Rambles in Dickens' Land Part 15

"Bradley had caught him round the body. He seemed to be girdled with an iron ring. They were on the brink of the Lock, about midway between the two sets of gates... . 'Let go!' said Riderhood.

'Stop! What are you trying at? You can't drown me. Ain't I told you that the man as has come through drowning can never be drowned?

I can't be drowned.' 'I can be!' returned Bradley, in a desperate, clenched voice. 'I am resolved to be. I'll hold you living, and I'll hold you dead. Come down!' Riderhood went over into the smooth pit, backward, and Bradley Headstone upon him. When the two were found, lying under the ooze and sc.u.m behind one of the rotting gates, Riderhood's hold had relaxed, probably in falling, and his eyes were staring upward. But he was girdled still with Bradley's iron ring, and the rivets of the iron ring held tight."

By road, HURLEY LOCK is but four miles distant from Henley; a pedestrian, therefore, could make an easy short cut, as against a rower up the stream; hence the a.s.surance given by the deputy lock-keeper to his impatient visitor (see book 4, chapter 1):-

"'Ha, ha! Don't be afeerd, T'otherest,' said Riderhood. 'The T'other's got to make way agin the stream, and he takes it easy. You can soon come up with him. But wot's the good of saying that to you!

You know how fur you could have outwalked him betwixt anywheres about where he lost the tide-say Richmond-and this, if you had had a mind to it.'"

Travelling homeward on the return to London, it may be desirable to break the journey at SLOUGH-eighteen miles from Paddington-whence may be conveniently visited the rustic village and cemetery of Stoke Pogis, about a mile and a half northward from the station. The latter contains the tomb of the poet Gray, and is the scene of his famous "Elegy in a Country Churchyard." It may be remembered that from this well-known poem Mr. Micawber's Quotation was taken, as an appropriate conclusion to one of his many friendly but grandiloquent epistles, confirming an important appointment. In "David Copperfield," at the end of chapter 49, we read of Micawber's expressed determination to unmask his "foxey" employer, and to crush "to undiscoverable atoms that transcendent and immortal hypocrite and perjurer, Heep"; and we may recall his "most secret and confidential letter," soon afterwards received by David, as containing the following reference:-

"The duty done, and act of reparation performed, which can alone enable me to contemplate my fellow mortal, I shall be known no more.

I shall simply require to be deposited in that place of universal resort, where

'Each in his narrow cell for ever laid, The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep.'

With the plain Inscription, WILKINS MICAWBER."

So, as the evening shades prevail, "near and nearer drawn" through "the glimmering landscape," we again approach the lights of London Town, with (it may be hoped) pleasant reminiscences of the foregoing excursions.

Should the Rambler, like Mr. John Harmon on a similar occasion, be accompanied by a friend, who perchance may be "nearer and dearer than all other," he may appropriately endorse John Harmon's reflections as he made the same journey under blissful circ.u.mstances (see "Our Mutual Friend,"

book 3, end of chapter 9)-

"O, boofer lady, fascinating boofer lady! If I were but legally executor of Johnny's will. If I had but the right to pay your legacy and take your receipt! Something to this purpose surely mingled with the blast of the train as it cleared the stations, all knowingly shutting up their green eyes and opening their red ones when they prepared to let the boofer lady pa.s.s."

RAMBLE IX _By Great Eastern Route from London to Yarmouth_

Liverpool Street Station-Epping Forest-Buckhurst Hill-Chigwell Village-Chigwell Churchyard; Resting-Place of Barnaby Rudge and his Mother-"Grip" the Raven-The "King's Head Inn"-"The Maypole"-Mr.

Cattermole's Frontispiece-The Bar-The Landlord, John Willett-Dolly Varden-The Visit of the Varden Family-The Warren; Residence of Mr.

Haredale and his Niece-By Main Line to Ipswich-The Great White Horse Hotel in Tavern Street-The Apartment of the Middle-Aged Lady-Mr.

Pickwick's Misadventure-St. Clement's Church-Job Trotter-The Green Gate, Residence of G. Nupkins, Esq.-Mary the Pretty Housemaid-Sam Weller's First Love-Ipswich to Great Yarmouth-Mr. Peggotty's Boat-house-Home of Little Emily-The Two London Coaches-The "Angel Hotel"-David's Dinner in the Coffee-Room-The Friendly Waiter-The "Star Hotel"-Headquarters of Copperfield and Steerforth-Miss Mowcher's First Introduction-Unlocalised Sites-Blundeston-Blunderstone Rookery-Early Childhood of Copperfield-Somerleyton Park.

