It is a good few years ago now since I first came across Highways and Byways in Dorset, a book originally published by Macmillan in 1906. Its author is Sir Frederick Treves, the eminent surgeon, most readily associated in the public mind today with the story of the Elephant Man, since it was Treves who took him on as his protégé at the London Hospital, featuring prominently, therefore, in the film made of Joseph Merrick's life. Sir Frederick's distinguished medical career culminated in his being appointed Sergeant Surgeon to King Edward VII: but he held the strong conviction that no surgeon should continue operating after the age of fifty. So, true to his principles, he retired at that age. It was then that he took the opportunity to devote himself to travel and to writing.
In The Tale of a Field Hospital he described his experiences in South Africa in the Boer War. His other interests were as wide-ranging as Uganda; the West Indies; Palestine; and Lake Geneva. In addition, being an admirer of Robert and Elizabeth Browning, he wrote of those places in Italy with which, in their married life there, they had been associated.
However, he never forgot Dorset, the county of his birth. So in retirement he cycled over 2000 miles researching the book which was eventually published as Highways and Byways in Dorset, the pleasures of which were added to by the engaging drawings contributed by Joseph Pennell. I had never thought to own a copy of this book. You can imagine my delight, therefore, to find that a paperback version of the 1906 edition of this classic had been issued in a series entitled, Wildwood Rediscoveries, copies of which had been bought up by a bookshop in Westover Road, Bournemouth, and were being sold at a bargain price.
It was on re-reading the book that I came across a discrepancy which might well puzzle others who use Highways and Byways in Dorset as their guide in exploring the county, and which I now take the trouble to explain. For having at one time been for sixteen years Incumbent of Sixpenny Handley with Gussage St Andrew, and Pentridge, I naturally turned up first the pages devoted to those parts of the county I knew best.
On first knowing the hamlet of Pentridge I had been impressed with the fact that it had been immortalised as Trantridge of Hardy's Tess. Treves, I was now reminded, had caused me a disappointment though when I discovered that his assertion of another claim to literary fame for Pentridge was not in fact true. He had somehow got it wrong about William Barnes's birthplace. It was indeed at a Rushay Farm that Barnes was born, but this was over in the Blackmoor Vale, in the parish of Bagber, near Sturminster Newton.
Treves was right enough, though, about the Pentridge connections of the family of the poet, Robert Browning, his earliest known forebears having lived in the parish, and being shown in the registers and other extant records to have been Churchwardens and Poor Law Overseers there. (See my article entitled, The Brownings of Woodyates, in the Dorset Year Book, 1972-73.) Many visitors to St Rumbold's Church, by the village green in Pentridge, would therefore be on the look-out for the plaque described by Treves as reading:
But the puzzle would come when they found that the tablet on the north wall of the little church lacked the final intriguing sentence of the inscription as quoted by Treves. It is thereby hangs a tale.
The explanation, to cut a long story short, is found in a paper read to a meeting of the Society of Genealogists in November 1937, by Sir Vincent Baddeley, himself a descendant of the Browning family. His paper was reprinted in the March 1938 edition of The Genealogists' Magazine under the title, The Ancestry of Robert Browning, The Poet. There Sir Vincent describes how it was through the agency of Doctor F J Furnivall, a figure prominent in the literary world of the late nineteenth century, that the plaque was first erected, carrying the inscription just as stated by Treves. Only in addition it bore the quotation from Browning's poem Pippa Passes: "All service ranks the same with God", together with the explanation, "This tablet was erected by some of the poet's friends and admirers. 1902".
Doctor Furnivall was a man of restless industry and some learning, who delighted in controversy and the promotion of heterodox views and fads. He was, for instance, a supporter of the new spelling, an avowed Republican and, unfashionably for his time, a violent agnostic if not outright atheist. He it was who had inaugurated the Shakespeare Society and the Shelley Society, finally in 1881 founding the Browning Society, of which he was himself the President. Now one of Doctor Furnivall's pet theories was that men of genius were descended either from Jews, or else from some strikingly humble origin. In the year of the poet's death, then, he began, with somewhat misplaced enthusiasm, to investigate Robert Browning's family origins. In February, 1890 he read a paper to the Browning Society on his findings. They were by no means all fantasy. In fact he frankly admitted his disappointment at being unable to establish any Jewish element in Browning's ancestry. Nothing daunted, however, just because the poet's paternal grandmother, Margeret Tittle, was born in the West Indies, Furnivall decided that she "had dark blood in her".
