Part 12

There was a custom among the old Draytonites for some reason, not to permit their aged to die on a feather-bed. It was believed to make them die hard, and so _in extremis_ it was dragged from beneath the unfortunate person. The sovereign remedy they had for whooping-cough is worth remembering, as it is so simple. All you have to do is to cut some hair from the nape of the invalid child's neck, place it between a piece of bread and butter, and hand the sandwich to a dog. If he devours it the malady is cured; if he doesn't, well, the life of the dog at least is spared.

A few miles to the east of the town, in the adjoining county, is the famous battlefield of Bloreheath, where the Houses of Lancaster and York fought desperately in 1459. The latter under the Earl of Salisbury came off victorious, while the commander of Henry's forces was slain. A stone pedestal marks the spot, originally distinguished by a wooden cross, where Lord Audley fell.

Of less historical moment but more romantic interest, is the fact that here close upon a couple of centuries later the diamond George of Charles II. was concealed, while its royal wearer by right was lurking fifteen miles away at Boscobel. The gallant Colonel Blague, who had had the charge of this tell-tale treasure, was captured and thrown into the Tower, where no less a celebrity than peaceful Isaak Walton managed to smuggle it. Blague eventually escaped, and so the George found its way to the king in France. At Blore also Buckingham remained concealed, disguised as a labourer, before he got away into Leicestershire and thence to London and the coast. "Buckingham's hole," the cave where his grace was hidden, is still pointed out; and a very aged man who lived in the neighbourhood a few years ago prided himself that he could show the exact place where the duke fell and broke his arm; and he ought to have known, as his great-grandfather was personally acquainted with "old Elias Bradshaw," who was present when the accident happened.

Broughton Hall, a fine old Jacobean mansion, stands to the east of Blore. It is a gloomy house, and has some ghostly traditions. We are reminded of the rather startling fact that upon developing a negative of the fine oak staircase there, the transparent figure of an old woman in a mob-cap stood in the foreground! Here was proof positive for the Psychological Society. But, alas! careful investigation upset the mystery. The shadowy outline proved to be painfully like the ancient housekeeper. The subject had required a long exposure, and the lady must have wished to be immortalised, for she certainly must have stood in front of the lens for at least a minute or so. It is strange this desire to be pictured. Any amateur photographer must have experienced the difficulties to be encountered in a village street. The hours of twelve and four are fatal. School children in thousands will crop up to fill up the foreground. In such a predicament a friend of ours was inspired with an ingenious remedy. Having covered his head with the black cloth, he was horrified to see a myriad of faces instead of the subject he wished to take. However, he got his focus adjusted somehow, and having placed his dark slide in position ready for exposure, he placed the cloth over the lens-end of the camera as if focussing in the opposite direction. Immediately there was a stampede for the other side, with considerable struggling as to who should be foremost. The cherished little bit of village architecture was now free, the cloth whipped away, and the exposure given. "Are we all taken in, mister?" asked one of the boys a little suspiciously. "Yes, my lads," was the response given, "you've all been taken in." And so they had, but went home rejoicing.

Beside the staircase, there is little of interest inside Broughton. There was a hiding-place once in one of the rooms which was screened by an old oil painting, but it is now merged into tradition. The road from Newport passes through wild and romantic scenery. At Croxton, farther to the east, there is, or was, a Maypole, one of those old-world villages where ancient customs die hard. Swinnerton Hall, a fine Queen Anne house to the north-east, and nearer to Stone, is the seat of the ancient family of Fitzherbert, the beautiful widow of one of whose members was in 1785 married to the Prince Regent, afterwards George IV.

The palatial Hall of Trentham, farther to the north, is rather beyond our province, being in the main modern. One grieves that the fine old house represented in Dr. Plot's quaint history of the county has passed away; one grieves, indeed, that so many of these fine Staffordshire houses are no more. The irreparable loss of Ingestre Hall, Wrothesley Hall, Enville Hall, and of Severn End in the adjoining county, makes one shudder at the dangers of fire in these ancestral mansions. Coombe Abbey in Warwickshire was only quite recently saved from a like fate by Lord Craven's activity and presence of mind.

