George II had been on the throne since 1727; he had been born and brought up in Northern Germany but at least, unlike his father George I, he could speak English. The average person in the street, or out in the field, was probably little bothered by this as they were never going to talk with him, anyway. The monarchy was completely remote to most people.
George II by Thomas Hudson. Unlike his father, he could speak English.
Perhaps the Prime Minister would have seemed a slightly less remote figure: Robert Walpole was a member of the English gentry, born in Houghton, Norfolk, in 1676. He represented the Whigs in Parliament.
However, considering that very few people were eligible to vote in parliamentary elections, it would not be surprising if most people took little interest in what happened in Westminster. To be eligible to vote a man had to own (not rent) property valued for land tax purposes at £2.00 a year, at least. There were other, rather esoteric ways in which a person could qualify which varied greatly across the country but women, Catholics, Jews and Nonconformists could not vote at all. Even Sir Robert Throckmorton, owner of the Buckland estate in north Berkshire, where he would later build Buckland House, would not have been able to vote at this time because he and his family were Catholics.
However, politically this was a time of stability in England and many people in villages like Kintbury could continue with their day to day lives little concerned by the “bigger picture” – they were like the small figures in the border of a medieval manuscript.
Of course every community had its local “big wigs” – quite literally because at that time the more prominent and wealthier members of society would wear big wigs.
Sir Robert Walpole: A “Big wig”.
Kintbury’s local “bigwig”, was Sir Jonathan Raymonde (1637 – 1711) of Barton Court. He had been a Tory MP from 1690 to 1695 and what seems very strange to us today is that he had represented the east Wiltshire village of Great Bedwyn. That’s it – just Great Bedwyn. By contrast in 1731 the entire county of Berkshire returned just two MPs to parliament. “Pocket Boroughs” like Great Bedwyn were so named because the seat was “in the pocket” of an influential or wealthy person; these were finally abolished under the 1832 Parliamentary Reform Act, but in 1731, that was over one hundred years away.
Before parliamentary reform, being an MP was not really about representing the people because, after all, most of the people did not matter very much. It is not surprising, therefore, that for the great majority of people, governance would have been something only the “Big Wigs” had an involvement in, not them.
What happened in Whitehall or Westminster had very little to do with most people in places like Kintbury. The magistrates- local men chosen from the upper or upper middle classes – were the only level of authority most people would have come up against. As far as day to day life was concerned, issues such as Parish Relief and the upkeep of roads would have been dealt with at a local level. If the road through your village was rutted and deeply in mud, it was up to the local people to do something about it, or it stayed like that.
Similarly, law and order was mostly delt with at local level. In towns, parish constables were appointed at Vestry Meetings for the purpose of law enforcement. They were elected from amongst other private citizens and were armed with a staff and a whistle which they could blow loudly and call, “Hue and cry” to apprehend anyone caught committing a crime. On hearing this, all able bodied men were supposed to join the chase: it was against the law not to do so.
However, one way in which central government could be said to impact on the lives of everyone from the wealthy to the cottager was in the imposition of taxes, although it is likely that the poorer man buying salt or candles did not realise this. These were excise duties and they were levied by parliament on household commodities such as leather, beer, soap, salt and candles. For wealthier consumers, there were taxes on wine, silks, gold and silver thread, hats, horses and coaches. The consumers were, most probably, unaware of the tax as it was paid by the traders.
These taxes were collected by Commissioners of the Excise, a role appointed directly by the King. In June 1728, The London Gazette reported that eight men had recently been appointed to this role, including a certain Thomas Wylde.
However, this Thomas Wylde was not the only person with that name to be appointed a Commissioner of the Excise. Another Thomas Wylde, a member of a prominent Worcestershire family, and a Member of Parliament from 1701 to 1727, was a Commissioner of the Excise for Ireland from 1727 to 1737.
So, how do we know that “our” Thomas Wylde is not the same man? Well, unfortunately, our Thomas was murdered in 1731. We know this because of a report in the Kentish Weekly Post:
Whitehall, Dec 18. 1731. Whereas the Commissioners of his Majesty’s Excise have represented, That Thomas Wylde, instructed in the Excise, was, on the 10th of November last, in the Night, as he was returning from his Business of officiating in the Excise, to his Residence at Kintbury in the County of Wilts, attack’d and robb’d by two Foot Pads, of his Money, Horse, Great Coat, and Boots, and was cut, bruised and beat, in so barbarous and cruel a Manner, that he died on the Twelfth of the said Month.
The report reads, “Kintbury in the County of Wilts” but this is not because there is another Kintbury anywhere else. In very old newspaper reports, Hungerford is sometimes described as being in Wiltshire and indeed part of it – Charnham Street – was, until the 1890s when there was a boundary change. As many people would have little idea as to where county boundaries were, it would have been an easy mistake to think of Kintbury as being in Wiltshire, too.
At that time, the Excise was located in Old Jewry, a street in the city of London, to the east of St Paul’s cathedral. In a world in which very few people had the need or even the where withall to travel much beyond their town or village, Thomas Wylde would have been an exception. London was at least a two-days’ ride from Kintbury. If he had been travelling westwards towards his home, it is likely that Thomas Wylde would have ridden along the Bath Road, a public stage coach route since 1657 and wider than any of the smaller roads and lanes that ran closer to the Kennet. Being wider made it easier for riders to avoid the deeply rutted sections and also made it more difficult for highway men or footpads to hide in the shadows. The night of November 10th 1731 was four nights off a full moon so visibility would have been quite good. That autumn had been the third in a row of unseasonably warm weather and that year had been particularly dry. It would be reasonable to presume that the road would not have been too deep in mud at this time.
Wylde had been attacked by “Footpads”. That is to say, criminals who would lay in wait to attack and rob travellers on the highway. Whilst “highway men” such as Dick Turpin rode horses, footpads operated on foot. For someone like Wylde, there was very little defence against footpads and an obviously wealthy man like him, possibly carrying the money he had collected in taxes, would have been a particular target. If the attack was away from the village – as is most likely – there would be no chance of anyone’s noticing or hearing what was happening so absolutely no chance of a “hue and cry”.
The newspaper report continues:
His Majesty, for better detecting of the Persons concerned in the said Murder and Robbery, is pleased to promise His most gracious Pardon to either of the them, who shall discover his Accomplice, so as he be apprehended and convicted thereof. HARRINGTON
William Stanhope by Godfrey Kneller. Another “Big Wig”.
Harrington is William Stanhope, First Baron Harrington, Secretary of State to George II.
In the days before a police force, one way of catching the criminal was, it seems, to hope that any accomplice could be persuaded to “Turn King’s Evidence” , and to inform on their partner in crime. The penalty for murder was the death sentence, but this did little to reduce levels of crime: the penalty for stealing a handkerchief was the same. The possibility of being caught and subsequently hanged was clearly not a threat enough to deter footpads. There is no detective work, no police enquiries. Just an offer to pardon the person willing to turn in his accomplice and see him hanged.
The report continues:
And as a further Encouragement, the Commissioners of his Majesty’s Excise do hereby promise a Reward of Fifty Pounds to the Person making such Discovery, to be paid by Stephen Poyntz, Esq; their Cashier, upon such conviction, as aforesaid.
By Order of the Commissioners Sam. Grey Secr.
Fifty pounds in 1731 equates to over £10,400 today. However, Stephen Poyntz probably knew there was very little chance that he would ever have to hand it over.
Stephn Poyntz by Jean Baptiste van Loo
Then, almost as an afterthought, there is a description of the suspects and the stolen items:
N.B. One of the persons suspected of being guilty of the said Robbery and Murder, is marked with the Small Pox, between 30 and 40 years of age, about 5 Feet 8 Inches high, and wore a knit Cap on his Head. The other a …. thin Man about 20 Years of Age, had on a light coloured Coat without Pleates, and a light Wig.
The Horse taken from the said Wylde, was a black Gelding, about 14 hands high, one white Foot behind, a small white Snip down his face, and the great Coat was a light Shag, with 2 Capes, the upper one faced with Plush something lighter than the Coat.
These descriptions are particularly interesting because the details are very much of the time: the “light Wig” worn by one of the footpads recalls an era when many men shaved their heads and wore a wig as a matter of course. The stolen coat was of a “ light shag, with 2 Capes” in the style so often used to represent typical men’s fashion of the period.
There must have been someone accompanying Thomas Wylde to have been able to describe the footpads. It has to be likely that this was a manservant of some sort, but in a lowly position so he does not get a mention. Despite the attack happening in November and at night, this someone got a good look at the thieves and was able to describe their height, what they were wearing and that the older one was pockmarked. Perhaps he was attacked as well, but being of a lower order, this was of no consequence – we do not know.
Assuming that Wylde did indeed have a servant who escaped the attack, there would have been absolutely no way he could have easily raised the alarm or a “hue and cry”, particularly if the attack had happened in the open countryside. But there must have been someone else with or close to Thomas Wylde, to relate what happened and provide a description of the footpads to the authorities in Whitehall.
Dr Syntax & the highwaymen by Thomas Rowlandson
Any footpad or highway man of that time would have been well aware of the punishment if that had been caught. It is likely that the details of one notorious local case would, by the 1730s, have passed into folk lore but not entirely forgotten, due to the presence of the gibbet on Walbury Hill. Back in 1676, George Bromham and Dorothy Newman had been hanged at Winchester Assizes for the murder of George’s wife and son. Their bodies were later hung in chains on the gibbet for all passing by to see. The gibbet was ( and its most recent replacement still is ) clear for all to see who might pass by the highest point on chalk in England, just south of Kintbury & Inkpen. But the unlikelihood of the attackers ever being caught meant that it and its grisley story were not a deterrant.
At this distance of nearly three hundred years and with the resources available to me at present, I can find absolutely nothing else about Kintbury’s Thomas Wylde. Socially, as a Commissioner in His Majesty’s Excise, Wylde would have belonged to the higher echelons of society; he may well have been known to the Raymonde family at Barton Court. Furthermore, for others of the travelling classes, a robbery and murder somewhere on the highway to London is not something you would be pleased to hear about, particularly if your status in society meant you were expected to ride into the city from time to time yourself.
As a tax gatherer Wylde might have been the subject of disapprobation on the part of those who resented paying money to the crown. After all, there had not been much love felt for tax collectors since the days of Zaccheaus in Luke’s gospel. Thomas Wylde, as a member of the Commission for the excise, would have represented authority.
Perhaps, when the news of a robbery and murder reached the villages around, there were those who, knowingly and in lowered voices, muttered the names of whom they suspected as being responsible. Who had recently ridden home on a black gelding, wearing a coat no one had seen before? But no questions would be asked and no stories would be told of what had happened on that mild November night.
The church of St Michael & All Angels, Enborne is situated in what must be one of the most peaceful and picturesque corners of West Berkshire. The view from the back of the church looking south, is across farm and woodland to the distant Beacon Hill just over the border in Hampshire. It’s a view that, surely, has not changed much over centuries.
Looking south from St Michael & All Angels, Enborne
In the September of 1645, however, the view south across the churchyard was not a peaceful, pastoral one, but of a battle.
It has to be likely that, in the early 1640s, many of those living in the villages to the west of Newbury would have been little bothered by what had been happening in London, in Parliament, or between the wealthier classes. Charles I’s accession in 1625 meant a different head on the coinage, if you were lucky enough to see some of it. However, many who took an interest in these things felt this new monarch heralded a more optimistic period.
King Charles I by Van Dyke
Some were concerned because his wife, the new Queen, Henrietta Maria, was of the Roman Catholic faith leading them to suspect that the new King was sympathetic to Catholicism and the views of the Pope in Rome, too. England was now a largely Protestant country and many people believed the Catholic faith was a threat. But for now, that could be put to one side.
