m OF-THB-WIGHT ^ . i THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES LEGENDS AND LAYS OF THE WIGHT LEGENDS AND LAYS OF THE WIGHT BY PERCY G. STONE When as the pliant muse, withfaire and even flight. Betwixt her silver wings is wafted to the Wight, That He, which jutting out into the sea sofarre Her offspring traineth up in exercise ofwarre. . . . Of all the southern iles she holds the highest place. And evermore hath been the great it in Br itaine' s grace. Michael Drayton. LONDON CONSTABLE & COMPANY LTD lo ORANGE STREET LEICESTER SQUARE I 9 I 2 ERRATUM Page 17, line iA,for 'rullocks' read 'rowlocks.' PR /I TO H.R.H. PRINCESS HENRY OF BATTENBERG Quaint legend lives when all else dies Deep buried in obscurity. Old Time with silent winging flies Down ages dim, nor lingers he Upon his course of Destiny. But I have tracked the flight of Time And read those footprints eagerly. And clothed their nakedness in Rhyme. Lo ! as we read, dim shadows rise, Grim Jute and Dane from oversea ; Again we hear the rallying cries Of valiant hearts who scorned to flee From Albin's field in Brittany ; See justice done on Odo's crime, And note the Conqueror' s stern decree, Within these legends set in Rhyme. And Truth within the matrix lies — To those who hold the opening key — Great deeds and lives of high emprise Spring clear to light for all to see, Examples to futurity. For me, I claim no gift sublime ; The gathered store of Legendry I have but wrapped in halting Rhyme. Princess, whose choice it is to be Royal guardian of this favoured clime, I humbly dedicate to thee These Island Legends set in Rhyme. 423G3 INTRODUCTION In the following rhymes the ' popular ' rendering of the Isle of Wight legends has been followed = the historical facts being contained in the forewords. Strict accuracy in legend is not to be looked for j such would often destroy its raison d'etre — that of a popular tale for the fireside. To avoid monotony the metre of each legend has been varied, suiting as much as possible the metre to the subject — from the short- lined stanzas of the Norseman's saga to the sing-song of the broadside ballad. In the dialect verses it is a somewhat difficult matter to render correctly the fast-dying vernacular of the Isle of Wight, as it so often varies. For instance, ' of ' is represented by uv, o, and hy;'^ ' the ' is not only shortened to th' and t', but is often dropped entirely • 2 * him ' becomes 'en, and more often 'n-^ ' she ' and ' her ' are invariably transposed ; * an w is tacked on to the possessive pronoun,^ and the last syllable of 1 Eny uv'e zid my hriphook ; top o' down ; I kent git hold by it. 2 Harses be in ztable. 3 i tell'd 'en. I zid 'n. * A caal'd zhe but her wudn't ztop. 5 Be this yourn ? noa, tes his'n. vii viii LEGENDS AND LAYS OF THE WIGHT verbs ending in en is dropped.^ The substitution of z for s, V for /, a for o, and e for a is universal.^ An islander never ' leaves out his h's,' though he puts them in before words beginning with r,'^ and has a curious habit of replying to a statement of fact by an assertion with interrogative inflexion.^ Though many similar words and idioms are to be found throughout Wessex, on the other hand, many are peculiar to the Isle of Wight. What modern English can so well express the verbs to shuffle, to startle, to scratch, as our local scuff, scart, and firk, or the pangs of hunger as leer ? Who that has met a farm-hand on a dull overcast day has not been struck by his assertion, ' Oi, a zcrow daay vor zure ' ,- or in drizzling rain, ' tes ter'ble zluttish weather zure 'nuf ' ? Again, what better describes the appearance of a sickly child or a weakly plant than the adjectives tewly and miffy, or the outspokenness of an honest man than jo an' blunt ? The pity of it is, the spread of education must ever be the death of vernacular. Children are taught to speak as never their forbears did, and are rapidly picking up a most detestable urban twang, which in a few years will have entirely displaced the homely and expressive Saxon speech of rural England — a matter to be greatly regretted. Though local words and idioms are duly noted in the glossary edited by 1 Sharp for sharpen ; fat for fatten. 2 Zun, vire, harse, thetch. 3 Hrabbit, hrough, etc. ■* You have ? It is ? INTRODUCTION ix Mr. C. Roach Smith, F.S.A., for the EngHsh Dialect Society in 1881, and the dictionary compiled by Mr. W. H. Long in 1886, I fear me much my homely verses may prove to be the swan-song of the Isle of Wight dialect. Percy G. Stone. Meestone, Isle of Wight, April 19 1 2. CONTENTS BALLADE . INTRODUCTION . VECTI8 BRA DING HAVEN THE DANISH RAID GOD9HILL . THE ARREST OF ODO ST. CATHERINE'S THE SILVER BOW ST. ALBIN . THE PRINCESS CECILY THE bishop's ACRE GILBERT LEE THE DAMASK ROSE SIR TRISTRAM'S WEIRD GEORGE MORLAND LAYS — MARCH OF THE WIGHT MEN CUBBING THE WILDERNESS FOX . A TALLV-HO DAY . PAGE V vii I 4 12 19 25 31 38 44 57 60 63 67 70 78 85 87 90 92 xii LEGENDS AND LAYS OF THE WIGHT PACE for'ard away ....... 95 how they ran the first fox in the wight . 97 how they introduced foxes to wight . . 102 the seasons — SPRING ........ 108 SUMMER . . . . . . . .110 AUTUMN . . . . . . . .112 WINTER ........ 114 THE WIDOW . . . . . . . .1X6 NEWTOWN RANDY . . . . . . . II8 MY MAID ......... 120 8HICK3HACK DAY ....... 122 THE carter's MATE ....... I24 THE OLD GREY HEN ....... I28 MARY 130 FORSAKEN ........ I32 THE RECRUITING SERGEANT . . . . . '135 A CHRISTMAS PARTY ....... 137 A 8CROW DAY ........ I42 ENVOI ......... I43 PROLOGUE (The Isle of Wight Pageant, 1907) ODE TO VECTIS Enter Sea-Maidens, singing Hail ! thou pearl of Ocean's daughters, Throned amid thy circhng waters, Dight with glory Glows thy story, Breathing hopes that never fail. Garlanded with fruit and flower, Symbol sweet of England's power, Here we praise thee As we raise thee Queen of Pageant. Vectis, hail ! During the singing, Vectis has entered, drawn in a shell. Vectis. Back in bygone years, when first the prows Of Roman galleys ploughed the channel sea. And the white chffs of Culver sprang to view All sun-wrapt. Lo ! A fairy isle, they cried, And named me Vectis — foam-sprung from the sea. For twice two hundred years they made this isle A 2 LEGENDS AND LAYS OF THE WIGHT Their place of sojourn ; then the fateful cry Of Rome beleaguered called them south again. Whereat the pagan Jute and Saxon reft My breast with fire and sword, till from the main The good St. Wilfrid brought the holy cross And laver — when the land had peace. 'Twas hence Base Odo, by the justice of his King, Was captive sent to chafe within the walls Of Norman Rouen. Here in turn have reigned The Redvers mighty barons : Montagu And Wideville's gallant knights ; what time my sons I freely gave in justice' cause to fall Before St. Albin's walls. — Ah ! fatal day For Wight. 'Twas here, 'mid shelter of our downs. The Royal Cicely, York's fair daughter, sought For peace ;■ and found it evermore — the long Last rest within the walls of stately Quarr. Off these, our shores, the might of Spain was broke. When Britain's manhood held the narrow seas Secure. Within these grey and frowning walls The martyr'd Stuart pined * a Stuart fair Her young life rendered unto higher care. {Enter Spirit of the Past, cloaked and hooded.) What history lies within these crumbling stones — Dumb witnesses of might and stress and peace — Could they but speak. But who approaches here In cloak mysterious, and with solemn mien Advances ? Speak ! Spirit of the Past. The Spirit of the Past Men call me, and some flout me dry-as-dust. ODE TO VECTIS 3 'Tis but a mask j no dullard I, behold ! [Throws off cloak and discloses bright-hued dress.] I can the glories of the Past unfold. Vectis. Right welcome sprite, in these degenerate days Of restless self-advertisement. If canst Stir up this cynic blood of ours and rouse The ancient spirit of our ancestors That made this England mighty, high enthroned Among the Nations. Welcome thrice. Spirit of the Past. I can ! Vectis. Come, wondrous sprite, and o'er us cast thy spell Mysterious. Set back the hands of time. Unfold the past and let the years revolve. Bringing the history of this favoured isle Before our vision, eager to behold The glories of a bygone glorious past. Spirit of the Past {waving hands) . Back ! gates of time, and from thy portals wide Let issue pageantry of England's power : Roman and Saxon, Norman and Plantagenet, Tudor and Stuart, and those Georgian years — The final birth-throe of Great Britain's might That gave us freedom and predominance. Vectis. Sound ! clarion, sound ! And seasons moving back On England's glorious past disclose the part Our Isle has taken in our Island's might — Our sea-girt home beloved — our Isle of Wight. LEGENDS AND LAYS OF THE WIGHT BEADING HAVEN A grant of Brading Haven was obtained from King James the First by Gibbs, a groom of the bed-chamber . . . who sold his share ... to Sir Bevis Thelwell . . . who admitted the famous Sir Hugh Middleton to a share. The first taking of it in cost four thousand pounds . . . and . . . the total expendi- ture amounted to seven thousand pounds. . . . But the nature of the ground did not answer the expectations of the under- takers . . . nearly half of it was found to be a light running sand . . . but nevertheless an incontestable evidence appeared by the discovery of a well, cased with stone, near the middle of the Haven, that it had formerly been good ground. But the greatest discouragement was that the sea brought up so much oose, weeds, and sand, which choaked up the passage for the discharge of the fresh water ... at length in a wet season . . . and a high spring tide the waters met under the bank and made a breach. — Worsley's Hist. I.W., 1781. Wandering once by Brading Haven, Where the dyke walls cross the marsh, Idly watching flight of sea-birds — Poising wings and pipings harsh — Chanced I on an ancient well-head Where the chequered sunlight fell ; Chanced I on a village granfer — Heard the story of the well. • •••«• Back in ages when the Roman Held the sway throughout the land, BRADING HAVEN Fair there rose a stately villa, Schemed by brain and wrought by hand j Stately hall and pillared cloister Looking out toward the sea, Pictured pavement, mystic woven In the coloured tesserae. Caps of bronze and shafts of marble, Sculptured stone and painted wall. Lo ! the vision pleased the master. ' Cease ! Content am I with all. Set ye out the jewelled wine-cups, Carry forth the gilded rods ; I would make me high rejoicing — Pour libations to the gods.' Forth they brought the carven tables Set thereon the goblets rare ; From the darkness fetched the wine jars, Dim with age and sealed with care. Sought they water from the river That along the valley ran. Such as they were wont to mingle With the rough Falernian. But the master cried in anger : ' What is this ye bring me here ? Think ye this can e'er be wedded To the grape's celestial cheer ? 6 LEGENDS AND LAYS OF THE WIGHT Cast away this muddy scouring, Sully not my good red wne. Bring me that will bead the goblet — Such as flows from Apennine. ' Where,' they murmured, ' where in Vectis Doth such crystal water flow. Such as flashes from the mountains, Ice cold, born of sun and snow ? ' Up then spake a time-bowed server : ' One there is perchance may aid Dwells he hence — a hoary hermit — In the apple valley glade.' So they sought that ancient seer, Rehc of an age gone by. Dweller in the apple valley. Versed in lore and mystery. And they laid a gift before him — Spotless robe, all golden keyed — And with reverence besought him Help their master in his need. ' Come ye not with force and menace, As of old the Roman came. Ye shall witness that still hving Is the ancient Druid fame. Seek ye water ? I will aid you. Though your gods be not my god. See ! this slender twig of hazel Shall be my divining-rod.' BEADING HAVEN Here, they tell, the hazel pointed To the hidden source below ; Here they dug, and forth the water Gushed in welcome overflow. When the new-born strength had weakened Sides of wroughten stone they made And they planted trees beside it — Oak and ash — to give it shade. But the Spirit of the River Burned with anger at the slight. ' Scorned my stream as muddy scouring ! They shall feel that scouring's might. Call will I my sources round me, Summon all the tiny rills, And with swelling bosom bear them Onward from the circling hills. ' I '11 revenge me on this scoffer, Overwhelrn his painted halls. Where he feasts and drains the wine-cup, As upon his god he calls — Sweep away this alien people To the ocean whence they came, Surely prove to them my power Who would put my stream to shame.' All that night the rain flashed earthward. Forked lightning rent the air. While the thunder crash resounded Down the valley of the Yar ; 8 LEGENDS AND LAYS OF THE WIGHT And the Spirit of the River Rode upon the surging flood, Laughing as she passed the terrace Where the master's villa stood. When the Roman all around him Saw the swirling waters bend, Saw the fertile eastern valley- One great lake from end to end ; Saw his fruits of harvest scattered, Saw his cattle swept away. Heard the Spirit's mocking laughter — ' Fear the muddy scouring's sway. ' Cried he, ' Who will quell this torrent Ere it ruin house and land ? Who will bind this vengeful spirit With an everlasting band ? Help, I pray thee. Water-finder ! Use thy magic once again. Come, and aid me with thy power — Free me from this watery bane.' Came the Sage, the Sprite imprisoned Deep within the new-made well. Placed a mighty stone upon it, Closed it fast with charm and spell. Woe, thrice woe, be to the mortal Who shall set this spirit free { Swift shall fall on mead and homestead Sudden dire calamity. BEADING HAVEN So the angry flood subsided On the ocean's kmdly breast, And the Spirit of the River, Wailing, sobbed herself to rest. Once again the Druid's hazel Pointed with mysterious sign = Once again they drew fair water Fit to mingle with the wine. • • • • • Years went by. The Roman left us, Summoned from his island home To withstand the Goth and Vandal Beating on the gates of Rome. Then, with fire and sword, the Saxon Landed — swept the country round — Burst within the Roman's villa, Sacked and burnt it to the ground. Shunned by all — wellnigh forgotten — Lay the source, while year by year Denser grew the wood around it, Haunt of boar and antlered deer. Till the Norman in his hunting Chanced upon the hidden well. Thrust aside its moss-grown cover, Drank — and broke the Druid's spell. Swift from out its black recesses Leapt the River Sprite, new-born, — Flashed her eyes : ' The Roman scorned me Now will I repay that scorn. 10 LEGENDS AND LAYS OF THE WIGHT Twas in vain that mumbling seer Bound me for eternity, Shut me in this darkened dungeon. Hidden deep from sun and sky. ' Help me, brother Ocean ! Aid me To resume my ancient sway j Rise and break the sandy barrier ! I will meet thee on the way. Once again we '11 hold high revel O'er the land which erst was ours And defy these puny mortals With their spells and mystic powers. So the waters met and gathered — Salt and fresh — beneath the sand • Rent the pebble bar asunder j Burst upon the quaking land • Filled the well and covered well-head With the rush of flowing tide — 'Neath the keels of merchant carracks Lies the Roman master's pride. Swept the mingled waters onward. Whelming pasture, wood and glade, Till they reached the mass priests' chapel — Thus was Brading Haven made. Sat I by that well-head hoary. Dreamed of Roman, Sprite, and Spell : Woke, and from the old time story Wove this Legend of the Well. BEADING HAVEN ii Years three hundred o'er its waters Sailed the stranger argosy Bringing wine and foreign fardels To the lip of Brading Quay. Then the Russell, Island Warden, Lord of all the overland, Built a timbered bridge and causeway — Cut the sea on either hand. When the Scottish James came southward. Eager for the English throne, Stout Sir Bevis Thelwell sought to Gain the Haven for his own : Penned the stream within its borders ; Raised the dyke against the tide ; Lived to see the angry waters Thrust his puny work aside. Wasted work and wasted treasure On the land he sought to drain. Vain ! The Ocean and the River Held the mastery again Till the modern, with his science. Thrust the waters back for aye ; Drove the iron road across it — Left it as it is to-day. 12 LEGENDS AND LAYS OF THE WIGHT THE DANISH RAID (897) Then some time in the same year, there came six ships to the Isle of Wight, and there did much harm. . . . Then the King commanded nine of the new ships ^ to go thither, and they obstructed their passage from the port towards the outer sea. Then went they with three of their ships out against them : and three lay in the upper part of the port in the dry : for the men were gone ashore. Then took they two of the three ships at the outer part of the port, and killed the men, and the other ship escaped. . . . Three lay aground on that side of the deep on which the Danish ships were aground, and all the rest up on the other side, so that no one of them could get to the others. But when the water had ebbed many furlongs from the ships, then the Danish-men went from their three ships to the other three ships which were left by the tide on their side, and then they there fought against them. . . . Then, however, the flood tide came to the Danish ships before the Christians could shove theirs off, and they therefore rowed them out : nevertheless they were damaged to such an extent that they could not row round the Sussex land ; and there the sea cast two of them on shore, and the men were led to the King at Winchester ; and he com- manded them to be there hanged. — Anglo-Saxon Chronicle. West on an after wind, Trailing a spume behind. Six dragons, buckler lined, — Blue water under ; Skirting the Saxon shore. Urged on by sail and oar. Westward along we bore — Westward for plunder. 