The Doctor's appetite for conjecture still unsatisfied, he began to elaborate on the fact that Robert Browning's first known ancestor was an earlier Robert Browning, who died at Woodyates in the parish of Pentridge, Dorset, in 1746, in a house we know at least afterwards to have been a coaching inn. Furnivall had somehow got it into his head that this Robert Browning was once head butler to Sir John Bankes of Corfe Castle. Now there had been only one Sir John Bankes, and he died in 1644, well before this Robert Browning would have been born even. Moreover, Corfe Castle was virtually destroyed by the Parliamentarians in the Civil War, being an uninhabited ruin at the time of the supposed chief-butlership, Kingston Lacy having become the family's home.
Nevertheless, Doctor Furnivall seized on this quite unsubstantiated notion with his unfailing enthusiasm, averring that, "Household servants naturally take to publics (sic) when they set up for themselves or start their children"; and adding, "No doubt he went through the usual stages of page, footman, and under-butler, before he became chief-butler.
As a radical and democrat I of course rejoice that the descendant of a Dorsetshire footman has been buried with solemn pomp in Westminster Abbey". A witness testified in 1931 that Furnivall had subsequently had to publish a repudiation of his footman theory soon after he first aired it. Certainly, when Sir Edmund Gosse came to write the article on Browning in the 1901 edition of the Dictionary of National Biography, there was no mention of it.
It was then in April, 1902, that Doctor Furnivall wrote to a literary journal of those days, The Academy, a letter headed, "Browning's Footman Ancestor", reviving the theory. This letter finished by asking, "Will anyone subscribe to put up a brass to the footman founder of the Browning family in Pentridge Church?" Copies of this letter were sent round to Furnivall's friends, and sufficient funds seem to have been forthcoming.
That was how it came about that, when staying the weekend in Pentridge in the autumn of 1930, Sir Vincent Baddeley found on the north wall of the little St Rumbold's Church there the marble tablet with the wording as recounted in Treves' guide-book to Dorset, completed by the further two lines as described above. An incensed Sir Vincent enlisted the support of the Churchwardens and Church Council of Pentridge in applying to the Chancellor of the Salisbury Diocese for a legal faculty to have the wording amended. All reference to Furnivall's footman theory was excised: and there was added the one sentence, "He married Elizabeth Pethebridge, who died 1759, and their son, Thomas (born 1721) of Woodyates Inn, was the poet's great grandfather". This is the wording that will be found by anyone visiting Pentridge today. If previously mystified by the discrepancy with the version given by Sir Frederick Treves in Highways and Byways of Dorset, he or she now has the explanation.
Who would, has heard Sir Vincent's story told.
(Headline in the Post Office Information Newspaper)
Feeling tired after lunch and knowing that a spell on my reclining chair was a good idea, I lay full stretched and with Lucy cat lying full length on my body. My thoughts turned to my growing awareness that I must now accept that I was old and so was Lucy. Had I not that morning gone to the P.O. for my pension and seen the newspaper heading glaring out at me in large capitals, "Grandad gets his money free"? The new pension system had started! I found myself rather resenting the "Grandad ", partly because the feminist side of me wondered what had happened to "Grandma". My dignity was generally battered. Was this how I was seen now? Was I just a grey-haired lady in a queue? How could it possibly be called a "free" gift of money for Grandad? Then the queue began to enter into its usual chatter and we became as always a real group of real individuals.
Dwelling on these morning adventures as I lay on my chair, I had just reached the point of acceptance that age comes upon us, and that was that, when there was a thud on the window. This had once been a familiar sound as the window is 12 feet wide, but with butterfly stencils now in place it only rarely happened and the warning was heeded in time. However, I told Lucy we must get up and went to look out. I saw a tiny chaffinch on the lawn with wings outstretched and beak unnaturally wide open as if gasping for air. I went out quickly (!) with sorrow already in my heart. Gently I picked it up, cupped in both hands to secure its movement. The beak closed and two black eyes regarded me. I stroked the head with one free finger, and the head began to move in a fairly lively movement. Clearly things were not yet desperate, and so I put it on the ground next to a low wall upon which the warm sun was directed. It promptly flopped in dejection, and so I picked it up again and held it whilst I talked to it, and love passed between us. I put it down again and this time it stood firmly and looked around to get its bearings. I decided to remove my body in case I became a cause for fear, and to watch from inside. I realised that it had been blown by a strong wind sideways into the window and so had avoided more serious hurt.
It was clearly puzzled about what to do next in the wind. After about five minutes it spotted the Hyperican shrub close by and betook itself into its base. Later I went out to see if I could see it, but it had gone.
As I had held it and stroked it I had once more marvelled at the wonder of its plumage. This was a small young bird but already had its full colours. Every minute feather had its place in the patterns in pink, white blue, black, grey. What a Creator who had envisioned such beauty and put a warm living body inside it!
