CHAPTER VIII

Kingsbridge, Salcombe, and the South Hams

'On the ninth day of November, at the dawning in the sky, Ere we sailed away to New York, we at anchor here did lie; O'er the meadows fair of Kingsbridge, then the mist was lying grey; We were bound against the rebels, in the _North America_. O, so mournful was the parting of the soldiers and their wives, For that none could say for certain they'd return home with their lives. Then the women they were weeping, and they curs'd the cruel day That we sailed against the rebels, in the _North America_.'

_Farewell to Kingsbridge._

Kingsbridge lies in a fold of the hills that rise beyond the head of the creek running inland from Salcombe Harbour, and seen from the water it is very picturesque--the houses clustered together and clinging to the slope, and the spire of St Edmund's Church standing out against the still, green background. Mr Mason has written of 'the mists on the hills, and the gulls crying along the valley,' by Kingsbridge, and this exactly sums up its individuality. It has the peculiar atmosphere of a sea-town, but why, precisely, it is difficult to say.

The Fore Street is steep and winding, and on one side stands a church which, without any very striking feature, is quietly impressive. It is a cruciform building, and a steeple rises from the centre. A chapel, dedicated to St Edmund, King and Martyr, stood on this spot before the year 1250; but it was rebuilt and aisles were added by the Abbot and monks of Buckfast in the beginning of the fifteenth century. In the south transept of the present church are remains of early English work, and the font is Early English. Hagioscopes slant through the chancel walls from the aisle on either side. The very unusual name of a benefactress must be noticed--Tryphena Tobys.

Dodbrooke is joined so closely to Kingsbridge that their streets run into each other, and they are separated only by small streams now partly covered in. It would be almost impossible for a stranger wandering about to say offhand which town he was in. Dodbrooke is really the older of the two. A grant to hold a market was made to Alan Fitz-Roald, in or possibly just before the year 1256. About this time a serious quarrel occurred, when 'Henry Fitz-Alan impleaded Matthew Fitz-John, with forty others, for throwing down a pillory in Dodbrooke. Forty seems a good many against the pillory! But the affair was not one of those cases in which a spark causes a fire, but was rather an outburst of flame in a long-smouldering feud between the Fitz-Alans and the Lords of Stokenham over the manor of Dodbrooke. In the end, the Fitz-Alans triumphed.

Three hundred years later we find the people of Dodbrooke complaining of the heavy contributions that they were called on to make towards furnishing 'ships of war'; for after the Armada had been defeated the means of defence on these coasts were for some years kept up to a very high standard. Mr Richard Champernowne,--who, it must be admitted, from the general tenor of his ways, seems to have been one of those well-meaning but egotistical and meddlesome people who are always being surprised and hurt because their good offices are not better received,--wrote to the local authorities as follows:

'Cousin Cary, and the rest of the Commissioners for the ship causes, I have received some grievous complaints of some poor men who are taxed in Dodbrook to this, more than all their goods are worth.... Surely, as the country must bitterly speak against those [who] are procurors and assistants in this country, so would it be as highly disliked both of her Majesty as of the Lords, if they knew rightly of whom, and on what sort, this tax is levied.'

But, alas! a severe snub was the result of this appeal, and the unhappy Mr Cary must have deeply regretted that he had obligingly forwarded the grievance to the Lords of the Council.

Their answer ran: 'The Court.... The Council to George Carey, J.P....' They learn by his late letter that the county is unwilling to contribute the charges imposed upon it for 'setting out ships etc.' It is paid cheerfully by other counties, and he is desired to return the names of those persons who are obstinate in refusing payment.

