"In every parish was a church house, to which belonged spits, crocks, and other utensils for dressing provisions. Here the housekeepers met.

The young people were there too, and had dancing, bowling, shooting at b.u.t.ts, etc., the ancients [_i.e._ old folks] sitting gravely by, and looking on."

The churchwardens bought, and received presents of, a large quant.i.ty of malt, which they brewed into beer and sold to the company. Hence these feasts were called "church ales," and were held on the feast of the dedication of the church, the proceeds being devoted to the maintenance of the poor. Sometimes they were held at Whitsuntide also, sometimes four times a year, and sometimes as often as money was wanted or a feast desired. An arbour of boughs was erected in the churchyard on these occasions called Robin Hood's Bower, where the maidens collected money for the "ales," and "all went merry as a marriage bell"--rather too merry sometimes, for the ale was strong and the villagers liked it, and the ballad-singer was so merry, and the company so hearty--and was it not all for a good cause, the support of the poor? The character of these festivals deteriorated so much, until at last "church ales" were prohibited altogether, on account of the excess to which they gave rise.

[Ill.u.s.tration: AN ANCIENT VILLAGE]

There was a large amount of gaiety in the old villages in those days.

Men were not in so great a hurry to grow rich as they are now. The Church authorised many holidays in the course of the year; and what with May Day festivities, Plough Mondays, Hocktide and Shrovetide sports, harvest suppers, fairs, and "ales," the villagers had plenty of amus.e.m.e.nt, and their lives certainly could not be described as dull.

Sometimes the village would be enlivened by the presence of a company of pilgrims on their way to the shrine of St. Thomas at Canterbury, or to Holywell, blessed by St. Winifred, in order to be cured of some disease. Although these pilgrims were deemed to be engaged on a religious duty, they certainly were not generally very serious or sad.

Chaucer describes a very joyous pilgrimage in his _Canterbury Tales_, how the company met at the Tabard Inn, in Southwark, including the knight and the abbot, the prioress and the shipman, the squire and the merchant, the ploughman and sompnour (or summoner, "of whose visage children were sore afeard"), and rode forth gaily in the spring sunshine--

"The holy blissful martyr for to seek, That them hath holpen when that they were sick."

Pilgrim crosses are numerous all over England, where the pilgrims halted for their devotions by the way, and sometimes we find churches planted on the roadside far from human habitations, with no parishioners near them; and some people wonder why they were so built.

These were pilgrim churches, built for the convenience of the travellers as they wended their way to Canterbury. The villages through which they pa.s.sed must have been much enlivened by the presence of these not very austere companies.

The ordinary lives of the farmers were diversified by the visits to the weekly markets held in the neighbouring town, where they took their fat capons, eggs, b.u.t.ter, and cheese. Here is a curious relic of olden times, an ancient market proclamation, which breathes the spirit of former days, and which was read a few years ago at Broughton-in-Furness, by the steward of the lord of the manor, from the steps of the old market cross. These are the words:--

"O yes, O yes, O yes![10] The lord of the manor of Broughton and of this fair and market strictly chargeth and commandeth on Her Majesty's behalf, that all manners of persons repairing to this fair and market do keep Her Majesty's peace, upon pain of five pounds to be forfeited to Her Majesty, and their bodies to be imprisoned during the lord's pleasure. Also that no manner of person within this fair and market do bear any bill, battle-axe, or other prohibited weapons, but such as be appointed by the lord's officers to keep this fair or market, upon pain of forfeiture of all such weapons and further imprisonment. Also, that no manner of person do pick any quarrel, matter, or cause for any old grudge or malice to make any perturbation or trouble, upon pain of five pounds, to be forfeited to the lord, and their bodies to be imprisoned.

Also, that none buy or sell in corners, back sides, or hidden places, but in open fair or market, upon pain of forfeiture of all such goods and merchandise so bought and sold, and their bodies to imprisonment.

Also, that no manner of persons shall sell any goods with unlawful mete or measures, yards or weights, but such as be lawful and keep the true a.s.size, upon pain of forfeiture of all such goods and further imprisonment. Lastly, if any manner of persons do here find themselves grieved, or have any injuries or wrong committed or done against them, let them repair to the lord or his officers, and there they shall be heard according to right, equity, and justice. G.o.d save the Queen and the lord of the manor!"

And besides the weekly markets there were the great annual fairs, which lasted many days, and were frequented by all cla.s.ses of the population.

These fairs were absolutely necessary for the trade of the country in the days when few people travelled far from their own homesteads, and even the towns with their small number of inhabitants did not afford a sufficient market for the farmer's and trader's stock.

The greatest of all English fairs was held in the little village of Stourbridge, near Cambridge, now almost absorbed by the University town. Hither flocked merchants and traders from all parts of Europe.

