VICTORIAN HANGOVER
Chapter 5
Forest of Dean Customs
Even in 1910 this village on the edge of Dean
Forest was, in its customs and outlook, at least fifty years behind the
times. There was still a strong feudal atmosphere, and class
distinctions were rigidly observed. The “gentry”, the school teachers,
the well-to-do farmers and shop keepers, right down to the poorest miner
and farm labourer, everyone had his own level and adhered to it
strictly.
The first group comprised only three families,
those at the Hall, the Rectory and ourselves. The “real old” family
which had owned the Hall for centuries had died out, though memories of
them still lingered in the village. The owners at this time had been in
possession for some ten years or so, but were still regarded as
newcomers, and though they were the landlords of most of the village and
of a wide area round, they never took much part in village life and
interests.
It was only natural that Mother, with her strong
sense of duty and the inherited instincts of the responsibilities
inherent in the position of the lady of the manor, should assume the
position easily and effortlessly, and it fitted her like a glove. The
village very soon recognised this fact, assimilated us into its
structure as closely as if we had been there for generations. The women
and girls would bob curtsey to Mother, and all the younger girls would
do the same to me, child as I was. It was quite a usual sight, if we
happened to be walking down to the village after the school had closed,
to meet a dozen or more little girls returning home, all hand in hand in
a string across the road, which seemed to be the correct procedure. As
we approached the whole string would stop and bob down simultaneously,
all eyes fixed upon us.
At first I found this very surprising, but
I soon realised the position, and lived up to what was obviously
expected of me. So thoroughly did I absorb the atmosphere that it was
not long before I would call any little delinquent to order, and demand
to know why the curtsey had been omitted.
With the boys of the village I met a tougher
proposition, but was quite ready to stand my ground. Poor little Ben
was, as usual, the problem. The boys soon realized that he was not
normal, and quite unable to take care of himself, and they would shout
after him and pelt him with lumps of mud and sometimes stones, if he
went down to the village by himself. As soon as Mother found out about
this, he was never allowed out alone, and naturally the duty of keeping
a constant eye on him devolved upon me. I was sent down to the village
every day on some errand or other, and always had to take Ben with me.
On one occasion he insisted on dragging a little trolley cart behind
him, and this the village boys found irresistible. There was a long
stretch of road between the end of the village and. the cluster of
cottages round our house, and as soon as we left the village we were
surrounded by a crowd of boys. They kept rushing up and dropping stones
into Ben’s little cart, till it became so heavy that the poor little
fellow could not pull it, and was on the verge of tears. Several times I
tipped the stones out and turned indignantly upon our tormentors, but I
was only one small girl trying to protect a tiny helpless boy, and my
protests only drew forth more jeers and tormenting. Eventually I picked
up the little cart and carried it under my arm. Thus foiled of their
fun, the boys proceeded to slash my legs with their top-whips, and
continued in this pleasant amusement till we were nearly within sight of
home. By this time I was trembling all over with fright and fury, though
fury certainly predominated, and I dashed in to Mother and showed the
crimson wheals all over my legs. For once Father and Mother were
thoroughly roused. Father asked me if I should be able to recognise the
boys, and on my assurance that I should, he clapped on his hat, seized
my hand, and we raced off down the hill to the village. The group of
boys were playing with their tops, and I pointed them out to Father.
Dropping my hand Father burst upon the group with unintelligible howls
and yells, whirling his arms round and round like windmills. After one
horrified glance the boys shot over a low wall and fled down the
adjoining field with Father in hot pursuit. He did not lay hands on any
of them though he could easily have done so, contented himself with
giving tongue to a series of terrifying snarls and growls without a
single spoken word, which struck the most abject terror into the hearts
of my tormentors. One of them tripped and fell flat at Father’s feet,
and lay there howling, while Father took a flying leap over him in his
headlong stampede. I climbed on the wall and bounced up and down
clapping and cheering, nearly hysterical with excitement and delight.
