Extracts from a book of memoirs written by the Reverend Thomas Huntingford, who was born at Lord Weymouth’s School, Warminster, in 1810.
He was the son of Thomas Huntingford, who was the Headmaster of the School from 1777 to 1787.
The book of memoirs was in 1960 and 1961 in the possession of Miss Richards of Allendale, Boreham Road, Warminster. The Reverend Thomas Huntingford was her great grandfather.
The memoirs cover the period 1810 to 1855 and feature local references to Warminster, Corsley, and Bishopstrow, and places further afield including Cheltenham, Southampton and Winchester.
INTRODUCTION AND TRIBUTE
To his uncle George Isaac Huntingford
who succeeded his father as
Headmaster of Lord Weymouth’s School,
Warminster.
– Kempsford. January 1st, 1833.
This book I found in my dear Uncle’s bureau, after his death, at Winchester. He died, Warden of Winchester and Bishop of Hereford, April 29, 1832, in his Lodgings at the College.
It appears to have been his account book for the Living of Milbourne Port . . . The first part was probably torn out, when he resigned the Living.
As I do, with justice, exceedingly venerate everything which ever belonged to one who was always to me and my family “in loco Parentis,” I will make use of the remainder of this book for the purpose of recording what I think may be interesting to my children, after I am taken from them!
My father, probably after staying the usual time at Trinity, and taking his degree, became Master of the Choristers’ School at New College. After continuing some time in this situation at New College, he obtained (probably by my uncle’s interest with Lord Bath, whose son was his pupil at Winchester) the School at Warminster, where he married my dear mother, then Miss Seagram; by her he had eight children, one of whom died in infancy.
There were three Miss Seagrams. One married Mr. Still, a Clothier in great business; this was thought an excellent match; but after a time he broke, and they were all reduced to extreme poverty. I remember my Aunt Still but once. She was much like my mother…… Another Miss Seagram married Mr. Bayly, a Clothier and Maltster; She is still alive (my good Aunt Bayly), and has most creditably and comfortably bred up a family on a very small income. When my mother married Mr. Huntingford, who had no money, and had just taken Warminster School, it was thought a very bad match, yet, under divine providence, it turned out the best of the three.
My father had the living of Corsley, near Warminster, from Lord Bath. He was very fond of it; and we children used to spend much time there, as being healthier than the town. Many of my earliest recollections are of Corsley. We were delighted by the curds and whey, and little cheeses, given us by Farmer Marven, near the church. My father improved the garden very much. He put up a tub (which turned round) as a garden seat. I remember Fanny and I had been sitting in it, and on coming out, looked up at a famous old cherry tree. We were, however, struck at seeing a man in the tree, threatening to shoot us! We ran with all our speed into the house, and there we told that this terrible man was but a figure put up to frighten the birds.
I have a very slight recollection of my father. My mother often told me he was a stout, athletic man, fond of strong exercise; very lively and cheerful. I can remember him once taking me on his knee, and playing me a tune on the violoncello. And I recollect perfectly seeing him come in from his last walk, take some tea, and go up to his bedroom, from which he never came down alive. He had walked from Salisbury, was wet, neglected to change his clothes, was seized with inflammation in the chest, and after suffering very acute pain, died in a few days, leaving my poor mother pregnant with my brother Henry, and us, six small children.
Then it was that the peculiar greatness of my dear uncle’s character fully displayed itself. After a laborious life, as tutor, for fifteen years, he had not long before been chosen Fellow of Winchester…… He was thus enjoying literary pursuits in comparative ease, in his rooms in College. He was sent for, to see his brother at Warminster. The Medical Man had given him over; my uncle was standing by my father’s bedside; my poor father took his hand, and, looking on his wife and children, he said, “George, you will take care of these.” “I will,” said my uncle. “Then,” said my father, “I shall die easy.” And soon after he expired, not more than thirty-five years old. He was buried at Warminster, in the vault of the Seagram family.
This promise, made to his dying brother, was never absent from my uncle’s mind; and we all bear grateful witness to the manner in which he nobly fulfilled it. Another man might have been kind to us and relieved us as far as he could; and as his income was small, no man could have said, but that this would have been doing all that could have been expected of him. But, his mind, and his sense of duty, were not so easily to be satisfied. That he might be able to support my mother and her children, he again submitted to the drudgery of keeping a school; and so succeeded to my poor father’s situation.”