I got back in my chair, filled with joy at the beauty and the happy ending. I realised that, yes, I was old, but, yes, I could still hold a frightened bird in my hand and help it back to life. I could still be moved by beauty and catch a glimpse of the Creator behind it. SO come on all you "Grandads!"(and Grandmas).We're not done yet! Line up and tell the Government that we're still here and we still count. We don't care about trifles like PIN NUMBERS.
Just give us our money and let us get on with this business of living
Every year in mid-April, I would watch some of the 30,000 people giving-their-all in the London Marathon from the comfort of my armchair; and dream of being there myself. 26.2 miles is a very long way - the equivalent of running to Salisbury and back in just a few hours - but if they could do it, then I was sure I could too. The subject was raised last summer, and Dave (to my surprise) said he would like to do it too.
We decided to run for a locally based charity called Round Table Children's Wish. Although based in Bournemouth, it operates throughout the country. Round Table Children's Wish grants final wishes to terminally ill children when medical science has done its utmost, and all hope of recovery has gone. Each wish, truly the child's own, is fulfilled while the child is healthy enough to fully enjoy it, so that the child and the immediate members of the family share the experience and have happy memories to last them forever.
Our places were confirmed at Christmas, and on April 13th 2003 we were lined up with 32,742 other people ready to run. I have never felt both nerves and excitement like it - the whole area was buzzing with people, the noise incredible. Our thoughts turned to "can we really do this?" Having never run the full 26.2 mile distance in training, it was suddenly quite a daunting thought. However, we always said we would do it - even if we had to crawl, but it would be good to finish on 2 feet!!
Thankfully there was very little waiting, and soon we were off. The nerves subsided and were replaced by excitement and enjoyment of actually competing. We had our names on our running tops, and right from the very start people were shouting "Come on Dave and Steph". We were continually looking at first to see if we could recognise anyone, as we thought that they must actually know us - but no. The hundreds of thousands of people who lined the route were all calling out as many names as possible to encourage us all on and keep us going. It was quite the most incredible and wonderful situation, and certainly boosted us along our way. We gained inspiration too from some of the amazing costumes. We were running alongside two Rhino's, and the Wombles were not far away. These people were running at the same pace as us, yet being weighed down with heavy and hot outfits. Later on in the race, we passed a team of people carrying a lifeboat (we had covered 21 miles by this stage, and they were on the other side of the road approaching 14 miles).
At the Cutty Sark (having run only 7 miles), news filtered through that Paula Radcliffe had broken the world record. It felt quite special to be running in the same race as her, but quite daunting that we had only covered 7, miles when she had done 26!! (She did start 45 minutes before than us though!)
The first 18 to 19 miles were fine, but then came "The Wall" as it is called. We did not "hit" it as some people say they do, but we gradually ran into it - the pain in our legs grew and grew, and all our bounce disappeared. As each foot touched down our bodies just shuddered rather than sprang! To cap it all, the cobbles around the Tower of London, which the marathon is renown for, arose at 22 - 23 miles (just when we least wanted them).
At Big Ben the noise level raised again - under a mile to the finish, and our minds took over. We rounded the comer at Buckingham Palace onto The Mall and the view of the finish line greeted us. The adrenaline sent our legs into overdrive for our final dash for the line. Eventually, after 4 hours 58 minutes of pounding the London streets, we completed our ambition. Our minds were suddenly on Cloud 9, tears of joy and relief welling up; but our bodies and legs could hardly hold us up - a mix of complete physical exhaustion and emotional exultation.
I remember thanking the lady who gave us our medals over and over again. She probably thought I was a little mad, but I was just so thankful that we had successfully completed an ambition of a lifetime. We had set our hearts on getting around, and at last we had triumphed.
We wish to say a huge "Thank you" to everyone who contributed so very generously to RTCW, especially those who we have not thanked individually, (who sponsored us at John Clarke's and Peter and Joy Stainer's). It really has meant such a lot to the charity, and was a huge boost to keep us running on the day. We had tremendous support from family and friends, both in London, and from armchairs in Dorset!! For this we are really grateful.
We have now raised over £4500 for Round Table Children's Wish, which is totally amazing. It is so very much more than we had ever imagined, hoped or expected to raise. It will certainly help to give some very deserving terminally ill children and their immediate families a "wish" for them to remember and cherish.
Running the London Marathon was absolutely brilliant. We feel that a second journey to the same place could not possibly bring that same jubilation and satisfaction; and also the commitment to train, especially as we have young children, is very time consuming - but certainly worth it once!
For those of you who are reading this and think that one day you would like to run it (or wish you had a few years ago!), here are some facts:
· Paula Radcliffe's world record time was 2:15:25 (almost exactly the same time as it took us to get halfway around!)
