Bray is truly a charming place, and one could find it in one's heart to forgive the vicar who turned his coat to keep his vicarage. The real man lived in the reign of Henry VIII. and his successors, and changed his religious practices in conformity with those of the sovereign for the time being, turning from Roman Catholic to Reformed Church, Reformed to Roman Catholic, and back once more with ease and pliability. In the ballad he is represented as living in the seventeenth century, and his gymnastics refer to the varying fortunes of the house of Stuart, and the Romish tendencies of the later kings of that house. Fuller, with his usual quaintness, remarks of him that he had seen some martyrs burnt at Windsor and "found this fire too hot for his tender temper." But one would fain believe it was not altogether cowardice, but also a love of his delightful village, that made him so amenable. The little flint and stone tower of the church peeps at the river over a splendid assortment of evergreens—laurels, holm oaks, yews, and spruce firs being particularly noticeable—and the old vicarage with this growth of sheltering trees and its smooth lawn right down to the water's edge, is certainly a place that one would think twice about before leaving. The village itself is so irregular that, tiny as it is, one may get lost in it. There are endless vistas of gable ends, of bowed timbers, of pretty porches, and worn brick softly embraced by vine or wistaria; yet even in Bray, new red brick is making its way. One of the most interesting features is the almshouses, and if one lands by the hotel, they are reached after only a few minutes' walk. The exterior is very quaint; large cylindrical yews and hollies, like roly-poly puddings on end, stand up in stubborn rank before the worn red brick. The statue of the founder, of an immaculate whiteness, with the glitter of gilt in the coat-of-arms below, just lightens the effect. Through an ancient arch one passes to the quadrangle, which is filled with tiny flower-beds, and surrounded by a low range of red brick with dormer windows. At the other side is the chapel covered with ivy, and this, with the little diamond panes and the brightness of the variegated flower-beds, is home-like and cosy. Yet it must be confessed that in his well-known picture, "The Harbour of Refuge," admittedly taken from Bray, Frederick Walker, the artist, has greatly improved the scene with artistic licence. The raised terrace at the side, the greater width of the quadrangle, the smooth green lawn and sheltering central tree in his picture, are far more harmonious and beautiful than the reality.
Bray is a very popular haunt with artists and boating people. In summer the George Hotel cannot take in all its visitors, and beds are hired all over the village, consequently, anyone wishing to spend some weeks in Bray must make arrangements well beforehand. This is not to be wondered at, because, as well as its own attractions, it is within easy reach of Maidenhead and the delights beyond, and its unspoilt quaintness makes it ideal to stay in. Long may Bray remain as it is, unaltered and a tiny village.
CHAPTER XIV
MAGNA CHARTA
Magna Charta Island is something of a shock at first sight; it is so exceptionally well cared for and so pretty. One pictures a tangle of wild trees, a mass of rushes, osiers perhaps, and general grimness. The osiers are confined to a fraction of the island; on the remainder is a prettily-built house of a fair size, with the very best sort of river-lawn, on which grow various fine and regular trees. Many are the evergreens; and the bosky holm oak, the dignified stone pine, and the flourishing walnut, seen in conjunction with the beautifully kept turf and bright flower-beds, are altogether unlike one's conception of the place.
It is true that, though the island has the name of it, it is now generally supposed that the actual signing of our great charter of liberties took place on the mainland. John had delayed, and played false, and postponed the issue for long, but he knew now that all was up, and he was cornered. A truce was declared, and from Windsor he agreed to meet his barons and "concede to them the laws and liberties which they asked." The fifteenth of June was fixed for the day, and Runney Mead, or Runnymede, for the place. With the barons were almost the whole of the English nobility; with John, certain ecclesiastical powers, namely, the Archbishops of Canterbury and Dublin, and seven bishops, as well as some earls and barons. It is quite obvious that the barons could have had no idea of the vast consequences of their act. They would have been astonished could they have foreseen that it would become the basis of the English constitution. They merely wanted to bind down a particular king who had outraged their liberties.
One can hardly imagine a better place for the assembling of a great body of armed men than these meadows by the river. The land is as flat as a platform, and sheltered to the south by the heights of Cooper's Hill, which rise like the tiers in an amphitheatre. The Long Mead, with the exception of the road now running across it, must have looked very much then as it does now. Runney Mead is more altered, because it is shut in by hedges. We know not if the day were fine or overcast when the great charter was signed; but when the deed was done John, in a rage, retired to Windsor. The barons remained on the meads for about ten days, during which the place must have been like a fair.
It is very hot on this part of the river on a sunny day. The trees growing on the banks are all on the north side, and consequently give little shade. They border Ankerwyke Park, and grow so close to the water that many of their roots are in it. The swallows dart to and fro, and clouds of gnats dance like thistledown in the air. Near the banks grow many flowers. The spotted knotweed or persicaria, with its bright flesh-coloured flowers, is sometimes in water, sometimes on the land; the common forget-me-not can be seen peeping up with its bright blue eyes; the pink willow herb flourishes; and the yellow iris and the purple loosestrife are also to be seen. And when there is no wind the scent of the meadow-sweet and the dog-roses becomes almost overpowering.
Ankerwyke was once a priory. It was appropriated by Henry VIII., who is said to have carried on the courtship of Anne Boleyn under the mighty chestnuts for which it was even then famous: