<h2><SPAN name="CHAPTER_XXVIII" id="CHAPTER_XXVIII"></SPAN>CHAPTER XXVIII</h2>
<h3>ALFRISTON</h3>
<blockquote><p>Three routes to Alfriston—West Firle—The Gages—A "Noble
Dame"—Sussex pronunciation and doggedness—The Selmeston
smugglers—Alfriston's ancient inn—The middle ages and P...
P....—Alfriston church—A miracle and a sign—An Alfriston
scholar—Dr. Benbrigg—The smallest church in Sussex—Alfriston as
a centre—A digression on walking—"A Song against
Speed"—Alciston—A Berwick genius—The Long Man of Wilmington.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Alfriston may be reached from Lewes by rail, taking train to Berwick; by
road, under the hills; or on foot or horse-back, over the hills. By
road, you pass first through Beddingham, a small village, where, it is
said, was once a monastery; then, by a southern <i>détour</i>, to West Firle,
a charming little village with a great park, which bears the same
relation to Firle Beacon that Wiston Park does to Chanctonbury Ring. The
tower in the east serves to provide a good view of the Weald for those
who do not care to climb the beacon's seven hundred feet and get a
better. The little church is rich in interesting memorials of the Gages,
who have been the lords of Firle for many a long year.</p>
<p>In the house is a portrait of Sir John Gage, the trusted friend of Henry
VIII., Edward VI., and Mary, and, as Constable of the Tower, the gaoler
(but a very kind one) of both Lady Jane Grey and the Princess Elizabeth,
afterwards Good Queen Bess. In Harrison Ainsworth's romance <i>The
Constable of the Tower</i> Sir John Gage is much seen. Sir John was
succeeded at Firle by his son Sir Edward, who, as High Sheriff of
Sussex, was<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_265" id="Page_265"></SPAN></span> one of the judges of the Sussex martyrs, but who, even Foxe
admits, exercised courtesy to them. Sir Edward's son, Sir John Gage, was
the second husband of the Lady Penelope D'Arcy, Mr. Hardy's heroine,
whose portrait we saw at Parham: who, being courted as a girl by Sir
George Trenchard, Sir John Gage, and Sir William Hervey, promised she
would marry all in turn, and did so. Sir George left her a widow at
seventeen; to Sir John Gage she bore nine children.</p>
<p>Returning from Firle to the high road, we come next, by following for a
little a left turn, to Selmeston, the village where Mr. W. D. Parish,
the rector for very many years, collected most of the entertaining
examples of the Sussex dialect with which I have made so free in a later
<SPAN href="#CHAPTER_XLI">chapter</SPAN>. The church is very simple and well-cared for, with some pretty
south windows. The small memorial tablets of brass which have been let
into the floor symmetrically among the tiles seem to me a happier means
of commemoration than mural tablets,—at least for a modest building
such as this.</p>
<div class="sidenote">VAGARIES OF PRONUNCIATION</div>
<p>In losing your way in this neighbourhood do not ask the passer-by for
Selmeston, but for Simson; for Selmeston, pronounced as spelt, does not
exist. Sussex men are curiously intolerant of the phonetics of
orthography. Brighthelmstone was called Brighton from the first,
although only in the last century was the spelling modified to agree
with the sound. Chalvington (the name of a village north of Selmeston)
is a pretty word, but Sussex declines to call it other than Chawton.
