The lively sense of humour which has already been mentioned as a family characteristic remained with her throughout life. The following little anecdote told by Mrs. Evans of Rowancroft, Dorking, is also illustrative of the personal coolness and power of action in times of difficulty which were conspicuous among Miss Ormerod’s attributes, and it shows also “the quietly determined manner in which she did some things.”
“My poor little story was told to me a good many years ago. My aunt was lunching with some friends, and the peace of the entertainment was suddenly disturbed by the arrival of a large and lively hornet. No one else ventured to interfere with the enemy, but Miss Ormerod waited quietly till the insect came close to her, caught it in her hand, and forthwith deposited it in one of the little chip boxes which she generally carried in her pockets. I leave you to imagine the astonishment and admiration of the other guests, and the quiet chuckle with which my aunt wound up her story with the remark, ‘Of course I knew it was a “drone,” by the length of the antennæ.’”
Miss Ormerod was not the least nervous in the sense of being afraid. When just a girl living at Sedbury she became the centre of admiration of the workmen on her father’s estate by fearlessly seizing a farmyard dog by the back of the neck and hauling him off her own dog, who had been rudely assaulted. Great was the applause of “Miss Eleanor’s sperrit.”
PLATE XXI.
Ap Adam Oak, Sedbury Park.
Hedgehog Oak, Sedbury Park.
Another incident with a dog of a much more dangerous character is best given in her own words: “I only remember one instance of rabies. The animal attacked was one of two beautiful Clumber spaniels which had been left one day at our house with a message that the sender, a friend of my brother, desired him to select one of them, and accept it as a gift. The two pretty creatures, named Cæsar and Pompey, were introduced into our establishment, and one of them—Cæsar—became a great favourite with my father. How long it was after their arrival I do not remember, but one day Cæsar vanished, and in the course of the afternoon, although he was not one of the house dogs, he came to me as I was standing in the front hall. To my astonishment when I noticed him as usual, he gave a kind of scream, or extraordinary howl, such as I had never heard before, and I saw that the expression of his eyes was wild and distressed to an entirely unnatural degree. The strange scream made me suspect what might be wrong, and I called one of the head men. We took the dog, who was perfectly gentle, into the butler’s pantry and shut the door so that he might not escape, whilst we tried to find out what was amiss. I did not much like the business, but it happened I was the only one at home, excepting a lady relation, who, thinking “discretion the better part of valour,” mounted herself pro tem. out of harm’s way, on the top of a very large stone table, and awaited results in safety. I knew that offering water was a very partial test, but I had some poured out. The effect was instantaneous. The moment the poor dog heard the sound he almost flew to me, as if for protection, and tried to wrap his head in my dress so as to exclude the sound, calling out as if in great trouble. I had no right to have my father’s favourite dog destroyed on a suspicion in his temporary absence, and the dog so far was not violent; it appeared to me that the only reasonable course to adopt was to have him chained securely and led away to an empty stable, where he was fastened to a pole and the door shut. By this course no harm could happen, except in prolonging the poor creature’s sufferings. These, however, though increasingly violent, were not endured for very long. By the time my father returned, in about an hour, the dog was tearing the woodwork all around him to pieces. He was at once destroyed, the attack being pronounced, by those better versed in the matter than myself, undoubtedly a case of rabies.”
Miss Ormerod’s brother, Dr. E. L. Ormerod, of Brighton, author of “British Social Wasps,” testified to the courage and skill with which she assisted him in taking the hanging wasps’ nests from trees. The “Ap Adam” oak shown in plate XXI. which she climbed after a hornet’s nest by means of the library folding ladder, was one of the very ancient hollow oaks in Sedbury Park, about one-third of a mile from the house. She had a sick headache next day about which her brother John made the sympathetic (?) remark, “If young ladies will play at lamplighters they must take the consequences!” The Hedgehog oak, at the root of which in plate XXI. Miss Ormerod is seen sitting in rather an uncomfortable position, was another hollow remnant of the primeval forest. She had remarked that she thought she was sitting on a wasps’ nest when Waring, her second brother, promptly admonished her in the interests of the safety of the party to “sit tight”! The two hollow shells of what must have been at one time splendid timber trees, were historically interesting, having been boundary marks of the country referred to in the time of Edward III. Both trees have been cleared away and the ancient oak now known as that of “Ap Adam” stands only a few hundred yards from the original tree, within the moat which formerly surrounded old Badam’s Court. There are several other very ancient oaks in the park. Two on the left of the carriage drive, going in the direction of the mansion house, were christened “Darby and Joan” by Miss Ormerod.