Queen Henrietta Maria, by Van Dyke
However, the optimism was not to last. Many of those closer to Charles found him a difficult person to work with and this problem was exacerbated by the fact that the new King seemed to want to rule without any reference to the will of parliament. As monarch, Charles was not able to raise money through taxation without the approval of parliament and when parliament said no to his requests, in 1642 he tried – and failed – to have certain members arrested.
After this, unsurprisingly, Charles’ relationship with parliament deteriorated rapidly particularly as there were other issues of contention. Inevitably, sides were taken and what had started as a war of words tragically became a war of weapons.
It is easy to caricature the King’s supporters as being wealthier and from the upper classes, High Anglican with Catholic sympathies, flamboyant in their dress and with ready and available armaments and the ability to mobilise easily.
By contrast a caricature of a Parliamentarian would be a non- conformist, soberly dressed foot soldier from the less wealthy sections of society and with a distrust of any church which seemed to have Catholic sympathies.
Whilst both these caricatures are true to a certain extent, the reality was much more complex. Many men were drawn into taking sides because of pressure from the influential and powerful in their town or village and there were many families who found themselves with divided loyalties.
Also, it would be wrong to think of all wealthier families as supporting the King. Although the Dolman family at Shaw House were Royalist supporters – to the extent that Charles stayed at Shaw House on the eve of the second Battle of Newbury – the Popham family at Littlecoat House near Hungerford were Parliamentarians.
C17th map showing Hungerford, Kintbury & Enborne with Newbury to the west
Unlike, for example, World War I, in which the Allies were defending the Western Front, there was no “front” as such in the English Civil War. Instead, troops found themselves defending or attacking towns and cities across the country and the pattern of warfare became complex and confusing.
By August 1643, King Charles had taken siege of Gloucester in an attempt to take control from the Parliamentarians. However by early September he was defeated by the Parliamentarian Earl of Essex who subsequently set out to return to London whilst avoiding the Royalist troops in Oxford.
Robert Devereux, 3rd Earl of Essex
Essex’s route took him through Cirencester, reaching Swindon on September 17th. From there he intended to take the road now known as the Bath Road or A4, skirting Hungerford slightly to the north and on to Newbury. However, when it became clear that this route could be strategically unsafe, he decided to cross the Kennet at Hungerford and march his troops along the narrower lanes eastwards through Kintbury and Hamspead Marshall.
The weather was extremely wet and the narrow lanes deep in mud. For the unsuspecting inhabitants of Kintbury, the sight of hundreds of weary, wet and mud-splattered soldiers marching through the village and up Newbury Street must have been terrifying.
The Parliamentary Quartermasters rode on into Newbury where they were well received by townspeople who had prepared food and lodging for the troops. However, Charles’ troops, led by Prince Rupert, had advanced faster than the Parliamentarians realised, riding into Newbury from the north west, capturing some of Essex’s men, commandeering the provisions and taking the town for the King.
Peter Lely – Prince Rupert of the Rhine
With Royalist troops at Newbury, Essex lost any hope of progressing eastwards and on to London. While the King’s troops spent the night of September 19th in the town, occupying the billets and eating the food originally prepared for the Parliamentarians, Essex and his men were left to camp in the wet and the mud of the open country. Some men camped around Enborne and others on lower ground towards Skinner’s Green. Essex himself is believed to have spent the night at Bigg’s Cottage on the edge of Wash Common. The cottge is still there, in Enborne Street, Wash Common.
Biggs’ Cottage. Illustration from Walter Money’s History of Newbury, originally published 1905
Some time during the night, Royalist troops rode up to the higher ground at Wash Common. However, they neglected to position troops on the higher ground to the north known as Round Hill. So, in the early hours of 20th September, Parliamentary troops led by Major-General Philip Skippon advanced down Skinner’s Green Lane to take up their position on Round Hill.
Philip Skippon, Sergeant-Major General of Foot in the service of Parliament during the English civil wars Unknown author Public domain
It is worth mentioning the numbers of fighting men involved at this time. There were, it is believed, around 14,000 Royalist combatants and 15,000 Parliamentarians. Very few of these men were what we would consider today as professional soldiers. Although the troops on both sides were being led by men with titles or who belonged to the nobility, many were ordinary working people who had left their homes, their families and their everyday jobs far, far away. And all this was happening across the swathe of countryside we can still see from the back of St Michael’s church at Enborne.
Pikeman of the Parliamentary Army outside St Michael’s Church, Enbourn. These re enactors keep alive the memory of those who fought and died here in 1743
Then, as now, this countryside was crossed by a network of narrow lanes lined by the banks and hedges which delineated enclosures. Thus it was impossible for cavalry charges of the kind often depicted in later artwork, neither couold infantry units advance as they could in open country.
In the early hours of September 20th, Skippon’s men, postioned on Round Hill, opened fire on the Royalist troops. They responded with an attack to the west of Wash Common and across Dark Lane.
Plan of the First Battle of Newbury (1643) Walter Money (1877); Public domain
Prince Rupert led his men into three charges across Wash Common whilst the Royalists’ brigade of foot attacked Round Hill. Then, their brigade of horse, led by Sir John Byron, attacked Round Hill from the north. It was during this advance that Lucius Cary, Viscount Falkland , rode through a gap in a hedge and into the enemy fire. A membert of parliament and one of King Charles’ secretaries of state, Falkland was a bright and able man whose prospects, in other times, would have shown much promise.
Lucius Cary (1610–1643), 2nd Viscount Falkland – 598081.1 – by Cornelius Johnson (1593-1661) –
He was peace loving man who abhorred what was happening to his country, and it is believed that he rode into eneny fire deliberately to die on the battle field. He was thirty three.
The Royalist brigade of horse succeeded in pushing Skippon’s men back across Round Hill but Skippon responded by calling the advance of the London Trained Bands. These were a part-time militia from the City of London who had long been trained as a defensive force, in contrast to many of the volunteer forces. With increased fire power and the stand of the pikemen, the Parliamentarians were able to force the Royalist cavalry back.
To anyone looking south and across the valley from St Michael’s churchyard, any peace and tranquillity would have been painfully shattered. The thud of cannon fire , the blast of the muskets, the screams of both horses and men would have reached the higher ground though it would have been impossible, at that distance to know who was winning.
OS map of 1889 showing the site of the Battle of Newbury
The fighting continued until nightfall after which the Royalist forces had to consider what to do next. But supplies of gun powder and musket shot were low so it was decided not to resume fighting at this time. Essex and his men were able to continue their march towards London.
The battle left hundreds of men from both sides dead. It has been estimated that fatalities reached 3,500 with greater losses being on the Royalist side.
A network of narrow lanes still winds across the land between Enborne and Wash Common just as it did in 1743. To this day it is easy to take a wrong turning if you are not very familiar with the lay of the land. The extent of the slaughter on that day in September is difficult to visualise and it must have taken weeks if not months to recover the bodies, many of who would have remained unidentified.
No one knows where the majority of the men were buried although it is believed that some lie in Enborne church yard. The mounds on Wash Common were long believed to be Civil War graves but these are in fact Neolithic or Bronze Age burial mounds. An example of how local myths or legends occur. Similarly, the village of Gore End, to the south west of Wash Common, was thought to have been named as the place where the blood from the battle stopped running. Another example of a rural myth.
However, today many of the roads on Wash Common are named in memory of the battle, including Essex Street, Charles Street and Battery End. The Falkland Memorial, a granite obelisque errected in 1878 to commemorate Lucius Cary as well as nameless others killed in the battle, has given rise, over the years, to the name Falkland being applied to a local parliamentary ward, a primary school, a dental practice and a vets amongst other businesses.
Late C19th OS map showing the Neolithic burial mounds long thought to be graves of the Civil War dead. It also shows the Falkland Memorial and a farm named for Lord Falkland.
Newbury was once again the scene of a battle, in October 1644, but this time the focus of the fighting was around Donnington Castle. For the most part, Enborne and the surrounding villages saw much less of the military action. Until, that is, three hundred years later, when Enborne and Hamstead Park were to host the military again – this time from the USA.
Jethro Tull Lane, Hungerford. A new road very close to Prosperous.
On March 24th 1741, the Kentish Weekly Post printed the following:
“A few Days since died at his Seat at Prosperous near Hungerford in Berkshire, Jethro Tull, Esq; Author of an useful and ingenious Book, entitled, The Horse-Hoing (sic) Husbandry, and has been very well received by the Curious in that Art.”
There is no attempt to elaborate on the subject of Tull’s book and the phrase, “well received by the Curious in that Art” seems to suggest that its appeal might be quite niche. But what the editor of the Kentish Weekly would not have known was that Jethro Tull was one of the gentlemen farmers at the advance guard of a quiet revolution which would eventually change the face of the English countryside.
Jethro Tull
Jethro Tull was born in 1674, near Upper Basildon, Berkshire and, having studied at Oxford University, originally embarked on a career in law. However, by 1699 his interest turned to agriculture and it was working on his father’s farm at Crowmarsh Gifford in Oxfordshire that he began his work to develop and improve the machinery employed on the land. By 1701 Tull had perfected a horse-drawn seed drill which proved much more economical than the traditional method of sowing by hand.
In 1709 Jethro Tull bought the farm which has come to be most associated with his name: Prosperous on the Salisbury Road between Hungerford & Shalbourne and it was here that he developed the invention which was to make him famous: the horse-drawn hoe which could be used to control the growth of weeds between the planted rows and also improve the soil structure, thereby increasing the yield of crops. It also enabled the work to be done more rapidly than by hand.
It was this horse-drawn hoe which was to be the subjuct of his book, published in 1829:
Horse-hoeing husbandry: or, An essay on the principles of vegetation and tillage. Designed to introduce a new method of culture; whereby the produce of land will be increased, and the usual expence lessened. Together with accurate descriptions and cuts of the instruments employed in it.
Early C19th OS map showing Prosperous to the west of Inkpen.
Increasing the productivity of land was of particular importance at this time. Many recently industrialised towns, particularly in the north and Midlands, had seen a dramatic rise in population as former rural dwellers migrated to them in search of work. But people in all areas were living longer, too: between 1721 and 1821 the population of Britain rose from around 7 million to around 14 million. It was not surprising, therefore, that land owners looked to improved methods in agriculture to feed all these people and, of course, ways in which they could maximise the profits from their land.
In Norfolk, Charles Townsend, 2nd Viscount Townsend ( 1674 – 1738 ) had already advocated the growing of turnips as part of a crop rotation as he believed they helped improve the soil as well as providing a fodder crop for his animals. This gained him the nickname: Turnip Townsend.
“Turnip” Townsend
Later, Thomas Coke (1754 – 1842) began further experiments with crop rotations on his estate at Holkham, also in Norfolk.
Coke of Holkham
In Leicestershire, Robert Bakewell ( 1725 – 1795 ) had been experimenting with a more scientific approach to sheep breeding and in 1760 had developed a new variation of the traditional Leicester sheep capable of producing higher quality meat.
Robert Bakewell
Agricultural Societies began to be set up across the country, one of the earliest being the Odiham Agricultural Society, set up in 1783 as a society for “the encouraging of Agricultural and Industry in their town and neighbourhood’.
In July 1794 a meeting was held in the New Inn, Abingdon ( then the county town of Berkshire ) where it was proposed that a Berkshire Agricultural Society should be established mainly for the dissemination of the latest information regarding developments but also:
“From the above funds, to give annual rewards to labourers who have bred up the largest families without or with the least assistance of their parish, such labourers to produce certificates from a subscriber and two overseers of his parish”.
Reading Mercury, August, 1794
Subscribers included Sir Joseph Andrews of Shaw House and Kintbury’s Charles Dundas of Barton Court. It goes without saying that all subscribers were from the wealthier sections of Berkshire society. I very much doubt any of them had ever put a hand to the plough themselves.
Charles Dundas
As the illustrations of Townsend, Coke and Tull himself – above – show, these “agriculturalists” were not labouring farmers tilling the soil every day themselves. We cannot say for sure that they never worked the land at all, but if they did they would have returning home to a comparatively luxurious lifestyle at the end of the working day. Only Robert Bakewell looks as if he might have done a day’s work on the farm.