Firle becomes Furrel; Lewes is almost Lose, but not quite; Heathfield is
Hefful. It is characteristic of a Sussex man that he always knows best;
though all the masters of all the colleges should assemble about him and
speak reasoningly of Selmeston he would leave the congress as
incorrigible and self-satisfied a Simsonian as ever.</p>
<p>Many years ago Selmeston churchyard possessed an empty tomb, in which
the smugglers were wont to store their goods until a favourable time
came to set them on the road. Any <span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_266" id="Page_266"></SPAN></span>objections that those in authority
might have had were silenced by an occasional tub. But of this more in
the next <SPAN href="#CHAPTER_XXII">chapter</SPAN>.</p>
<div class="sidenote">ALFRISTON</div>
<p>And so we come to Alfriston; but, as I said, the right way was over the
hills, ascending them either at Itford (crossing the Ouse at Southease)
or by that remarkable combe, one of the finest in Sussex, with an avenue
leading to it, which is gained from a lane south of Beddingham. Firle
Beacon's lofty summit is half-way between Beddingham and Alfriston, and
from this height, with its magnificent view of the Weald, we descend
steadily to the Cuckmere valley, of which Alfriston is the capital.</p>
<p>Alfriston, which is now only a village street, shares with Chichester
the distinction of possessing a market cross. Alfriston's specimen is,
however, sadly mutilated, a mere relic, whereas Chichester's is being
made more splendid as I write. Alfriston also has one of the oldest inns
in the county—the "Star"—(finer far in its way than any of
Chichester's seventy and more); but Ainsworth was wrong in sending
Charles II. thither, in <i>Ovingdean Grange</i>. It is one of the inns that
the Merry Monarch never saw. The "Star" was once a sanctuary, within the
jurisdiction of the Abbot of Battle, for persons flying from justice;
and it is pleasant to sit in the large room upstairs, over the street,
and think of fugitives pattering up the valley, with fearful backward
glances, and hammering at the old door. One Birrel, in the reign of
Henry VIII., having stolen a horse at Lydd, in Kent, took refuge here.
The inn in those days was intended chiefly for the refreshment of
mendicant friars.</p>
<p>In 1767 the landlord was, according to a private letter, "as great a
curiosity as the house." I wish we had some information about him, for
the house is quaint and curious indeed, with its red lion sentinel at
the side (figure-head from a Dutch wreck in Cuckmere Haven), and its
carvings inside and out. The old and the new mingled very oddly when I
was lately at Alfriston. Hearing a familiar sound, as of a battledore<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_267" id="Page_267"></SPAN></span>
and a ball, in one of the rooms, I opened the door and discovered the
landlord and a groom from the racing stables near by in the throes of
the most modern of games, amid surroundings absolutely mediæval.</p>
<div class="sidenote">THE CATHEDRAL OF THE DOWNS</div>
<p>The size of the grave and commanding church, which has been called the
cathedral of the South Downs, alone proves that Alfriston was once a
vastly more important place than it now is. Legend says that the
foundations were first cut in the meadow known as Savyne Croft. There
day after day the builders laid their stones, arriving each morning to
find them removed to the Tye, the field where the church now stands. At
last the meaning of the miracle entered their heads, and the church was
erected on the new site. Its shape was determined by the slumbers of
four oxen, who were observed by the architect to be sleeping in the form
of a cross. Poynings church, under the Dyke Hill, near Brighton, was
built, it has been conjectured, by the same architect. Within the
cathedral of the South Downs, which is a fourteenth century building, is
a superb east window, but it has no coloured glass. The register,
beginning with 1504, is perhaps the oldest in England. Hard by the
church is the simple little clergy house—unique in England, I
believe—dating from pre-Reformation times. It has lately been very
carefully restored.</p>
<p>Alfriston once had a scholar in the person of Thomas Chowne, of Frog
Firle, the old house on the road to Seaford, about a mile beyond the
village. Chowne, who died in 1639, and was buried at Alfriston, is thus
touched off by Fuller:—"Thomas Chune, Esquire, living at Alfriston in
this County, set forth a small Manuall, intituled <i>Collectiones
Theologicarum Conclusionum</i>. Indeed, many have much opposed it (as what
book meeteth not with opposition?); though such as dislike must commend
the brevity and clearness of his Positions. For mine own part, I am glad
to see a Lay-Gentleman so able and industrious." Chowne's great great
grandson, an antiquary, one night left some books too near his library<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_268" id="Page_268"></SPAN></span>
fire; they ignited, and Frog Firle Place was in large part destroyed. It
is now only a fragment of what it was, and is known as Burnt House.</p>
<div class="sidenote">AN ALFRISTON DOCTOR</div>
<p>An intermediate dweller at Frog Firle was one Robert Andrews, who, when
unwell, seems to have been attended by William Benbrigg. Miss Florence
A. Pagden, in her agreeable little history of Alfriston, from which I
have been glad to borrow, prints two of Mr. Benbrigg's letters of kindly
but vague advice to his patient. Here is one:—</p>
<blockquote><p>"<span class="smcap">Mr. Andrews,</span></p>
<p>"I have sent you some things which you may take in the manner
following, viz.:—of that in the bottle marked with a <b>+</b> you may
take of the quantity of a spoonfull or so, now and then, and at
night take some of those pills, drinking a little warm beer after
it, and in the morning take 2 spoonfulls of that in ——
bottle fasting an hour after it, and then you may eat something,
you may take also of the first, and every night a pill, and in the
morning. I hope this will do you good, which is the desire of him
who is your loving friend,</p>
<p class="right">"<span class="smcap">Wm. Benbrigg.</span>"</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Alfriston once had a race meeting of its own—the course is still to be
seen on the southern slope of Firle Beacon—and it also fostered cricket
in the early days. A famous single-wicket match was contested here in
1787, between four men whose united ages amounted to 297 years. History
records that the game was played with "great spirit and activity." Mr.
