1.7.2. LAYING OUT OF LANDS
In the Parish of Puxton, Somerset.
The subjoined letter was duly received according
to its date, and is now in due time inserted. The editor has very few
omissions of this kind to apologize for: if he has prematurely, and
therefore unduly, introduced some communications which arrived too late
for ther proper days, he may be excused, perhaps, in consideration of
the desire expressed by some correspondents, that their papers should
appear in a "reasonable" time or not at all. Unhappily he has
experienced the mishap of a "reasonable" difference, with one or two of
his contributors. From the plan of this work, certain matters-of-fact
could only range, with propriety, under certain days; while it has been
conceived of, by some, as a magazine wherein any thing could come, at
any time. In this dilemma he has done the best in his power, and
introduced, in a few instances, papers of that nature out of place. On
two or three occasions, indeed, it seemed a courtesy almost demanded by
the value of such articles, that they should not await the rotation of
the year. The following curiously descriptive account of a remarkable
local custom is from a Somersetshire gentleman, who could be relied on
for a patient endurance of nine months, till this, its due season
arrived.
Sir,— Having observed in your Every-Day Book, p. 837, vol i. mention
of an ancient custom of dividing lands, which formerly took place on
the Saturday before old midsummer-day, in the parish of Puxton, in
Somersetshire, (taken from Mr. Collinson's history of that county,)
I now send you a more explicit and enlarged account, with the marks
as they were cut in each person's allotment.
The two large pieces of common land called Dolemoors, which lie in
the parishes of Congresbury, Week St. Lawrence
and Puxton, were allotted in the following
mannter. On the Saturday Preceding midsummer-day O.S. the several
proprietors (of the estates having any right in those moors) or
their tenants, were summoned at a certain hour in the morning, by
the ringing of one of the bells at Puxton, to repair to the church,
in order to see the chain (kept for the purpose of laying out
Dolemoors) measured. The proper length of such chain was ascertained
by placing one end thereof at the foot of the arch, dividing the
chancel from the body of the church, and extending it through the
middle aisle, to the foot of the arch of the west door under the
tower, at each of which places marks were cut in the stones for that
purpose. The chain used for this purpose was only eighteen yards in
length, consequently four yards shorter than the regular
land-measuring chain. After the chain had been properly measured,
the parties repaired to the commons. Twenty-four apples were
previously prepared, bearing the following marks, viz. Five marks
called "Pole-axes," four ditto "Crosses," two ditto "Dung-forks, or
Dung-pikes," one mark called "Four Oxen and a Mare," one ditto "Two
Pits," one ditto "Three Pits," one ditto "Four Pits," one ditto
"Five Pits," one ditto "Seven Pits," one "Horn," one "Hare's-tail,"
one "Duck's-nest," one "Oven," one "Shell," one "Evil," and
one "Hand-reel."
It is necessary to observe that each of these moors was divided into
several
portions called furlongs, which were
marked out by strong oak posts, placed at regular distances from
each other; which posts were constantly kept up. After the apples
were properly prepared, they were put into a hat or bag, and certain
persons fixed on for the purpose, began to measure with the chain
before-mentioned, and proceeded till they had measured off one acre
of ground; at the end of which, the boy who carried the hat or bag
containing the marks took out one of the apples, and the mark which
such apple bore, was immediately cut in the turf with a large knife
kept for that purpose: this knife was somewhat in the shape of a
scimetar with its edge reversed. In this manner they proceeded till
the whole of the common were laid out, and each proprietor knowing
the mark and furlong which belonged to his estate, he took
possession of his allotment or allotments accordingly, for the
ensuing year. An adjournment then took place to the house of one of
the overseers, where a certain number of acres reserved for the
purpose of paying expenses, and called the "out-let or out-drift,"
were let my inch of candle.
During the time of letting, the whole party were to keep silence,
(except the person who bid,) under the penalty of one shilling. When
any one wished to bod, he hamed the price he would give, and
immediately deposited a shilling on the table where the candle
stood; the next who bid, also named his price and deposited his
shilling in like manner, and the person who first bid was then to
take up his shilling. The business of letting thus proceeded till
the candle was burnt out, and the last bidder, prior to that event,
was declared the tenant of the out-let, or out-drift, for the
ensuing year.
