Porchester—the town itself—could supply many a sketch for the artist fond of quaintness in buildings, in roofs, picturesque children, and old-fashioned public-houses. Who, I wonder, drinks all the “fine old beer,” the “sparkling ales,” and the “London stout,” in this town of Porchester? Every third house seems an inn.
Through Fareham, where we stopped to admire a beautiful outdoor aviary, and where a major of marines and his wife possessed themselves of my little maiden, and gave her cake and flowers enough to set up and beautify the Wanderer for a week at least.
Botley is one of the quietest, quaintest, and most unsophisticated wee villages ever the Wanderer rolled into. It is rural in the extreme, but like those of all rural villages, its inhabitants, if unsophisticated, are as kind-hearted as any I have ever met.
Botley can boast of nearly half-a-score of public-houses, but it has only one hotel, the Dolphin, and one butcher’s shop.
That milkman who let us into his field was right glad to see the caravan, which he had read a good deal about, and seemed proud to have us there, and just as pleased was the honest landlord of the Dolphin to have our horses. In the good old-fashioned way he invited my little daughter and me into the cosy parlour behind the bar, where we spent a few musical hours most enjoyably.
It seems though that Botley has not always borne the reputation of being a quiet place. For example, long ago, though the recollection of the affair is still green in the memory of the oldest inhabitants, there used to be held at Botley what were called “beef-fairs.” For months beforehand “twopences” were saved, to raise a fund for fair-day. When this latter came round, the agreement among these innocents was that having once taken the cup of beer in his hand every man must drain it to the bottom, to prove he was a man.
In his bacchanalian song “Willie brew’d a peck o’ maut,” Burns says:—
“The first that rises to gang awa’
A cuckold cowardly loon is he.
The first that in the neuk does fa’
We’ll mak’ him king amang the three.”
But at the beef-fair of Botley matters were reversed, and the first that “in the neuk did fa’” was fined two shillings, and failing payment he was condemned to be hanged.
On a certain fair-day a certain “innocent” fell in the nook but refused to pay. Honour was honour among these fair folks, so first they stood the culprit on his head, and endeavoured to shake the money out of him. Disappointed and unsuccessful, they really did hang him, not by the neck but by the waist, to a beam.