There is no building of special interest excepting the church, which is dedicated to St Thomas à Becket. The arches dividing the aisles from the nave are high and rather pointed, giving an impression of loftiness. There is a beautiful carved screen, with painted figures on the panels; and the font is a very early one. Of the infants baptized in it, one at least obtained a rather unenviable celebrity--Dr John Wolcot, better known as 'Peter Pindar.' His bitter satires earned for him a harvest of hatred and abuse, but nobody denied his wit. 'There is a pretty story of the older Pindar that a swarm of bees lighted on his cradle in his infancy and left honey on his lips; but we fear in the case of our hero they were wasps that came, and that they left some of the caustic venom of their stings.' A surgeon's son, he studied medicine himself, but was unpopular with his patients for the reason that his ideas were too far ahead of his time. His opinion that 'a physician can do little more than watch Dame Nature, and give her a shove in the back when he sees her inclined to do right,' was considered a shocking heresy, and, no doubt, a confession of his own ignorance.

Before leaving Dodbrooke, mention must be made of the 'white ale' peculiar to the place--a compound of malt, hops, and flour, fermented with an ingredient called 'grout.' Some of the statements about this ale show the curious tendency of traditions to transfer themselves from points in the nebulous past to points that are just beyond the range of living memory. It is difficult to discover when 'white ale' was first made, but the general idea is that it was invented a very long time ago, though personally I have not been able to find any indisputable reference to it earlier than in the edition of Camden's 'Britannia' published in 1720, where there is a brief notice that the people of Dodbrooke pay tithes in white ale to the Rector. A will dated 1528, however, gives directions in regard to a gift that was to include 'cakes, wine, and ale,' and it has been supposed that the particular kind made in this town would be the ale here referred to. Yet I was told by an inhabitant of the neighbourhood who was a good deal interested in local traditions, that it was introduced by the French doctor of the prisoners of war at Kingsbridge Barracks, for the benefit of those who found themselves ill at ease in this climate--an event that could not possibly have taken place till the very end of the eighteenth century.

There is a charm over all this country, not solely due to its beauty. It is true that it is rather drowsy, that the 'spell of the briar-rose' in

## part lies over it, but it may be that this adds to the charm. There is

an absence of competition, an air of plenty and of kindness, a golden glamour that gives the impression that Nature has told the people theirs is a generous portion, and they may sit still and be content. And they are content.

There is such an overbrimming wealth of bushes and plants and flowers on every side, that the fact of the water in the estuary being salt scarcely seems to prevent their growing in it! Along the bank washed by the flowing tide, and almost touching the masses of tough golden-brown seaweed on the rocks, are multitudes of the daisy-flowers of sea-mayweed, flowering samphire, the stars of sow-thistle, and bright yellow bunches of charlock and straggling spires of wild-mignonette, against a darker background of blackthorn, hawthorn, ivy, and furze, lightly powdered with trails of bramble-blossom. Creeks, edged with low hills, wind away from the estuary. When the tide is low, great stretches of mud and sand lie on either side, and here may be seen black cormorants and crowds and crowds of gulls, here and there a heron, and quantities of smaller birds. The scene changes entirely at the mouth of the creek, for here the banks rise into high rugged cliffs, and the water frets restlessly over sunken rocks.

Salcombe is a tiny little town, with steep, narrow streets and high-walled gardens on each side of the close lane that ends the principal street; and between the gardens the air is fragrant with sweet clematis, that, as well as red valerian, tumbles in clusters over the walls. Salcombe has a very good claim to remembrance, for on a peninsular rock at the mouth of the harbour stand the ruins of a fortress that held out for King Charles later than any other place in Devonshire. It was defended by Sir Edward Fortescue, and surrendered only on May 7, 1646.

On the opposite side of the estuary, high on the cliffs, lies the small village of Portlemouth. The cross-shaped church is dedicated to a Celtic saint, St Winwaloe, locally called St Onolaus. A proverb without much point (probably only the fragment of a more coherent saying) mentions St Winwaloe amongst several saints whose days fall on windy dates.

'First comes David, next comes Chad, And then comes Winneral, as though he were mad, White or black, On old house thack [thatch].'

[St David's Day, March 1; St Chad's Day, March 2; St Winwaloe's Day, March 3.]

In his church here is a very finely carved screen, and of one of the figures on it Mr Baring-Gould tells an amusing story: 'The sixth is Sir John Schorne, a Buckinghamshire rector, who died in 1308, and was supposed to have conjured the devil into a boot. He was venerated greatly as a patron against ague and the gout. There is a jingle relative to him:

'"To Maister John Schorne, that blessed man born, For the ague to him we apply, Which judgeth with a bote; I beshrew his heart's rote That will trust him, and it be I."'

