Part 7

Widdicombe is a very big parish of over ten thousand acres, but small in comparison with Lydford, which has over fifty thousand and is about the biggest parish in England. Two places in Lydford parish were transferred to Widdicombe by Bishop Bronescombe, 20 August 1260, on the ground that they were much too far away from Lydford church, namely, eight miles when the weather was good, and fifteen miles when it was bad, ‘tempestatibus exortis.’ In bad weather the people could not get across the moor, and had to go a long way round. These two places, Babbeneye and Pushylle, are now Babeny and Pizwell; and they are about eleven miles and twelve miles from Lydford church in a straight line on the Ordnance Map. Hurston is two miles and a half from Chagford church in a straight line, but people always call it two mile there and three mile back. The difference is in the hill.

The old waywardens used to fetch stone from a stream a long way off, to mend a piece of road near Hurston. Then an enlightened man appeared, and asked them why they fetched it from a distance when there was plenty close at hand; and they could not tell him why--they could only say that, time out of mind, it always had been fetched from there. So the enlightened man prevailed: some granite was blasted out close by, and the road was properly macadamized; and in twelve months’ time the road had disappeared. There was a peat bog underneath; and the sharp granite chips cut through the peat, whereas the river stones had rested on it, being smooth and round. I do not know the date, and cannot fix the place precisely, but have always understood that it was on a road from Chagford to Tavistock that is marked on Donn’s and Bowen’s maps and even on Cary’s as late as 1826, but now stops short near Metheral.

The older maps are much more chatty than the new. In the valley of the Bovey at the foot of Lustleigh Cleave, Donn’s map remarks, “This River has a subterraneous Passage.” That is where the stream goes underneath the rocks at Horsham Steps. In the next valley there is “Becky Fall, a Cataract” both on Donn’s map and on Cary’s. But the Fall has ceased to be a Cataract since the best part of the stream was turned away to

make a leat. The water used to pitch on a great rock and spread out over the front of that, whereas it now goes down behind this rock, except in heavy storms or floods, and there is little to be seen.

The new maps mark the hills as Tors, not Torrs. In examining old documents I have hardly ever seen the word written with a single _r_ unless there was a mark above the [~r] to show that it was double: and I have never seen it with a single _r_ when there was final _e_--invariably Torre, not Tore. Everybody now writes ‘Haytor Rocks,’ but it is a pleonasm, as ‘tor’ means ‘rock.’ The older people said ‘Arter Rocks,’ and I fancy they meant ‘Arthur Rocks.’ There is the legend of King Arthur’s encounter with the Devil there, and he gave his name to other high places, such as Arthur’s Seat at Edinburgh.

There is, of course, an etymology for Arthur’s Seat, showing that it has nothing to do with Arthur. There is also an etymology for Man-o’-War Rocks, showing that they have nothing to do with men-of-war. That group of rocks is on the north side of the Scillies--three rocks about 600 feet long and about 150 high--and from some points of view it looks uncommonly like a big three-masted ship with all sails set. The chances are against its having a Celtic name that could be corrupted into anything so suitable as Man-o’-War.

In dealing with the names of places, people are too fond of thinking that the etymology must be Celtic, if it is not Latin or Anglo-Saxon. Many of these names may go back to the times before the Celts arrived, and there was a population here whose language was probably akin to Basque. Of course, wild etymologists are not to be restrained by such considerations. One of them has gone to ancient Egyptian to get an etymology for Haytor, _Reflections on names and places in Devonshire_, p. 12, ed. 1845, “H’tor in the Phonetic Egyptian meant a house.” But this sort of thing is not confined to Devon. There is an exclamation ‘O popoi’ in Greek, answering to ‘Oh my’ in English. According to Lauth, _Homer und Aegypten_, p. 43, it is an invocation of Pepi, a king who reigned in Dynasty VI and built a Pyramid at Sakkarah.

