<h2><SPAN name="CHAPTER_XXII" id="CHAPTER_XXII"></SPAN>CHAPTER XXII</h2>
<h3>CUCKFIELD</h3>
<blockquote><p>Hayward's Heath—Rookwood and the fatal tree—Timothy Burrell and
his account books—Old Sussex appetites—Plum-porridge—A luckless
lover—The original Merry Andrew—Ancient testators—Bolney's
bells—The splendour of the Slaugham Coverts—Hand Cross—Crawley
and the new discovery of walking—Lindfield—<i>Idlehurst</i>—Richard
Turner's epitaph—Ardingly.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Hayward's Heath, on the London line, would be our next centre were it
not so new and suburban. Fortunately Cuckfield, which has two coaching
inns and many of the signs of the leisurely past, is close by, in the
midst of very interesting country, with a church standing high on the
ridge to the south of the town, broadside to the Weald, its spire a
landmark for miles. Cuckfield Place (a house and park, according to
Shelley, which abounded in "bits of Mrs. Radcliffe") is described in
Harrison Ainsworth's <i>Rookwood</i>. It was in the avenue leading from the
gates to the house that that fatal tree stood, a limb of which fell as
the presage of the death of a member of the family. So runs the legend.
Knowledge of the tree is, however, disclaimed by the gatekeeper.</p>
<p class="center"><SPAN name="page212.png" id="page212.png"></SPAN><ANTIMG src="images/page212.png" width-obs='562' height-obs='700' alt="Cuckfield Church" /></p>
<h4><i>Cuckfield Church.</i></h4>
<div class="sidenote">THE COACHMAN'S PLANS</div>
<p>Ockenden House, in Cuckfield, has been for many years in the possession
of the Burrell family, one of whom, Timothy Burrell, an ancestor of the
antiquary, left some interesting account books, which contain in
addition to figures many curious and sardonic entries and some ingenious
hieroglyphics. I quote here and there, from the Sussex Archæological
Society's<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_212" id="Page_212"></SPAN></span> extracts, by way of illustrating the life of a Sussex squire
in those days, 1683-1714:—</p>
<blockquote><p>1705. "Pay'd Gosmark for making cyder 1 day, whilst John Coachman was to
be drunk with the carrier's money, by agreement; and I pay'd 2<i>d.</i> to
the glasyer for mending John's casement broken at night by him when he was drunk.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_213" id="Page_213"></SPAN></span>"1706. 25th March. Pd. John Coachman by Ned Virgo, that he may be drunk
all the Easter week, in part of his wages due, <i>£</i>1."</p>
</blockquote>
<div class="sidenote">ANCIENT APPETITES</div>
<p>This was the fare provided on January 1, 1707, for thirteen guests:—<br/><br/><br/></p>
<table border='0' cellspacing='0' cellpadding='2' summary='fare for thirteen guests'>
<tr>
<td>Plumm pottage.</td>
<td>Plumm pottage.</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Calves' head and bacon. </td>
<td>Boiled beef, a clod.</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Goose.</td>
<td>Two baked puddings.</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Pig.</td>
<td>Three dishes of minced</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Plumm pottage.</td>
<td> pies.</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Roast beef, sirloin.</td>
<td>Two capons.</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Veale, a loin.</td>
<td>Two dishes of tarts.</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Goose.</td>
<td>Two pullets.</td>
</tr>
</table>
<p>Plum porridge, it may interest some to know, was made thus: "Take of
beef-soup made of legs of beef, 12 quarts; if you wish it to be
particularly good, add a couple of tongues to be boiled therein. Put
fine bread, sliced, soaked, and crumbled; raisins of the sun, currants
and pruants two lbs. of each; lemons, nutmegs, mace and cloves are to be
boiled with it in a muslin bag; add a quart of red wine and let this be
followed, after half an hour's boiling, by a pint of sack. Put it into a
cool place and it will keep through Christmas."</p>
<p>Mr. Burrell giving a small dinner to four friends, offered them</p>
<p class="center">Pease pottage.</p>
<table border='0' cellspacing='0' cellpadding='2' summary='dinner for four friends'>
<tr>
<td>2 carps. 2 tench. </td>
<td>Roast leg of mutton.</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Capon. Pullet.</td>
<td>Apple pudding.</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Fried oysters.</td>
<td>Goos.</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Baked pudding.</td>
<td>Tarts. Minced pies.</td>
</tr>
</table>
<p>It is perhaps not surprising that the host had occasionally to take the
