Over Fen and Wold

by James John Hissey

AN INLAND LIGHTHOUSE

in times gone by, I’ve heard say not much better than a trackless waste. So you see a lighthouse could be useful inland as well as by the sea.” We saw! On referring again to my copy of Patersons Roads I find the following: “Dunston Pillar is a plain quadrangular stone shaft, of a pyramidal shape, that rises to the height of about 100 feet. It was erected when the roads were intricate, and the heath was an extensive waste, and was then of great utility; but as the lands have since been enclosed, and other improvements made, it can now only be considered as a monument of the public spirit of the individual by whom it was constructed.”

Then after a few more miles we reached Metheringham, an out-of-the-world, forsaken-looking little town; so out-of-the-world that I do not find it even mentioned in my Paterson, and why, or how, it existed at all was a puzzle to us. In times past it was shut away from the world more than now by the wild extensive Lincolnshire Heath on one side, and a narrow, though long, stretch of roadless fenland on the other, so was not very get-at-able.

In the centre of the sleepy old town, midway in the street, stand the remains of its ancient market-cross: these consist of an upright shaft rising from some worn and weathered steps; the place of the cross on the top is now occupied by an ugly petroleum lamp. Even a stern Puritan might have been satisfied with this arrangement, there is nothing in the least superstitious about it, it is convenient but not beautiful. I only wonder that, as the ruined cross stands so handily at the junction of three roads, it has not been further utilised as a finger-post as well as a lamp-post! I can only put down the omission to do this to an oversight,—a wasted opportunity to add to the disfigurement of the country-side!

We baited the horses at a little inn here, and, whilst they were resting, took a stroll round the place to see if we could find anything of interest, but failed. So we took a glance inside the church, and there we discovered an astonishing specimen of architectural incongruity. The Gothic arches, we observed, were supported by purely classical pillars. How this came about we could not say positively, but we put it down to our old enemy the restorer. We should imagine that it was done at the time that the classical revival was rampant in England, when Wren was in his glory, and only want of money saved many a Gothic building from being altered to taste. Fashions in architecture come and go as do fashions in dress.

Leaving Metheringham, a good-going road that took us through a very pleasant country brought us quickly to the hard-featured village of Martin, composed of brick-built cottages that came close up to the roadway, without as much as a bit of garden in front to soften their uncomeliness, as though land in this wild remote district were as precious as in London, so that every possible inch of it needs must be built on! In the street, as we passed down, we caught a sight of a brick “steeple-house”—I use the term meaningly and of set purpose—quite in keeping with its unprepossessing surroundings.

STIXWOLD FERRY.

I may be wrong, but I do not think a place of worship could well be made uglier—not even if corrugated iron were employed in the endeavour, and much unsightliness can be wrought that way!