridge this year, pa.s.sing through Royston on their way to Cambridge.

Triumphal arches and other signs of welcome were erected in most of the towns and villages on the road from London to Cambridge. Of these outward manifestations of loyalty, the ill.u.s.trations here given appeared at the time in the _Ill.u.s.trated London News_, which, now claiming to be the father of ill.u.s.trated journals, was then in its infancy and only about one year old. Three triumphal arches were erected in Royston; one at the entrance into Royston opposite the residence of Mr. Hale Wortham, one at the Cross, and another at the Inst.i.tute, with no end of bunting down the streets. Goods were removed from shop windows and spectators took their places. There was an enormous concourse of people to see the young Queen and her royal consort. It had been arranged to run up a flag upon a flag-staff on the top of the London Cutting as soon as the royal carriage was seen coming down Reed Hill, as a signal for the bells to commence ringing.

This was in charge of Mr. Hale Wortham, in whose absence for a few minutes some mischievous boys ran up the flag signal, which set the Church bells ringing, and placed the whole concourse of people on the tiptoe of expectation and excitement long before the Queen's arrival, with a corresponding tax upon their patience. A tremendous gale was blowing, which played havoc with the linen and devices on the arches and tore down the flag-staff and pinnacle to which it was attached on the tower of the Parish Church. When the carriage came, however, {188} it was at a very great speed. By the arrangement of the Earl of Hardwicke a regular military escort was dispensed with as soon as the county of Cambridge was reached. In Melbourn Street a large body of hors.e.m.e.n, including many gentlemen of Royston, was a.s.sembled, which was in fact lined by them, for the purpose of falling in by threes as the royal carriage pa.s.sed. During a pause the Earl of Hardwicke went up to the carriage and spoke to the Queen and the Prince Consort. The royal carriage was escorted by soldiers and members of the Herts. Yeomanry as far as the borders of Herts. at Royston, where members of the Cambs.

Yeomanry were to take their places. The carriage travelled at such great speed that though the Herts. Yeomanry, mostly farmers and others used to hunting and well mounted, easily kept their places, yet the Cambs. men, including Fen men more heavily mounted, soon found themselves actually dropping off, and many of them were left hopelessly behind when the journey was renewed en route for Trinity College, Cambridge. Those left behind were able to come up at Melbourn where there was a change of horses.

[Ill.u.s.tration: TRIUMPHAL ARCH AT ROYSTON.]

At Melbourn the scene was a memorable one as the mounted hors.e.m.e.n and a vast crowd of people from the whole neighbourhood gathered around the old historic elm tree, where the change of horses took place. Such a crush of mounted hors.e.m.e.n had never been seen in the village. Upon the gigantic branch of the old elm tree, which then extended right across the road, some loyal Melbournites, short of bright coloured flags usually employed on such occasions, had spread a huge tarpauling upon which was a loyal motto of welcome. This curious piece {189} of bunting naturally attracted some attention, and some of the yeomanry escort attending Her Majesty and the Prince, were heard to remark that it was "a very coa.r.s.e piece of loyalty," but evidently the young Queen and her royal consort, accepted it at its intended worth, and what was wanting in elegance, was made up by sincerity and the enthusiasm of the people. It is fair to add that Melbourn had its triumphal arch as appears by the contemporary ill.u.s.trations in the journal from which those at Royston and Buntingford have been obtained.

[Ill.u.s.tration: WIMPOLE MANSION.]

The following reference to this event occurs in a book ent.i.tled "Recollections of Military Life and Society," by Lieut.-Col. B. D. W.

Ramsay:--"In the autumn of 1843 we were despatched on escort duty with Her Majesty and Prince Albert, between Hertford, Cambridge, Royston, and Wimpole, Lord Hardwicke's place. On arrival at Wimpole, where I commanded the escort, I received a despatch from the Horse Guards directing me to give up the escorting of Her Majesty from Royston to Wimpole to whatever yeomanry might present themselves. This I received one afternoon, and on the following day Her Majesty was to arrive, and no yeomanry had made their appearance. I therefore determined to ride out to Wimpole and see Lord Hardwicke. * * * On arriving there I saw Lord Hardwicke standing in front of the house with his agent, an old naval officer and shipmate. Lord Hardwicke frantically waved me off saying, 'I do not want to see you. Why do you come to torment me before my time? To-morrow you must all come.' This he said in a melancholy voice. Upon which I deemed it advisable to introduce myself as he had evidently forgotten me. The Dowager Lady Hardwicke was my grand aunt. * * * When I made myself known nothing could exceed his kindness. 'G.o.d bless you {190} my boy,' he said, 'Come and stay as long as you can, and drink all my champagne; but don't bother me about military matters. You know I am a blue-coat, and don't care about them.' I said, however, 'I must know if any yeomanry are coming, in order to make the necessary arrangements.' 'Of course they'll come; don't bother me,' was all I could get out of him. And then he s.n.a.t.c.hed a book out of his agent's hands, and said 'Look here; here are my accounts balanced for the year--not a penny to spare; and here are all you fellows coming. However, you are all welcome. Enjoy yourselves; but for goodness sake don't bother me.' So I decamped. I returned to Royston late in the evening but still no yeomanry." The yeomanry arrived about ten o'clock at night, however, and the writer gives an amusing account of the dispute over changing escorts, the yeomanry officer insisting that the change should be made at the Inn where the change of horses was made, and the writer states that he with all the dignity of a cornet of twenty years of age, said he would do no such thing, but that the change should be made on the confines of the county some distance outside the town. The yeomanry officer remonstrated saying that the Queen's carriage would then be travelling at a great rate and it would be difficult to change escorts as his men had never practised it. The young cornet said that that was his affair, and insisting upon the letter of his instructions, the change of escort was made at the county boundary, the leaders of the Queen's carriage were thrown down in the process, and the only consolation that could be offered to Prince Albert's inquiry for the cause was the instruction from the Horse Guards, and that the spot was the confines of the county of Cambridge, and the struggling ma.s.s of hors.e.m.e.n His Royal Highness saw were the yeomanry who had presented themselves! The writer adds "My orders being explicit there could be no answer to this. But query, ought I to have been so particular as to the letter of the law?

