<h2><SPAN name="CHAPTER_XXXV" id="CHAPTER_XXXV"></SPAN>CHAPTER XXXV</h2>
<h3>PEVENSEY AND HURSTMONCEUX</h3>
<blockquote><p>A well-behaved castle—Rail and romance—Britons, Romans, Saxons and
Normans at Pevensey—William the Conqueror—A series of sieges—The
first English letter—Andrew Borde, the jester, again—Pevensey
gibes—A red brick castle—Hurstmonceux church—The tomb of the
Dacres.—Two Hurstmonceux clerics—The de Fiennes and the de
Monceux—A spacious home—The ghost—The unfortunate Lord
Dacre—Horace Walpole at Hurstmonceux—The trug industry.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Pevensey Castle behaves as a castle should: it rises from the plain, the
only considerable eminence for miles; it has noble grey walls of the
true romantic hue and thickness; it can be seen from the sea, over which
it once kept guard; it has a history rich in assailants and defenders.
There is indeed nothing in its disfavour except the proximity of the
railway, which has been allowed to pass nearer the ruin than dramatic
fitness would dictate. Let it, however, be remembered that the railway
through the St. Pancras Priory at Lewes led to the discovery of the
coffins of William de Warenne and Gundrada, and also that, in Mr.
Kipling's phrase, romance, so far from being at enmity with the iron
horse, "brought up the 9.15."</p>
<p class="center"><SPAN name="page329.png" id="page329.png"></SPAN><ANTIMG src="images/page329.png" width-obs='700' height-obs='348' alt="Pevensey Castle" /></p>
<h4><i>Pevensey Castle.</i></h4>
<p>Pevensey, which is now divided from the channel by marshy fields with
nothing to break the flatness but Martello towers (thirteen may be
counted from the walls), was, like Bramber Castle in the west, now also
an inland stronghold, once washed and surrounded by the sea. The sea
probably covered all the ground as far inland as Hailsham—Pevensey,
Horseye, Rickney<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_329" id="Page_329"></SPAN></span><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_330" id="Page_330">[Pg 330]</SPAN></span> and the other "eyes" on the level, being then
islands, as their termination suggests.</p>
<p>There is now no doubt but that Pevensey was the Anderida of the Romans,
a city on the borders of the great forest of Anderida that covered the
Weald of Sussex—Andreas Weald as it was called by the Saxons. But
before the Romans a British stronghold existed here. This, after the
Romans left, was attacked by the Saxons, who slew every Briton that they
found therein. The Saxons in their turn being discomfited, the Normans
built a new castle within the old walls, with Robert de Moreton, half
brother of the Conqueror, for its lord. Thus the castle as it now stands
is in its outer walls Roman, in its inner, Norman.</p>
<div class="sidenote">WILLIAM'S LANDING</div>
<p>Unlike certain other Sussex fortresses, Pevensey has seen work. Of its
Roman career we know nothing, except that the inhabitants seem to have
dropped a large number of coins, many of which have been dug up. The
Saxons, as we have seen, massacred the Britons at Anderida very
thoroughly. Later, in 1042, Swane, son of Earl Godwin, swooped on
Pevensey's port in the Danish manner and carried off a number of ships.
In 1049 Earl Godwin, and another son, Harold, made a second foray,
carried off more ships, and fired the town. On September 28, 1066,
Pevensey saw a more momentous landing, destined to be fatal to this
marauding Harold; for on that day William, Duke of Normandy, soon to
become William the Conqueror, alighted from his vessel, accompanied by
several hundred Frenchmen in black chain armour. A representation of the
landing is one of the designs in the Bayeux tapestry. The embroiderers
take no count of William's fall as he stepped ashore, on ground now
grazed upon by cattle, an accident deemed unlucky until his ready wit
explained, as he rose with sanded fingers, "See, I have seized the land
with my hands."</p>
<p>Pevensey's later history included sieges by William Rufus in 1088, when
Odo, Bishop of Bayeux, supporter of Robert, was<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_331" id="Page_331"></SPAN></span> the defender; by
Stephen in 1144, the fortress being held by Maude, who gave in
eventually to famine; by Simon de Montfort and the Barons in 1265; and
by the supporters of Richard of York in 1399, when Lady Pelham defended
it for the Rose of Lancaster. A little later Edmund, Duke of York, was
imprisoned in it, and was so satisfied with his gaoler that he
bequeathed him <i>£</i>20. Queen Joan of Navarre, wife of Henry IV., was also a
prisoner here for nine years. In the year before the Armada, Pevensey
Castle was ordered to be either rebuilt as a fortress or razed to the
