Walsingham, midway between Fakenham and Wells, is a quaint old
town; its timber houses and its combined Gothic well, lock-up, and
cross in the market-place giving it quite a mediæval aspect. Before
the image of Our Lady of Walsingham was consigned to the flames
by Wolsey's confidential servant Cromwell, the pilgrimages to the
Priory were in every respect as great as those to Canterbury, and the
"way" through Brandon and Newmarket may be traced like that in Kent. Notwithstanding the fact that Henry VIII. himself had been a
barefoot pilgrim, and had bestowed a costly necklace on the image,
his gift as well as a host of other riches from the shrine came in very
handy at the Dissolution. A relic of Our Lady's milk enclosed in
crystal, says Erasmus, was occasionally like chalk mixed with the
white of eggs. It had been brought from Constantinople in the tenth
century; but this and a huge bone of St Peter's finger, of course, did
not survive. The site of the chapel, containing the altar where the
pilgrims knelt, stood somewhere to the north-west of the ruins of the
Priory. These are approached from the street through a fine old early
fifteenth-century gateway. The picturesque remains of the refectory
date from the previous century, the western window being a good
example of the purest Gothic. The old pilgrims' entrance was in
"Knight Street," which derives its name from the miracle of a horseman who had sought sanctuary passing through the
extraordinarily narrow limits of the wicket. Henry III. is said to have set the fashion for walking to Walsingham, and we strongly
recommend
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the tourists of to-day, who may find themselves stranded at Wells-
next-the-Sea, to do likewise.
FONT CANOPY, TRUNCH.
The little seaside resort Mundesley is an improvement on Wells; but
dull as it is now, what must it have been in Cowper's time: surely a place ill-calculated to improve the poor poet's melancholia! There is
little of interest beyond the ruined church on the cliffs and the
Rookery Farm incorporated in the remains of the old monastery. A
priest's hole is, or was not long since, to be seen in one of the gabled
roofs. The churches of Trunch and Knapton to the south-west both
are worth a visit for their fine timber roofs. The font at Trunch is enclosed by a remarkable canopy of oak supported by graceful
wooden pillars from the floor. It is probably of early-Elizabethan date,
and is certainly one of the most remarkable baptistries in the country.
Here and in other parts of Norfolk when there are several babies to
be christened the ceremony is usually performed on the girls last, as
otherwise when they grew up they would develop beards!
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Ten miles to the south-west as the crow flies is historic Blickling, one
of the reputed birthplaces of the ill-fated Anne Boleyn. By some
accounts Luton Hoo in Bedfordshire claims her nativity as well as
Rochford Hall in Essex and Hever Castle in Kent; but, though Hever
is the only building that will go back to that date, she probably was born in the older Hall of Blickling, the present mansion dating only
from the reign of James I.
Upon the occasion of our visit the house was closed, so we can only
speak of the exterior, and of the very extensive gardens, where in
vain we sought the steward, who was said to be somewhere on the
premises.
The rampant bulls, bearing shields, perched on the solid piers that
guard the drawbridge across the moat, duly impress one with the
ancestral importance of the Hobarts, whose arms and quarterings,
surmounted by the helmet and ancient crest, adorn the principal
entrance. Like Hatfield and Bramshill, the mellowed red-brick gives it
a charm of colour which only the lapse of centuries will give; and
though not so old as Knole or Hatfield, the main entrance is quite as
picturesque. The gardens, however, immediatel
[Pg 47]
y surrounding the Hall look somewhat flat in comparison.
Although Henry VIII. did the principal part of his courting at Hever, it
was at Blickling that he claimed his bride, and by some accounts was
married to her there and not at Calais. The old earl, the unfortunate queen's father, survived her only two years; and after his death the
estate was purchased by Sir Henry Hobart,[11] who built the present noble house. Among the relics preserved at Blickling of the unhappy
queen are her morning-gown and a set of night-caps, and her toilet
case containing mirrors, combs, etc. Sir John the third baronet
entertained Charles II. and his queen here in 1671, upon which
occasion the host's son and heir, then aged thirteen, was knighted.
