<h2><SPAN name="CHAPTER_XXXIX" id="CHAPTER_XXXIX"></SPAN>CHAPTER XXXIX</h2>
<h3>ROBERTSBRIDGE</h3>
<blockquote><p>Horace Walpole in difficulties—A bibliophile's
threat—Salehurst—Bodiam—Northiam—Queen Elizabeth's dinner and
shoes—Brightling—Jack Fuller—Turner in East Sussex—The Burwash
country—Sussex superstitions—<i>Sussex Folk and Sussex
Ways</i>—Liberals and Conservatives—The Sussex
character—Independent bellringers—"Silly Sussex"—Burwash at
Cricket—James Hurdis—A donkey race—"A hint to great and little
men"—Henry Burwash—Etchingham—Sir John Lade and the
Prince—Ticehurst and Wadhurst.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Robertsbridge is not in itself a particularly attractive place; but it
has a good inn, and many interesting villages may be reached from it,
the little light railway that runs from the town to Tenterden, along the
Rother valley, making the exploration of this part of Sussex very
simple.</p>
<p>Horace Walpole came to difficulties hereabout during his Sussex journey.
His sprightly and heightened account is in one of the letters: "The
roads grew bad beyond all badness, the night dark beyond all darkness,
our guide frightened beyond all frightfulness. However, without being at
all killed, we got up, or down—I forget which, it was so dark,—a
famous precipice called Silver Hill, and about ten at night arrived at a
wretched village called Rotherbridge. We had still six miles hither, but
determined to stop, as it would be a pity to break our necks before we
had seen all we had intended. But, alas! there was only one bed to be
had: all the rest were inhabited by smugglers, whom the people of the
house called<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_377" id="Page_377"></SPAN></span> mountebanks; and with one of whom the lady of the den told
Mr. Chute he might lie. We did not at all take to this society, but,
armed with links and lanthorns, set out again upon this impracticable
journey. At two o'clock in the morning we got hither to a still worse
inn, and that crammed with excise officers, one of whom had just shot a
smuggler. However, as we were neutral powers, we have passed safely
through both armies hitherto, and can give you a little farther history
of our wandering through these mountains, where the young gentlemen are
forced to drive their curricles with a pair of oxen. The only morsel of
good road we have found, was what even the natives had assured us were
totally impracticable; these were eight miles to Hurst Monceaux."</p>
<div class="sidenote">FOR BOOK BORROWERS</div>
<p>A pretty memento of the Cistercian Abbey here, of which small traces
remain on the bank of the river, has wandered to the Bodleian, in the
shape of an old volume containing the inscription: "This book belongs to
St. Mary of Robertsbridge; whoever shall steal or sell it, let him be
Anathema Maranatha!" Since no book was ever successfully protected by
anything less tangible than a chain, it came into other hands,
underneath<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_378" id="Page_378"></SPAN></span> being written: "I John Bishop of Exeter know not where the
aforesaid house is; nor did I steal this book, but acquired it in a
lawful way." On the suppression of the Abbey of Robertsbridge by Henry
VIII. the lands passed to Sir William Sidney, grandfather of Sir Philip.</p>
<p>Salehurst, just across the river from Robertsbridge, has a noble church,
standing among trees on the hill side—the hill which Walpole found so
precipitous. Within, the church is not perhaps quite so impressive as
without, but it has monuments appertaining probably to the Culpepers,
once a far-reaching aristocratic Sussex family, which we met first at
Ardingly, and which is now extinct or existent only among the peasantry.</p>
<p class="center"><SPAN name="page377.png" id="page377.png"></SPAN><ANTIMG src="images/page377.png" width-obs='700' height-obs='443' alt="Bodiam Castle" /></p>
<h4><i>Bodiam Castle.</i></h4>
<div class="sidenote">BODIAM CASTLE</div>
<p>The first station on the Rother valley light railway is Bodiam, only a
few steps from Bodiam Castle sitting serenely like a bird on the waters
of her moat. This building in appearance and form fulfils most of the
conditions of the castle, and by retaining water in its moat perhaps
wins more respect than if it had stood a siege. (Local tradition indeed
credits it with that mark of active merit, but history is silent.) It
was built in the fourteenth century by Sir Edward Dalyngruge, a hero of
Cressy and Poictiers. It is now a ruin within, but (as Mr. Griggs'
drawing shows) externally in fair preservation and a very interesting