Having chased his quarry out of sight Father returned, breathless with
running and yelling, and completely helpless with laughter. We reeled
home together up the road, both laughing so much that we were absolutely
incapable of telling Mother anything for about ten minutes. Father and I
both had the capacity of collapsing in helpless fits of laughter,
and whenever we were together our explosions and subsequent collapses
were of very frequent occurrence. Our minds, temperaments and sense of
humour were so closely similar that we were always completely happy in
each other’s company, and could convey anything we liked to each other
by a mere glance, or inflexion of the voice. He and I understood each
other’s innermost thoughts so well that very often words were scarcely
necessary, though as we were both of an extremely conversational nature,
our flow of talk was almost incessant. The glance and inflexion
technique was only employed when in the presence of other members of the
family, none of whom could ever quite keep up with us.
That party of boys never again showed any lack
of respect to Ben or me, and caps were sheepishly touched whenever we
met. About the same time however another group of small boys and girls
shouted after Ben, using his name without the requisite prefix of
“Master”. These were smaller children and more of my own age than the
other party of boys, and I unhesitatingly called them, and lined them up
in front of me in the road, and gave them a lecture for the good of
their souls. I told them that they always used “Miss “ to me, and that
therefore they must always use “Master” to my brother. I threw in a few
pointed observations as to remembering their curtseys and cap-touching,
then marched off with my small nose in the air, enveloped in an aura of
vast dignity. Astonishingly enough, it worked, for thenceforward the
greeting to “Master Ben” was always as assiduously forthcoming as were
the greetings and curtseys to myself.
This all sounds like rank snobbery viewed
in the light of these present democratic days, but it was actually by no
means as pure snobbery as it appears. The people of Dean Forest had long
been known as an exceedingly wild and lawless lot, and for hundreds of
years the fastnesses of the Forest had given sanctuary to rogues,
vagabonds, and fugitives from justice of every kind. The Forest bore a
thoroughly bad name right down to the last century, as was exemplified
by the prison, sturdy and bleak as a frontier fortress, which stands at
the far end of the village. In Gloucester Cathedral is a large tomb to
the memory of a certain Sir George Onesiphorus Paul (a name which has
always delighted me) whose great claim to distinction is the fact that
he “cleaned up the Forest”, and by his strong measures and justice,
reduced the lawless inhabitants to order. Judging by the harsh, stern
face that sneers so disdainfully from the bust on his tomb, he would
certainly appear to have been the right man to undertake this formidable
task. The prison was built during his jurisdiction. In our time it was
used as the police station, though I believe the local Magistrates sat
there as well, but the cells rarely had any occupant save an occasional
drunk, and when I was taken round the yard was bright with the
sergeant’s flower beds, and the cells usefully employed in storing his
potatoes.
Despite the fact that the foresters were by
now law-abiding citizens, there still remained a strong element of wild
uncouthness in the descendants of those bygone outlaws. Once your
position had been assigned to you by the unspoken, but immensely
powerful, force of public opinion, you were expected thenceforth to hold
it in accordance with the recognized rules. Too much familiarity would
immediately be looked upon as a sign of weakness and prompt advantage
taken. The foresters were swift and merciless in their judgement on
weaklings. Friendliness and civility invariably met with wholehearted
response, and we had many good friends in the village and district, but
they were of the breed that understood and respected the high hand, and,
always provided that it was backed by what their keen instincts so
unerringly recognized as gentle birth, they responded to and appreciated
a certain amount of natural hauteur. Even as a child I realised this,
though it was not till many years later that I came to analyse it.
The Rector
The rector who was in charge when we first
went down there, was a perfect case in point. He was a direct descendant
of Robert Bruce, and himself bore the same name. He was a tall, thin,
gaunt old gentleman, with a bony, eagle face framed in beautiful long
white hair, and we were told by someone who had seen a contemporary
portrait of the original Robert Bruce, that the old rector bore a strong
resemblance to his famous ancestor. His wife was a tiny dainty old lady,
extremely fastidious and precise; she always dressed in the style
adopted by queen Victoria, even to the bonnet. Dr. and Mrs. Bruce had
spent many years as missionaries in Persia, and were I believe, the
first English people to penetrate to many parts of that country. The
long years in that climate had given the old lady a permanent dread of
the sun; she would often appear thickly shrouded in a black veil and
carrying a parasol, and she was constantly harrying the maids about
drawing all the curtains at the slightest sign of sun light. My early
recollections of the rectory always seem to be of entering a darkened
mausoleum.
