<h2><SPAN name="CHAPTER_XXIV" id="CHAPTER_XXIV"></SPAN>CHAPTER XXIV</h2>
<h3>EAST GRINSTEAD</h3>
<blockquote><p>Sackville College—John Mason Neale—<i>Theodosius; or, The Force of
Love</i>, at the East Grinstead Theatre—Three martyrs—Brambletye
House—Forest Row—The garden of the author of <i>The English Flower
Garden</i>—Diamond Jubilee clock-faces—"Big-on-Little" and the
reverend and irreverend commentator.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>East Grinstead, the capital of north-east Sussex, is interesting chiefly
for Sackville College, that haunt of ancient peace of which John Mason
Neale, poet, enthusiast, divine, historian, and romance-writer for
children, was for many years the distinguished Warden. Nothing can
exceed the quiet restfulness of the quadrangle. The college gives
shelter to five brethren and six sisters (one of whom shows the visitor
over the building), and to a warden and two assistants. Happy
collegians, to have so fair a haven in which to pass the evening of
life. East Grinstead otherwise has not much beauty, its commanding
pinnacled church tower being more impressive from a distance, and its
chief street mingling too much that is new with its few old timbered
façades, charming though these are.</p>
<p class="center"><SPAN name="page228.png" id="page228.png"></SPAN><ANTIMG src="images/page228.png" width-obs='463' height-obs='700' alt="The Judge's Houses, East Grinstead" /></p>
<h4><i>The Judge's Houses, East Grinstead.</i></h4>
<p>The town, when it would be frivolous, to-day depends upon the occasional
visits of travelling entertainers; but in the eighteenth century East
Grinstead had a theatre of its own, in the main street, a play-bill of
which, for May, 1758, is given in Boaden's <i>Life of Mrs. Siddons</i>. It
states that "Theodosius; or, the<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_228" id="Page_228"></SPAN></span><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</SPAN></span> Force of Love," is to be played, for
the benefit of Mrs. P. Varanes by Mr. P., "who will strive as far as
possible to support the character of this fiery Persian Prince, in which
he was so much admired and applauded at Hastings, Arundel, Petworth,
Midhurst, Lewes, &c." The attraction of the next announcement is the
precise converse: "Theodosius, by a young gentleman from the University
of Oxford, who never appeared on any stage."</p>
<div class="sidenote">NOBILITY AND THE ALTAR</div>
<p>The play-bill continues with a delicate hint: "Nothing in Italy can
exceed the altar in the first scene of the play. Nevertheless, should
any of the nobility or gentry wish to see it ornamented with flowers,
the bearer will bring away as many as they choose to favour him with."
Finally: "N.B.—The great yard dog that made so much noise on Thursday
night during the last act of King Richard the Third, will be sent to a
neighbour's over the way."</p>
<p>The Sussex Martyrs, to whom a memorial, as we shall see, has recently
been raised above Lewes, are usually associated with that town; but on
July 18, 1556, Thomas Dungate, John Forman, and Anne, or Mother, Tree,
were burned for conscience' sake at East Grinstead.</p>
<p>Between East Grinstead and Forest Row, on the east, just under the hill
and close to the railway, are the remains of Brambletye House, a rather
florid ruin, once the seat of the great Sussex family of Lewknor. In its
heyday Brambletye must have been a very fine place. Horace Smith's
romance which bears its name, and for which Horsfield, in his <i>History
of Sussex</i>, predicted a career commensurable with that of the Waverley
novels, is now, I fear, justly forgotten. The slopes of Forest Row,
which was of old a settlement of hunting lodges belonging to the great
lords who took their pleasure in Ashdown Forest, are now bright with new
villas. From Forest Row, Wych Cross and Ashdown Forest are easily
gained; but of this open region of dark heather more in a later <SPAN href="#CHAPTER_XL">chapter</SPAN>.</p>
<p>Between Kingscote and West Hoathly, a short distance to<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_230" id="Page_230"></SPAN></span> the south-west
of East Grinstead, is another "tye"—Gravetye, a tudor mansion in a deep
hollow, the home of Mr. William Robinson, the author of <i>The English
Flower Garden</i>. Last April, the stonework, of which there is much, was a
mass of the most wonderful purple aubretia, and the wild garden between
the house and the water a paradise of daffodils.</p>
<p>The church of West Hoathly (called West Ho-ly), which stands high on the
hill to the south, has a slender shingled spire that may be seen from
long distances. The tower has, however, been injured by the very ugly
new clock that has been lately fixed in a position doubtless the most
convenient but doubtless also the least comely. To nail to such a
delicate structure as West Hoathly church the kind of dial that one
expects to see outside a railway station is a curious lapse of taste.