Lower records, in 1870, that the largest pear and the largest apple ever
known in England were both grown at Alfriston, but possibly the record
has since been broken.</p>
<p>The smallest church in Sussex is however still to Alfriston's credit,
for Lullington church, on the hill side, just across the river and the
fields to the east of Alfriston church, may be considered to belong to
Alfriston without any violence to its independence. As a matter of fact,
the church was once<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_269" id="Page_269"></SPAN></span> bigger, the chancel alone now standing. What
Charles Lamb says of Hollington church in <SPAN href="#CHAPTER_XXXVI">Chapter XXXVI.</SPAN> of this book,
would be more fitting of Lullington.</p>
<div class="sidenote">HILL WALKS</div>
<p>We have come to Alfriston from Lewes, proposing to return there; but it
might well be made a centre, so much fine hill country does it command.
Alfriston to Seaford direct, over the hills and back of the cliffs and
the Cuckmere valley; Alfriston to Eastbourne, crossing the Cuckmere at
Litlington, and beginning the ascent of the hills at West Dean;
Alfriston to Lewes over Firle Beacon; Alfriston to Newhaven direct;
Alfriston to Jevington and Willingdon;—all these routes cover good Down
country, making the best of primitive rambles by day and bringing one at
evening back to the "Star," this mediæval inn in the best of primitive
villages. Few persons, however, are left who will climb hills—even
grass hills—if they can help it; hence this counsel is likely to lead
to no overcrowding of Fore Down, The Camp, Five Lords Burgh, South Hill,
or Firle Beacon.</p>
<p>I might here, perhaps, be allowed to insert some verses upon the new
locomotion, since they bear upon this question of walking in remote
places, and were composed to some extent in Sussex byways in the spring
of 1903:—</p>
<div class="sidenote">A SONG AGAINST SPEED</div>
<p class="center"><br/><br/><br/>A SONG AGAINST SPEED.</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<div>Of speed the savour and the sting,</div>
<div class="i2">None but the weak deride;</div>
<div>But ah, the joy of lingering</div>
<div class="i2">About the country side!</div>
<div>The swiftest wheel, the conquering run,</div>
<div class="i2">We count no privilege</div>
<div>Beside acquiring, in the sun,</div>
<div class="i2">The secret of the hedge.</div>
</div><div class="stanza">
<div>Where is the poet fired to sing</div>
<div class="i2">The snail's discreet degrees,</div>
<div>A rhapsody of sauntering,</div>
<div class="i2">A gloria of ease;</div>
<div><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_270" id="Page_270"></SPAN></span>Proclaiming their's the baser part</div>
<div class="i2">Who consciously forswear</div>
<div>The delicate and gentle art</div>
<div class="i2">Of never getting there?</div>
</div><div class="stanza">
<div><i>To get there first!</i>—'tis time to ring</div>
<div class="i2">The knell of such an aim;</div>
<div><i>To be the swiftest!</i>—riches bring</div>
<div class="i2">So easily that fame.</div>
<div><i>To shine, a highway meteor,</i></div>
<div class="i2"><i>Devourer of the map!</i>—</div>
<div>A vulgar bliss to choose before</div>
<div class="i2">Repose in Nature's lap!</div>
</div><div class="stanza">
<div>Consider too how small a thing</div>
<div class="i2">The highest speed you gain:</div>
<div>A bee can frolic on the wing</div>
<div class="i2">Around the fastest train.</div>
<div>Think of the swallow in the air,</div>
<div class="i2">The salmon in the stream,</div>
<div>And cease to boast the records rare</div>
<div class="i2">Of paraffin and steam.</div>
</div><div class="stanza">
<div>Most, most of all when comes the Spring,</div>
<div class="i2">Again to lay (as now)</div>
<div>Her hand benign and quickening</div>
<div class="i2">On meadow, hill and bough,</div>