By the early years of the C19th, the Hampshire Agricultural Society was well established and in 1820, vicar of Kintbury, Rev Fulwar Craven Fowle was admitted as a member. It is very likely that Rev Fowle would have paid particular attention to the work of Robert Bakewell in Leicestershire as he kept a flock of the new breed of sheep on his land at East Woodhay. When Fowle exhibited his Leicester sheep at the Hampshire Show in June, 1820, they “excited much attention” from farmers and landowners used to seeing mainly South Down or Marino sheep in the local area. The sheep were admired for their, “weight, symmetry, smallness of bone and lightness of offal” all of which had been achieved without feeding corn or cake but “slicedSwedish turnips” alone.
Fulwar Craven Fowle
It has to be unlikely that Rev Fowle had very much hands on experience as regards looking after his flock of New Leicesters; it has to be likely that he employed a stock man or shepherd to do most of the work. But this would be true of all the great and the good who were members of the various agricultural societies. Although the idealised notion of “Three acres and a cow” was, later in the century, seen as a way to return to a self sufficient and better life on the land, the reality of everyday life for the smallholder in the early years of the nineteenth century must have been far from idyllic.
A Leicester Ram
The medieval system of three open fields, divided into strips and then shared out amongst the villagers to cultivate, still existed in many areas at this time. The labourer scratching a living on a handkerchief of land or on scattered strips is not going to be able to invest in a horse hoe, even if he had a horse to pull it or enough land to till more than a few furrows. Not surprisingly, hundreds of families moved away from villages and into the ever- growing towns whilst the villages they were leaving behind underwent considerable changes.
A series of Parliamentary Enclosure Acts had begun in the C17th and continued throughout the C18th and C19th, by which much common land was enclosed and incorporated into larger farms or estates. This was bad news for thousands of working people who had previously tilled their small plots of land under the “strip” system or whose cow had grazed on the common. It did, however, allow for more efficient and increased crop production by the farmers or estate owners.
Around Kintbury & Hungerford, there had been common grazing on the water meadows close to the Kennet, although most of this area was enclosed by the C18th. By the early C19th most open fields and common land around Hungerford, Kintbury & Elcot had been enclosed.
Unsurprisingly, many poorer people were distressed and angry at the loss of common land, the access to which they had always considered to be their right. When, in 1816, an Act of Parliament was passed for the enclosure of Woodhay Common, numbers of the “labouring poor” attempted to stop the land being fenced off and allocated to local landowners. Fearing a riot, the response of the authorities was to call in the military.
For some people, enclosures offered an opportunity: The Berkshire Chronicle of 1846 advertised the upcoming sale of a “good Brick & Slated FREEHOLD COTTAGE ” in Shinfield. The many advantages of this property included, “unlimited Common-rights and as the Common-land is about to be enclosed under the new Enclosure Act, considerable advantages must thereby accrue to the owner.”
But not everyone regarded the new laws in this light.
In 1848, the Reading Mercury reported on the Silchester Maying, which “presented a gay scene, from the very numerous company which was attracted to the Common, one of the most picturesque in this neighbourhood, and which, together with Wokefield and Mortimer, have as yet escaped the visitation of the Enclosure Act.”
That final phrase, “as yet escaped the visitation of the Enclosure Act” suggests that the journalist who wrote it was well aware of the devestation felt by poorer people when their common land was enclosed and lost to themselves – almost like an Old Testament Plague of Israel.
A proposed bill of 1844, aimed at making the business of enclosure running more smoothly, met with this response in the Wiltshire Independent of April that year:
A bill for the further robbery of the poor, that is to say, for the inclosure of all those commons which now remain and concequently for their appropriation by those who possess all the previously inclosed lands, is before Parliament. It was introduced by Lord Worsley a few weeks ago but due to the indisposition of the noble lord, the second reading has been postponed until the 24th instant. It is hoped that it will never be passed, for it is neither nor more less than, as the Times expresses it, “ a proposition which gives four million acres of land to those who already possess thirty two million”.
Dedham Vale by John Constable painted in 1815 (Public domain) Note a landscape without the now familiar patchwork of fields
What the Reading Mercury had described, in 1848, as “the visitation of theEnclosure Act” would eventually completely change the look of the English countryside. It is difficult to imagine now that there was ever a time when the landscape throughout southern England was not a patchwork of fields divided by well established hedges. But it was not ever thus. There is a passage in Jane Austen’s Emma, published in 1815, which describes Harriet Smith and her friend Miss Bickerton trying to run away from a group of gypsies. Miss Bickerton, “ran up a steep bank, cleared a slight hedge at the top, and made the best of her way by a short cut back to Highbury.”
It is worth considering that sentence again: Miss Bickerton, ”cleared a slight hedge at the top”.
I grew up in a rural area and whilst I could execute a sort of vault over a five barred field gate, it would have been absolutely impossible to clear – or jump over – any of the field hedges in my area. But in 1815 there would have been hedges, quite newly planted, which were still low enough for someone to clear them, particularly if they feared being chased. In the early years of enclosures, these newly planed field hedges must have been a familiar sight.
Today there is just one village in England where the land is still farmed in the “Open Field” system, in which three fields are divided into strips in the Medieval manner. It is Laxton in Nottinghamshire.
However, according to the Open Spaces Society, there are still 1.3 million acres of common land in England & Wales. We are lucky to have several in West Berkshire; one, Hungerford Common, would have been known well to Jethro Tull, being just a short distance from his land at Prosperous.
Hungerford Common today.
Today, the occupants of certain properties in Hungerford still have “commoners’ rights” just as they have had for hundreds of years. In practice, none of them actually graze stock on the common although this right is rented out to local farmers. So cattle graze on the common throughout the summer and into early autumn.
Motorists crossing Hungerford Common frequently have to stop and wait while cattle cross – often very slowly – in front of them.
How much Hungerfoed Common has changed since Jethro Tull’s time, it is difficult to say – perhaps this is one open space that is still broadly similar to the common he must have known. But the view from nearby Walbury Hill would look very different: the patchwork quilt of land divided by hedges and the site of large fields devoted to one crop would be entirely different to the countryside Tull would have known.
The view from Walbury Hill today.
Post Script:
Not a rock band, then.
Ian Anderson fronting the band, Jethro Tull
To anyone, like me, who took O level British Social & Economic History, 1700 – 1939 in the late 60s, the name Jethro Tull will probably resound as someone who featured prominently in the syllabus. However, for rock music fans, Jethro Tull was the name of a progressive/folk rock group fronted by Ian Anderson – the musician who played the flute, sometimes standing on one leg. He was not an agriculturalist – and as far as I know hasn’t had any roads named in his honour.
Saturday, 29th February, 1772: the Rev Nowes Lloyd, vicar of Enborne, has travelled the 65 miles from his home in West Berkshire to Vine Street, in London.
His journey is an important one as he has come to discuss a commission for a new monument from the celebrated sculptor, Thomas Scheemakers.
Scheemakers is the youngest member of the family who had already made their reputation with monuments to the great and the good throughout England, including the statue of Shakespeare in Poets’ Corner, Westminster Abbey. Thomas’s uncle, Peter Scheemakers was the sculptor responsible for the elaborate monuments to members of the Jemmett Raymond family in Kintbury church and so this proposed new work – to the memory of Jemmett Raymond II who had died in 1767 – is anticipated to be something equally grand and imposing.
Peter Scheemakers by Andreas Bernardus de Quertenmont, National Portrait Gallery. Creative Commons
A monument by the Scheemakers will come at a price – nothing like the work by local Berkshire masons, so it is important that Rev Lloyd gets the details of the inscription correct. Furthermore, this monument is not just to the memory of a prominent and wealthy parishioner: this monument is also to the memory of Elizabeth, nee Staples, formerly wife of sometime Governor of Carolina, Charles Craven of Hamstead Park and latterly widow of Jemmett Raymond II of Barton Park, Kintbury. Furthermore, Elizabeth was Nowes Lloyd’s mother-in-law.
Nowes Lloyd and Martha Craven had been married in 1763. He must have heard stories of the difficult relationship she and her sisters had with their mother, and how her elder sister eloped with a horse dealer to get away from home. He may even have heard that some people referred to his mother-in-law as “Cruel Mrs Craven”. Nevertheless, the Craven family were influential and could control the appointments of several parish priests at that time; Rev Lloyd had become Domestic Chaplain to William Craven, 5th Baron of Hamstead Park in 1764 and had recently become Rector of Enborne.
In the same year in which Nowes and Martha had married, Martha’s sister, Jane, had married Thomas Fowle, the vicar of Kintbury – another parish in which the Craven family had influence. And it was in Kintbury church – the parish in which Barton Court was situated – that the new Scheemakers monument was to be placed.
In London, Rev Lloyd takes a sheet of paper – still a fairly expensive commodity at this time – and a pen. The bottle of ink is by his arm on the table. In the formal manner of the time, he begins his letter, “Dear Sir…” although it is directed to Rev Thomas Fowle, vicar of Kintbury, and Lloyd’s brother- in- law.
He writes,
“I have told our Brother Cravenwhat you desire (and ) about the inscription for the monument..”
Despite addressing Thomas Fowle, as “Sir” at the commencement of the letter, it is the custom to refer to one’s spouse’s siblings as “brother” or “sister”. John Craven was the brother of Martha and Jane and so, in writing to Thomas Fowle, Nowes Lloyd refers to him as “our Broth” – “our Brother.”
He continues,
…and as I find from Mr. Scheemakers that He waits for it I have sent you on the other side of this Paper an inscription which if you approve of (??) will send any other I will take care to deliver it to Scheemakers as I have given him reason to expect this inscription next week I shall be glad to have an answer to this by return of Post & if I can be of any service to you or Yrs here you will let me know at the same time. Remember me to all your family and believe me Yrs affectionately, N. Lloyd
Rev Lloyd turns over the page and carefully outlines the inscription which will, after all, soon be set in stone:
Sacred to the Memory
of
Jemmet Raymond Esq & Elizabeth his wife
He was the Son
of
Sir Jemmet Raymond, Bart
She was the Daughter
of
The Hon Col John Staples
and
The Widow of the Hon Charles Craven Esq
Sometime Governor of South Carolina
In the reign of Q Ann
He died August 9th 1767 at the age of 79
She died on April 27th 1771 at the age of 71
When the ink is dry, Lloyd carefully folds the paper such that the letter’s contents are hidden inside and carefully writes the address on the front. It is not, however, an address as we would recognise one. He writes:
To
The Revd Thms Fowle
at Kintbury
near Newbury
Berks
To be left at the Blacksmiths Shop near Kintbury
Rev Lloyd turns the package over and seals it with sealing wax. The letter is ready to be sent by mail coach from London, along the Bath Road to the west of Newbury where it will eventually be left at the Blacksmith’s shop near Elcot. From here one of Thomas Fowle’s men will collect it and pay for the cost of postage. The journey will take at least a day, and the return of post by which Rev Lloyd requests an answer will add another day at least to his time in London.
Over two hundred and fifty years later, the monument to the memory of Jemmett Raymond II and his lady, Elizabeth is still in Kintbury church. The inscription is as Rev Lloyd outlined in his letter and there are two busts, one of Elizabeth on the right and Jemmett Raymond on the left, presumably taken from contemporary portraits and – most probably – long lost.
Originally, the Scheemakers monuments were placed either side of the altar; this is where they would have been when Jane & Cassandra Austen visited Kintbury leading me to wonder if their friends, Eliza Fowle or Martha Lloyd ever pointed out to them the face of their grandmother staring sternly down from her marble likeness.
Today, the Scheemakers monuments are in the north transept from where Elizabeth Raymond, formerly Craven, nee Staples – and Rev Lloyd’s mother-in-law – still stares down. .
