Chapter 2

The criss-cross experiences of his boyhood, together with his mixed Cornish and Gallic heredity, were elements that very largely helped to create the whimsical character of George Borrow. We have now come to the time when the old soldier, with his pension of eight shillings a day, and his excellent and devoted wife, settled with their two sons at the little house in Willow Lane, Norwich.

[Picture: Borrow's House, Willow Lane]

For a short time in 1814, when his parents lodged in St. Stephen's, young George was sent to the Grammar School; but now, in 1816, settled comfortably in Norwich, he was again sent to the Grammar School, under the Rev. Edward Valpy, called by Dr. Knapp "a severe master," by Mr. Walling "a martinet," whose "principal claims to fame," says Mr. Jenkins, "are his severity, his having flogged the conqueror of the 'Flaming Tinman,' and his destruction of the School Records of Admission, which dated back to the sixteenth century." Against this chorus of denunciation, I will quote from a letter the late Dr. Martineau wrote me about Borrow: "It is true that I had to _hoist_ (not 'horse') Borrow for his flogging; but not that there was anything exceptional, or capable of leaving permanent scars in the infliction: Mr. Valpy was not given to excess of that kind." It is a pity that the earliest biographers did not get the opinion of some of Borrow's surviving schoolfellows as to their old master. Dr. Knapp, in 1899, stated that Dr. Martineau (died January 11th, 1900), and Dr. W. E. Image, D.L., J.P., of Herringswell House, Suffolk (died September 26th, 1903), were the only survivors of Borrow's schoolmates. Amongst these was Thomas Borrow Burcham, the London Police Magistrate, who, there is good reason to believe, was a cousin of George's, as his father married a Mary Perfrement, and T. B. Burcham was christened at East Dereham Church.

[Picture: The Winding River, near Norwich. Lent by Mrs. E. Peake]

[Picture: The Yare at Earlham, near Norwich. By Mr. E. Peake]

It is quite noteworthy that Borrow makes no mention of his term at the Grammar School in "Lavengro," but, after his Irish experiences, opens a chapter with the following eloquent description of Norwich:--

"A fine old city, truly, is that, view it from whatever side you will, but it shows best from the east, where the ground, bold and elevated, overlooks the fair and fertile valley in which it stands. Gazing from those heights, the eye beholds a scene which cannot fail to awaken, even in the least sensitive bosom, feelings of pleasure and admiration. At the foot of the heights flows a narrow and deep river, with an antique bridge communicating with a long and narrow suburb, flanked on either side by rich meadows of the brightest green, beyond which spreads the city, the fine old city, perhaps the most curious specimen at present extant of the genuine old English town. Yes, there it spreads from north to south, with its venerable houses, its numerous gardens, its thrice twelve churches, its mighty mound, which, if tradition speaks true, was raised by human hands to serve as the grave heap of an old heathen king, who sits deep within it, with his sword in his hand and his gold and silver treasures about him. There is a grey old castle upon the top of that mighty mound; and yonder, rising three hundred feet above the soil, from among those noble forest trees, behold that old Norman master-work, that cloud encircled cathedral spire, around which a garrulous army of rooks and choughs continually wheel their flight. Now, who can wonder that the children of that fine old city are proud of her, and offer up prayers for her prosperity? I, myself, who was not born within her walls, offer up prayers for her prosperity, that want may never visit her cottages."

"It was yonder, to the west, that the great naval hero of Britain first saw the light; he who annihilated the sea pride of Spain and dragged the humble banner of France in triumph at his stern. He was born yonder to the west, and of him there is a glorious relic in that old town; in its dark flint guildhouse, the roof of which you can just descry rising above that maze of buildings, in the upper hall of justice, is a species of glass shrine, in which the relic is to be seen: a sword of curious workmanship, the blade is of keen Toledan steel, the heft of ivory and mother-of-pearl. 'Tis the sword of Cordova, won in the bloodiest fray off St. Vincent's promontory, and presented by Nelson to the old capital of the much-loved land of his birth. Yes, the proud Spaniard's sword is to be seen in yonder guildhouse, in the glass case affixed to the wall; many other relics has the good old town, but none prouder than the Spaniard's sword."

