Indeed, during our tour, the difficulty that frequently presented itself to us when we did not wish to dally on the way was how we could gracefully decline the many proffered invitations of a similar nature without appearing to be rude. At one time we thought that probably the sight of the dog-cart, as showing that we were presumably respectable wayfarers, might have had something to do with the continued courtesies we received, for in almost every stranger we met we seemed to find a friend; but when touring alone on a walking tour, with only a knapsack strapped on my back, I have experienced the same kindly treatment, often too when in a dust-stained condition. On one well-remembered occasion during the shooting season, when trespassing afoot across some moors in search of a short cut, I came suddenly upon the owner of the land with his party lunching; the owner was inclined to be indignant with me at first, but an apology for my inexcusable trespass quietly expressed was followed by a few minutes’ conversation, which ended in my being invited to join the lunching party, no refusal being permitted. “We insist upon your joining us as a penalty for your trespassing,” was the jovial manner in which the invitation was enforced, and I accepted the inevitable without further demur!
After all the world is much as we make it; smile on it and it returns your smiles, frown and it frowns back again, greet it good-naturedly and it will return your greeting in kind. As Seneca says, “He that would make his travels delightful must first make himself delightful.” And to do this he should cultivate a pleasant manner; it costs so little and returns so much, obtaining favours for which money would not avail, and generally smoothing wonderfully the way of the wanderer. Thus Emerson sings—
What boots it thy virtue?
What profit thy parts?
The one thing thou lackest,
The art of all arts.
The only credential,
Passport to success,
Opens castles and parlours,—
Address, man, address.
During our past wanderings on wheels we have made numerous friends, and have received many kind invitations to spend a time at their homes, and in the course of this journey we received three such invitations, all from perfect strangers; only one of which we were enabled to accept, and in that case a most hearty welcome was extended to us. Such generous hospitality shown, which included stabling our horses, such a manifest anxiety evinced to make our short stay as enjoyable as possible, that mere thanks seemed a wholly insufficient return.
But to return to Water Newton church, after this digression and short sermon on civility which my readers are fully licensed to skip, the rector called our attention to the painstaking manner in which the tower was constructed: “All of ashlar work and scarcely any mortar, or cement, being used. The top of the tower has one feature about it that tells its own story; as you will see, a quantity of old Norman tooth-moulding has been employed in the window arches, manifestly preserved from an earlier building, for the joints of the ornamentations do not come evenly together; thus plainly proving resetting. On the farther and fourth side of the tower that is less seen the windows have none of this moulding, but are simply finished off in unadorned stone-work, the builders having presumably used up all the old carving in the more prominent positions.”
A CURIOUS NAME
Then entering the church the rector pointed out to us the name of “Original Jackson” cut in a flat tombstone on the floor. The Christian name of “Original” being curious and, as far as I know, unique. At one time we learnt that there had been a dove-cote in the tower, or rather a portion of it formed a dove-cote of considerable size, and was doubtless a source of profit to the pre-Reformation clergy. At the foot of the tower is the old vestry door, and a very narrow one it is, so narrow indeed that, the story goes, a former priest of goodly proportions was unable to pass through it; therefore, as the door could not be conveniently altered, a new vestry with an ampler means of approach had to be devised. In a window recess in the south aisle is a recumbent stone effigy, much mutilated and cracked; the feet of this rest upon a lion, apparently showing the figure, which is under lifesize, to be intended to represent a man, yet the features of the head with its long hair suggest a woman. We understood that this effigy was the cause of considerable dispute amongst antiquaries as to whether it were representative of a knight or a dame. We decided in favour of the lady. The church, we were informed, “is dedicated to St. Remigius, an almost unique dedication in England.”
Then adjourning to the rectory we were shown there some very interesting specimens of Roman pottery and other ancient relics that the rector himself had found in a gravel-pit near by, at a spot where an old Roman encampment once had been. To show how times have changed we were told that two old houses between the rectory and