In April of the same year FitzGerald wrote to Posh:—

“Woodbridge, Monday.

“Dear Posh,

“Come any day you please. The Horse Fair is on Friday, you had better come, at any rate; by Thursday, so as to catch the Market. For I think your Lugger must have got away before that.

“A letter written by Ablett Pasefield [otherwise called Percival] yesterday tells me there are four Lowestoft Luggers in Weymouth. I fancy that even if they were on the Fishing ground, the wind must be too strong to be at work.

“It was Mr. Kerrich who died suddenly this day week—and I suppose is being buried this very day.

“Yours, E. FG.

“Mr. Berry tells me that the Poultry Show here is on Thursday. You can, as I say, come any Day you please. I see the Wind is got West, after the squalls of Hail.”

Ablett Pasefield (or Percival), the fisherman and yacht hand, has been mentioned before, and will be mentioned again. He was one of FitzGerald’s favourites. Mr. Kerrich was FitzGerald’s brother-in-law, the husband of the poet’s favourite sister, who had predeceased him in 1863. On August 5th in that year FitzGerald wrote to Professor Cowell (Letters, II, 46, Eversley Edition): “. . . I have lost my sister Kerrich, the only one of my family I much cared for, or who much cared for me.”

* * * * *

Mr. Kerrich lived at Geldeston Hall, near Beccles, which is still in possession of the same family.

Mr. Berry (as we know) was FitzGerald’s landlord at Markethill, Woodbridge.

At this time Posh was a man of means, and drove his smart gig and mare, and it was with some idea of buying a new horse

that he was to go to Woodbridge Horse Fair. In the seventies the horse fairs of Norwich and other East Anglian towns were important functions. The Rommany gryengroes had not then all gone to America, and those who know their George Borrow will remember with delight his description of the scene at the horse fair on Norwich Castle Hill, when Jasper Petulengro first brought himself to the recollection of Lavengro (or the “sap-engro”) as his “pal”—that memorable day when George Borrow saw the famous entire Norfolk cob Marshland Shales led amongst bared heads, blind and grey with age, but triumphant in his unequalled fame (Lavengro, p. 74, Minerva Edition).

But Posh bought no new horse. And his recollection does not permit of any trustworthy account of his visit.