It must have been about three years after my uncle became a Fellow of Winchester College that my poor father died. I can recollect perfectly well seeing him in his coffin, in his bedroom, which is now Dr. Griffith’s Drawing room; and afterwards sleeping in the same room, in a little bed, close to my poor mother’s. I remember, too, exactly where I stood, to have my first (boy’s) clothes, a black suit, put on. I was then five years old..…
The first thing I recollect of my uncle, at Warminster is, his returning after having gone, I believe, to take a degree at Oxford. We children hid behind a curtain, and jumped out upon him, with “How d’ye do, Mr. Doctor?”
One of the first things I remember is the rejoicing upon George Third’s First recovery; the School House was illuminated, which I thought was a wonderful sight. Not long after, my mother was confined, with my brother Henry, who, from such afflicting circumstances, was at first a very weakly child, and it was feared could not be reared; which prognostic was most happily erroneous. But I can well recollect his sad fits, and the bathing of his feet in hot water for them.
It must have been about this time that a sad calamity befell me. I and my sister Lucy were together in the Parlour, standing before the fire; at that time there were no fireguards, nothing but straight, low fenders. A coal fell out of the fire, upon my pinafore. I fancy I see now a round hole in the pinafore, encircled with sparks. “Your clothes are on fire, Tom,” said poor Lucy. In a moment it blazed out, and I was indeed on fire. I held my head up to save my eyes, and no doubt both Lucy and I screamed lustily, Mr Lawes, the Writing-Master, first came in; and in my fright I could not help laughing at the poor man scorching his own fingers, in his bungling attempts to untie the string of my pinafore. My uncle then came in; and with great presence of mind, knocked me down and rolled me up in the carpet, which happily was not, as is now the fashion, nailed down. This saved my life; so that, under divine providence, I have a peculiar debt of gratitude to my dear uncle, beyond my brothers and sisters. I can fancy now the horrid smouldering feeling of being in the carpet, and the little burnt rolls of cloth. I was dreadfully burnt; sheets of paper (or linen) dipt in oil were laid on my wounds, and scraped potatoe. The dressing of the wounds was painful, particularly the application of caustic to the proud flesh , that I always tried to hide myself from Mr. Seagram, the surgeon (my mother’s brother). It was six months before I was well. Mr right arm, in particular, was so dreadfully scorched that the muscles were contracted, in a degree which rendered it for some time doubtful whether I should recover the use of it. Thank God, I did, perfectly.
I recollect little more at Warminster till 1789, when my uncle was chosen Warden of Winchester College, on the death of Warden Lee. The great wagon, loaded high with furniture, I well remember; and our journey to Winchester through Salisbury. We all dined at Salisbury; and having eaten heartily of ham, were most dreadfully thirsty before we reached Winchester. The roads were wet, and I quite longed to get out and drink from the puddles. I have a faint recollection of our arrival at college and our childish delight in running about the large house……
I have omitted one thing at Warminster, that my kind friend, Mr. Vivian, was there with my uncle, as a pupil. I also recollect seeing my friend Temple come to school in the morning, on a little bay long-tailed pony, led by a servant on another horse.
George III also came to Longleat, and all the boys went in a wagon to see him. We went in Cutler’s chaise, used generally (like many post-chaises in those days) with one horse. On this occasion another horse, a dark brown, was added as an out-rigger, and he made such a champing on his bit, that we could not hold the telescope steady enough to see the king, who, we were told, was standing on the top of Longleat House.
It must have been somewhere about this time that I was sent to school at Kilmerston, not far from Warminster. I must have been a very little fellow, for I remember crawling under all the gates. Soon after, I was sent to a school at Reading, where my great-grandmother and grandmother were living. My old relations were very kind to me, and I recollect perfectly well their peculiar bread-pudding. Of the school I remember but this; the master punished the boys by fastening to their legs by a lock a huge log of wood. One day the usher was opening the lock to release a boy; he was pulling very hard, when it suddenly gave way and he tumbled backwards with his heels in the air, to our infinite delight. “Parva leves capiunt mentes.”