The old rector and his wife had got the
village exactly where they wanted them, and the village loved and
revered the overbearing old couple, and seemed thoroughly to enjoy the
frequent verbal castigations to which they were treated. Dr. Bruce was a
magnificent old gentleman, violently hot-tempered and ruthless in
dealing with his unruly flock, yet as loveable and gentle to those in
need of help, either spiritual or material, as the truest saint. His
sermons were a joy, and a real high spot in the arid wastes of the
village services.
The living was at that time in the gift of
some Evangelical Body which ensured that only clergy of the lowest and
most evangelical type were ever appointed there, and to hear Dr. Bruce
inveighing against Papacy - which subject somehow invariably obtruded
itself into his sermons, from whatever text he was preaching — was a
perfect delight. He would come striding down the Chancel, his cassock
flapping round his long legs and his surplice billowing, climb into the
small pulpit, out of which he towered overpoweringly, and proceed to
shout and rave at his bucolic congregation as if we were Jezebel and the
Scarlet Woman rolled into one. He would pound his fists on the book
rest, and gesticulate with long arms and flying surplice sleeves, which
latter were always impeding his action, and usually ended by being
grabbed impatiently and rolled up out of the way. On one occasion the
book rest cracked under his onslaughts, which provided a delightful
diversion; but an even more joyously memorable occasion was that on
which his false teeth came adrift under stress of his vehemence, and
were only saved from an ignominious crash on the floor by a wonderful
bit of sleight of hand. This was so exciting that for weeks afterwards
the congregation was more alert and attentive than ever to his
preaching, in the hopes of seeing the fascinating performance repeated.
I was very fond of the old gentleman, and he
was never anything but gentle and kind to me, I believe he had a very
soft spot for me and I never came under the lash of his fierce tongue.
With Father it was far otherwise. He and Dr. Bruce became very good
friends, and Father was very soon appointed Rector’s Warden, which post
he held for so many years that his re-election became automatic, but
despite this Dr. Bruce never spared him, and Father would often come
home from a stormy interview over some parish matter, looking extremely
rueful and shaking his ears, declaring that he had been made to feel
like a naughty little boy. But there was never any ill feeling, and
their friendship continued unbroken till the old gentleman’s death.
Dr. Bruce never hesitated to scold anybody if
he felt they deserved it, no matter who they were. On one occasion he
happened to call, and found Mother very busily making a sun-bonnet for
me to put on my beloved cat, and there and then gave her a good
trouncing, in front of me, for wasting her time on such frivolities. I
listened in petrified horror at the idea of anyone daring to speak to
Mother like that. She, poor dear, was so completely taken aback that she
took it like a lamb, and only regained the old gentleman’s good graces
by meekly explaining that she was doing it to give pleasure to me.
Working Party
A weekly Working Party was held at the
Rectory under the aegis of two sisters, both of whom taught in the
village school. Most of the members were quite young girls, and Mother
saw to it that I joined. The walk down to the village was long and dark,
so it was arranged that the daughter of a neighbouring farmer should
call for me and bring me home again. It was very seldom that Mother
would pander to my fears, as one of her chief ambitions seemed to be to
make me as fearless as she was herself, in which she was never
conspicuously successful. I was always thankful to have Dora’s company.
Lanterns were a normal part of the outfit after dark, and at evening
service in the winter the Church porch was stacked with an array which
took quite a bit of sorting out, as they were all of the invariable
candle-end variety.