ground; but fortunately neither instruction was carried out.</p>
<p>The present owner of Pevensey Castle is the Duke of Devonshire, who by
virtue of the possession is entitled to call himself Dominus Aquilæ, or
Lord of the Eagle.</p>
<div class="sidenote">LETTER-WRITING</div>
<p>Pevensey has another and gentler claim to notice. Many essayists have
said pleasant and ingenious things about the art of letter-writing; but
none of them mentions the part played by Pevensey in the English
development of that agreeable accomplishment. Yet the earliest specimen
of English letter-writing that exists was penned in Pevensey Castle. The
writer was Joan Crownall, Lady Pelham, wife of Sir John Pelham, who, as
I have said, defended the castle, in her Lord's absence, against the
Yorkists, and this is the letter, penned (I write in 1903) five hundred
and four years ago. (It has no postscript.)</p>
<blockquote><p>My dear Lord,—I recommend me to your high Lordship, with heart and
body and all my poor might. And with all this I thank you as my
dear Lord, dearest and best beloved of all earthly lords. I say for
me, and thank you, my dear Lord, with all this that I said before
of [for] your comfortable letter that you sent me from Pontefract,
that came to me on Mary Magdalen's day: for by my troth I was never
so glad as when I heard by your letter that ye were strong enough
with the grace of God for to keep you from the malice of your
enemies. And, dear Lord, if it like to your high Lordship that as
soon as ye might that I might hear of your gracious speed, which
God Almighty continue and increase. And, my dear Lord, if it like
you to know <i>my</i> fare, I am here laid by in manner of a siege with
the county of Sussex, Surrey, and a great parcel of Kent, so<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_332" id="Page_332"></SPAN></span> that
I may not [go] out nor no victuals get me, but with much hard.
Wherefore, my dear, if it like you by the advice of your wise
counsel for to set remedy of the salvation of your Castle and
withstand the malice of the Shires aforesaid. And also that ye be
fully informed of the great malice-workers in these shires which
have so despitefully wrought to you, and to your Castle, to your
men and to your tenants; for this country have they wasted for a
great while.</p>
<p>"Farewell, my dear Lord! the Holy Trinity keep you from your
enemies, and soon send me good tidings of you. Written at Pevensey,
in the Castle, on St. Jacob's day last past.</p>
<p class="right">"By your own poor <br/>
"J. <span class="smcap">Pelham</span>."</p>
<p>"To my true Lord."</p>
</blockquote>
<div class="sidenote">ANDREW BORDE AGAIN</div>
<p>In the town of Pevensey once lived Andrew Borde (who entered this world
at Cuckfield): a thorn in the side of municipal dignity. The Dogberryish
dictum "I am still but a man, although Mayor of Pevensey," remains a
local joke, and tradition has kept alive the prowess of the Pevensey
jury which brought a verdict of manslaughter against one who was charged
with stealing breeches; both jokes of Andrew's. Borde's house, whither,
it is said, Edward VI. once came on a visit to the jester, still stands.
The oak room in which Andrew welcomed the youthful king is shown at a
cost of threepence per head, and you may buy pictorial postcards and
German wooden toys in the wit's front parlour.</p>
<p>Before leaving Pevensey I must say a word of Westham, the village which
adjoins it. Westham and Pevensey are practically one, the castle
intervening. Westham has a vicar whose interest in his office might well
be imitated by some of the other vicars of the county. His noble church,
one of the finest in Sussex, with a tower of superb strength and
dignity, is kept open, and just within is a table on which are a number
of copies of a little penny history of Westham which he has prepared,
and for the payment of which he is so eccentric as to trust to the
stranger's honesty.</p>
<p>The tower, which the vicar tells us is six hundred years old, he asks us
to admire for its "utter carelessness and scorn of<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_333" id="Page_333"></SPAN></span> smoothness and
finish, or any of the tricks of modern buildings." Westham church was
one of the first that the Conqueror built, and remains of the original
Norman structure are still serviceable. The vicar suggests that it may
very possibly have stood a siege. In the jamb of the south door of the
Norman wall is a sundial, without which, one might say, no church is
completely perfect. In the tower dwell unmolested a colony of owls, six
of whom once attended a "reading-in" service and, seated side by side on
a beam, listened with unwavering attention to the Thirty-Nine Articles.