Many places owe their present names to blunders. The Hebrides owe theirs to a misreading in Solinus, ‘hebrides’ for ‘hebudes’: they have no _r_ in Pliny or in Mela or in Ptolemy. There is a bay called Morikambê in Ptolemy, _geographia_, II. 3. 2, on the western side of Britain; and on the strength of this the name of Morecambe was given to a place in Lancashire, although the place is only in the latitude of York, whereas Ptolemy puts Morikambê a whole degree further north. Until 1842, or thereabouts, the present Morecambe was called Poulton, or strictly Poulton-le-Sands to distinguish it from Poulton-le-Fylde, which is the present Poulton.

Teign Grace takes its second name from the Grace family, its owners six centuries ago; but people tell me that it really is Teignrace and takes its name from a race in the river Teign a little way below. There was no race there till 1863, when this branch line was begun. The railway blocked a wide curve in the river, and gave it the sharp twist that makes the race.

Kingswear is King’s Wear, yet I have heard it called King Swear; and I have also heard Kingskerswell called Kings Curse Well. (It is the part of Kerswell that was kept by the Crown, and Abbotskerswell is the part that was given to Torre Abbey.) But, apart from the pronunciation, the spelling may be misleading in such names as Kerswell, Ogwell, Loddiswell, etc. A well may often be the nucleus of a settlement in arid regions, but not in regions that are full of springs and streams; and in many of these Devonshire names the ‘well’ must stand for ‘vill,’ the ancient term for ‘village.’ As a matter of fact, the termination is spelled with an _i_ in twenty-two cases out of twenty-seven in the Exeter manuscript of Domesday.

Domesday has nearly a hundred entries of places in Devon with names that end in ‘ford,’ but only two with names that end in ‘bridge.’ These are Tanebrige and Talebrige in the Exchequer manuscript, but the Exeter manuscript has Taignebrige and Talebrua; so the second name seems dubious. (The first, of course, in Teignbridge.) These terminations give a notion of the roads then, and sometimes also of the streams. A mile from here there is a place called Elsford, where there is not any ford nor anything to be forded. It is an old place, mentioned in Domesday as Eilauesford and at that time (twenty years after the Conquest) still in the possession of a Saxon thane. It stands on the edge of the table-land between the valleys of the Wrey and the Teign; and if there ever was a ford there, there must have been a little river running off the table-land and down into the Wrey along a gully in the hill-side, where there is hardly a trickle now.

There is a place called Yeo close by the Wrey, a Twinyeo at the confluence of the Wrey and Bovey, and another at the confluence of the Bovey and Teign; and both Twinyeos are Mesopotamias, being in between the streams. Yeo here means ‘stream’ or ‘water,’ as in Yeoford. But a yeoman is not a waterman--he is a land man; and there, I think, the ‘yeo’ is to be linked with ‘gau’ in German, not with ‘eau’ in French. There are traces of an Anglo-Saxon word like ‘gau’ for ‘place’ or ‘land’; and the _g_ would easily become a _y_, as in ‘year’ and ‘day’ for ‘gear’ and ‘dæg.’

The old printers used a _y_ to represent an obsolete _th_ which was nearly of that shape, and people followed them in writing it, especially with ‘ye’ for ‘the.’ Parson Davy always did so; and his spirit, being summoned to a séance, discredited the medium by pronouncing ‘the’ as ‘ye’--a thing that no one did. We still use a _z_ as an abbreviation in ‘viz’ for ‘videlicet.’ They use it in Dutch catalogues of bulbs, and one hears gardeners talking of Narcissus Poetz or Poetaz instead of Poetarum. But it may be better to pronounce the _z_ than misinterpret it, like the people who made Barum and Sarum out of Bz and Sz, the abbreviated forms of Barnstaple and Salisbury. The _z_ was also used in ‘lez’ for ‘legitur,’ a very useful term for anyone who had to put things down in Latin, and did not know the Latin names for them. Thus, on the Court Roll of Lydford Manor, 21 September 1586, “Humfridus Pitford queritur de Johanne Thorne et Maria uxore eius de placito transgressionis super casum. Attachiantur per quinque lez callacowe et hulland bandes tres lez handkerchefs et unum lez wollen wastecott. Et quia predicti,” etc.