South of Portlemouth the land ends in the grand headland of Prawle Point, the most southerly point in Devon. Prawle Point is very striking, and is 'principally composed of gneiss rock, which on the western side is weathered like a surface of snow which has been exposed to the sun's rays. It is everywhere broken into crags.' Prawle Point--'Prol in Anglia'--was known to foreigners for many centuries; and Mr R. J. King, in an admirable article on Devonshire, says that it 'is mentioned by an ancient commentator on Adam of Bremen's "Historia Ecclesiastica," as one of the stations at which vessels touched on their voyage from Ripa in Denmark. The passage was made from the "Sincfala," near Bruges, and "the station beyond 'Prol'" is St Matthieu--one day's sail. Adam of Bremen dates about 1070, and his commentator a little later.'[6] St Matthieu is in Brittany.

[Footnote 6: 'Sketches and Studies.']

To the south of Salcombe rise the great cliffs of Bolt Head, and a few miles farther to the west is Bolt Tail. Mr Norway points out that 'no other town in South Devon possesses, nor, indeed, more than one or two on any coast, a headland so high and dark and jagged as the entrance to the harbour. It is wild and rugged like a Cornish headland, and the walk across it to Bolt Tail is the finest between Portland and the Lizard.' A few miles to the west is Thurlestone, and all about here the coast is most dangerous. A ship flung in a storm towards the shore has no chance on the jagged rocks that spur-like, jut out from the cliffs, and the tide races inshore with terrific power, even when it is not driven by a wild south-westerly wind. This part of the coast was naturally a happy hunting-ground for smugglers, and was not altogether innocent of wreckers. A fearful wreck that happened in 1772 is still remembered. A large vessel--the _Chantiloupe_, from the West Indies--went ashore in Bigbury Bay. All the passengers but one were drowned, and over the death of a lady there hangs a terrible doubt. On realizing the desperate plight of the ship, she had hurriedly dressed herself in her most beautiful clothes and jewels, no doubt hoping that, as they were so close to land, there was a good chance of escape. She was, indeed, thrown up on the beach, but, it is to be hoped, already dead, for, with shocking callousness, the people watching there snatched away all her valuables and left her lying there. An account of the wreck, written in 1874, tells that at that date a lady living near the bay still had a corner of the victim's apron, a very beautifully embroidered bit of fine muslin. The unfortunate passenger's name was never really known, but rumour has always connected her with Edmund Burke; for it is certain that he feared some relatives or friends of his were on that ship, and on hearing of the wreck he came down and investigated the matter of the lady's death himself. But he could get no information. The account of the wreck goes on to quote the views of a man who lived near the spot: 'The old man who seemed to know most about it said: "The lady _was_ a-murdered, he believed; Jan Whiddon's father's dog found this here lady buried in the sand, he scratched up her hand."' The story is quoted at some length, and is characteristic of a Devonshire countryman's combined caution and sense of fate, for it finished: '"'Twas never found out who murdered her ... but all who were concerned in it, or supposed to be [the villagers obviously believed three men to be guilty] came to a bad end."'

In repeating these stories, I feel rather in fault, for I have listened to, and been impressed by, the views of a native of these parts, who was extremely severe on anyone that wrote about wreckers and reflected discredit on this coast, giving the idea that 'we robbed and murdered people.' A little to my surprise, he said he liked reading books about Devonshire, and admired some well-known novels dealing with the county, though he thought them quite inaccurate. 'But,' he added tolerantly, 'they say that, to get at the truth from a guide-book, you must divide what you read in three, and then take away half.' He admitted, all the same, that there had been a certain amount of wrecking in the days of the pirates (smugglers?), and putting lights in the wrong places. When he was a boy, what they liked best was a wreck with a 'general' cargo, so that the men could sell the mineral and the wives could wear the silk; but there were fewer wrecks of any kind nowadays. It is very quiet in the winter (east of Kingsbridge), unless anyone is going to be buried, and the only other chances of any stir are if there is a wedding or a christening, or a wreck in Start Bay.