Flemish merchants brought their fine linen and cloths from the great commercial cities of Belgium. Genoese and Venetian traders came with their stores of Eastern goods. Spaniards and Frenchmen brought their wines, and the merchants of the Hanse towns of Germany sold furs and flax, ornaments and spices, while in return for all these treasures our English farmers brought the rich fleeces of their sheep, their corn, horses, and cattle. The booths were planted in a cornfield, and the circuit of the fair, which was like a well-governed city, was over three miles. The shops were built in streets or rows, some named after the various nations that congregated there, and others after the kind of goods offered for sale. There were Garlick Row, Bookseller's Row, Cook Row; there were a cheese fair, a hop fair, a wool fair, and every trade was represented, together with taverns, eating-houses, and in later years playhouses of various descriptions. In the eighteenth century one hundred thousand pounds' worth of woollen manufactures was sold in a week in one row alone. A thousand pack-horses were used to convey the goods of the Lancashire merchants to this famous fair. Now railways have supplanted the pack-horses; fairs have had their day; the trade of the country can now be carried on without them; and their relics with their shows and shooting-galleries and steam roundabouts have become a nuisance.

The peaceful life of the villagers was sometimes disturbed by the sounds and sights of conflict. The exciting tales of war are connected with the history of many an English village, and many "little Wilhelmines" and labouring "grandsires" have discovered "something large and round," traces of these ancient conflicts and "famous victories."

"For often when they go to plough The ploughshare turns them out, 'And many thousand men,' quoth he, 'Were slain in that great victory.'"

Many a lance and sword, and gilt spur, beautifully enamelled, which once decked the heel of a n.o.ble knight, have been found in our fields, and remind us of those battles which were fought so long ago.

"The knights are dust, Their good swords rust, Their souls are with the saints, we trust."

Sometimes the spectres of armed knights and warriors are supposed to haunt these scenes of ancient slaughter, and popular superst.i.tion has handed down the memory of the battles which were fought so long ago. It tells us of the mythical records of the fights of King Arthur and his Knights of the Round Table by the banks of the River Douglas, which ran with blood for three days, so terrible was the slaughter. It tells us how stubbornly the Britons resisted the Roman armies, so that on one occasion not one Briton was left to tell the tale of their defeat.

When we visit the site of some battle with the history book in our hand, it is possible to imagine the lonely hillside peopled again with the dense ranks of English archers, or hear the clanging of the armour as the men-at-arms charged for "St. George and merry England"; and the air will be full again of the battle-cries, of the groans of the wounded and the shouts of the victors.

Visit the scene of the battle of Hastings. Here on the high ground, flanked by a wood, stood the brave English, under the leadership of Harold, with his banner, woven with gold and jewels, shining conspicuously in the morning sunlight. Here they stood in the form of a wedge; there they turned the Normans, and put them to flight. Then the Normans rallied, pretended to fly, decoyed the brave English from their position, and by stratagem succeeded in defeating them at last.

Or go to the Madingley Windmill, near Cambridge, and see the fifteen miles of rich drained cornfields which intervene between "Ely's stately fane" and the spot on which you are standing. Here read Kingsley's well-known story of _Hereward; or, The Last of the English_, and instead of the rich cornfields you will see that black abyss of mud and bottomless slime into which sank the flower of Norman chivalry as they tried to cross that treacherous bog to conquer the gallant Hereward and to plunder the monastery of Ely, the last stronghold of the English. On they came, thousands upon thousands, rushing along the floating bridge which they had formed, until at last it gave way beneath the weight, and the black slime swallowed up the miserable wretches.

Or let us take our stand on the Round Tower, near the summit of the Edge Hill, and see the site of the first battle between the troops of Charles I. and the soldiers of the Parliament. The whole of that green lane was lined with troops. In a cottage which stood at our feet the king breakfasted before the battle; from that mound he surveyed the forces of the enemy. Just as the bells in yonder church had ceased to ring for service on Sunday afternoon the cannon began to roar, and the fight commenced. There Prince Rupert charged with headlong fury, carrying all before him. And so we can follow the fortunes of the fight until the brave Cavaliers retired to rest--

"And thousands had sunk on the ground overpowered The weary to sleep, and the wounded to die."

The memory of many a fight is recorded in the names of the fields, places, and hills on which the battle raged. Lichfield (_i.e._ the field of the dead), Battlefield, Battle, Battleflats, Standard Hill, Slaughterford, and many others, all tell the tale of war and slaughter.

In some parts of the country, especially in Oxfordshire, there are fine avenues of trees, which appear to lead to a large house; but when you have walked to the end of the trees there is nothing to be seen. These avenues tell the tale of war, of the destruction of the manor-house of some old Royalist who fought for his king when the "Roundheads" and Cromwell's "Ironsides" were more than a match for the gallant Cavaliers.