1 Longships of forty oars or more (Henry of Huntingdon). THE DANISH RAID 13 Over our heads on high, Sable against the sky, Symbol of victory. Fluttered the Raven. Norseman, we answered call — Dane, Swede, and Ostman tall — Aoi ! we be Vikings all. Death to the craven. Round our prows gaily dight, Wind stirred, the wavelets bright. Caught by the morning light, Sparkle and quiver. Brave in their lawless pride. Boldly our dragons ride. Sweeping with flowing tide Up the Wiht river. So as the daylight wore, Running the ships ashore. Spread we the country o'er. Eager for plunder. Homesteads blaze to the sky, Maidens in terror cry. Churls o'er their thresholds lie. Riven asunder. ' Speed to the Viking shaft ! ' Thor of the Hammer laughed. As he with heroes quaffed Mead in Valhalla. 14 LEGENDS AND LAYS OF THE WIGHT ' Skalds raise the Victory song, Sweep the drawn strings along j Arvald i is venged upon Saxon Ceadwalla.' News came to Winchester — Alfred the King lay there — Tidings that made him swear Death to the raiders. Swift sped the message south, ' Take ye nine longships stout. Block up the Haven mouth. Trap the invaders.' Hot-foot a runner cried, ' Seaward fast ebbs the tide j Haste, ere they break our pride. Sons of the Raven. Bjorn hath bid me say, " Drawn up in battle 'ray. Nine longships bar tlie way Out of the haven." ' Never shall Saxon foil Dane from his meed of spoil ; Sought we our ships with toil. Laden with plunder, 1 Ceadwalla conquered the Isle of Wight in 686 and slew Arvald, the Jutish king. THE DANISH RAID 15 Found them in helpless rank, Left, as the waters shrank. Fast on the muddy bank — Cursed we our blunder. Striving with might and main, Roped we three back again — Saxon hath found the Dane Never a laggard — Tugging at ashen oar. Three through the whole nine bore Two sank to rise no more : One seaward staggered. As down the narrowing stream Oars from the rullocks gleam. Manned by a double team, Cheered we their homing ; While they in answer cheered. Swiftly our decks we cleared. And in our harness geared Waited the Coming. Stately in battle trim. On came the longships grim, Curdhng the river's brim — Shrill their horns sounded. Stem to stern on they came. Thinking to give us shame — Eager to gather fame. Hard the first grounded. i6 LEGENDS AND LAYS OF THE WIGHT Blocked in the waterway, Helpless and useless lay All that proud Saxon 'ray — Fortune had failed them : Three, as the waters sank, Lay on the oosy bank Nigh to our dragon rank — Mocking we hailed them. Instant in quick retort Arrows fly — falling short — Harmless as children's sport ; Laughing we greet them. Bj5rn our leader rose : ' Yonder our Saxon foes. Aoi ! let us cross the ooze Bareserk and meet them.' Forth^\ith the fight began — Shield to shield, man to man — Freely the red blood ran, Dyeing the water. Cloven through helm and brain Warriors fall — Jarl and Thane — Heaped are the piles of slain, Grievous the slaughter. ' Heysaa,' i the heroes sing. Death-dealing arrows wing, Axes on bucklers ring, Swords biting axes i 1 The battle-song of the Vikings. THE DANISH RAID 17 Saxon and Danish race Lock in a death embrace — So for an hour's space Grim the fight waxes. Sudden cries Ulf the Dane, ' Lo ! where our ships have lain, See, the tide flows again : Back then and man them.' Straining with rope and beam, Heedless of arrow scream. Back to the flowing stream. Striving, we ran them. Oars with a mighty shout Thrust we through ruUocks out. Driving our dragons stout Forward and past them. Harmless on buckler tight Caught we their javehn flight. Hurled from their towering height. Scorning who cast them. Storm-riven, undermann'd. Twain of that dauntless band Drave on the Sussex strand, Asking no pity Gathered the land-folk round. Fell on their crews — half-drowned — Seized them and sent them bound To Winton city. 6 i8 LEGENDS AND LAYS OF THE WIGHT Guarded and bound, they bring Heroes before the King, Keeping in solemn Thing Feast of All Hallows. Stern his eye on them rests : ' Spoilers of others' nests ! Hang me these reiving pests On yonder gallows.' Though on the gibbet bare Swing they in Winchester, Meat for the birds of air, Yet theirs the glory ; For, where the Northern Light Glows thro' the frozen night. Warriors recount the fight. Scalds sing their story. GODSHILL ig GODSHILL Rustic tradition tells that a more lowly spot was first selected for the erection of the church ; but that the materials employed for that purpose, day by day, being regularly removed by in- visible agents to the summit of the hill during the night, the workmen at length wisely determined to save themselves further unnecessary trouble, and built the church where some super- natural authority so plainly intimated that it must be erected. — Barber's Isle of Wight. They had gathered them in from the countryside round To settle a serious matter. The question was this : They sore needed a church : But they seemed very hke to be left in the lurch, And the whole thing to finish in chatter. Shall we build it up there on the top of the down, Or here in the valley below ? As at all parish meetings, a number said Aye The hill is the spot for it 's open and high, While the rest called them fools, and said No. And while they thus argued for valley or hill In the weary parochial way. The Devil drew near, in the guise of a Friar — The Devil is always a plausible liar — And put in his word for the Nay. 20 LEGENDS AND LAYS OF THE WIGHT ' Why burden yourself with the onerous task Of building up there on the height ? The carriage of stone will entail a sad toil, So listen to me, honest sons of the soil. Below 's the most practical site.' ' The holy monk 's right,' shouted those who agreed To the vale scheme. Beelzebub lied. As he always can do, with such hearty good will That most of the folk who 'd declared for the hill Turned about and came over his side. Satan reckoned, if tucked away snug out of sight, 'Twould be more out of mind of the Saints. Besides, with the muddy and 'waltorish ' ways, They would sure be more likely to curse than to praise- Thus their prayers would get choked with com- plaints. St. Boniface, passing, soon saw what was on, So put in his vote for the hill. Quoth Satan, ' Don't listen to fossils hke him— Slaves to orthodox precedent, crotchet and whim— 'Tis clear, friends, his knowledge is nil.' So to it they went with a hearty good will. Said the Saint, ' It is just as I feared : Though the fools wouldn't listen to what I 'd to say, Beelzebub shan't have it all his own way ' j And he thoughtfully pulled at his beard. GODSHILL 21 So the masons hewed stones and then set them in place, Chipping hard till the daylight had sped j Then gathering their tools, with a sigh of content At the work they had done, gaily homewards they went To supper, and after to bed. Next morning betimes they arose with the lark And set forth to work with a will. But lo ! when they got there, 'twas level with ground. Not a sign of a stone to be anjrwhere found — They were all laid atop of the hill. ' Here, bother it all ! ' the head mason exclaimed ' Who 's been playing the fool with this job ? If I catch him, mark well ' — and he doubled his fist, With a look that I wouldn't for money have missed, ' I '11 trounce him right soundly — begob ! ' His comrades, sore puzzled, looked up and looked down, Then exclaimed with unanimous voice They knew nothing about it — so strike 'em all dead — As after their suppers they went straight to bed, And had naturally stayed there, for choice. So it 's up to the top of the hill they must toil And fetch all those stones down again. While they swore at the fool who had played them the trick — Of course the first person they thought of was Nick — And given them toiling in vain. 22 LEGENDS AND LAYS OF THE WIGHT Once again in their places the pieces secured, They mortared them surely and true. But when morning dawn lightened, the stones as before — Whereat the whole company lustily swore — Were ranged on the hill-top anew. Said the stout master mason, a-scratching his head, ' This is getting too much of a jest j Let alone double toil, it will never get done : 'Tis the job of a lifetime for every one : From our labour we never shall rest.' When the very next morning the same thing occurred. Cried the master, ' Stop, mates : let it be. The whole thing 's a puzzle too tough for my nob ; The Building Committee must settle this job : It 's a bit too perplexing for me.' So they called them together and met once again And argued it worse than before. They argued it up and they argued it down, Like the council elect of a small county town, Till they argued their very throats sore. Then Boniface Saint he laughed low in his beard : ' 'Tis " Isle of Wight calves " i that you be. Are your heads then so thick that you can't understand When from Heaven you 're graciously sent a command — It 's a miracle, easy to see. 1 A local expression for a dull-witted man. GODSHILL 23 ' You scorned the advice of a credited saint — Here his stature a full cubit rose — Who was never convicted of being a liar, And hung on the words of this sham, shaven friar, Who led all you fools by the nose, ' A friar forsooth ! 'Neath his cowl and his frock Horns and hooves I can clearly perceive. — This has been one of your narrowest shaves — Come hither, Beelzebub, subtlest of knaves, And your recompense duly receive.' Saint Boniface here gripped him tight by the neck, With, ' None of your sly monkey tricks ' ; Then, catching him fair with the point of his toe, He lifted the Devil a furlong or so With a couple of right lusty kicks. Whereat the parishioners fell on their knees And lauded the Saint to the sky. So Boniface blessed them in orthodox way. Then, looking around him, proceeded to say, ' This humihty 's mostly my eye. ' Next time don't be led by a plausible rogue Unknown to the Parish and you. Though I 've heard it, my friends, reprehensibly said By Christians, alas ! who are easily led, We must render the Devil his due. 24 LEGENDS AND LAYS OF THE WIGHT * Avoid mendicant friars, and take this advice I tender you ere I depart : Don't argue it more. Work away with a will At building your church on the top of the hill, Every man of you bearing his part.* * We assure you, good Saint, we will do as you say. But, ere that you bid us adieu, Grant this favour benign, that our newly-built church — By Beelzebub's guile nearly left in the lurch — May be titled in honour of you.' ' Though I 'm flattered, the honour I needs must decline — Besides I 'm bespoken elsewhere — When everything 's finished, to carving and paint, Let your church be invoked in the name of each saint By whom you 're accustomed to swear.' All humbly they cried, ' It shall be as you wish. Your Saintship ; we '11 work with a will ;• And the site where the building in future will stand, According to God's and your saintly command, Shall be known by the name of GODSHILL.' The church there to-day on the top of the mound Lifts its pinnacled Tower to sky • While a mile to the South ' Devil's Acre ' is found — Which maids in the dark are afraid to pass round- Two proofs to you Legends don't lie. THE ARREST OF ODO 25 THE ARREST OF ODO (1082) . . . Odo, Bishop of Bayeux, who, under his brother King William, had the chief rule over the Normans and English . . . aspired to the papal power which would give him wider sway and raise him above all earthly princes. Attaching to his person ... a goodly company of distinguished knights, he engaged them to attend him to Italy by prodigal promises. . . . The wise King William speedily heard of these preparations . . . and lost no time in crossing the sea, and at the Isle of Wight presented himself unexpectedly to Bishop Odo when he was on the point of sailing . . . with a pompous retinue. Hav- ing assembled the great nobles of the realm in his royal hall, the King thus addressed them : — ' Illustrious lords, listen attentively to what I shall say and give me, I pray you, salutary counsel. Before I went over to Normandy, I entrusted the government of England to my brother, the Bishop of Bayeux. There were in Normandy many who revolted against my authority . . . even my own son Robert . . . while traitorous vassals and my border foes eagerly joined the ranks of the malcontents. But by God's help, whose servant I am, they failed of success. . . . Mean- while, my brother grievously oppressed the English, robbing the churches of their lands and revenues, and stripping them of the ornaments with which our forefathers enriched them : while he seduced my knights . . . and has made preparations ... for transporting them beyond the Alps . . . and has, by his unjust exactions, spread disorder through the whole of England. Con- sider then prudently what is to be done, and let me know, I pray you, what you advise.' All the council, however, being restrained by fear of the powerful prelate, and hesitating to make a decision against him, the stout-hearted King said : ' A dangerous ambition must always be curbed. Let this man therefore who disturbs the State be arrested, that he may do no further mischief.' 