A pleasant drive from London to Chigwell is described in chapter 19 of "Barnaby Rudge," and may be still taken about twelve miles by road, starting from Whitechapel Church _via_ Mile-End and Bow, thence crossing the River Lea, and proceeding, in the county of Ess.e.x, by way of _Stratford_, _Leytonstone_, _Snaresbrook_, and _Wilc.o.x Green_. But time will be saved by adopting a convenient train, leaving Liverpool Street Station (Great Eastern Railway) for _Buckhurst Hill_-on the Ongar Branch Line-in the neighbourhood of Epping Forest, a district formerly preserved by the old monarchs of Merrie England for the enjoyment of field sports and the pleasures of the chase.

From this point a country walk (under two miles), turning eastward, and to the left after crossing the long intervening bridge, will lead in due course to the main road at Chigwell. Coming into the village we pa.s.s, at the corner on the right, Chigwell Church, surrounded by its quiet churchyard. This locality will be remembered as having afforded a resting-place to Barnaby and his mother after their visit to Mr. Haredale at _The Warren_ (chapter 25). "In the churchyard they sat down to take their frugal dinner"-Grip, the raven, being one of the party-"walking up and down when he had dined with an air of elderly complacency, which was strongly suggestive of his having his hands under his coat tails, and appearing to read the tombstones with a very critical taste." On the other side of the main road, a very little way onward (left), stands the old King's Head Inn, the original "local habitation," if not "the name,"

of the ancient hostelry so intimately a.s.sociated with the central and domestic interests of the aforesaid historical novel, and known to us therein as The Maypole, "an old building with more gable ends than a lazy man would care to count on a sunny day; its windows, old diamond pane lattices; its floors sunken and uneven; its ceilings blackened by the hand of time, and heavy with ma.s.sive beams; with its overhanging storeys, drowsy little panes of gla.s.s, and front bulging out and projecting over the pathway."

[Picture: The "King's Head," Chigwell]

This description is appropriate to the house as it stands at present, a fine old specimen of the timbered architecture of bygone centuries; but it may be remarked that THE ILl.u.s.tRATION drawn by Cattermole, which forms the frontispiece in the recent editions of "Barnaby Rudge," is altogether beside the mark; for the designer has furnished therein, an elaborate and ornate picture of the old inn which does not correspond with fact, but rather remains in evidence of the beauty and exuberance of his artistic imagination. Here, then, we may recall the visit of Mr. and Mrs. Varden, accompanied by their daughter, the charming Dolly, "the very pink and pattern of good looks, in a smart little cherry-coloured mantle, with a hood of the same drawn over her head, and, upon the top of that hood, a little straw hat, trimmed with cherry-coloured ribbons, and worn the merest trifle on one side-just enough, in short, to make it the wickedest and most provoking head-dress that ever malicious milliner devised."

In the same connection The "Bar" of the old "Maypole," the preparation for dinner, and the kitchen are thus described:-

"All bars are snug places, but the Maypole's was the very snuggest, cosiest, and completest bar that ever the wit of man devised. Such amazing bottles in old oaken pigeon-holes; such gleaming tankards dangling from pegs at about the same inclination as thirsty men would hold them to their lips; such st.u.r.dy little Dutch kegs ranged in rows on shelves; so many lemons hanging in separate nets, and forming the fragrant grove already mentioned in this chronicle, suggestive, with goodly loaves of snowy sugar stowed away hard by, of punch, idealised beyond all mortal knowledge; such closets, such presses, such drawers full of pipes, such places for putting things away in hollow window seats, all crammed to the throat with eatables, drinkables, or savoury condiments; lastly, and to crown all, as typical of the immense resources of the establishment, and its defiances to all visitors to cut and come again, such a stupendous cheese!

"It is a poor heart that never rejoices-it must have been the poorest, weakest, and most watery heart that ever beat which would not have warmed towards the Maypole bar. Mrs. Varden's did directly.

