John Keble's Parishes: A History of Hursley and Otterbourne Part 14

"Red Rover" and the "Telegraph,"

We knew them all by name, And Mason's and the Oxford coach, Full thirty of them came.

The coachman wore his many capes, The guard his bugle blew; The horses were a gallant sight, Dashing upon our view.

I remember, I remember, The posting days of old; The yellow chariot lined with blue And lace of colour gold.

The post-boys' jackets blue or buff, The inns upon the road; The hills up which we used to walk To lighten thus the load.

The rattling up before the inn, The horses led away, The post-boy as he touched his hat And came to ask his pay.

The perch aloft upon the box, Delightful for the view; The turnpike gates whose keepers stood Demanding each his due.

I remember, I remember, When ships were beauteous things, The floating castles of the deep Borne upon snow-white wings;

Ere iron-dads and turret ships, Ugly as evil dream, Became the hideous progeny Of iron and of steam.

You crossed the Itchen ferry All in an open boat, Now, on a panting hissing bridge You scarcely seem afloat.

Southampton docks were sheets of mud, Grim colliers at the quay.

No tramway, and no slender pier To stretch into the sea.

I remember, I remember, Long years ere Rowland Hill, When letters covered quarto sheets Writ with a grey goose quill;

Both hard to fold and hard to read, Crossed to the scarlet seal; Hardest of all to pay for, ere Their news they might reveal.

No stamp with royal head was there, But eightpence was the sum For every letter, all alike, That did from London come!

I remember, I remember, The mowing of the hay; Scythes sweeping through the heavy gra.s.s At breaking of the day.

The haymakers in merry ranks Tossing the swathes so sweet, The hayc.o.c.ks tanning olive-brown In glowing summer heat.

The reapers 'mid the ruddy wheat, The thumping of the flail, The winnowing within the barn By whirling round a sail.

Long ere the whirr, and buzz, and rush Became a harvest sound, Or monsters trailed their tails of spikes, Or ploughed the fallow ground.

Our sparks flew from the flint and steel, No lucifers were known, Snuffers with tallow candles came To prune the wick o'ergrown.

Hands did the work of engines then, But now some new machine Must hatch the eggs, and sew the seams, And make the cakes, I ween.

I remember, I remember, The homely village school, The dame with spelling book and rod, The sceptre of her rule.

A black silk bonnet on her head, Buff kerchief on her neck, With spectacles upon her nose, And ap.r.o.n of blue check.

Ah, then were no inspection days, No standards then were known, Children could freely make dirt pies, And learning let alone!

Those Sundays I remember too, When Service there was one; For living in the parish then Of parsons there were none.

And oh, I can recall to mind, The Church and every pew; William and Mary's royal arms Hung up in fullest view.

The lion smiling, with his tongue Like a pug dog's hung out; The unicorn with twisted horn, Brooding upon his rout.

Exalted in the gallery high The tuneful village choir, With flute, ba.s.soon, and clarionet, Their notes rose high and higher.

They shewed the number of the Psalm In white upon a slate, And many a time the last lines sung Of Brady and of Tate.

While far below upon the floor Along the narrow aisle, The children on their benches sat Arranged in single file.

And there the clerk would stump along And strike with echoing blow Each idle guilty little head That chattered loud or low.

Ah! I remember many things, Old, middle-aged, and new; Is the new better than the old, More bright, more wise, more true?

The old must ever pa.s.s away, The new must still come in; When these new things are old to you Be they unstained by sin.

So will their memory be sweet, A treasury of bliss To be borne with us in the days When we their presence miss.

Trifles connected with the love Of many a vanished friend Will thrill the heart and wake the sense, For memory has no end!

CHAPTER XVI--NATURAL HISTORY

Or animal life, though abundant, there is little or nothing special to record, besides the list of birds.

Polecats and martens only exist in the old rating book, but weasels and stoats remain, as well as a profusion of their prey--hares and rabbits. Squirrels haunt the trees, and otters are occasionally found in the river. Trout, grayling, now and then a pike, as well as the smaller fry of minnows and sticklebacks, are of course found in the streams. Eels used to be caught there on the moonlight nights by old labourers with a taste for sport, and the quaint little river cray-fish may be picked out of the banks of the "water-carriages."

Toads and frogs are a matter of course. Sometimes a procession of tiny, but perfectly formed "Charley Frogs," as the village boys call them, just emerged from their tadpole state, may be seen making their way up from their native pools.

The pretty crested newt, dark brown and orange, with a gold crest along its back like an iguana, is found in shallow ponds, also the smooth newt. These efts, or evvets, as the people call them, are regarded with horror by the peasantry. The children speak of having seen one as if it were a crocodile; and an abscess in the arm has been ascribed to having picked up an "evvet in a bundle of gra.s.s."

The slow-worm, in silvery coat, is too often slaughtered as a snake.

Vipers come to light in the woods, also the harmless brown snake.

One of these has been seen swimming across a pond, his head just out of the water, another climbing an oak tree, and one, upon the lawn, was induced to disgorge a frog, which gathered up its legs and hopped away as if nothing had happened.

Of rats and mice and such small deer there are only too many, though it is worth while to watch rats at play round a hay-rick on Sunday evenings, when they know they will not be persecuted, and sit up like little kangaroos. The vole, which is not a rat, is a goodly sight, and the smooth round dormouse (or sleep-mouse, as the children call it) is a favourite gift imprisoned in an old tea-pot.

The beautiful nest of a field-mouse has been found in a cypress's thick foliage, and dead shrews bestrew the paths; though the magic effects of having a "sherry mouse" die in one's hand, and thus being enabled to stroke cattle and cure them, have never been experienced.

The anodon or fresh water mussel used to be found in Fisher's Pond on Colden Common, bordering on Otterbourne, and the green banks were strewn with sh.e.l.ls left by the herons, but the pond is fast drying up and the herons have been driven away by guns.

The delicate paludina, of brown, horn-coloured, gracefully-formed sh.e.l.l, creeps on the water weeds, and hosts of snails may be studied.

Of insects less can be said here, but it is worth noting that one live purple emperor has been captured in Ampfield wood, two dead dilapidated ones picked up at Otterbourne.

The forest fly, so called, does not often come here; but it is observable that while strange horses are maddened by it, the native ones do not seem disturbed, knowing that it only creeps and does not bite. It is small and brown, not so formidable looking as the large fly, popularly called a stout, as big as a hornet, which lays eggs under the skin of cows.

But with the blue, green, and orange dragonflies of summer, this list must conclude, and turn to the birds and botany of the place, mostly well known, and verified by Mr. Townsend's Flora of Hampshire.