They were absent on my visit, but a small starling, swift and elusive as
a spirit, flitted hither and thither quite happily.</p>
<p class="center"><SPAN name="page333.png" id="page333.png"></SPAN><ANTIMG src="images/page333.png" width-obs='700' height-obs='461' alt="Westham" /></p>
<h4><i>Westham.</i></h4>
<div class="sidenote">ALES CRESSEL</div>
<p>In the churchyard is the grave of one Ales Cressel (oddest of names),
and among the epitaphs is this upon a Mr. Henty:—</p>
<div class="poem">
<div class='stanza'><div>Learn from this mistic sage to live or die.</div>
<div>Well did he love at evening's social hour</div>
<div>The Sacred Volume's treasure to apply.</div>
</div></div>
<p>The remembrance of his excellent character alone reconciles his
afflicted widow to her irreparable loss.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_334" id="Page_334"></SPAN></span>The church contains a memorial to a young gentleman named Fagg who,
"having lived to adorn Human Nature by his exemplary manners, was
untimely snatched away, aged 24."</p>
<p>In the neighbourhood of Westham is a large rambling building known as
Priesthaus, which, once a monastery, is now a farm. Many curious relics
of its earlier state have lately been unearthed.</p>
<p>In Pevensey church, which has none of the interest of Westham, a little
collection of curiosities relating to Pevensey—a constable's staff, old
title deeds, seals, and so forth—is kept, in a glass case.</p>
<p class="center"><SPAN name="page335.png" id="page335.png"></SPAN><ANTIMG src="images/page335.png" width-obs='504' height-obs='700' alt="Hurstmonceux Castle" /></p>
<h4><i>Hurstmonceux Castle.</i></h4>
<div class="sidenote">HURSTMONCEUX CASTLE</div>
<p>If Pevensey is all that a castle ought to be, in shape, colour, position
and past, Hurstmonceux is the reverse; for it lies low, it has no
swelling contours, it is of red brick instead of grey stone, and never a
fight has it seen. But any disappointment we may feel is the fault not
of Hurstmonceux but of those who named it castle. Were it called
Hurstmonceux House, or Place, or Manor, or Grange, all would be well. It
is this use of the word castle (which in Sussex has a connotation
excluding red brick) that has done Hurstmonceux an injustice, for it is
a very imposing and satisfactory ruin, quite as interesting
architecturally as Pevensey, or, indeed, any of the ruins that we have
seen.</p>
<p>Hurstmonceux Castle stands on the very edge of Pevensey Level, the only
considerable structure between Pevensey and the main land proper. In the
intervening miles there are fields and fields, through which the Old
Haven runs, plaintive plovers above them bemoaning their lot, and brown
cows tugging at the rich grass. On the first hillock to the right of the
castle as one fronts the south, rising like an island from this sea of
pasturage, is Hurstmonceux church, whose shingled spire shoots into the
sky, a beacon to travellers in the Level. It is a pretty church with an
exterior of severe simplicity. Between the chancel and the chantry is
the large tomb covering the remains of Thomas Fiennes, second Lord<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_335" id="Page_335"></SPAN></span><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_336" id="Page_336">[Pg 336]</SPAN></span>
Dacre of Hurstmonceux, who died in 1534, and Sir Thomas Dacre his son,
surmounted by life-size stone figures, each in full armour, with hands
proudly raised, and each resting his feet against the Fiennes wolf-dog.</p>
<p>In the churchyard is the grave of Julius Hare, once vicar of
Hurstmonceux, and the author, with his brother Augustus, of <i>Guesses at
Truth</i>. Carlyle's John Sterling was Julius Hare's first curate here.</p>
<div class="sidenote">THE OLD SPACIOUSNESS</div>
<p>Hurstmonceux Castle was once the largest and handsomest of all the
commoners' houses in the county. Sir Roger de Fiennes, a descendant of
the John de Fiennes who married Maude, last of the de Monceux, in the
reign of Edward II., built it in 1440. Though the Manor house of the de
Monceux, on the site of the present castle, lacked the imposing
qualities of Roger de Fiennes' stronghold, it was hospitable, spacious,
and luxurious. Edward the First spent a night there in 1302. One of the
de Monceux was on the side of de Montfort in the Battle of Lewes, and
the first of them to settle in England married Edith, daughter of
William de Warenne and Gundrada, of Lewes Castle.</p>
<p>How thorough and conscientious were the workmen employed by Roger de
Fiennes, and how sound were their bricks and mortar, may be learned by
the study of Hurstmonceux Castle to-day. In many parts the walls are
absolutely uninjured except by tourists. The floors, however, have long
since returned to nature, who has put forth her energies without stint
to clothe the old apartments with greenery. Ivy of astonishing vigour
grows here, populous with jackdaws, and trees and shrubs spring from the
least likely spots.</p>
<p>The castle in its old completeness was, practically, a little town. From