Throughout the nineteenth century, “rough music” was a popular form of protest amongst some sections of society. In parts of the north, these protests were known as “stang riding” and in the midlands, “Lewbelling”. In Dorset the term “skimmington” or “skimmity ride” was used. Thomas Hardy describes one such in his novel of 1886, The Mayor of Casterbridge. Throughout our area, “rough music” seems to have been the accepted expression and a scroll through the local papers on line shows just how frequently these protests occurred.
Dr Syntax & the Skimmington Riders by Thomas Rowlandson
Most newspaper reports seem to assume that their readers, being local, I suppose, would understand what was meant by the term. However, in a libel case of 1862 between the proprietors of the Hampshire Chronicle and a chemist from Alton, Mr Justice Compton, hearing the case in Westminster, had to ask:
“What is rough music?”
“Old tin kettles and the like”
“And that is what you call music?”
So, whilst banging saucepans, kettles or making a noise in any other impromptu way, the protesters would make their way through their town or village, stopping outside the home of whoever it was they considered not to have lived up to the standards expected in the community. Those who might have cheated on their wife or husband were a particular target. In some examples the protestors carried effigies of the supposed guilty parties, as described by Thomas Hardy in The Mayor of Casterbridge.
However, marital infidelity was not the only reason a person was subjected to rough music. In April 1851, the Reading Mercury reported the inhabitants of Brimpton, “manifested their disgust at the conduct of John Henry Stair… for illtreating his son, a child little more than four years of age… by assembling in great numbers, perading (sic) the village with “rough music” and burning the individual in effigy”.
The Reading Mercury of 1858 reported a local variation of the custom from East Ilsley when James Powell, a local Primitive Methodist preacher appeared before the magistrates on a charge of ill treating his pregnant wife.
“In accordance with an old custom in Ilsley, when a man beats his wife, a quantity of chaff was thrown about in front of Powell’s house. It was intended to have given him a little rough music but the police superintendent removed Powell from the place for Newbury before the party could muster to carry out their intentions.”
In 1860, James Lancaster & Thomas Talbot, labourers of Litchfield, Hampshire, “were charged with having on the 13th December, in the parish of Itchingswell, ( sic – presumably a mis- spelling of Ecchinswell ) assaulted P.C.19, R. Clapsan, whilst in the execution of his duty. It appeared from the evidence that the assault arose through the constable interfering to prevent an obstruction in the road, caused by a large number of persons assembled together for the purposes of having what is called, “rough music” the same being produced by the blowing of cows horns, beating of tin cans, sheep bells etc.”
In October of 1865, the more law abiding inhabitants of Kintbury found that their peace was shattered on two successive nights when, if newspaper reports are to be believed, two hundred people paraded through the streets making, “rough music”.
The ring leaders were members of the Butler family: Thomas, Job & Edward. The newspaper report does not give the men’s ages and as there were at that time many and various Butlers living in Kintbury, it is difficult to work out exactly who these three were. It is likely that all were agricultural labourers and I think it is fairly safe to assume that at the time of the protest, Job was a 39 year old agricultural labourer married to Ann and the father of Charlotte, 12, Ellen, 10 and Julia, 7.
Of whom or what the protestors were objecting we have no idea although as the event drew a substantial crowd, I think we can assume it would have been someone well- known and/or in a prominent position in society. In previous reports from across this area, the names of those targeted by the protestors are given in the newspaper. For some reason this was not the case with the Kintbury incident, which leaves me to wonder if the journalist who originally filed this report was at pains not to offend a local dignitary or person of high profile who had upset so many villagers.
Perhaps the protestors felt they had a right to express their feelings in such a public way; after all, it was what people had been doing for years. The fact that many rough music protestors from other villages had ended up before the local magistrates did not seem to deter them.
“Lewbelling” – an example of rough music in Warwickshire in 1909 from the Illustrated London News. Wikki Media Commons
However, that would be without reckoning with William Harfield, Superintendent of Police in the Newbury Division of the Berkshire Constabulary.
Superintendent Harfield features frequently in newspaper reports of this period. He had been born in Hampshire around 1825 and by the 1851 census he was a policeman in the New Forest village of Sopley. At this time the Hampshire Constabulary was less than 12 years old, having been formed, along with constabularies in other counties, in 1839. The Berkshire Constabulary was established in 1856 and career policeman Harfield became the first Superintendent of the Newbury Division.
Responding to complaints, Superintendent Harfield arrived in Kintbury and quietly requested the rough music makers to desist. However, “the crowd set him at open defiance, telling him he had no power to interfere.”
Perhaps this was the first time some of these men had come up against the strong arm of the law, or perhaps they were just chancing their luck. Perhaps they thought that Harfield should just go back to where he’d come from and leave the people of Kintbury alone. As “rough music” protests were not uncommon the men may well have believed that they were doing nothing wrong.
Unfortunately, the outcome of this particular protest was an appearance at Hungerford Petty Sessions where all three men pleaded guilty.
According to the newspaper report, Harfield said he : “ had no wish to press the case further than was sufficient to teach them that they must not do such things with impunity.”
All three men were “bound over in the sum of £10 to keep the peace for three months” and ordered to pay 5 shillings costs each within a week.
These sums of money might not seem much to us today; however, £10 in 1865 would be over £1000 in today’s money. As for 5 shillings to be paid within the week, this could easily have proved very difficult for labourers whose weekly earnings would have been little more than 10 shillings, if that.
I cannot find any other references to rough music in Kintbury after this event, so perhaps the fines given out to the Butlers were enough to deter other villagers from expressing their disapproval in this way.
Job and Ann Butler were still living in Kintbury at the time of the 1871 census but after then I can find no trace of them.
William Harfield continued as Superintendent of Police in Newbury until his death in 1874, aged 56.
As for the practice of rough music as an expression of protest at certain people’s behaviour, this continued sporadically until the early decades of the twentieth century. However, I have not been able to find any other examples from Kintbury.
Back in the nineteenth and early twentieth century, two industries which have long since disappeared from Kintbury were brick making and the production of whiting.
Bricks, of course, made from locally extracted clay, were for use in construction. The use of whiting, however, is perhaps not so obvious.
Made from the naturally occurring chalk, crushed and mixed with water, whiting was a product with many applications including the bleaching of sails for ships and for whitewash.
Both of these industries required their raw materials to be extracted from the land, resulting in many and various pits around the village.
One of these former industrial landscapes lies in the triangle between the Inkpen Road and Laylands Green.
Part of early OS map of Kintbury showing the location of brick works which would have used clay extracted fom pits. Note also the spelling of “Kentbury”
In the 1990s, a construction firm was looking to develop this area for housing. However, the period of inactivity following the decline of the brick making and whiting processing businesses had led to the various pits filling with water. The resulting ponds and the surrounding land had been reclaimed by nature. A diverse selection of plant life had taken over the site and, silently, without anyone noticing, the newts had made it their home.
Part of early C20th OS map of Kintbury showing position of a chalk pit and whiting works
There are in the UK three kinds of newt: smooth, palmate and great crested. The site in Kintbury is home to all three but it is the presence of the great crested newt which makes the site so special.
The great crested newts – or Triturus cristatus to give them their official Latin name – are protected under UK law according to the Wildlife & Countryside Act of 1981. This is because its population has significantly declined and so it is illegal to injure, capture, disturb them or to damage their breeding sites. Once the presence of great crested newts was confirmed on the Kintbury site, any development was prohibited.
Newts are amphibians and so they breed in the ponds during the spring then feed on invertebrates they find in the surrounding woodland. They hibernate underground amongst the roots of trees. Our garden is next to the nature reserve and we have become used to finding the occasional newt when we turn up old flower pots or clear away weeds.
The great crested newt can grow up to 17cm although I don’t think we have ever found one that long in our garden. They are black in colour with an orange underside. Their skin is described as “warty” and in the breeding season there is a wavy crest along the body.
But why does all this matter? Why should a programme of house building be stopped because of the presence of newts?
According to the RSPB, the latest State of Nature Report has found that Great Britain is in danger of losing 43% of bird species, 31% of amphibians and reptiles, 28% of fungi and lichens and 26% of land mammals.
Included in these statistics are popular species such as turtle doves and water voles – “Ratty” from the Wind in the Willows is a water vole.
“Ratty” from Kenneth Graham’s The Wind in the Willows.
So why this dramatic loss? Changes in agricultural practices as well as in the use of land and its management have been big contributary factors. Although there have been some very successful reintroductions of species long absent from most parts of the UK – for example of the Red Kites which we now see over Kintbury every day – this cannot be seen as compensation for losses in other species. For many, once they are gone, they are gone for ever. Like the dodo. I grew up thinking the dodo was an invention of Lewis Carroll’s, not a bird that had once existed.
In my grandparents’ young days, the red squirrel was a familiar site across the south of England, whereas I was in my 30s before I had ever seen one.
A newt visiting our garden
Today the Kintbury Newt Ponds Nature Reserve is one of 85 nature reserves managed by the Berkshire, Buckinghamshire and Oxfordshire Wildlife Trust. It is always open for anyone to enjoy.
This former clay extraction pit is now an ideal habitat for newts in Kintbury Newt Pond Nature Reserve.
I found this brick partly hidden under the turf. Could it be a relic of the former brick making industry? I think it is very likely.
Mature oaks in the southern section of the nature reserve. This part of the reserve is often used for grazing.
The nature reserve is made up of ponds, reed beds, scrub and grassland. This photo shows some of the reeds.
Another newt who had been hiding on our patio
The nature reserve is also home to slow worms which, like the newts, often find their way into our garden.
I sometimes joke that the newts have more protection than we do – obviously that is not really true. But I am pleased they have the protection that they do – and I hope it will continue.
If you walk westwards along the canal tow path out of Kintbury, you pass under Vicarage Bridge. You will notice, as you approach the bridge, a pair of rails attached to the brickwork on the right hand side. You could easily mistake these rails for a pair of butresses but that was not their original purpose.
So what are those rails?
When the celebrated railway engineer, Isambard Kingdom Brunel, designed the Great Western Railway in 1838, he decided that the distance between the rails on which the engines and their carriages should run – the gauge – should be 7 feet 1⁄4 inches or 2,140 mm. This gauge, he believed, was safest for engines travelling at speeds and also offered a more comfortable ride for passengers.
Route of the Great Western Railway, 1850. Public Domaine, via Wikki Commons
By 1841, Brunel’s Great Western Railway had opened between London and Bristol, passing through Reading and the Vale of White Horse on its way. Then, in 1845, an Act of Parliament was passed which enabled the creation of the Berks & Hants Railway Company, a branch line of the Great Western which would leave the main line at Reading, and on through the Kennet valley. On the 21st of December 1847, the line finally opened westwards with stations at Theale, Aldermaston, Woolhampton, Thatcham, Newbury, Kintbury and Hungerford. The line was, of course, what had come to be known as “broad gauge.”
Mid C19th OS map showing Kintbury station . Note the main route into Kintbury from the north runs past Barton Court and down the Avenue.
Kintbury had joined the railway age!
“Isambard Kingdom Brunel” at STEAM: The Museum of the Great Western Railway, Swindon.
By 1855 it had become possible to leave Kintbury station at 7:17 and arrive in Reading at 8:13 – about the length of time it would take to ride into Newbury on a horse. By the 1870s it was possible for Kintburians to travel to Bristol or London with ease, or to enjoy a day out in Weymouth. That is to say, those Kintburians who could afford to do so and who could afford the time off work.
Isambard Kingdom Brunel’s Great Western Railway had proved to be one of the greatest success stories in British engineering. However, Brunel had a rival in the north of England.
I.K.Brunel
Although the railway engineer Robert Stephenson was a friend of Brunel’s, the two disagreed over the choice of gauge for the railways they designed. Robert Stephenson’s father, George, one of the earliest railway engineers, had chosen a gauge of 4ft 8½inches. This was because it was the average distance between cart wheels of those farmers who also used the early railway tracks to transport their goods, running their horsedrawn wagons along the tracks. Robert Stephenson chose to continue with this gauge which, at the time, was referred to as the “narrow” gauge and later the “standard” gauge.
