A Week's Tramp in Dickens-Land Part 29

Beyond where the river runs to the sea, we conjure up the chase and recapture of Pip's convict, while poor Pip himself, a.s.sisted by his friend Herbert Pocket, is straining every nerve to get him away. As ill.u.s.trative of the wonderfully careful way in which d.i.c.kens did all his work, we also read in Forster's _Life_:--

"To make himself sure of the actual course of a boat in such circ.u.mstances, and what possible incidents the adventure might have, d.i.c.kens hired a steamer for the day from Blackwall to Southend. Eight or nine friends, and three or four members of his family, were on board, and he seemed to have no care, the whole of that summer day (22nd of May, 1861), except to enjoy their enjoyment and entertain them with his own in shape of a thousand whims and fancies; but his sleepless observation was at work all the time, and nothing had escaped his keen vision on either side of the river. The fifteenth chapter of the third volume is a masterpiece."

Speaking generally of this fascinating story, which possesses a thousand-fold greater interest to us now we visit the country there described (not formerly very accessible, but now readily approached by the railway from Gravesend to Sheerness, alighting at Cliffe, the nearest station to Cooling), Forster says:--

"It may be doubted if d.i.c.kens could better have established his right to the front rank among novelists claimed for him, than by the ease and mastery with which, in these two books of _Copperfield_ and _Great Expectations_, he kept perfectly distinct the two stories of a boy's childhood, both told in the form of autobiography."

The marshes are also alluded to twice in _Bleak House_--first, in chapter one--"Fog on the Ess.e.x marshes, fog on the Kentish heights;" and secondly, in the twenty-sixth chapter, in the dialogue between Trooper George and his odd but kind-hearted attendant Phil Squod, the original of which, by the bye, was a Chatham character.

"'And so, Phil,' says George of the shooting gallery, after several turns in silence; 'you were dreaming of the country last night.'

"Phil, by the bye, said as much, in a tone of surprise, as he scrambled out of bed.

"'Yes, guv'ner.'

"'What was it like?'

"'I hardly know what it was like, guv'ner,' said Phil, considering.

"'How did you know it was the country?'

"'On accounts of the gra.s.s, I think. And the swans upon it,' says Phil, after further consideration.

"'What were the swans doing on the gra.s.s?'

"'They was a eating of it, I expect,' says Phil. . . .

"'The country,' says Mr. George, applying his knife and fork, 'why I suppose you never clapped your eyes on the country, Phil?'

"'I see the marshes once,' says Phil, contentedly eating his breakfast.

"'What marshes?'

"'_The_ marshes, commander,' returns Phil.

"'Where are they?'

"'I don't know where they are,' says Phil, 'but I see 'em, guv'ner. They was flat. And miste.'"

Forster says:--"About the whole of this Cooling churchyard, indeed, and the neighbouring castle ruins, there was a weird strangeness that made it one of his [d.i.c.kens's] attractive walks in the late year or winter, when from Higham he could get to it across country, over the stubble fields; and, for a shorter summer walk, he was not less fond of going round the village of Shorne, and sitting on a hot afternoon in its pretty shady churchyard."

Altogether, the place has a dreary and lonesome appearance in the close of the summer evening, and we can picture with wonderful vividness the remarkable scenes described in _Great Expectations_, as the lurid purple reflection from the setting sun spreads over the Thames valley, and lights up the marshes; the tall pollards standing out like spectres contribute to the weirdness and beauty of the scene.

d.i.c.kens was not the only admirer of the Marshes. Turner also visited them, and painted some of his most famous pictures from observation there, namely "Stangate Creek," "Shrimping Sands," and "Off Sheerness."

A few paces from the church brings us to Cooling Castle, built by Sir John de Cobham, the third Baron Cobham, in the reign of Richard II., whose arms appear on the gatehouse, together with a very curious motto in early English characters. We extract the following interesting account of the tower from the _Archaeologia Cantiana_ (vol. xi.):--

[Ill.u.s.tration: Gateway Cooling Castle]

"On the south face of the eastern Outer Gate Tower, we see the well-known inscription, which takes the form of a Charter, with Lord Cobham's seal appended to it. This is formed of fourteen copper plates exquisitely enamelled. The writing is in black, while the ground is of white enamel; the seal and silk cords are of the proper colours. The whole work is an exquisite example of enamel, which after five hundred years' exposure to the weather remains nearly as good as when it was put up. The inscription states very clearly why Lord Cobham erected a castle here, viz. for the safety of the country. The French invasion had shewn the need, and the inscription was perhaps intended to disarm the suspicions and hostility of the serfs by reminding them of that need.

It runs thus, in four lines, each enamelled upon three plates of copper:--

"'Knoweth that beth and schul be That i am mad in help of the c.u.n.tre In knowyng of whyche thyng Thys is chartre and witnessyng.'"

"(Seal, 'gules', on a chevron 'or' three lions rampant 'sable'.)

"Inscriptions are rare on Gothic buildings, especially on castles. This at Coulyng is remarkable from being in English, at a time when Latin was employed in all charters; it contains that early form of the plural 'beth' instead of 'are.' The inscription measures thirty-two inches by fourteen, and the diameter of the seal is no less than seven and a quarter inches long."

After stopping a short time to admire the imposing entrance gate and the remains of the ancient moat, we wend our way for two or three miles, by lanes and "over the stubble-fields," to the straggling village of Cliffe,[36] the houses of which are very old and mostly weather-boarded.

