<h2><SPAN name="CHAPTER_XXXIII" id="CHAPTER_XXXIII"></SPAN>CHAPTER XXXIII</h2>
<h3>HEATHFIELD AND THE "LIES."</h3>
<blockquote><p>The two Heathfields—Heathfield Park—"Hefful" Fair and the
spring—The death of Jack Cade—Warbleton's martyr—Three "lies"
and all true—An ecclesiastical confection—The bloodthirsty
Colonel Lunsford—Halland—Tarble Down—Breeches Wood—Mr. Thomas
Turner's diary—Laughton—Chiddingly's inhospitable fane—The
Jefferay cheese—A devoted campanologist—Hellingly—Hailsham.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>There are two Heathfields: the old village, with its pleasant Sussex
church and ancient cottages close to the park gates; and the new brick
and slate town that has gathered round the station and the natural
gas-works. The park lies between the two, remarkable among Sussex parks
for the variety of its trees and the unusual proportion of them. The
spacious lawns which are characteristic of the parks in the south, here,
on Heathfield's sandy undulations, give place to heather, fern and
trees. I never remember to have seen a richer contrast of greens than in
early spring, looking west from the house, between the masses of dark
evergreens that had borne the rigours of the winter and the young leaves
just breaking through. Heathfield's park is, I think, the loveliest in
Sussex, lying as it does on a southern slope, with its opulence of
foliage, its many rushing burns (the source of the Cuckmere), its hidden
ravines and deep silent tarns, and its wonderful view of the Downs and
the sea. The park once belonged to the Dacres of Hurstmonceaux, whom we
are about to meet. Traces of the original house, dating probably from
Henry VII.'s reign, are still to be seen in<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_308" id="Page_308"></SPAN></span> the basement. Upon this
foundation was imposed a new building towards the end of the seventeenth
century. The park was then known as Bailey Park. A century later, George
Augustus Eliott (afterwards Lord Heathfield), the hero of Gibraltar, and
earlier of Cuba, acquired it with his Havana prize money. After Lord
Heathfield died, in 1790, the park became the property of Francis
Newbery, son of the bookseller of St. Paul's Churchyard. The present
owner, Mr. Alexander, has added greatly to the house.</p>
<div class="sidenote">GIBRALTAR TOWER</div>
<p>Gibraltar Tower, on the highest point of the park, was built by Newbery
in honour of his predecessor. From its summit a vast prospect is
visible, and forty churches, it is said, may be counted. I saw but few
of these. In the east, similarly elevated, is seen the Brightling
Needle. Mr. Alexander has gathered together in the tower a number of
souvenirs of old English life which make it a Lewes Castle museum in
little. Here are stocks, horn glasses, drinking vessels, rushlight
holders, leather bottels, and one of those quaint wooden machines for
teaching babies to walk. An old manuscript history of the tower, in Mr.
Alexander's possession, contains at least one passage that is perhaps
worth noting, as it may help to clear up any confusion that exists in
connection with Lord Heathfield's marriage. "The lady to whom his
lordship meant to be united," says the historian, "and who would
certainly have been his wife had not death stepped in, is the sister of
a lady of whom his lordship was extremely fond, but she, dying about ten
years ago, he transferred his affections to the other, who is about
thirty-five years of age."</p>
<p>A Heathfield worthy of a hundred years ago was Sylvan Harmer, chiefly a
stone cutter (he cut the stone for the tower), but also the modeller in
clay of some very ingenious and pretty bas-relief designs for funeral
urns, notably a group known as Charity.</p>
<div class="sidenote">JACK CADE</div>
<p>The following scene from <i>The Second Part of Henry VI.</i> although
Shakespeare places it in Kent, belongs to a little hamlet known as Cade
Street, close to Heathfield:—</p>
<blockquote><p class="center"><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_309" id="Page_309"></SPAN></span><span class="smcap">Scene X.</span>—Kent. <span class="smcap">Iden's</span> <i>Garden.</i></p>
<p class="center"><i>Enter</i> <span class="smcap">Cade.</span></p>
<p><i>Cade.</i> Fie on ambition! fie on myself; that have a sword, and yet
am ready to famish! These five days have I hid me in these woods,
and durst not peep out, for all the country is laid for me; but now
am I so hungry, that if I might have a lease of my life for a
thousand years, I could stay no longer. Wherefore, on a brick-wall