Two oeverseers were annually elected from the proprietors or their
tenants. A quantity of strong ale or brown-stout was allowed for the
feast, or "revel," as it was called; also bread, butter and cheese,
together with pipes and tobacco, of which any reputable person,
whose curiosity or casual business led him to Puxton on that day,
was at liberty to partake, but he was expected to deposit at his
departure one shilling with the overseer, by way of forfeit for his
intrusion. The day was generally spent in sociality and mirth,
frequently of a boisterous nature, from the exhilarating effects of
the brown-stout before alluded to; for it rarely happened but that some of the junior part of the
company were desirous of making a trial of their skill in the
sublime art of pugilism, when hard knocks, thumps,
bangs, and kicks, and consequently black eyes, bloody noses, and
sore bones, were distributed with the greatest liberality amongst
the combatants.
"And now the field of Death, the lists
Are enter'd by antagonists."
In this stage of the business, some venerable yeoman usually stepped
forward and harangued the contending parties, in some such speech as
the following, which I am sorry to say was most commonly thrown away
upon these pot-valiant champions:--
"What rage, O friends! what fury
Doth you to these dire actions hurry?
What towns, what garrisons might you,
With hazard of this blood subdue,
Which now y'are bent to throw away
In vain untriumphable fray?"
Yet after these civil broils, the parties seldom bore each
other any grudge or ill-will, and generally at the conclusion of the
contest,
"Tho' sorely bruis'd, their limbs all o'er
With ruthless bangs still stiff and sore,"
they shook hands, became good friends again, and departed with
the greatest sang-froid to apply
"Fit med'cines to each glorious bruise
They got in fight, reds, blacks, and blues;
To mollify th' uneasy pang
Ov ev'ry honourable bang."
In the year 1779, an attempt was made to procure an act
of parliament for allotting these moors in perpetuity; but an
opposition having been made by a majority of the proprietors, the
plan was relinquished. I have now by me a printed copy of the bill
drawn up on that occasion. The land, however, was actually enclosed
and allotted in the year 1811, and the ancient mode of
dividing it, and consequently the drunken festival, or
revel, from that time discontinued.
The following marks are correct delineations of those used, being
taken from the originals in the book appropriated for the purpose of
keeping the accounts of this very singular and ancient usage.
I have from my youth lived within a few miles of the place mentioned,
and have often heard of the "humours of Dolmoor revel," and on one
occasion attended personally the whole day for the purpose of
observing them, and ascertaining the customs of the rude, rural
festival. As the customs before-mentioned are now become obsolete,
it would be pleasing to many of your
readers, to see them recorded in your very interesting and popular
work. These customs originated in all probablility with our Saxon
ancestors, and it would be unpardonable to consign them to total
oblivion.
I am, Sir,
Yours respectfully, G. B.
1.7.2.2.
After this description of the method of "laying out of lands," at a
period of teh year when steam boats are conveying visiters to the
"watering places on the Thames," it seems prudent and seasonable to
notice another custom--
LAYING OUT OF WIVES.
In the Fens of Essex and Kent.
And, first, as to this "grave" custom on the London side of the
Thames, we have the epistolary testimony of a writer in the year
1773, viz.--
Sir, -- Nothing but that unaccountable variety of life, which my
stars have imposed upon me, could have apologised for my taking a
journey to the fens of Essex. Few strangers go into those scenes of
desolation, and fewer still (I find) return from thence--as you
shall hear.
When I was walking one morning between two of the banks which
restrain the waters in their proper bounds, I met one of the
inhabitants, a tall and emaciated figure, with whom I entered into
conversation. We talked concerning the manners and peculiarities of
the place, and I condoled with him very pathetically on his forlorn
and meagre appearance. He gave me to understand, however, that his
case was far from being so desperate as I seemed to apprehend it,
for that he had never looked better since he buried the first of his
last nine wives.
‘Nine wives!’ rejoined I, eager and astonished, ‘Have you
buried nine wives?’
‘Yes,’ replied the fen-man, ‘and I hope to bury nine more.’
‘Bravissimo!’--This was so far from allaying my astonishment,
that in increased it. I then begged him to explain the miraculous
matter, whcih he did in the following words:--
‘Lord! master,’ said he, ‘we people in the fens here be such
strange creatures, that there be no creatures like us; we be
like fish, or water-fowl, or others, for we be able to live
where other folks would die sure enough.’