Thurlestone takes its name from a 'thirled' or pierced rock, on the shore through which the waves have drilled an arch. The rector of Thurlestone has very kindly allowed me to make some extracts from a manuscript history of the parish in his possession, the earlier notes of which have been taken from entries made at the time of the events, in the Bishop of Exeter's registers, and have, therefore, the value of contemporary evidence. They are very interesting, as giving glimpses at the course of events in a remote parish through several centuries.

During part of the fourteenth century the parishioners seem to have been rather turbulent and the history tells of storms. Some while before the first entry, in June, 1328, someone had not only been murdered, but actually done to death within the church. There is no record of the punishment of the culprit or culprits, or of any sign of penitence shown by the parish; but probably some steps had been taken, for at that date Bishop Grandisson commissioned the Archdeacon of Totnes to reconcile the parish church of Thurlestone, 'which had been polluted by the shedding of blood therein. For some reason not given the Archdeacon was excused from performing this duty, and Stephen Abbot of Buckfast was commissioned to officiate.... On the 8th of the Kalends of August, 1328, the Bishop issued his mandate to the Archdeacon of Totnes, informing him that the Abbot, having proceeded to Thurlestone, had reconciled the church, and that he was to require the Parishioners to pay the customary dues within eight days of the serving of this Monition to that effect.' The dues, however, were not forthcoming, and on October 6 the Bishop, who allowed no insubordination, threatened the defaulters with excommunication unless they paid the desired amount within six days. 'This had the desired effect, and on the 20th of October the Bishop sent to the Rector and the parishioners the formal acquittance. On the same day, he commissioned Sir Robert de Pynho, the Rector, to absolve the parishioners and relax the interdict imposed on their Parish Church.'

An unpleasant experience of Sir Henry Benet, priest and Canon of the Church of Crediton, and Rector of Thurlestone, witnesses to the lawlessness of the time in East Devon. He was 'peaceably entering the town of St Mary [Ottery St Mary] on Tuesday (_tertia feria_) of the then instant Pentecost Sunday,' when 'certain unknown persons, sons of perdition ... under colour of a precept which they falsely asserted they had received from the Sheriff of Devon, rushed on Sir Henry and ... rashly, violently and sacrilegiously laid hands on him and inhumanly forced him into the public prison for thieves and criminals.' A 'Denuntiation of Excommunication' against these 'sons of perdition' in Bishop Grandisson's register is undated, but it follows an entry made in March, 1349-50.

A later rector must have been a pleasant acquaintance and a good friend. The Rev. John Snell 'was a person of firm and unshaken loyalty,' and when 'Fort-Charles' was about to be besieged, he joined the garrison in order to give all the help he could to Sir Edward Fortescue. On the surrender of the fort, amongst the very honourable conditions that Sir Edward obtained was the agreement that Mr Snell 'should be allowed the quiet possession of his Parsonage; but Articles, like oaths, in those days, were only matter of Form, and accordingly (about the year 1646) he was soon after plundered of his cattle and other goods without-doors, and several times forced to fly for his life.' Later, his lot was made still harder by the confiscation of his living, which he did not regain until after the Restoration. In the old parish register is a note, probably interpolated by John Snell when he had returned to his living, and with outraged feelings had been looking at the volume, and reading the entry referring to the appointment of a lay registrar in his parish. The registrars elected in 1653 were not only given charge of the parish registers, but took another office out of the hands of the clergy. No marriage might take place without the registrar's certificate that he had called the banns. The couple then took the certificate to the nearest magistrate, who, after hearing each of them repeat a brief formula, was authorized to declare them legally married.

Mr Snell's exclamation of distress appears under a notice which 'certyfyed John Calder (?) of the parish of Thurelston to bee Register of the sayde Parish,' and was signed by 'Will Bastard,' and dated 'September 20th, 1653.' Above and below the date is written:

'Monstrum horrendum informe. [This is y^e Houre and Y^e] Anno Dom. 1653. [Power of darkness.]'