have I climbed into this garden, to see if I can eat grass, or pick
a sallet another while, which is not amiss to cool a man's stomach
this hot weather. And, I think, this word sallet was born to do me
good: for, many a time, but for a sallet, my brain-pan had been
cleft with a brown bill; and, many a time, when I have been dry,
and bravely marching, it hath served me instead of a quart-pot to
drink in; and now the word sallet must serve me to feed on.</p>
<p class="center"><i>Enter</i> <span class="smcap">Iden</span>, <i>with Servants, behind.</i></p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<div><i>Iden.</i> Lord! who would live turmoiléd in the court,</div>
<div class="i3">And may enjoy such quiet walks as these!</div>
<div class="i3">This small inheritance, my father left me,</div>
<div class="i3">Contenteth me, and worth a monarchy.</div>
<div class="i3">I seek not to wax great by others' waning;</div>
<div class="i3">Or gather wealth I care not with what envy:</div>
<div class="i3">Sufficeth that I have maintains my state,</div>
<div class="i3">And sends the poor well pleaséd from my gate.</div>
</div></div>
<p><i>Cade.</i> Here's the lord of the soil come to seize me for a stray,
for entering his fee-simple without leave. Ah, villain, thou wilt
betray me, and get a thousand crowns of the king by carrying my
head to him; but I'll make thee eat iron like an ostrich, and
swallow my sword like a great pin, ere thou and I part.</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<div><i>Iden.</i> Why, rude companion, whatsoe'er thou be,</div>
<div class="i3">I know thee not; why then should I betray thee?</div>
<div class="i3">Is't not enough, to break into my garden,</div>
<div class="i3">And like a thief to come to rob my grounds,</div>
<div class="i3">Climbing my walls in spite of me, the owner,</div>
<div class="i3">But thou wilt brave me with these saucy terms?</div>
</div></div>
<p><i>Cade.</i> Brave thee? ay, by the best blood that ever was broached,
and beard thee too. Look on me well: I have eat no meat these five
days; yet, come thou and thy five men; and if I do not leave you
all as dead as a door-nail, I pray God I may never eat grass more.</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<div><i>Iden.</i> Nay, it shall ne'er be said, while England stands,</div>
<div class="i3">That Alexander Iden, an esquire of Kent,</div>
<div class="i3"><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_310" id="Page_310"></SPAN></span>Took odds to combat a poor famished man.</div>
<div class="i3">Oppose thy steadfast-gazing eyes to mine,</div>
<div class="i3">See if thou canst outface me with thy looks:</div>
<div class="i3">Set limb to limb, and thou art far the lesser;</div>
<div class="i3">Thy hand is but a finger to my fist;</div>
<div class="i3">Thy leg a stick, comparéd with this truncheon;</div>
<div class="i3">My foot shall fight with all the strength thou hast;</div>
<div class="i3">And if mine arm be heavéd in the air,</div>
<div class="i3">Thy grave is digged already in the earth.</div>
<div class="i3">As for words, whose greatness answers words,</div>
<div class="i3">Let this my sword report what speech forbears.</div>
</div></div>
<p><i>Cade.</i> By my valour, the most complete champion that ever I
heard.—Steel, if thou turn the edge, or cut not out the
burly-boned clown in chines of beef ere thou sleep in thy sheath, I
beseech Jove on my knees, thou mayest be turned to hobnails. [<i>They
fight.</i> <span class="smcap">Cade</span> <i>falls</i>.] O! I am slain. Famine, and no other, hath
slain me: let ten thousand devils come against me, and give me but
the ten meals I have lost, and I'd defy them all. Wither, garden;
and be henceforth a burying-place to all that do dwell in this
house, because the unconquered soul of Cade is fled.</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<div><i>Iden.</i> Is't Cade that I have slain, that monstrous traitor?</div>
<div class="i3">Sword, I will hallow thee for this thy deed,</div>
<div class="i3">And hang thee o'er my tomb, when I am dead:</div>
<div class="i3">Ne'er shall this blood be wipéd from thy point,</div>
<div class="i3">But thou shalt wear it as a herald's coat,</div>
<div class="i3">To emblaze the honour that thy master got.</div>
</div></div>
<p><i>Cade.</i> Iden, farewell; and be proud of thy victory. Tell Kent from
me, she hath lost her best man, and exhort all the world to be
cowards; for I, that never feared any, am vanquished by famine, not
by valour.</p>
<p class="right">[<i>Dies.</i></p>
</blockquote>