His house was destroyed, he and his sons killed, unless they were fortunate enough to escape to France and wait the merry time "when the king should enjoy his own again." How many of our uplands and gentle vales have been stained with blood, and seen the terrible horrors of war, of which we in these favoured days know nothing from our own experience! We read about the sad battles and sieges which have taken place in other countries, but can hardly imagine the time when hostile soldiers were riding through our village lanes, and the noise of the cannon was booming in the distance, as on that famous Sunday morning in October, 1642, when Richard Baxter was disturbed in his preaching at Alcester by that strange sound, and knew that the terrible conflict had begun between the king and Parliament. Our English villages suffered very much. All farming was stopped, manor-houses destroyed, some of the best blood in England spilt, and many a home made desolate. Indeed, in some parts of the country the people had literally no bread to eat, and no clothing to cover their nakedness; and Cromwell ordered collections to be made in London for the relief of the distressed people in Lancashire. Then the old clergyman was driven from his flock, and some commissioner appointed who wrote in the register-books of the parish the names of the children who were born, but did not record their baptism as the clergyman did. And then some black-gowned Puritan, with his hair cut short, came and took possession of the living, and preached very long sermons about Cromwell "girding his sword upon his thigh," and about blinded Papists, and about Mahershalal-hash-baz, who made haste to divide the spoil.

But in the glorious year 1660 everyone began to throw up his cap and welcome right royally the king from over the water; and the long-faced Puritan disappeared, and the writing in the register-books changed into that of a scholarly hand; and many of our churches were enriched by thankofferings of plate and other gifts, because the good people of England rejoiced exceedingly that their loved Church and her services were restored to them; and "the king at last enjoyed his own again." The memory of the adventures of King Charles II., when he was endeavouring to escape from England after the last crushing defeat of the royal troops at Worcester, called by Cromwell "the crowning mercy," still lingers in many of the country villages through which the unfortunate monarch pa.s.sed. The king and a few faithful followers avoided the towns, pa.s.sed the ford of the Salwarp at Hemford Mill, and proceeded by Chester Lane to Broadwaters and Kinfare Heath. Presently they reached Brewood Forest, where there stood two old hunting-lodges, built by the Giffards in troublous times as hiding-places for proscribed Papists. They were called White Ladies and Boscobel, and were inhabited by staunch Royalists named Penderel; so the king knew he would be safe there. He was disguised as a forester with leathern jerkin and trunk hose, his long hair cropped, and his hands blackened. All day he lay concealed in a coppice, and in the evening, under the name of Will Jackson, he supped with the Penderels, and then tried to cross the Severn, but all the fords and bridges were guarded. The next day he and Colonel Carlos remained concealed in a large oak near Boscobel, and the memory of Royal Oak day is still preserved. He had other narrow escapes, and was saved by Mistress Jane Lane, the beautiful daughter of Colonel Lane. A pa.s.s had been obtained for her and her groom to go to Abbot's Leigh, near Bristol. The plan was arranged that the king should act as groom; so Charles mounted his horse, and Mistress Lane sat behind him on a pillion, and together they rode through Warwickshire to Bristol. The king was nearly captured at Long Marston, for some troopers of Cromwell suspected the party, and came to examine the house where they rested.

The cook, however, set Charles to wind up the jack, and because he was awkward struck him with the basting-ladle just as the soldiers entered the kitchen. Their suspicions were thus removed; and in this old house the remains of the jack are still preserved. The poor king was disappointed of his ship; the skipper unfortunately told his wife that he was going to take the king to France, and she was angry, and locked him up in his room, so that he could not fulfil his engagement. At last Lord Wilmot procured a ship for the fugitive king, who set sail joyfully from Sh.o.r.eham, near Brighton, and reached Paris in safety. There must have been great excitement in the villages of England when the troopers were scouring the country in all directions, and the unfortunate king was known to be wandering about disguised as a servant.

If there are any hills or high ground in your neighbourhood commanding an extensive view of the country, it is probable that in olden days a beacon was placed there, so that the country might be aroused in case of an invasion, and frequently we find that the tower of a church was used as a beacon, and occasionally the iron brazier remains, as at Little Budworth, Cheshire. When the Spaniards determined to invade England in the reign of "Good Queen Bess," and sent the Invincible Armada, consisting of an enormous number of ships and men and guns, bonfires were placed on every hill; and when a gallant merchant vessel brought the news that the Spaniards were coming, the bonfires were lighted, and everyone prepared to resist their attack. Macaulay has told us in very stirring verse of how the news spread, as each fire was lighted,

"From Eddystone to Berwick bounds, from Lynn to Milford Bay";

how Beachy Head caught the signal from St. Michael's Mount, and sent it swiftly over the country from tower to hill-top,

"Till Skiddaw saw the fire that burned on Gaunt's embattled pile, And the red glare of Skiddaw roused the burghers of Carlisle."