east to west its walls measured 206½ feet, from north to south,
214½; within them on the ground floor were larders, laundries, a
brewhouse, a bakehouse, cellars, a dairy, offices, a guard room,
pantries, a distillery, a confectionery room, a chapel, and, beneath, a
dungeon. Between these<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_337" id="Page_337"></SPAN></span> were four open courts. Upstairs, round three
sides of the Green Court, were the Bird Gallery, the Armour Gallery, and
the Green Gallery, and lords' apartments and ladies' apartments "capable
of quartering an army," to quote a writer on the subject. On each side
of the entrance, gained by a drawbridge, was a tower—the Watch Tower
and the Signal Tower.</p>
<p>In the reign of Elizabeth a survey of Hurstmonceux was taken, which
tells us that in the park were two hundred deer, "four fair ponds"
stocked with carp and tench, a "fair warren of conies," a heronry of 150
nests, and much game. The de Fiennes, or Dacres as they became, had also
a private fishery in Pevensey Bay, seen from the Watch Tower as a strip
of blue ribbon.</p>
<p>In addition Hurstmonceux had a ghost, who inhabited the Drummers' Hall,
a room between the towers over the porter's lodge, and sent forth a
mysterious tattoo. Sometimes he left his hall, this devilish musician,
and strode along the battlements drumming and drumming, a terrible
figure nine feet high. Most people were frightened, but there were those
who said that the drummer was nothing more nor less than a gardener in
league with the Pevensey smugglers, whose notes, rattled out on the
parchment, rolled over the marsh and gave them the needful signal.</p>
<div class="sidenote">THE UNFORTUNATE LORD DACRE</div>
<p>Hurstmonceux once had a very real tragedy. The third Lord Dacre, one of
the young noblemen who took part in the welcoming of Ann of Cleves when
she landed in England preparatory to her becoming the wife of Henry
VIII., was so foolish one night in 1541 as to accompany some of his
roystering companions to the adjacent park of Sir Nicholas Pelham, near
Hellingly, intent on a deer-stealing jest. There three gamekeepers rose
up, and a bloody battle ensued in which one John Busbrig bit the dust.
Pelham was furious and demanded justice, and Lord Dacre, though he had
taken no part in the fray, was held responsible. Three of his friends
were hanged<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_338" id="Page_338"></SPAN></span> at Tyburn, and, in spite of all the influence that was
brought to bear, he also was executed. The next Dacre of importance
married the Lady Ann Fitzroy, a natural daughter of Charles II., and was
made Earl of Sussex. Financial losses compelling him to sell
Hurstmonceux, a lawyer named George Naylor bought it in 1708, leaving
it, on his death, to the Right Rev. Francis Hare, Bishop of Chichester.
It remained in the family as a residence until, in 1777, an architect
pronounced it unsafe, and the interior was converted into materials for
the new Hurstmonceux Place in the park to the north-west. Since then
nature has had her way with it.</p>
<div class="sidenote">WALPOLE AT HURSTMONCEUX</div>
<p>Horace Walpole's visit, as described in one of his letters, gives us an
idea of Hurstmonceux in the middle of the eighteenth century, a little
before it became derelict:—"The chapel is small, and mean; the Virgin
and seven long lean saints, ill done, remain in the windows. There have
been four more, but they seem to have been removed for light; and we
actually found St. Catherine, and another gentlewoman with a church in
her hand, exiled into the buttery. There remain two odd cavities, with
very small wooden screens on each side the altar, which seem to have
been confessionals. The outside is a mixture of grey brick and stone,
that has a very venerable appearance. The draw-bridges are romantic to a
degree; and there is a dungeon, that gives one a delightful idea of
living in the days of soccage and under such goodly tenures. They showed
us a dismal chamber which they called <i>Drummer's</i>-hall, and suppose that
Mr. Addison's comedy is descended from it. In the windows of the gallery
over the cloisters, which leads all round to the apartments, is the
device of the Fienneses, a wolf holding a baton with a scroll, <i>Le roy
le veut</i>—an unlucky motto, as I shall tell you presently, to the last
peer of that line. The estate is two thousand a year, and so compact as
to have but seventeen houses upon it. We walked up a brave old avenue to
the church, with ships sailing on our left hand the whole way."</p>
<div class="sidenote">TRUGS</div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_339" id="Page_339"></SPAN></span>Hurstmonceux is famous not only for its castle, but for its "trugs," the
wooden baskets that gardeners carry, which are associated with
Hurstmonceux as crooks once were with Pyecombe, and the shepherds' vast
green umbrellas, on cane frames, with Lewes.</p>
<hr />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_340" id="Page_340"></SPAN></span></p>
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