26 LEGENDS AND LAYS OF THE WIGHT No one, however, daring to lay hands on a bishop, the King was the first to seize him, upon which Odo cried out : — ' I am a clerk and the Lord's minister ; it is not lawful to condemn a bishop without the judgment of the Pope.' To which the prudent King replied, ' I do not condemn a clerk or a bishop, but I arrest an Earl I myself have created . . . that he should render an account of the stewardship I have committed to him.' In this manner the royal authority was exerted to arrest the bishop, who was conducted to Normandy, and . . . imprisoned in the Castle of Rouen. — Orderic. Vital., Bk. vii. cap. 8. Odo, Bishop, William's regent. To the Wight his knights had bidden, Norman knights and English barons, Ere he sailed for Italy. ' Greater honours, broader acres Than within this narrow England, Ye shall have, if ye will follow ; When I 'm seated Pope,' quoth he. ' Heed ye not this absent upstart — Who can scarce firm grasp this kingdom. Hard beset by Danes and Irish — Overseas in Normandy, Where his very kin do flout him. Where his vassals scorn his power. And with arm^d force oppose his Sovereign authority. ' Why be slaves to such a tyrant ? Seeking but his own advantage. Giving but to bind the tighter To his captious beck and call. THE ARREST OF ODO 27 Leave ye then this gloomy island, Follow me to lands of sunshine. Fiefs substantial, honours, riches : Comrades, I can give ye all.' • • • • Tidings came to Norman William, Resting him in Rouen city After battle stress and turmoil. After hard-won victory. ' Curses on this perjured prelate, Curb will I his mad ambition ; Here, within this stone-girt prison. Shall he muse on Destiny. * Babbles he of Popes and Power And my trusted knights seduces With vile promptings ! By God's splendour ! Words and actions shall he rue.' Swift a vessel cleaves the Channel, Urged by sail and oar to Wightland — He is come, the ' iron-hearted,' Like a bolt from summer blue. Mid the flickering light of torches Silent stand the Knights and Barons, Summoned by their King to Council In the raftered Castle Hall. Grim sits William on the dais. Girt with sword, in helm and hauberk — On the waiting throng before him Stern and clear his accents fall. 28 LEGENDS AND LAYS OF THE WIGHT * Lords illustrious of my kingdom, Due assembled at my summons, Hear, and give me now your counsel In a matter near my heart. I have here a weighty question, Just redress for evil doing — Evil wrought 'gainst Crown and People — We must solve ere hence we part. ' Ere I sailed, this realm of England To my brother I entrusted — Naming him by seal vice-gerent — Here to keep my 'scutcheon bright. Bidding him care for my people ; Hold the Welsh within their border ; Wield his power well and wisely ; Judge the wrong, maintain the right. ' Overseas in base rebellion Rose they, swayed by traitorous counsel. By God's help, whose arm sustained me, Reaped they naught save infamy. With iron heel I scotched this serpent Rearing venomed head against me, And with breath obscene and noisome Wasting my fair Normandy. ' While I waged just war, this Odo Grievously oppressed my subjects. Seizing lands, ay ! robbing churches Of the goods my forebears gave. THE ARREST OF ODO 29 Not content with these misdoings, He would now seduce my liege men, Draw them off to foreign regions And with golden bait enslave. ' Hence my heart with grief is riven For my realm and church's dolour, Sore oppressed by this my brother, Heedless of his charge and vow. How may this foul wrong be righted ? How redress these grave abuses ? As ye are my men and barons. Give, I pray, good counsel now.' Answered neither knight nor baron j Each one looked askance at other. Grim smiled Odo, proud, defiant — Silence reigned throughout the Hall. ' Mute ! I warn ye, mad ambition Must be curbed. Sans fear, sans favour, Justice done. Arrest this traitor ! What 1 durst none obey my call ? ' Splender dex ! Are all ye cravens ? Heard ye not your king's commandment. Knights and barons I created ? Curs ! ' — In bitter wrath he rose — ' Dare ye not ? Then I, your ruler, Here arrest this mitred robber Who disturbs our realm of England And conspires with its foes.' 30 LEGENDS AND LAYS OF THE WIGHT * Hands off ! brother. None may judge me Save alone the Pope in Council. Minister of God and cleric, Thee and thine I here defy.' ' Vain thy specious pleading, traitor ; Not as Bishop I arrest thee, But as belted Earl, created By mine own authority. * Shame upon thee ! unjust steward ; Thy misdoings just condemn thee. — And ye rest, take heed and warning ' — Through the Hall his utterance rings, ' Guard him well and hence convey him To our new-made keep at Rouen, Where at leisure he may ponder Justice and the wrath of kings.' ST. CATHERINE'S 31 ST. CATHERINE'S (1314) On a stormy night in the winter of 1314, one of a fleet of ships chartered by merchants of Aquitaine to convey a consignment of wine to England, struck on the treacherous Atherfield ledge with the result told in the legend. An account is given — in the Abbreviation of Pleas, Hilary Term, 13 15 — of the merchants' claim for redress against Walter de Godyton, urging the cargo was no ' wreck of the sea.' Certain it is that De Godyton built the oratory and pharos on the down, as an inquisition as to its endowment, held in August 1328, states that he was the founder and that it was built ' to give light to those sailing these perilous seas by night.' The amount of wine in question was consider- able, being one hundred and seventy-four casks, each of the value of five marks, of which De Godyton had fifty-three. How Holy Church came in is not so plain, but a Papal Bull threatening excommunication was fulminated against the delinquent unless due restitution and penance was made. The rest is legend. Wild sweeps the wrack from the gates of the West. Loud roars the rage of the sea ; Bitter the edge of the Atherfield-ledge, From the which God keep us free ! White gleam the teeth of the surges high And ghsten the rocks for their toll ; Black race the clouds o'er the face of the sky Like fiends in pursuit of a soul. Go, all who have kin on the sea this night And pray on your bended knee ; That, while you sleep, the good Lord will keep Those who sail on this storm-swept sea. 32 LEGENDS AND LAYS OF THE WIGHT The ' Bon Venture ' of the Abbot of Quarr Is home from the land of France, Deep lade with cloth and the good red wine That makes the red blood dance. The leadsman checks the knotted line That guides the helmsman's hand, The look-out's beard is stiff with rime As he strains his eyes for land. ' I cannot the narrowing coast descry, Nor the Abbey's beacon see. Christ's body ! We 've missed the Needle's eye, And there 's broken water a-lee. * Now, lady of Whitwell, be our aid — We vow thee an altar light. Good Nicholas, saint of shipmen bold. Preserve us all this night.' But the pitiless wind and the treacherous tide Hold the good ship in their sway • In vain the anchor is cast — it drags. She strikes ere break of day. And it 's, oh ! the crash of timbers rent, By the grim rocks' savage edge. And it 's, ah ! the shrieks of drowning men Who for want of a light must perish this night By the cursed Atherfield-ledge. • •••.. Sir Walter de Godyton sits in hall And makes him right good cheer : ' A stormy night on the shores of Wight Should drive the wreckage here. ST. CATHERINE'S 33 Good ship oak to mend the hearth, Rich stores that may not sink, And, if perchance she hail from France, Good Gascon wine to drink. So haste ye down by morrow's dawn And search along the bay For flotsam and jetsam — 'Tis my right, Which none shall me gainsay.' The Abbot of Quarr in his chapter-house Reclines in his oaken stall, And the monks sit round on the narrow bench That skirts the pillared wall. They weigh the convent's state full well And deal with the good and ill, And reckon the rents of the broad fat lands They own in dale and hill. Anon they 're aware of a hatless man At the arch of the cloister door. * Father Abbot,' he cries, ' a wreck she lies. Your ship, on the southern shore.' ' She drove on the teeth of the Atherfield-ledge, In the storm of yesternight • Between the rocks and the waters' swirl She was gone ere morning light, And her cargo lies scattered along the shore From Chale to Compton-chine — Corded bales of broidered cloth And casks of Gascon wine. C 34 LEGENDS AND LAYS OF THE WIGHT And, good Father Abbot, alack-a-day, The worst is yet to tell : The lord of Gotten hath seized the whole And defies you, book and bell.' The Abbot starts from his cushioned seat And his brow grows black with wrath. ' By our Lady of Quarr, I '11 have the law Of the rogue ! ' he thunders forth. ' With ruffled plumes and ratings sharp I '11 send this hawk to perch. Who dares to lay his greedy claws On goods of Holy Church. Haste, Brother Gervase, warn him well Who would with abbots cope. An he refuse, we '11 bear the news To His Holiness the Pope. The lord of Gotten he laughed aloud When the message he received. ' So it 's leaving home on a journey to Rome Is your master. News, indeed ! For the empty threats of a greasy monk I care not a maravedi. I '11 hold to my right like a gallant knight — All else may go hang for me. Possession 's nine points of the law, I 've heard, So tell this abbot of thine I '11 clothe my men in his dornix cloth And drink his Gascon wine.' ST. CATHERINE'S 35 The Abbot has sought his father the Pope And unfolded his tale of woe. And the Pope has sworn by his triple crown That the matter shall not rest so. ' The scurvy knight shall feel the might Of Holy Church,' quoth he • ' Go, bring me candle, book, and bell, I here pronounce decree. Be he living or be he dead, Be it early or late, No prayers for him shall hence be said — Be he excommunicate,' The Abbot he hies him home again And gathers his chapter round. ' I 've here,' said he, ' the Pope's decree, 'Twill bring this knave to ground. I '11 teach him pious monks to flout And Holy Church defy. This robber Knight, despite his boast, Peccavi soon shall cry. Go wide proclaim him now without The Church's pale to be. Who '11 win the fight 'twixt Church and might, We '11 see right speedily.' • ••••• So Gotten's lord ere long doth feel The weight of Church's hand. For none will bring him bite or sup And none will till his land. 36 LEGENDS AND LAYS OF THE WIGHT All Church's rites from him withheld, He 's now in parlous way j Of all he meets, there 's none that greets Or gives him e'en good day. ' Alas ! my deeds on me recoil, My sins I here declare ; I will ere too late to the Abbey gate, And crave for mercy there.' Sir Walter had saddled his hackney stout And sought the Convent gate, But the doors are shut against the face Of the excommunicate. ' I have sinned, I have sinned, Father Abbot,' he cried ' Take pity — take pity on me. I here repent of a life misspent, Annul this fell decree. Remove this ban from me and mine ; I '11 restitution make, And any penance Mother Church Doth set, will undertake.' Whereat the oaken gates swing back. And he falls on bended knee As the Abbot, with chant and incense sweet. Comes forth to set him free. ' Of a life misspent, an thou true repent. This shall thy penance be — On Catherine's height shalt burn a light And pray for those at sea. ST. CATHERINE'S 37 A beacon fair of goodly stone Shalt rear on the cliff's steep edge, That never again in the annals of Wight A vessel be lost for need of a light On the deadly Atherfield-ledge.' So he rose from his knees all humble wise And led his horse within, And he took the vows of the brotherhood, Salvation's crown to win. ' Thy blessing, my father, thy blessing I crave.' ' My son, Benedicite. Sir Walter de Godyton erst thou wast, Brother Walter henceforth shalt be.' So he builded the Tower of Island stone And he set the lamp therein, And ever at night he tended the light And thus atoned for sin. By day he prays for all mankind, By night he trims the lamp On the lonely crown of Catherine's Down, Where the mists hang chill and damp. In storm and stress that beacon bears A welcome message far. And shipmen call a blessing down Upon its guiding star. And the good monk vows at the altar's step. As the flame shines clear and bright, * No vessel more on that treacherous shore Shall be lost for want of a light.' 38 LEGENDS AND LAYS OF THE WIGHT THE SILVER BOW (1377) . . . When ye ffrench had taken ye Island and beseyghed Caresbroke Castle, one Petrus de Heynoe came to Sir Hugh Tyrell, then Captayne of ye Island, and told him he woold undertake with his sillver bowe to kill ye Commannder of ye Ffrench taking his time, for he had observed him how nyghtes and morninges he came neare ye Castle : which on leave he killed owt of a loope-hole on ye west syde of ye Castle. . . . — Oglander MS. This the Rime of the Silver Bow and the lord of Stenbury, Whose name and fame will live for aye in Island history. Then health to the how and the archer bold and the bolt of the ashen-tree, — The how that laid the Frenchman low and set our island free. They 've gathered them at Honfleur, Full thrice a hundred score ; They 've landed — horse and footmen — Down by the Yarmouth shore. With sword and spear and banner They 're marshalled on the strand : War's flame lights up the heavens, Red ruin rules the land. Three towns laid stark in ashes Betoken the advance Of pitiless invaders, Grim soldiery of France. THE SILVER BOW 39 They 've swung the Newport provosts Above their Meeting Hall, And sworn to seize the Castle And raze its cirding wall. • • • • • Quoth bold Sir Hugh our Captain, A doughty knight and true, ' Our walls shall go to ruin, Ere ever they win through. Go, bid them raise the drawbridge : Go bid them man the walls. No man must hold him backward When England's honour calls. Fling forth St. George's banner. We '11 check their proud advance. The blood-red cross shall counter The oriflame of France. Remember glorious Cregy, But thirty years gone by — Great Edward's soul above us Looks downward from the sky.' ' God save our Merrie England And keep our Island free,' We shouted back in answer, ' To death we '11 follow thee.' ' Well said, my Island yeomen We '11 let these Frenchmen know That we as heirs of Cregy Still use the English bow. 40 LEGENDS AND LAYS OF THE WIGHT These walls until they crumble We '11 keep with sword and spear j Behind their mighty rampart No foeman need we fear.' And each man gripped his weapon As grim we waited there j While o'er us in the sunlight Our banner caught the air. • • • • • The alien foe have gathered Like wolves around their prey, Seeking vantage entry Within that bulwark grey. Behind its stone-wrought shelter We lay in sullen wrath — xA.ll few enough to hold it, We might not sally forth — With jests and taunts they hailed us In hope to draw us out : ' St. George and Merrie England ! ' Was all our answering shout. And every morn and even In scorn of arrow flight, Their leader scanned our ramparts For weakness in their might. • • • • • De Heyno, lord of Stenbury, A wondrous bow had he. All wrought and laid with silver In patterns cunningly. THE SILVER BOW 41 He stood a famous marksman Among the archer men | Could dint a silver penny At three score yards and ten. Due noted he their leader, At morn and vesper bell, Draw near to scan the curtain — And marked the distance well. ' A shaft should reach yon Frenchman, If well and truly laid : Stout patron saint of archers. Good Hubert, be my aid.' From belt he plucked a quarrel, And fitted it to bow. ' An give me leave, Sir Captain, I '11 lay that braggart low.' ' Ay, certes,' answered Tyrrell, ' A fair and famous deed, For, could we smite their leader, 'Twould help us in our need. I 'd bid thee shoot, sir Archer — All 's fair in Love and War — But, by the hail of Cre?y, The range is over far.' For answer sung the bow-string And sped the bolt amain. St. George ! The Frenchman 's fallen. Fair stricken in the brain. 42 LEGENDS AND LAYS OF THE WIGHT * Throw wide the sally postern And let our muster out : Fall instant on their rearward And turn retreat to rout : De Heyno, take thine archers And line yon narrow lane — St. George ! these errant Frenchmen Shall wish them home again — Glamorgan, haste ye eastward And bid the Russell ride Along the central upland With Gorges at his side. By Edward's soul, these reivers Right bitterly shall feel The thrust of English lances, The bite of English steel.' 'Twas thus we held the Castle And checked the foe's advance, And so gave time for muster Against the might of France. East — West — our levies gathered Along the Island downs, And thrust their forces backward And venged our burning towns. And, while our Island story Drifts down the tide of time, 'Twill ever be remembered That 's here set down in rhyme. THE SILVER BOW 43 All honour to de Heyno — Laud high his silver bow, That sped so true the venging bolt Which laid their leader low. The Frenchmen slain in ' Deadman's Lane,' they lie on ' Noddies Hill.' Of Heyno' s fame and raiders' shame these names bear witness still. 44 LEGENDS AND LAYS OF THE WIGHT ST. ALBIN (July 28, 1488) . . . the lord Woodvile withdrewe himselfe into the Isle of Wight, whereof he was made ruler, he there gathered a crew of tall and hardy personages, to the number of 400, and arrived in Britaine, where he joined himself with the Brittons against the Frenchmen. About the 27 day of July, the duke of Britaine's armie gave battell to the French host neare to a towne called S. Albin, having apparrelled a thousand and seven hundred of the Britons in coates with red crosses after the English fashion.' — (Stowe's Annates of England.) Unfortunately the Duke was defeated, and Sir Edward with all the Enghsh slain, except one boy, who brought home the melancholy tidings. . . . — Bacon's Life of Henry VII. Who rides to-day on the King's highway Lance in rest and pennon gay With many a squire and knight ? He bears a name — a Wideville he — Renowned in deeds of chivalry, Our Captain of the Wight. He 's ta'en the winding Castle path, He 's crossed the circling moat, And passed beneath the grim gray tower, Symbol of strength and feudal power. Whereon his colours float. ST. ALBIN 45 He 's summoned those who love his house To hst to his appeal — Island knights and yeomen tall, Tried in harness one and all, Valiant hearts and leal. He 's doffed his helm, barehead bestrides His mighty battle steed. More gallant knight 'twere hard to find, A Captain bold to ride behind, A leader born to lead. The Appeal Come, Wight men, to your Captain's call And rally in your might. A woman's cause is mine to plead, A cause for fame and knightly deed — Rouse, rouse ye men of Wight. False Louis, scorning honour's claim. Is dead to chivalry. His time is spent in prayer and jest With those who do his vile behest. Mean men of low degree. God succour those who cross his path His hate will strike full soon • Though king he be, no knight is he, His constant pleasure is to be With barber and buffoon. 