The royal visit is duly recorded in the parish register as follows: "King
Charles the Second, with Queene Katherine, and James, Duke of
Yorke, accompanied with the Dukes of Monmouth, Richmond, and
Buckingham, and with divers Lords, arrived and dined at Sir John
Hubart's, at Blicklinge Hall, the King, Queene, Duke of Yorke, and
Duchesse of Richmond, of Buckingham etc., in
[Pg 48]
the great dining-roomes, the others in the great parloure beneath it,
upon Michmasday 1671. From whence they went, the Queene to
Norwich, the King to Oxneads and lodged there, and came through
Blicklinge the next day about one of the clock, going to Rainham to
the Lord Townsends."[12]
Queen Catherine slept that night and the following in the Duke's
Palace at Norwich, but joined her royal spouse at lunch at Oxnead,
which fine Elizabethan house has, alas! been pulled down, and the
statues and fountain from there are now at Blickling. "Next morne
(being Saterday)," writes a local scribe in 1671, "her Maty parted so early from Norwich as to meet ye King againe at Oxnead ere noone;
Sr Robt Paston haveing got a vast dinner so early ready, in regard
that his Maty was to goe that same afternoone (as he did) twenty
myles to supper to the Ld Townshend's, wher he stayd all yesterday,
and as I suppose, is this evening already return'd to Newmarket,
extremely well satisfied with our Lord Lieuts reception.... Her Maty
haveinge but seven myles back to Norwich that night from Sr Robt
Pastons was pleased for about two houres after dinner to divert
herselfe at cards with the Court ladies and my Lady Paston, who had
treated her so well and yet returned early to Norwich that eveninge to
the same qu
[Pg 49]
arters as formerly; and on Sunday morne (after her devotions
perform'd and a plentifull breakfast) shee tooke coach, extreamely
satisfied with the dutifull observances of all this countie and city, and
was conducted by the Ld Howard and his sonnes as far as
Attleburough where fresh coaches atended to carry her back to the Rt
Hoble the Ld Arlington's at Euston."[13]
Sidelights of this royal progress are obtained from the diarist Evelyn
and Lord Dartmouth. Among the attractions provided for the king's
amusement at Euston was the future Duchess of Portsmouth. The
Duchess of Richmond (La belle Stuart), in the queen's train, must
have been reminded how difficult had been her position before she
eloped with her husband four years previously. For the duke's sake
let us hope he was as overcome as his Majesty when the latter let his
tongue wag with more than usual freedom during the feast at
Raynham. "After her marriage," says Dartmouth, speaking of the
duchess, "she had more complaisance than before, as King Charles
could not forbear telling the Duke of Richmond, when he was drunk at
Lord Townshend's in Norfolk." Evelyn did not think much of the
queen's lodgings at Norwich, which he describes as "an old wretched
building," partly rebuilt in brick, standing in the market-place, which in
his opinion would have been better had it been demolished and
erected s
[Pg 50]
omewhere else.
Not far from Blickling to the north-east is Mannington Hall, a mansion
built in the reign of Henry VI., which possesses one of the best
authenticated ghost stories of modern times. The story is the more
interesting as it is recorded by that learned and delightful chronicler Dr. Jessop, chaplain to His Majesty the King. The strange
experiences of his visit in October 1879 are duly recorded in the
Athenæeum of the following January. The rest of the household had
retired to rest, and Dr. Jessop was sitting up making extracts from
some rare books in an apartment adjoining the library. Absorbed in
his study, time had slipped away and it was after one o'clock. "I was
just beginning to think that my work was drawing to a close," says the
doctor, "when, as I was actually writing, I saw a large white hand within a foot of my elbow. Turning my head, there sat a figure of a somewhat large man, with his back to the fire, bending slightly over
the table, and apparently examining the pile of books that I had been
at work upon. The man's face was turned away from me, but I saw
his closely-cut, reddish brown hair, his ear and shaved cheek, the
eyebrow, the corner of his right eye, the side of the forehead, and the
large high chee
[Pg 51]
kbone. He was dressed in what I can only describe as a kind of
ecclesiastical habit of thick corded silk, or some such material, close
up to the throat, and a narrow rim or edging of about an inch broad of
satin or velvet serving as a stand-up collar and fitting close to the chin. The right hand, which had first attracted my attention, was
clasping, without any great pressure, the left hand; both hands were
in perfect repose, and the large blue veins of the right hand were
conspicuous. I remember thinking that the hand was like the hand of
Velasquez's magnificent 'Dead Knight' in the National Gallery. I
looked at my visitor for some seconds, and was perfectly sure that he
was a reality. A thousand thoughts came crowding upon me, but not
the least feeling of alarm or even of uneasiness. Curiosity and a
strong interest were uppermost. For an instant I felt eager to make a
sketch of my friend, and I looked at a tray on my right for a pencil: then thought, 'Upstairs I have a sketch-book; shall I fetch it?' There he sat and I was fascinated, afraid not of his staying, but lest he
should go. Stopping in my writing, I lifted my left hand from the paper,
stretched it out to a pile of books and moved the top one. I cannot explain why I did this. My arm passed in front of the figure, and it vanished. Much astonished, I went on with my writing perhaps for
another five minutes, and had actually got to the last few words of the
extract when the figure appeared again, exactly in the same place
and attitude as before. I saw the hand close to my own; I turned my
head again to e
[Pg 52]
xamine him more closely, and I was framing a sentence to address to
him when I discovered that I did not dare to speak. I was afraid of the
sound of my own voice! There he sat, and there sat I. I turned my
head again to my work, and finished the two or three words still
remaining to be written. The paper and my notes are at this moment
before me, and exhibit not the slightest tremor or nervousness. I
could point out the words I was writing when the phantom came, and
when he disappeared. Having finished my task I shut the book and
threw it on the table: it made a slight noise as it fell—the figure
vanished." Not until now did the doctor feel nervous, but it was only for a second. He replaced the books in the adjoining room, blew out
the candles on the table, and retired to his rooms marvelling at his
calmness under such strange circumstances.