Chapter 15

Before returning to Cambridge we visited St. Ives and Huntingdon, both of which were closely associated with the life of Cromwell. The former is a place of considerable antiquity, although the present town may be said to date from 1689, at which time it was rebuilt after being totally destroyed by fire. One building escaped, a quaint stone structure erected in the center of the stone bridge crossing the River Ouse and supposed to have been used as a chapel by the early monks. Cromwell's connection with St. Ives began in 1628, after he had been elected to Parliament. He moved here after the dissolution of that body and spent several years as a farmer. The house which he occupied has disappeared and few relics remain of his residence in the town. In the market square is a bronze statue of the Protector, with an inscription to the effect that he was a citizen of St. Ives for several years. A few miles farther on is Huntingdon, his birthplace. It is a considerably larger town, but none of the buildings now standing has any connection with the life of the Protector. Doubtless the citizens of Huntingdon now recognize that the manor house where Cromwell was born, which was pulled down a hundred years ago, would be a valuable asset to the town were it still standing.

From Huntingdon we returned to Cambridge, having completed a circular tour of about sixty miles. We still had plenty of time to drive about Cambridge and to view from the outside the colleges and other places of interest. The streets are laid out in an irregular manner, and although it is not a large city--only forty thousand--we had considerable difficulty in finding our way back to the hotel. The University Arms is situated on the edge of a large common called "The Field." Here in the evening were several open-air religious services. One of these was conducted by the Wesleyans, or Methodists, with a large crowd at the beginning, but a Salvation Army, with several band instruments, soon attracted the greater portion of the crowd. We found these open-air services held in many towns through England and Scotland. They were always conducted by "dissenting churches"--the Church of England would consider such a proceeding as too undignified.

We wished to get an early start from Cambridge next morning, hoping to reach London that night, and accordingly made arrangements with the head waiter for an early breakfast. We told him we should probably want it at 7:30, and he looked at us in an incredulous manner. I repeated the hour, thinking he did not understand, but he said he thought at first we were surely joking. However, he would endeavor to accommodate us. If we would leave our order that evening he thought he could arrange it at the time desired, but we could easily see that it was going to upset the traditions of the staid hotel, for the breakfast hour is never earlier than nine o'clock. However, we had breakfast at 7:30 and found one other guest in the room--undoubtedly an American. He requested a newspaper and was informed that the morning papers were not received at the hotel until half past ten o'clock, although Cambridge is just fifty miles from London, or about an hour by train. The curiosity which the average American manifests to know what happened on the day previous is almost wanting in the staid and less excitable Britisher.

We were away from Cambridge by nine o'clock and soon found ourselves in a country quite different in appearance from any we had yet passed through. Our route led through Essex to Colchester on the coast. We passed through several ancient towns, the first of them being Haverhill, which contributed a goodly number of the Pilgrim Fathers and gave its name to the town of Haverhill in Massachusetts. It is an old, straggling place that seems to be little in harmony with the progress of the Twentieth Century.

Our route on leaving Haverhill led through narrow byways, which wind among the hills with turns so sharp that a close lookout had to be maintained. We paused at Heddingham, where there is a great church and a partly ruined Norman castle. The town is made up largely of cottages with thatched roofs, surrounded by the bright English flower gardens. It was typical of several other places which we passed on our way. I think that in no section of England did we find a greater number of picturesque churches than in Essex, and a collection of photographs of these, which was secured at Earl's Colne, we prize very highly.

Colchester is an interesting town, deserving of much longer time than we were able to stay. It derived its name from King Cole, the "merry old soul" of the familiar nursery rhyme. It is one of the oldest towns in England and was of great importance in Roman times. One of the largest collections of Roman relics in Britain is to be found in the museum of the castle. There are hundreds of specimens of coin, pottery, jewelry, statuary, etc., all of which were found in excavations within the city. The castle is one of the gloomiest and rudest in the Kingdom, and was largely built of Roman bricks. It is quadrangular in shape, with high walls from twenty to thirty feet thick surrounding a small court. About a hundred years ago it was sold to a contractor who planned to tear it down for the material, but after half completing his task he gave it up, leaving enough of the old fortress to give a good idea of what it was like.

The grim old ruin has many dark traditions of the times when "man's inhumanity to man" was the rule rather than the exception. Even the mild, nonresistant Quaker could not escape the bitterest persecution and in one of the dungeons of Colchester Castle young George Fox was immured and suffered death from neglect and starvation. This especially attracted our attention, since the story had been pathetically told by the speaker at the Sunday afternoon meeting which we attended at Jordans and which I refer to in the following chapter. While there is a certain feeling of melancholy that possesses one when he wanders through these mouldering ruins, yet he often can not help thinking that they deserved their fate.