waters of Ditchling, which are no longer drunk medicinally, or to dose
himself with hieræ picræ.</p>
<p>One more dinner, this time for four guests, who presumably were more
worthy of attention:—</p>
<p class="center"><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_214" id="Page_214"></SPAN></span>A soup take off.<br/>Two large carps at the upper end.<br/>
Pidgeon pie, salad, veal ollaves,<br/>Leg of mutton, and cutlets at the lower end.<br/>
Three rosed chickens.<br/>Scotch pancakes, tarts, asparagus.<br/>
Three green gees at the lower end.<br/>In the room of the chickens removed,<br/>
Four-souced Mackerel.<br/>Rasins in cream at the upper end.<br/>
Calves' foot jelly, dried sweetmeats, calves' foot jelly.<br/>
Flummery, Savoy cakes.<br/>Imperial cream at the lower end.</p>
<p>In October, 1709, Mr. Burrell writes in Latin: "From this time I have
resolved, as long as the dearth of provisions continues, to give to the
poor who apply for it at the door on Sundays, twelve pounds of beef
every week, on the 11th of February 4lbs. more, in all 16lbs., and a
bushel of wheat and half a bushel of barley in 4 weeks."</p>
<div class="sidenote">MERRY ANDREW</div>
<p>From Borde Hill to the north-east of Cuckfield, is supposed to have come
Andrew Boord, the original Merry Andrew. Among the later Boords who
lived there was George Boord, in whose copy of <i>Natura Brevium</i> and
<i>Tenores Novelli</i>, bound together (given him by John Sackville of
Chiddingly Park) is written:—</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<div>Sidera non tot habet Celum, nec flumina pisces,</div>
<div>Quot scelera gerit femina mente dolos.</div>
<div class="i10">Dixit Boordus;</div>
</div></div>
<p>which Mr. Lower translates:</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<div>Quoth Boord, with stars the skies abound,</div>
<div class="i1">With fish the flowing waters;</div>
<div>But far more numerous I have found</div>
<div class="i1">The tricks of Eve's fair daughters.</div>
</div></div>
<p>This Boord would be a relative of the famous Andrew, priest,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_215" id="Page_215"></SPAN></span> doctor and
satirist (1490-1549) who may indeed have been the author of the distich
above. It is certainly in his vein.</p>
<p>Andrew Boord gave up his vows as a Carthusian on account of their
"rugorosite," and became a doctor, travelling much on the Continent.
Several books are known to be his, chief among them the <i>Dyetary</i> and
<i>Brevyary of Health</i>. He wrote also an <i>Itinerary of England</i> and is
credited by some with the <i>Merrie Tales of the Mad Men of Gotham</i>. Lower
and Horsfield indeed hold that the Gotham intended was not the
Nottinghamshire village but Gotham near Pevensey, where Boord had
property. That he knew something of Sussex is shown by <i>Boord's Boke of
Knowledge</i>, where he mentions the old story, then a new one, that no
nightingale will sing in St. Leonard's Forest. It is the <i>Boke of
Knowledge</i> that has for frontispiece the picture of a naked Englishman
with a pair of shears in one hand and a piece of cloth over the other
arm, saying:</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<div>I am an English man and naked I stand here,</div>
<div>Musing in my mund what rayment I shall were;</div>
<div>For now I wyll were this, and now I wyl were that;</div>
<div>Now I wyl were I cannot tel what.</div>
</div></div>
<p>We shall see Andrew again when we come to Pevensey.</p>
<div class="sidenote">OLD WILLS</div>
<p>A glimpse of the orderly mind of a pre-Reformation Cuckfield yeoman is
given in a will quoted recently in the <i>Sussex Daily News</i>, in an
interesting series of articles on the county under the title of
"Old-time Sussex":</p>
<blockquote><p>"In the yere of our lorde god 1545. the 26 day of June, I, Thomas
Gaston, of the pish of Cukefelde, syke in body, hole, and of ppt
[perfect] memorie, ordene and make this my last will and test, in
manr. and forme folling.</p>
<p>Fyrst I bequethe my sowle to Almyghty god or [our] lady St. Mary
and all the holy company of heyvyng, my bodie to be buried in the
church yarde of Cukefeld.</p>
<p>It. (item) to the Mother Church of Chichester 4<i>d.</i></p>
<p>It. to the hye alter of Cuckfeld 4<i>d.</i></p>
<p>It. I will have at my buryall 5 masses. In lykewise at my monthes
mynd and also at my yerely mynd all the charge of the church set
apart I will have in meate and drynke and to pore people 10<i>s.</i> at
every tyme."</p>
</blockquote><p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_216" id="Page_216"></SPAN></span></p>
<p>The high altar was frequently mentioned favourably in these old wills.