Certainly the Lord Lieutenant of the County, Lord Hardwicke, thought _not_, as he slapped me on the back and called me an impudent young----(something)."

{191}

CHAPTER XVII.

THEN AND NOW.--CONCLUSION.

From our present stand-point there is just a touch of pathos in the thought of many aspiring Englishmen of the Georgian era pa.s.sing away on the eve of momentous changes, privileged only to see indications of the coming times and not to enter into possession. But there is one element which qualifies this sentiment of regret in breaking with the antic.i.p.ations of the good time coming. It must be so for all conditions of men. Have we not still to look forward, as we pa.s.s out of the age of steam into the more subtle and wonderful age of electricity, to a time when there may be greater wonders yet in store!

And so to every man who reaps a harvest from other men's labours comes the old lesson of the responsibility for continuing the seed-sowing.

Of those whose lives have spread over the last eighty years it has been well said that "to be borne in one world, to die in another, is, in the case of very old people, scarcely a figure of speech," so marvellous is the difference between the surroundings of their cradle and their grave. Standing by the Ja.n.u.s at the portals of the two centuries, what a contrast was presented in the backward and forward views! Backward we have seen, in these glimpses of the past, men struggling with difficulties and pa.s.sing away with the seed-sowing; forward, we see other men enter the promised land and reaping the harvest, for which others had toiled; backward we have seen in our villages, men pa.s.sing toilsome lives in the circ.u.mscribed daily round of their native parish, from which it was almost impossible to break away, or within the few miles of that little world which seemed to end where the earth and sky appeared to meet, and beyond which was a _terra incognita_; forward we see the children from the same villages playing in merry groups on the sands of that wonderful sea-sh.o.r.e of which their fathers had only heard in song and story; and so through the many phases of the daily life of the people.

With much that is admittedly still lacking in the village life and its hold upon the people, the condition of the youth of an agricultural district presents as great a contrast to-day with that of the youth of eighty years ago, as any other condition of life can show. Then, he trudged from the farm house to his daily round of toil, in his stiff leather breeches, from the field back to the stable, from the stable to the kitchen fire-place, then to bed, and up again to the stable and the field--week in, week out, with, in many cases, not a penny to spend from year's end to year's end; hearing no music and seeing no {192} brightness excepting the fiddle and the dulcimer, and the dance and the shows at the neighbouring "statty" (statute fair) at Michaelmas once a year. His master had absolute control of his life and actions, and sometimes would enforce it with the whip-stock. But now the farm lad has the hardihood and the right to summon his employer before a magistrate, goes to "Lunnon" at holiday time, walks with a stick, wears a b.u.t.tonhole in his _coat_, and, _mirabile dictu_! has been seen to ride home from his work on a "bone-shaker"! In place of the old bent figures in smock-frocks, there are spruce young fellows in black coats; in place of the old indoor farm service, its hearty living, but liberty to thrash a boy, there is freedom of contract, and, I daresay, sometimes an empty stomach; instead of an absolute indifference to the moral character of the labourer, the farmer is waking up to the fact that a steady sober man is worth more than the frequenter of the ale-house.

But there is a _per contra_ in all this. Bad as the times were at the beginning of the century, when the flint, steel, and tinder box, was the only means of striking a light, there were not seen so many boys in the street contracting a bad habit of smoking as may be seen to-day.

There was of necessity much less smoking than now, for the habitual smoker was obliged to light up before leaving home, or go into a house, or trust to meeting a fellow smoker with a pipe alight on the road.

But we have gained something in outward decency in the decrease of the filthy habit of chewing tobacco, and in the now still greater rarity of the habitual snuff-taker.