Again, within the memory of the old inhabitants of your village, the hill beacons were brought into use when Napoleon I. threatened to invade England; and on January 31, 1803, by some mistake, the fire on Hume Castle, in Berwickshire, was lighted; other beacons responded, and ere morning dawned thousands were marching ankle-deep through the dense mud of the winter roads to their appointed stations. The mistake was not without its uses, as Napoleon saw that England was ready, and did not venture to attack our sh.o.r.es. A similar accident took place in the reign of Henry VIII. There was a conspiracy against the king by the Roman Catholics, who did not like their monasteries being destroyed, called "The Pilgrimage of Grace." Beacons were erected on the heights of Pendel, in Lancashire, and on the various hills of Yorkshire and Derbyshire; but the beacon on Pendel was fired before the conspirators were quite ready for action, and their plot came to nothing.

Once again in the history of our country were these beacon fires lighted; but it was not to announce the approach of an enemy, but to reflect the gladness of the nation which for so many years had enjoyed the reign of so good a ruler as Queen Victoria, who has now pa.s.sed away from us, and whom the whole nation mourns. And as we witnessed the sudden blaze of the beacons we thought, perhaps, of other occasions when they were used, and were thankful that rejoicings and thanksgivings were the cause, and not invasions or conspiracies.

[10] This is a corruption of the old Norman-French word _oyez_, "hear ye."

CHAPTER XXI

VILLAGE SPORTS AND PASTIMES

Decay of old sports--Twelfth Night--Shrovetide--Mothering Sunday-- Hocktide--May Day--Miracle plays--St. John's Day--Rush-bearing--Beating the bounds--Archery--Quintain--Football--Christmas games--Stocks-- Cucking-stool.

It is the custom of some writers to represent the lot of an English villager in past ages as having been particularly hard and disagreeable; to enlarge upon the scanty wages which he received; and to compare his position unfavourably with that of the agricultural labourer of the present day. I have already pointed out that the small wages which he received are no test of his poverty, because he received so much more in lieu of wages; and certainly he had far more opportunities of enjoyment and recreation than the present generation has. Now we have scarcely any village games or sports, except when some energetic rector or curate starts a cricket club. Old social customs, which added such diversity to the lives of the rustics two centuries ago, have died out. The village green, the source of so much innocent happiness, is no more; and a recent writer has observed that the ordinary existence of agricultural labourers is so dull that in East Anglia they have almost forgotten how to laugh!

We will now try to realise how our village forefathers used to enjoy themselves, how they used to spend their holidays, and to picture to ourselves the scenes of happy social intercourse which once took place in our own hamlet. Every season of the year had its holiday customs and quaint manner of observance, some of them confined to particular counties, but many of them universally observed.

On the eve of Twelfth Night, January 5th, we see the good farmer and his labourers in Devonshire joining hands round his apple trees, and singing--

"Here's to thee, old apple tree!

Hence thou mayst bud, and whence thou mayst blow!

And whence thou mayst bear apples enow!

Hats full! caps full!

Bushel, bushel, sacks full, And my pockets full too! Huzza!"

A hearty supper followed, and with laughter, songs, and good wishes to the farmer and his wife, the company pa.s.sed a very joyous evening. In Herefordshire, Yorkshire, and other parts of England similar customs prevailed.

[Ill.u.s.tration: ANN HATHAWAY'S COTTAGE]

Then followed Twelfth Night, which was celebrated by great rejoicings and merry-makings, a game called the choosing of kings and queens being played, and Twelfth Night cakes consumed in plenty. The next Monday was called Plough Monday, when the labourers used to draw a plough round the parish and receive presents of money, favouring the spectators with sword-dancing and mumming, preparatory to beginning to plough after the Christmas holidays. The men were decked out with gay ribbons, and were accompanied by morris-dancers. The Christmas holidays lasted these twelve days, and during them it was customary for the gentlemen to feast the farmers, and for the farmers to feast their labourers. Then came the Shrovetide festivities, on Shrove Tuesday, when pancakes, football, and c.o.c.k-fighting, and a still more barbarous custom of throwing sticks at hens, were generally in vogue. On Mid-Lent Sunday, commonly called "Mothering Sunday," it was the pleasing custom for servants and apprentices to carry cakes or furmity as presents to their mother, and to receive from her a cake with her blessing. This was called "going a-mothering." The old poet Herrick alludes to the custom in Gloucestershire in these words:--

"I'll to thee a simnell bring, 'Gainst thou go'st a-mothering; So that when she blesseth thee, Half that blessing thou'lt give me."