I imagine it must have been soon after we came to Winchester that I was sent as a private pupil to Mr. Brereton, who lived on the hill, facing St. Thomas Street. Before that, and indeed occasionally afterwards, I used to be taught Latin and Greek by my dear uncle; but probably he had not time to teach me always. Temple was a private pupil to Mr. Brereton at the same time.
My sisters, after little time, went to school; Charlotte and Julia went to Mrs. Davis’, at Salisbury; Maria and Fanny went to Mrs. Whittaker, at Corsham, near Bath. When at home they used to read with my uncle; and were taught music by Mr. Fussel, Organist at the College. Temple and I were playfellows.
One of Mr. Brereton’s servants was a boy named Abraham Wig. He was sent with me to my home every night. At that time certain wise persons took it into their heads to fancy that the millennium was approaching. and that the end of the world was near. Abraham Wig used to pour forth his lamentations, and alarm me with the certain assurance that the world would come to an end “about next Saturday week.” However, the next Saturday week soon came to prove our fears groundless.
I was sent when about 11 years old, in 1794, to Dr. Mant’s School at Southampton. He was a good master, though strict. He wanted to break through the custom of Easter Holidays, yet some parents persisted in having their sons home for Easter. I knew nothing then of all this; but as I heard some boys were going home, I had written a letter to my mother, to ask if I might go home also. Dr. Mant called me to bring him the letter. When he had seen its contents, he cried out in no small wrath, “Oh, you’ll ask for Easter Holidays, will you? Fetch me the rod;” and a sound scourging he gave me. I always thought this rather hard, as I had no intention of doing wrong. How well I recollect the “fetching the rod.” A bundle of birch was always in a cupboard in the corner of the school.
Whenever the master went to flog a boy he sent him for the rod; and the little culprit had to go and pick out a good bundle of birch for his own back! I was scourged once besides this; but I forget for what offence; some trifle, I believe, for I was never flogged for my lesson, being always fortunate enough to be near the top of my class. Three faults in an exercise were sufficient enough for a “caning,” and this I sometimes got…I do not remember much fagging. Now and then I was set to beat clay, to make small houses for tame mice which the boys kept in their desks. I never suffered cruelty myself, though I have seen it exercised on other boys…One of my cousins, W. Seagram, now an eminent surgeon in Warminster, was also at Dr. Mant’s, and was a boy of marked prowess in all contests with the boys in the town.
It was in 1794 that I entered the School (Winchester), and was placed in Junior Part the Fifth. Dr. Goddard was headmaster, Mr. Gabell second master. I went first into Commoners, but boarded and slept in my uncle’s house. On the 19th of July, 1794, my sister Julia, then about 17, was married in St. Michael’s Church, to George Lowther Esq…an Irish gentleman, of large property in county Dublin. On the 7th of July, 1796, my sister Charlotte was married to the Rev. Mr. Stonhouse Vigor, at St. Michael’s, Winchester. I was present; and I well remember that my dear uncle began the service, but was so affected by the thought of losing his niece, that he could not get on, and Mr Jefferies finished it. Mr Stonhouse was son of Sir James Stonhouse.
My holidays were most commonly spent at Bishopstrow with my friend Temple, who lived with his mother. She was a dear, excellent and kind friend to me, almost like a mother! How gratefully I recollect her kindness to me and how sincerely I regret her death, which, however did not take place till many years after I was grown up and married. There could not be a better christian than this excellent woman! Her health was bad, and she was almost always suffering from headache; yet she was always placid and cheerful, most indulgent and considerate to us boys. Her mind was strong, and her judgement sound. A better mother never existed, her person was large; and though some fastidious people might have said she was not “genteel,” according to the present over-refined meaning of the word, yet her manner was dignified, and even commanding; so that she conciliated universal affection and respect. My dear, dear friend! How gladly I pay this small tribute to her memory!
How much we all owe to my dear uncle, for his great care in our Education! (This was Dr. George Isaac Huntingford, Headmaster of Lord Weymouth School, 1787). It must have been no easy matter for him to pay so much for us every year. At that time his income was by no means large. Yet he paid for the education of us all, and at the same time lived respectably as Warden (of Winchester College). My dear mother was an excellent manager, and made the most of everything, saving thus much expense. They had a small establishment, Butler, Footman, Gardener, three Maid-servants; but no carriage; and only one horse, for the use of my uncle, who then used to ride almost every day. If they had occasion to take a journey, they went in a post-chaise. I well remember the packing up on these occasions; particularly when my uncle, as Warden, sallied forth with the Bursar, etc. on the College Progress, which we all thought a great event.
