The Wye and Its Associations: A Picturesque Ramble

by Leitch Ritchie

The traces of a Roman camp on Woldbury Hill, and on Eaton Hill those of an ancient fortification, forming a link in the chain of defences which formerly ran along this part of the country, may be inspected with advantage by the pedestrian who is read in antiquarian lore; but to others there will appear nothing which should detain their steps before the little town of Ross. Here commences the tour of the lower Wye—of that part of the river which is known to fame as the Wye. As for the town itself, it is neat and prim-looking, sitting quietly upon an eminence above the river. It is full of memories of the Man of Ross, which sanctify it from the boisterous vulgarities of a town. The “heaven-directed spire” which he taught to rise is its prominent feature; and this object keeps the lines of Pope ringing in our ears like the church bell, and with a little of its monotony.

This bell, by the way, is something more than an ordinary bell. It bears the name of John Kyrle, and was cast at Gloucester, in 1695, at his own expense. Nay, it possesses a relic more valuable than his name, for there is incorporated with its substance his favorite silver tankard. He attended himself at the casting, and, drinking solemnly the orthodox toast of “Church and King,” he threw the cup into the molten mass. In a local guide-book, we find several little particulars of this fine old fellow, which are interesting from their naïveté.

It appears he was entered a gentleman commoner, of Baliol College, Oxford, in 1654, and that he was intended for the bar but soon relinquished all thoughts of that profession, and returning to Ross gave himself up to agriculture and building, and the improvement of his native town.

An old maiden cousin, of the euphonous name of Bubb, kept house for him many years. In his person, John was tall, thin, and well-shaped; his health was remarkably good, and he scarcely knew any of the frailties of old age until within a very short time of his death. His usual dress was a suit of brown dittos, and a king William’s wig, all in the costume of his day. He disliked crowds and routs, but was exceedingly fond of snug, social parties, and “of dinnering his friends upon the market and fair days.” He was also exceedingly pleased with his neighbours dropping in without ceremony, loved to make a good long evening of it, enjoyed a merry story, and always seemed sorry when it was time to break up. His dishes were generally plain and according to the season, but he dearly loved a goose, and was vain of his dexterity in carving it. During the operation, which he invariably took upon himself, he always repeated one of those old sayings and standing witticisms that seem to attach themselves with peculiar preference to the cooked goose. He never had roast beef on his table save and except on Christmas day; and malt liquor and good Herefordshire cider were the only beverages ever introduced. At his kitchen fire there was a large block of wood, in lieu of a bench, for poor people to sit upon; and a piece of boiled beef, and three pecks of flower, made into loaves, were given to the poor every Sunday. The number he chose at his “invitation dinners,” were nine, eleven, or thirteen, including himself and his kinswoman, Miss Bubb; and he never cared to sit down to table until he had as many as made one of these numbers. He not only superintended the labours of the road makers, planters, and gardeners, but commonly took an active part in them himself, delighting above all things to carry a huge watering-pot to water the trees he had newly set in the earth. “With a spade on his shoulder and a glass bottle of liquor in his hand, he used to walk from his house to the fields and back again several times during the day.”

Without the trees planted by John Kyrle, Ross would be nothing, so far as the picturesque is concerned; and a delightful tradition, the truth of which is vouched by undeniable evidence, proves that the trees were not ungrateful to their founder. A rector, as the story goes, had the impiety to cut down some of these living monuments of the taste of John Kyrle, which shaded the wall of the church beside his own pew; but the roots threw out fresh shoots, and these, penetrating into the interior, grew into two graceful elms, that occupied his seat with their foliage. If any one doubt the fact, let him go and see. The trees are still there; their branches curtain the tall window that opens upon the pew; and their beautiful leaves cluster above the seat,

“And still keep his memory green in our souls.”

Besides the elms in the churchyard and neighbourhood, there is a fine avenue, planted by John Kyrle, called the Prospect, or the Man of Ross’s Walk. It is on the ridge of a hill behind the church, and commands a view of the valley of the Wye, about which there is some difference of opinion. In King’s anecdotes the planter’s taste for prospects is commended; and it is said that “by a vast plantation of elms, which he disposed of in a fine manner, he has made one of the most entertaining scenes the county of Hereford affords.” Gilpin, on the other hand, who travelled with an easel before his mind’s eye, cannot make a picture of it; and Gray the poet asserts, in reference to the spot in question, that “all points that are much elevated spoil the beauty of the valley, and make its parts, which are not large, look poor and diminutive.”

The only other relic shown at Ross is a fragment of an oak bedstead, on which Charles I. slept, on his way from Ragland Castle. A house in Church Lane, called Gabriel Hill’s Great Inn, contains the chamber so distinguished.

Here the traveller may hire a boat, if he choose, for the remainder of his journey. The Wye, however, is navigable to Hereford in barges of from eighteen to forty tons; and sometimes in lighter boats even to the Hay, but the shoals in summer and the floods in winter frequently interrupt the navigation. In 1795 the river rose fifteen feet at the former place within twenty-four hours, and carried away bridges, cattle, sheep, timber, and everything that stood in its way.

But even if he determine afterwards to proceed by the river, the traveller will do well to walk from Ross to the ruins of Penyard Castle; not that these ruins are in themselves worthy of his attention, but the road is beautiful throughout, and from the summit, Penyard Chace, he will see the little town he has left, and our wandering Wye in a new phasis. The country is diversified with hills and valleys, and wooded spaces between; and more especially when the shadows of evening are stealing over the landscape, the whole is a scene of enchantment.