and romantic spectacle.</p>
<p>Below Bodiam is Ewhurst, and a little farther east, close to the Kentish
border, Northiam. Ewhurst has no particular interest, but Northiam is a
village apart. Knowing what we do of Sussex speech we may be certain
that Northiam is not pronounced by the native as it is spelt. Norgem is
its local style, just as Udiham is Udgem and Bodiam Bodgem. But though
he will not give Northiam its pleasant syllables, the Northiam man is
proud of his village. He has a couplet:</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<div>Oh rare Northiam, thou dost far exceed</div>
<div>Beckley, Peasmarsh, Udimore and Brede.</div>
</div></div>
<p>Northiam's superiority to these pleasant spots is not absolute;<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_379" id="Page_379"></SPAN></span> but
there are certain points in which the couplet is sound. For example,
although Brede Place has no counterpart in Northiam, and although beside
Udimore's lovely name Northiam has an uninspired prosaic ring, yet
Northiam is alone in the possession of Queen Elizabeth's Oak, the tree
beneath which that monarch, whom we have seen on a progress in West
Sussex, partook in 1573 of a banquet, on her way to Rye. The fare came
from the kitchen of the timbered house hard by, then the residence of
Master Bishopp. During the visit her Majesty changed her shoes, and the
discarded pair is still treasured at Brickwall, the neighbouring seat of
the Frewens, the great family of Northiam for many generations. The
shoes are of green damask silk, with heels two and a half inches high
and pointed toes. The Queen was apparently so well satisfied with her
repast that on her return journey three days later she dined beneath the
oak once more. But she changed no more shoes.</p>
<p>Brickwall, which is occasionally shown, is a noble old country mansion,
partly Elizabethan and partly Stuart. In the church are many Frewen
memorials, the principal of which are in the Frewen mausoleum, a
comparatively new erection. Accepted Frewen, Archbishop of York, was
from Northiam.</p>
<div class="sidenote">A DANISH VESSEL</div>
<p>In a field near the Rother at Northiam was discovered, in the year 1822,
a Danish vessel, which had probably sunk in the ninth century in some
wide waterway now transformed to land or shrunk to the dimensions of the
present stream. Her preservation was perfect. Horsfield thus describes
the ship: "Her dimensions were, from head to stern, 65 feet, and her
width 14 feet, with cabin and forecastle; and she appears to have
originally had a whole deck. She was remarkably strongly built; her bill
pieces and keels measuring 2 feet over, her cross beams, five in number,
18 inches by 8, with her other timbers in proportion; and in her
caulking was a species of moss peculiar to the country in which she was
built. In the cabin and other parts of the vessel were found a human<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_380" id="Page_380"></SPAN></span>
skull; a pair of goat's horns attached to a part of the cranium; a dirk
or poniard, about half an inch of the blade of which had wholly resisted
corrosion; several glazed and ornamental tiles of a square form; some
bricks which had formed the fire hearth; several parts of shoes, or
rather sandals, fitting low on the foot, one of which was apparently in
an unfinished state, having a last remaining in it, all of them very
broad at the toes; two earthern jars and a stone mug, all of very
ancient shape, a piece of board exhibiting about thirty perforations,
probably designed for keeping the lunar months, or some game or
amusement; with many other antique relics."</p>
<div class="sidenote">OLD JACK FULLER</div>
<p>Four miles west of Robertsbridge, up hill and down, is Brightling, whose
Needle, standing on Brightling Down, 646 feet high, is visible from most
of the eminences in this part of Sussex. The obelisk, together with the
neighbouring observatory, was built on the site of an old beacon by the
famous Jack Fuller—famous no longer, but in his day (he died in 1834
aged seventy-seven) a character both in London and in Sussex. He was big
and bluff and wealthy and the squire of Rose Hill. He sat for Sussex
from 1801 to 1812, and was once carried from the House by the Sergeant
at Arms and his minions, for refusing to give way in a debate and
calling the Speaker "the insignificant little fellow in a wig." His
election cost him <i>£</i>20,000 plus <i>£</i>30,000 subscribed by the county. When
Pitt offered him a peerage he said no: "I was born Jack Fuller and Jack
Fuller I'll die." When he travelled from Rose Hill to London Mr.