One of our family journeys was often, for the Summer holidays, to Berkeley, near Warminster, a very nice place, belonging to Mr Rogers, an old schoolfellow and friend of my uncle’s. Mr Rogers had not himself much property; I think he was curate of some neighbouring place, when he became acquainted with and married Miss Prowse, to whom the excellent house and estate of Berkeley belonged. He improved it very much and made it a delightful place. Many and many a happy day did we all spend there, for Mr Rogers most kindly received us all, for weeks together. Both I and Henry still remember our pleasant days at this place, and the delight it gave us to see all the farm work going on; the milking the cows, by a man called Taylor; and the going to Frome market with Vincent the butler, and breakfasting there on coffee and toast. How thankful we should be for the good-natured kindness we received from everyone! for though we were not intentionally troublesome or mischievous, yet we were boys, and as such no doubt often gave much trouble.
If it ever happened that we spent part of the Holy days at home, my uncle would hire a pony for me…..I remember often riding with him; and on one fine summer’s day being particularly amused by the persevering attacks made by the Cock-chafers on his wig. In those days wigs were serious things, and of great substance and depth; so that my uncle knew and felt nothing of the holes bored by the Chafers through the powder and pomatum.
Some little time after the Election, 1798, I was made a prefect. I was then just fifteen. In the same chamber, as a junior boy, my pupil, and my valet, was Buckland, now the celebrated Professor of Geology! I remember nothing worht noticing at this time. A prefect of Winchester is in as easy a situation as any schoolboy can be. In fact, he is never, in after life, so great a man. Having fagged as a junior he now, in his turn, has others to fag for him. The dignity of a prefect is marked by his wearing a hat, a privilege not allowed to his inferiors, within the College walls. School Business was easy to me; and I enjoyed much all athletic games.
After Election, 1800, I was senior of the school; and about Easter 1801, there being a vacancy for me at New College, I left school, and after remaining a short time at home entered at New College, Oxford, in June. And thus, under divine providence, by the kind care of my dear uncle, I safely attained a most desirable situation. Upon looking back, however, at this period, I am forced to confess, that I did not profit, as I might have done, from the advantages I possessed. I was idle, and did things not to be remembered with any satisfaction. Being fond of athletic sports, I too often followed them to the neglect of more important business. And I now write this as a warning to my children. It is true, I succeeded well, yet I shudder to recollect how often I was brought to failure through my own foolishness! In my uncle I had a friend and a helper which others cannot calculate upon; without him, I undoubtedly should not have got on…..I most humbly and heartily thank almighty God, that I was not left to myself.
When I entered at New College, in June, 1801, I was rather more than 18. My great friend was John Ballard. We were always together; reading a little in the morning; taking a walk, or run; drinking tea; meaning to read in the evening, but generally “cosing” or playing Backgammon.
Unluckily there was much less strictness in reading, and examinations, than there is now. Our work with the college tutors was next to nothing; and the examinations at the end of term, very trifling; so that I found it much too easy to be idle. In these points, New College is much improved.
My vacations I spent either at Winchester, or at my second home Bishopstrow, with Temple. I remember one of our great cronies at Bishopstrow was a Mr Colson, a clergyman of Dorchester. He was a good natured man, full of drollery and humour, a great sportsman. He was brother-in-law to Mr. Dampier, the clergyman of Codford, who also often came to Bishopstrow, but we did not like him so much. How delightful to me is the recollection of our old Bishopstrow days! Amongst our neighbours were, Sir W. A’Court’s family at Heytesbury, and Mr. Thring, a most respectable attorney at Warminster, father of my old schoolfellow Gale Thring, now a man of fortune at Acford in Somersetshire, an estate bought by his father. The four Miss A’Courts were particularly nice young women. I remember at a little ball, given by Mr. Thring falling terribly in love with one of them, now Mrs Ph. Bouverie. She was then an exceedingly pretty girl; and has since proved herself to be what is of more importance, a very excellent woman. By the bye, at the ball, I recollect a remarkable circumstance; the frost was so severe, on some rain or sleet just fallen, that some of the gentlemen came on skates along the pavement of the streets.