After these descriptive passages, he at once passes to the questionings of his father and mother as to the career of "the other child," much more difficult to settle in life than his more sober-minded elder brother, who had, as Dr. Martineau informed me, "quite too much sense" to join in the wild escapade described by Dr. Knapp in one of his most "purple patches." Captain Borrow was sadly exercised about his younger son, and exclaimed, in the discussion about his prospects, "Why, he has neither my hair nor eyes; and then his countenance! Why, 'tis absolutely swarthy, God forgive me! I had almost said like that of a gypsy, but I have nothing to say against that; the boy is not to be blamed for the colour of his face, nor for his hair and eyes; but, then, his ways and manners!"

Our glimpses of the Grammar School life are meagre, but we can readily understand that to a lad of Borrow's temperament the routine of a well-ordered school was naturally distasteful, though he loved to gain knowledge from any unconventional source open to him. So we find him studying French and Italian with "one banished priest," the Rev. Thomas D'Eterville, M.A., of Caen University, who, as Borrow says, "lived in an old court of the old town," having come to Norwich in 1793. He advertised his "school in St. Andrew's," and this was situated in Locket's Yard, now built over by Messrs. Harmer's factory. Later he resided in the Strangers' Hall, then occupied by priests of the adjoining Roman Catholic Chapel of St. John, now superseded by the grand church which towers on the crest of St. Giles's Hill. The Norman priest was robust, with a slight stoop, but a rapid and vigorous step, "sixty or thereabouts," when Borrow was his pupil in 1816, according to "Lavengro." But he was really considerably younger, for when he died at Caen, February 22nd, 1843, his age was given as seventy-six. In a local obituary notice he was described as "a well-known and respected inhabitant of Norwich for upwards of forty years, who retired a few months ago to end his days in his native country." He made a small fortune, and there were rumours that he was engaged in the contraband trade. In a suppressed passage, reproduced by Dr. Knapp in his notes to "Lavengro," D'Eterville says he found friends here, and was able to ride a good horse to visit pupils in the country; also that he always carried pistols, which Borrow said he had seen. Here, then, was another character after Borrow's heart, especially as he told his pupil that one day he would be a great philologist. Of course, young Borrow was by no means the sort of lad to spend all his time on books. He loved to sally forth with an old condemned musket, and did such execution that he seldom returned (sad to say!) without a string of bullfinches, blackbirds, and linnets hanging round his neck. Yet, as Mr. Jenkins says, Borrow's "love of animals was almost feminine." With less zest he went fishing--too listless a pastime to interest him much, for he often fell into a doze by the water side, and sometimes let his rod drop into the stream. His poetical but strictly accurate account of Earlham is worth quoting:

"At some distance from the city, behind a range of hilly ground which rises towards the south-west, is a small river, the waters of which, after many meanderings, eventually enter the principal river of the district, and assist to swell the tide which it rolls down to the ocean. It is a sweet rivulet, and pleasant it is to trace its course from its spring-head, high up in the remote regions of East Anglia, till it arrives in the valley behind yon rising ground; and pleasant is that valley, truly a goodly spot, but most lovely where yonder bridge crosses the little stream. Beneath its arch the waters rush garrulously into a blue pool, and are there stilled for a time, for the pool is deep, and they appear to have sunk to sleep. Farther on, however, you hear their voice again, where they ripple gaily over yon gravelly shallow. On the left, the hill slopes gently down to the margin of the stream. On the right is a green level, a smiling meadow, grass of the richest decks the side of the slope; mighty trees also adorn it, giant elms, the nearest of which, when the sun is nigh at its meridian, fling a broad shadow upon the face of the pool; through yon vista you catch a glimpse of the ancient brick of an old English hall. It has a stately look, that old building, indistinctly seen, as it is, among those umbrageous trees; you might almost suppose it an earl's home; and such it was, or rather upon its site stood an earl's home, in the days of old, for there some old Kemp, some Sigurd, or Thorkild, roaming in quest of a hearthstead, settled down in the gray old time, when Thor and Freya were yet gods, and Odin was a portentous name. Yon old hall is still called the Earl's Home."