The Working Party was in aid of the London
Mission to Jews, and garments of all sorts were made for the sale which
was held once a year. Orders were also taken, and most of them were for
nightdresses of a voluminous and old fashioned pattern. Every stitch was
done by hand, and I well remember the endless tucks and ruffles and
buttonholes that had to be worked, usually in white flannelette. It was
at the Working Party that I was initiated into the mysteries of double
and treble feather stitching at which I speedily became adept, though I
doubt if that form of decoration has been seen on underwear for many
years past. We all sat on hard chairs round a small, otherwise unused,
room in the Rectory, and Mrs. Bruce used to come in and read aloud to us
for half an hour or so. We all stood up when she came in and again when
she left, and woe betide any small maiden who was found supporting her
short legs by hitching her feet on the bar of her chair. The old lady
seemed to have some uncanny sense which told her at once if this sin
were being committed, and although her eyes never appeared to leave the
book, she would call the offender to order in exactly the same tone as
that in which she was reading, and interpose her corrections with never
a break in the flow of words. This was very bewildering till one became
accustomed to it, for it sounded exactly as if the admonition, “Daisy
take your feet off the bar of your chair”, were part of the story.
Village social activities
All sorts of social activities took place in the
village during the time that Dr. and Mrs. Bruce reigned at the Rectory.
Mother and Father and I always entered into everything with great gusto.
We were invited to the Sunday School Treats, the Church Workers’ Teas,
the Sunday School Christmas Tree and all the rest, officially on account
of Father’s position as Rector’s Warden, but also because Mother had
established herself as Dr. Bruce’s unpaid curate, and I tagged on behind
simply because I “belonged”. The summer Sunday School Treat was held in
the glebe meadow adjoining the rectory garden, and swarms of small fry
scampered wildly about the place, occasionally being organized into egg
and spoon races, three legged races, sack races and obstacle races.
Father introduced a most popular innovation. He supplied himself with
large seven-pound tins of vicious looking sweets from the village shop,
and primed with one under his arm he would race top speed all over the
meadow, scattering handfuls broadcast in his wake. After him would
stream all the juveniles, shrieking with excitement, gathering the
sweets in frantic haste, stuffing hands and pockets and pinafores and
mouths in a joyous welter of noise and stickiness. If the official
sports flagged for a moment, Father could be relied upon to galvanize
the entire community into a shrieking pandemonium of energy and delight.
There was a huge tea, in which colossal amounts of sugary buns and cakes
disappeared with staggering velocity. The Christmas Sunday School Treat
was also characterised by noise and an atmosphere of all pervading buns
and stickiness. I used to go and help with cutting up endless piles of
bread and butter, which, strangely enough were apparently even more
popular than the cakes and buns. My brothers were usually at home for
the Christmas Treat, and we used, each of us, to signal out some
exceptionally competent trencherman among the children, and keep scores
of the amount that our chosen champion had devoured. I should be afraid
to mention after all this time, the actual quantity of food consumed by
any given child, but I know that the scoring sometimes amounted well up
into the teens. There was a bran-tub, and a father Christmas, and on
several occasions George officiated in this capacity. George was
extremely good with children, and has always had a wonderful power of
entering into their interests and outlook. Jack would help in a quiet
and unassuming way, and I thoroughly enjoyed handing round the plates of
bread and butter and buns, though I was never keen on having too much
contact with hot and sticky children.
We also had a Christmas party at homes to
which Mother invited the dozen or children who lived in the cluster of
cottages round our house. The high spot at our own party was the ancient
and smoky magic lantern, which George operated with much smut and smell.
He had invented a most ingenious way of preparing our own slides, and he
and I spent hours in preparation for each Christmas. In making them, we
procured squares of plain glass, of the correct size, and painted them
all over on one side with paste. This was allowed to dry, then with
mapping pens and Indian ink we could draw upon the pasted surface, which
held the ink quite adequately. We would trace pictures out of our old
fairy tale books, or draw pictures out of our heads. Then thrown upon
the screen all the inequalities of line, and the smudges and blots were
hugely magnified, besides which we usually got the order of the slides
mixed up, and had forgotten what, if anything, the story was
originally supposed to be about, but who cared? George and. I were more
than equal to inventing a story about any slide that happened to appear,
quite regardless of what it might be. Our small audience was anything
but critical, and sat in absorbed delight, as he threw one after another
of the smudgy and almost unrecognisable slides on the screen, while I
gave a running commentary, with frequent interpolations from George,
which all too often led to brisk interchanges of opinion between the
operator and the commentator.