He then informed me, that to reside in the fens was a certain and
quick death to people who had not been bred among them; that
therefore when any of the fen-men wanted a wife, they went into the
upland country for one, and that, after they carried her down among
the fens, she never survived long: that after her death they went to
the uplands for another, who also died; then ‘another, and
another, and another,’ for
they all followed each other as regular as the change of the moon;
that by these means some "poor fellows" had picked up a good living,
and collected together from the whole a little snug fortune; that he
himself had made more money this way than he ever could do by his
labour, for that he was now at his tenth wife, and she could not
possibly stand it out above three weeks longer; that these
proceedings were very equitable, for such girls as were born among
themselves they sent up into the uplands to get husbands, and that,
in exchange, they took their young women as wives; that he never
know a better custom in his life, and that the only comfort he ever
found against the ill-nature and caprice of women was the fens. This
woman-killer then concluded with desiring me, if I had a wife with
whom I was not over head and ears in love, to bring her to his
house, and it would kill her as effectually as any doctor in
Christendom could do. This offer I waved [sic]; for you know, sir,
that (thank God) I am not married.
This strange conversation of my friend the fen-man, I could not pass
over without many reflections; and I thought it my duty to give
notice to my countrymen concerning a place which may be converted in
so peculiar a manner to their advantage.
8
1.7.2.4.
So far is from the narrative of a traveller into
Essex
, who, be it observed, "speaks for himself," and whose account
is given "without note or comment;" it being certain that every
rightly affected reader will for a correct opinion of such a
narrator, and of the "fearful estate" of "upland women" who marry
"lowland men."
1.7.2.5.
As regards the "custom of Kent," in this
matter, we have the account of a "Steam-boat Companion," who,
turning "to the Kentish shore," says thus:--
YENLET CREEK
Divides the isle of Grean from All-hallows, on
the main land, and from the cliff marshes.
Who would believe while beholding these scenes of pleasure before us,
that for six months in the year the shores of this hundred (Hoo)
were only to be explored by the amphibious; that the sun is sel
dom seen for the fog, and that every creature
in love with life, flies the swamps of Hoo, preferring any station
to its ague dealing vapours, its fenny filth, and muddy flats; a
station, that during the winter season is destitute of every
comfort, but fine eels, luscious flounders, smuggled brandy,
Holland's gin, and sea-coal fire. We will here relate a whimsical
circumstance that once took place in this neighbourhood while we
were of the party.
It was at that time of the year when nature seems to sicken at her
own infirmities, we think it was in the month of November, we were
bound to Sheerness, but the fog coming on so
gloomily that no man could discover his hand a yard before him, our
waterman, whether by design or accident we cannot pretend to say,
mistook the Thames, and rowed up the Yenlet creek. After a long,
cold, and stubborn pull, protesting at the time he had never (man or
boy) seen any thing so dismal, he landed us near Saint Mary's, that
church yonder, with the very lofty and white spire, and then led us
to an alehouse, the sign of which he called the Red
Cock and Cucumber, and the aleman he hailed by the merry
name of
John Piper,
And a very pleasant fellow John turned out to be; if he was a little
hyperbolical, his manner sufficiently atoned for the transgression.
The gloom of the day was soon forgotten, and the stench arising from
filthy swamps less regarded. At our entrance we complained heavily
of the insupportable cloud with which we had been enveloped.
‘Ha! ha! ha!’ sang out the landlord, ‘to be sure it is too
thick to be eaten with a spoon, and too thin to be cut with a
knife, but it is not so intolerable as a scolding wife, or a
hungry lawyer.’
‘Curse the fog,’ cried our waterman,
‘Bless the fog,’ answered our landlord, ‘for it has made a man
of me for life.’
‘How do you make that appear?’ we requested to know.
‘Set you down, sir, by a good sea-coal fire, for we pay no pool
duties here, take your grog merrily, and I'll tell you all about
it presently,’ rejoined the tapster, when drawing a wooden
stool towards us, while his wife was preparing the bowl, John Piper
thus began:--
‘You must know, sir, I was born in this fog, and so was my mother
and her relatives for many past generation; therefore you will see, sir, a fog is as
natural to me as a duck-pool to a dab-chick. When poor dame
Piper died, I found myself exceedingly melancholy to live alone
on these marshes, so determined to change my condition by taking
a wife. It was very fortuante for me, sir, I knew a rich old
farmer in the uplands, and he had three blooming
daughters, and that which made the thing more desirable, he had
determined to give each a portion of his honourably acquired
property. The farmer had for many years been acquainted with my
good father, gone to rest, and this gave me courage to lay my
case before him. The elder girl was the bird for me, the farmer
gave his consent, and we were married. Directly after, I quitted
the uplands for the fog, with a pretty wife and five hundred
golden guineas in my pocket, as good as ever bribed a lawyer to
sell his client, or a parliament-man to betray his country. This
was a good beginning, sir, but alas! there is no comfort without
a cross; my wife had been used from her infancy to a fine keen
open air, and our lowland vapours so deranged her
constitution, that within nine months, Margaret left me and went
to heaven.’