Fuller's progresses were almost regal. The coach was provisioned as if
for arctic exploration and coachman and footmen alike were armed with
swords and pistols. ("Honest Jack," as Mr. Lower remarks, put a small
value upon the honesty of others.) Mr. Fuller had two hobbies, music and
science. He founded the Fullerian professorships (which he called his
two children), and contributed liberally to the Royal Institution; and
his musical parties in London were famous. But whether it is true that
when the Brightling choir <span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_381" id="Page_381"></SPAN></span>dissatisfied him he presented the church with
nine bassoons, I cannot say.</p>
<div class="sidenote">TURNER IN SUSSEX</div>
<p>John Fuller has a better claim to be remembered in Sussex by his
purchase of Bodiam Castle, when its demolition was threatened, and by
his commission to Turner to make pictures in the Rape of Hastings, five
of which were engraved and published in folio form, in 1819, under the
title <i>Views in Sussex</i>. One of these represents the Brightling
Observatory as seen from Rosehill Park. As a matter of fact, the
observatory, being of no interest, is almost invisible, although Mr.
Reinagle, A.R.A., who supplies the words to the pictures, calls it the
"most important point in the scene." Furthermore, he says that the
artist has expressed a shower proceeding "from the left corner." Another
picture is the Vale of Ashburnham, with the house in the middle
distance, Beachy Head beyond, and in the foreground woodcutters carrying
wood in an ox waggon. "The whole," says Mr. Reinagle, A.R.A., "is
happily composed, if I may use the term." He then adds: "The eye of the
spectator, on looking at this beautifully painted scene, roves with an
eager delight from one hill to another, and seems to play on the dappled
woods till arrested by the seat of Lord Ashburnham." Other pictures in
the folio are "Pevensey Bay from Crowhurst Park," a very beautiful
scene, "Battle Abbey," and "The Vale of Heathfield," painted from a
point above the road, with Heathfield House on the left, the tower on
the right, the church in the centre in the middle distance, and the sea
on the horizon: an impressive but not strictly veracious landscape.</p>
<p>In Brightling church is a bust to John Fuller, with the motto: "Utile
nihil quod non honestum." A rector in Fuller's early days was William
Hayley, who died in 1789, a zealous antiquary. His papers relating to
the history of Sussex, are now, like those of Sir William Burrell, in
the British Museum.</p>
<p>Our next village is Burwash, three miles in the north, built, like all
the villages in this switchback district, on a hill. We<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_382" id="Page_382"></SPAN></span> are now,
indeed, well in the heart of the fatiguing country which we touched at
Mayfield, where one eminence is painfully won only to reveal another.
One can be as parched on a road in the Sussex hop country as in the
Arabian desert. The eye, however, that is tired of hop poles and hills
can find sweet gratification in the cottages. Sussex has charming
cottages from end to end of her territory, but I think the hop district
on the Kentish side has some of the prettiest. Blackberries too may be
set down among the riches of the sand-hill villages.</p>
<div class="sidenote">SUPERSTITIONS</div>
<p>In Richard Jefferies' essay, "The Country-side: Sussex" (in <i>Field and
Hedgerow</i>), describing this district of the country, is an amusing
passage touching superstitions of these parts, picked up during hopping:</p>
<p>"In and about the kiln I learned that if you smash a frog with a stone,
no matter how hard you hit him, he cannot die till sunset. You must be
careful not to put on any new article of clothing for the first time on
a Saturday, or some severe punishment will ensue. One person put on his
new boots on a Saturday, and on Monday broke his arm. Some still believe
in herbs, and gather wood-betony for herb tea, or eat dandelion leaves
between slices of dry toast. There is an old man living in one of the
villages who has reached the age of a hundred and sixty years, and still
goes hop-picking. Ever so many people had seen him, and knew all about
him; an undoubted fact, a public fact; but I could not trace him to his
lair. His exact whereabouts could not be fixed. I live in hopes of
finding him in some obscure 'Hole' yet (many little hamlets are 'Holes,'
as Froghole, Foxhole). What an exhibit for London! Did he realise his
own value, he would soon come forth. I joke, but the existence of this
antique person is firmly believed in."</p>
<p>Burwash is one of the few Sussex villages that has been made the subject
of a book. The Rev. John Coker Egerton's <i>Sussex Folk and Sussex Ways</i>