Mother had evolved a very cunning method of
protecting ourselves from the overwhelming attentions of the small carol
singers. Our house was one their chief gold mines, and their non-stop
performances would commence long before Christmas, and keep us busy
running to the door from morning to night. Mother’s solution was
designed to discourage too much of this, while at the same time not
entirely sending them away empty. During the octave before Christmas we
handed out coppers, but all the time before that the rewards consisted
of oranges or a handful of nuts which of course were nothing like as
desirable. This soon became known throughout the neighbourhood, which
ensured us a certain amount of respite.
The Flower Show was a very fine and
well-organized affair, and entrants sent in from miles round. A large
marquee was erected in the rectory field, the local colliery band
attended resplendent in their uniforms, and the standard of the entries
was really remarkable. The vast majority of the windows in the village
were never opened under any circumstances, and were entirely filled with
the most glorious arrays of begonias, fuchsias and other flowering
plants, and were used more as hot-houses than with any idea of admitting
light or ventilation. Years later, when Father was Medical Officer of
the district, he was called to a case of acute pneumonia. He found the
patient gasping out his life in a tiny room, in which was a roaring
fire, and a hoard of relations and friends, the atmosphere being enough
to stifle a fit person, let alone one dying with pneumonia. Father
immediately ordered the window to be opened, but was met with a chorus
of dismay, the window had not been known to be open within living
memory, and in any case was immoveable by reason of successive coats of
paint, applied over the years. Knowing that the patient would die unless
he had some fresh air, Father thereupon set his shoulder to the window
frame and, amid outcries of horror from the assembled company, heaved
the whole thing out into the garden. Whereupon, despite the direst
prognostications, the patient proceeded to recover.
One of the Flower Shows happened one year to
coincide with a visit which Father’s brother was paying to us. He and
Father determined to make this a really memorable affair, and they
proceeded to organize what they called a “Flour Show” to be held in
conjunction with the official one. This Flour Show consisted of a
competition between pairs of one man and one boy against all other
pairs. The man acted as the horse, and the boy was seated on his
shoulders. The boy was armed with a paper bag containing flour, and in
his other hand held a raw egg. The Riders had to belabour each other
with the bags of flour, at the same time protecting their eggs from
being broken, while the horses had to dodge about and give all
assistance possible. The winners of the knockout heats were the pair who
came through with the rider still in position and his egg intact. This
excited great interest throughout the neighbourhood, and there was a
large number of entries. I had to present the prizes which were donated
by Uncle George, and consisted of a real gold sovereign for the winning
horse, and a real gold half sovereign for the rider. This must have been
almost the last time I have ever handled real gold coins.
Church Workers’ Tea
The Church Workers’ Tea was held at the rectory
at the invitation and expense of Dr. and Mrs. Bruce. This was an
extremely formal and genteel occasion, everyone connected with Church
work turned up in their Sunday go-to-meeting- best, the ladies in
dresses of the most amazingly old-fashioned cut, and the men in
uncomfortable collars and highly polished squeaky boots. There was a
magnificent spread, thin bread and butter, ham sandwiches, and a huge
variety of the most exquisite cakes, all of which were served and handed
round by the rectory maids in the most classy style. The atmosphere at
the beginning of these teas was highly charged with self-consciousness
and painfully good manners, but under the influence of tea and cakes,
and the charming ease and kindliness of the host and, hostess, the
tension soon relaxed. The party always had an entertainment, given for
the most part by the guests. A standard performance which reappeared
each year with unfailing regularity and evergreen popularity was a duet
given by the blacksmith, who was also the People’s Warden, and the old
man who had been for many years coachman at the Hall under the real old
family, and who still worked there as general factotum. The song began
with the words:
Tis fowerty years, my old friend John
Since we were b’ys together,
and everyone joined in the chorus of:
Since we were b’ys, merry merry b’ys,
since we were b'ys together.
Me thinks it seems but yesterday,
Since we were b'ys together.
As the words were probably quite true of the
two sturdy old singers, the song, in broad Gloucestershire dialect, took
on a touching significance.