The Inner Garden of New College was in my time a bowling green, and a wall separated it from the rest of the garden. And all along the outer wall, there was a row of large trees, very curious as being a singular specimen of what gardeners call “Inarching.” i.e. connecting one tree with another, by ingrafting a branch of one tree into the trunk or branch of its neighbour. I was sorry to hear they were cut down. In summer, after Hall, we used to go to the bowling green; some played at bowls; others walked about, or drank their Negus in the bowling green house. It was very pleasant.
Thus the time passed away till 1802, in which year my dear uncle was made Bishop of Gloucester, by Lord Sidmouth, who, as Mr. Addington, had been his pupil at Winchester. He had long been looked upon as the next Bishop. How well I recollect being in the dining room at Winchester, when my uncle opened the door, with a letter in his hand, and merely said, “Bishop of Gloucester”!
In 1803, the War with France having broken out again, after the short Peace of 1802, Bonaparte threatened England with an invasion. (This was a second alarm, for there was a former one, while I was a boy in Winchester College. We boys caught the military fever. Still and I were the leaders of the regiments we formed!) All the country rose in arms, and every man became a soldier. The fear of invasion subsided, and I never actually appeared in arms. But I learnt the sword exercise, in New College Garden, of Sergeant Alder, half-pay from a Dragoon Regiment. Temple and I, in the vacation, used to exercise on horseback, in his orchard. But we neither of us went further than this, and it is lucky we went so far without hurting ourselves or our horses.
Before leaving Oxford, Thomas Huntingford became engaged to marry Harriet Apperley, of Wotton, near Gloucester; and through his uncle’s influence he obtained the post of tutor to the young son of the Duke of Leeds, riding up country to take up his work at Kiveton in Yorkshire, as “the cheapest way of getting through a long journey.” At Chesterfield he sought a barber to be “to be dressed and powdered in high form,” before appearing in the Ducal family, with whom his next years, until his pupil went to Eton, were very happily spent. His salary was £200 a year; from the first payment he “paid Temple a debt of long standing.” incurred when, “longing for a horse,” he borrowed money off Temple to buy one. He was not always fortunate in horse-dealing. He bought a mare and was green enough to be persuaded that she was everything that was delighful, and gave £40 for her. She was a bay, got by Spectre, but showing very little blood; which I remember drew afterwards a sarcastic remark from Lord Bath’s huntsman in Wiltshire. He was warning “gentlemen” not to go into the furze, lest they should prick their horses’ legs; looking down at Miss Prim’s hairy heels, “but it won’t hurt her,” quoth the saucy fellow. However, Miss Prim and I went on some time together. I made her leap well; and cool enough when no hounds were near; but with hounds she was terribly hot, and gave me now and then a fall, but that I then little regarded. When I went into Yorkshire I left her at Winchester, and desired my cousin Baily (then a tutor in Commoners, now Dr. Baily), to sell her.
In the Spring of 1807, Thomas Huntingford was ordained, in Holy Orders by his uncle the Bishop, privately, in the college chapel at Winchester. During this period of holiday from tutoring he stayed again at Bishopstrow, ‘to see my friend Temple and his mother. While I was there, Mrs Temple gave me a beautiful white peacock.’ In London looking after his pupil there, he escorted his employer’s lady to the anniversary meeting of all the charity schools at St Pauls.
The memoir continues:
It was a fine day and we walked; but when we went to the door for admittance, we had forgotten some form, and the man would not admit us. I well remember my wrath! “This is the Duchess of Leeds,” quoth I. “It may be,” quoth he, “but how am I to know it?” However after a time he admitted us; and a grand old interesting sight it was; the singing of the hundredth Psalm by so many children was most striking. But before I left London I made one great mistake. I was very fond of music; I wished Harriet (his fiancee) to practice as much as possible, and promised her an instrument. Unluckily, I had always been in the habit of hearing a harpsichord, and was too old-fashioned to allow the superiority of the piano. So I made a bargain with Kirkman, and gave him 50 guineas for a harpsichord, a very fine instrument of the kind: I sent it down to Gloucester; and sorely was poor Harriet disappointed to find it was not a piano! I kept it till after we were married; till my brother took it off my hands, and I got an upright grand piano.