She could no more have reproached John Willet among those household G.o.ds, the kegs and bottles, lemons, pipes, and cheese, than she could have stabbed him with his own bright carving-knife. The order for dinner too-it might have soothed a savage. 'A bit of fish,' said John to the cook, 'and some lamb chops (breaded, with plenty of ketchup), and a good salad, and a roast spring chicken, with a dish of sausages and mashed potatoes, or something of that sort.'

Something of that sort! The resources of these inns! To talk carelessly about dishes which in themselves were a first-rate holiday kind of dinner, suitable to one's wedding-day, as something of that sort, meaning, if you can't get a spring chicken, any other trifle in the way of poultry will do-such as a peac.o.c.k, perhaps! The kitchen, too, with its great broad cavernous chimney; the kitchen, where nothing in the way of cookery seemed impossible; where you could believe in anything to eat they chose to tell you of. Mrs. Varden returned from the contemplation of these wonders to the bar again, with a head quite dizzy and bewildered. Her housekeeping capacity was not large enough to comprehend them. She was obliged to go to sleep. Waking was pain, in the midst of such immensity."

The Warren, residence of Mr. Haredale and his niece, an old red-brick house, standing in its own grounds, was situated about a mile eastward from the Maypole, and was thence accessible by a path across the fields, from the garden exit of the inn, to its position on the border of Hainault Forest. (See final paragraph of chapter 19, "Barnaby Rudge.") From many suggestions in the book, it occupied, in all probability, the site of _Forest House_, not a great distance from Chigwell Row; but of this no certainty exists.

CHIGWELL TO IPSWICH. It will be best to return from _Buckhurst Hill_ by rail to Stratford or Liverpool Street, in order to travel by fast main line train, to the good old town of Ipswich, our next destination. The journey-_via_ Chelmsford and Colchester-will occupy about two hours, during which we may recall the memorable occasion of Mr. Pickwick's excursion per coach from the "Bull Inn," Whitechapel, to this ancient capital of Suffolk, attended by the faithful Sam, Mr. Weller, senior, driving, and beguiling the tediousness of the way with conversation of considerable interest-"possessing the inestimable charm of blending amus.e.m.e.nt with instruction." Full details will be found on reference to the "Pickwick Papers," chapter 22, together with the account of Mr. P.'s introduction to his fellow-traveller, Mr. Peter Magnus, "a red-haired man, with an inquisitive nose and blue spectacles." On arrival at the station at Ipswich, the wayfarer, crossing by bridge over the _Gipping_ river, may proceed straight onwards through _Princes Street_ (five minutes) to _Tavern Street_. Turning to the right, along this thoroughfare, he will soon see the Great White Horse Hotel, on the left side of Tavern Street. Tramcars from the station pa.s.s the hotel; also omnibus meets all trains. Telegraphic address-Pickwick, Ipswich. In the chapter before referred to is contained the following description:-

"In the main street of Ipswich, on the left-hand side of the way, a short distance after you have pa.s.sed through the open s.p.a.ce fronting the Town Hall, stands an inn, known far and wide by the appellation of the Great White Horse, rendered the more conspicuous by a stone statue of some rapacious animal with flowing mane and tail, distinctly resembling an insane cart-horse, which is elevated above the princ.i.p.al door. The Great White Horse is famous in the neighbourhood in the same degree as a prize ox, or county paper-chronicled turnip, or unwieldy pig-for its enormous size.

Never were such labyrinths of uncarpeted pa.s.sages, such cl.u.s.ters of mouldy, ill-lighted rooms, such huge numbers of small dens for eating or sleeping in beneath one roof, as are collected together within the four walls of the Great White Horse at Ipswich."

[Picture: The "Great White Horse," Ipswich]

The d.i.c.kensian Rambler will well remember this hotel as the scene of Mr.

Pickwick's "romantic adventure with a middle-aged lady in yellow curl-papers," related _in extenso_ in the same chapter as above.

Information as to the exact bedroom allotted to Mr. Pickwick on the occasion of his visit to this place is, unfortunately, not afforded by local tradition; but the apartment occupied by "Miss Witherfield," whose privacy Mr. P. inadvertently, but so unhappily, invaded, is indicated to visitors on the second floor-No. 36, according to recent rearrangement of enumeration, formerly known as No. 6.

