Loveday's history

by Lucy Ellen Guernsey

Well, the end of the month found us fairly settled in our new home, and very comfortable therein. When Sir David came home from Exeter—whither he had gone to meet us, though we had never told him we meant to go thither—he held his hands up in amazement at the change wrought in the parsonage. But he would by no means have his abode with us, saying that he should only be in our way, and that he was too old to change his habits, so he took up his lodging with an old couple who had more room than they wanted, and lived with them to the day of his death, which happened about three years after. He had a modest competence, which he bequeathed to the poor of the parish; and my husband, with Sir Richard's approbation, built and endowed therewith two more almshouses, specially for disabled fishermen, or their widows. But I am running before my story.

If Sir David had been a bad housekeeper, he had not been an unfaithful priest, as the state of the parish showed plainly enough. The church had been stripped of its images, but not defaced and half ruined, as was the case with too many. The great painted window was quite untouched, the chancels decent and clean, and the seats whole. It was but a little place at best, and a good deal of space was taken up by two or three great altar tombs, but it was large enough to hold all the inhabitants of the two hamlets which made up the parish.

Sir David had provided at his own expense a great Bible, which was chained to a desk in the choir, where any one was at liberty to read it, and so soon as King Edward's new prayer book and primer were published, Sir Richard Stanton sent for a number of copies from Exeter, and had them placed in the seats or given to heads of families. My husband explained the book from the chancel, and I must say the most of the people fell in with it very quickly, so that we had as well-ordered and devout a congregation, I dare say, as could be found in Britain.

I am proud to say that in the changes which followed the king's early death, not one apostate was found in my husband's flock, and had we but been at home when the storm broke, I believe we should have escaped in safety.

I soon formed a warm friendship with our lady of the manor—my Lady Rosamond, she was always called, though being a simple knight's daughter, she had, I suppose, no right to the title. She had been convent-bred as well as myself, and had a narrow escape of being convent-buried, for—there is no harm in writing it now—they were no pirates which carried her off, but a certain priest called Father Barnaby, who had great power at that time. They had her immured in some of their prisons, and threatened to bury her alive, but she was saved in quite a wonderful way, by her own courage and the intervention of that same Magdalen Jewell who had been school-mistress here so long. She had known Sister Anne well in those days, and was glad to see her again. They had been together in the convent which was now suppressed like all the rest. Sister Anne inquired for the Mother Superior.

"She is now visiting a friend, but she will, I believe, make her home with me for the rest of her days," answered the lady, "whether I remain here or return to Stanton Court. She is well, but a good deal shaken by all that hath happened."

We used to have great comparing of notes as to our convent experiences, and we agreed that though the way of their suppression was harsh and cruel in many instances, yet on the whole the church was better without these so-called religious houses. I have never seen reason to change my mind. I regretted it greatly when Sir Richard, coming to the title by the death of my Lord Stanton, removed to Stanton Court. This excellent pair never forgot the parish of Coombe Ashton, however, but always held up my husband's hands in his parish work.

Walter preached, and prayed, and studied, and visited the sick and dying, and was, I dare be sworn, as faithful a parish priest as could be found in England.

Meantime, I, on my part, kept his house and overlooked the parish school, and another which we had set up down at the Cove for the little children who would not come so far in bad weather. I tried, too, to teach the gospel of cleanliness as I had learned it in Holland, but here I had indifferent success. 'Twas so much easier to cover the floors with rushes than to sweep them every day and scrub them twice a week; and as to the ill smells and the vermin, why they were used to them. However, I did make some progress with the young ones, and I soon came to the conclusion that it was not worth while to push my zeal too far. The good women liked their maids to learn sewing and knitting, mending and shaping, and they were well pleased when I taught some of them, as a reward, to make a serviceable kind of lace with the needle. The maids learned to read, and some of them to write, and to reckon in their heads.

By and by we had a boy's school taught by a young man sent us by my lord. It was not so well attended as the other, for the farmers and fishers were not willing to spare their lads after they were old enough to be useful, but yet we turned out some good scholars. My husband was a musician like all the Corbets, and the school master was also a singer. So we had some good music in the church.