Whilst Brunel’s Great Western continued to be very successful between London, Wales and the West of England, throughout the north and midlands far more lines were being built, all using the narrower or standard gauge. So although Great Western travellers may have indeed experienced a more comfortable ride, those who had to change trains on journeys northwards had the inconvenience not only of leaving one carriage for another, they had to wait while any luggage had to be transferred from one train to another. This was bad enough when it was trunks and suit cases being transferred but a potentially more serious delay when it was freight destined for markets.
Transferring luggage from broad gauge to standard gauge carriages in the transfer shed. A recreation at the Didcot Railway Centre.
It was not until after Brunel’s death that the Railway Regulation (Gauge ) Act 1846 adopted the narrow or standard gauge for the Great Western, although it was several years before every line was converted.
On June 20th, 1872, the Newbury Weekly News carried a report critical of the Great Western’s perceived delay in converting the local line to the narrow or standard gauge. At that time, most of the coal used in the Newbury area came from the Forest of Dean coal field – an area already converted to narrow gauge by the GWR. However, as the line through Newbury had not yet been converted, the coal had to be transported to Reading for which the GWR charged an extra 3 pence per ton. To make matters even worse, there was an additional charge of 6 pence per ton to transport it to Newbury. Not surprisingly, around 95 traders petitioned the Board of Directors of the GWR and it was eventually decided that the line should be converted.
Recreation of a broad gauge engine, Didcot Railway Centre.
On the evening of Tuesday, June 30th 1874, the last train pulling broad gauge carriages left Newbury station at eight o’clock. It was followed half an hour later by the last train of broad gauge trucks and wagons.
According to a report in the Newbury Weekly News, conversion work on the 60 mile stretch between Reading and Holt Junction in Wiltshire began in July 1874. The work was to be undertaken by 600 men, split into gangs of 20 and commencing work on different sections of the line. Each gang had two designated cooks whose job it was to obtain the required provisions, boil water for tea or coffee, and prepare food. The labourers were allowed 1s 3d (about 7 pence) each day for rations and oatmeal was provided for the cooks to prepare into a “wholesome and strengthening beverage, any amount of which they were at liberty to have.”
Apparently, “so nutritious was the beverage that some of the men cared to eat but little solid food during the day.”
I wonder if they were saving their 1s 3d per day to spend in a local pub once the working day was over.
The labourers were accommodated in various station sheds and slept on “an abundance of clean straw”. Smoking was forbidden.
The working day was between seventeen to eighteen hours long and the work, with no mechanised equipment at all, must have been backbreaking.
For the inhabitants of those villages along the line, the arrival of gangs of strange men arriving to work on the rails, must have been daunting and perhaps worrying. But it may be that the villagers of Kintbury could feel assured as a member of the Great Western Railway Police lived in the village. Charles Giles had lived in the Kintbury for over twenty years and his presence must have been reassuring.
“Kentbury” Detail frpm O.S Map. 1889.
The work, however, was completed very quickly and the gangs of men left Kintbury – and the rest of the Kennet valley – in peace.
So what about those iron rails fixed to the side of Vicarage Bridge? Before being placed where they are today, those were broad gauge rails – a relic of that bygone age and of Brunel’s belief that 7 feet 1⁄4 inches was the preferable gauge for comfort and speed.
In Medieval England, many church walls were decorated with colourful murals depicting Biblical scenes or the lives of saints. In an age of mass illiteracy, these images helped in the teaching of scripture and often provided a warning of what might happen to those who strayed from the narrow path of righteousness. “Doom” paintings depicting the day of judgement were popular if rather uncomfortable to look at.
For poorer people whose homes were very much devoid of colour, the bright paintings on otherwise white interior walls must have provided something to gaze at and wonder. Sadly, so very many were painted over in the years following the Civil War (1642 – 1651) when they were regarded as idolatrous by the puritanical protestants. Much later, other murals were destroyed during the eighteenth and nineteenth century when the fashion for “restoration” meant that they were painted over in favour of plain white interior walls.
Where these murals have survived, it is frequently just the reds and reddish browns which can be seen today. One such example in this area is in St Michael’s, Enborne where there is a painting of the Annunciation at the east end of the north wall. What other paintings have been lost we shall never know.
Mural, St Michael’s & All Angels, Enborne
In the late nineteenth century, St Michael & All Angels’ church in Inkpen was “restored”. According to the Reading Mercury of March 1897 the church had, in the words of its rector, “long fallen into a lamentable state of decay”. As a result, a restoration, lasting more than a year, had seen the greater part of the church rebuilt and, “the only ancient portions of the actual fabric are the exterior walls and one west window” remained.
Medieval wall paintings had been discovered when the plaster was stripped from the walls but these were badly decayed. However, the architect, Mr C.C. Rolfe decided that there should be new and at that time very modern murals to grace the newly restored interior.
The person chosen for this work was Miss Ethel King Martin, an artist and sculptor.
Ethel had been born in Bristol in 1863, the daughter of Samual – a physician – and his wife Katharine. She studied at the Slade School of Fine Art in London’s Gower Street, then a very new establishment which had opened in 1871. It was groundbreaking as, unlike other art schools, it enabled women to study on the same terms as men, in particular with reference to life drawing. Other students studying there at around the same time included the illustrator Kate Greenaway and Evelyn De Morgan.
At this time, the influence of the Pre Raphaelite Brotherhood of some 40 or 50 years earlier could still be seen in contemporary work. The “Brotherhood” which included D.G. Rossetti, William Holman Hunt, J.E. Millais and Ford Maddox Brown was a group of artists dedicated to painting in a style which had, they believed, existed “before the time of Raphael.”
Pre Raphaelite paintings are bright, clear and bold, their subjects mostly devoid of the swirling drapery or dark backgrounds of earlier works.
Christ in the house of his parents: John Everett Millais
Their work used bright colours and achieved a realism by having friends and family as models, giving their work a contemporary feel. Later other artists and craftsmen joined their circle of influence, most notably William Morris and Edward Burne Jones.
Adoration of the Magi: Edward Burne Jones
In turn, Morris and Burne Jones became influential in what has become known as the Arts & Crafts movement – in part a reaction to factory made and mass produced items. Emphasis was placed instead on traditional crafts in arts and design.
A Morris & Co stained glass window at West Woodhay
One name associated with the Arts & Crafts movement is Walter Crane, remembered particularly for his illustrations of children’s books.
Illustration for “Little Red Riding Hood” by Walter Crane
Another was Kate Greenaway – a near contemporary of Ethel Martyn who had studied at the Slade some years earlier and who, like Walter Crane, is particularly remembered for her illustrations of children’s books.
“May Day” by Kate Greenaway
Another female student in the early years of the Slade was Evelyn De Morgan. Her work, which frequently features the female form, also shows the influence of the Pre Raphaelites.
The Cadence of Autumn: Evelyn De Morgan
By the time of the “restoration” of St Michael’s Inkpen, Ethel King Martyn was an established painter and illustrator, having been elected Associate of the Royal Society of Printmakers in 1892 and then Fellow in 1902. She had also exhibited at the Royal Academy. Her work at Inkpen was completed in 1910 and remains as beautiful today as it was then.
The Annunciation: Ethyl King Martin, St Michael & All Angels, Inkpen
It is, I think, easy to see the influences of the Pre Raphaelite painters in Ethel’s work in terms of the use of bright colours, composition and realism as well as an appealing story-book quality reminiscent of Walter Crane and Kate Greenaway.
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The Ascension: Ethel King MartynUriel: Ethel King MartynRaphael: Ethel King Martyn
Some time ago, I wrote an article for this blog called, “Our churches: Not what they seem?” When I researched that article, using sources from the nineteenth and early twentieth century, I hardly ever came across the name of a woman – certainly there were no references to female architects, designers, builders or, of course, priests. Nationally, some women had achieved recognition alongside the men who were their contemporaries – I have already mentioned Kate Greenaway and Evelyn De Morgan in the field of art and design, however, they are in the minority.
Ethel King Martyn never married but lived with her twin sister, Agnes. She died in Budleigh Salterton, Devon, in 1938. You may never have heard of her before reading this, and her work has never, as far as I am aware, been reproduced on posters or greetings cards. But her work on the walls of the church at Inkpen is, I believe, stunning, and for that she should be celebrated.
We know the names of the village men who died in the First World War as they are recorded, quite rightly, on the war memorial and in the church. However, it is much more difficult, at over a hundred years’ distance, to find the names of those who returned to the village in the months after the armistice. But, with a bit of help from the archive of the Newbury Weekly News, the library at the Museum of English Rural Life and other sources, we can find something of the world to which they returned.
We know that many of the men who returned to Kintbury would have been agricultural workers so for the purpose of this article, I have invented a fictitious agricultural worker, Fred, his wife, Mary and their friend, George.
However, the historic details relating to the Kintbury of 1919 are all factually correct.
Fred had signed up in 1915 and spent the last months of war on the western front. In the summer of 1918 he had been able to return to Berkshire to marry his childhood sweetheart, Mary.
Men who had jobs to return to were able to be demobbed sooner than those who had no work waiting for them. Fred’s employer was keen to have him back on the farm so by early 1919 Fred was able to rejoin Mary at home.
Fred would never speak of the horrors he had witnessed in France and Belgium and only Mary would know that his sleep was frequently interrupted by nightmares. Fred hid all that from his family as he and Mary tried to build their new life together.
Homes for Heroes?
Before the general election in 1918 there had been much talk of the proposed, “Homes for Heroes” to be built by local authorities for a controlled rent. Mary had allowed herself to dream that perhaps, one day, she and Fred would have such a house in Kintbury – her Fred, after all, was a war hero. But Mary was to be disappointed – although the Rural District Council had selected sites in Kintbury by May of 1919, it was the 1920s before the council houses were built in Burton’s Hill. So their first home together was a tied cottage on the farm for which the farmer was legally entitled to deduct up to 3 shillings (15p) a week from Fred’s wages.
But Fred and Mary tried to be optimistic: working conditions for farm workers were improving. By 1919 working hours were set at 50 hours a week in the summer and 48 in the winter and by October the minimum weekly wage in Berkshire was 36 shillings and 6 pence (36/6d or £1.82). It was certainly an improvement, but Mary was very well aware that a new pair of boots for Fred would cost nearly a whole week’s wages – and probably need replacing in six months. And while she looked longingly at the new ladies’ shoes advertised in the Newbury Weekly News for sale in one of the town shops, she knew that at 35 shillings and 9 pence (35/9 or £1.80 ) a pair, they were way beyond her household budget.
Changing times?
Some of Fred’s workmates joined the National Union of Agricultural Workers – they said that it was down to the unions that working conditions improved. Fred thought that might be true, but prices were still going up so life was not easy. George, one of Fred’s mates, was a new and very enthusiastic member of the Labour Party and in March he walked along the tow path to Newbury to attend a meeting of the local branch in the Temperance Hall in Northcroft Lane. Fred was not sure about this; in the recent election, Conservative & Unionist candidate William Mount was returned for the Newbury Constituency unopposed and to Fred this seemed to represent security.
On your bike?
Fred did not have a bicycle so he would have had to walk into Newbury or pay to catch the train. A.C. Bishop of Bartholomew Street advertised their latest shiny models, but at £12/10s (£12.50) for the cheapest model, Fred could see that he would be relying on Shank’s Pony for a long time yet.
Horse Power.
At the farm on which Fred worked, heavy horses were still used to pull the plough and the carts. It is a sad fact that many horses had been requisitioned for the war effort and, like the carters who had worked the land with them, they never returned but had died on the battlefields. The shortage was so bad that there was a government initiated scheme to replace the horses with tractors. In Newbury, Toomers were advertising a Fordson tractor for £280.00 or a Titan for £385.