Poor Mr. Pickwick, on his escape from his awkward predicament, was unable to find his own room, but was at last rescued from his dilemma by his faithful servitor-

"After groping his way a few paces down the pa.s.sage, and, to his infinite alarm, stumbling over several pairs of boots in so doing, Mr. Pickwick crouched into a little recess in the wall, to wait for morning as philosophically as he might.

"He was not destined, however, to undergo this additional trial of patience; for he had not been long ensconced in his present concealment when, to his unspeakable horror, a man, bearing a light, appeared at the end of the pa.s.sage. His horror was suddenly converted into joy, however, when he recognised the form of his faithful attendant. It was indeed Mr. Samuel Weller, who after sitting up thus late, in conversation with the Boots, who was sitting up for the mail, was now about to retire to rest.

"'Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick, suddenly appearing before him, 'where's my bedroom?'

"Mr. Weller stared at his master with the most emphatic surprise; and it was not until the question had been repeated three several times, that he turned round, and led the way to the long-sought apartment.

"'Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick, as he got into bed. 'I have made one of the most extraordinary mistakes to-night that were ever heard of.'

"'Wery likely, sir,' said Mr. Weller drily.

"'But of this I am determined, Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'that if I were to stop in this house for six months, I would never trust myself about it alone again.'

"'That's the wery prudentest resolution as you could come to, sir,'

replied Mr. Weller. 'You rayther want somebody to look arter you, sir, wen your judgment goes out a wisitin'.'"

By way of _Upper Brook Street_, _Tacket Street_, and _Orwell Place_, we come to _Fore Street_, _St. Clement's_ (a thoroughfare in which still remain several old houses of the sixteenth century), and soon reach the whereabouts of St. Clement's Church, towards which, on the morning following the disasters of the night of their arrival, Mr. Samuel Weller bent his steps, and

"endeavoured to dissipate his melancholy by strolling among its ancient precincts. He had loitered about for some time, when he found himself in a retired spot-a kind of courtyard of venerable appearance-which he discovered had no other outlet than the turning by which he had entered. He was about retracing his steps, when he was suddenly transfixed to the spot by a sudden appearance; and the mode and manner of this appearance we now proceed to relate.

"Mr. Samuel Weller had been staring up at the old brick houses now and then, in his deep abstraction, bestowing a wink upon some healthy-looking servant girl as she drew up a blind, or threw open a bedroom window, when the green gate at the bottom of the yard opened, and a man having emerged therefrom, closed the green gate very carefully after him, and walked briskly towards the very spot where Mr. Weller was standing."

This personage proved to be none other than Mr. Job Trotter, whose black hair and mulberry suit were at once recognised by Sam, though their owner did his best to evade detection:-

"As the green gate was closed behind him, and there was no other outlet but the one in front, however, he was not long in perceiving that he must pa.s.s Mr. Samuel Weller to get away. He therefore resumed his brisk pace, and advanced, staring straight before him.

The most extraordinary thing about the man was, that he was contorting his face into the most fearful and astonishing grimaces that ever were beheld. Nature's handiwork never was disguised with such extraordinary artificial carving, as the man had overlaid his countenance with in one moment."

The Green Gate thus alluded to may yet be seen in a pa.s.sage or court at the bottom of _Angel Lane_ (leading to Back Street). It is the last garden gate in the churchyard, a short distance from Church Street. The same courtyard and gate will be remembered as the official entrance to the Residence of George Nupkins, Esq., the Worshipful Mayor of Ipswich, before whom the Pickwickian party were arraigned, in charge of the redoubtable chief constable of the town. We read in chapter 25 as follows:-

"Mr. Weller's anger quickly gave way to curiosity when the procession turned down the identical courtyard in which he had met with the runaway Job Trotter; and curiosity was exchanged for a feeling of the most gleeful astonishment, when the all-important Mr. Grummer, commanding the sedan-bearers to halt, advanced with dignified and portentous steps to the very green gate from which Job Trotter had emerged, and gave a mighty pull at the bell-handle which hung at the side thereof. The ring was answered by a very smart and pretty-faced servant-girl, who, after holding up her hands in astonishment at the rebellious appearance of the prisoners, and the impa.s.sioned language of Mr. Pickwick, summoned Mr. Muzzle. Mr. Muzzle opened one-half of the carriage gate to admit the sedan, the captured ones, and the specials, and immediately slammed it in the faces of the mob... .