This my story behind my painting I hope you like it I'm almost 5 hour here typing my own true story
The bishop, though he may not listen to his wife, is in general a perspicacious man. On their first walk through the village, the corner had been pointed out to him by Mrs Dunstable as “the so-called priory”. Why, he had asked, “so-called”? Because it isn’t, Mrs Dunstable had replied, for Hoading never had a priory. “Is this true?” he had asked the minor canon.
“Certainly” that gentleman had answered (now you know why the bishop had brought him) “this is the site of the old chapel of St Thomas, a chapel of ease built when the village migrated from its previous position near where the glebe lands still are... “ The glebe lands are, as you will remember, where Ezekiel Crabtree’s Hovels are situated. The minor canon bends over the map and indicates to the bishop the words “Chapel rems of”.
None of which the vicar was party to, as he had not yet arrived. Now, as he stands in front of what he thinks of as “his” priory, the bishop says (with only the tiniest sigh for the verdant crossroads) “Then this would seem to be the best site. The salubrious new use will certainly help to drive out the impious old. You must agree, Smythe-Venables?”
Agree? Agree? Appalled as he is to hear the use to which the ruins are put by his parishioners, his own preferred solution would be high, spiked railings and locked gate. Moreover, having failed to receive the letter, and missing the discussions which took place earlier, he has it fixed in his mind that what Mrs Dunstable and the bishop propose is some further extension of their earth closet empire.
All his imagination can come up with is some kind of oversized communal facility, such as those allegedly enjoyed by the citizens of Ancient Rome. That anyone should suggest the ruins of his beloved priory be desecrated by such sacrilege, such pollution, is blasphemy beyond belief. He feels faint, and as if through a thick fog hears the minor canon go on...
“The choice of architect will of course be important. The edifice should harmonise with the quaint old buildings, but of itself be admirable and distinctive. Some of these new young chaps have produced wonderful designs employing local materials, modest buildings but with real freshness and charm...” The minor canon is of course thinking of the new Arts and Crafts library in Westchester. The bishop nods. “Yes, it will attract interest, and thus must be both attractive and noteworthy.” The doctor, who is thinking of the cost, harrumphs. The vicar wobbles slightly.
“Surely you do not intend to remove these venerable ruins for such a ... purpose?” he finally manages to gasp. The bishop and the minor canon scratch their beards: the minor canon speaks. “As I see it, we have a number of choices. It should not be necessary to clear the ruins, however: there is ample space either in front or to the side. If the building were to be placed *there*” (he waves his arm) “then the ruins could be cleaned of all this overgrowing vegetation” - they are, indeed, not merely mossy but studded with elder trees and clumps of nettles, the latter proving a hazard for those using the space of a summer’s night - “and this corner might become a pleasant little park where the old people could sit out of an evening...”
But, the vicar wails piteously, there will be burials... No matter, replies the canon: they will be very old ones and any remains can be reinterred at the main churchyard. But that open space, that area encompassed by the canon’s waving arm, holds the saintly remains of the friars, or priors, or whatever (even the vicar is suddenly unsure): that is the position of the medieval cloister! The canon looks at the bishop: the bishop smiles grimly to himself. Neither the doctor nor Mrs Dunstable know of the Reverend Antonius Smythe-Venables’ book, to be published in three quarto volumes, but the bishop must now, with surely the greatest Christian regret, break the bad news.
It is a tricky one. On each occasion that the vicar of Hoading has remonstrated with him about the immoralities at the Horse Fair, he has also taken pains to tell the bishop details of his forthcoming publication. The bishop, to be frank, does not give a stuff whether Smythe-Venables writes a history of his parish, but despite his lack of interest he has unavoidably gathered that the priory will loom large in same. Only today he has learned from the canon, a man of genuine erudition and part time archivist of the diocese, that Hoading never had a priory.
It is not from lack of courage, but because he does not have the facts at his fingertips, that he turns to the canon and says softly “Perhaps you might impart to the Reverend Mr Smythe-Venables what you told us earlier?” The canon, who is not so intimate as the bishop with the projected History of Hoading in the County of Lincolnshire, From the Earliest Times to the Reign of Queen Anne, is happy to oblige...
“You see, it’s a misapprehension that this was ever anything but a chapel of ease. Indeed, I doubt there are many burials here at all, for it was in use for such a short time, being constructed in the reign of Henry the Eighth and falling almost completely into disuse before the Civil War. There was, indeed, once a college of clergy attached to the chantry chapel at the main church of Saint Michael and All Angels, but that occupied the site where Church House now stands: I believe some of the original fabric may even be incorporated into the existing building....”
This is fascinating news to Mrs Dunstable, but most unwelcome to the vicar. Not to mince words, he doesn’t believe it. “These ruins have always been called The Priory. Everybody knows that!” The canon, who is preoccupied riffling through the huge, dusty stores of information lodged within his skull, does not note the vicar’s anger, but the bishop does... He can only regret that the clergyman is not more in control of his passions.
“To be exact” the canon confides “they were not known as the Priory till 1712, when the local squire Sir Feines Bertram published an ode in the style of Alexander Pope, a satire upon the Jacobites, I believe, and an anti-Catholic piece, in which he describes the ruins. Of course, they was much more above ground then... The ode is quite forgotten: I don’t believe such things outlast the feelings of the time, but the nickname for the ruins, ‘Squire Bertram’s Priory’, stuck...” He tails off, rather pleased with himself.
“Rubbish!” exclaims the vicar. “Rubbish, and again rubbish!” (this is strong language for a vicar). “The priory is in all medieval documents. King Stephen gave it a grant of land!” In the spirit of friendly academic discourse, the canon corrects him. “That would be the priory at Hoadham, beyond Bourne. It was never very large and was one of the first to go, even before the Dissolution: Wolsey himself dissolved it. I’m afraid the goings on there were quite notorious, even by the dreadful standards of the day .... The village itself has gone too now, emparked in the last century. The parish church, such as it is, serves as the chapel to Hoadham House.”
We all of us like to show off a bit. Clergymen are not exempt: the canon is happy. Oblivious of the carnage he has wreaked in the vicar’s literary ambitions, he muses gently “Gables, I think. There is something very charming about gables. If funds will run to it, there might be a small statue of Saint Thomas in a niche... or maybe not. In the circumstances, perhaps a bust of the Queen would be more suitable.” The vicar, still thinking of earth closets, shudders.
****************************************************
Dear readers, this is a gen-yoo-wine Victorians, Vile Victorians "Penny Dreadful" available only here in a number of flavours. Accept no substitute. Please be very welcome to share to timeline, group or page . All rights reserved, no change given. Please do not ask for credit as a refusal may offend.
There is a Penny Dreadful every day at 6am Greenwich Mean Time. The mini-stories are based on Victorian images and are all original fiction, written for you each day. Each snippet is rooted in social history and aims to bring the Victorian world to life.
To continue to see the Penny Dreadfuls, and other posts from the page, it is highly advisable to poke the Facebook robots frequently and remind them that you do not require them to hide the page. You can do this by tapping a reaction. It makes no difference to anything except to help keep the page visible in the news feed. The same is true of any other pages you follow.