“God speed the plough and the woman who drives it”
Throughout the war women had been recruited to join the Women’s Land Army, then sent to farms to replace the men who had enlisted. Mary had heard that it was not easy to get accepted: a majority of the young women who applied were rejected for one reason or another. Despite this, by 1918 there were over 223,000 women working in agriculture. Mary did not join up herself, but she did work at the farm on which Fred had been employed, doing the milking and other dairy work. When the time came to give up this work and return to being a full-time housewife, Mary felt quite sad if truth be told. But times were slowly changing for women, Mary believed, and soon she would be able to vote in elections, just as many men had done for years. One day, Mary knew, there would be a woman in parliament. Perhaps even as Prime Minister.
A motor car? Are you having a laugh?
Throughout 1919 Pass & Company of Newbury ran advertisements in the Newbury Weekly News for the Ford “After War Touring Car” which would set you back a mere £250 should you be tempted to buy one. Fred could never imagine that he or any of his family would ever own one – the cost represented two and a half times his yearly wage and seemed to emphasise the gulf between the wealthy and the working man.
“Full equality is impossible”
In May, political discussion came to Kintbury when a meeting of the Kintbury Branch of the South Berks Women’s Unionist Association, an organisation of the Conservative party, was held in the Coronation Hall. In attendance were many well known ladies of the village including Mrs Dunn and Mrs A.E. Gladstone. One speaker, the Hon Ethel Akers-Douglas spoke of the urgent need for self education with regards to politics. Another, Mrs W.A. Mount, wife of the local Member of Parliament, spoke of the “threat” of a Labour candidate in the constituency at the next general election. She explained the party’s intentions to see the conditions of the working men improved, however, “when people said there could be full equality, it was their duty to point out that such a state of things was absolutely impossible.”
When the Newbury Weekly News ran a report of the meeting in its next edition, there were mixed reactions amongst those who read it. Some people wanted to tell Mrs Mount what they thought, and it wasn’t polite. Others felt it was only right and proper that there should never be full equality. They recalled the words of the hymn:
The rich man in his castle,
The poor man at his gate,
God made them high or lowly,
And ordered their estate.
No one wanted the terrible things that had happened in Russia to happen here. To many, the status quo represented security. Mary was not so sure.
I’m part of the union
Meanwhile, in Hungerford members of the National Union of Railwaymen organised a meeting at the Corn Exchange. It was attended mainly by agricultural workers including George, who listened to speeches calling for better conditions as to wages & housing and improved parliamentary representation. The enfranchisement of women should now be seen as a boon to be appreciated, the assembled workers were told.
The next train arriving…
Throughout the year, more soldiers returned to their homes although the lads who had left the village months or years before, had, as a result of all they had experienced, been changed forever by it. Many, of course, were never to return home.
For Fred, it was good to see friends arriving back at Kintbury Station with its familiar and homely Great Western waiting rooms and ticket office. Throughout the war, the railway had witnessed increased traffic through Kintbury with troop transport, munitions and ambulance trains. Soon, however, the only trains to pass through would be carrying freight or passengers about their peace time business.
Celebrating Peace
By the summer of 1919 many towns and villages were preparing to celebrate the end of hostilities. Saturday, July 19th was declared both a public holiday and a Bank holiday for “National Peace Rejoicings”. In Newbury, there was a procession including discharged soldiers, men in uniform (sic ), wounded soldiers, war workers, Boy Scouts and Girl Guides.
In Hungerford, there was a Peace Thanksgiving Service at St Lawrence’s church. The children of Lower Green, Inkpen enjoyed a “splendid fete” while those of Inkpen Common were, “entertained to tea in Mr Ward’s warehouse and one hundred and eleven sat down to a capital spread.”
Unfortunately, and to the disappointment of the children of Kintbury, plans for a celebration in the village fell through.
Plans for a recreation ground
In Kintbury a public meeting was held at the Coronation Hall at which it was decided that, to perpetuate the acknowledgement of those who had been engaged in the war, a plot of ground suitable to form a recreation place for the parish and especially for children, should be purchased, leased or acquired. Subscriptions were invited.
Fred considered this to be a very good plan. Recent changes in the working conditions of agricultural workers like him meant that they were able to take Saturday afternoons as a half day holiday most weeks. This resulted in the return of village sports such as football and so a proper, dedicated football field would be welcomed.
Keep the red flag flying….
The Conservative & Unionist candidate, William Mount, had contested the Newbury constituency unopposed in the election of 1918. However, it seems the Newbury branch of the Labour Party remained optimistic. In August they organised a procession with banners leading to a mass meeting in Victoria Park. A resolution was carried saying that the time had come for greater parliamentary representation.
George had joined the Labour Party; he told Fred that, since his return home from France he had begun to see things differently and now he wasn’t going to doff his cap to anyone. God had created all men equal, hadn’t He? That William Mount had better look out because come the next election, Newbury would have a Labour candidate just like they’d done last time in Reading.
The Railway men strike
Several men from the Kintbury area worked for the Great Western Railway. In September their union, the National Union of Railwaymen, called them out on strike. This seemed wrong to Fred who disliked any form of conflict, though his mate George said it was because there was a threat to reduce their wages, and that wasn’t right. To Fred’s relief, the strike was soon called off and it seemed as if the railway workers had achieved what they wanted. But the fact that the men had gone on strike at all still seemed to worry some people.
Newbury MP addresses meeting in Coronation Hall
No less a person than the MP for Newbury, William Mount, addressed a meeting at the Coronation Hall. Mary was insistent than she and Fred should attend saying that Mrs Akers-Douglas herself had said that women should now learn more about politics. She’d read it in the Newbury Weekly News so it must be so. Fred was reluctant but on Mary’s insistence they both donned their Sunday best and took up their seats at the very back of the hall which was filling up, Fred noticed uneasily, with Kintbury’s wealthier inhabitants.
Mr Mount was very careful not to criticise the railway workers themselves: he described them as “pleasant and agreeable”, “loyal and patriotic.” But he was very critical of their union, which had, apparently, declared a strike without a ballot, which was very, very wrong. Furthermore, he insisted that the railwaymen were paid a good wage. Fred noticed that Mr Mount said nothing about the proposal to cut their wages, so perhaps George had got that wrong.
Those listening in the Coronation Hall clapped appreciatively and there were calls of “Hear, hear” when the MP spoke of the dangers of electing a Labour government.
As they filed out of the hall onto the Inkpen Road, Fred could hear the comments of others. Mr Mount was being described as a “thoroughly good fellow”, “exactly the kind of person we need” by people he knew and respected around the village. Perhaps they were right.
Mary saw things differently. She said that it was all well and good for Mr Mount because he never had to worry about where the next meal was coming from. Those shoes he was wearing, they didn’t cost him a whole week of his pay, did they? He didn’t have to count up the pennies in his purse before he went to the local shops, did he? Just wait until we have some women in parliament, Mary said, women who really know what the housekeeping costs.
(Regarding Mr & Mrs Mount, in 1919 they would have no way of knowing that in 2005 their great, great grandson, one David Cameron, would become leader of the Conservative party, and in 2010, Prime Minister.)
Moving slowly forward.
By late summer, Giles’ Motor Bus resumed its service between Hungerford, Kintbury and Newbury. However, the service ran on three days each week only – Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays, departing Kintbury at 10.35.
In September the Kintbury Choir Boys’ Outing was to Southsea in a charabanc – a kind of open-topped bus popular at the time for day trips.
Party time at last!
Although several local villages had held peace celebrations on the designated Peace Day, July 19th, Kintbury children had to wait until September 24th for their party, when, according to the Newbury Weekly News, “Kintbury threw aside its mantle of tranquility…the young folk giving themselves up to mirth and merrymaking.”
The party had been organised by Miss Agnes Langford and money had been raised in various ways: “A jazz band was formed and they paraded the village, stirring up the inhabitants and disturbing the peace and quietude with their trombones, concertina, triangle, cornet, euphonium, kazoos and big drum.”
£2.19s 11d ( £3 all but an old penny ) was raised by the efforts of the band and the final sum amounted to £24 3s 6d – a sum equivalent to thirteen weeks’ of an agricultural worker’s pay.
On the day of the party, the children assembled in the Market Square and marched to Wallington’s Park at the invitation of Mr & Mrs A.S. Gladstone. Seated at long rows of tables, the children enjoyed tea, bread and butter and fancy cakes. Afterwards, apples were distributed and the children adjourned to the park meadows for games and races, for which there were money prizes.
The day ended with a procession of children marching around the terrace in front of the house where they were each presented with a mug decorated with “Britannia and Allied Flags” as well as the Kintbury crest. A total of 350 mugs were presented and the children were also given buns, cakes and apples to take home.
Still undecided…..
On October 16th there was a public meeting in the Coronation Hall to further consider the question of a war memorial. At Christchurch a memorial cross – 9 feet high and made of oak with a bronze figure of Christ –had been dedicated four months previously.
Plans agreed earlier in the year to dedicate a recreation ground to the memory of the fallen seem to have fallen through. At another meeting in the Coronation Hall, this time on October 30th, someone suggested building a swimming pool for the village. However, the plan finally decided upon at this meeting was for the establishment of a Men’s Club.
To celebrate the first anniversary of the signing of the armistice, a Whist Drive and Dance was held in the Coronation Hall, finishing at 1.30 am.
Mind your own business
In November, Kintbury readers of the Newbury Weekly News must have been surprised to read the following in their weekly paper:
“A young man of the village would be much obliged if certain Kintbury people would mind their own business. If they do not, steps will be taken.
If some of the kind people of Kintbury would mind their own business rather than look after other people’s it would be more to their own credit and to prove what they say is the truth. E.E.P.”
Neither Fred nor George knew who E.E.P. was. It seemed a strange way to express your annoyance or anger: in the small ads column of the Newbury Weekly News.
A year’s end
As the first year of peace drew to a close, it would seem that Kintbury had finally made a decision about something: at a meeting in the Coronation Hall – where else?-on November 10th it was decided that football should be revived in the village and that the colours of the team should be the old ones of amber and black. The trustees of the Benham Estate had offered the use of a ground at Barton Court, to be accessed along the Avenue, and this was accepted.
Men such as Fred and George welcomed the return of their favourite sport, particularly as the agricultural workers were now able to take a half day holiday on most Saturdays. For Fred, however, his feelings were mixed; it might seem illogical but to him it felt wrong somehow that he was able to enjoy a game on an autumn Saturday when so many of the lads he had played with before the war were no longer there. Fred felt he had no right to be back home, back on the football pitch, back enjoying himself. But like so many of his feelings, his emotions, he hid them and told no one.
Mary tried to lighten his mood with a joke. If she was to stand on the cold and windy sidelines cheering Kintbury on, well, she’d want a new coat, wouldn’t she? How about Fred buy her one of those advertised in the paper? McIlroy & Rankin in Newbury had Ladies’ Heavy Winter Coats for only 55/- (£2.75p).
When the cows come home by themselves, Fred told her. When the cows come home…..
The revived Kintbury team played their first match on a snow-covered pitch. The result:
We have, I believe, just one description of Jane Austen’s appearance, recalled by someone who knew her well all her life – someone who had known her since she was a small child of three.
“She was like a doll……certainly pretty – bright and a good deal of colour in her face – like a doll – no, that would not give at all the right idea for she had so much expression – she was like a child – quite a child, very lively and full of humour.”
That person was Kintbury’s vicar, Rev Fulwar Craven Fowle.
Fulwar ( pronounced “Fuller” – it was a family name ) was born in Kintbury on June 12th 1764, the eldest son of Rev Thomas Fowle and his wife, Jane née Craven. These were the days when having connections, either within the family or otherwise, could lead to appointment to a parish; in the case of the Fowles, Fulwar’s grandfather Thomas Fowle I had been appointed vicar of Kintbury in 1741 and his father, Thomas Fowle II, followed him in the post from 1762 to 1806.
