A mile or so before one gets to Norton, travelling up the main road
from Frome, there is one of those exasperating signposts which are
occasionally planted about the country. The road divides, and the
sign points directly in the middle at a house between. It says "To Bath," and that is all; and people have to ask the way to that
fashionable place at the aforesaid house. The inmate wearily came to
the door. How many times had he been asked the same question! He
was driven to desperation, and was going to invest in some black
paint and a brush for his own as well as travellers' comfort. But how
much worse when there is no habitation where to make inquiries! You
are often led carefully up to a desolate spot, and then abandoned in
the most heartless fashion. The road forks, and either there is no
signpost, or the place you are nearing is not mentioned at all. Unless
your intuitive perception is beyond the ordinary, you must either toss
up for it, or sit down and wait peacefully until some one may chance
to pass by.
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WELLOW MANOR-HOUSE.
The church and manor-house of the pretty village of Wellow, above
Norton to the north-west, are rich in oak carvings. The latter was one
of the seats of the Hungerfords, and was built in the reign of Charles
I. In the rubbish of the stable-yard, for it is now a farm, a friend of ours
picked up a spur of seventeenth-century date, which probably had
lain there since the Royalist soldiers were quartered upon their way to
meet the Monmouth rebels. Another seat of the Hungerfords was
Charterhouse Hinton Manor, to the east of Wellow, a delightful old
ivy-clad dwelling, incorporated with the remains of a thirteenth-
century priory. Corsham and Heytesbury also belonged to this
important family; but their residence for over three centuries was the
now ruinous castle of Farleigh, midway between Hinton and Norton to
the east. These formidable walls and round towers, embowered in
trees and surrounded by orchards, are romantically placed above a
ravine whose beauty is somewhat marred by a factory down by the
river. The entrance gatehouse is fairly perfect, but the clinging ivy
obliterates its architectural details and the carved escutcheon over
the doorway. But were it not for this natural protection the gatehouse
would probably share the fate of one of the round towers of the
northern court, whose ivy being removed some sixty years ago
brought it down with a run. The castle chapel is full of interest, with frescoed walls and flooring of black and white marble. The
magnificent m
[Pg 130]
onuments of the Hungerfords duly impress one with their importance.
The recumbent effigies of the knights and dames, with the numerous
shields of arms and their various quarterings, are quite suggestive of
a corner in Westminster Abbey, though not so dark and dismal. Here
lie the bodies of Sir Thomas, Sir Walter, and Sir Edward Hungerford,
the first of whom fought at Crecy and the last on the Parliamentary
side, when his fortress was held for the king, and surrendered in
September 1645. His successor and namesake did his best to
squander away his fortune of thirty thousand pounds a year. His
numerous mansions were sold, including the castle, and his town
house pulled down and converted into the market at Charing Cross,
where his bewigged bust was set up in 1682. His son Edward, who
predeceased him before he came to man's estate (or what was left of
his father's), married the Lady Althea Compton, who was well
endowed. In the letters preserved at Belvoir we learn that the union
was without her sire's consent. "She went out with Mis Grey," writes Lady Chaworth in one of her letters to Lord Roos, "as to a play, but went to Sir Edward Hungerford's, where a minister, a ring, and the
confidents were wayting for them, and so young Hungerford maried
her; after she writ to the Bishop of London to acquaint and excuse her
to her father, upon which he sent a thundering command for her to
come home that night which she did obey." A week later she made
her escape. But the runaway couple were soon to be parted. Eight
months passed, and she was dead; and the youthful widower
survived only three years. Old Sir Edward lived sufficiently long to
repent his extravagant habits, for he is said to have died in poverty at
five score and
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fifteen!