Among the manuscripts at the House of Lords there are some returns that have not been used sufficiently in books on local history. In May 1641 a Protestation against all Popery, etc., was taken by the Lords and Commons, and in August it was circulated in the country. At the beginning of the following year returns were required from every parish, giving the names of those who had taken the Protestation; and many of these returns are at the House of Lords. I obtained copies of the returns for this parish and seven adjoining parishes, made an index to the names, and had my index printed in 1913 for private circulation. The return for Moreton parish does not say if anyone refused to take the Protestation, but the returns for the other seven parishes say that nobody refused: so these returns give a complete list of all the male inhabitants over eighteen years of age, that being the limit of age for taking the Protestation.

There were 411 in Moreton, 53 in Lustleigh, 150 in Hennock, 345 in Bovey, 139 in North Bovey, 77 in Manaton, 179 in Ilsington and 255 in Widdicombe. None of these people had more than one Christian name, and many had the same surname. In Widdicombe there were five-and-twenty men called Hamlin or Hamlyn, and six of them were Richard, four were Thomas and three were John. In Moreton there were twenty men called Bowdon, and four of them were John, three were William and three were George. They could easily have been distinguished by saying where they lived; but in only three cases was this done. In Hennock one of the two John Potters is ‘of Kelly,’ and one of the five John Wreafords is ‘of Nepton’; and in North Bovey one of the three John Nosworthies is ‘de Kindon.’

On the Court Rolls of Wreyland Manor one John Wills is distinguished from another as ‘of Eastawray’ in 1710 and ‘de Eastawray’ in 1714. In 1718 Jane Clampitt of Yeo is called Jane Yeo; and, going a long way back, a man is twice called John atte Yeo and three times called John Yeo at the same sitting of the Court, 30 April 1438. In course of time the ‘atte’ or ‘de’ dropped out, and a man was known by the name of the place where he was living, or the place whence he had come. That explains why these returns have so many surnames that are names of places not far off, or corruptions of such names. The surname Bunckum (in Bovey) is a corruption of Boncombe or Buncombe, the parent hamlet of that home of eloquence, Bunkum, in North Carolina.

Among the Christian names there is Hanniball in Ilsington and Bovey, and Methusalem in Moreton; but most of them are commonplace. Out of these 1609 men 342 are John--that is, roughly, two men out of every nine--while 173 are William, 152 are Richard and 147 are Thomas; so that half the total number had one of these four names. It must have been confusing; and, having only one name each, they could not be distinguished by combinations of initials, as is usual now when people have two Christian names or more. Second names were not quite unknown then--there was Henry Frederick Thynne, a Royalist in the Civil War--but the new fashion had not yet extended to these rustic parishes.

These returns do not support the view that parents had a habit of naming children after the patron saint of the parish. The patron saint is Andrew at Moreton, and Pancras at Widdicombe; but Moreton has only twelve Andrews, whereas Widdicombe has eighteen Andrews and only one Pancras. Pancras is a pleasant name that parents might use oftener: it drops so nicely into Panny, like Pontius into Ponty. But parents are strange folk. Pontius is equivalent to Quintus, and I urged a friend of mine to call his fifth son Pontius; but he went and chose a less historic name. A great-great-uncle of mine gave one of his sons the name of Ghibelline, which is historic but not often given at the font. I imagine he was feeling very anti-Guelph just then.

A child named Flood was christened Noah; and in after years his house was known to everyone in Bovey as the Ark. Quite recently a Wreyland child was christened Cesca. I asked the mother where she got the name, and she said she got it off the washing. She took in washing, and one of her families had a daughter named Francesca, who was usually called ‘Cesca and had her linen marked that way. And really you cannot object to Cesca unless you also object to Betty and other shortened names.