But the old gatehouse of Tixall to the east of Stafford, and Wootton Lodge to the north of Uttoxeter, fortunately still remain intact. The former presents much the same appearance as in Plot's drawing of 1686, but the curious gabled timber mansion beyond has long since disappeared, and the classic building that occupies its site looks hardly in keeping with so perfect an example of Elizabethan architecture. The romantic situation of Wootton Lodge is well described by Howitt. The majestic early-Jacobean mansion (the work of Inigo Jones) has a compactness and dignity quite its own, and there is nothing like it anywhere in England, though more classic, perhaps, than the majority of houses of its period. It has a battlemented roof surmounted by an array of massive chimneys, mullioned windows innumerable, and a graceful flight of steps leading to the ornamental porch. It was not at this stately house that the eccentric Jean Jacques came to bury himself for over a year, but at the Hall, a far less picturesque building. The philosopher and his companion Thérèsa le Vasseur were looked at askance by the country folk; and "old Ross Hall," as they called him, botanising in the secluded lanes in his strange striped robe and grotesque velvet cap with gold tassels and pendant, was a holy terror to the children. It was supposed he was in search of "lost spirits," as indeed was the case, for his melancholia at length led to his departure under the suspicion that there was a plot to poison him.

A bee-line drawn across Staffordshire, say from Bridgnorth in Salop to Haddon in Derbyshire, would intersect some of the most interesting spots. In addition to Wootton and Ingestre, we have Throwley Hall, Croxden and Calwich Abbeys, and Tissington (in Derbyshire) to the north-east (not to mention Alton and Ham), and Boscobel, Whiteladies, Tong, etc., to the south-east.

Of Boscobel and Whiteladies we have dealt with elsewhere too particularly to call for any fresh description here; but not so with the picturesque village of Tong, whose church is certainly the most interesting example of early-Perpendicular architecture in the county. Would that the interiors of our old churches were as carefully preserved as is the case here. There is nothing modern and out of harmony. The rich oak carvings of the screens and choir stalls; the monumental effigies of the Pembrugges, Pierrepoints, Vernons, and Stanleys; the Golden Chapel, or Vernon chantry--all recall nooks and corners in Westminster Abbey. It was Sir Edward Stanley, whose recumbent effigy in plate armour is conspicuous, who married Margaret Vernon, the sister of the runaway heiress of Haddon, and thus inherited Tong Castle, as his brother-in-law did the famous Derbyshire estate.

The early-Tudor castle was demolished in the eighteenth century, when the present Strawberry-Hill Gothic fortress of reddish-coloured stone was erected by a descendant of the Richard Durant whose initials may still be seen on the old house in the Corn Market at Worcester, where Charles II. lodged before the disastrous battle.[28] Unromantic as were Georgian squires, as a rule, the Eastern Gothic architecture of their houses and the fantastic and unnatural grottoes in their grounds show signs of sentimental hankering. At Tong they went one better, for there are traditions of Æolian harps set in the masonry of the farmyard of the castle. The mystic music must indeed have been thrown unto the winds!

But the Moorish-looking mansion, if architecturally somewhat a monstrosity, is nevertheless picturesque, with its domed roofs and pinnacles. A fine collection of pictures was dispersed in 1870, including an interesting portrait of Nell Gwyn, and of Charles I., which has been engraved.

In the older building (which somewhat resembled old Hendlip Hall) was born the famous seventeenth-century beauty, Lady Venetia Digby, _née_ Stanley, of whom Vandyck has left us many portraits, notably the one at Windsor Castle,--an allegorical picture representing the triumph of innocence over calumny, for she certainly was a lady with "a past." The learned and eccentric Sir Kenelm Digby, her husband, endeavoured to preserve her charms by administering curious mixtures, such as viper wine; and this, though it was very well meant, probably ended her career before she was thirty-three. One can scarcely be surprised that at the post-mortem examination they discovered but very little brains; but this her husband attributed to his viper wine getting into her head!

Not far from Tong, in a secluded lane, is a tiny cottage called Hobbal Grange, which is associated with the wanderings of Charles II. when a fugitive from Worcester. Here lived the mother of the loyal Penderel brothers, who risked their lives in harbouring their illustrious guest. We mention Hobbal more particularly as since the _Flight of the King_ was written we have had it pointed out pretty conclusively that "the Grange" of to-day is only a small portion of the original "Grange Farm" converted into a labourer's dwelling. The greater part of the original house was pulled down in the eighteenth century. In an old plan, dated 1739, of which we have a tracing before us, there are no less than seven buildings comprising the farm, which was the largest on the Tong estate. In 1855 it was reduced to eighty-six acres. In 1716, Richard Penderel's grandson, John Rogers, was still in residence at Hobbal.