(from which I have already<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_383" id="Page_383"></SPAN></span> occasionally quoted) was written here,
around materials collected during the author's period as rector of
Burwash. Mr. Egerton was curate of Burwash from 1857 to 1862, and from
1865 to 1867, when he became rector and remained in the living until his
death in 1888. His book is a kindly collection of the shrewd and
humorous sayings of his Sussex parishioners, anecdotes of characteristic
incidents, records of old customs now passing or passed away—the whole
fused by the rector's genial personality.</p>
<div class="sidenote">PARTY POLITICS</div>
<p>It is to Burwash and Mr. Egerton that we owe some characteristic scraps
of Sussex philosophy. Thus, Mr. Egerton tells of an old conservative
whose advice to young men was this: "Mind you don't never have nothing
in no way to do with none of their new-fangled schemes." Another Sussex
cynic defined party government with grim impartiality: "Politics are
about like this: I've got a sow in my yard with twelve little uns, and
they little uns can't all feed at once, because there isn't room enough;
so I shut six on 'em out of the yard while tother six be sucking, and
the six as be shut out, they just do make a hem of a noise till they be
let in; and then they be just as quiet as the rest."</p>
<p>The capacity of the Sussex man to put his foot down and keep it there,
is shown in the refusal of Burwash to ring the bells when George IV.,
then Prince of Wales, passed through the village on his return to
Brighton from a visit to Sir John Lade at Etchingham; the reason given
being that the First Gentleman in Europe when rung in on his way to Sir
John's had said nothing about beer. This must have been during one of
the Prince's peculiarly needy periods, for the withholding of strong
drink from his friends was never one of his failings. Another Burwash
radical used to send up to the rectory with a message that he was about
to gather fruit and the rector must send down for the tithe. The
rector's man would go down—and receive one gooseberry from a basket of
ten: all that was to be gathered that day.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_384" id="Page_384"></SPAN></span>Another Burwash man posed his vicar more agreeably and humorously in
another manner. Finding him a little in liquor the pastor would have
warned him against the habit, but the man was too quick. How was it, he
asked the vicar with well affected or real concern, that whenever he had
had too much to drink he felt more religious than at any other time?</p>
<p>The Burwash records indeed go far to redeem Sussex men from the epithet
"silly," which is traditionally theirs. Concerning this old taunt, I
like the rector's remarks in <i>Idlehurst</i>. The phrase, he says, "is
better after all than 'canny owd Cummerlan'' or calling ourselves 'free
and enlightened citizens' or 'heirs to all the ages.' But suppose Sussex
as silly as you like, the country wants a large preserve of fallow
brains; you can't manure the intellect for close cropping. Isn't it
Renan who attributes so much to solid Breton stupidity in his
ancestors?" I notice that Mr. H. G. Wells, in his very interesting book,
<i>Mankind in the Making</i>, is in support of this suggestion. The
<i>Idlehurst</i> rector, in contrasting Londoners with Sussex folk,
continues: "The Londoner has all his strength in the front line: one can
never tell what reserves the countryman may not deploy in his slow way."
(Some old satirist of the county had it that the crest of the true
Sussex peasant is a pig couchant, with the motto "I wunt be druv." I
give this for what it is worth.)</p>
<div class="sidenote">SUSSEX RESERVES</div>
<p>It is to be doubted if any county has a monopoly of silliness. The fault
of Sussex people rather is to lack reserves, not of wisdom but of
effort. You see this in cricket, where although the Sussex men have done
some of the most brilliant things in the history of the game (even
before the days of their Oriental ally), they have probably made a
greater number of tame attempts to cope with difficulties than any other
eleven. For the "staying of a rot" Sussex has had but few
qualifications. The cricket test is not everything: but character tells
there just as in any other employment. Burwash, however, must be
exempted from this particular<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_385" id="Page_385"></SPAN></span> charge, for, whatever its form may be
now, its eleven had once a terrible reputation. I find in the county
paper for 1771 an advertisement to the effect that Burwash, having
"challenged all its neighbours without effect," invites a match with any
parish whatsoever in all Sussex.</p>
<div class="sidenote">THE DONKEY RACE</div>
<p>Mr. Egerton was not the first parson to record the manners of the