The Protestation of 1642 was soon followed by the Civil War, and at Christmas 1645 there was a Royalist force at Bovey and a Parliamentary force at Tiverton. Fairfax marched from Tiverton to Moreton, while Cromwell marched from Tiverton to Bovey by another road, and surprised and beat the Royalists there, 9 January. They lost 12 men killed and 60 taken prisoners besides about 350 horses. “It was almost supper time with them when our men entered the town, most of them at that instant were playing at cards, but our souldiers took up the stakes for many of their principal officers, who (being together in one room) threw their stakes of mony out at the window, which whilst our souldiers were scrambling for, they escaped out at a back-door over the river, and saved their best stakes.” That is what Sprigge says in his _Anglia Rediviva or England’s Recovery_, published in 1647. The story has been doubted, as it is told of other places; but it probably is true of Bovey. Sprigge was chaplain to Fairfax during this campaign, and thus could get at facts; and the story is also in a letter to Edmund Prideaux, M.P., written on 11 January, and printed and published on 15 January by order of the House of Commons, that is, within a week of the event. The letter says that the money thrown out of window was about £10 of silver.

Next day, 10 January, “the weather still extream bitter cold,” the forces at Moreton and Bovey “had a rendezvouz near Bovey,” and went on to Ashburton, whither the Royalists had retired. That is what Sprigge says; but one wonders why the rendezvous should be ‘near’ Bovey and not at Bovey itself, Bovey being on the road to Ashburton. It would not be between Moreton and Bovey, as there is no cross-road between, and one force or the other would have to go back the way it came. If it was the other side of Bovey, the Moreton force would merely follow the Bovey force along the road, and join it later on instead of joining it at Bovey. In that weather, “much snow upon the ground,” the open country would be barred: so I imagine that Fairfax and his troops came down the valley by the usual road to Bovey, passing through the end of Wreyland Manor at Kelly.

Wreyland never was disturbed. One sitting of the Manor Court is in the first year of Edward V and the next in the first year of Richard III: another is in the second year of Richard III and the next in the first year of Henry VII. The business of the Court goes quietly on, regardless of the murders in the Tower or the carnage upon Bosworth Field. John Merdon is amerced a penny under Richard III because he has not yet repaired his buildings that are tumbling down, and he is again amerced a penny under Henry VII because he has not yet repaired, etc.

However, Bosworth Field had its effect at Wreycombe, three miles further up the valley, the Manor of Wreycombe being restored to Robert Cary, son and heir of Sir William Cary, who had forfeited it on attainder for high treason twenty years before, 1 July 1465. He had quitted England to join Queen Margaret in waging war on Edward IV, and he was killed at the battle of Tewkesbury in 1471. The same thing had happened to Wreycombe once before. Sir John Cary was one of the judges who were attainted of high treason for declaring the Commission of Regency to be unlawful, and he forfeited his property, 1 August 1387. He died in 1395, and next year Wreycombe and other lands were granted to his widow. She was one of the Holways of Holway, and this was Holway property that she had brought to him on marriage.

Wreyland was once the property of John de Moelis; and he died in 1337, leaving two daughters and no son. Muriel was fifteen and Isabella was thirteen or more; and they became wards of the King, as their father held his lands ‘in chief,’ that is to say, at first hand from the King. The two girls married at once--not bad matches, but without the King’s consent; and then there was the usual fuss. On partition of their father’s lands, Wreyland was part of Muriel’s share; but there was a Fine of 200 marks to pay for marrying without the King’s consent. It was paid on 27 August 1337, and the King passed on the money to his son, Edward the Black Prince, who was then a boy of seven.

Things happened here in Wreyland Manor which seem trivial now that we have only the bare facts, as set down on the record of the Manor Court; but in real life the facts may have aroused such animosities that they would seem momentous then.--John More and Thomas Sachet have been cutting down trees on the Lustleigh side of the Wrey, thereby choking the stream so that it is overflowing on the Wreyland side and doing damage here. Henry atte Slade has been catching pheasants and partridges inside the Manor bounds. (Slade is just outside.) Ralf Golde’s pigs have been eating Ralf Wilcokes’ apples from the Feast of saint Christina unto the Feast of the Nativity of the blessed Mary. (From 24 July to 8 September.) Thomas Wollecote’s pig has been eating Thomas Ollesbrome’s apples, and Ollesbrome has killed the pig, though Wollecote has offered him twenty bushels of apples as compensation. In this case two issues were set down for trial: the offer of the apples, and the killing of the pig. Wollecote failed on the first issue, and did not proceed on the second--it may be that Ollesbrome had brought the pig into Court, as his defence was that he had not killed it.