46 LEGENDS AND LAYS OF THE WIGHT And he would seize the good Duke's heir, Sweet Anne of Brittany, And waste the land with fire and sword Till he should wn the north seaboard, The crafty schemer he. But, Wightmen, he shall never gain That land by might or wile, An if ye list to what I say Far distant still shall be the day When he will threat our isle. Call ye to mind the glorious deeds Our sires in bygone days Have wrought beyond this island shore At Cregy, Poictiers, Agincourt, Our country's fame to raise. Then gird your battle harness on. Ye stalwart sons of Wight, Who 'd follow fame across the sea Take ship with me to Brittany And strike a blow for right. Go don the ' jack ' and English cross, The red badge of St. George, And march beneath the bonny Rose, The symbol of united foes Who friendly fetters forge. ST. ALBIN 47 Remember not the bygone pain — The ancient feud is dead. The Roses twain have bloomed again, Both York and Lancaster now reign — Come, follow white and red. The Wideville pennon never turned From foe in mortal fight. A Wideville's arm went never back Mid clash of steel and battle wrack Where swords and axes bite. Look well upon my banner's hue That burgeons on the height. There 's gules for deeds of derring do — Fair blazon of good omen too — Argent for honour bright. Wilt march beneath those colours then And help, my stalwart Island men, To set this matter right ? Your Captain hath his pleading made, A woman calls to you for aid. Your answer, men of Wight P The Answer ' The Wideville's cause shall be our cause,' Quoth Lisle and bold Roucley. ' Whate'er betide with him we '11 ride And flout the false king in his pride And aid the fair ladye.' 48 LEGENDS AND LAYS OF THE WIGHT Then up and spake stout yeoman Knight, ' To that we all agree, And whether for good or whether for ill We '11 follow our Captain whither he will, For sons of the Wight are we.' ' Well said, well said, my gallant hearts, My meed to one and all. I thank thee, Roucley, Lisle, and Knight, Full well knew I the men of Wight Would heed their Captain's call.' The March They 've left the town by the Eastern gate, They 've swung across the bridge. They 've breasted the hill to Staplers heath With scarce a pause to gather breath And gained the further ridge, Urry of Standen leads the van With Bremshet grim of ken, Roucley and Hacket side by side With Mewys, Lisle, and Popham ride All Island gentlemen. Who rides so gaily carolling A lilting roundelay ? 'Tis Diccon Cheke of Mottiston Has girt his father's harness on To join the array. ST. ALBIN 49 ' A boon, a boon, good Captain mine, I fain would ride with thee And strike a blow for the Lady Anne And help chastise the caitiff man Across the channel sea.' ' A beardless boy is best at home Secure from war's alarms,' Laughed Wideville, ' still if thou wouldst see The land of France, shalt ride with me And be my page at arms.' They 've left the Arreton monks at Terce, They 've sunk the Knighton down. They 've gathered the toll of the Nunwell men, Bowmen and billmen twenty and ten. And passed through Brading town. The Departure Beneath the shade of Helen's Tower Four stout carracks lie. All Island wrot, from stern to stem, Of Wootten spine, to carry them Across to Brittany. Their weather vanes glance in the sun, All gay v/ith gilding dight, In fluttering folds from mast-head high The blazoned banners proudly fly, — The Banners of the Wight. D 50 LEGENDS AND LAYS OF THE WIGHT They muster on the shipmen's quay, Bow and bill and lance, A goodly company to view With the English jacks and bows of yew They know — and dread — in France. So take they ship by that sea-swept church, Where monks keep watch and prayer j The cordage creaks, the trumpet brays, And ever anon a destrer neighs As he winds the brine-lade air. The shipmen cast aloose the ropes And sheet the anchor home, The sails swell out to the following breeze. The hulls leap up to the crested seas With an answering wake of foam. Fast widens the space from the carven poops To the lip of the stone-curbed quay j They are round the wedge of the Bembridge-ledge And, catching the tide off the Culver's edge, Have steered for the open sea. 'Twas thus our Island men set forth To return, alas ! no more. Knights and squires, thirty and ten. Noble and gallant gentlemen. And yeomen twenty score. ST. ALBIN 51 The Return The August days have come and gone, The harvest 's gathered in No news has come of that Island band Who sailed in hope from St. Helen's strand, The Wideville's cause to win. There stands a lad on St. Helen's green They 've brought from over sea : His face is wan, his eye is dim. He only stares when they ask of him Who and whence is he. At length the waited answer comes In accents low and weak. ' Time agone when we sailed from here. With trumpet blare and parting cheer, They called me Diccon Cheke. ' And would ye know, ye wives of Wight Of son and sire bereft. They lie all stark 'neath Albin's walls, By that fell dark wood where the night-bird calls, And — I alone am left.' The Expedition We sailed from Wight on a favouring wind. And each man's heart beat high As talked we o'er the deeds of yore Our sires had wrought at Agincourt, While the Breton coast drew nigh. 52 LEGENDS AND LAYS OF THE WIGHT We landed where the silver Ranee Flows to St. Male's Bay, And camped at Andouille next morn, Englishmen and Breton born, And mustered our array. In France they dread the English might ] To make it dreaded more They joined to our Island men — To make them seem the strength of ten- Breton's eighty score. They clad these footmen EngHsh-wise With jack and crimson cross, And set them with us in the van, Breton swart and Englishman, Which proved our rue and loss. Chateaubrian the ' rereward ' led — 'Twas there our weakness lay j The ' van ' was marshalled by de Rieux, Rank on rank in order true, The ' battle ' by D'Albret. Three days had gone when tidings came The foe had sacked Fougiers, And foot and horse were on their way To where the town of Albin lay, To wait our onset there. ST. ALBIN 53 Right joyfully we struck our camp, And marched till in our view. Hard by a darkling alder wood, The French array in order stood — A host, while we were few. First out there rode ten valiant knights To note our strength and form | Anon with shout and trumpet bray. Their marshalled strength — a vast array — Swept on us like a storm. The Battle. The Wideville rode adown our ranks. His horse all flecked with foam, Quoth he, ' St. George shall be our cry, And where ye see my banner fly, Men of the Wight, strike home.' While cannon shot came thick and fast They charged upon our van. We thrust them back as our chffs of Wight Thrust back the surge on a winter's night — 'Twas thus the fight began. Recoiling from our front they bore Upon the battle 'ray. They shocked — alas ! the Breton lance Before the chivalry of France Went down that fatal day. 54 LEGENDS AND LAYS OF THE WIGHT Then, panic-struck, the rereward turned And fled without a stroke. And once again the battle flood Swirled round the knoll on which we stood And 'gainst our lances broke. * Stand firm, stand firm, ye Breton men, And mind the badge ye wear — That glorious cross,' our Captain cried, ' Shines ever on the conquering side, Stand firm and never fear.' But English badge can never make The English blood and bone. Like timid deer of sense bereft They wavered, turned, and we were left To face the French — alone. And thus we found the Breton spear Turn out a broken reed. 'Twas now our band of Wight men showed, As on the tide of battle flowed. That they were men indeed. The Wideville's helm is stricken off, His harness dented sore. But still we hear that clarion shout : ' Fight on, my Island yeomen stout. We '11 beat the French once more.' ST. ALBIN 55 Each tossed his useless bow away And drew his trusty blade, Each hacked and hewed with all his might And round him in that fatal fight A bloody circle made. There Lisle went down with gaping wound And Mewys across him fell ; There Oglander and Roucley died, With Popham, Bremshet side by side, Hacket and Brutenell. ' Fight on, fight on, my Island men,' Still gallant Wideville cried. Ah, how he fought ! Till stricken sore Our Captain fell to rise no more — Within these arms he died. Of all that sturdy Island band Who stern refused to flee. Knights and squires thirty and ten, Twenty score of stout yeomen, There is returned but me. And ever in my ears there rings Our Captain's rallying cry, And still I see with bloody wound. Upon that trampled battle-ground, The stricken sink to die. 56 LEGENDS AND LAYS OF THE WIGHT Then waly, waly, wives of Wight, And make your moan with me. For those stout hearts, your kith and kin, Who died the Wideville's cause to win In far-off Brittany. THE PRINCESS CECILY 57 THE PRINCESS CECILY (1503) Rychard Keene of this family lived in Henry ye Seventh's reyne and wase wryghten Esq"". He marryed Cicely one of ye daughters of Edward ye 4th King of England ... he wase a verie p'sonable man and lived here in ye Island with his wyfe at East Stannum ; where he buryed her and had her enterred in ye greate church in ye Abbye of Quarre according to her dignity e ... ye gentery of ye whole Island . . . attended ye corps from Stannum to Quarr where ye Lord Abbott preached at her funeroll. — Oglander MS. Grey walls amid green downs enfolded, Hearth smoke rising to blue of sky, Rose-twined gables, mullion-moulded, Swallows skimming the roof-tree by. Grass walks ending in creepered bowers, Sunhght dapphng the linden's shade, Summer caUing in blush of flowers, June winds breathing through wood and glade. Droning of bees in the pleasaunce shady — Here from the World is glad release — Whispers a knight to a gentle lady, ' Heart o' mine, this is the home of Peace.' Nigh on the greensward children playing. Weaving garlands of blossoms sweet. Father ! Mother ! we go a-Maying — Laughter of voices and dancing feet. 58 LEGENDS AND LAYS OF THE WIGHT She of the sweet eyes, chin a-dimple, Wedded for love with low degree. — He but a squire of lineage simple. Daughter of England's monarch she — Leaving behind Court pomp and splendour Meet for a maid of Royal name. Knights to await and ladies tend her, Lives she the life of a country dame. Azrael strikes and the dream is ended ; Husband's anguish and children's fear j Bleeding of heart by sorrow rended — Ever bitter the partings here — Lies she there like a maiden sleeping. Fair in the glow of the taper's Hght. Lonely vigil the watchers keeping, Labour of love, through the livelong night. Slowly a sad procession wending Over the hills to distant Quarr, Gentle and simple due attending. Gathered from homestead near and far. Crozier in hand — the censers swinging — Mitred Abbot the bier awaits. Solemn on high the great bell ringing j Chanting of monks at the convent gates. Hand of the spoiler, daring greatly. Hurling those sheltering walls to ground. Pitiless fate ! Of that Abbey stately Hardly a stone can now be found. THE PRINCESS CECILY 59 Never a trace of the carven glory Marking Royal Cecilyis earthly rest • But she lives in our Island story Shrined in the hearts she loved the best. 6o LEGENDS AND LAYS OF THE WIGHT THE BISHOP'S ACRE St. Bonnys, or the Wishing Well . . . was first discovered, says the legend, by a certain bishop, who, riding across the hill on a misty night, lost his way, and found his steed, to his horror, slowly sliding down the precipitous side, until at length he suddenly drew up with his hoofs fixed in the hollow of this well. The Bishop thereupon vowed to St. Boniface that if he reached the bottom safely, he would dedicate to his honour an acre of land. The Saint promptly closed with the bargain, and the Bishop reached home without further let or mishap : and the land known as ' The Bishop's Acre ' still belongs to the glebe of Bonchurch. It lies at the foot of the hill, and is marked out by a ridge of turf. — Davenport Adams' Hist. I.W. The bishop was short and the bishop was stout, What is vulgarly reckoned as round-about, And a cob he bestrode of a flea-bitten grey Barrelled and fashioned in much the same way. As to what was his name or what was his see Is a matter of perfect indifference to me — He was probably Suffragan Achonry. Now the bishop was riding — why, nobody knows - On Boniface Down, so the story goes. He may have been looking the parsons up, Or crossing the downs with a friend to sup : The reason I really don't know and don't care, For whatever the reason — the bishop was there. THE BISHOP'S ACRE 6i The mist from the Channel rose woolly and chill, And it clung like a pall to the face of the hill, Blotting out landscape and headland and bay And through this good Dobbin was picking his way. While the bishop, a prey to excusable fears. Could scarce see a fathom in front of his ears — Of course I mean Dobbin's and not my lord's (This, to any in doubt, explanation affords). So he, I expect more accustomed to towns. Was just a bit handicapped out on our downs. Though a fairly good horseman, and sure of his mount, He 'd not taken Channel mists into account. Not sure of his bearings, befogged by their tricks. Poor man, he was placed in a pretty bad fix. Now St. Boniface Down is as steep as can be — You 've a job to ascend it with bended knee — And the cob, though sure-footed, was coming down hill ; Which makes all the difference when there 's a spill. With knee to the saddle his rider was gripping. Sitting well back to prevent him from shpping Over his head, in event of his tripping. That danger existed 'twas no use in blinking, So from jolting he gat him to serious thinking. First he thought of his soul, then perhaps of his see — His episcopal lands and episcopal fee — Next his sins, if he had any, came to his mind. And he owned to some faults of a trivial kind So what with his thoughts and the fog and the rime The bishop was having a fairly poor time. 62 LEGENDS AND LAYS OF THE WIGHT * If I only get safe from this perilous plight I vow to our Lady of Winton a light. That the parish may also a bonus receive, An acre I '11 add to St. Boniface glebe.' (The rhyme is a bad one, so try it instead As if you 'd a very bad cold in the head.) Still Dobbin slid downward, with never a hitch Till his forefeet stuck fast in a sandy, wet ditch At the base of the down ; when, now eased of his fright, The bishop was certain at last he was right. What 's more, there appeared in a vision to him St. Boniface all in episcopal trim. Fully accoutred in vestments and all — Mitre and rochet and crozier and pall. ' My son,' quoth the saint, ' pray allow me to tell You your pad's feet are fouling the mouth of my well. I 've heard of your vow j your trouble 's at end ; You may safely jog onwards rejoicing, my friend.' Quoth the bishop, ' Kind saint, take the will for the deed And allow me to stop on the top of my steed.' ' I '11 excuse you. 'Tis damp and beginning to freeze. So you can't well get off and go down on your knees. Best knock up the vicarage parson instead. Have a glass of hot toddy and turn in to bed.' When danger is past resolutions oft fade. But our bishop remembered the vows he had made, And kept to his word. As I due understand, The saint got her light and the parson his land. ' Bishop's Acre,' so named, he enjoys to this day. Thus proving the truth of my Legendary Lay. GILBERT LEE 63 GILBERT LEE On the 5th July 1588, Gilbert Lee, commanding the Rat of Wight, came into Portsmouth with intelligence of the sailing of the Armada from Lisbon. The Rat — a small vessel of eighty tons — is said by Professor Laughton to have been the only ship furnished by the Isle of Wight to the English Navy against the Armada, but this must be erroneous, as Sir George Carey, writing to the Earl of Sussex, 26th July 1588, says he has sent four ships and a pinnace as the island quota to the fleet. Gilbert Lee, or Leigh, was a scion of a well-known island family, owners of Appuldurcombe and Northcourt in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. 'TwAS off Penzance in mid July The Spanish fleet we did descry, Up Channel eastward standing j Then up and spake our skipper bold, ' Small matter what we 've got in hold : George Carey must the news be told To guard him 'gainst their landing. ' Slack off the sheets, the tiller bind, We '11 run, my lads, before the wind And give him timely warning. The Rat of Wight well found is she. And I 'm her Captain Gilbert Lee, And we must be at Newport quay Before to-morrow's dawning.