Colchester suffered terribly in Parliamentary wars and only surrendered to Cromwell after sustaining a seventy-six day siege, many traces of which may still be seen. There are two or three ancient churches dating from Saxon times which exhibit some remarkable specimens of Saxon architecture. Parts of Colchester appeared quite modern and up-to-date, the streets being beautifully kept, and there were many handsome residences. Altogether, there is a strange combination of the very old and the modern in Colchester.

We left this highway at Chelmsford to visit the Greenstead Church near Chipping-Ongar, about twenty-two miles from London. This is one of the most curious churches in all England. It is a diminutive building, half hidden amidst the profusion of foliage, and would hardly attract attention unless one had learned of its unique construction and remarkable history. It is said to be the only church in England which is built with wooden walls, these being made from the trunks of large oak trees split down the center and roughly sharpened at each end. They are raised from the ground by a low brick foundation, and inside the spaces between the trunks are covered with pieces of wood. The rough timber frame of the roof is fastened with wooden pins. The interior of the building is quite dark, there being no windows in the wooden walls, and the light comes in from a dormer window in the roof. This church was built in the year 1010 to mark the resting place of St. Edmund the Martyr, whose remains were being carried from Bury to London. The town of Ongar, near by, once had an extensive castle, of which little remains, and in the chancel of the church is the grave of Oliver Cromwell's favorite daughter. A house in High Street was for some time the residence of David Livingstone, the great African explorer.

From Chipping-Ongar we followed for the third time the delightful road leading to London, passing through the village of Chigwell, of which I have spoken at length elsewhere. On coming into London, we found the streets in a condition of chaos, owing to repairs in the pavement. The direct road was quite impassable and we were compelled to get into the city through by-streets--not an easy task. In London the streets do not run parallel as in many of our American cities. No end of inquiry was necessary to get over the ten miles after we were in the city before we reached our hotel. It was not very convenient to make inquiries, either, when driving in streets crowded to the limit where our car could not halt for an instant without stopping the entire procession. We would often get into a pocket behind a slow-moving truck or street car and be compelled to crawl along for several blocks at the slowest speed.

It was just sunset when we stopped in front of the Hotel Russell. We had been absent on our tour six weeks to a day and our odometer registered exactly 3070 miles. As there were five or six days of the time that we did not travel, we had averaged about six hundred miles a week during the tour. The weather had been unusually fine for England; we had perhaps half a dozen rainy days, but only once did it rain heavily. We had now traveled a total of 4100 miles and had visited the main points of interest in the Kingdom excepting those in the country south of the city, where we planned a short tour before sailing. We remained in London a week before starting on this trip, but during that time I did not take the car out of the garage. I had come to the conclusion that outside of Sundays and holidays the nervous strain of attempting to drive an automobile in the streets of London was such as to make the effort not worth while.

XVI

THE HAUNTS OF MILTON AND PENN

Leaving London by the Harrow road, in course of an hour we came to the famous college town, which lies about fifteen miles north of the city. It is known chiefly for its boys' school, which was founded early in the reign of Queen Elizabeth and at which many great Englishmen received their early education. The school is situated on the top of a hill, one of the most commanding positions in the vicinity of London, and on the very summit is the Norman church. The view from this churchyard is one of the finest in England. For many miles the fertile valley of the Thames spreads out like a great park, exhibiting the most pleasing characteristics of an English landscape. On one side the descent is almost precipitous, and at the edge, in the churchyard, stands a gigantic elm--now in the late stages of decay--which still bears the sobriquet of "Byron's Elm." It is said that Byron, during his days at Harrow, would sit here for hours at a time and contemplate the beautiful scene which spread out before him. A descendant of one of the poet's friends has placed near the spot a brass tablet, inscribed with the somewhat stilted lines, On a Distant view From Harrow Churchyard,

"Spot of my youth, whose hoary branches sigh, Swept by the breeze that fans the cloudless sky; O! as I trace again thy winding hill, Mine eyes admire, my heart adores thee still. Thou drooping elm! Beneath whose boughs I lay, And frequent mused the twilight hours away; How do thy branches, moaning to the blast, Invite this bosom to recall the past, And seem to whisper, as they gently swell, 'Take, while thou canst, a lingering, last farewell'"

We reached Harrow too late to attend church as we had hoped, the morning services just closing as we entered the churchyard. We saw everywhere numbers of students in Sunday garb, and an odd appearance these boys of from fifteen to eighteen presented in a costume very nearly the counterpart of an ordinary dress suit, usually set off by a high silk hat. Harrow is associated with the names of many men who attained high rank in English history and literature, some of whom strove in their boyhood days to anticipate immortality by carving their names on the wooden desks. Among these may still be seen the rudely cut letters of the names of Byron, Sheridan and Peele.

