In celebrating marriage it was his wont to take the ring and toss it in the air before restoring it to the bridegroom. What was symbolised by this proceeding I have been unable to ascertain, unless it were to point out that marriage is always more or less of a toss-up.
After abandoning the cope for the reasons stated, his appearance in girdled alb was not a little peculiar. The alb, to any one not accustomed to see it, has much the look of a nightgown. Over his shoulders he wore a stole of which he was very fond. It was copied for him from one found at Durham, which had been placed in the shrine of St. Cuthbert, on the body. Mr. Hawker bore a special reverence for the memory of St. Cuthbert, who, living on his islet of Farne, the haunt of sea-mews, taming the wild birds, praying, meditating amidst the roar of the North Sea, he thought occupied a position not unlike his own. The week before he died, Mr. Hawker sent to Morwenstow for this stole, and was photographed in it.
“We are much taken with the old church,” wrote a well-known public man a few years ago to a friend, “to say nothing of the vicar thereof, who reminds me immensely of Cardinal Wiseman. He is a sight to see, as well as a preacher to hear, as he stands in his quaint garb and quaint pulpit, and looks as if he belonged to the days of Morwenna Abbatissa herself.”
He was usually followed to church by nine or ten cats, which entered the chancel with him and careered about it during service. Whilst saying prayers Mr. Hawker would pat his cats, or scratch them under their chins. Originally ten cats accompanied him to church; but one, having caught, killed and eaten a mouse on a Sunday, was excommunicated, and from that day was not allowed again within the sanctuary.
A friend tells me that on attending Morwenstow Church one Sunday morning, nothing amazed him more than to see a little dog sitting upon the altar step behind the celebrant, in the position which is usually attributed to a deacon or a server. He afterwards spoke to Mr. Hawker on the subject, and asked him why he did not turn the dog out of the chancel and church.
“Turn the dog out of the ark!” he exclaimed: “all animals, clean and unclean, should find there a refuge.”
His chancel, as has been already said, was strewn with wormwood, sweet marjoram and wild thyme.
He had a garden which he called his church garden, below his house, in a spot sheltered by dwarfed trees. In this garden he grew such flowers as were suitable for church decoration, and were named in honour of the Virgin Mary or the saints, such as columbine, lilies, Barnaby’s thistle, Timothy grass, the cowslip (St. Peter’s flower), Lady’s smock, etc.
Mr. Hawker’s kindness to animals was a conspicuous feature in his character. The birds of Morwenstow became quite tame, and fluttered round him for food. “Ubi aves,” he said, “ibi angeli.” To the north side of the church, above the vicarage, is a small grove of trees, oaks and sycamores. There were nests in them of magpies: Mr. Hawker thought that they were those of jackdaws, but these birds do not build nests among branches. He was very anxious to get rooks to inhabit this grove; to obtain them he went to his chancel, and, kneeling before the altar, besought God to give him a rookery where he wanted. Having made his prayer, full of faith, he had a ladder put to the trees, and he carefully removed the nests to a chimney of his house which was rarely used.
“Jackdaws,” said he, “I make you a promise: if you will give up these trees to rooks, you shall have the chimney of my blue room in sæcula sæculorum.”