British Highways and Byways from a Motor Car / Being a Record of a Five Thousand Mile Tour in England, Wales and Scotland

by Thos. D. Murphy

The castle was built in 1385 and appears to have been intended more as a palatial residence than a feudal fortress. Its position is not a strong one for defense, being situated on a level plain rather than upon a commanding eminence, as is usually the case with fortified castles. It was built after artillery had come into use, and the futility of erecting a structure that would stand against this new engine of destruction must have been obvious. The most remarkable feature is the wide moat which surrounds the castle. In fact, this gives it the appearance of standing on an island in the middle of a small lake. The water of the moat was nearly covered by water-lilies.

The walls of the castle are wonderfully complete, every tower and turret retaining its old-time battlements. It is supposed never to have sustained an attack by armed forces and its present condition is due to neglect and decay. From our point of view, it must have been an insanitary place, standing in the low-lying fens in the midst of a pool of stagnant water, but such reflection does not detract from its beauty. I have never seen a more romantic sight than this huge, quadrangular pile, with its array of battlements and towers rising abruptly out of the dark waters of the moat. And its whole aspect, as we beheld it—softened in outline by the mellow moonlight—made a picture that savored more of enchantment than reality.

Although the hour was late, the custodian admitted us to the ruins and we passed over a narrow bridge which crossed the moat. The pathway led through a door in the great gateway, over which still hangs suspended the iron port-cullis. Inside there was a grassy court, surrounded by the walls and ruined apartments of the castle. I ascended one of the main towers by a dilapidated stone stairway and was well repaid for the effort by the glorious moonlit prospect that stretched out before me.

When we returned to the Castle Inn, we found the landlady all attention and she spared no effort to contribute to our comfort. The little inn was cleanlier and better kept than many of the more pretentious ones. Bodiam is several miles from the railroad and but few tourists visit the castle. The principal business of the hotel is to cater to parties of English trippers who make the neighborhood a resort for fishing and hunting.

An early start from Bodiam brought us to Tunbridge Wells before ten o'clock in the morning. This city, although of considerable size, is comparatively modern and has little to detain tourists. Like Harrogate and Bath, its popularity is largely due to its mineral springs. In its immediate neighborhood, however, there are many places of interest, and we determined to make a circular tour among some of these, returning to Tunbridge Wells for the night.

A few miles from Tunbridge Wells is Offham, a little, out-of-the-way village which boasts of a queer mediaeval relic, the only one of the kind remaining in the Kingdom. This is called a quintain post and stands in the center of the village green. It consists of a revolving crossbar on the top of a tall, white post. One end of the bar is flattened and pierced with small holes, while at the other a billet of wood is suspended from a chain. The pastime consisted of riding on horseback and aiming a lance at one of the holes in the broad end of the crossbar. If the aim were true, the impact would swing the club around with violence, and unless the rider were agile he was liable to be unhorsed—rough and dangerous sport, but no doubt calculated to secure dexterity with the lance on horseback. This odd relic is religiously preserved by the village and looks suspiciously new, considering the long period since such a pastime must have been practiced. However, this may be due to the fact that the tenant of an adjoining cottage is required by the terms of his lease to keep the post in good repair, a stipulation, no doubt, to which we owe its existence.

In Westerham, a few miles farther on, we saw the vicarage where Gen. Wolfe, the hero of Quebec, was born. His parents were tenants of this house for a short time only, and soon after his birth they moved to the imposing residence now known as Quebec House, and here Wolfe spent the first twelve years of his life. It is a fine Tudor mansion and has been little altered since the boyhood of the great warrior. Visitors are not now admitted. There are many relics of Wolfe in Westerham, and the spot where he received his first military commission is marked by a stone with an appropriate inscription. Wolfe's memory is greatly revered in England and he is looked upon as the man who saved not only Canada, but the United States as well, to the Anglo-Saxon race.

Quite as closely connected with American history as Quebec House is the home of William Pitt, near at hand. Holwood House, as it is called, is a stately, classic building, situated in a great forest-clad park. It passed out of the hands of Pitt more than a hundred years ago, and being in possession of a private owner, is no longer open to visitors.

Passing again into the hedge-bordered byways, we came to Downe, a retired village four miles from the railway station and known to fame as having been the home of Charles Darwin. Downe House, where he lived, is still standing, a beautiful old Eighteenth Century place which was considerably altered by Darwin himself. The house at present is evidently in the hands of a prosperous owner, for it was apparent that watchful care is expended upon it. But it is in no sense a show-place and the few pilgrims who come to the town must content themselves with a glimpse from the outside.