The town, which slopes away from the top of the hill, has an up-to-date appearance and is a favorite place for suburban residences of wealthy Londoners. The road leading down the hill from the church turned sharply out of view, and just as we were beginning the descent a gentleman hastened to us and cautioned us not to undertake it. He said that numerous motors had been wrecked in the attempt. We went down by a roundabout way, but when we came to pass the hill at its foot, we found it was not nearly so steep as some we had already passed over.

Two or three hours over narrow and generally bad roads for England brought us to the village of Chalfont St. Giles, where John Milton made his residence while writing "Paradise Lost." It is a retired little place, mere lanes leading into it. The shriek of the railroad train does not disturb its quietude, the nearest station being several miles away. The village doubtless appears much as it did in Milton's time, three hundred years ago, and the cottage which he occupied stands practically unaltered. A notice posted outside stated that the cottage would not be shown on Sunday. But such announcements had little terror for us by this time, and we found no difficulty in gaining admittance to the quaint little building. It is in the Elizabethan style, with half-timber frame and sagging tile roof. The windows have small, diamond-shaped panes of leaded glass set in rude iron frames and open on a typical English flower garden. The villagers purchased the cottage by public subscription and its preservation is thus fortunately insured. The tenant acts as caretaker and apparently takes pride in keeping the place in order. The poet's room, directly on the right when entering, is rather dark, and has a low-beamed ceiling. There is a wide fireplace with the old time appliances accompanying it, and one can imagine the blind poet sitting by his fireside on winter days or enjoying the sweetness that in summertime came through the antique windows from the flower garden. Here he dictated "Paradise Lost" to his daughter, who acted as his secretary. One can not help contrasting the unsurpassed majesty and dignity of the great poem with the humble and even rude surroundings of the cottage. Milton came here in 1665 to escape the plague which was then devastating London. His eldest daughter was at that time about seventeen years of age, and there is reason to believe that she was with him during his stay in St. Giles. We were delighted with the place, for we had seen little else more typical of old-time England than this cottage, which would have been worth seeing aside from its connection with the great epic poet. In front was the garden, a blaze of bright colors, and the walls were half hidden by climbing rose-vines in full boom--for the roses in England stay much later in the summer than they do with us. The entrance to the cottage fronts on the garden. There is no door next the street, the great chimney built on the outside leaving no room for one.

We were now in the vicinity where William Penn was born and where he lies buried. We had some trouble in finding Jordans, the little meeting-house near which is the grave of the Quaker philanthropist. Many of the people of whom we inquired did not know of its existence, and after considerable wandering through the byways we learned that we were within a mile of the place. For this distance we followed a shady lane, over-arched by trees and so ill kept that it was about as rough motoring as one will find in England. Directly at the foot of a steep hill we came upon the meeting-house, nestling in a wooded valley. It had in its plain simplicity the appearance of an ordinary cottage; with the Quakers there in no such thing as a church, for they prefer to call their places of worship simply "meeting-houses." We were surprised to find a number of people about the chapel and soon learned that we had the good fortune to arrive on one of the meeting days. These meetings had for years been held annually, but during the present summer they were being held once a month. As the Friends are not numerous in this vicinity, many of the congregation had come from long distances--some from London. We learned this in conversation with a sweet-faced, quiet-mannered lady who had all the Quaker characteristics. She said that she and her husband had come from London that day, most of the way on their cycles; that they had been in Philadelphia and knew something of America. She presented us to a benevolent-looking, white-bearded man who afterwards proved to be the leader of the meeting, simply saying, "Our friends are from Iowa." The old gentleman pressed us to remain, as the meeting would begin immediately, and we were delighted to acquiesce. There were about forty people gathered in the little room, which was not more than fifteen by twenty feet in size and supplied with the plainest straight-backed benches imaginable. It was a genuine Quaker meeting. For perhaps half an hour the congregation sat in perfect silence, and finally the old gentleman who acted as leader arose and explained--largely for our benefit, I think, as we were the only strangers present--that this was the Quaker method of worship. Unless a member of the congregation felt he had something really worth saying, he waited to speak only "as the Spirit moved him." I could not help thinking that I had been in many meetings where, if this rule had been followed, everybody would have been better off. However, in the course of a few minutes he arose again and began his talk. We had attended many services in England at noted churches and cathedrals, but for genuine Christianity, true brotherly love and real inspiration, I think the half hour talk of the old Quaker was worth them all. We agreed that it was one of our most fortunate experiences.