When I was at Keeton, I bought of Mr. Maw, for Temple, a Black Mare to breed from. I think the old fellow took me in, in making me give £45 for her. She was a thorough-bred, and had once been Hudson’s (of the Leeds family). She bred some tolerably good colts. One of the best Georgy Temple gave me.
And so we come to 1809. In February this year Hudson gave me a mare (Moggy). She was a good hunter, very cool and steady; I had her for many years, at last sold her to Robert Ballard, who gave her to John Ballard.
From Oxford I went to Bishopstrow for a day or two, and then through Bath to Gloucester. I observe here an entry of “14” to Mr. Trye for drawing my first tooth; and a bungling job he made of it; he began at one end of a little dark room, and finished at the other. I had long been plagued with this grinder, and had shown it to Sigmond, in Bath, who would not take it out; but I was resolved not to endure any longer such a troublesome subject.
(In 1811 he went, still in personal charge of young Lord Carmarthen, to live with him at Eton, where the boy was now educated. While there his uncle offered him the living of Kempsford, near Fairford in Gloucestershire, where he shortly became married, and where he lived until his death in 1855. When he first went to see Kempsford, ‘the floods were out, and altogether it appeared to be a wet uncomfortable country to live in,’ but he thanks God it was ‘his comfortable home for more than 25 years.’ After his wedding, celebrated by his brother Henry at St Mary’s in Southgate Street, Gloucester, he and Harriet dashingly set out ‘in a chaise and four for Kempsford,’ where, however, they only remained a week, not able to get out much, as the weather, in that early December, was frosty, with a little snow. ‘We then went to Bishopstrow.’).
In March, 1811, my old friend, John Ballard, was married, to Mrs. Moss, widow of the Bishop of Oxford’s brother. I went to see him at Egham on his road to be married. By this connection with the Bishop of Oxford, he got the living of Cropredy, where he has resided many years. On the 19th of March, 1812, I and Harriet took a chaise for London, where we were met (at Fladong’s) by Temple. We remained in London a few days, and showed Harriet all that was worth seeing; and on the 23rd went with Temple to Bishopstrow. We travelled in a new, or rather second-hand Landaulet, which Temple posted down for our common friend Gale Thring. My dear friend, Temple’s mother, was then alive. We passed some days most delightfully with her, who had always been like a second mother to me, and whose house was like a home!
In the meantime mighty political events had been going on. The War of the French Revolution had been raging since 1792. Bonaparte had arrived at the height of his power, and nothing seemed able to oppose him. But his excessive ambition worked his own downfall. His siezing the crown of Spain for his brother Joseph roused all Spain against him; an English army under Wellington at length drove the French across the Pyrenees; in his attempt on Russia, 1812-1813, Bonaparte himself met with a decided reverse of fortune; and after a sacrifice of 200,000 men, was disgracefully driven back to France. He made head again for a short time, and in May 1813 lost the memorable battles of Lutzen and Bautzen. The Allies continued to drive before them, till they entered Paris in triumph, March 31st, 1814, and Bonaparte abdicated the throne of France in April and was allowed to retire to the Island of Elba. There were great rejoicings for the peace, in England, and the Sovereigns of Europe came over to England for the ocassion. Great feats were made for them in many places, all people crowding to see them. A grand affair took place in Oxford, a splendid banquet in the Radcliffe Library in June. All this neighbourhood flocked to Oxford, I might have gone, but I would not, because Harriet could not go with me, and I did not like to give myself any pleasure, which she could not share.
This year, 1814, was thus very remarkable for political events. We found it sadly remarkable on our own account. It began with the loss of our own little child. In July I received a letter from my uncle….my mother was very ill, the Medical Men thought she would never recover. This was heavy news! I immediately set off, and got to Winchester in the evening. My dear mother rallied frequently (but) she was never strong, and now, at 63, she seemed to be drawing near her end.
Happily she was a good christian , and therefore, though she knew her end was near, she was not cast down by it. but the saddest sight was to see my poor Uncle! His strong mind struggling against grief, but not always able to supress it! For more than 25 years my Mother had been his faithful companion. In breeding up us children they had known many difficulties and an uninterrupted peace and harmony had struggled through them. This naturally had endeared them to each other, so that the thought of being parted at last was bitter in the extreme.
