Elizabeth Harvey, in telling the same story, says that on coming up he exclaimed: “There, if that had been written in one of my books, they would have said it was a lie, wouldn’t they?” [404c]
The paragraph about Borrow’s courage was printed in various newspapers throughout the country, amongst others in the Plymouth Mail under the heading of “Gallant Conduct of Mr G. Borrow,” and was read by Borrow’s Cornish kinsmen, who for years had heard nothing of Thomas Borrow. Apparently quite convinced that George was his son, they deputed Robert Taylor, a farmer of Penquite Farm (who had married Anne Borrow, granddaughter of Henry Borrow), to write to Borrow and invite him to visit Trethinnick. The letter was dated 10th October and directed to “George Borrow, Yarmouth.” Borrow replied as follows:—
Yarmouth, 14th Octr., 1853.
My dear Sir,—I beg leave to acknowledge the receipt of your letter of the 10th inst. in which you inform me of the kind desire of my Cornish relatives to see me at Trethinnock (sic). Please to inform them that I shall be proud and happy to avail myself of their kindness and to make the acquaintance of “one and all” [405] of them. My engagements will prevent my visiting them at present, but I will appear amongst them on the first opportunity. I am delighted to learn that there are still some living at Trethinnock who remember my honoured father, who had as true a Cornish heart as ever beat.
I am at present at Yarmouth, to which place I have brought my wife for the benefit of her health; but my residence is Oulton Hall, Lowestoft, Suffolk. With kind greetings to my Cornish kindred, in which my wife and my mother join,—I remain, my dear Sir, ever sincerely yours,—
George Borrow.
Borrow was not free to visit his kinsfolk until the following Christmas. First advising Robert Taylor of his intention, and receiving his approval and instructions for the journey, Borrow set out from Great Yarmouth on 23rd December. He spent the night at Plymouth. Next morning on finding the Liskeard coach full, he decided to walk. Leaving his carpet-bag to be sent on by the mail, and throwing over his arm the cloak that had seen many years of service, he set out upon his eighteen-mile tramp. He arrived at Liskeard in the afternoon, and was met by his cousin Henry Borrow and Robert Taylor, as well as by several local celebrities.
After tea Borrow, accompanied by Robert Taylor, rode to Penquite, four miles away. “Ride by night to Penquite, Borrow records in his Journal. House of stone and slate on side of a hill. Mrs Taylor. Hospitable reception. Christmas Eve. Log on fire.” He found alive of his own generation, Henry, William, Thomas, Elizabeth (who lived to be 94 years of age) and Nicholas, the children of Henry Borrow, Captain Borrow’s eldest brother. Also Anne, daughter of Henry, who married Robert Taylor, and their daughter, likewise named Anne, and William Henry, son of Nicholas.
In the Cornish Note Books there appears under the date of 3rd January the following entry: “Rain and snow. Rode with Mr Taylor to dine at Trethinnick. House dilapidated. A family party. Hospitable people.” On first entering his father’s old home tears had sprung to Borrow’s eyes, and he was much affected. There was present at the dinner the vicar of St Cleer, the Rev. J. R. P. Berkeley, a pleasant Irish clergyman who, years later, was able to give to Dr Knapp an account of what took place. He noticed the “vast difference in appearance and manners between the simple yet shrewd Cornish farmers and the betravelled gentleman their kinsman;” yet for all this there were shades of resemblance—in a look, some turn of thought or tone of voice. George Borrow was not at his best that evening, Mr Berkeley relates of the dinner at Trethinnick:
“his feelings were too much excited. He was thinking of the time when his father’s footsteps and his father’s voice re-echoed in the room in which we were sitting. His eyes wandered from point to point, and at times, if I was not mistaken, a tear could be seen trembling in them. At length he could no longer control his feelings. He left the hall suddenly, and in a few moments, but for God’s providential care, the career of George Borrow would have been ended. There was within a few feet of the house a low wall with a drop of some feet into a paved yard. He walked rapidly out, and, it being nearly dark, he stepped one side of the gate and fell over the wall. He did not mention the accident, although he bruised himself a good deal, and it was some days before I heard of it. His words to me that evening, when bidding me good-bye, were: ‘Well, we have shared the old-fashioned hospitality of old-fashioned people in an old-fashioned house.’” [407a]
Borrow created something of a sensation in the neighbourhood. As a celebrity his autograph was much sought after; but he would gratify nobody. His hosts experienced many little surprises from their guest’s strange ways. He would plunge into a moorland pool to fetch a bird that had fallen to his gun, or, round the family fireside, he would shout his ballads of the North, at one time alarming his audience by seizing a carving-knife and brandishing it about in the air to emphasize the passionate nature of his song. When a card-party proved too dull he slipped off and found his way into some slums, picking up all the disreputable characters he could find, working off his knowledge of cant on them, and getting out of them what he could. [407b]
On one occasion when dining at the house of a local celebrity he was suddenly missed from table during dessert.
“A search revealed him in a remote room surrounded by the children of the house, whom he was amusing by his stories and catechising in the subject of their studies and pursuits. He excused his absence by saying that he had been fascinated by the intelligence of the children, and had forgotten about the dinner.” [407c]