* 64 LEGENDS AND LAYS OF THE WIGHT So east before the wind we went. With every stitch of canvas bent And every rope a-straining. By Looe and Plymouth Hoe we sped, Past Portland's Bill — the shipmen's dread — Until we opened Alban's head As daylight was a-waning. The beacons flare from hill to hill. Red harbingers of coming ill, The southern coast alarming. To work, to work, on fosse and wall. Apprentice stout and yeoman tall, And show the world, whate'er befall, ' The Wight is up and arming. The squire must leave his hawks untried : The 'prentice fling his tools aside : The yeoman quit his farming. The might of Spain is sweeping on. The galleons will be here anon. And, if we hope to beat the Don, Why — we must all be arming. Work, Wight men, work, come foul come fair, The hum of war is in the air i The Spanish hive is swarming. Go tell the lads in feu and fee The message brought by Gilbert Lee, ' The Great Armada 's put to sea And ye must all be arming.' GILBERT LEE 65 A health ! a health ! to Gilbert Lee, A worthy son of Wight is he, Who steered the Rat to Newport quay. And brought us timely warning. Bid hobblers saddle, spur and ride Through all the southern countryside, And spread the tidings far and wide, And tell the Wight is arming. A thousand score of fighting men In castled ships six score and ten, With blazoned banners fljdng : See, like a mighty crescent moon, The Pride of Spain glides stately on — Galleasse and galleon — Her island foe defying. And thus they sail fair Plymouth by. Where Howard's fleet securely lie. Their advent calmly waiting. Then, ship by ship, they warp them out, Ark, Vantgard, Victory, Lyon stout. Grim dogs to join the fighting bout. All eager for the baiting. Still westward bears the Tagus fleet. Grim Parma's armed aid to meet And share the Enghsh plund'ring. With Hawkins, Drake, and Frobisher, — Those hearts of oak, unknown to fear — Like hornets hanging on its rear, 'Mid smoke of cannon thund'ring, E 66 LEGENDS AND LAYS OF THE WIGHT Off Wight the Spaniard stands at bay, And sets anew his battle 'ray, Like surly lion turning. We hull their bulwarks, towering high In all their carven mystery. The while their shot above us fly, The empty water churning. From chff and down folk watch the fight. Till friend and foe melt out of sight To eastward in the gloaming. The danger 's past ;• we breathe again ; And fate-wards drifts the might of Spain To meet the tempest of the main. And end in bitter homing. • • • • • The shattered pride of Spain doth show What Enghsh hearts and hands can do. All tim'rous doubtings calming. The fight has raged, the winds have blown , And England has maintained her own. The dread Armada 's come — and gone ; The Wight can cease her arming. THE DAMASK ROSE 67 THE DAMASK ROSE (November 14, 1647) ... A gentlewoman, as he passed through Newport, presented him with a damask rose, which grew in her garden at that cold season of the year, and prayed for him, which his Majesty heartily thanked her for. — Herbert's Memoirs. They 've brought the King from Titchfield, They 've ferried them across To Cowes by Newport Haven, To England's rue and loss. With Berkeley, Legg, Ashburnham And Baskett, Charles doth ride • A sad, dethroned monarch. Stern Hammond at his side. They 've passed the gloomy forest And entered Newport town — A cause without a party, A king without a crown — The townsmen in the market Have gathered them to see That saddest sight to gaze on, A fallen majesty. They come. A murmur rises, ' God bless the royal name.' And sour dissentient voices Are hushed for very shame. 68 LEGENDS AND LAYS OF THE WIGHT Ay ! people press them forward To kiss the royal hand, And whisper hopes of succour To cheer that loyal band. Quoth Charles, ' At our last coming The shouts were loud and free, That now are hushed to whispers Borne down by tyranny. Then bells rang out a welcome From yonder grey old tower That now stands grim and silent In our misfortune's hour. There 's one behind the thronging All bashfully doth stand j A maid of sixteen summers, A red rose in her hand, That, braving chill November, Had graced her garden wall A rose of Martin's summer — Last rose to bloom and fall. ' A boon ! ' cries stout Dame Trattle, And thrusts the throng aside. ' My maid the King would speak with And will not be denied.' All gracious smiled the Stuart, ' Go bid the maid draw near : Our ears are ever open Our subjects' speech to hear.' THE DAMASK ROSE 69 ' Sire, deign accept this blossom But plucked this Martin's tide Within my mother's garden Down by the waterside. For blessings on your coming Your humblest subject prays. God shield you, sire, from evil, And send you happier days.' ' Maid, may your prayer be answered : No better gift we seek. A damask rose that vies with The damask of your cheek. It comes a welcome token As sunshine after rain ; So may our cause late blossom And take firm root again. ' Due thanks, sweet Island maiden, A king would render thee ; For England's bonnie flower 's The choicest gift to me. • • • • Sweet damask rose of England, I '11 wear thee next my heart, Of future hope an emblem With thee I '11 never part.' 70 LEGENDS AND LAYS OF THE WIGHT SIR TRISTRAM'S WEIRD (1721) Sir Tristram Dillington, it is said, distraught by the death of his wife, committed suicide. His body was found by the steward, who, to make it appear a case of misadventure, placed it on his horse, which he drove into the Knighton pond. By this means he avoided the escheat as a suicide and preserved the property for the heir. Through the leafless limbs that woo the sky The wind soughs sad and drear ; The mists along the meadows he In the waning of the year. At foot and head of the carven bed, Stirred by an icy breath, A flickering light the candles shed O'er the shadowy room of Death. For a Hfe has dawned and a life has set In the span of a winter's day : ' The Lord hath given '—Chill hands have met- ' The Lord hath taken away.' Sir Tristram sits in his oaken chair And his heart is sore with pain | For the light of his eyes, his bride of a year, He never will see again. SIR TRISTRAM'S WEIRD 71 ' A life for a life,' quoth old Nurse Nan, And set the babe on his knee — * What matters a child to a stricken man ? Hence ! take the brat with thee. ' Can an heir bring back the joy of my heart, Or the grasp of a cherished hand ? Our hves, our ways, must lie apart. Hence ! take him, I command.' Sir Tristram has ordered his roadster stout, And ridden to London town. Perchance he thinks in a pleasure bout His sorrows he may drown. He has ridden to Ryde and ferried him o'er To Portsmouth by the sea • And he curses Fate — for his heart is sore — Yet he follows Destiny. Ah ! evil the case of a stricken wight 'Mid the toils of London town ! Vain is the pigeon's restless flight When the hawks have marked him down. In the gaming den, with cully and cheat, He stakes on the loaded dice. His head is aglow with a hellish heat. His heart is a heart of ice. 72 LEGENDS AND LAYS OF THE WIGHT And ever the pieces melt away, And ever he sends for more. So night and day, by tainted play. They gather Sir Tristram's store. Money, money, without delay. Runs the summons from London town j And the steward grieves, though he must obey. To see the oaks crash down. The hawks they have plucked their pigeon bare — He owes that he cannot pay — And he casts about in his blank despair To find him a means and way. Stark lie the slopes of the Knighton Down, With never a sign of tree : Sir Tristram hath ridden from London town — A ruined man is he. He hath spurred him early and spurred him late And ferried the Solent sea, And entered the arch of the Knighton gate With ' Summon the reeve to me.' The steward before Sir Tristram stands And speaks him bold and fair. ' Hast taken full toll of the Knighton lands ; Their slopes lie bleak and bare. SIR TRISTRAM'S WEIRD 73 ' There 's naught in dale. There 's naught on down, To raise the gold upon — ' ' Perdition ! I '11 to Newport town And speak with Lawyer John.' Old Lawyer John, for those in need. Keeps house in Newport town. Upright and just in word and deed, A man of good renown. Though bowed his frame with weight of years, His eye is keen and bright. His speech is blunt. No man he fears — The shrewdest brain in Wight. Within his book-lined study dim He scans the dismal roll The Knighton Reeve hath rendered him Of all Sir Tristram's toll. ' The man will ruin home and land, Unmindful of his heir • All further calls we must withstand And nurse the rest with care.' Sir Tristram hath mounted his horse once more And ridden by George's Down Till he be come to the lawyer's door In grey-hued Newport town. 74 LEGENDS AND LAYS OF THE WIGHT ' Rouse ! Lawyer John ' — he tirled the pin — ' And open quick to me. Withdraw thy bolts. I would within, And instant speak with thee. * Come, leave thy dim and dusty deeds, Put musty tomes away, And list to me. Here 's that which needs Advice without delay.' Grave Lawyer John beneath his brows Keen eyes Sir Tristram down. ' What bodes this urgent haste and rouse- More news from London town ? ' ' My lands be bare, my debts be grave : This is my news for thee. The good red gold I needs must have — And that right speedily. ' So raise me gold on Knighton land ; I question not the way. My name and honour they must stand — Who lose forsooth must pay.' ' Foul wrong to do and call it right. Doth but thy folly crown. Wouldst ruin house and home in Wight For rogues in London town ? SIR TRISTRAM'S WEIRD 75 ' And hast forgot thy year-old bride At rest in Newchurch there ? Call thou to mind her love, thy pride. Wouldst rob her child — thine heir ? ' In thought his whole life passed before In one brief moment's span. Sir Tristram turned and passed the door- A shamed and humbled man. The Dillingtons have ever borne A fair and spotless name. Better to die a death forlorn Than Uve and bear the shame. The steward sits within his room And waits his lord's return. The hours beat out hke strokes of doom. And low the candles burn. He 's reached his cloak — he 's reached his cap, And lighted lanthorn dim. ' Sir Tristram 's met with some mishap, Needs I go search for him.' In vain he sought till dawn of day Some trace of him to find ; Then heard Red Sorrel's whickering neigh Borne down upon the wind. 76 LEGENDS AND LAYS OF THE WIGHT ' Woe 's me ! There 's evil here,' he cried, And followed till he found The sorrel by his dead lord's side, Pawing the bloody ground. Sir Tristram lay — a woeful sight, With gaping wound in breast — All stiff and stark, a paper tight Within his fingers press'd. Whereon was writ for all to read * Let none for this take blame. Mine was the sin. Mine is the deed To save an honoured name.' ' Cursed be women, wine, and play That brought the old name down. Ah ! woe the day he rode away To cruel London town.' He fetched him water from the brook And cleansed the bloody wound ; Then from his hand the script he took And buried deep in ground. * No trace of blood or wound must show How he hath met his end — That none the dreadful truth may know, Nan must the body tend. SIR TRISTRAM'S WEIRD 77 ' Else Christian rite he may not claim j Lands forfeit they '11 declare. Grim shame will light upon his name And ruin on the heir.' To saddle raised that burden dear — Red Sorrel love shall win — Then led him to the Knighton mere And urged the stallion in. That none should doubt the happening, To make it doubly plain. Ere that he drove the good steed in, The girths he rent in twain. So wisely well the news was spread That thus the tale went round. Sir Tristram had, by dark misled, In Knighton pool been drowned. So name and lands this steward true Thus saved from cruel ban, And how Sir Tristram died none knew But he and old Nurse Nan. Sir Tristram lies in Newchurch aisle — His sins and sufferings past — His body rests but there awhile ; God rest his soul at last. 78 LEGENDS AND LAYS OF THE WIGHT GEORGE MORLAND (1763-1804) Morland, the well-known landscape artist, painted many of his best pictures in the Isle of Wight. The episode of his being taken for a French spy and his sketch for a plan of the island, and his subsequent arrest by an ignorant militia-man, occurred during his visit in 1799. In the Isle of Wight, as elsewhere, he consorted with all sorts of characters of lower social position. Publicans, smugglers, poachers, and fishermen were his boon companions at his favourite resort, a low inn at Freshwater, known as the Cabin. Dramatis Persons : Morland, Fitzmaurice, Wilkes, and Garrick. Scene : Where land and sea meet. 'Tis sure the very spot I long have sought. Where sea and landscape all unconscious blend — The green and gold of shore and blue of sea — Beneath an azure vault all cloud-befleck't. Here will I rest me for a space and drink The inspiration of this favoured isle. Ere that I set my palette for the v/ork Of limning this fair scene, whose foreground lacks But rustic, homespun forms to give it hfe, — Some tiller of the soil with toil-bowed back. Or fisher from the sea, with storm-seared face And rugged garb. . . . Here 's answer to the wish. GEORGE MORLAND 79 {Enter Smugglers leading horses with tubs and bales.) Ho ! Ho ! Ho ! Let the wind blow, The harder it bloweth the better we go. It 's warily, lads, and cheerily, lads, No grumbling, lads, or growhng : Ere break o' day we must be on our way For Coast Preventives prowling. Come, my lads, come, and share in the fun, The darker the night the better the run : So cheerily now, and warily now. An would you drink good brandy, An would your wives wear Valenciennes, You '11 find the smuggler handy. Smart to and fro. Snug the tubs stow. When ganger cometh, nothing to show. It 's warily, lads, and cheerily, lads ; The tide is still a-fiowing : We '11 take our due of the Revenue Despite the wind a-blowing. MoRLAND. A lilting chanty. Smugglers, by their wares. . Well sung, my hearties. 1ST Smuggler. Ha ! who hav 's got heer ? Preventive chaap or gauger zpy belike. Your bizness, zur ? Vor ours ztands no delay. Us like not ztrangers j theer be hawks about. MoRLAND. Ho ! Ho ! that 's how the land lies- Business, friends ? I 've none, save easy hve $ this life enjoy 8o LEGENDS AND LAYS OF THE WIGHT Daub when I mind and sell whate'er I daub — And so to frolic. Hast a tass o' Nantz From these same tubs to offer me ? 2ND Smuggler. Cool hand. Hast any dealens wi' excise ? Sech like Us not. MoRLAND. Exciseman I ! Now God forbid : I would that all good liquor passed in free. 2ND Smuggler. Come then, we '11 broach a cask and friendship drink. MoRLAND. I 'm with you there. (Drinks.) And here be song for song. [Sings.) I can sing a song with the rest, my lads, And tilt a can with the best, my lads ; You '11 find me an excellent guest, my lads, So pass the liquor round. I 've wandered the country thro', my lads, I 've painted the high and the low, my lads, I care not a fig what I do, my lads, Provided mirth goes round. I mostly sleep where I sup, my lads = Here 's a toast with a brimming cup, my lads : ' Love and Luck.' Full up, my lads, And push the bottle round. All. Bravo ! Bravo ! a toppen zong, well zung. MoRLAND. My thanks to you. So smuggling be your trade. My lads. GEORGE MORLAND 8i 1ST Smuggler. You have it theer, but mum 's the word. MoRLAND. Mum shall it be. Confusion to Excise ! {Drinks.) Perdition take all gangers who would stop The influx of good liquor. Enter Countryman. Masters all, The hred-coats be about. I zid em nigh To Vuzzylaane. I war'nt they '11 be heer Vore long. 1ST Smuggler. Away wi' ye ! Roll tubs in brake. {To Countryman.) Tek harses to t'varm. 'Tes hrun an' spread, Morland. Stay ! 'Tis here that I come in. That board. Good ! Group yourselves and I will daub my best Ere these same red-coats come upon the scene. {Aside.) This cuts both ways. Here be my foreground made. Enter Sergeant and File of Men. Sergeant. Zmugglers I '11 be boun' vor sure, but then Theer ent no tubs an' sech like geer about. Ztill a med knaw o' this yer Vrenchy zpy We 'm arter. Morland. Morning, Captain. Just the day For exercise — and painting. Sergeant. Who be thee ? Morland, A poor but honest limner. Sergeant. Ay, but these ? F 82 LEGENDS AND LAYS OF THE WIGHT MoRLAND. My subjects all, who wait upon my nod. Sergeant. Ztow voolen, meyster bainter. {To Smugglers.) What 's a's naame ? Smugglers. Us knaws no more then you. Us vound en heer. But a be bright good chaap. Sergeant. Ay ! thet 's mebbe. But Mayor's orders be to keep a bright Lookout vor zpy thet 's hiden heerabouts To larn our new defence. A med be he. {To MoRLAND.) Let 's zee wot you be at. Morland {handing sketch). Most willingly, Mon brave, and you shall judge of its technique And chiaroscuro. Sergeant. Them 's outlandish words {holding sketch this way and that). A ken't mek out t' hrights uv en. 