These industries are now extinct, and one is somewhat at a loss in seeking for “live” interests, although it is impossible to forget that Hemyock is a famous mart for pigs. The whole district is piggy, and the sleek black animal with the curly tail is as highly respected, in life and in death, as his congener in that porcine paradise, Erin. I was talking to an old fellow at Culmstock, it may have been two years ago, and the conversation turned on swine. Rather to my surprise, he spoke of a certain female of the breed as having been “brought up in house,” and with full appreciation of the fun, volunteered a local saw to the effect that “when a sow has had three litters, she is artful enough to open a door.”
Culmstock, it is not too much to say, is redolent of Waterloo. The beacon was often aflame during the Napoleonic wars, and, upon their conclusion, the famous Wellington Monument was erected at no great distance, in honour of the Iron Duke, who took his title from Wellington in Somerset, the Pumpington of Perlycross.
Thanks to the industry of Mr William Doble, who is, I believe, a descendant of more than one of the local heroes, it is possible to restore the atmosphere which brought about the creation, years afterwards, of Sir Thomas Waldron and Sergeant Jakes. When R. D. Blackmore was a boy, many were still living who could remember the incessant din of the joy-bells on the announcement of the victory—a din continued for several days; and the scene in the Fore-street, the “grateful celebration,” when high and low, indiscriminately, turned out to share the feast. Naturally, however, the festivities were dashed with some amount of sorrow and anxiety, as it was not yet known what had been the fortunes of the gallant fellows who had gone forth to fight England’s battle. Two stanzas of a song, which an old lady of Culmstock sang as a girl, reflect with simple pathos the dreadful suspense of relations and friends.
“Mother is the battle over?
Thousands have been slain they say.
Is my father coming? Tell me,
Have the English gained the day?
“Is he well, or is he wounded?
Mother, is he among the slain?
If you know, I pray you tell me,
Will my father come again?”
A rough list of the Culmstock warriors comprises the following names:—
| Major Octavius Temple, (father of the late Archbishop). Dr Ayshford. Sergt. J. Mapledorham. Sergt. W. Doble. Sergt. Gregory. William Berry. William Sheers. Robert Wood. Thomas Scadding. | Richard Fry. Abram Lake. William Gillard. John Jordan. Thomas Andrews. John Nethercott. John Tapscott. “Urchard” Penny. James Mapledorham, jun. Betty Milton. Betsy Mapledorham. |
Mapledorham, was too much of a mouthful for Culmstock people, so they consulted their own convenience by calling the couple Maldrom. The excellent sergeant already possessed a long record of service when summoned to the final test of Waterloo, and in several campaigns he had been accompanied by his faithful Betsy. Equally adventurous, Betty Milton was full of reminiscences of her hard life in the Peninsula.
William Berry, too, was fond of story-telling. He related, with humorous glee, that he had once captured a mule with a sack of doubloons. Unfortunately a wine-shop proved seductive, and whilst he was regaling himself therein, an artful Spaniard made off with the booty. Robert, better known as “Robin,” Wood was literary, and published a penny history of his exploits, of which, alas! not a single copy is known to exist. William Sheers, figuratively speaking, turned his spear into a ploughshare, as he took to shopkeeping and became a pronounced Methodist and zealous supporter of the Smallbrook Chapel. I can just remember this bearded veteran, who in his last days was a victim to a severe form of cardiac asthma. Tapscott and “Urchard” Penny were both ex-marines. The former had been present at the Battle of Trafalgar and rejoiced in the nicknames “John Glory” and “Blue my Shirt.” As for Penny, he was sometimes called “Tenpenny Dick,” the reason being that he would never accept more than tenpence as his day’s wage. When his turn came to be buried, the bystanders observed that water had found its way into his last resting-place, so that, it was said, he remained constant to the element in which he had so long served.
The foremost of the group of veterans is claimed to have been Doble, who, after starting in life as a parish apprentice, at the age of seven, took part in seven pitched battles in the Peninsula, and ended his military career at Waterloo. He retired from the service on a pension of twelve shillings a week, and was the proud owner of two medals and nine clasps. As a civilian, he was the trusted foreman of the silk factory in Red Lion Court, which, despite his probity, soon came to grief; and at his funeral his old comrades assembled, some from considerable distances, to pay a last tribute to the brave soldier who had rallied the waverers at Waterloo.