* * * * *
A walk of less than two miles, chiefly across the fields, brings us to Wispington. We have already mentioned [175] the presence here of moats, mounds, and portions of a former old mansion of the Phillips family, utilized in existing farm buildings. We have only now to notice the church, which does not call for much remark. It was rebuilt on the site, and partly of the materials, of the previously-existing church, in 1863, at a cost of £1,500, by the Rev. C. P. Terrott, late vicar, and one of our greatest local antiquaries. He himself designed the font and stone pulpit, and also executed the devices which adorned them, representing groups of different animals named in the Bible. The
tower is supported on buttresses, on a principle adopted from the church of Old Woodhall, which is peculiar, but simple and effective. In the vestry there is a slab, in the floor, of a former rector, John Hetherset, holding a chalice with hands in many-buttoned gloves. Built into the vestry wall are the capitals of two small Norman pillars, which were dug up near the church, and doubtless formed part of the older Norman building. Propped up against the vestry wall is a Jacobean altar-stone, formerly on the Communion table, one of the very few in England. The two mediæval bells are dedicated to the Virgin Mary. The east window has modern coloured glass, the subject being the crucifixion, and scenes in the life of our Saviour. In the north wall of the nave is a window of coloured glass, commorative of the late vicar, C. P. Terrot; and in the south wall of the chancel is another, commemorating his son, Capt. Charles Terrott; in the south nave wall, near the font, is a brass tablet, with the Tyrwhitt arms, erected by the late Rev. Beauchamp St. John Tyrwhitt, vicar, in memory of his brother Robert. The west window is of coloured glass, the subject being St. Margaret and St. John the Baptist.
Edlington Church (St. Helen’s)—the village being a very scattered one, with scarcely two houses contiguous—stands to the east, some two miles from Wispington. It was rebuilt, except the lower part of the tower, in 1859–60. The pulpit, reading desk, lectern, and sittings are all of oak, modern and plain, but substantial. There are three bells. Edlington park is nicely wooded with some good timber, though much of it has been felled of late years. There was formerly a good residence on the northern rising ground, but it was pulled down “in the forties” by the then owner, J. Hassard Short, Esq., and only the kitchen gardens and fish ponds remain. In a field near at hand there were found, several years ago, a number of heaps of oxbones, each heap also containing an ancient urn, supposed to have been connected with Roman sacrifices; but, as Dr. Oliver [176] derives the name Edlington from Eiddileg, a mystic character in the Bardic mythology, these may be the remnants of some other heathen superstition.
A walk across the park and over a couple of fields southward brings us to the village of Thimbleby, which consists of a “street” of
small cottages and two or three larger dwelling-houses. There is here an old manor, called “Hall-garth,” with an interesting old house with gables, thatched roof, some panelled rooms, a large fish pond, an old-time garden with yew hedges fantastically trimmed, and a fine old tree or two. In a field called “the Park,” at the east end of the parish, are some fine trees, remnants of a former avenue. The ancient well, said to be Roman, in the rectory grounds, has already been mentioned. The church was re-fashioned in 1879, and an old, nondescript, flat-ceiled structure was converted into a substantial and well-designed edifice of Early Decorated style, with clock-tower and good clock, which gives out its notes of time to the neighbourhood.
We are now within a mile of Horncastle; somewhat weary after our long explorations, let us wend our way on to the old town, and seek rest and refreshment at the well-appointed and almost historic hostel which is ready to welcome us beneath “ye Signe of ye Bull.”
CHAPTER X.
Re-invigorated, after the prolonged explorations of the last chapter, by a much-needed rest at the hostel of “The Bull,” we now prepare for our final round of visitation among the still remaining objects of interest in the neighbourhood. And first we may seek enlightenment as to the meaning of “the sign” of our inn, for such signs are ofttimes significant. For this we have not far to go. Looking out of the window of the snug little parlour we are occupying, we see before us what an Irishman might call a triangular square—a sort of “Trivium,” where three ways meet, and where men not seldom congregate for trivial converse, although on market days it is the scene of busy barter, and at mart, or fair, transactions in horse, and other, flesh are negotiated with dealers of many kindreds, peoples, and tongues; but more of this anon. On the far side of this open space, “the Red Lion” bravely faces us, lashing its tail in rivalry. In the centre we notice a large lamppost (recently erected by the Urban Council; in 1897). At this spot, well within living memory, was to be seen a large iron ring, securely embedded in a stone in the pavement, of goodly dimensions. This was “the Bull King,” and the open space still perpetuates the name. Here the ancient sport of bull-baiting was practised annually for the brutal, but thoughtless, delectation of the people of town and country side. [178] I find a note that on April 21, 1887, I conversed with an old woman, and, as a link with what is passed, never to return, I may here give her name,—Judith Thornley, daughter of W. Elvin, farmer, of Baumber,—and then 84 years of age, who remembered the Bull ring, as I also do, and who, as a child, raised on her father’s shoulders to see over the crowd, witnessed more than one bull-baiting. On one such occasion she saw a woman gored by the bull, its horns piercing her bowels, although it was secured by the nose to the ring, the crowd being so great that she was thrust within the dangerous area by those pressing upon her from behind. This,
she reckoned, would be about the year 1809 or 1810. As Mr. Weir, in his “History of Horncastle,” dated 1820, makes no reference to this practice, we may assume that the old lady was about right in her calculation.