At the time, it was not at all uncommon for a priest to hold the position of rector in other parishes. Thomas II was rector of Hamstead Marshall, not far from Kintbury, and also Allington, near Salisbury in Wiltshire. Later, as well as being vicar of Kintbury, Fulwar himself was also rector of Elkstone in Gloucestershire.
The Old Vicarage in Kintbury
So the Fowles could be said to have been very much a family of the vicarage. This was a time when vicarages, wherever they were, were larger, higher status houses and those who lived in them led relatively comfortable lives supported by servants and other staff. However, a vicarage life was not associated with opulence and none could be described as stately.
By contrast, the Cravens’ seat at Hamstead Marshall, three miles to the east of Kintbury, was far grander.
Fulwar’s mother Jane Craven was born in 1727, the second daughter of Charles Craven and his wife, Elizabeth Staples of Hamstead Marshall. Charles is better known as “Governor Craven” from his time as being governor of South Carolina in America. The former Elizabeth Staples has a reputation as a socialite with little time for her family.
The Former Elizabeth Staples, grandmother of Fulwar Craven Fowle
When Charles Craven had been growing up, the Craven family seat was the elegant baroque mansion in Hamstead Park, designed by the Dutch architect Balthazar Gerbier in the mid C17th. Unfortunately, this building burnt down in 1718 and by the time of Charles Craven’s marriage to Elizabeth Staples in 1720, it is likely that the family home was an extended hunting lodge on the estate.
All that remains of the Baroque mansion in Hamstead Park. Photo by Mick Crawley via CreativeCommons
So, even though the Hamstead Marshall Cravens no longer had a “stately” house, they did have a high status home and close family links to the Earls of Craven, such that Jane Craven’s family could be said to occupy a higher rung on the social ladder than that of the Fowles.
Jane & Thomas were married at Kintbury on July 18th, 1763. Jane was 36 and Thomas was 37. Thomas had been ordained priest the previous year and became vicar of Kintbury following his father’s recent death and the post becoming vacant. Perhaps the comparatively later age at which the couple married could suggest that their marriage was not economically viable until then, despite Jane’s family having been wealthy. We do not know.
Thomas & Jane had four sons: Fulwar Craven, born 1764, was followed by Thomas, born 1765, then William, born 1767, and finally Charles, born 1770.
Fulwar was a fair-haired, blue-eyed child, slight of stature and never very tall, even in adulthood. The country side would have encroached on the village of Kintbury more so than it does today, enabling the Fowle boys and their friends to roam at will and swim in the Kennet. Like all of the more comfortably off, the boys would have learnt to ride as a matter of course and by adulthood, Fulwar had the reputation of being a very good horseman.
We can assume that, whilst life in the Kintbury vicarage might not have been opulent, it would have been economically secure particularly when compared to the lives of many working people and farm labourers in the cottages of Kintbury.
There was no universal education in late eighteenth century England. In some towns and villages a basic education was offered by religious or charity groups and there were well-established grammar schools in more prosperous towns which prepared young men for the professions or university entry. For the sons of wealthier families there was a choice of “public” schools – a misnomer in that these schools were – and are – expensively fee-paying and elitist.
The novel, “Tom Brown’s School Days”, published in 1857, is a fictionalised account of being a pupil at Rugby, a public school in the south east midlands, in the 1830s. Its author, Thomas Hughes, was the grandson of the vicar at Uffington, then in Berkshire, across the downs around twenty miles to the north of Kintbury.
It might be assumed that, coming from a similar background, the Fowle sons would also have attended a public school, perhaps Eton, close to Windsor in east Berkshire, or Winchester, in Hampshire. Instead, Jane and Thomas chose to send their sons to the school run by Rev George Austen and his wife, at Steventon, near Basingstoke in Hampshire. George Austen’s “school” was actually in the family home – the Steventon vicarage.
Thomas Fowle had known George Austen since their days at Oxford University so perhaps he felt more comfortable entrusting his sons’ education to someone he knew very well. Alternatively the costs of a public school education might have been beyond the budget of a rural parson, we cannot say. The reality might have been a combination of both factors.
We do not know precisely the curriculum Rev Austen would have offered his students although it would very likely have centred on the Classics – Latin and Greek- which would prepare the boys for further study of the same at Oxford University.
Fulwar was fourteen when he first joined the other borders at the Steventon vicarage school. At that time the Austens’ eldest son, James, was nearest to Fulwar in age and became his closest friend. Edward was 11, Henry 7, Cassandra 5 and Francis 4. The baby of the family at that time was Jane, aged 3. Charles was to arrive a year later.
It goes without saying that the Austens would have had servants; however, even with help with cooking, cleaning and laundry, the household must have been a particularly busy one. One can only assume that George Austen’s wife, Cassandra, must have been a particularly well-organise and relaxed person – laid-back, we might say today – to run such a household.
Fulwar’s brothers later joined him at Steventon: Tom in 1779 and William and Charles sometime in the early 1780s. The young Austens also visited Kintbury, and many years later, in 1812, James Austen wrote a poem in which he recalled staying at the Fowles’ home in Kintbury:
And still in my mind’s eye methinks I see
The village pastor’s cheerful family.
The father grave, but oft with humour dry
Producing the quaint jest or shrewd reply;
The busy bustling mother who like Eve
Would ever and anon the circle leave
Her mind on hospitable thoughts intent
Careful domestic blunders to prevent.
Whilst James Austen was clearly not a second Wordsworth, his words suggest the Fowles were a warm, happy family. Perhaps the “humour dry” and “quaint jest” suggest that the Austens & Fowles shared a common sense of humour or enjoyed the same sort of witticisms. Perhaps both families would a have agreed with Jane Austen’s Mr Bennett when he said,
“For what do we live, but to make sport for our neighbours, and laugh at them in our turn?”
There is certainly evidence that Fulwar had an acerbic sense of humour, which is perhaps not surprising in a close friend of the Austens.
At Steventon, all the Fowle brothers were successful students. Fulwar went on to enter St John’s College, Oxford in 1871 where he gained a BA in 1785 and an MA in 1788. His brother, Thomas went up to Oxford in 1783 and gained an MA in 1794. William went on to study medicine ( not yet a subject taught in an English university ) as an apprentice to his uncle William Fowle in London. Charles studied law and was called to the bar in 1800, later practising law in Newbury.
Perhaps it was inevitable that Fulwar would follow his father and grandfather into the church; in 1786 he was ordained deacon at Salisbury cathedral and was installed curate of St Mary’s, Hamstead Marshall on the following Christmas Eve. It has to be very likely that he obtained this post due to family patronage, which, at this time, would have seemed perfectly normal and acceptable with no accusation of nepotism.
The west door, St Mary’s, Kintbury
Also in the manner of the time, Fulwar became rector of Elkstone in Gloucestershire in 1788 where the manor had belonged to the Craven family since 1623. 0nce again an example of an appointment made as a result of family connections.
1788 was also the year in which Fulwar married his cousin, Elizabeth – known as Eliza – Lloyd. Eliza’s mother was the former Martha Craven, daughter of Governor Craven of Hamstead Marshall. Martha had married the Rev Noyes Lloyd, vicar of Enborne in 1763 and Eliza, along with her sisters, Martha & Mary, with their brother Charles, had grown up there. Sadly, Charles died in 1775 following an outbreak of smallpox.
In Elkstone, the elegant, three storey rectory built earlier in the century became Eliza & Fulwar’s family home for the first six years of their marriage. Their first child, however, Fulwar William, was born at Deane, near Basingstoke in Hampshire in 1791. It has to be likely that this was because Eliza’s mother and her sisters Mary & Martha had been living there since having to vacate Enborne vicarage on the death of Rev Nowes Lloyd in 1789. As a first-time mother, Eliza probably wanted her confinement to be somewhere close to her family for support.
The Old Rectory, Elkstone Phto: Chris Brown, via CreativeCommone
The couple’s second child, Mary Jane, was born at Elkstone in 1792 although the baptism of their third child, Thomas, in 1793, is recorded as being in Hurstbourne Tarrant, near Andover in Hampshire. Although it is a very long way from Elkstone, Eliza’s mother and sisters were now living at Ibstone, a hamlet close to Hurstbourne Tarrant so it would be logical to assume Eliza had once more returned to her family for her confinement.
In 1794 the family returned to Kintbury where Fulwar took over the incumbency. By now there were two more children: Mary Jane, had been born in Elkstone in 1792 & Thomas in Hurstbourne Tarrant in 1793.
Caroline Elizabeth had been born in December of 1794 but died the following January. Both her baptism and death are recorded as being at Hurstbourne Tarrant.
In January 1797 a happier event occurred at Hurstbourne Tarrant where Eliza’s sisters Mary & Martha were still living with their mother. Mary Lloyd married the widowed James Austen and became step-mother to James’ daughter Anna. In the custom of the time, Eliza Fowle could now speak of James Austen as her brother. Martha Lloyd was to become one of Jane Austen’s closest friends and a life-long companion.
However, tragedy was soon to strike the extended family.
In 1795, Fulwar’s brother Tom Fowle had become engaged in secret to Cassandra Austen prior to joining an expedition to the West Indies as Lord Craven’s chaplain. However, he was never to return and news of his death from yellow fever reached Kintbury in the February of 1797. It was James and Mary who broke the news to Cassandra.
Over the next eight years four more children were born to Fulwar and Eliza in the Kintbury vicarage. In a letter to Cassandra of December 1st, 1798 Jane Austen wrote,
“No news from Kintbury yet – Eliza sports with our impatience.”
It is worth remembering that this was a time when everyone would have known someone who had died in childbirth so Jane Austen’s wry humour would be masking a real concern for Eliza’s welfare. Elizabeth Caroline ( known as Caroline ) arrived five days later on December 6th. She was christened in Kintbury on January 19th by James Austen.
Isabella followed in 1799, Charles in 1804 and Henry in 1807.
The Fowles, the Lloyds and the Austens remained friends throughout their lives. The little girl Fulwar had first got to know in the Steventon vicarage had shown a prodigious talent for writing and become a very succesful novelist. In 1815 the Prince Regent even requested that Jane should dedicate her latest novel to him, which she did. As it happens that novel was Emma, the one about which Fulwar famously said he would only read the first and the last chapters as he had heard it wasn’t interesting. I very much doubt that Jane would have been particularly offended by this comment – after all, she knew him almost as well as she knew her older brothers, and for almost as long.
Despite the disparaging comments about Emma, we know that Fulwar did indeed purchase other of Jane’s novels, as copies with his name, written in his handwriting on the title pages, have fairly recently come up for auction. We know from Jane’s letters that Eliza bought a copy of Sense & Sensibility.
Throughout this time there are many passing references to Fulwar & Eliza in the letters of Jane Austen. However the most telling reference as regards Fulwar is that January 1801. In her letter to Cassandra, Jane writes:
“We played at vingt-un, which, as Fulwar was unsuccessful, gave him an opportunity of exposing himself as usual.”
Fulwar, it seems , was not good at hiding his bad temper. But by this time Jane had known him for over twenty five years and must have been very well aware of his moods.
As their priest, Fulwar Craven Fowle served the people of Kintbury for the rest of his life. Whilst not all Anglican clergy were in any way wealthy and some seem just to have been scratching a living in their parishes – (indeed it is believed one of the reasons why the ill-fated Rev Thomas Fowle took the post of Chaplain to Lord Craven’s expedition was to raise enough money to marry Cassandra ) – all the evidence suggests that the Fowles’ life in Kintbury was secure and comfortable.
As well as carrying out his duties as parish priest in Kintbury and, from time to time visiting the parish of Elkstone, Fulwar was very much involved in West Berkshire public life.
In 1805 he was appointed Lieutenant Colonel Commandant of the Kintbury Rifle Corps and in the same year led the local Volunteer Brigade to Bulmersh, near Reading where they and other volunteer regiments were inspected by George III. Apparently the King was particularly impressed by the “military perfection” of the Berkshire Volunteers and with Rev Fowle as their officer.