‘Being so suddenly deprived of the society of one good woman,
where could I apply for another, better than to the sack from
whence I drew the first sample? The death of my dear wife
reflected no disgrace on me, and the old man's second daughter
having no objection to a good husband, we presently entered into
the bonds of holy matrimony, and after a few days of merriment,
I came home with Susan, from the sweet hills to the fogs of the
lowlands, and with four hundred as good guineas in
my purse as ever gave new springs to the life of poverty.
Similar causes, sir, they say produce similar effects; and this
is certainly true, for in somewhere about nine months more,
Susan slept with her sister.’
‘I ran to the uplands again, to condole with my poor old
Nestor, and some how or other so managed the matter, that his
youngest daughter, Rosetta, conceived a tender affection for
Piper. I shall never forget it, sir, while I have existence; I
had been there but a few days, when the good farmer, with tears
in his eyes, thus addressed me: 'Piper, you have received about
nine hundred pounds of my money, and I have about the same sum
left; now, son, as you know how to make a good use of it, I
think it is a pity it should go
out of the
family; therefore, if yu have a fancy for Rosetta, I will give
you three hundred pounds more, and the remnant at my
departure.'’
‘Sir, I had always an aversion to stand shilly shally,
'make haste and leave nothing to waste,' says the old proverb.
The kind girl was consenting, and we finished the contract over
a mug of her father's best October. From the hills we ran to the
fogland, and in less than two years more, poor
Rosetta was carried up the churchway path, where the three
sisters, as they used to do in their infancy, lie by the side of
each other; and the old man dying of grief for the loss of his
favourite, I placed him at their head, and became master of a
pretty property.’
‘A short time after, a wealthy widow from Barham, (of the same
family,) came in the summer time to our place. I saw her at
church, and she set her cap at Piper; I soon married her for her
Eldorado metal, but alas! she turned out a shrew.
'Nil desperandum' said I, Piper, to myself, the winter
is coming in good time; the winter came, and stood my friend;
for the fog and the ague took her by the hand and led
her to Abraham's bosom.’
‘An innkeeper's relict was the next I ventured on, she had
possessions at Sittingbourne, and they were hardly mine before
my good friend, the fog, laid Arabella 'at all-fours'
under the turf, in St. Mary's churchyard; and now, sir, her
sister, the cast-off of a rich Jew, fell into my trap, and I led
her smiligh, like a vestal, to the temple of Hymen; but
althought the most lively and patient creature on earth, she
could not resist the powers of the fog, and I for the
sixth time became a widower, with an income of three hundred a
year, and half the cottages in this blessed hundred. To be
brief, sir, I was now in want of nithing but a contented mind;
thus, sir, through the fog you treated with such
malignity, I became qualified for a county member. But alas!
sir, there is always something unpleasant to mingle with the
best of human affairs, envy is ever skulking behind us, to
squeeze her gall-bag into the cup of our comforts, and when we
think ourselves in safety, and may sing the song of 'O! be
joyful,' our merriment ends with a 'miseracordia.'"’
After a short pause, ‘Look, sir,’ said Piper, in a loud whisper,
‘at that woman in the bar, now making the grog, she is my seventh wife; with her I had a
fortune also, but of a different nature from all the rest. I
married her without proper consideration—the wisest
are sometimes overtaken; Solomon had his disappointments; would
you think it, sir? she was fogborn like myself, and
withal, is so tough in her constitution, that I fear she will
hold me a tight tug to the end of my existence, and become my
survivor.’
‘Ha! ha! ha!’ interjected Mrs. Piper, (who had heard all the
long tale of the tapster,) ‘there is no fear about that, John, and
bury as many upland husbands, when you lie
under the turf, as you, with the fog, have smothered
wives.’
Our Yorick now became chop-fallen, and a brisk wind springing up from
the north-west, the fog abated, and we took to our boat.*
9
If there be truth in these narratives, the "lowland lasses"
of the creeks, have good reason for their peculiar liking to
"highland laddies;" and "upland" girls had
better "wither on the virgin thorn," than marry "lowland"
suitors and—
"Fall as the leaves do
And die in October."
Far be it from the editor, to bring the
worthy "neither fish nor flesh" swains, of the Kent and Essex fens and fogs, into
contempt; he knows nothing about them. What he has set down he found
in "the books," and, having given his authorities, he wishes them
every good they desire—save wives from the
uplands.
1.7.2.6.
NATURALISTS' CALENDAR
Mean Termperature . . . 61 . 75.
1.12.3.
After this warning against a prevailing offence, we may become acquainted with the character of an unoffending individual, through the pen of a respected friend to this work.