'Tes zure The plan o' this yer Isle, an' I meks doubt But you'm t' zpy we'm arter. — Kum 'long we. 1ST Smuggler. Doan't be a vool. I tell 'ee, Sergeant, 'tes An honest bainter chaap — no vinnicky Johnny Crapaud, but Enghsh zaame ez me. Sergeant. Vool or no vool. I tell 'ee I be bright. Them long outlandish words a used. An' then A've ztumped the blessed Isle to ketch en. — Zure, Now a 've a-ketched 'en, zaafe a '11 tek en in To Nippert vor t' Mayor to zee. {To Smugglers.) Now laads, Doan't e zhow hackle or 'twull be the worse Vor all. — Ztand back, I zaay. GEORGE MORLAND 83 Enter Fitzmaurice, Wilkes, and Garrick. Garrick. Ha ! what 's the coil ? Dramatic situation. Soldiers — Smugglers — Prisoner. Let the piece proceed ! Faith, I '11 do audience for the nonce. {Claps hands.) Play up ! Fitzmaurice. Peace, Davy. As a magistrate I here demand To know the cause of this commotion. Sergeant. A Vrenchy zpy, your honour, as a've . . . Wilkes. Gad ! George Morland, by th' eternal ! Prithee, George, What mad new frolic 's this ? Sad dog ! Sad dog ! Morland. Faith, Jack, 'tis naught to moralise upon. These honest fellows {winking at Smugglers) had but grouped themselves As foreground to my sketch, when in there bursts This wise bucolic hero, swearing me To be a spy of France, and my poor sketch A plan of this your isle. — Faith, 'tis too droll — Forthwith arrests me. Wilkes. Ha ! Ha ! George Morland A spy and Frenchman ! {To Soldiers.) You 're a pack of fools Unfit to be entrusted with the care Of firearms. {To Sergeant.) And what have you to urge ? Sergeant. A wuz but dooin' uv my dooty, zur. Fitzm. Duty I You jolterhead. Come ! right about With all your following and try to get 84 LEGENDS AND LAYS OF THE WIGHT Some kind o' sense into those heads of yours. [Exeunt Soldiers. {To MoRLAND.) Mr. Morland, pray allow me here To tender you our Isle's apologies. I know you well by your delightful art That charms the senses. Pleased am I to make Your personal acquaintance = tho' I fear The meeting be a strange one. Prithee come With us to Knighton, whither we are bound, Where we will give you hearty welcome. Garrick. Gad ! So, after all, the tragedy hath turned To comedy. Ring down the rag. Morland {To Smugglers). Farewell, My friends. We '11 meet and have a merry time Ere long together. {Takes Wilkes' arm.) Wilkes, George, must come and see My villakin at Sandham ; 'tis sans doute The quaintest cottage ever builded. [Exeunt Fitzmaurice, Garrick, Wilkes, and Morland. 1ST Smuggler. Bainter or no bainter, mates, I zaay Ez good a chaap as e'er I met. And now To plant they blessed tubs an' lace. Yo-ho 1 [Exeunt Smugglers. MARCH OF THE WIGHT MEN 85 LAYS MARCH OF THE WIGHT MEN Bright gleam the waters encircling our home. Sparkling with sunshine, crested with foam. Proud rise our chffs in their towering height, Clothed like a maid in their mantle of white. True is our boast, as our annals can show, Never has Wightman been worsted by foe. Men of the Wight, March in your might, Hearts will beat high when you strike for the right. Snug lie our homesteads, unfearful of foes. Embowered in myrtle and fuchsia and rose. Sweet are our maidens and sturdy our sons, Fresh as the mead where the rivulet runs. Isle of our fathers, fertile and free, * Unwinnable Isle ' of the narrowing sea. Men of the Wight, March in your might, Saxon and Norman, Yeoman and Knight. 86 LEGENDS AND LAYS OF THE WIGHT Should foes ever threaten us, call ye to mind When the flag of the Wideville was flung to the wind, How the Island men answered with weapon and shield And sternly refused at St. Albin to yield, But died in their harness — as Enghshmen should — With face to the foe by that fatal dark wood. Men of the Wight, March in your might. Remember St. Albin and strike for the right. March in good order, men of the Wight, Sons of the fathers who kept honour bright, Shoulder to shoulder, brother and son, Yeoman and craftsman, every one, Raising the strain of the Islanders' song Lustily as you go marching along — Left, right, March in your might, Shoulder to shoulder, Men of the Wight, Double your strength when you strike for the right. CUBBING 87 CUBBING Leave sluggards to slumber and snore, And pull on your boots with a will, For the horses are round at the door And daylight creeps over the hill. The grouse have been blazed at galore. The partridges' time has nigh come. So it 's bustle the litters once more And seek Master Charley ' at home.' A mist wraps the whole world asleep — A world that awakes as we go — In the hedges birds twitter and peep As dawn gilds the elms with its glow. In their buries the rabbits still lurk ; But a cock pheasant calls from the rue. And a farm hand creeps by to his work As the sky turns from yellow to blue. The dew glistens thick on the ground, And drops from the trees overhead. The foot people gather from round And follow equestrian lead. The young entry, a pleasure to see, Soon pick up the varminty stink. ' Don't bustle 'em, lad, let 'em be. They know more of their work than you think.' 88 LEGENDS AND LAYS OF THE WIGHT With a whimper they 're on to it now, And a startled cub brushes away. — Whoever you be you '11 allow There 's joy in the first hunting day — Then a brace get a-foot and the pack — Split in riot — race opposite ways, Till the whip thunders up with a crack Of his lash, and their energy stays. Tallyho ! a short burst to the rue Then he 's into the cover again. Hounds and huntsmen both vanish from view. And the youngster takes earth in a drain. But Nipper — the gallant and good — Promptly bolts him. He 's off with a will. A race thro' the stubble for blood And over he rolls — our first kill. Next, a cub in the withy bed found, Leads us a bit of a rig, Till in Youngwoods he gets him to ground — Move on, we can leave 'em to dig — So we draw thro' the bracken above — A litter 's been seen there of late — The youngsters are soon on the move, And we don't have a long time to wait. Go-ne away ! It 's hark for'ard once more, And the pace makes our pulses beat fast. Yo-oi ! Vengeful. There 's one to our score, As Charley dies game to the last. CUBBING 89 Whip off, for the sun 's getting high, And the young 'uns beginning to flag : The scent, too, no longer will he, So it 's light up and reckon the bag. There 's one in the copse we dug out, And two that afforded a run ; A leash — as we turn us about We own cubbing is excellent fun. Then the pleasant jog home thro' the fields To a hearty good breakfast and tub. What sport better appetite yields ! 'Tis the rising ere dawn that 's the rith. 90 LEGENDS AND LAYS OF THE WIGHT THE WILDERNESS FOX In the bank where the alder grows over He was born the beginning of May, As stout cub as ever broke cover To the tune of Yo-oi ! go-ne away. His sire was a crafty old dodger — He died in the open at Pyle — Whose lair always harboured a ' lodger ' To puzzle the hounds for a while. The vixen his dam was a beauty — She met her end cubbing, I fear — Who by Master and Hunt did her duty In showing a litter each year. As a one-year-old he was a wonder, Right sure, when hounds rattled him out. To lead them, and never a blunder, Straight away and no dodging about. All danger and obstacles scorning, No matter how far he may roam. When you call on ' a fine hunting morning ' You are certain to find him ' at home.' THE WILDERNESS FOX 91 He 's welcome to toll of the chickens — Who '11 grudge him a pheasant or two ? — For the sport he affords. 'Tis the dickens To live with him — even in view. I warrant for many a season He 's shown us all plenty of fun. Ay ! we love him, the rogue, for the reason He always affords us a run. Good luck to the Wilderness Cover And the fox to whom shelter it gives. Gad ! hunting will never ' give over ' While one of his progeny hves. A point — He can set you a stumper, Cridmoor to the Undercliff rocks, A toast — Here 's to him in a bumper, ' Our Pilot the Wilderness Fox.' 92 LEGENDS AND LAYS OF THE WIGHT A TALLY-HO DAY Come, pull on your boots, let sluggards sleep sound. On saddle, girth up, and away ; With the wind in the west and the leaf on the ground It should be a ' tally-ho ' day. We toss off a toast and jog on to the meet, All trim in our hunting array, And with cheery good fellowship heartily greet The sportsmen we meet on the way. A word with the master, a look at the hounds, A greeting to huntsman and field ; Then we gaily move off, ' Ta-ra-ra ' the horn sounds, To see what the ' Bottom ' will yield. Now the sweetest of sounds that a sportsman can hear When out on a deep scenting day Is the cry, as the huntsman puts finger to ear. Of ' Yo-oi ! Tally-ho ! Go-ne away.' When hounds are in cover and field gathered round, The whip in a whisper will say. As he sees Master Charles, with his tag on the ground. Creeping out — ' Tally-ho ! St-o-le away.' A TALLY-HO DAY 93 And when hounds take it up and their music rolls out — Old Melody 's leading, I lay — The Master will stand in his stirrups and shout * Hold ! Gentlemen — give 'em fair play.' Running hard, noses down, sterns waving in air j Hark, for'ard to VaUant. A treat 'Tis to see them stream over the ground. I declare You could cover the lot with a sheet. There 's a stiff post and rails, such as ' road-scrapers ' hate, But the rat-tailed 'un takes it in style. Well over ! The shirkers go round by the gate And lose the best part of a mile. The grey blunders his fence. His rider 's aground — A fair nasty ' muddy-back ' spill — He 's heartily cursing his luck, I '11 be bound. With hounds racing hard for a kill. Blood 's up, so it 's httle of raspers we reck ; Gad ! Nothing can stop us to-day ; A straight forty minutes with never a check, A kill in the open — at bay. Who '11 bid for the mask ? 'Tis a trophy to hold. Give the brush to the girl on the bay. A pad for the youngster— he rode straight and bold— On a ' forester ' out for the day. 94 LEGENDS AND LAYS OF THE WIGHT A breather, while over the sandwich and flask We discuss all the points of the run, Second horses come up. Hounds warm to their task. Go-ne away ! And again starts the fun. For'ard on ! for he 's making for Troopers, of course • Twenty minutes and never a rest, Ere hounds roll him over in Samborough-gorse, And we toast him at Sprack's in the best. Then we move to the Wilderness cover and find A pilot that leads us a dance Over half of the Island, with never a mind To give us a ghost of a chance. The dayhght is waning. Whip off ! There 's a brace We 've accounted for. Homeward away, And a smile of contentment spreads over each face As we own to a ' Tally-ho ' day. FOR'ARD AWAY 95 FOR'ARD AWAY Damp — but a grand hunting morning. — Ay. Scent should be breast-high to-day — Hark ! a view hallo gives us a warning. Hold hard ! Let 'em get well away. 'Ware seeds ! Come along ; never mind, sir — My own, so there 's nothing to pay — You 're welcome. There 's no time for skirting. When they 're running — 'tis For'ard away. There 's a deuce of a bullfinch before us — Don't thrust, sir, and get in the way — Well over ! A bit of a rasper. Sit down now : it 's For'ard away ! Confound it ! A check in the bottom — Keep back there and give 'em fair play — When they 've taken it up and are running. Then 's the time to cry For'ard away ! That 's old Vanity's voice for a fiver ! I '11 lay six to four, if you stay, We '11 account, sir, for sly Master Charley Before we have finished the day. 96 LEGENDS AND LAYS OF THE WIGHT They 're picking it up on the fallow — The beauties, you can't give 'em nay — Now they 're running. Ram in the persuaders, For it 's Tally-ho ! For'ard away ! They 're streaming away for the cover — 'Ware wire ! 'Ware wire ! I say — A swing and he 's left it behind him. They 're pushing him. For'ard away. Gad ! they 've run into him in the open ; Where, gravelled, he turns him to bay — A run that, from start to the finish. Has fairly been, For'ard away ! What ballad that ever was printed Can vie with a fox-hunting lay In the hearts that have leapt to the music Of For'ard on — For'ard away ! HOW THEY RAN THE FIRST FOX 97 HOW THEY RAN THE FIRST FOX IN THE WIGHT (1830) Passon Fenwick o' Brook a kep' a darg vox On a chain i' his yard at the rear Where a got en, an' how, I niver yet heerd, All thet I knows — he wuz theer. To Passon cum hrunnin' one vine zummer day, As a moistened a's clay on the laan, A's zervant man Zam wi' the ter'ble news — ' Pleaze zur, measter Renyard be gaan.' High an' low did they zeek vor en, measter an' man, But niver a traace uv en vound. Zo twuz clear to they both, as they moppet theer brows, Zly Renyard had got en to ground. But a's presence I hreckon zoon gun ter be velt r rickess an' hen roost an' hrun ; Tho' vew uv em zaw en, a vast uv em zmelt Wheer the rogue had been oop to a's vun. A got sech a noosance, I tell 'ee, at last Thet the whole blessed country-zide hrose. An' they argued it this way, they argued it thet — They very nigh ended in blows. G 98 LEGENDS AND LAYS OF THE WIGHT Last they 'greed vor to gether an' dresh en out vair, Zo us met at the ' Dragon ' an' dined — Varmer Day, Zquire Thetcher, an' Jemmy Scovell, An' a mort more bezaide I doan't mind. Zaays Zquire, a zetten oop top i' the cheer. As a's knife on the table a knocks, — ' My hounds they'm be stoutish at hrunning a hare, I hreckon they '11 zhow to a vox.' Oop gits Varmer Day. ' Then a Toosday let 's meet, An' I knaws bright good sport us '11 zee j An' when us hev hrunned en an' killed en — o' carse You mun all come an' dine long o' me.' Toosday come an' old Ned he 've a brought oop the hounds, Zquire Thetcher a hriden behind, Wi' Harvey an' Jacobs an' Day an' Scovell An' the rest uv us — eager to vind. Us hed hridden dro' Brison — a cup at the ' Bells ' — When a shepherd lad gi'ed us the neows, A'd zeen Measter Renyard on top o' Brook Down Thet marning a voiding a's yowes. ' Move on Ned wi' the hounds an' draw the Rue vust. Us '11 vind — if a's theer ' — Zquire cried. But zly Renyard a zaays, ' Wot 's this bother an' vuss, I '11 jest zteal away t'other zide.' HOW THEY RAN THE FIRST FOX 99 ' To en, my pets. Tally-ho ! ' hollers Ned — Zquire blaws till a's blue i' the veace — Ga-a-r-n awa-a-y ! Us wor bracing long top uv the Down, As a zunk the hill, nigh to Pitt Pleace. Grimes o' Yafford an' Day they pushed haard vor the lead — They hrode jest a bit jealous thet day — ' Vor Barnes High a's makin,' zhouts Mr. Scovell, A'll ground ef not headed away.' But a shepherd's grey bobtail here joined the vun. An' vor Yafford an' Troopers a turned ; But they gallied en on wi'out valter or check, Vor the zcent by this time vairly burned. By Troopers a zhip-vold a breather us gev Us wor none uv us zorry to take — Vor the pace wuz a hot un — hounds picked oop the line An' for'ard us ztreamed i' theer wake. Now vor Presford a made, wheer zome laberen' chaps Wi' theer zhouts turned vor Kingston a's head. Us vollied the line past the church by the varm, An' on dro' the home withy-bed. Then no'thard a zwung vor the Wilderness earths — Many zince theer hev vanished vrom zight — But us pushed en on thro'. Wi' a turn to the left A made vor the Chillerton height. 100 LEGENDS AND LAYS OF THE WIGHT All long top o' down — harses blawin' like mad — Then hround Westridge covers a went, Past Larden-copse, down Zhor'ell zhute an' across Passon's garden — vair screaming the zcent. By Smallmoor, across Haslett's-heath an* away — Vor Atherfield Cliffs wuz a's aim. Nigh done, dro' t' rickess a Dungewood a creeps An' makes vor the open — ztill game. But hounds they are on en — a znarl an' a znap — A's life an' misdeeds they'm past. Ned snatches en oop vrom the worryen pack — Bold Renyard dies game to the last. * Who zaays thet my beauties ken't zhow to a vox ? ' Cries Zquire, a moppen a's veace ; ' They stuck to en prime vrom the vind to the kill, Tho' I hreckon a zhowed we the pace.' Us zlackened our girths — both harses an' men Wor tired as martals cud be — Cries Day ' Jog along, our legs us can hrest Beneath my mahogany dree.' I mind wot a zpread Madam Day gev us theer — Every thing thet a martal cud eat — I hreckon as proper a housekeeper she As iver in Wight you cud meet. HOW THEY RAN THE FIRST FOX loi An* to drink, theer wuz prime old October brewed ale, Wi' zherry an' poort uv the best, Ah ! how us discussed the events uv the day — The hrun an' the joomps an' the hrest. Ole Zquire — thet tired wi' dinner an' sport — Veil asleep in a's cheer an' gun znore, Then a'd wake up an' zhout wi' a wave of a's hand, * Yes us killed en, us killed he vor zure.' Last in come the jorum, all zteaming an' strong, An' us toasted the high an' the low • When thrice us had empt'd the bowl an' villed oop Zquire hreckened it time vor to go. But when harses wor zadelled an' brought to the door. Many tried vor the ztirrup in vain ; Many wuzn't quite zure a wich zide to mount. An' many zaw ghoasts i' the laane. Charge your glasses — no ' heel taps ' we make it our boast In the health I 'm proposing to-night — Squire Thatcher, of Wackland, I give as the toast Who ran the first fox in the Wight. 