An avenue of shady trees leads to a fine gate-house, for which St. Cross is indebted to Cardinal Beaufort. Above the arch kneels the effigy of the great churchman himself. Once within the doors we almost feel as if we had shaken off the nineteenth century and dropped back into the days of the Tudors. "Wayfarers' dole," a little horn mug of beer and a slip of bread, is presented as refreshment for the weary traveller. This may seem strange enough to us, but there was a time when the custom was by no means uncommon in hospitable England. Those were the days when wayfarers were few, roads half-mud or half-dust, and inns far between. Passing on, we next find ourselves in a spacious quadrangle, having for centre a smooth lawn of that exquisite turf for which our country is deservedly famous. Round it lie the chapel, hall, cloisters, and brethren's houses. The chapel is a fine building in the Norman style. Perhaps the most interesting features of its interior are the designs that adorn the walls. During the "whitewash" period of past generations they were covered up, but now they have been restored to something like their original form and colour. In this more than one of the brethren, where they were able to do so, lent a helping hand. The little burial ground is to the south of the chapel. It would be difficult to imagine a more peaceful spot for the last resting-place of the veterans who have fought and lost in the great battle of life.
(Photo: Cassell and Co., Ltd.)
A VIEW OF THE CHARTERHOUSE.
"Have you many visitors from London itself?" I once inquired of the gate porter of the Charterhouse. "No, sir," said he. "We get a lot from the country, along with the Americans and foreigners; but precious few Londoners ever come here." It is strange how absolutely ignorant the average Londoner is concerning all that is quaint and interesting in the old buildings of the great city in which he lives. The case of the Charterhouse offers an excellent example. About it the broad streams of traffic pour unceasingly day after day; yet, though the little backwater wherein the grey old houses lie is but a few dozen yards away, few of the busy crowds can either spare the time or take the trouble to visit it.
The history of the Charterhouse is a strange one. In 1348 all London was trembling in the grasp of the Black Death. The grave-diggers did not know what to do with the bodies, and finally buried them in any pit or ditch that seemed convenient. Famous Sir Walter Manny, the favourite of all the fighting heroes of Froissart, was horrified at this grave scandal. He, together with the Bishop of London, procured certain lands, which were consecrated and handed over to the city that the dead might at least receive decent burial. It is said that fifty thousand bodies were there interred in a few years. Some time later, the plague abating, the same two philanthropists commenced to build a Carthusian monastery on part of the ground. For three centuries the Charterhouse, under the rigour of that stern order, pursued its quiet path. But with Henry VIII. came evil times for the monks. There were searching examinations, and finality executions. The monastery was dissolved and the building tossed from hand to hand. Twice it was held by Dukes of Norfolk, and for a time was known as Norfolk House. Two of its ducal owners passed from it to the block on Tower Hill. Queen Elizabeth took refuge there in the reign of Mary. There were revels there while James I. was king, eighty gentlemen being knighted at one time after a banquet which had been to the royal satisfaction. Finally it was bought by a certain Thomas Sutton, and shortly afterwards we find him petitioning Parliament for licence to endow it as a home for aged men and a school for poor children.
Let us take a day in the life of one of the "old gentlemen," as the attendants always call them. About eight o'clock a "nurse" comes bustling into his sitting-room, lights his fire, and sees that his breakfast is laid ready. At nine o'clock a bell goes for chapel. Each of the brethren must attend one chapel a day on pain of a shilling fine stopped out of his allowance; but he may choose the morning or evening service as he likes. The morning service is the more popular, and to chapel we will now bend our steps. It is a venerable old building, and now that the schoolboys have left their old home and retired to Godalming there is plenty of room. On the right of the altar is a heavy carved pulpit; on the left the tomb of the founder, good Thomas Sutton, with its elaborate carving and gold-tipped railings.
ST. KATHARINE'S HOSPITAL, REGENT'S PARK.