<div>Should speed's enchantment lose its power,</div>
<div class="i2">For "None who would exceed</div>
<div>[The Mother speaks] a mile an hour.</div>
<div class="i2">My heart aright can read."</div>
</div><div class="stanza">
<div>The turnpike from the car to fling,</div>
<div class="i2">As from a yacht the sea,</div>
<div>Is doubtless as inspiriting</div>
<div class="i2">As aught on land can be;</div>
<div>I grant the glory, the romance,</div>
<div class="i2">But look behind the veil—</div>
<div>Suppose that while the motor pants</div>
<div class="i2">You miss the nightingale!</div>
</div></div>
<div class="sidenote">ALCISTON</div>
<p>To return to Alfriston, there are two brief excursions (possible in the
vehicles that are glanced at in the foregoing verses) which ought to be
described here: to Alciston and to Wilmington.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_271" id="Page_271"></SPAN></span> Alciston is a little
hamlet under the east slope of Firle Beacon, practically no more than a
farm house, a church, and dependant cottages. It is on a road that leads
only to itself and "to the Hill" (as the sign-boards say hereabout); it
is perhaps as nearly forgotten as any village in the county; and yet I
know of no village with more unobtrusive charm. The church, which has no
vicar of its own, being served from Selmeston, a mile away, stands high
amid its graves, the whole churchyard having been heaped up and
ramparted much as a castle is. In the hollow to the west of the church
is part of the farmyard: a pond, a vast barn with one of the noblest red
roofs in these parts, and the ruins of a stone pigeon house of great age
and solidity, buttressed and built as if for a siege, in curious
contrast to the gentle, pretty purpose for which it was intended.
Between the church and the hill, and almost adjoining it, is the
farmhouse, where the church keys are kept—a relic of Alciston Grange
(once the property of Battle Abbey)—with odds and ends of its past life
still visible, and a flourishing fig-tree at the back, heavy with fruit
when I saw it under a September sun. The front of the house looks due
east, across a valley of corn, to Berwick church, on a corresponding
mound, and beyond Berwick to the Downs above Wilmington. And at the foot
of the garden, on the top of the grey wall above the moat, is a long,
narrow terrace of turf, commanding this eastern view—a terrace meet for
Benedick and Beatrice to pace, exchanging raillery.</p>
<p>In Berwick church, by the way, is a memorial to George Hall, a former
rector, of whom it is said that his name "speaks all learning humane and
divine," and that his memory is "precious both to the Muses and the
Graces." The Reverend George Hall's works seem, however, to have
vanished.</p>
<div class="sidenote">THE LONG MAN</div>
<p>Wilmington, north-east of Alfriston, occupies a corresponding position
to that of Alciston in the north-west; but having a "lion" in the shape
of the Long Man it has lost its virginal bloom. Wilmington is providing
tea and ginger beer while Alciston nurses its unsullied inaccessibility.
The Long Man<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_272" id="Page_272"></SPAN></span> is a rude figure cut in the turf by the monks of the
Benedictine priory that once flourished here, the ruins of which are now
incorporated (like Alciston Grange) in a farm house on the east of the
village. At least, it is thought by some antiquaries that the effigy is
the work of the monks; others pronounce it druidical. The most alluring
of several theories, indeed, would have the figure to represent Pol or
Balder, the Sun God, pushing aside the doors of darkness—Polegate (or
Bolsgate) near by being brought in as evidence.</p>
<hr />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_273" id="Page_273"></SPAN></span></p>
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