In the midst of all this, another calamity occurred; news came of the sudden death of my Uncle Seagram, my mother’s brother, and most able Medical Adviser. I had to break it to my Uncle. He was walking in his usual way on the gravel walk, often stopping short, in reflection. When I told him of it, he could not speak, but made me a sign to leave him alone. We did not mention it to my mother and she did not happen to enquire after her brother. I had come in July, expecting her speedy death, yet it was now September, and she was still alive. She was even more cheerful, and I fancy I can see her now, siting at a little table, combing her hair, and laughing at her “grey Locks.” But it was soon to be over…At length about Noon, September 9th, 1814, my dear, dear mother expired. My Uncle was in his study, the room beneath. I just wrote three words on a piece of paper, walked into his study , left it on his table and came away…About a week afterwards my mother was buried in the cathedral (Winchester), at the west end of the south aisle, near my Uncle’s father; a flat stone, with a latin inscription, marks the place. The funeral was not ostentatious…The Lowthers then lived at Avington; and to them my Uncle went…I never saw grief so strongly, but so silently shown. I remember on one particular occasion it burst out. He, and I, and Henry were sitting in the dining room after dinner. He was silent and sad. Henry and I talked away, not to make him more sad. We talked of the days of our childhood, when we used to have our meals together…I happened to say, “Don’t you remember, Henry, the nice thick gruel we used to have,” my poor Uncle, who we thought was not attending to us, suddenly turned round with “We couldn’t afford to give you any better.” Poor man, he seemed to think that Henry and I were laughing at the homeliness of our fare; but nothing was further from our thoughts; we well knew the pecuniary difficulties he and my mother had struggled with, and how honourably they had got over them, by God’s blessing and their prudent management.
(The inscription on the tombstone of Mary Huntingford, nee Mary Seagram, of Warminster, widow of the Reverend Thomas Huntingford, Headmaster of Lord Weymouth’s School, tells us that she, “of prudence and piety a most praiseworthy example, died on a day most full of grief, the ninth of September, in the year, of the Lord 1814, of her age 63.”).
In the early part of 1815, my dear Uncle was translated from Gloucester to Hereford. A happy thing for him, since a residence at Gloucester, without my poor mother, must have been distressing to him. My dear son George was born at Kempsford, October 18th this year. He was a fine stout fellow at his birth; and so he has always, thank God, continued.
I ought not perhaps to have omitted, though it did not peculiarly concern me, that on Sunday, June 18th, this year, the famous Battle of Waterloo was fought. Bonaparte, having abdicated in 1814, was sent to Elba. From that island he soon escaped to France; collected another army; and received his finishing blow from Wellington and the British at Waterloo. He then, as all know surrendered to England; was conveyed to St. Helena, and there died. What a sensation this occasioned all over Europe! But already, to the present young generation it sounds like a mere matter of history.
1816. And thus we went on, thank God, comfortably in our old Parsonage (which, with the garden, I had now made comfortable) and with our babies. Our life was quiet, tranquil and happy. Our income small; but we made it do. We kept very little company. Sometimes Harriet and I rode to Fairford and staid dinner with the Richards. And I cannot but remark the change that has taken place, since we first came to Kempsford, to the present time, 1838. Then people did not dine so late. If we called in the morning at a neighbour’s, we often staid dinner, and rode home afterwards. Or in the summer we rode after our dinner, and drank tea with a neighbour. Now this has been long over. People do not dine till six or later! and a dinner is a formal and formidable affair. All really friendly and social visiting is gone! At that time when we called on a neighbour the question almost always was ‘Will you stay and dine?’ Now it never goes farther than ‘Would you like nunchion?’ In fact, as it is the way now to have a regular spread nunchion at two and dinner at 6 or 7, it would be better at once to ask friends to ‘Nunchion’; they might thus meet, chat and depart, without much trouble. Now and then we made a visit of a higher kind. But our pleasantest visits were to my dear uncle, generally at Winchester, sometimes at Hereford, particularly when the Music-Meeting was there.
1817. I had a considerable struggle this year with Farmer Arkell about the singing in the church. It had become very bad; so that he himself complained of it. Hoping to improve it; I took a vast deal of pains with the school children, and taught them to sing in church very well. But then Arkell, rather perverse, took it into his head to dislike the children’s singing. His son John, and William Couling, endeavoured to prevent the children from sitting in the gallery. To stop this I went into the gallery one Sunday evening; just before church time. I found the two opponents seated, and interrupting the children. I desired them to desist. They would not. So I went down and declared with a loud voice, ‘There is no service this evening; neither will there be any, till those persons cease their interruption of the children’s singing.’ This had the effect; all opposition ceased; and when I had quite carried my point I was satisfied; and then allowed other singers to take place of the children.