Burwash parishioner. The Rev. James Hurdis, curate there towards the end
of the preceding century, and afterwards Professor of Poetry at Oxford
(we saw his grave at Bishopstone), had written a blank verse poem in the
manner of Cowper, with some of the observation of Crabbe, entitled "The
Village Curate," which is a record of his thoughts and impressions in
his Burwash days. One could hardly say that "The Village Curate" would
bear reprinting at the present time; we have moved too far from its
pensiveness, and an age that does not read "The Task" and only talks
about Crabbe is hardly likely to reach out for Hurdis. But within its
limits "The Village Curate" is good, alike in its description of
scenery, its reflections and its satire. The Burwash donkey race is
capital:—</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<div>Then comes the ass-race. Let not wisdom frown,</div>
<div>If the grave clerk look on, and now and then</div>
<div>Bestow a smile; for we may see, Alcanor,</div>
<div>In this untoward race the ways of life.</div>
<div>Are we not asses all? We start and run,</div>
<div>And eagerly we press to pass the goal,</div>
<div>And all to win a bauble, a lac'd hat.</div>
<div>Was not great Wolsey such? He ran the race,</div>
<div>And won the hat. What ranting politician,</div>
<div>What prating lawyer, what ambitious clerk,</div>
<div>But is an ass that gallops for a hat?</div>
<div>For what do Princes strive, but golden hats?</div>
<div>For diadems, whose bare and scanty brims</div>
<div>Will hardly keep the sunbeam from their eyes.</div>
<div>For what do Poets strive? A leafy hat,</div>
<div>Without or crown or brim, which hardly screens</div>
<div>The empty noddle from the fist of scorn,</div>
<div>Much less repels the critic's thund'ring arm.</div>
<div><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_386" id="Page_386"></SPAN></span>And here and there intoxication too</div>
<div>Concludes the race. Who wins the hat, gets drunk.</div>
<div>Who wins a laurel, mitre, cap, or crown,</div>
<div>Is drunk as he. So Alexander fell,</div>
<div>So Haman, Cæsar, Spenser, Wolsey, James.</div>
</div></div>
<div class="sidenote">A STRATEGIC DUELLIST</div>
<p>I find in the Sussex paper for 1792 the following contribution to the
history of Burwash: "A Hint to Great and Little Men.—Last Thursday
morning a butcher and a shopkeeper of Burwash, in this County, went into
a field near that town, with pistols, to decide a quarrel of long
standing between them. The lusty Knight of the Cleaver having made it a
practice to insult his antagonist, who is a very little man, the great
disparity between them in size rendered this the only eligible
alternative for the latter. The butcher took care to inform his wife of
the intended meeting, in hopes that she would give the Constables timely
notice thereof. But the good woman not having felt so deeply interested
in his fate as he expected, to make sure, he sent to the Constable
himself, and then marched reluctantly to the field, where the little,
spirited shopkeeper was parading with a considerable reserve of
ammunition, lest his first fire should not take place. Now the
affrighted butcher proceeded slowly to charge his pistols, alternately
looking towards the town and his impatient adversary. This man of blood,
all pale and trembling, at last began to despair of any friendly
interference, when the Constable very seasonably appeared and forbade
the duel, to his great joy, and the disappointment of the spectators."</p>
<div class="sidenote">HENRY BURWASH</div>
<p>Burwash had another great man of whom it is not very proud. Fuller shall
describe him:—"Henry Burwash, so named, saith my Author<SPAN name="FNanchor_3_3" id="FNanchor_3_3"></SPAN><SPAN href="#Footnote_3_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</SPAN> (which is
enough for my discharge) from <i>Burwash</i>, a Town in this County. He was
one of <i>Noble Alliance</i>. And when this is said, <i>all is said</i> to his
commendation, being otherwise neither good for Church nor State,
Soveraign nor Subjects; Covetous, Ambitious, Rebellious, Injurious.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_387" id="Page_387"></SPAN></span>"Say not, <i>what makes he here then amongst the worthies</i>? For though
neither <i>Ethically</i> nor <i>Theologically</i>, yet <i>Historically</i> he was
remarkable, affording something for our <i>Information</i> though not
<i>Imitation</i>.</p>
<p>"He was recommended by his kinsman <i>Bartholomew de Badilismer</i> (Baron of
<i>Leeds</i> in <i>Kent</i>) to King <i>Edward</i> the second, who preferred him Bishop
of <i>Lincoln</i>. It was not long before, falling into the King's
displeasure, his <i>Temporalities</i> were seized on, and afterwards on his
submission restored. Here, instead of new <i>Gratitude</i>, retayning his old
