There is an old cottage here called Bowhouse, one of the six old dwellings that form the hamlet here. I repaired it in 1919 and cut a window through the west wall, as it was rather dark inside; and three old coins were found there while the work was going on, one of George the Third, one of William the Third, and one of Henry the Third. The George III was underneath the staircase, and might have slipped down through a crack. The William III was found in sweeping up a floor, but there was no knowing how it came to be amongst the rubbish there. The Henry III was embedded in the west wall where the window was cut through. That is a very thick wall, built of cob, and was found to be ‘as hard as brass’ for cutting. The coin was in the middle of the cob, and certainly had been there ever since the wall was built.
The coin is one of the ‘short cross’ pennies that were superseded by the ‘long cross’ pennies in 1249. It has the names of Henry as the king, Adam as the moneyer and London as the mint; and Adam was moneyer there from 1205 to 1237. Henry the Third did not become king until 1216; but the coin may perhaps be earlier than that, as Henry the Second put the name of Henry on these pennies in 1180, and his successors never altered it. The coin is much the worse for wear, and may have been in use for many years before it found its way into the wall.
These silver pennies were worth a good deal then. There was an Inquiry on 20 May 1316 after the death of William le Pruz—the old knight whose effigy is now in Lustleigh church at the south end of the transept—and his meadows at Lustleigh were valued at 3d. a year an acre, against £5 now, or just 400 times as many pence. But the real value of the meadows must be pretty much the same.
Under the Corn Production Act of 1917 the Wages Board not only fixed a minimum wage for agricultural work, but also fixed a maximum for the deduction from the wage when the worker is provided with a cottage. In this district the maximum is 3s. a week; and I am now paying 3s. 5d. a week on a cottage in rates and taxes and fire-insurance. I get nothing for the cottage, but only lose by it, and therefore am not eager to build more.
In this district the old cottages are relatively better than the new, judging them by the general standard of comfort at the time when they were built; and some of them are absolutely better, as they have more spacious rooms. My grandfather writes from here, 1 June 1851, “Prince Albert must not think of putting labouring men in parlours, if he expects good hardy soldiers and sailors.” The modern cottages have parlours, seldom used, and bedrooms that will hardly hold a bed.
Innovations have seldom been improvements here. There are very many new things that are better than the old; but here one chiefly sees the new things that are cheaper than the old, and these are not always better. Many of them are not really cheaper. I have just given the roof of this house a new coat of thatch that ought to last for twenty years or more. The thatching here is done with wheat straw; so I grew a crop close by, and sold the grain and kept the straw. Slate or tile costs more; and with such roofing I should have to spend a great deal more on fuel, to keep the house as warm in winter time.
In some ways a thatched roof is better than a cellar as a place for storing wine: the temperature just suits the wine, and there is not any damp. My grandfather tried keeping some above his bedroom ceiling; but it was an inconvenient place for fetching bottles down, and accidents may happen when thatchers are about.
After looking at my vases here, a foreigner made me a little speech. “Oh, your country, how wonderful it is. Who should think to find choice works of ancient Greece with a roof of what you call the Thetch. In another house I find antiquities of Egypt, in another the Oriental porcelain and the lacquer, in another I find pictures most superb. Where originals do not exist, I find reproductions of the greatest works. Surely your England is the most artistic country in the world.”—I fear that England is Artistic in another sense. One day a shopman was showing me things all covered with clumsy ornament, and I asked if there was nothing of good design, without all these excrescences. He seemed puzzled at this, and then it dawned upon him, “Oh, I see, sir. You want something less Artistic.”
This was a secluded place until the railway came. My grandfather writes on 23 September 1849, “I find most people like Wreyland, that is, those advancing in years: so quiet and so sheltered.” And then on 3 January 1864, “I cannot fancy that any railway improves scenery, but this will not so disturb it as one might imagine.... They fancy it is cutting up the country and letting in more people, which will destroy the scenery and the quiet of the neighbourhood; but they think more of its introducing new society than destroying the scenery.”
People who live amidst fine scenery are apt to treat it with contempt, partly from familiarity and partly (I think) because they do not see the scenery as other people see it. You form a higher opinion of a man if you have only seen him at his best, than if you have also seen him at his worst and in all intermediate states. It is the same with scenery. Most strangers see this district in the height of summer, whereas the natives see it in the winter time as well, and have both aspects of it in their mind when they are looking at it; and they sometimes show impatience when strangers praise it overmuch. A farmer here was leaning over a gate from which there is a glorious view. Seeing the view, a passer-by remarked to him how glorious it was. The farmer answered, “Durn the view. I bain’t lookin’ at no view. I be lookin’ how they dratted rabbits ’as ated up my tunnips.”