In the churchyard we stood before the grave of William Penn, marked by the plainest kind of a small headstone and identical with the few others beside it. We expressed wonder at this, but the lady with whom we had previously talked explained that it would be inharmonious with the Quaker idea to erect a splendid monument to any man. For many years the graves had not been marked at all, but finally it was decided that it would not be inappropriate to put up plain headstones, all of the same style, to let visitors know where the great Quaker and his family rest. And very simple were the inscriptions chiseled upon the stones. All around the meeting-house is a forest of great trees, and no other building is in the immediate vicinity. One might almost have imagined himself at a Quaker service in pioneer times in America, when the meeting-houses were really as remote and secluded as this one seemed, rather than within twenty miles of the world's metropolis, in a country teeming with towns and villages.

It was about three o'clock when we left Jordans with a view of reaching Oxford, still a good many miles away, by nightfall. In this vicinity are the Burnham beeches, made known almost everywhere by the camera and the brush of the artist. A byway runs directly among the magnificent trees, which we found as imposing as the pictures had represented--sprawling old trees, many feet in circumference, but none of very great height. Near by is Stoke-Poges church, whose memory is kept alive by the "Elegy" of the poet Gray. It is one of the best known of the English country churches and is visited annually by thousands of people. The poet and his relatives are buried in the churchyard and the yew tree under which he is said to have meditated upon the theme of the immortal poem is still standing, green and thriving. The church, half covered by ivy and standing against a background of fine trees, presents a beautiful picture. In the immediate neighborhood a monument has been raised in memory of Gray--a huge bulk of stone of inartistic and unpleasing design. The most appropriate monument of the poet is the church itself, with its yew tree, which is now known wherever the English language is spoken.

Two or three miles farther on is Windsor, with its castle, the principal residence of royalty, and Eton College, its well known school for boys. This school is more exclusive and better patronized than Harrow, and I was told that it is quite a difficult problem for the average youth to enter at all. The sons of the nobility and members of the royal family are given the preference and expenses are so high as to shut out all but the wealthy. Windsor Castle is the most imposing of its kind in the world. It is situated on the Thames River, about twenty miles from London. Crowning a gently rising hill, its massive towers and battlements afford a picturesque view from almost anywhere in the surrounding country and especially from points of vantage in the park, where one can catch glimpses of the fortress through some of the avenues of magnificent trees. On a clear day, when the towers of the castle are sharply outlined against the sky and surmounted by the brightly colored royal standards, one might easily imagine himself back in the good old days of knight-errantry. Windsor is shown to visitors at any time when the royal family is not in residence. Queen Victoria and Albert, the Prince Consort, are buried in Frogmore Park, near by, but the tombs are sacredly guarded from the public. The grounds surrounding the castle are laid out in flower gardens and parks, and the forest of more than seven thousand acres is the finest in England. It is one of the royal preserves where the king occasionally goes hunting, but it really serves more the purpose of a great public park. There are many splendid drives through the forest open to everybody, the main one leading straight away from the castle gates for about four miles and terminating at an equestrian statue of George the Third, of more or less happy memory.

A broad road leads from Windsor to Oxford; it is almost straight and without hills of consequence. It is a favorite route for motorists, and at several points were stationed bicycle couriers of the Motor Union to give warning for police traps. These guards patrolled the road and carried circular badges, red on one side and white on the other. If the white side were shown to the passing motorist, the road ahead was clear; but the red was a caution for moderate speed for several miles. This system, which we found in operation in many places, is the means of saving motor drivers from numerous fines. The bicycle courier receives a fee very thankfully and no doubt this constitutes his chief source of revenue for service rendered.

About ten miles from Oxford we passed through Henley-on-Thames, famed for the University rowing-matches. Here the river lies in broad still stretches that afford an ideal place for the contests. The Thames is navigable for small steamboats and houseboats from London to Oxford, a distance of sixty miles, and the shores of the stream throughout afford scenes of surpassing beauty. Just at sunset the towers of Oxford loomed in the distance, and it was easy to recognize that of Magdalen College, which rises to a height of two hundred feet. Though Oxford is one of the older of the English towns, parts of it seemed as up-to-date as any we had seen, and the Randolph Hotel compared favorably with the best we found anywhere.