It was while fishing in "a sweet rivulet" in the grounds of the old hall one summer's day that "a voice, clear and sonorous as a bell," asked, "Canst thou answer to thy conscience for pulling all those fish out of the water, and leaving them to gasp in the sun?" The speaker was none other than the learned Friend, Joseph John Gurney (1788-1847), who as a young man read nearly all the Old Testament in Hebrew in the early morning. It was natural, therefore, that he should ask the young angler if he knew Hebrew, having confessed, according to "Lavengro," that he himself could not read Dante. This is clearly wrong, for writing to Thomas Fowell Buxton, in 1808, he mentions that he is reading Sophocles, some Italian, Livy, etc., and in the following year he informs his sister, Hannah Buxton, that he is engaged, _inter alia_, on Apollonius Rhodius, the Greek Testament, and Ariosto.

[Picture: The Strangers' Hall, Norwich. From Painting by Ventnor. Lent by Mr. E. Peake]

Borrow had good reason to respect and admire the Quakers, as is evidenced in "Wild Wales" (Chap. CVI.), for when a Methodist called them "a bad lot," and said he at first thought Borrow was a Methodist minister (!), and hoped to hear from him something "conducive to salvation," Borrow's severe answer was: "So you shall. Never speak ill of people of whom you know nothing. If that isn't a saying conducive to salvation, I know not what is." It is not very creditable, in my opinion, that the late Mr. J. B. Braithwaite, in his "Memoirs of J. J. Gurney" (two volumes, 1854), never once mentions Borrow by name. I have no doubt, however, that the following passage refers to him: "'Wilt thou execute a little commission for me at Arch's?' said Joseph John Gurney, addressing another of his young friends, whom he had kindly taken one day to dine at his lodgings during the interval between the sittings of the Yearly Meeting. His young friend, of course, readily assented. J. J. Gurney wrote a few lines on a slip of paper which he handed to his young friend, enclosed to his bookseller's; but without giving to his young companion any intimation of its contents. The note was duly delivered, and the circumstance was forgotten until, after a lapse of a few weeks, the young friend, no less to his surprise than to his delight, received a large parcel, sent to him, as he was informed, at Joseph John Gurney's request, consisting of thirty volumes, comprising the Lexicons of Simonis and Schleusner, and the Scholia of the Rosenmullers (the father and son) on the Old and New Testaments: a great prize indeed to a youthful student. Many were the instances in which he thus encouraged, amongst his young friends, a taste for reading, more especially in those pursuits in which he himself delighted."

[Picture: Earlham Bridge. From Photograph. Lent by Mr. E. Peake]

Who can wonder at Mr. Clement Shorter's indignation when, in his address in Norwich on the Borrow Centenary in 1903, after enumerating many great Norwich people, he endeavoured to show "that Borrow, the very least of those men and women in public estimation for a good portion of his life, and perhaps the least in popular judgment ever since his death, was really the greatest, was really the man of all others, to whom this beautiful city should do honour if it asks for a name out of its nineteenth-century history to crown with local recognition."

In his Tombland Fair chapter is this vivid patch of local colour:

"I was standing on the castle hill in the midst of a fair of horses. I have already had occasion to mention this castle. It is the remains of what was once a Norman stronghold, and is perched upon a round mound or monicle, in the midst of the old city. Steep is this mound and scarped, evidently by the hand of man; a deep gorge, over which is flung a bridge, separates it, on the south, from a broad swell of open ground called "the hill"; of old the scene of many a tournament and feat of Norman chivalry, but now much used as a show place for cattle, where those who buy and sell beeves and other beasts resort at stated periods."