<i>Grudge</i>, he was most forward to assist the Queen in the deposing of her
husband. He was twice Lord Treasurer, once Chancellor, and once sent
over Ambassador to the <i>Duke of Bavaria</i>. He died <i>Anno Domini</i> 1340.</p>
<p>"Such as mind to be merry may read the pleasant Story of his apparition,
being condemned after Death to be <i>viridis viridarius, a green
Forrester</i> because in his life-time he had violently inclosed other
men's Grounds into his Park. Surely such Fictions keep up the <i>best Park
of Popery (Purgatory)</i>, whereby their <i>fairest Game</i> and greatest Gaine
is preserved."</p>
<p class="center"><SPAN name="page388.png" id="page388.png"></SPAN><ANTIMG src="images/page388.png" width-obs='700' height-obs='503' alt="Shoyswell, near Ticehurst" /></p>
<h4><i>Shoyswell, near Ticehurst.</i></h4>
<p>Etchingham, the station next Robertsbridge, is famous for its church
windows, and its brasses to the Etchinghams of the past, an illustrious
race of Sussex barons. Among the brasses is that of William de
Etchingham, builder of the church, who died in 1345. The inscription, in
French, runs:—"I was made and formed of Earth; and now I have returned
to Earth. William de Etchingham was my name. God have pity on my soul;
and all you who pass by, pray to Him for me." Certainly no church in
Sussex has so many interesting brasses as these. A moat once surrounded
the God's acre, and legend had it that at the bottom was a great bell
which might never be drawn forth until six yoke of white oxen were
harnessed to it. Pity that the moat was allowed to run dry and the
harmless fiction exposed.</p>
<div class="sidenote">A WAGER</div>
<p>Sir John Lade, diminutive associate of George IV. in his young days (and
afterwards, coming upon disaster, coachman<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_388" id="Page_388"></SPAN></span> to the Earl of Anglesey),
once lived at Haremere Hall, near by. As we have seen, the First
Gentleman in Europe visited him there, and it was there one day, that,
in default of other quarry, Sir John's gamekeeper only being able to
produce a solitary pheasant, the Prince and his host shot ten geese as
they swam across a pond, and laid them at the feet of Lady Lade. Sir
John was the hero of the following exploit, recorded in the press in
October, 1795:—"A curious circumstance occurred at Brighton on Monday
se'nnight. Sir John Lade, for a trifling wager, undertook to carry Lord
Cholmondeley on his back, from opposite the Pavilion twice round the
Steine. Several ladies attended to be spectators of this extraordinary
feat of the dwarf carrying the giant. When His Lordship declared himself
ready, Sir John desired him to strip. 'Strip!' exclaimed the other; 'why
surely you promised to carry me in my clothes!' 'By no means,' replied
the Baronet; 'I engaged to carry <i>you</i>, but not an inch of clothes. So,
therefore, My Lord, make<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_389" id="Page_389"></SPAN></span> ready, and let us not disappoint the ladies.'
After much laughable altercation, it was at length decided that Sir John
had won his wager, the Peer declining to exhibit <i>in puris
naturalibus</i>."</p>
<div class="sidenote">THE HAWKHURST GANG</div>
<p>Ticehurst and Wadhurst, which may be reached either by road or rail from
Robertsbridge or Etchingham, both stand high, very near the Kentish
border. To the east of Hurst Green on the road thither (a hamlet
disproportionate and imposing, possessing, in the George Inn, a relic of
the days when the coaches came this way), is Seacox Heath, now the
residence of Lord Goschen, but once the home of George Gray, a member of
the terrible Hawkhurst gang of smugglers. Ticehurst has a noble church,
very ingeniously restored, with a square tower, some fine windows, old
glass, a vestry curiously situated over the porch, and an interesting
brass.</p>
<p>The Bell Inn, in the village, is said to date from the fifteenth
century.</p>
<p>At Wadhurst are many iron grave slabs and a graceful slender spire. The
massive door bears the date 1682. A high village, in good accessible
country, discovery seems to be upon it. London is not so near as at
Crowborough; but one may almost hear the jingling of the cabs.</p>
<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTE:</h3>
<div class="footnote"><p><SPAN name="Footnote_3_3" id="Footnote_3_3"></SPAN><SPAN href="#FNanchor_3_3"><span class="label">[3]</span></SPAN> Weever's <i>Funeral Monuments</i>.</p>
</div>
</div>
<hr />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_390" id="Page_390"></SPAN></span></p>
<div style="break-after:column;"></div><br />
1 of 2
2 of 2
Previous
Next
Update Required
To play the media you will need to either update your browser to a recent version or update your Flash plugin.