On Mr Snell's tombstone is a long Latin epitaph, from an English version of which the following lines are taken:

'He was the silent storehouse of the poor, The dear delight of those who needed nought, To all the pattern of a holy life.'

The Thurlestone chronicle records a certain number of beliefs and charms, and on one of them the present rector makes a note of peculiar interest: 'The Bishop of Malborough [Dr Earle, then Vicar of West Alvington and Malborough] tells me that his curate, the Rev. Robert Hole, South Huish, saw this charm used successfully to stop blood on a man called James Pierie.

'A CURE FOR STAUNCHING BLOOD.

'Jesus was born in Bethlehem. The water was wild in the wood, He spake the word and it stood, And so will (--'s --'s) blood,'

'In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen. 'Used by Betty Edgecombe, white witch of Malborough and West Alvington.'

Not far from Thurlestone was another parson who worked hard to embarrass the besiegers of the Royalists in Salcombe Castle, and who had his share of thrilling adventures. Mr Lane was the rector of Aveton Giffard, a parish at the head of the estuary of the Avon, which opens into Bigbury Bay. When the war broke out he took an active part, in conjunction with several gentlemen in the neighbourhood, in 'raising Succours for his Majesty.' And at the same time he began to make a 'Fort on a Hill' (part of the Glebe), which commanded the bridge over the Avon, crossed by Parliamentary troops marching to the siege of the Castle. Meanwhile, soldiers from Plymouth came up in boats, plundered the house, and took, says Mr Lane's youngest son, 'Two of my brethren, _Richard_ and _John_, not giving them time to put on their stockings, and forced them to carry what of the Goods they could to _Awmar_ (a creek), where they carried off Stolen Sheep and Plundered Goods with my two eldest brothers. When the war was ended the triumphant Parliamentarians attempted to revenge themselves on their sturdy enemy, and searched the country for 'Bishop _Lane_, the _Traytor_,' who was driven to hide in his church tower. For three or four months his people secretly brought him food, and he was then able to make his escape, and in the end reached France in safety.

If the traveller returns to Prawle Point, and then follows the coast towards Dartmouth, he will soon come to the ridge of Start Point, which 'stretches boldly to sea, sloped on each side like the roof of a house, and crowned along its entire length by fanciful crags, strangely weathered and shaggy with moss.' Round the Point at a certain state of every tide there is a formidable tide-race, and always a swell so strong as to make small boats very careful of the weather before they try to sail round the Start. Dartmouth lies almost due north, and the coast-line between is very lovely, though it has not the impressiveness of the cliffs farther west. Slapton Sands are over two miles long, and the hills stand back far enough from the shore to leave room for Slapton Lea, a fresh-water lake, almost smothered with tall, feathery reeds and rushes in the summer, separated from the sea by a barrier of pebbles. The line of these wooded hills is broken by three little valleys, and down each one flows a brook that feeds the Lea. At the southern edge is Tor Cross, a handful of cottages under the shadow of a cliff that shuts away the shore-line to the south. The long stretch of sands is delightful. They are dotted all over with the glaucous leaves and brilliant flowers of the yellow-horned poppy, and bristling blue viper's bugloss, and on the inland edge there is a scattered border of the rest-harrow's pink butterfly blossoms. The short turf beyond is sprinkled with the little white bladder campion and thrift and many other flowers.

At the northern end of the sands the road turns inland, and presently comes to Blackpool, very small, but one of the most perfect of miniature bays. The cliffs are 'of various colours and very lustrous,' and almost on the brink the road winds its way amongst woods of firs and pines that seem to breathe out a peculiarly spice-like sweetness. When I saw it the sea was like molten silver, for the sunlight poured on it from beyond clouds, and the sun itself was not to be seen. But though this bay looks as if it had fallen from a poet's dream, it has been the scene of many stern events and disasters; for ships have mistaken the inlet for Dartmouth Harbour, with lamentable results. Many a time, too, it has been used by those who knew the coast well, but had their own reasons for wishing to land without attracting notice, for it is quite cut off by the shoulder of the hill from Dartmouth, and is near no other town.

