Herbert, in his 'History of the Livery Companies of London,' gives the following particulars of the estates out of the proceeds of which the above funds were paid, viz.: 'So far as Sr John was concerned, the annual sum of 16s. 4d. and £13 6s. 8d., issuing from certain messuages of the Company; and (as regards Dame Thomazine) the sums of 53s. 4d., 21s. 4d., and 13s. 10d., and 20s. yearly, all of the premises being situate in the parishes of St. Mary Wolnoth, St. Michael Cornhill, St. Martin Vintry, and St. Dionysius (or Denis) Back-Church, in Fenchurch Street.' He also gives an account of the manner in which the said funds were disposed of: as, good round sums to priests 'for singing for Sir John;' to priests and clerks for ringing of bells at the obits; for wax to burn on those occasions; sundry sums for the poor, etc.; for the 'conduct for keeping the anthem;' and, amongst other disbursements, ten shillings 'for a potation to the neighbours at the said obit.'
The charities left by this benevolent couple are also set out at p. 502 of the same work.
And lastly, the Stratton Churchwardens' Accounts for 1513, show that on the day on which 'my lady parcyvale's meneday' came round (i.e. the day on which her death was to be had in mind), prayer was to be made for the repose of her soul, and two shillings and twopence paid to two priests, and for bread and ale.
This, I believe, is nearly all that exists in the shape of documentary evidence to bear record of the existence of the Cornish girl who forms the subject of this notice. There are, however, still to be seen in the remote and quiet little village of Week St. Mary, some five or six miles south of Bude, in the northern corner of Cornwall, the substantial remains of the good Thomasine's College and Chantry, which she founded for the instruction of the youth of her native place.
The buildings lie about a hundred yards east of the church (from the summit of whose grotesquely ornamented tower six-and-twenty parish churches may be discerned); and, built into the modern wall of a cottage which stands inside the battlemented enclosure, is a large, carved granite stone (evidently one of two which once formed the tympanum of a doorway) on which the letter T stands out in bold relief. Probably it is the initial of the Christian name of our Thomasine; at any rate it is pleasant to think it may be such.
The traditions, however, concerning her are not only still numerous in the neighbourhood, but are as implicitly believed as if they were recorded by the most unimpeachable of chroniclers. They have been embodied, not without considerable imaginative embellishment, by the late Rev. R. S. Hawker of Morwenstow, in a pleasant chapter in his charming 'Footprints of Men of Former Times in Cornwall,' and they are somewhat as follows:
Thomasine Bonaventura was a poor shepherd maiden, and tended her sheep—'the long-forgotten Cornish knott'[67]—on the wild moorlands of North Cornwall, in days when more attention was paid than in later times to the produce of the flocks, and less was devoted, at least in this part of the county, to the mineral resources which lie hid in its bosom. Even the wealthy merchants of London came down so far into the west country to buy wool; and it was probably about the middle of the fifteenth century when one 'Richard Bunsby,' a citizen of the metropolis, made his appearance on the scene, which opens on the banks of one of the many little moorland streams that run down from Greena Moor in Week St. Mary, sweeping round Marham Church Hill, and so into Bude Haven. Struck with the shepherdess's bright looks and intelligent remarks, he proposed that she should return to London with him, and become a domestic servant in his house; and Thomasine's parents having given their consent to so brilliant a proposal, as it seemed to them, to London she went, and received on her arrival a hearty welcome from her new mistress. In course of time she became a great favourite with all in the house, the manager of its concerns, and, on the death of Dame Bunsby, the old merchant married his Cornish housekeeper, in compliance with the express wish of his late wife. Three years afterwards, Richard Bunsby, too, died, leaving all his property to Thomasine; and thus she became a wealthy widow. Yet did she not forget her husband's memory, to which she caused to be erected (so it is said) a substantial bridge; a structure (or perhaps I should say its modern representative), which may still be seen, as it was by myself in the autumn of 1880, at Week Ford.
One so 'sweet and serviceable,' and withal so rich, was not long, we may be sure, without suitors; and so, after a while, we find Thomasine again married; this time to 'that worshipful merchant adventurer, Master John Gall, of St. Lawrence, Milk Street.' He, too, was wealthy and uxorious; and enabled his wife to confer many benefits on the poor of her native place, for which she seems to have always entertained a lingering fondness—a trait as characteristic of the Cornish as of the Swiss themselves. After the lapse, however, of five years, Thomasine found herself once more alone in the world; and again her husband had left her all his property.
She had not to wait long before many fresh lovers were at the feet of the 'Golden Widow;' and on this occasion, in the year 1497, she bestowed her hand upon Sir John Percyvall, who was, the year after their marriage, elected to the honourable post of Lord Mayor of London. In memory of this event, she is reported to have constructed a good new road down to the coast, which I am bound to say I have not succeeded in identifying,—though it may be that which runs from Week St. Mary, over Week Ford and through Poundstock, to either Wansum or Melhuc Mouth.