<div class="sidenote">THE DEATH OF CADE</div>
<p>That was on July 12, 1450. Cade did not die at once, but on the way to
London, whither he was conveyed in a cart. On the 16th his body was
drawn and quartered and dragged through London on a hurdle. One quarter
was then sent to Blackheath; the other three to Norwich, Gloucester and
Salisbury. Cade's head was set up on London Bridge. Iden was knighted. A
pillar was erected at Cade Street by Newbery on the piece of land that
he possessed nearest to the probable scene of the event. "Near this spot
was slain the notorious rebel Jack Cade, by Alexander Iden, Esq.," is
the inscription.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_311" id="Page_311"></SPAN></span>Slaughter Common, near Heathfield, is said to be the scene of a more
wholesale carnage, Heathfield people claiming that there Caedwalla in
635 fought the Saxons and killed Eadwine, king of Northumbria. Sylvan
Harmer, in his manuscript history of Heathfield, is determined that
Heathfield shall have the credit of the fray, but, as a matter of fact,
if Slaughter Common really took its name from a battle it was a very
different one, for Caedwalla and Eadwine met, not at Heathfield, but
Hatfield Chase, near Doncaster.</p>
<div class="sidenote">HEFFUL CUCKOO FAIR</div>
<p>It is at Hefful Cuckoo fair on April 14—Hefful being Sussex for
Heathfield—that, tradition states, the old woman lets the cuckoo out of
her basket and starts him on his course through the summer months. A
local story tells of a Heathfield man who had a quarrel with his wife
and left for Ditchling. After some days he returned, remarking, "I've
had enough of furrin parts—nothing like old England yet."</p>
<p>If any one, walking from Heathfield towards Burwash, is astonished to
find a "Railway Inn," let him spend no time in seeking a station, for
there is none within some miles. This inn was once "The Labour in Vain,"
with a signboard representing two men hard at work scrubbing a nigger
till the white should gleam through. Then came a scheme to run a line to
Eastbourne, midway between the present Heathfield line and the Burwash
line, and enterprise dictated the changing of the sign to one more in
keeping with the times. The railway project was abandoned but the inn
retains its new style.</p>
<p>Warbleton, a village in the iron country, two miles south of Heathfield,
is famous for its association with Richard Woodman, the Sussex martyr,
who is mentioned in an earlier <SPAN href="#Page_253">chapter</SPAN>. His house and foundry were hard
by the churchyard. The wonderful door in the church tower, a miracle of
intricate bolts and massive strength, has been attributed to Woodman's
mechanical skill; and the theory has been put forward that he made this
door for his own strong room, and it was afterwards moved to the church.
Another story says that he was <span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_312" id="Page_312"></SPAN></span>imprisoned in the church tower before
being taken for trial. Warbleton has the following terse and confident
epitaph upon Ann North, wife of the vicar, who died in 1780:—</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<div>Through death's rough waves her bark serenely trod,</div>
<div>Her pilot Jesus, and her harbour God.</div>
</div></div>
<p>From Horeham Road station, next Heathfield on the way to Hailsham, we
can walk across the country to East Hoathly, and thence to Chiddingly
and Hellingly, where we come to the railway again. ("East Hoathly,
Chiddingly and Hellingly," says a local witticism: "three lies and all
true.") East Hoathly stands high in not very interesting country, nor is
it now a very interesting village. But it is remarkable for an admirably
conducted inn and a church unique (in my experience of old churches) in
its interior for a prettiness that is little short of aggressive.
Whatever paint and mosaic can do to remove plain white surfaces has been
done here, and the windows are gay with new glass. Were the building a
new one, say at Surbiton, the effect would be harmonious; but in an old
village in Sussex it seems a mistake.</p>
<div class="sidenote">THE CHILD-EATER</div>
<p>Colonel Thomas Lunsford, of Whyly (now no more), near East Hoathly, a
cavalier and friend of Charles I., was notoriously a consumer of the
flesh of babes. How he won such a reputation is not known, but it never
left him. <i>Hudibras</i> mentions his tastes; in one ballad of the time he
figures as Lunsford that "eateth of children," and in another, recording
his supposed death, he is found with "a child's arm in his pocket."