That was the Fifteenth Century, and the Twentieth is not unlike it. In this present Century there were two men living in Lustleigh parish who have now gone away--men of assured position and independent means. One man lived in a valley, and the other on a hill-side just above; and one man had a garden, and the other had a dog. When the dog got busy with bones, it went off to the garden and carried out its burials and exhumations there. At least, that is what the owner of the garden said, and what the owner of the dog denied; and the contention was so sharp between them that one of them summoned the other before the magistrates at Newton to be bound over to keep the peace.

In a humbler state of life there were two old ladies who kept chicken; and whenever one of them fed her chicken, her neighbour’s chicken came over in a mass and scrambled for the food. It was a thing that chicken would naturally do; but she felt certain that her neighbour egged them on. One day she seemed to be in heavenly happiness, and she explained to me, “I be a-thinkin’ of that woman there, when I shall see her in the torments.” I asked where she was going to see that, and she answered with asperity, “Where be I a-goin’? Why, Abram’s bosom, o’ course.” Her thoughts were on the parable of Lazarus and Dives. People of her generation did not consider eternal life worth having without eternal punishment for everybody they disliked.

In country places little things seem big, as there is nothing big to dwarf them. I have seen a man throw down his work and come rushing across the valley, uttering imprecations all the way--as someone said of him, “could hear’n comin’ up a-buzzin’ like an aireyplain”--and it was only because he saw a trespasser, not a murder or a fire or anything else commensurate. In big towns they have newspapers coming out in fresh editions all day long, and placards of the news, and boys to shout it out; and they cannot quite ignore the ‘mysteries’ and ‘allegations’ and the ‘startling revelations.’ These may be trumpery enough and quite untrue, but at all events they do not set good neighbours quarrelling.

About the time of the Armistice I was going out to Hurston one morning, and overtook a rural postman on the way. He told me that the Crown Prince had been killed; and when I said I doubted it, he said he had seen it in two newspapers, and that was good enough for him. And he announced the news at every farm-house on his round. Ten days afterwards I went out there again, and overtook him as before. I mentioned the Crown Prince, but that bit of news had passed out of his mind, and he had other news (of course, quite true) which he was taking round with him that day. News of this sort does no harm. In such places there are people who have time to think, and they can see that news is not invariably true. An old man said to me, “They tell and tell, and I don’t hearken to no word of it, only what my son says as he’s see’d hisself, and he says the Bulgarians has landed at Ostend.” I suggested Kustendje, but he stuck firmly to Ostend.

On the morning of the Armistice I went down to Bovey; and the first things I saw were two flags flying at half-mast. I felt uneasy till I got there and learned the reason why. It was a very long while since the flags had been up higher than half-mast, and now they wouldn’t go any higher until the gear was eased; and somebody would be going up to see to that a little later on. In the streets I found the children waving every flag that they could get, German or Austrian as much as French or English; and later on I saw a great display of Russian flags at Lustleigh. On asking why, I found that someone had laid in a stock of Allied flags quite early in the War; but there had been a slump in Russians, and this was the unsold remnant of the stock.

Flags generally are ugly things, crude in colour and clumsy in design, and quite unsuitable for decorations. It is a glorious thing, especially in foreign ports, to see the White Ensign on a British man-of-war. The flag means something there; but it does not mean much anywhere else, and means nothing in mere decorations with national flags and signal flags all mixed together. Ships are dressed with flags because they have the flags on board, and nothing else so handy for display; but there is no sense in copying ships in towns, and hanging flags from what are called Venetian masts. In fact the celebrated masts at Venice look rather foolish now. They meant something when they carried the banners of the three Venetian states, Cyprus, Crete, and the Morea. Now they all three carry the Italian flag, and one would be enough for that. If it is flown on more than one, it might as well be flown on ten or twelve or twenty as on three.