· Of the 32,742 competitors, 32,563 finished.
· The oldest male competitor was 93, the oldest female was 85.
· The last person to finish on the day of the race, finished in 8 hours 33 minutes.
· IT IS NEVER TOO LATE TO HAVE A GO!
It wasn't exactly a world tour, but it did mean venturing out in the evening. The venue was not far away, in fact, it was to the north of Sixpenny Handley, the village school, where a quiz night was to be held. By 7.30 p.m., a room, usually occupied by four to six year old children, was packed with grown ups, and I use these terms wisely. Tables and chairs intended for the use of infants do not lend themselves easily to grown-ups of both sexes, old and young alike and of various shapes and sizes. Despite the fact that it was an extremely enjoyable evening, I can't help wondering what the more regular occupants of those seats would have thought, seeing adults sitting in their chairs being examined by Ron Wood, the vicar, while eating fish and chips washed down by a variety of coloured liquids.
Despite being assured by the Rev. Ron before the quiz started, "You'll be alright Ted" I managed to prove him wrong. I'm afraid I can't remember the last time I watched a film on television, or when I last went to the cinema, probably nearly fifty years ago, to see "The Ascent of Everest". Maybe this is an exaggeration, but not much of one. As for pop songs, pop groups and pop stars, my education is completely lacking, come to that, I'm not sure I did very well on the other questions either. After the quiz I did have a chance to add my name to the roll for the new Reception Class, starting in September 2003. I just hope that when the others have their lunches, I will be able to have fish and chips and a bottle of red wine.
At least I'm computer literate now, mind you I've been able to spell it for quite a while, I just wish I knew how to use it, In case you are wondering why there is a gap above this paragraph, the silly thing started to type in italics, then I had to phone someone to find out how to correct it. The thing is, it is essential to be entirely dedicated to write for the Downsman, mind you the salary is not worth talking about, but one day possibly the Guardian or the Womans Own will recognise my talents.
.............................................In the meantime I must tell you what has been, (sorry about the delay, but I am now using two hands and 'must' developed 9 's' and what 3 't', sorry I can't put single letters in the plural.) happening in the area of Woodcutts.
Last time I wrote, the war in Iraq was menacing, but thank God that is mostly over now and many other things have happened to cheer us up. The cuckoo is here, first heard in this area at 4.20 a.m. on 8th May, In fact it has always been early in the morning that I have subsequently heard him. Two months ago I was recording the appearance of butterflies, including, Brimstone, Small Tortoiseshell, Orange Tip, Peacock, Large White, Small and Holly Blue, Small White ,Spotted Wood and just one Comma.
Since that time there has been little sign of butterflies because of a drop in temperature, this has been as much as 10 degrees centigrade; high winds (not necessarily the seasonal south westerlys); rain either as heavy showers or more persistent bouts with even the odd ground frost thrown in.
What ever is growing or not growing, there can be no doubt about grass. The last few weeks have seen it come along in leaps and bounds, in fact anyone travelling up across the common regularly, will have seen a silage cut already taken and safely ensiled to feed the cows next winter. How times change? It is only a few years ago, fifteen to twenty at the most, that a farmer who started in the first week of June to make his silage, was considered progressive and if he started in May he was truly exceptional. Now we have a local farmer who starts in the first week of May.
Obviously technology has moved on in the agricultural world, new grass varieties grown, new machinery which is more efficient, new fertilisers and fertiliser recommendations but it is still the individual farmer who has to put it all together to suit his conditions. He is still at the mercy of the weather, breakdowns of machinery, labour and or contractor upsets as well as personal problems, such as illness. He can't ring in sick, he has no one covering for him and cows still have to be milked, calved, fed and tended to. If he has young stock, pigs, sheep, chicken or any other type of livestock there is no lying in bed for him on a Sunday, so he badly needs an uplift occasionally.
Any type of animal kept for the benefit of mankind, whether as a pet or as a producer of milk, meat, wool or eggs deserves a decent and comfortable lifestyle. It is disconcerting to say the least, to hear of youths locally, ill treating free range chickens, chickens which if housed permanently would never see daylight. Simply because these harmless and helpless birds are free to roam, some element of village life believe it has the right to maim and kill them. It is despicable; perhaps we should erect stocks in the village so that these people could in fact have some of their own medicine.
It would be wrong to end on this sad note, so may I return to the subject of the village school. How lucky the village is to have such an organisation. The teachers, the governors, the parents, the helpers and of course the children have a lot to be proud of. In case anyone should wonder why I am so enthusiastic, I have two grandchildren at the school and I believe the proof of the pudding is in the eating. God bless you, and thank you for reading to the end.