After a stormy but courageous career he died in 1691, innocent of
cannibalism. It was this Lunsford who fired at his relative, Sir
Nicholas Pelham of Halland, as he was one day entering East Hoathly
church. The huge bullet, the outcome of a long feud, missed Nicholas and
lodged in the church door, where it remained for many years. It cost
Lunsford <i>£</i>8,000 and outlawry.</p>
<p>Halland, one of the seats of the Pelhams, about a mile from<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_313" id="Page_313"></SPAN></span> the
village, was just above Terrible Down, a tract of wild land, on which,
according to local tradition, a battle was once fought so fiercely that
the soldiers were up to their knees in blood. In the neighbourhood it
is, of course, called Tarble Down. Local tradition also states of a
certain piece of woodland attached to the glebe of this parish, called
Breeches Wood, that it owes its name to the circumstance that an East
Hoathly lady, noticing the vicar's breeches to be in need of mending,
presented to him and his successors the wood in question as an endowment
to ensure the perpetual repair of those garments.</p>
<p>Halland House no longer exists, but in the days of the great Duke of
Newcastle, who died in 1768, it was famous for its hospitality and
splendour. We meet with traces of its influence in the frequent
inebriation, after visits there, of Mr. Thomas Turner, a mercer and
general dealer of East Hoathly, who kept a diary from 1764, recording
some of his lapses and other experiences. A few passages from the
extracts quoted in the Sussex Archæological Collections may be given:</p>
<blockquote><p>"My wife read to me that moving scene of the funeral of Miss Clarissa
Harlow. Oh, may the Supreme Being give me grace to lead my life in such
a manner as my exit may in some measure be like that divine creature's.</p>
<p>"This morn my wife and I had words about her going to Lewes to-morrow.
Oh, what happiness must there be in the married state, when there is a
sincere regard on both sides, and each partie truly satisfied with each
other's merits. But it is impossible for tongue or pen to express the
uneasiness that attends the contrary.</p>
<p>"Sunday, August 28th, 1756, Thos. Davey, at our house in the evening, to
whom I read five of Tillotson's Sermons.</p>
<p>"Sunday, October 28th, Thos. Davey came in the evening to whom I read
six of Tillotson's sermons.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_314" id="Page_314"></SPAN></span>"This day went to Mrs. Porter's to inform them the livery lace was not
come, when I think Mrs. Porter treated me with as much imperious and
scornful usage as if she had been, what I think she is, more of a Turk
and Infidel than a Christian, and I an abject slave.</p>
<p>"I went down to Mrs. Porter's and acquainted her that I would not get
her gown before Monday, who received me with all the affability,
courtesy, and good humour imaginable. Oh! what a pleasure would it be to
serve them was they always in such a temper; it would even induce me,
almost, to forget to take a just profit.</p>
<div class="sidenote">POTATIONS</div>
<p>"We supped at Mr. Fuller's and spent the evening with a great deal of
mirth, till between one and two. Tho. Fuller brought my wife home upon
his back. I cannot say I came home sober, though I was far from being
bad company.</p>
<p>"The curate of Laughton came to the shop in the forenoon, and he having
bought some things of me (and I could wish he had paid for them) dined
with me, and also staid in the afternoon till he got in liquor, and
being so complaisant as to keep him company, I was quite drunk. How do I
detest myself for being so foolish!</p>
<p>"In the even, read the twelfth and last book of Milton's <i>Paradise
Lost</i>, which I have now read twice through.</p>
<p>"Mr. Banister having lately taken from the smugglers a freight of
brandy, entertained Mr. Carman, Mr. Fuller, and myself, in the even,
with a bowl of punch."</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Although the Pelhams owned Halland, their principal seat was at
Laughton, two or three miles to the south. Of that splendid Tudor
mansion little now remains but one brick tower. In the vault of the
church, which has been much restored, no fewer than forty Pelhams
repose.</p>
<p>Chiddingly church presents the completest contrast to East<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_315" id="Page_315"></SPAN></span> Hoathly's
over-decorated yet accessible fane that could be imagined. Its door is
not only kept shut, but a special form of locked bar seems to have been
invented for it, and on the day that I was last there the churchyard
gate was padlocked too. The spire of white stone (visible for many
miles)—a change from the customary oak shingling of Sussex—has been
bound with iron chains that suggest the possibility of imminent
dissolution, while within, the building is gloomy and time-stained. If
at East Hoathly the church gives the impression of a too complacent
prosperity, here we have precisely the reverse. The state of the
Jefferay monument behind a row of rude railings is in keeping.</p>
<div class="sidenote">THE PROUD JEFFERAYS</div>
<p>In the Jefferay monument, by the way, the statues at either side stand
on two circular tablets, which are not unlike the yellow cheeses of
Alkmaar. It was possibly this circumstance that led to the myth that the
Jefferays, too proud to walk on the ground, had on Sundays a series of
cheeses ranged between their house and the church, on which to step.