Perhaps Borrow inherited from his father--the conqueror of Big Ben Brain, "whose skin was brown and dusky as that of a toad"--the love of fisticuffs which was so prominently marked in his career. It was this which led him to become the pupil in boxing of "the terrible Thurtell," executed for the murder of Weare, January 9th, 1824 (his father, Thomas Thurtell, was Sheriff of Norwich in 1815, Mayor in 1828, and died April 8th, 1846, at the good old age of eighty-one. He lived at Harford Hall Farm, Lakenham, a largish house standing back from the highway, towards the end of the Ipswich Road, on the left-hand side going from Norwich, some little distance this side of Harford Bridges in the river valley below). The celebrated chapter on "The Bruisers of England" ("Lavengro," Chap. XXVI.) has been warmly applauded by many writers as a very fine example of Borrow's style. That it undoubtedly is, but some critics were unsympathetic about pugilism, amongst them the late Rev. Whitwell Elwin, who, in the _Quarterly Review_ (January-April, 1857), wrote: "Mr. Borrow's notions of what constitutes cant have not always been the same. In his 'Gypsies of Spain' he speaks of pugilistic combats as 'disgraceful and brutalizing exhibitions,' but in the Appendix to 'The Romany Rye' we find that he now considers such language to be cant. This is one of the cases in which second thoughts are worst." Another reviewer deprecates Borrow's glorifying attitude towards "the very worst amongst the bad, such as David Haggart and John Thurtell; and not content with turning away the edge of an instinctive condemnation of crime, actually entitles the prize-fighters, the brutality of whose profession can scarcely be exaggerated, 'the priests of an old religion.'" More recently, while advocating the Children's Bill in the House of Commons (March 24th, 1908), Mr. Shaw said that "George Borrow never did a worse service to humanity than by writing 'Lavengro,' with its glorification of vagabond life." Though one cannot acquit Borrow of inconsistency, we must remember that "The Gypsies of Spain" was written in 1840, and that he sent a notice of it to Mr. Brandram of the Bible Society in March of that year, ending his letter with the words: "I hope yet to die in the cause of my Redeemer." For my part, I am convinced that Borrow's real opinion of pugilism is contained in several passages of the Appendix to "The Romany Rye," where he justifies "his favourite pursuits, hunting after strange characters, or analysing strange words and names," and expressed the belief that he would not be refused admission to heaven because of "some inclination to put on certain gloves, not white kid, with any friend who may be inclined for a little old-English diversion, and a readiness to take a glass of ale, with plenty of malt in it, and as little hop as may well be--ale at least two years old--with the aforesaid friend when the diversion is over." He says he is "not ashamed to speak to a beggar in rags, and will associate with anybody, provided he can gratify a laudable curiosity." More emphatically still, he asks: "Can the rolls of the English aristocracy exhibit names belonging to more heroic men than those who were called respectively Pearce, Cribb, and Spring?" Both "Lavengro" and "The Romany Rye," be it noted, were written long after Borrow's association with the Bible Society had come to an end.

Those who wish to visualize in some degree the rendezvous of "the bruisers of England, men of tremendous renown," should look upon the building, once the Bowling Green Hotel, by Chapel Field Gardens. It is now an Orphan's Home, bought for that purpose for seven hundred pounds in January, 1870, but the initials "R.G." on the north wall still recall the memory of Richard Gurney, "the retired coachman with one leg," who died August 11th, 1829, aged forty-eight. The stabling still remains in use, but the bowling green now forms part of the property of the Bethel Hospital: it adjoins the theatre, and is occupied by tennis courts for the recreation of the patients. The Bowling Green Hotel in its heyday was a place of much importance; for being so close to the theatre, it was the chosen hostelry for many great theatrical stars--Mrs. Charles Kean and others. Many amusing anecdotes are told of the guests in a booklet on "Old Norfolk Inns," published by Messrs. Jarrold in 1888, but now unfortunately out of print. Borrow gives an account of the mixed assemblage at this inn, gathered for the great fight of July 17th, 1820, between Ned Painter ("Ned Flatnose"), of Norwich, and Oliver.

He is wrong about the planting of the trees in Chapel Field "at the restoration of sporting Charles," for they were planted in 1746, by Sir Thomas Churchman, then lessee of the Field.