I think it’s worth remembering that at this time there was still the threat of invasion from the French under Napoleon across the channel and the south coast felt particularly vulnerable. Having an efficient volunteer force was important to the nation’s security in the same way as the Home Guard was in the Second World War.
Despite the country being on a war footing and the newspapers continuing to carry reports of Napoleon, daily life continued relatively uninterrupted.
It seems that Rev Fowle moved within what Jane Austen’s Mrs Elton would have described as “the first circle” socially. According to a newspaper report of 1807, for example, he was one of several dignitaries to attend a race meeting at Enborne Heath near Newbury. Others named include the Earl of Craven and Sir Joseph Andrews of Shaw House, Newbury. Very much the local “great and good”.
What is perhaps surprising is the amount of property and land that Fulwar owned in the area. This included 55 acres of farm land, two cottages and other farm buildings at Rooks’ Nest farm just south of Kintbury, and also 350 acres of pasture and arable land with adjoining farm house and other buildings at East Woodhay, just over the border in Hampshire.
However, Fulwar does seem to have taken an interest in agriculture and was not simply a landowner who cared solely about collecting the rent. In 1808 he was elected Steward of the Berkshire Agricultural Society for that year and in 1820 became a member of the Hampshire Agricultural Society
This was the time of what is now known as the agricultural revolution – the period throughout the late eighteenth century into the nineteenth century when many landowners and working farmers were developing ways to increase agricultural production. In this area, South Downs and Merinos were the breeds of sheep most commonly kept by farmers but at the Hampshire Agricultural Show of 1820 the Rev Fowle exhibited a pen of Leicesters which, “excited much attention” as they had not been seen there before. Furthermore, the superior weight gain of these sheep, when compared to that of the usual breeds, was due, it was believed, to their having been fed on a diet of “sliced Swedish turnips” rather than corn and cake. Over the next two years, the Leicesters maintained their advantage when reared under controlled conditions.
A Leicester Ram Photo: John Wrightson via Creative Commons
Whilst it has to be likely that it was a shepherd in Rev Fowle’s employment who would have undertaken all the husbandry involved in this experiment, Fulwar himself must have approved of its happening and may well have initiated it.
The Agricultural Revolution resulted in a slow and relatively peaceful change throughout the country. The same could not have been said about the French Revolution, observed from across the channel, where social change had included the violent removal of the monarchy and aristocracy. Throughout Fulwar’s life there were campaigns for social and political reform across the country but these were accompanied by fears, on the part of the establishment, of the kind of violence that had been seen in France. I think it is in the light of such fears that we need to assess the response of certain authorities to the unrest that broke out across southern England in 1830, though it does not excuse the more extreme reactions.
By 1830, Fulwar was 66 and Eliza 65. The couple still lived in the vicarage: the white building next to the River Kennet where Fulwar had grown up although now its garden formed part of the south bank of the Kennet & Avon canal as it flowed towards Kintbury wharf, bringing coal and other commodities to the village.
Fulwar also served as a magistrate and was, therefore, regarded as a figure of authority and most probably of derision on the part of those who came before the bench. Such is human nature. He seems to have been respected and held in affection by the members of his church; by now, however, Kintbury had both a Methodist church and a Primitive Methodist church so numbers of nonconformists in the village would not have been inconsiderable: Rev Fowle was not everyone’s priest.
Their neighbour, 79 year old Charles Dundas still had his seat at Barton Court, less than half a mile along the coaching road which led from the Bath Road into the village. Dundas had been Member of Parliament for Berkshire since 1794.
Charles Dundas, MP & Kintbury Resident
We have written quite extensively in this blog about the events which led up to the Swing Riots of 1830. Formore information you might like to look at these articles: The Kintbury Martyr parts 1, 2 and 3.
Following a year of escalating hardships, by the autumn of 1830 the agricultural labourers focussed their attention on threshing machine: the mechanical devices that could do the work of several men at a time rendering them redundant when their casual employment was most crucial if they were to earn enough to feed their families through the upcoming winter. By the night of November 21st of that year, a riotous mob of angry men was roaming through the local villages, demanding money from the farmers and threatening to set fires and smash machinery, in particular the hated threshing machines.
Thanks to a letter held by the National Archives we can read Fulwar’s own account of what happened when the Kintbury mob arrived at the vicarage. Apart from some of his sermons, the letter is the only time we can hear his voice through his writing – writing that is small and neat despite the strain of the night he has just witnessed. He frequently punctuates by using dashes. Both the neatness, much of the letter formations and the dashes are reminiscent of Jane Austen’s letter writing, which leads me to wonder if both were influenced by George Austen. It’s a thought.
The letter opens:
Dear Dundas,
The mob continued their work of breaking machines the whole of the night. They came to me about 4 oC in the morning. Harrison consulted with me and I agreed with him that it would be better to bring your machines to Kintbury and let them break them there than that they should go to BC for that purpose. They were brought up accordingly and taken into the street.
I think it is important to remember that at this time there was no police force and no authority that the Fowles could have called upon easily had they felt threatened. We do not know if anyone else was living at the vicarage besides Fulwar and Eliza – there may well have been one or two domestic servants and we know that Fulwar had a gun licence but all the same the couple would have been aware that they had very little personal protection had the mob turned violently against them.
Fulwar’s tone is resigned with acceptance of the situation rather than anger. He is clearly being kept informed of developments, telling Dundas that the mob has moved on to Titcombe, Hungerford Park and North Hidden, intending to go further. If this is correct, the rioters must have been moving swiftly through the area to have covered the distance. Furthermore, someone – or perhaps several people – must have been following on horseback to be able to report back as to what was happening. In these days of radio or mobile phone communication, it is easy to forget just how difficult it must have been in 1830 to follow what was happening.
The rioters have been demanding money:
I understand that they will have two pounds from each person; I know they had two from me, from Johnson, Captain Dunn and Mr Alderman.
According to the Bank of England online inflation calculator, £2 in 1830 equates to £199.40 today.
Once more I find Fulwar’s tone interesting – he is accepting of the situation and, at this time at least, offers no criticism or disapprobation.
I have not heard that they have committed personal violence on anyone rather than forcing the labourers to join them. Ploughs with cast iron shears appear to me as much the object of their hatred as machines and these they have broken many.
It is obviously important to Fulwar that he points out to Dundas that the rioters have not been personally violent to anyone and that the labourers ( by which I understand those not originally part of the “mob” ) are being forced to join in. Today we might speak of these people as being radicalised by the original protesters.
Further details are being brought to the vicarage as Fulwar writes:
I have just received a message from Mr Willes that the different parties have joined at Hungerford and exceed 1000 men.
One thousand men. That is half the population of modern day Kintbury. Even if that number is an exaggeration, a mob of even 250 angry men would be very frightening.
Fulwar continues to add to his letter as further information is brought to him. The Hungerford and Kintbury men have met with Mr Pearce ( a farmer ) and Mr Willes ( John Willes, JP of Hungerford Park ) and others. The men were demanding:
… twelve shillings a week for a man & wife & three children & the price of a gallon loaf for every child above three – these terms were acceded to by the Gentlemen as far as they could be, they were to be recommended for adoption to the farmers. I hope they will aceede (sic) to them I am in momentary expectation of being sent for by the Kintbury men who are returned or just returning to the village. I cannot of course try to beat them down to a lower price. These loaves to the children are all that men in health are to have from the parish as I understand these Gentlemen
According to the Bank of England, twelve shillings in 1830 equates to £59.82 today. The price of a gallon loaf in Newbury varied between one shilling and seven pence and one shilling and nine pence, so something around £8 today.
Fulwar concludes his letter at this point, then adds a post script:
I have just met the men – they (missing text) the same terms which had been agreed at Hungerford and I told them that as far as was in my power I would endeavour to persuade the farmers to agree to them. The men gave three cheers and expressed themselves perfectly satisfied but they all agreed that there must be no payment in bread but all in money. I could not feel justified in bringing back angry feelings by refusing to promise to recommend that also.
Fulwar’s tone in this letter is undoubtedly conciliatory. Whilst he admits that he does not want to bring back angry feelings, I don’t believe he was merely seeming to be sympathetic to the demands because the men are threatening.
Unfortunately, not everyone was in agreement with the way Fulwar dealt with the mob, believing him to be too much in sympathy with them and encouraging them. Someone complained to Lord Melbourne, the Home Secretary, and as a result, Charles Dundas and over ninety other villagers signed a letter to Melbourne, assuring him that Rev Fowle had done everything he could to quieten the disturbances.
Despite Fulwar’s attempts, the wider disturbances did not end there and then at the Kintbury vicarage, as we have written about elsewhere on this blog. The resulting court case was eventually heard at Reading the following January. Whilst several of the rioters were transported to Australia, just one man was executed: Kintbury’s William Winterbourne.
Winterbourne was hanged in Reading Gaol on January 11th 1831. Fulwar had his body returned to Kintbury where he was buried the next day in St Mary’s churchyard and later a grave stone erected. On the stone, Winterbourne is recorded as “William Smith” , Smith being his mother’s name and, as his parents were not married, it was the custom of the time to regard a child’s official surname to be that of the mother.
I think it is difficult for us today to appreciate how very unusual – indeed, practically unheard of – it was then for a labourer such as Winterbourne to have a grave stone. Such would be completely beyond the budget of poorer people and even skilled craftsmen and women and many who today we might consider to be “lower middle class” would not necessarily have a grave stone but be laid to rest in an unmarked plot. Rev Fowle was responsible for Winterbourne’s burial and grave stone in Kintbury churchyard and it would be interesting to know how the rest of the village reacted to what he did.
William winterbourne/Smith’s grave
There has long been a persistent idea locally that Fulwar did this out of a feeling of guilt. I do not believe this to be so and there is absolutely no evidence, as far as I have been able to find, to suggest that Fulwar had any responsibility for the outcome of the trial or felt any guilt as a result of it. I believe his feelings would have been of extreme sorrow.
As a parish priest and also as a magistrate he was a figure of authority in a village where, in common with all of England at this time, everyone was expected to know their place in society, and stick within it. So, if he was known amongst many villagers as “Ol’ Fowle”, as some people believe, this does not signify any particular derision than that which would have been afforded to many other figures of authority or those who had agency over the working people.
On May 26th 1839, Eliza Fowle died at the Kintbury vicarage. She was 71. On March 9th of the following year, Fulwar also died. He was 75. His memorial, over the pulpit in the church describes him as: Pastor, Neighbour, Friend.
The Fowle family grave, St Mary’s churchyard, Kintbury
Fulwar’s death brought to an end nearly 100 years of the Fowle family as priests in Kintbury. Less than thirty years later, the white vicarage mentioned by James Austen in his poem, had gone, to be replaced by a then very fashionable neo gothic house which is still there today.
Elizabeth Caroline lived in Kintbury all her life. When Cassandra Austen died in 1845, she left £1000 and a shawl which had previously belonged to Mrs Jane Fowle to her. Very sadly, Elizabeth Caroline died in a London asylum in 1860.
Mary Jane Dexter, née Fowle, died in 1883 and Isabella Lidderdale, née Fowle, died in 1884, both in Kintbury.
On January 11th every year, people gather in Kintbury church yard to remember William Winterbourne/Smith, the Kintbury Martyr. But for Fulwar, Winterbourne’s grave would be in Reading, not here in Kintbury.
Throughout the year, Janeites ( as those who love the works of Jane Austen are called ) visit Kintbury because of her connections to the village through the Fowle family. Fulwar Craven Fowle is the link between what are often our very different parties of visitors.
And thanks to him we have this charming recollection of the woman he had known as a friend all her life:
” Like a doll……certainly pretty – bright and a good deal of colour in her face – like a doll – no, that would not give at all the right idea for she had so much expression – she was like a child – quite a child, very lively and full of humour.”
Sources:
Jane Austen’s Letters, collected and edited by Deirdre Le Faye, 1996