In Queen Mary's reign the secret landing of doubtful characters was a danger that had to be diligently guarded against, and the Lords of the Council received an agitated letter from Sir John St Leger on this subject just after the flight of Sir Peter Carew. Sir Peter had a castle and many friends at Dartmouth, and Sir John quotes him as often having said that if he were the King's enemy he could take 'Dartmouth Castle' and 'burne the Towne with fewer than a hundred persons and lett ynto the haven suche as pleased hym. I, also, am creadeably informed the way howe he should be able to do so. That within a myle, or les, of the said Towne, there is a very good open place called Black poole, for the queene's enemyes to lande, and invade, and from thense may come to the saide towne from the back side.'

But when Queen Elizabeth came to the throne, and Sir Peter was reinstated and held in great honour, the coast was still far from safe, and there is a letter written by the Queen in 1564 to her 'Right Trustie and wel-beloved' Sir Peter, commissioning him to get ready and arm two ships, that, as the 'cost of Devonshyre and Cornwall is by reput much harted with pyrattes and Rovers,' so he should repress and, as far as possible, capture them. Twenty-four years later a far more serious danger threatened, and the preparations against the Spanish Armada were very elaborate. Masses of the most stringent orders are still preserved amongst the House of Lords manuscripts, and to quote a few will give an idea of their nature and scope.

On July 11, 1588, it was ordered: 'That all persons of what degree soever ... whose armour and furniture shall not be found serviceable, for the first offence shall be put into the stocks one whole day, publicly; and for the second offence to the gaol for ten days' etc. Careful instructions are sent as to the choice of watchmen for the beacons and their duties; and a brief note refers to a letter written by the Council to Sir Walter Raleigh, then Warden of the Stannaries, demanding the muster-rolls of the tinners, both horse and foot, 'who poured to war' as well from Dartmoor's as from 'Mendip's sunless caves.'

After the Armada had been defeated, there were fears of another Spanish invasion, and in January, 1595-96, news came to the Deputy-Lieutenants and Justices of the Peace of Devon that 'The Queen has found it convenient to have her navy and certain companies of Soldiers for land-service in readiness to be victualled' with all possible speed 'for her service ... 400 quarters of wheat, 200 oxen, and 200 flitches of bacon are required from Devonshire.'

There are notices, too, respecting such gentlemen as 'have been charged with light horses and petronels,' and of the particular divisions of coast apportioned to each. For instance, in a certificate dated June 25, 1596, it is stated that 'Mr Seymour's colonelship reacheth from Plymouth to Dartmouth. Mr Cary's from Dartmouth to Exmouth. Sir Thomas Dennis from Exmouth to Axmouth.' And, going into particulars: 'For Salcomb, Mr William Courtenay with the assistance of the constable and other officers there.... Long Sands [Slapton] and Black pool to be defended by Mr Ameredith and Mr Roope.' The notice continues to give an exact list of the places next one another along the coast, the names of the officers and numbers of men appointed to defend each.

In spite of all that was done, in the summer of 1598 the Lords of the Council were dissatisfied, and wrote to the Lord-Lieutenant to complain of 'the number of horse, which we think to be very few in that country in regard to the largeness and wealth of the same.' But the people in the county looked at the matter in a different light, and in the following April, at a meeting in Exeter, it was resolved that a letter should be written to the Lords of the Council to convey 'the desire of the country' to be freed from a certain 'contribution' wherewith they find themselves much burdened and grieved in respect of the manifold impositions daily coming upon them.'

Demands and complaints seem to have been bandied backwards and forwards for some time afterwards, for in 1600 there came this brief but alarming note from the Lords of the Council:

'_June 23, Greenwich._--The composition money for Devonshire, though the whole amounts but to £113 6s. 8d., remains partly unpaid; we have therefore sent down a messenger to bring before us all those who remain in arrear.'

Fortunately, the period of acute alarm had now passed away, and the train-bands were dismissed, so that the burden of levying contributions must for a while have been lightened.

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