Near Whiteladies is the rival establishment Blackladies, a picturesque red-brick house with step-gables and mullioned bays. As the name implies, this also was a nunnery, but there are but scanty remains of the original building. There is a stone cross, and some other fragments are built into the masonry; and in the stables may be seen the chapel, where services were held until sixty years ago. Part of the moat also remains. A lane near at hand is still known as "Spirit Lane," because the Black Nuns of centuries ago have been seen to walk there.

FOOTNOTES:

[28] See _Flight of the King_.

IN NORTHERN DERBYSHIRE

Our first impression of romantic Derbyshire vividly recalled one of the opening chapters of _Adam Bede_. Having secured lodgings at a pretty village not many miles from Haddon, we were somewhat disturbed with nocturnal hammerings issuing from an adjacent wheelwright's. Somebody had had the misfortune to fall into the river and was drowned, so we learned in the morning, and the rest we could guess. Somewhat depressed, we were on the point of sallying forth when the local policeman arrived and demanded our presence at the inquest, as one of the jurymen had failed to put in an appearance. A cheerful beginning to a holiday!

There is something about dear old Haddon Hall that makes it quite unique, and few ancient baronial dwellings are so rich in the poetry of association. In the first place, though a show house, one is not admitted by one door and ejected from another with a jumbled idea of what we have seen and an undigested store of historical information. One forgets it is a show place at all. It is more like the enchanted castle of the fairy story, where the occupants have been asleep for centuries; and in passing through the grand old rooms one would scarcely be surprised to encounter people in mediæval costume, or knights in clanking armour. The lovers of historical romance for once will find pictures of their imagination realised. They can fit in favourite scenes and characters with no fear of stumbling across modern "improvements" to destroy the illusion and bring them back to the twentieth century. Compare the time-worn grey old walls of this baronial house with those of Windsor Castle, and one will see the havoc that has been done to the latter by centuries of restoration. Events that have happened at Haddon appear to us real; but at Windsor, so full of historic memories, there is but little to assist the imagination.

The picturesqueness of Haddon is enhanced by its lack of uniformity. The rooms and courtyards and gardens are all on different levels, and we are continually climbing up or down stairs. The first ascent to the great entrance gate is precipitous, and some of the stone steps are almost worn away with use. Entering the first courtyard (there are two, with buildings around each) there is another ascent, with a quaint external staircase beyond, leading to the State apartments, and to the left again there are steps by which the entrance of the banqueting-hall is reached.

Opposite is the chapel, with its panelled, balustraded pews and two-decker Jacobean pulpit, which is very picturesque; and the second courtyard beyond, to the south of which is the Long Gallery or ballroom, with bay-windows looking upon the upper garden, from which ascend those well-known and much photographed balustraded stone steps to the shaded terrace-walk and winter garden, above which, and approached by another flight of steps, is Dorothy Vernon's Walk, a romantic avenue of lime and sycamore. Facing the steps and screened by a great yew tree is yet another flight, with ball-surmounted pillars, leading to the "Lord's Parlour," or Orange Parlour as it was formerly called; and from this picturesque exit the Haddon heiress eloped with the gallant John Manners, and by so doing brought the noble estate into the possession of the Dukes of Rutland.

An elaborately carved Elizabethan doorway leads here from the ballroom, which is rich in carved oak panelling and has a coved ceiling bearing the arms and crest of the Manners and Vernons. By repute, all the woodwork, including the circular oak steps leading to the apartment, was cut from a single tree in the park. The ash-grey colour of the wood is caused by a light coat of distemper, which it has been surmised was added at some time to give it the appearance of cedar. Not many years ago there was a controversy upon this subject, which resulted in some ill-advised person obtaining leave to anoint a portion of the panelling with boiled oil. The result was disastrous, and led to an indignant outcry from artists and architects; but fortunately the act of vandalism was stopped in time, and the muddy substance removed. The wainscoting consists of a series of semicircular arches divided by fluted and ornamental pillars of different heights and sizes, the smaller panels being surmounted by the shields of arms and crests of the ancient owners of the Hall, above which is a bold turreted and battlemented cornice.