Hever church, in Kent, has a similar blemish, probably dating from one
of the recent Jubilee celebrations, which left few loyal villages the
richer by a beautiful memorial. Surely it should be possible to obtain
an appropriate clock-face for such churches as these.</p>
<p>West Hoathly has some iron tombstones, such as used to be cast in the
old furnace days, which are not uncommon in these parts. Opposite the
church is a building of great antiquity, which has been allowed to
forget its honourable age.</p>
<div class="sidenote">"BIG-ON-LITTLE"</div>
<p>We are now on the fringe of the Sussex rock country, to which we come
again in earnest when we reach Maresfield, and of which Tunbridge Wells
is the capital. But not even Tunbridge Wells with its famous toad has
anything to offer more remarkable than West Hoathly's "Big-on-Little,"
in the Rockhurst estate. I am tempted to quote two descriptions of the
rock, from two very different points of view. An antiquary writing in
the eighteenth century (quoted by Horsfield) thus begins his
account:—"About half a mile west of West Hoadley church there is a high
ridge covered with wood; the edge of this is a craggy cliff, composed of
enormous blocks of sand<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_231" id="Page_231"></SPAN></span> stone. The soil hath been entirely washed from
off them, and in many places, from the interstices by which they are
divided, one perceives these crags with bare broad white foreheads, and,
as it were, overlooking the wood, which clothes the valley at their
feet. In going to the place, I passed across this deep valley, and was
led by a narrow foot-path almost trackless up to the cliff, which seems
as one advances to hang over one's head. The mind in this passage is
prepared with all the suspended feelings of awe and reverence, and as
one approaches this particular rock, standing with its stupendous bulk
poised, seemingly in a miraculous manner and point, one is struck with
amazement. The recess in which it stands hath, behind this rock, and the
rocks which surround it, a withdrawn and recluse passage which the eye
cannot look into but with an idea of its coming from some more secret
and holy adyt. All these circumstances, in an age of tutored
superstition, would give, even to the finest minds, the impressions that
lead to idolatry."</p>
<div class="sidenote">COBBETT AGAIN</div>
<p>And this is Cobbett's description, in the <i>Rural Rides</i>:—"At the place,
of which I am now speaking, that is to say, by the side of this pleasant
road to Brighton, and between Turner's Hill and Lindfield, there is a
rock, which they call '<i>Big upon Little</i>,' that is to say, a rock upon
another, having nothing else to rest upon, and the top one being longer
and wider than the top of the one it lies on. This big rock is no
trifling concern, being as big, perhaps, as a not very small house. How,
then, <i>came</i> this big upon little? What lifted up the big? It balances
itself naturally enough; but what tossed it up? I do not like to <i>pay</i> a
parson for teaching me, while I have '<i>God's own Word</i>' to teach me; but
if any parson will tell me <i>how</i> big <i>came</i> upon little, I do not know
that I shall grudge him a trifle. And if he cannot tell me this; if he
say, All that we have to do is to <i>admire</i> and <i>adore</i>; then I tell him,
that I can admire and adore without his <i>aid</i>, and that I will keep my
money in my pocket." That is pure Cobbett.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_232" id="Page_232"></SPAN></span></p>
<div class="sidenote">WEST HOATHLY</div>
<p>West Hoathly is in the midst of some of the best of the inland country
of Sussex and an excellent centre for the walker. Several places that we
have already seen are within easy distance, such as Horsted Keynes,
Worth and Worth Forest and Balcombe and Balcombe Forest.</p>
<hr />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_233" id="Page_233"></SPAN></span></p>
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