Their house was Chiddingly Place, built by Sir John Jefferay, who died
in 1577. Remains of this great mansion are still to be seen. It was
during Sir John's time that Chiddingly had a vicar, William Titelton,
sufficiently flexible to retain the living under Henry VIII., Edward
VI., Mary, and Elizabeth.</p>
<p>Here, in the eighteenth century, lived one William Elphick, a devotee of
bell-ringing, who computed that altogether he had rung Chiddingly's
triple bell for 8,766 hours (which is six hours more than a year), and
who travelled upwards of ten thousand miles to ring the bells of other
churches.</p>
<p>Mark Antony Lower, most interesting of the Sussex archæologists, to whom
these pages have been much indebted, was born at Chiddingly in 1813.</p>
<p>Mr. Egerton in his <i>Sussex Folk and Sussex Ways</i> tells a story of a
couple down Chiddingly way who agreed upon a very satisfactory system of
danger signals when things were not quite well with either of them.
Whenever the husband came<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_316" id="Page_316"></SPAN></span> home a little "contrary" he wore his hat on
the back of his head, and then she never said a word; and if she came in
a little cross and crooked she threw her shawl over her left shoulder,
and then he never said a word.</p>
<div class="sidenote">CZAR AND QUAKER</div>
<p>A little to the east of Hellingly is Amberstone, the scene, in 1814, of
a pretty occurrence. Alexander, the Czar of all the Russias, travelling
from Brighton to Dover with his sister, the Duchess of Oldenburgh, saw
Nathaniel and Mary Rickman of Amberstone standing by their gate. From
their dress he knew them to be Quakers, a sect in which he was much
interested. The carriage was therefore stopped, and the Czar and his
sister entered the house; they were taken all over it, praised its
neatness, ate some lunch, and parted with the kindest expressions of
goodwill, the Czar shaking hands with the Quaker and the Duchess kissing
the Quakeress.</p>
<p>A few minutes on the rail bring us to Hailsham, an old market town,
whose church, standing on the ridge which borders Pevensey Level on the
west, is capped with pinnacles like that of East Grinstead. Walking a
few yards beyond the church one comes to the edge of the high ground,
with nothing before one but miles and miles of the meadow-land of this
Dutch region, green and moist and dotted with cattle.</p>
<p>Hailsham's principal value to the traveller is that it is the station
for Hurstmonceux; whither, however, we are to journey by another route.
Otherwise the town exists principally in order that bullocks and sheep
may change hands once a week. Hailsham's cattle market covers three
acres, and on market days the wayfarers in the streets need the agility
of a picador.</p>
<p>We ought, however, to see Michelham Priory while we are here. It lies
two miles to the west of Hailsham, in the Cuckmere valley—now a
beautifully-placed farmhouse, but once a house of Augustinian Canons
founded in the reign of Henry III. Here one may see the old monkish fish
stews, so useful on Fridays, in perfection. The moat, where fish were
probably also caught, is still as it was, and the fine old<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_317" id="Page_317"></SPAN></span>
three-storied gateway and the mill belonging to the monks stand to this
day. The priory, although much in ruins, is very interesting, and well
worth seeing and exploring with a reconstructive eye.</p>
<div class="sidenote">THE TWO DICKERS</div>
<p>A little further west is the Dicker—or rather the two Dickers, Upper
Dicker and Lower Dicker, large commons between Arlington in the south
and Chiddingly in the north. Here are some of the many pottery works for which Sussex is famous.</p>
<hr />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_318" id="Page_318"></SPAN></span></p>
<p class="center"><SPAN name="page318.png" id="page318.png"></SPAN><ANTIMG src="images/page318.png" width-obs='700' height-obs='544' alt="Beachy Head" /></p>
<h4><i>Beachy Head.</i></h4>
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