The old banqueting-hall is rather cosier looking than the famous hall of Penshurst. The narrow, long oak table with its rustic settle is somewhat similar, but later in character than those at Penshurst, and has a grotesque arrangement of projecting feet. The hall is all nooks and corners. Below a projecting gallery is a recess for the wide well-staircase, with its little gates to keep the dogs downstairs, and a lattice-paned window lighting up the uneven lines of the floor. The walls are panelled, and there is a wide open fireplace, and the screen has Gothic carvings. Attached to the framework is an iron bracelet, to enforce the duty of a man drinking his due portion in the good old days. The penalty was before him, so should he fail, he knew his lot, namely, to have the contents of the capacious black jack emptied down his sleeve. The withdrawing-room to the south of the hall is richly wainscoted in carved oak, with a recessed window containing a fixed settle and a step leading down to a genuine cosy-corner. There are some who believe our ancestors had no idea of comfort; but picture this fine old room in the winter, with blazing logs upon the fantastic fire-dogs, the warm red light playing upon the various armorial carvings of the frieze, and the quaint little oriel window half-cast in shadow. The apartment immediately above has a still more elaborate frieze of ornamental plaster above the rich tapestry hangings, and the bay-window in the wainscoted recess, like that beneath, looks upon the gardens, with the graceful terrace on the left and the winding Wye and venerable bridge below. The circular brass fire-dogs are remarkable.[29] The "Earl's Bedchamber" and "Dressing-Room" and the "Lady's Dressing-Room" have tapestried walls and snug recessed windows. The "State Bedroom" was formerly the "Blue Drawing-room." This also is hung with tapestry, and the recessed window has a heavy ornamental frieze above. Near the lofty plumed bedstead, with green silk-velvet hangings, is a queer old cradle, which formerly was in the chaplain's room on the right-hand side of the entrance gate. But to describe the numerous rooms in detail would be tedious. Everything is on a huge and ponderous scale in the kitchens and offices; one is almost reminded of the giant's kitchen in the pantomime. Among the curious and obsolete instruments one encounters here and there, there is a wooden instrument like a colossal boot-jack for stringing bows. It stands against the wall as if it were in daily use. Though there is some good old furniture, one would wish to see the rooms less bare. But let us turn to the famous Belvoir manuscripts, which not so very long ago were discovered much rat-eaten in a loft of that historic seat of the Earls of Rutland. It is interesting after a visit to Haddon to dip into these papers and get some idea of what the old Hall was like in its most flourishing days. The great bare ballroom must have looked very grand in the days of Charles I., with the coved ceiling brilliant with paint and gilt. In addition to a "gilded organ," were two "harpsicalls" and a "viall chest with a bandora and vialls; a shovel-board table on tressels; a large looking-glass of seventy-two glasses, and four pictures of shepherds and shepherdesses." Sixteen suits of armour adorned the screen of the great hall. The massive oaken tables and cabinets displayed a wealth of silver and gilt plate, including a "greate quilte doble sault with a peacock" (the crest of the Manners) "on the top"; silver basins, ewers, and drinking bowls; a warming-pan, two little boats; four porringers with spoons for the children, a "maudlin" cup and cover, etc.

Among the rooms were the "Green Chamber," the "Rose Chamber," the "Great Chamber," the "Best Lodging," the "Hunters' Chamber," the "School-house Chamber," the "Nursery," the "Smoothing Chamber," the "Partridge Chamber," "Windsor," the "Little Gallery," etc. "The uppermost chamber in the nether tower" is almost suggestive of something gruesome, while "my mistress's sweetmeat closet" sounds tempting; and a list of contents included things to make the juvenile palate water--"Glasses of apricots, marmalett, and currants, cherry marmalett, dried pears and plums and apricots, preserved and grated oranges, raspberry and currant cakes, conserved roses, syrup of violets," etc. These things perhaps are trivial, but there is a domesticity about them by which we may think of Haddon as a country home as well as a historic building.

Haddon ceased to be a residence of the Dukes of Rutland more than a century ago. In the days of the Merry Monarch the ninth earl kept open house in a very lavish style. It is said the servants alone amounted to one hundred and forty; and capacious as are the ancient walls, it is a marvel how they all were housed. The romantic Dorothy, who a century before ran away upon the evening of a great ball, was the daughter of the "King of the Peak," Sir George Vernon, thus nicknamed for his lordly and open-handed way of living. She died in 1584, and Sir George Manners, the eldest of her four children, sided with the Parliament during the Civil Wars. But his mode of living was by no means puritanical, and Haddon was kept up in its traditional lavish style. In Bakewell church there is a fine marble tomb representing him and his wife and children, as well as the tomb of the famous Dorothy and her husband, Sir John Manners. The family crest, a Peacock in his pride, that is, with his tail displayed, so conspicuous with the Vernon boar's head in the panelling and parqueting of Haddon, gives its name to the most delightful of ancient hostelries at Rowsley. The proximity of the mansion must have made its fortune over and over again, apart from its piscatorial attractions. The gable ends and latticed windows, and the ivy-grown battlemented porch and trim gardens, are irresistible, and no one could wish for quarters more in harmony with the old baronial Hall.