102 LEGENDS AND LAYS OF THE WIGHT HOW THEY INTRODUCED FOXES TO WIGHT Yes, vox do creak a bit i' the wind, We'm zure to have hrain avore night i 'Twuz once Squire Thetcher's — you mind, Who hran the vust vox i' the Wight. Vor years over stable a' hung, A telhn' the wind i' the sky. As all hround the compass a' zwung — When a' died Squire 'queathed en to I. At sport any place I could fill, Zo I whipped till old Ned on the shelf Wuz laid. Then Squire zay'd ' Will, Best take to the tootler yerself.' One o' the dead an' gone zort, A hard un to vollow, zur. Zounds, A rare chap wuz Squire vor sport. Be it cock-fighten', harses or hounds. But the huntin' it wuz a' loved best. For a' knowed all its wiles an' its ways. Gad ! a' vollied it too wi' a zest You'm none of 'e got now-a-days. HOW THEY INTRODUCED FOXES 103 Ay, one o' the best, zur, wuz 'e, An' that I can trewly declare, Tho' when a wuz crossed, I agree, A ter'ble veller to zwear. 'Twuz harrier hounds that a' kept Up at Wackland. The beauties ! I mind How over the country they zwept, Ah ! a stout pack to gallop behind. Us hadn't no voxes i' Wight In them days but old Squire's zon — A thoroughbred bit of all bright — Thowt a'd jest interjooce 'em, vor vun. Me and him took to Portsmouth a trip — As a zay'd, ' to gi' Willum a treat ' — Brought vour brace o' cubs home by zhip, An' nigh lost em in Union Street, Well, us got back to Wackland by dark And uptipp'd the hampers i' wood ; Then waited to zee how the lark By his daddy would be understood. November come voggy an' chill, Wi' vust meet a' Wackland o' carse j ' Hares be plenty, zcent prime, us should kill * Zaays Squire, a pattin' hes harse. 104 LEGENDS AND LAYS OF THE WIGHT Girths zeen to. A'hright ? Us moved on Down lane to the home withy bed, When, a' zudden, old Khnker gev tongue An' the rest opened out to a's lead. A hrush, an' they gallied en thro'. Old Ned voUied, crying, ' 'war' stubs ! ' Squire's zon whispers, ' 'Tween me an' you A hreckon 'tis one o' our cubs.' ' I behve you'm bright, zur,' zaays I. As us galloped thro' Horringford leaze. The line wuz as straight as a die, The pace, zur, as hot as you please, Zaays Squire, ' A've hrun a vair zight O' hares and no hrun I would miss, We'm got ztoutish hares i' the Wight, But a niver zid ar' one like this.' Me an' Squire, us hrode zide by zide ; As us crossed by the wold ' Fightin' Cocks,' Squire stood in his stirrups an' cried, ' D — nation ! they'm hrunning a vox I ' ' Be'm zur ? ' answered L ' Well, thet 's brum,' An' I stuck my tongue in t'other cheek As young Squire a' winked me ' Be mum ' ; But o' carse I warn't goin' to sneak. HOW THEY INTRODUCED FOXES 105 Away went Charles, headen for Hale, Us zat down for a reg'lar bust As a zwung roun' vor Budbridge the tail Slackened down. Us hrode hard who 'd be vust. Ay, gad that day didn't us hride ! — At the brook there wuz many a zpill — Into withy-bed, out t'other zide. Then a quick turn thro' Moor to Godshill. As us zwep thro' the village, a gurl Cried, ' 'A zid 'em a galleyin' a beast, Wi' a gurt bushy tail like a squr'l An' a head hke our colley dog ! ' . . . least. . . . But it 's for'ard away, us can't stop. An' little o' yawners us hrecked. As they made vor Bleak Down, gained the top Where the vuz bushes thicken, an' checked. How they veathered, the beauties. 'Twuz prime To zee Verity hit off the zcent Wi' a whimper — but Charles by this time Had to ground in the Wilderness went. Zo it 's whip off, and hoam us must vare — Us didn't dig out then-a-day — Vor Squire wouldn't try vor a hare After hrunning a vox in thet way. io6 LEGENDS AND LAYS OF THE WIGHT How a showed off did Squire, thet zick. An' zwore, if a' got on the track O' the rogue as had play'd en the trick, A'd lay hes whip over a's back. Tho' a zay't, a toppen' vine hrun — A straight vorty minutes or zo — Us two had the best o' the vun, There was none o' the rest i' the know. How a' mind they hrode for'ard and well, Smith o' Languard an' Jacobs o' Chale, Gibbs o' Bowcombe an' Hills, too, o' Hale, Grimes o' Yafford an' Day an' Scovell, Hughes o' Whitcombe, Lord Alec ^ the swell, And the lawyer chap, young Beckingsale. Then vences were vences, ztiff plashed, Made up proper as one could desire, If a hrode straight a' didn't get hashed There warn't none o' this cussed barbed wire. An' when Squire got too old to hride He 'd hay his cheer zet on the laan, Wi' a's spying glass close to a's side. Jest to zee how I carried the harn. 1 Lord Alexander Russell, who hunted the Isle of Wight Harriers 1840-50. HOW THEY INTRODUCED FOXES 107 Ay, Squire wuz one o' the best, An' I zerved 'un vor many a yeer. His body at Newchurch doth hrest — His zowl be a hunten' up theer. • ••••• Hrainen' ! Vox wuz a' right, as a zaid. Here 's a coat, zur, you'm welcome to borrer, It 's hoam now an' early to bed Zcent 'ull be breast high to-morrer. io8 LEGENDS AND LAYS OF THE WIGHT SPRING I 'm neyther zick, nor hrich nor poor — A jolly keerter's mate I be — I whistle ez I pass t' door Wheer waits my maade expectantly, An' kreck my whip hright lustily, Whiles heyam's ^ bells bring wi' zilver tongue, ' Wold winter 's past, ztep cheerily — Coom oop, my harses. Ztep along.' Oi, Zpring be here ; theer 's zigns vor sure, — Green buds pe'p owt in hedge an' dree An' dro t' meadow, ez uv yore, T' ztreamlet hripples merrily Whiles high above, a zpeck to zee, A titty lark breks inter zong : Would I could zing zo zweet ez he — ' Coom oop, my harses. Ztep along.' Grass zprings agen in mesh an' moor An' zunlight 's over land an' zea. Whiles on t' ledges 'long t' zhore The nesten' doves coo lovingly. 1 Hames, the pieces of wood on the horse-collar to take the traces. SPRING 109 Vor Zpring hev come to gladden we, An' zummer zoon will volley 1 on Wi' vlowers bright in lynch ^ an' lea — ' Coom oop, my harses. Ztep along.' Zpring ! Oi, thet 's t' time vor me When Natur 's hright an' nuthen 's hwrong j When t' very air zims villed wi' glee — ' Coom up, my harses. Ztep along.' 1 Follow. 2 A strip of copse, generally on a hillside. no LEGENDS AND LAYS OF THE WIGHT SUMMER Now yields be green an' zkies be vair, Coo duvs around theer dwellen. The hum o' bees be in t' air : In ear t' karn be zwellen. All Natur wide Dro zummertide O' vuture plenty tellen. Vrom buries hrabbets peep an' pass, Ez da'an vrom East comes creepen. Then vearless zeek t' dewy grass, O'er tuft an' tussock leapen. They veed an' plaay At time o' daay Thet most o* we be zleepen. Above, the zwallows dart an' turn ; In copse t' megpies chitter Whiles nigh theer nest uv bent an' vem T' game-chicks cheep an' twitter. ^ They'm vairly zote ^ Ez mother ztoat Zteals by to zeek her litter. 1 To be agitated. 2 Silly, out of one's mind. SUMMER III Neath zky thet 's one girt hroof o' blue The hripened grasses veather. Swish-o, Swish-o, t' zives ^ zweep dro An' zwauth hnes grow an' gether. Then ztoans zing bhthe Along t' zive T' zong o' haarvest weather. Now pratty maades, wi' buzy tongue, Bunch meadow-zweet an' mallow Bezaide t' ztream, all overhung Wi' bramble bush an' zallow,^ Wheer moorhens desh An' dip an' zplesh Dro' zpire an' pool an' zhallow. When daay hev draan to eventide Young couples 'gin to wander : Wi' tender znoodlen zaide by zaide They dro t' laanes meander, Or han' in han' All mumchance stan', Laike zilly goose an' gander. Dro' warm ztill nights, wi' trusten' love. Green things pursue theer growen'. Dews vresh t' earth, an' ztars above — Bright angel lamps — be glowen'. Zings nightingale In lynch an' vale, Her zong laike water vlowen'. 1 Scythe. 2 Willow. 112 LEGENDS AND LAYS OF THE WIGHT AUTUMN When daays begin to zhelten in,^ An' leaves be turnen' brown, An' gossamer wi' vairy laace Do cover up t' groun'. An' zkies, till now zo clear an' blue, Wi' zuUen hrain clouds vrown. When zwallows hev a vlitted zouth In zearch o' warmth an' zun. When hoar vrost comes wi' early daan An' cubbin' hay begun : Then all on varm bright glad prepare Vor haarvest work an' vun. Vrom edge o' down t' Haarvest moon Arises big an' bright — Most laike a goolden grinden' ztoan — An' zheds a's welcome light. Whiles vixen caals at edge o' copse An' breks t' hush o' night. When karn be cut an' boun' an' hiled,^ An' keerted zafely hoam, 1 Shorten. ^ Sheaves set up for carting. AUTUMN 113 An' hroots push up theer hrounded tops Above the zandy loam, An' apples vail. Us knaw vor zure Thet autumn time be come. An' then t' meyaster's Haarvest Hoam, T' zupper an' t' zong. — A middlen' dido ^ us kicks oop When laughter 's loud an' long — An' clean vorgot be weather bad An' zmut an' blight an' hwrong. Oi, Zpring an' Zummer med be vair An' Winter hay its joys, But 'tes vor autumn's gatheren' Us zing wi' thankful voice. When passon bids we come to church An' wi' t' choir rejoice. 1 Noise, disturbance. H 114 LEGENDS AND LAYS OF THE WIGHT WINTER T' ZLUGGARD waakes wi' many a yawn, Vrost ztars t' winder pane a : Zure getten' oop i' winter dawn Ez zleepy zluggards bane a. Whiles Kezzie 'way to cowhouse trips, Wi' ankles trim an' neat a, Zo tight Jeck Vrost her vingers grips Her zcarce ken draa t' teat a. T' waggon harses ztep along T' hroads all white wi' hrime a, Whiles Jem t' keerter kreks hes thong An' heyam's bells bring a chime a. Will Zhepherd whistles oop hes daags An' zeeks t' lamen' yowes a ; Hes meyaster way to market jaags To larn t' latest neows a. T' jolly Imntsman mounts hes harse An' leaves hes hoam an' wife a. Zly Reynard breks vrom vuzzy ^ garse : Yo-oi ! Us '11 hay hes life a. 1 Furze. WINTER 115 T' sportsman breaches vor hes gun : ' Let 's dry t' mesh ^ vor duck a, An' chance zum znipes vore us ha' done — Ef us hay any luck a.' When dayhght zinks along t' West 'Tes time no more to hroam a. Gie over. Us ha' done our best — Zo, hey, my bwoys, vor hoam a. Ay ! theer it be, at end 0' lane, T' hoam us dearly love a. Zee, vire-hght bivers 2 dro' t' pane An' chimley zmoaks above a. Vling on a log. Draa to t' cheer. Come, let 's be znug an' warm a. Vill oop t' glass. Away wi' keer. Zhet owt t' caald an' ztarm a. Zo let out voices merry zound Wi' zong an' tale an' jest a. Then, villen oop a vinal hround. Toss off — an' zo to hrest a. 1 Marsh, or low land. s Flickers. ii6 LEGENDS AND LAYS OF THE WIGHT THE WIDOW Keziah ! Anna Mary ! Cum heer you zilly zluts, I '11 hay my house kep' tidy — Noo answers an' noo ' buts.' What ! zcoured up thet zarcepan. Well, do'en once agen. Call thet a proper cleanin ! wi' zmears on winder pen. The oben door lef ' open ! Keziah, I '11 be bound — Zims now-a-days a missus needs alius chivvy hround — I '11 hay no dust in earners, noo rust nor zlops o' wet, I 'm Varmer Zibbick's missus — an' doant you maades vorget. Well, Venner's Jarge, what be 't ? Doant ztand theer Uke a vool, Mumchance, ez ef I 'd arst 'ee a pozer vore the zkool. Here ! hands off my clean table — they'm well nigh black ez coal. What ! want the vet i' Nippert — Zo Nancy 's dropt her voal — Ef you kent tend to harses, why man you jest ken zhunt, You ent no good to me, Jarge, I tell 'ee jo an blunt. ^ I '11 waste no hard earned money on a stuck oop Nippert vet, I 'm Varmer Zibbick's missus — an' doant you men vorget. 1 Outright. THE WIDOW 117 Leer ! bren cheese ^ you'm a wanten ? 'Tis alius nammet time,^ I louz, wi' you young slaabacks.^ Heer! mind thet tub o' lime. Jest zletched * to white the skillen ^ — No ! beer 's vor men, my zon, Zpring water 's drink vor nippers — There ! zee what you 've a done, A harlen ^ oop they knittles,' you buffle-headed lout. Hike off 8 to Vourteen Acre — an' mind what you'm about ; But vust tell Jem i' garden I want them taters zet. I 'm Varmer Zibbick's missus — an' doant you bwoys vorget. You doos yer best. I knaws it. Theer doant 'ee mind my tongue. My heart be bright towards 'ee. Lard ! I wor zweet an' young When I took oop wi' Zibbick, nigh vorty year agone — Lef ' twenty year a widder to work the varm alone, An' not a zon to help me — Lard ! when I lost my Ned It 'most zimmed thet dark winter, my blessed heart ztopt dead. Zure, when hoped up ^ an' lonesome, 'ithin my parlour zhet, I 'm jest your poor wold missus, God help her ! — doant vorget. 1 Bread and cheese. 2 Time for refreshment. 3 Louts. * Slaked. s The lean-to outhouse. 6 knotting up, entangling. ^ Strings for tying the bundles of sacks. 8 Begone, or be off with you. a Perplexed, troubled. ii8 LEGENDS AND LAYS OF THE WIGHT NEWTOWN RANDY i I BUNCHED a tutty,2 big ez a plate, An' garbed me up a dandy o, To meet my maade by her mammy's gate An' away to Newtown Randy o. Ef ar-a-one hed a vlouted zhe, Reckon I 'd hay tann'd he o : The volk they vairly ztared at we A walking to the Randy o, I bought zhe a proper parazall — Happen her '11 vind en handy o, Chance zun do zhine or hrain do vail Gooin' to Newtown Randy o. Us ztood to zee t' boxin' bout 'Twixt Tinker Tim an' Zandy o Zandy he knock'd the Tinker out An' tuk the prize at t' Randy o, I bought zhe hribbons an' ginger cake, Laces an' zugar candy o • Us danced away till our hgs did ache Vor zure at Newtown Randy o. 1 Fair. The one at Newtown was the most noted. 2 Nosegay. NEWTOWN RANDY 119 I treated us both to the ' What is it ' — An' a drop o' Kecksy 1 brandy o — ' Tired, my maade ? ' ' Me ! Not a bit, I 'm jest enjoyin' t' Randy o.' Us zid the dwarf an' a proper play. An' a larned pig called Andy o. Us zid most everything thet day Theer wuz at Newtown Randy o. Last her gev in. ' Come, tek my arm Wi' your pratty handy-pandy o. Snoodle 2 'gen me an' I '11 keep 'ee warm Way back vrom t' Randy o.' Us lingered most by ivery ztile, Like lovin' goose an' gandy o. I hugged zhe ivery quarter mile Comin' vrom Newtown Randy o. I 'm a granfer nigh on vower score yeer, My back an' hgs ^ be bandy o. Her 's zetten theer i' the chimbley cheer — The maade I tuk to t' Randy o. 1 Sloe. 2 Nestle. 3 Legs. 120 LEGENDS AND LAYS OF THE WIGHT MY MAID The maade I luv be Island barn — Zame ez I do be — Med zearch t' Wight vrom end to end To vind t' laike o' zhe. I plucked a tutty t' other day Vrom off our vlower knot ^ : Chinay asters, marygolds, An' more I Ve clean vorgot • An' when twuz bunched I tied en hround Wi' zpire ^ vrom ofi t' mesh An' waited auverright ^ t' ztile Down by t' barley esh.^ But when her come all I cud mind Wuz, ' Marnin' you — Vine day ' — Zure them wuz not t' tharts I hed, Nor what I meant to zaay. Vor bothered, when her looks at me Wi' eyes zo blue an' bright, My taalk 'tis all harled up ^ — zomehow I kennot git en bright. Zometimes I zhets my eyes an' thinks I zee her ztandin' theer, A dainty maade vor sure — I '11 dry An' dra' her picter heer. 1 Flower-bed. " Reed. s Opposite. * Stubble. ^ Entangled. MY MAID 121 Her eyes be blue ez vairy bells Thet blaw along t' lane. Her zmile is jest t' April zun A-zhinin' arter hrain. Her cheeks they match t' apple bloom : Her mouth a rosebud be ; Her ears zim laike they tiddley zhells You vind agen t' zea. Her breast be zaame when drifted snaw Lies wreathed along t' down — Kin zee the dimples in her neck A-peepin' dro' her gown. Her voice coos zaft ez turtle duv's When zummer hours hrun. Her hair gleams laike t' goolden karn A-hripphn' i' t' zun. Her laugh most minds me uv t' brook Thet pleshes dro' t' moor. Her breath comes zweet ez milkin' time Tthin t' ztable door. Her hands be rosy, mimfy ^ things — Cud hold they i' my one. Her lips — zure ef I tell 'ee more, I niver zhall hay done. Mebbe you wants to knaw her naame ? Thet 's tellins, doan't 'ee zee — Her 's jest the zweetest maade i' Wight, The on'y maade vor me. 1 Dainty, delicate. 