Another Cuckfield testator, in 1539, left to the high altar, "for tythes
and oblacions negligently forgotten, sixpence." The same student of the
<i>Calendar of Sussex Wills in the District Probate Registry at Lewes,
between 1541 and 1652</i>, which the British Record Society have just
published, copies the following passage from the will of Gerard Onstye,
in 1568: "To mary my daughter <i>£</i>20, the ffeatherbed that I lye upon the
bolsters and coverlete of tapestaye work with a blankett, 4 payres of
shetts that is to say four pares of the best flaxon and other 2 payre of
the best hempen the greate brasse potte that hir mother brought, the
best bord-clothe (table cloth?) a lynnen whelle (<i>i.e.</i>, spinning-wheel)
that was hir mothers, the chaffing dish that hangeth in the parlor."</p>
<p>In those simple days everything was prized. In one of these Sussex
wills, in 1594, Richard Phearndeane, a labourer, left to his brother
Stephen his best dublett, his best jerkin and his best shoes, and to
Bernard Rosse his white dublett, his leathern dublett and his worst
breeches.</p>
<div class="sidenote">THE BELLS OF BOLNEY</div>
<p>Three miles west of Cuckfield is Bolney, just off the London road, a
village in the southern boundary of St. Leonard's Forest, the key to
some very rich country. Before the days of bicycles Bolney was
practically unknown, so retired is it. The church, which has a curious
pinnacled tower nearly 300 years old, is famous for its bells,
concerning whose melody Horsfield gives the following piece of counsel:
"Those who are fond of the silvery tones of bells, may enjoy them to
perfection, by placing themselves on the margin of a large pond, the
property of Mr. W. Marshall; the reverberation of the sound, coming off
the water, is peculiarly striking."</p>
<p>Sixty years ago this sheet of water had an additional attraction. Says
Mr. Knox, "During the months of May and June, 1843, an osprey was
observed to haunt the large ponds near<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_217" id="Page_217"></SPAN></span> Bolney. After securing a fish he
used to retire to an old tree on the more exposed bank to devour it, and
about the close of evening was in the habit of flying off towards the
north-west, sometimes carrying away a prize in his talons if his sport
had been unusually successful, as if he dreaded being disturbed at his
repast during the dangerous hours of twilight. Having been shot at
several times without effect, his visits to these ponds became gradually
less frequent, but the surrounding covers being unpreserved, and the
bird itself too wary to suffer a near approach, he escaped the fate of
many of his congeners, and even re-appeared with a companion early in
the following September, to whom he seemed to have imparted his salutary
dread of man—his mortal enemy—for during the short time they remained
there it was impossible to approach within gunshot of either of them."</p>
<p>The indirect road from Bolney to Hand Cross, through Warninglid and
Slaugham (parallel with the coaching road), is superb, taking us again
into the iron country and very near to Leonardslee, which we have
already seen.</p>
<div class="sidenote">THE MAGNIFICENT COVERTS</div>
<p>The glory of Slaugham Place is no more; but one visible sign of it is
preserved in Lewes, in the Town Hall, in the shape of its old staircase.
Slaugham Place was the seat of the Covert family, whose estates
extended, says tradition, "from Southwark to the Sea," and, says the
more exact Horsfield, from Crawley to Hangleton, above Brighton.
Slaugham Park used to cover 1200 acres, the church being within it.