Perhaps the most remarkable, and certainly the most humiliating item, in the _per contra_ account set off against extraordinary advancements all round in the outward conditions of the life of the villager, is to be found in the fact that the cottage home--the fountain head of character--has in the great majority of cases absolutely stood still.

The old cottage homes of England with all their poetic a.s.sociations, have, in too many cases, not only not improved, but, with their low mud, or brick floors, cold-beds, rather than hot-beds, of rheumatism, have remained just as when they were occupied by the great-grandfathers of the present generation, excepting that they have grown older and more dilapidated. The evil of huddling families into such hovels is aggravated by the altered condition of life for the labourers' boys, who can no longer, as of yore, find a home in the more roomy farm-house. It may be a hard thing to say perhaps, but the evidence seems irresistible that though there may be notable instances to the contrary, in too many cases where the old clay-bat and thatched habitations have escaped the devouring element of fire, the housing of the labouring man's family is much worse than it was sixty years ago.

Is it surprising that a spirited youth or girl, with all the stimulus of immensely improved conditions of life around them, should be drawn away from the old moorings?

{193}

Perhaps in no respect have the changes of time been greater than in the political world, and yet there is a little of the _per contra_ even here. Not only are political opinions freely uttered now for which a man would have found himself in Newgate a hundred years ago, but Bills of all kinds are introduced into Parliament with perfect safety to the person of the member proposing them, such as our forefathers would never have dreamed of advocating, even though they were sometimes called bad names for their advanced political views. In the old days the rural voter got a jollification, a drinking bout, and some hard cash for his vote; now he can almost obtain an Act of Parliament.

Still, it is better than bribery, I suppose.

In writing this I do not in any sense hold a brief for the past as against the present, but in contrasting these different phases of life one is bound to acknowledge that we have lost a few things which would have been well worth preserving. We have gained untold social advantages, but we have in too many cases lost the priceless treasure of individual contentment; we have gained a great many things that have been labelled with the sacred name of freedom, but only too often to bow down to false notions of respectability; we have been emanc.i.p.ated as communities from the brutal display of sport and pastimes which have been referred to in the earlier part of these pages, but in too many cases only to subst.i.tute a more subtle form of gambling about names of things printed in the newspapers, without any such excuse for the interest taken as our forefathers had in the excitement which was actually before their eyes; we have gained untold advantage in the spread of knowledge, and the means of access to a wealth of intellectual treasures such as our forefathers never dreamed of, but have too often allowed our reading tastes to degenerate into nothing more solid than the newspaper and a few literary _bon-bons_.

There has been both a levelling up and a levelling down in the matter of education, for it is doubtful whether tradesmen and others called middle-cla.s.s people are so well educated--I mean so thoroughly educated, for they know more things but fewer things well--as men were a generation ago, if we consider education on the abstract and intellectual side.

We are perhaps a little too apt to think that there is nothing for us of to-day, but to bless our stars that we were born in the 19th century; yet if we who carry "the torch of experience lighted at the ashes of past delusions" have escaped from the mists and the shadows along the way which our grandfathers toiled, the responsibility for bettering their work is all the greater.

We may not be able to close this wonderful 19th century with any practical realization of all the dreams of ideal citizenship which made up the last expiring breath of the 18th century. But we have {194} gone a long way in that direction, and happily it has been along a roadway, toilsome and rough at times, upon which there is no need for going back to retrace our steps. Standing now, on the higher ground to which the exertions of our fathers, and the forces which their work set in motion for our benefit, have brought us, we see down into the valley, along the rugged way we have come, abundant reason why men often misunderstood each other--they could not see each other in any true and just light. But just as the heavy material roadway along which the old locomotion was shifting a hundred years ago, from horses'

backs on to wheels, has become firmer, broader, lighter, and freer by the cutting down of hedge rows and hindrances which shut out the sweetening influence of light and air; so along the highways of men's thoughts and actions there has been an a.n.a.logous process of cutting down boundaries and removing hindrances which divided men in the past, until we see one another face to face.

It may be that some few distinctions will be preserved after all the modern political programmes have been played out, but let us hope that the hedges which divide men will be kept well trimmed and low. For, after all, it is impossible to gather up these old voices of a past time, or to look back over such a period as that which has been pa.s.sed in review by these sketches without recognizing that if men will only stand upright, whatever their station, and not stoop to narrow the horizon of their view, they must see how broad, and how fertile in all human, homely and kindly attraction, are the common heritage, the common work, the common rest and the common hopes of men, compared with the narrow paths within high party walls--whether of religious creeds, social grades, or false notions of what is respectable--within which men have too often in the past sought to hide themselves from one another. The hard lot of the village labourer to-day is not what it was, is not what it will be; the discomforts for all cla.s.ses remaining from those of seventy years ago look now very small, and may yet look smaller; and history, even the local history of a country town and its neighbouring villages, though it moves slowly, shows foot-prints for the most part tending one way and justifying the old hopeful belief that--

Life shall on and upward go, Th' eternal step of progress beats, To that great anthem, calm and slow, Which G.o.d repeats.

THE END.