Something has already been said, in the opening pages of this book, respecting the recent spoiling of Pangbourne village by the overbuilding in it: all brought about by the convenience of a main-line railway-station in the very midst of the place; and therefore nothing more may be written. The same remarks apply in degree to Whitchurch, at the other end of the long bridge that here joins the two banks.
There is a dull high road out of Pangbourne, and there is a delightful towing-path, crossing the mouth of the little Pang bourne, and going with a fine view across river to Hardwicke House, amid its beautiful lawns on the Oxfordshire side, and presently to Mapledurham Lock. Hardwicke House has associations with the troubles of Charles the First, and was greatly injured during the fighting about Reading.
Although there is no public ferry at Mapledurham Lock, boats there afford an opportunity of crossing the river; greatly, no doubt, to the chagrin of the Blounts, who own Mapledurham, and have not only distinguished themselves in modern times by seeking the aid of the law-courts to forbid fishing in the river at this point, but have so arranged that there is no inn at Mapledurham, and have placed every conceivable obstacle in the way of any one save themselves enjoying the scene. Notice-boards informing the stranger that this, that, and the other are “Private” start out at unexpected corners; and there is only wanting one touch to make this attitude thorough. The suggestion is hereby offered that, for thoroughly scaring away those insistent persons who do not entirely believe in such notices, there should be added to them, more Americano! “This means YOU.”
But there is reason in most things, and the reason for this uncompromising attitude is found, according to rumour, in the nearness of Mapledurham to Reading, which sends out numerous boating-parties at holiday times; and such parties, we all know, are not always discreet, either in word or deed.
MAPLEDURHAM MILL.
The old mill of Mapledurham is, now that Iffley Mill has become a thing of the past, the most picturesque on the Thames. Near by it stands the humble little church, amid tall elms, with monuments of the Blounts and others, secluded from lesser folk in a side chapel. A curious small mural monument, with the representation of a dropped curtain, is to be seen here, to the memory of Captain Adrian Rose, born 1878, died 1908. He served in the Boer War.
The beautiful late Tudor mansion of the exclusive Blounts, built by Sir Michael Blount, Lieutenant of the Tower in 1581, stands a little way back from the river, and turns its front away from it. Like so many Elizabethan manor-houses, its plan is that of an elongated capital letter E, the upper and lower projecting limbs formed by the wings; the middle being the entrance. The view of it at some little distance down the mile-long avenue of stately elms is delightful, whether you see it under the mid-day sun, or by the mellow romantic afterglow of a summer evening. At either time the richness in colour of its old red-brick front, patterned in lozenge shapes by vitrified bricks of a darker hue, is evident. It is a house of some romance. Legends tell that on the death of a Blount, or prophetically before such an event—it is not quite clear which—an elm of the long avenue falls; by which it would seem that the owner of this avenue of many trees, a large proportion of them past their prime and prone (as elms especially are) to fall suddenly and without apparent cause, must sometimes receive a shock to his nerves, especially if he be superstitious; and as the Blounts have ever been Roman Catholics, it seems safe enough to deduce superstition in many of them.