A good contemporary account of the big fight, in which Painter won, may be found in "Norfolk Annals" (compiled from the files of the _Norfolk Chronicle_), vol. i. p. 184. This was Painter's last appearance in the prize-ring. He was landlord of the White Hart, just above St. Peter Mancroft Church, from 1823 to 1835, and in that inn there is still a portrait of the famous Ned. He occupied the meadows on which Thorpe Station was built.

[Picture: Bowling Green Inn (now Orphan's Home). From Drawing by H. W. Tuck]

Borrow's introduction of the celebrated fast trotter "Marshland Shales" at the Tombland Fair of March 19th, 1818, is an anachronism, for that noble animal did not present himself on the Castle Hill till 1827. He had been sold for 305 guineas in 1810, and again sold in 1827; he died in 1835, aged thirty-three. Sir Walter Gilbey states that "though the Norfolk Hackney achieved its fame through Blaze (foaled 1733), who begat the original Shales, foaled in 1755, and the foundations of this invaluable breed were thus laid in George II.'s time, we must have regard to the period during which the breed achieved its celebrity both at home and abroad, and that period is the long reign of George III." Dr. Knapp expresses himself as much terrified by the invasion of the free path by "a party rushing madly up, striving to keep pace with a mettlesome steed . . . at the sight of whose enormous hoofs and shaggy fetlocks you are all but ready to perish." Such niggling super refinement would be quite repugnant to Borrow's highway robustious temperament.

[Picture: Portrait of William Simpson. From Painting in Blackfriars' Hall, by Thomas Phillips, R.A., Norwich Corporation Collection]

It was at this Horse Fair that he became conscious of being watched by someone, till at last he was accosted: "What! the sap-engro? Lor! the sap-engro upon the hill!" Then Jasper revealed himself. He had been dodging about inspecting young Borrow, and said he believed Borrow had felt his presence--"a sign, brother, that we are akin, that we are _dui palor_--two relations. Your blood beat when mine was near, as mine always does at the coming of a brother." The two pals walked on over "the old Norman Bridge" till they reached the gypsy tents on Mousehold, where Borrow had a memorable conversation with Jasper (Ambrose Smith), and incurred the wrath of the malignant Mrs. Herne, who objected to the strange Gorgio "stealing" her language. But he continually consorted with Jasper, studying the language, the characters, and the manners of the gypsies. So quickly did he pick up Romany words that Jasper said: "We'll no longer call you Sap-engro, brother, but rather Lav-engro, which in the language of the Gorgios meaneth Word Master." The handsome Tawno Chikno would have preferred to call him Cooro-mengro, as he had found him "a pure fist master." Mrs. Herne could not stand this intimacy, for she so hated the Gorgio that she said she would like to mix a little poison with his water, so she left her party with her blessing, and this _gillie_ to cheer their hearts:

"In all kinds of weather Have we lived together; But now we are parted, I goes broken hearted. Ye are no longer Rommany. To gain a bad brother, Ye have lost a good mother."

[Picture: Tuck's Court, St. Giles]

[Picture: Portrait of John Crome. By Michael W. Sharpe]

About three years later, Lavengro and Jasper had that conversation on Mousehold, in which this classic passage occurs:--

"Life is sweet, brother."

"Do you think so?"

"Think so! There's night and day, brother, both sweet things; sun, moon and stars, brother, all sweet things; there's likewise the wind on the heath. Life is very sweet, brother; who would wish to die?"

"I would wish to die--"

"You talk like a gorgio--which is the same as talking like a fool--were you a Rommany Chal you would talk wiser. Wish to die indeed! A Rommany Chal would wish to live for ever!"

"In sickness, Jasper?"

"There's the sun and stars, brother."

"In blindness, Jasper?"

"There's the wind on the heath, brother; if I could only feel that, I would gladly live for ever. Dosta, we'll now go to the tents and put on the gloves; and I'll try to make you feel what a sweet thing it is to be alive, brother!"