122 LEGENDS AND LAYS OF THE WIGHT SHICKSHACK DAY (Royal Oak Day, 1660) The twenty-ninth o' May Es Zheckzhack Day, Zo mount your oak my bwoys an' gie A hip hooray ! Wold winter 's gone away — Vor zummer comes i' May — Zo ivery one med joyful be A Zhechzhack Day. Twuz arter Wor'ster vray, Wheer Crummell gained the day, King Charles he hrode vor zafety wi' A hip hooray ! Oi you, zhout vor they Ez helped King Charles away An' hid 'en in an oaken dree A Zhechzhack Day. The knave as wunt obey An' zport his oak to-day. We '11 tweak 'en and we '11 towse 'en wi' A hip hooray ! SHICKSHACK DAY 123 Here 's to Penderel an' Lane An' pratty Missus Jane, Who zaved the King vor England A Zhechzhack Day. Zo jine in, no nay, 'Tes Zheckzhack Day, An' wi' us zing God zave t' King Wi' hip hooray. 124 LEGENDS AND LAYS OF THE WIGHT THE CARTER'S MATE Tho' I 'm nobbut a Keerter's mayet, you mind, An' draw but den zhillen a week, I can whistle an' zing an' enjoy my life — An' better I do not zeek. I stride longzaide o' my team zo proud As a paycock burd i' Joon, Wi' a kreck o' my whip an' a ' get oop theer ' As t' heyam's bells ring i' toon. I luvs t' bring o' they jinglin' bells As t' harses ztep along. It zounds to I like t' harmony In t' chorus uv a zong. An' I luvs a maade — t' prattiest maade As iver i' Wight wuz barn — Her 's one o' t' dainty tiddley ^ zart. Cud put her two vests ^ i' my waan. I mind 'twuz oop at haarvest hoam — Us wor all enjoyin' oursels — When meyaster's ^ nevvy a made en vree An' vair tarmented t' gels. 1 Diminutive. 2 Fists, i.e. hands. ^ Master. THE CARTER'S MATE 125 I cudn't abaide the luk uv t' chap — Tho' I owns a good zong a zung— A taller- veaced, peaky-znouted 1 laad, Wi' a ter'ble 2 Nippert twang. I zhuv'd oop agen he — chance behke — He called I a lubberly lout j ' Mebbe,' zaays I, ' but thee doan't kum heer A messin' my maade abowt.' ' I meant no harm i' the wurld/ zaays he, ' Best thee didn't,' I zaayd, * Vor, meyaster's nevvy or not, my laad, I 'd jolly zoon punch thy yead.' Not that I be a quar'lzum chap, But can use my vests if I must. I had but waan reel turn oop i' my hfe — But thet wor a reg'lar bust. 'Twuz Gipsy Zam oop at Barley Mow, The zilly vool 'bout half zlued,^ A tried vor to peck a quar'l wi' I — But I warn't i' a quar'lzum mood. ' Time thet thee hiked * off hoam,' I zaays— Bein' alius a man vor peace. Then a vlouted ^ my maade. ' Adone ! ' I zaays, An' zmacked 'n i' the veace. 1 Pointed nosed. 2 Terrible, a very common superlative. 3 Half-drunk. * Be off. ^ Spoke ill of. 126 LEGENDS AND LAYS OF THE WIGHT Us hed it owt by the rickess * end — I zwore I wudn't gev in — At vinish my veace wuz all uv a hoogh 2 — But a dedn't zhow hackle ^ agin. I wuz a bit uv a zmock-veaced * laad When vust I zaw my maade. Her looked zo zweet an' zo tired laike, ' Doost want a hride ? ' I zaayd. Quiddle ^ an' znigger ? — Her warn't thet zort — But * I taake it kind,' zaays she. I ken zee her perched on t' overrods « Laike t' Jenny Wren her be. Venner's Tummas a vancied she — When a zid I off did shab ' — A maggotty, pumble-vooted ^ chaap, Wi' a wunnerful gift o' gab. Now thet 's a gift I hevn't a got, Tho' at els I med be bresh,^ An' mumchance i" by her zaide I walked Athert " t' barley esh. ' Art veared uv a little vly laike me, Thou gurt big Dumbley Dore 12 ? ' Then I ketched she hround t' waaste I did An' kissed her lips vor zure. 1 Rickyard. 2 Out of shape. 3 show fight. * Bashful. * Fuss. 8 The overhanging rails of a wagon. ' Shuffle ofif. 8 Club-footed. » Impetuous. i" Shy, silent. " Across, la Humble bee. THE CARTER'S MATE 127 Her snoodled ^ agen my zaide an' zaayd — A lookin' zo zweet an' zly — ' I knaw'd thee 'd niver hev vound a tongue To tell the news to I.' Us voregather nammet ^ taime — Taime maades do meet the men — But wen I 'd taalk o' banns, her '11 zmile, ' Thet med be — enywen.' ^ ' 'Tis zumwen, Jenny Wren, vor zure, A cottage us '11 hay Wi' a vlower knot * 'ver-right t' door Wi' pinks an' panzies gay.' Zo I whistle an' zing as blithe ken be, — Tho' I hreckon us two mun wayet Till a keerter I be — at prednt ^ you zee I 'm nobbut a keerter's mayet. 1 Nestled. 2 Harvest bread and cheese and beer taken at four o'clock in the afternoon. 3 A very common Isle of Wight expression, i.e. any time. * Flower-bed. ^ Present. 128 LEGENDS AND LAYS OF THE WIGHT THE OLD GREY HEN I ZING abowt my wold grey hen — The best t' Island dro — You wouldn't vind her laike, my bwoys, Wheeriver you med go. Oi, zearch ye med dro ivery varm, Vrom Lee to Totland Bay, There 's nowt to metch wi' my grey hen Thet niver lays awaay. Her ligs be clean j her veet be virm Her zteps zo neat an' zpry ; Her veathers lie thet thick an' close, Not one uv 'em awry Her beak be yaller guinny goold ; Her comb be gay an' hred ] Her eye be bright j her breast be plump As grammer's ^ veather bed. Her 's niver broody long, but zets As regler ez the zun : I 've know'd her cover vourteen iggs An' hetch 'em — ivery wun. Her regler breshes ^ i' the dew To help t' peepen' chicks. 1 Grandmother's. 2 Brushes, i.e. wets her feathers. THE OLD GREY HEN 129 An' iggs her don't vorget to turn— Her 's oop to all t' tricks. Her clucks zo zweet an' ztruts zo proud Wi' all her chicken hround. Begob ! her lifts her veet thet high They zcarcely tetch t' ground. An' zhould a hawk or crow come nigh — Show hackle ! Thet her do. An' caals her brood 'ithin t' coop As vast ez they ken go. When dry you doos to veel her iggs, Her zims to unnerstand, An' zits ez gentle ez a duv An' niver pecks yer hand. But clucks zo zaft, ez ef to zaay, ' A knows what you'm abowt. Zure doan't be vussen' hround they iggs, I '11 hetch the bwoylen owt,' ^ Now thet I 've zung my titty ^ zong I 'm zure you '11 all agree Thet this yer wold grey hen o' mine 's The best you'm laike to zee. Oi, jest t' best man iver had — What more ken martal zaay ? Here 's to her then ' The wold grey hen Thet niver lays awaay.' 1 The whole lot. - Little. 130 LEGENDS AND LAYS OF THE WIGHT MARY Vrom owt my life the joy be gone, An' day hev zet in darkest night, Vor He 've a called my deary one. My Mary, to the realms o' light To worship wi' the angels bright, 'Twuz haard indeed thet thou medst go, Dear maade o' mine, vrom earthly zight : Vor, Mary, maade, I loved 'ee zo. Thou know'st best. Thy will be done, An' what Thou do'st I louz ^ 'tes bright — Tho' man be ztarved when left alone To carry on the earthly vight — Zupport me, Lard, in my zore plight. An' help me bear this bitter woe Thet grips an' dra's my heart-ztrings tight. My maade ! My maade ! I loved 'ee zo. Zweet maade o' mine I loved an' won — Zure thou wast gentle, I voreright ^ — Thou zervest now at t' Lamb's white throne Up theer, above the ztarry height, Wi' zaints, like thee, in hrobes o' white, 1 Suppose. 2 Headstrong. MARY 131 An' know'st what us kennot know Till Heavenward our zouls tek vlight. Ah I Mary maade, I loved 'ee zo. • ••••• Ah ! Mary — zweetest maade in Wight — I ne'er zhall zee agen below ; May we in Heaven reunite, God 1 Mary, maade, I loved 'ee zo. 132 LEGENDS AND LAYS OF THE WIGHT FORSAKEN I ZET an' thenk t' livelong daay : It haants me waaken, zleepen. Ken nuthen drave ^ this dread awaay Thet 's closer, closer creepen ? Lord, help a maade By Love betray'd — The love thet ends in weepen*. I am no Nanny light-o'-love ^ — 'Tes Heaven's druth, I zwear it — This burden zore I kennot move, Wi' he not here to zhare it. Me all vorlorn, Wi' babe unborn, Hay got alone to bear it. I veil bevore hes lyen' tongue — Woe 's me ! I loved he dearly — God's pity 1 I wor bresh ^ an' young ,• I zee it now most clearly. A zilly child By love beguiled, A passen' vancy merely. 1 Drive. ^ a nanny is an opprobrious local term. > Impetuous. FORSAKEN 133 An' this thet 's vlutteren' i' my breast, — The fruit of love vorsaken — A ' wuzburd ' ^ caal'd in crool jest, A's muther's zhaame oop-raaken. Ah ! cruel woe ! 'Twere better zo Thet both on us be taaken. In zilence nabers pass me by — Var zooner they 'd a curst 'en — No ' Marnen you,' no taalk, tho' I Vor one kind word a'm thirsten'. Wi' bitter zhaame I kennot naame My very heart be bursten'. Var kinder be t' beasts an' burds Who gie me Natur's ' Marnen ' : They do not hurt wi' crool wurds Or zting wi' looks uv zcarnen'. They doan't pint zly, Ez I pass by, To other maades a warnen'. Abroad I creep when daay be done, Zo none ken zee my gooen. Dro lane an' lynch I wander on To wheer I met my hruen. 1 Whore's-bird, bastard. 134 LEGENDS AND LAYS OF THE WIGHT Heer by t' ztile I zet awhile An' wetch t' waiter vlowen'. Dark night — zaave long t' edge o' down Wheer lightnen' vlashes biver.i T' rusthn' boughs abuv me vrown An' in the night wind zhiver — Whiles gurt an' zmall T' voices call Way down along t' hriver. He who forgied t' zinnen' maade, — Her vuture zervice winnen' — An' wi' zweet words o' comfort ztaay'd Her tears o' zhaame a hrinnen. He chance mebbe 'Ull pardon me An' wesh awaay my zinnen'. The Voices. . . . Closer, closer, creep The waters. . . . None ken zee me. I come. . . . Kind hriver vlowen' deep, Vrom this dread burden vree me. Wi' zhaame opprest, Heer 's vinal hrest. Ah — Mercy — God forgie me. 1 Quiver. THE RECRUITING SERGEANT 135 THE RECRUITING SERGEANT I CHANCED to be i' Nippert town — 'Twuz on a market daay — An' auver-right ^ t' ' Rose an' Crown ' I met a zargeant gaay. Hes hair wuz iled, hes cap atop Wuz bunched wi' hribbons vine • Hes coat wuz laaced, hes trousies vaaced Each zaide wi' a hred Hne. Zhouts he, a ztridin' oop an' down, A gorgeous zight to zee, ' Hroll up, my lucky lads, hroll up. An' jine our grand armee.' * Times be baad,' zaaj^s I. Zaays he, ' 'Twull be t' very thing : Zo, ef you'm willin', taake t' zhillen. An' zarve our grashus King.' ' Not me, my zargeant gaay,' zaays I. ' To vight I doan't knaw how, Wi' zword an' gun an' sech like vun — I 'd liever volley plow.' 1 Opposite. 136 LEGENDS AND LAYS OF THE WIGHT ' Theer 's glory an' renown,' zaays he. ' Mebbe,' zaays I, ' vor you. Chance I vear, wi' all their gear, I might git hurted too.' ' Lor when they zee my sojer laad, Zo boold an' brave an' gaay, They '11 hev a vright — they '11 niver vight. But turn an' hrun awaay. ' Bezaides,' zaays he, ' a vine young chap, Ez what you zim to be. Should not stop hoam, but come an' hroam The world along o' me. ' Theer 's goold to git an' loot to zell.' Zaays I, ' I med git zoold : Best ztop I vow an' mind my plow Then be a sojer boold. ' Wi' zwords an' guns aw'm not acquent. I 'd liever use a zool.^ 'Ten't in my waay, my zargeant gaay ; Goo — dry another vool. ' None o' yer blood an' war vor me — I '11 baide at hoam I vow. Cuckoo,' zaays I, ' Goo to, zaay I — I '11 ztick to meyaster's plow.' 1 A stake for fastening hurdles to. A CHRISTMAS PARTY 137 A CHRISTMAS PARTY ' Marnen, you ! 'Tes vine to-daay, Zure wind ha' blawed the hrain awaay. Oi, us done well this lamben' time, An' hay be oop an' hroots be prime — A' coom to ask the both uv 'e To tek your vittles long o' we. Theers hrabbet pie an' hroasted teal. An' viggy pudden thick wi' peel. An' jest about a breast 0' veal In oben ^ now a baaken ! And missus' made a toppen brew — Zure I 've a tub of whiskey too Will last we most the winter dro — To cheer our merry maaken.' ' Thankee. Zal, I '11 tek a zeat. You kips t' cottage nice an' neat. Noo, not vor I — ahem — well jest A drap, mebbe, to warm my chest. — Must kip this plaguey caald awaay — An' drink yer health this Crismus daay. Wind be mighty hrough vor zure. Vair hists t' carpit aff t' vloor. 1 Oven. 138 LEGENDS AND LAYS OF THE WIGHT Raw too. Mebbe 'twull turn to snaw An' gie us Crismus weather. Zpeers ^ pint to ten j tes time vor hoam, Now mind you'm both uv you to come — I hreckon you '11 enjoy it zome When all do meet together.' When Varmer 'd gone, Zal bustled hround — Vor church bells hed begun to zound — ' They'm ztarted'in, I do declare, An' I ent drest nor zmoothed my hair. An' thee 'ull want thy Zunday does Zet out an' breshed avore us goes.' But Lard ! At sech my Zal be prime, An' us got theer in vamous time Whiles they did bring t' Crismus chime Vrom out t' gray wold stipple. Us heerd what Passon hed to zaay On all thet happ'd a' Crismus daay, When He did come on earth to ztaay An' zave all Cristen pipple. Church vinished, on th' ztroke o' noon Us ztarted. To git theer too zoon Tent manners. Varmer Chick wor bright, Zure snaw wor turnen brown to white. Zal histed oop her gown vrom harm. But let 'en down in zight of varm, Wheer by t' door ztood Varmer drest Wi 's missus all in Zunday best, 1 Spears, the hands of a clock. A CHRISTMAS PARTY 139 A welcome word vor ivery guest — Most laike our goose an' gander. Zam Zprake be theer vrom Cheverton, Jem Gurd an' Eniss, Izaak's zon — I zid en znoodlen later on 'Gen pratty Jane Viander. Us zettled down. Wold Jaarge zaid grace, An' then us did pitch in a pace. I hreckon us maade proper plaay Wi' all t' zpread thet Crismus day. Zoon ' Missus ' Varmer Chick did cry ' Heres bottom to thy hrabbet pie.' Then vollied ^ on the breast o' veal, The hribs o' beef, the hroasted teal, The viggy pudden, thick wi' peel, All vairly hround divided. Us vinished off wi' cheeze an' bread, White zelery an' beetroot hred. Begob ! it wor a toppen ^ zpread Thet Varmer Chick provided. All done, us pushed the cheers awaay An' started in vor vun an' plaay. Then Missus brought her vamous brew As Varmer 'd zaaid zhe 'lowed to do. An' tongues got loose an' eyes got bright. As orter be on Crismus night. Granfer ketched wold Missus Loe An' kissed zhe under mistletoe, 1 Followed. 2 First-rate. 140 LEGENDS AND LAYS OF THE WIGHT A did, an' wouldn't let her go. Lard ! didn't it zurprise her. Then kiss wi'in the ring begun, The bwoys did ketch, the maades did hrun- The zmeartest cupple at t' vun Wor Zam an' Zerle's Elizer. Then Jem tooned oop. Us kleer'd t' vloor An' vooted it two hours or more. Gad ! ligs did wurk an' dust did vly. An' all our droats got ter'ble dry ; Till, vair wore out, Jem's ztring did bust — I lows a'd coom to ' bust a must ' — ' I '11 tek it on,' Jan Venner zayd — Es, he thet 's zweet on Zibbick's maade Vrom Alverstone — I warnt a plaay'd The concertina proper. — To zee t' laike you var med go — At vigger dancen Natty Loe Wor proper zpry ; at heel an' toe Jan Zibley wor a topper. Then Crismus Bwoys ^ come tumblen' in Wi' daance an' taalk an' merry din. ' Girt Head an' Blunder,' ztarts t' zhow An' arter he * King Jarge ' 'e know ; Next ' Vather Crismus ' an' he's wife, Wi' broom an' cudgel vair at ztrife. Then ' Nobul Captin,' ' Turkish Knight ' — ^Thet most do gie t' maades a vright J The Mummers. A CHRISTMAS PARTY 141 When he wi' braave ' King Jarge ' do vight — Each arter t' other comen'. Next ' VaHant Sojer/ * Poor and Mean,' Then ' Doctor ' wi' his vizicks zeen, Last ' Johnny Jack,' zo leer 1 and lean — 'Twuz proper Crismus mummen. Then Varmer vrom hes whiskey keg Gie'd all uv em a middlen peg. ' Twud kip the dust down,' zo a zaid, ' An' niver hurt your ligs nor head.' Twuz then the zong an' tale went hroun'. The best o' both, you may be boun'. Last, Varmer zet a dancen bout Twixt Nat and Jan, they dancers ztout I hreckon neyther wud gie out. But kep theer ligs a zhaken. A done ! us cried, the metch be draan, Els ye med daance awaay till da'an. — Begob ! I '11 mind zo long 's I 'm barn Chick's Crismus merry maken. 1 starved. 142 LEGENDS AND LAYS OF THE WIGHT A SCROW 1 DAY Oi, marnen' be mis'able ^ dull, Mist hengs along down es a veil j An, most laike our Hereford bull, T' vog-harn be blaren' ^ to Chale. T' zky be all grey overhead — Not a zign to be zeen uv its blue — T' hedges look zo they weer dead, An' cattle crowd into t' lew.* No light zims to come vrom t' zky. Wheer pewits cry plaintively zhrill. Hrooks vlap along lazily by — All Nature lies zuUen and ztill. T' hruts i' t' laane be thet deep, An teams zweat an' ztrain ez they goo, Whiles keerters trudge, well-nigh asleep, Ez waggons draa heavy an' zlow. T' zky an' t' land an' t' zea, Most ivery thing zims to be grey. Not a bird chirps in hedge-row or dree — Vor zure tes a proper zcrow day. 1 Overcast. ^ Used in the Isle of Wight as a superlative. 3 Bellowing at. * Lee, shelter. ENVOI 143 ENVOI Trusting I launch my paper boat, — As Noah of old the raven — //, spite of storm, it chance to float May he 'twill reach some haven, 'Tis but a feeble cockleshell And boasts no bardic fire ; Fates be kind and use it well And Purists calm your ire. For nobler game than humble me Dour Critics keep your curses. Inspired they don't pretend to be — Just homespun English verses. Printed by T. and A. Constable, Printers to His Majesty at the Edinburgh University Press UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY Los Angeles This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. Form L9-40m-7,'56(C790s4)444 -PR Stone ^i;99 Legends and -S878 I — lays of tho 'jYight PR S878 1 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY EACILITY AA 000 367 501 4 i^;'CT?T