The old coachman also would invariably “oblige”
with a solo, of quite unintelligible wording, and interminable length,
of which the only words I could ever grasp were:
I’m sure you know me, Mistress Jean,
I’m honest Richard of Taunton Dean,
Chorus:
Singing Dumble-dum Deary,
Dumble-Dum Deary,
Dumble-Dum Deary,
Dumble-Dum Dee.
Mrs. Bruce would sing Persian songs,
accompanying herself on the piano. This performance must have been of
quite outstanding merit and interest, but the sounds were so utterly
discordant to the ears of the village audience, that her recital was
usually drowned in roars of laughter, as they quite believed she was
intending to be funny. Father and Mother, however, took it with the
seriousness which the old lady intended, and made me realise that I was
hearing a performance of real interest and very great cleverness. The
bell-ringers would also give recitals on the hand -bells. The sexton and
leader of the ringers was old Daddy Nash, a bent old man with a long
white beard. He was terribly crippled, having had his chest crushed in
by a fall of rock in the pits many years before, but despite this he led
the ringers, and pulled the tenor bell for a great number of years, and
was an unfailing attendant at every service. He was so extraordinarily
like Miss Dorothy Sayers character, Hezekiah Lavender, in “The Nine
Tailors”, both in appearance and occupation, that she might have based
the character upon him.
Mrs. Bruce died about eighteen months or two
years after we want to live there, and her death was the beginning of
the end of an era. Their widowed daughter and her two children came to
make their home at the rectory, and run the house for Dr. Bruce.
May
The boy was two three years older than I,
and the girl, May, about three years younger. All this time I had had no
friends whatever of my own age, and May and I became, and have
continued, very good friends. Her mother was far in advance of her time
in her outlook, and May was allowed, and encouraged, to make friends
with the village children in a way that Mother never would have
countenanced in my case, nor, be it admitted, would I ever have desired.
May was an extremely high-spirited young lady, far stronger
physically than I, and almost as tall, despite the difference in age.
She had no inhibitions whatever with regard to social status, and held
her position with the aid of tongue and fists, without any extraneous
aids such as the use of the title “Miss”. She was plain "May” to
everyone, and she soon established herself as a dominant feature in the
village. All the children adored her, and she was seldom seen without a
flying crowd of small urchins in her wake, for May did everything at the
gallop. She stood no nonsense from any of them, and reports of her
escapades kept the village in a state of seething excitement. Many of
the older and more staid of the inhabitants shook their heads over her,
and did not consider her “goings on” at all in accordance with their
ideas of suitable behaviour in the rector’s granddaughter, but no one
could resist her gaiety and high spirits, and she was far more popular
than I ever was.
May never hesitated to indulge in stand-up
fights with the village boys, and could throw a stone or yell an insult
as unerringly as they. She had a pony on which she would charge through
the village like a whirlwind, usually riding bareback, and on one famous
occasion she scared the village out of its wits by mounting a horse,
well known for its bad disposition, and riding it bareback in response
to a “dare” from some of the boys. The horse was standing at the far end
of the village street, and its stable was by the pub at the Cross. The
stable was entered by a door barely high enough to admit the horse rider
less, and directly it felt May upon its back, the brute bolted for home.
How May ever stayed on neither she nor anyone else ever knew, but all
heads popped out with screams of alarm as she thundered down the street,
everyone expecting her to have her brains dashed out against the top of
the stable door. At the last moment she realised the danger, and flung
herself flat on the horse’s neck, and slid off in the stable to be
immediately collared and given a sound shaking by the alarmed and
indignant landlord.
Nothing could dampen May’s spirits however,
and the next thing we heard was that she climbed on the roof of the
school, armed with a pea-shooter, and proceeded to enliven the lessons
by taking pot shots at the schoolmaster’s bald head through the
sky-light. She was an incorrigible young imp, but though she drove the
village quite mad with her pranks, no one could ever be angry with her
for long, and she was far more truly and widely beloved than she ever
realised. I never joined her in these riotous goings on, and never had
the slightest wish to play with her gangs of children. In fact, I always
found her physical strength and tremendous vitality very exhausting, and
I think she probably found me rather proper and dull. However that may
be, our friendship has remained unimpaired for over forty years.
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