Grain and Chaff from an English Manor

by Arthur Herbert Savory

Before the auction the two did not meet, and they sat apart during the proceedings. The village malcontent was in great form, making certain of success, and was delighted when the Vicar apparently gave up bidding as if beaten. The rose was still in his button-hole, but before long the aunt's limit was reached, and it had to be removed; he was however relieved to find that the patrons' representative continued to bid. His opponent was getting very fidgety as the price rose, hesitating for some moments every time the bidding was against him. Just as the hammer was about to fall he would arrest it with, "Try 'im again," but the stranger instantly capped his reluctant bid, always leaving him to consider a further advance in great discomfort. At last in despair but quite certain that the Vicar at any rate was knocked out he gave up, exclaiming, "'E med 'ave it, 'e med 'ave it"; and the hammer fell. All eyes were fixed upon the unknown bidder, and the auctioneer demanded "the name of the buyer"; very quietly came the announcement, "The Dean and Chapter of Christ Church." Horribly disgusted the malcontent fired a parting shot as he reached the door: "If I'd a-knowed the pairson was a goin' to 'ave it, I'd a made 'im pay a pretty penny more nor that."

This Vicar was a very impressive reader, especially of dramatic stories from the Old Testament. As he read the account of the discomfiture of the priests of Baal by the Prophet Elijah one could visualize the scene. Elijah's dripping sacrifice blazing to the skies, the priests of Baal, mutilated by their own knives and lancets, in vain imploring their god to send the fire to vindicate himself. The heavens were black, and one could hear the rush of Ahab's chariot, the roar of the thunder and the hissing torrent of rain, and see the prophet running swiftly before him. The Vicar, however, was not an actor like a clergyman I was told of, who got so excited over Agag and his delicate approach to Samuel that he could not resist an illustration to intensify the action by taking a mincing step or two aside from the lectern.

No village is complete without its curmudgeon or self-appointed grumbler, just as every village has its special imbecile. The curmudgeon originates in a class above the idiot; very often he is an ex-churchwarden, guardian, way-warden, or other official, who has resigned in dudgeon or been ousted from his post for some neglect or failure. He is a man with whom the world has gone wrong, a sufferer, perhaps, from some disaster which has become an obsession. He views everything with distorted eyesight; nothing pleases him, and he wants to put everybody right. He cherishes a perpetual grievance against some individual or clique for a fancied slight, and goes about trying to stir up ill-feeling among the ignorant by malicious insinuations. In former times he was an adept at "parson-baiting" at the annual Easter vestry meeting, when he would air his grievance against the Vicar of the parish or any person in authority.

At these vestries the Vicar is wise if he declares the curmudgeon to be "out of order," and declines to hear him, for, legally, the business does not include any matter which does not appear upon the notice convening the meeting, signed by the Vicar and churchwardens. This usually announces that churchwardens will be elected and the accounts produced; the latter, since church rates were abolished, is not obligatory, and only subscribers have a right to question them. The proceedings are not legal unless three full days have elapsed since the publication of the notice on a Sunday before morning service, the following Thursday being thus the earliest day on which the meeting can take place. It is important to remember that no churchwarden has a legal status before he has been formally admitted by the Archdeacon.

In former times, before the creation of Parish, District and County Councils, the curmudgeon, after the reaction of the winter months, became very prominent towards the time of the Easter vestry, when he would appear, having enlisted a small band of supporters, with a number of grievances relating to rates, parish officials, rights of way, footpaths, and such-like debatable subjects. Of course, he should have been promptly squashed by the chairman, but too often an indulgent Vicar would allow him to have his fling.

Now, however, the curmudgeon can easily get himself elected upon one of the numerous councils; having mismanaged his own affairs until he has none left to manage, he appears to regard himself as a fit and proper person to mismanage the business of other people, and the brief authority which his position confers gives him a welcome opportunity of letting off superfluous steam.

Parishioners sometimes combined and elected an unpopular person to a troublesome post which nobody wanted. Such was the office of way-warden, under whose jurisdiction came the management and repair of parish roads, superintending and paying the roadmen, and keeping the necessary records and accounts. A market-gardener, a canny Scot, who had fallen into disfavour, had this office thrust upon him much against his will. Once elected, the victim had no choice in the matter, and, being a very busy man, he was thoroughly annoyed. He soon discovered a weapon wherewith to avenge the wrong—one which his opponents had put into his hands themselves; during his year of office he restricted the road repairs to a lane adjoining his own land, leading to the railway-station, which his carts traversed many times daily. He gave it a thorough good coat of stones, and all the available labour, as well as the cash chargeable on the rates of the parish, was in this way expended, chiefly for his own benefit, though the parish shared to the extent of the use they made of this particular piece of road. Great was the outcry, but nothing could be done till the year of office expired, and, naturally, he was never elected again.

The purchase of the land adjoining the churchyard had a remarkable sequel; it was conveyed to the Vicar and churchwardens for the time being, these original churchwardens having been long out of the office before my appointment. After the restoration of the church my co-warden and I, with the Vicar's consent, levelled the rough places in the neglected churchyard, sowed it with grass seeds, and planted various ornamental shrubs; we had the untidy southern boundary carefully dug over, and set a man to plant a yew-hedge. He was thus employed when a parishioner appeared in some excitement, and objected to the planting of yew on account of possible damage to sheep grazing in the churchyard, claiming the right—which, as a matter of fact, belonged to the Vicar alone, though never exercised—to such grazing, jointly with the Vicar. He proceeded to pull up some of the young yews as a protest, and threw them uprooted on the ground. The man employed reported the matter to my co-warden, living near, who was very soon at my house.

We decided to prosecute the offender, and obtained the Vicar's consent, he being the legal prosecutor. The case was heard by a bench of magistrates composed entirely of clergy and churchwarden squires, who naturally sympathized with us, and, quite logically, convicted the defendant in a fine, I think, of about 25s. and costs, or a term in Worcester Gaol in default. The defendant refused to pay a farthing and was removed in custody; but later our dear old Vicar, very generously, came forward and paid the amount himself.

Shortly before the church restoration I had a notice to attend an archidiaconal visitation, and duly appeared at the church at the time arranged. The Archdeacon made a careful inspection of the fabric and property of the church, not too well pleased with its dilapidated appearance. Nothing much was said till we reached the fourteenth-century font, showing signs of long use. The Archdeacon motioned to the clerk to remove the oak cover, and the old man, with the air of an officious waiter, lifted it with a flourish, disclosing, inside the cracked font, a white pudding-basin, inside which, again, reposed a species of beetle known as a "devil's coach-horse." The Archdeacon, peering in and evidently recognizing the insect and its popular designation, and looking much shocked, exclaimed with some warmth: "Dear me! I should scarcely have expected to find that thing in a font!"