Perhaps nowhere in Sussex is the change so complete as here, and within
recent times too, for Horsfield quotes, in 1835, the testimony of "an
aged person, whom the present rector buried about twenty-five years
back, who used to relate, that he remembered when the family at Slaugham
Park, or Place, consisted of seventy persons." Horsfield continues, in a
footnote (the natural receptacle of many of his most interesting
statements):—"The name of the aged person alluded to was Harding, who
died at nearly 100. According to his statement,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_218" id="Page_218"></SPAN></span> the family were so
numerous, they kept constantly employed mechanics of every description,
who resided on the premises. A conduit, which supplied the mansion with
water, is now used by the inhabitants of the village. The kitchen
fireplace still remains, of immense size, with the irons that supported
the cooking apparatus. The arms of the Coverts, with many impalements
and quarterings, yet remain on the ruins. The principal entrance was
from the east, and the grand front to the north. The pillars at the
entrance, fluted, with seats on each side, are still there. According to
the statement of the above person, there was a chapel attached to the
mansion at the west part. The mill-pond flowed over nearly 40 acres,
according to a person's statement who occupied the mill many years." The
ruins, little changed since Horsfield wrote, stand in a beautiful
old-world garden, which the traveller must certainly endeavour to enter.</p>
<div class="sidenote">THE BRIGHTON ROAD</div>
<p>A mile north of Slaugham is Hand Cross, a Clapham Junction of highways,
whence Crawley is easily reached. Crawley, however, beyond a noble
church, has no interest, its distinction being that it is halfway
between London and Brighton on the high road—its distinction and its
misfortune. One would be hard put to it to think of a less desirable
existence than that of dwelling on a dusty road and continually seeing
people hurrying either from Brighton to London or from London to
Brighton. Coaches, phaetons, motor cars, bicycles, pass through Crawley
so numerously as almost to constitute one elongated vehicle, like the
moving platform at the last Paris Exhibition.</p>
<p>And not only travellers on wheels; for since the fashion for walking
came in, Crawley has had new excitements, or monotonies, in the shape of
walking stockbrokers, walking butchers, walking auctioneers' clerks,
walking Austrians pushing their families in wheelbarrows, walking
bricklayers carrying hods of bricks, walking acrobats on stilts—all
striving to get to Brighton within a certain time, and all accompanied
by judges, referees, and friends. At Hand Cross, lower on the road, the
numbers<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_219" id="Page_219"></SPAN></span> diminish; but every competitor seems to be able to reach
Crawley, perhaps because the railway station adjoins the high road. It
was not, for example, until he reached Crawley that the Austrian's
wheelbarrow broke down.</p>
<div class="sidenote">LINDFIELD</div>
<p>On the other side of the line, two miles north-east of Hayward's Heath,
is Lindfield, with its fine common of geese, its generous duck-pond, and
wide straggling street of old houses and new (too many new, to my mind),
rising easily to the graceful Early English church with its slender
shingled spire. Just beyond the church is one of the most beautiful of
timbered houses in Sussex, or indeed in England. When I first knew this
house it was a farm in the hands of a careless farmer; it has been
restored by its present owner with the most perfect understanding and
taste. For too long no one attempted to do as much for East Mascalls, a
timbered ruin lying low among the fields to the east of the village; but
quite recently it has been taken in hand.</p>
<p class="center"><SPAN name="page219.png" id="page219.png"></SPAN><ANTIMG src="images/page219.png" width-obs='700' height-obs='455' alt="East Mascalls before renovation" /></p>
<h4><i>East Mascalls—before renovation.</i></h4>
<p>A quaint Lindfield epitaph may be mentioned: that of Richard Turner, who
died in 1768, aged twenty-one:—</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<div><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_220" id="Page_220"></SPAN></span>Long was my pain, great was my grief,</div>
<div>Surgeons I'd many but no relief.</div>
<div>I trust through Christ to rise with the just:</div>
<div>My leg and thigh was buried first.</div>
</div></div>
<div class="sidenote">"IDLEHURST"</div>
<p>I must not betray secrets, but it might be remarked that that kindly yet
melancholy study of Wealden people and Wealden scenery, called
<i>Idlehurst</i>—the best book, I think, that has come out of Sussex in
recent years—may be read with some special appropriateness in this
neighbourhood.</p>
<p>North of Lindfield is Ardingly, now known chiefly in connection with the
large school which travellers on the line to Brighton see from the
carriage windows as they cross the viaduct over the Ouse. The village, a
mile north of the college, is famous as the birthplace of Thomas Box,
the first of the great wicket-keepers, who disdained gloves even to the
fastest bowling. The church has some very interesting brasses to members
of the Wakehurst and Culpeper families, who long held Wakehurst Place,
the Elizabethan mansion to the north of the village. Nicholas Culpeper
of the <i>Herbal</i> was of the stock; but he must not be confounded with the
Nicholas Culpeper whose brass, together with that of his wife, ten sons
and eight daughters, is in the church, possibly the largest family on
record depicted in that metal. The church also has a handsome canopied
tomb, the occupant of which is unknown.</p>
<p>From Ardingly superb walks in the Sussex forest country may be taken.</p>
<hr />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_221" id="Page_221"></SPAN></span></p>
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