The approach to the church is by a rare example of a lich-gate, having a room over it for muniments, and the church itself (which is very large, and seems to be out of proportion to the size of the village) stands in a commanding position on a ridge of chalk, overlooking the marshes, from whence the views of the river in the distance are very fine. It is supposed to be the place where the Saxon Church held its councils, and there is a local tradition of a ferry having once existed near here.

Evidence of this seems to survive in the fact that all the roads both on the Kent and Ess.e.x sh.o.r.es appear to converge to this point. The church has some interesting _miserere_ stalls and bra.s.ses to the Faunce family (17th century). On the walls we find specimens of that somewhat rare fern, the scaly spleenwort (_Ceterach officinarum_).

[Ill.u.s.tration: Cliffe Church]

Time does not permit us to go on to Gravesend, which like this place was one of d.i.c.kens's favourite spots ("We come, you see" [says Mr.

Peggotty, speaking of himself and Ham to David Copperfield, when they visited him at Salem House], "the wind and tide making in our favor, in one of our Yarmouth lugs to Gravesen'"), so we defer our visit to that popular resort until another occasion.

We notice in places where the harvest has been cleared (which, alas!

owing to excess of wet and absence of sun, has not been an abundant one), preparations for cultivation next year, exhibiting that peculiar effect from ploughing which that gifted writer and born naturalist, the late Richard Jeffreys, described in his book _Wild Life in a Southern County_, with that love for common things which was so characteristic of him:--

"The ploughmen usually take special care with their work near public roads, so that the furrows end on to the base of the highway shall be mathematically straight. They often succeed so well that the furrows look as if traced with a ruler, and exhibit curious effects of vanis.h.i.+ng perspective. Along the furrow, just as it is turned, there runs a s.h.i.+mmering light as the eye traces it up. The ploughshare, heavy and drawn with great force, smooths the earth as it cleaves it, giving it for a time a 'face,' as it were, the moisture on which reflects the light. If you watch the farmers driving to market, you will see that they glance up the furrows to note the workmans.h.i.+p and look for game; you may tell from a distance if they espy a hare, by the check of the rein and the extended hand pointing."

Our destination is now Higham--"Higham by Rochester, Kent,"--d.i.c.kens's nearest village, in which, from his first coming to Gad's Hill, he took the deepest interest, and after a further long tramp of nearly four miles steadily maintained, we reach Lower Higham towards dusk; and in a lane we ask an old labourer (who looks as though he would be all the better for "Three Acres and a Cow") if we are on the right road to Higham Station. Curtly but civilly the man answers, "Keep straight on,"

when an incident occurs which brightens up matters considerably. The questioner says to the labourer, "Do you remember the late Charles d.i.c.kens?" (We always spoke, when in the district, of "the _late_ Charles d.i.c.kens," to distinguish him from his eldest son, who lived at Gad's Hill for some years after his father's death. Frequently the great novelist was spoken of by residents as "old Mr. d.i.c.kens!")

"Do I remember Muster d.i.c.kens?" responds the venerable rustic, and his eyes sparkle, and his face beams with such animation that he becomes a different being. "Of course I do; he used to have games--running, jumping, and such-like--for us working people, and I've often won a prize. He used to come among us and give us refreshments, and make himself very pleasant."

"How long have you lived in this parish?" says the questioner.

"Sixty-seven year," is the answer.

Time prevents further inquiries, so we bid our friend "good-evening."

In referring to the sports at Gad's Hill, Mr. Langton has recorded how a friend sent him a broadside of a portion of one day's amus.e.m.e.nts, which from its amateurish appearance was probably printed by d.i.c.kens's sons at the private printing-press before alluded to. The occasion was the 26th December, 1866, and the Christmas sports were held in a field at the back of Gad's Hill Place. Mr. Trood, a former landlord of the "Sir John Falstaff" (whose name has been previously mentioned), had, by permission of Charles d.i.c.kens, a booth erected for the refreshment of persons contesting. The attendance was between two and three thousand, and there was not a single case of misconduct or damage. Mr. A. H. Layard, M.P.

(afterwards Sir Austin Layard), was present, and took great interest in the proceedings, d.i.c.kens having appointed him "chief commissioner of the domestic police." Sir Austin Layard said of the sports, "d.i.c.kens seemed to have bound every creature present upon what honour the creature had to keep order. What was the special means used, or the art employed, it might have been difficult to say, but that was the result." We made every effort to obtain one of the bills of these sports, but without success, and therefore take the liberty of quoting from Mr. Langton's copy:--

=Christmas Sports.= The All-Comers' Race.

Distance--Once round the field.

First Prize 10_s._; Second, 5_s._; Third, 2_s._ 6_d._ Entries to be made in MR. TROOD'S tent before 12 o'clock.

To start at 2.45.

Starter--M. STONE, ESQ.

Judge and Referee--C. d.i.c.kENS, ESQ.

Clerk of the Course--C. d.i.c.kENS, JUNR., ESQ.

Stewards and Keepers of the Course--MESSRS. A. H. LAYARD, M.P., H. CHORLEY, J. HULKES, and H. d.i.c.kENS.

In a letter written to Mr. Forster next day, d.i.c.kens said, "The road between this and Chatham was like a fair all day, and surely it is a fine thing to get such perfect behaviour out of a reckless sea-port town."

We presently meet with another representative of the cla.s.s of village labourer at Upper Higham, a cheery old man, although, as is sadly too often the case in his cla.s.s, he was suffering from "the Rheumatiz."