This year were instituted those excellent things, Savings Banks; in which poor people could deposit their savings. We set one up at Cirencester. This was the hottest summer ever known. The heat began early. It was hot when I went to Bishopstrow in May. Temple built his house this year; and I recollect how hot the workmen found it, though it was a famous season for the purpose. Dear old Mrs. Temple was then alive.
1820. I received a letter from Temple, begging me to meet him in London. My friends the Hudsons were there, and Temple had some idea of marrying one of them. His mother was dead and he found it lonely, living quite by himself. So I went up. I introduced him to the Hudsons. I wished him to marry Anne, then about 24; but he rather fancied Charlotte. She, however, was too young, 19; so it all came to nothing.
1821. Another visit to Bishopstrow, I think our first to the new house.
1825. The dry weather which followed all this wet, and storms, seemed to lay the foundation for a fine season; which ws the character of 1825. At the end of April there was a remarkable whirlwind at Harrington Bridge, that carried a large haycock a great distance.
Temple had told me, if I should send my sons to Warminster School he would help me. I was glad enough to do it; having feared I might not be able to pay for my boys’ schooling. I then had such fears; how devoutly thankful am I to divine providence, that I have been enabled to give them all a good education!
I imagine that soon after we now returned from Winchester I took George to Bishopstrow, and entered him at Dr Griffith’s school, six weeks before the summer holidays, to make it easier to him. When he was gone, dear little Re (Henry) missed him very much, and begged that he might go ‘with Georgy.’ And from an entry in my book, ‘Henry’s Towels,’ I think he went back with George after the holidays. He was then just 8; a dear little fellow, as they all were in their turn. I can hardly describe the feeling with which I look back to those early years, when the children were all so young! I could not wish to have them always children; yet it was delightful when they were so; and perhaps the very anxiety I felt about them, made it more so; I see, when I took the boys to school in September a tip of 10/- to the school servant, Mrs Webley, to take care of them.
1826. On June 15th, Charles Staples, then my servant, went with the Phaeton to Warminster for the boys; I returned from Winchester the day they were to come home, and rode to Cricklade to meet them. Well I remember waiting for them at the turnpike, and having a long cose with a poor old fellow who kept the gate. This old fellow gave me as good as I bought. He had been wild in his youth, never remaining long in one place. ‘You see,’ says I, ‘the rolling stone never gathers moss.’ I thought my wise proverb unanswerable. But the old fellow answered readily, ‘but I thought a sitting hen never gathers flesh.’ I can fancy now I see Charles and the Phaeton coming down the hill, and the joyful faces of dear George and Henry.
1827. George and Henry were together at Warminster School. But George was now old enough for college. He therefore went up at this election, as candidate. After the College Holidays I, George and Edward went up for George’s admission.
1830. In June that old rogue Cobbett came to see his friend Farmer Arkell; and gave a lecture of Sedition at Fairford. The weather wet! wet! so that it was an unlucky time for an excursion which Temple now proposed; a tour into North Wales. I could not go, but he, Harriet and Anne were to go on his carriage. They enjoyed the thought of it. When the time came, he thought he could not go; they were cast down; at length he made up his mind to start, and off they went. They returned July 10th, having had rain all the time. Yet they enjoyed it, and got as far as the Menai Bridge. In 1828, 29, 30, in summer, higher floods than are usual even in winter!
1831. Temple went with us to Clifton. The fact is, he liked Fanny Stonhouse but had not yet proposed to her. We stayed some days at Clifton.
September. Temple had long been attached to Fanny Stonhouse. He went to Hereford on the 12th, made his offer and was accepted; but immediately afterwards was taken ill, and returned to Cheltenham. Saturday the 17th we were surprised by the unexpected arrival of Temple soon after breakfast. He came from Cheltenham to talk over his marriage with Fanny. He and I settled our plans. On Monday 19th came John and Mrs Ballard. As soon as they were gone we set off for Gloucester. We there met uncle Bishop etc. on their road from Hereford. On Thursday, uncle Bishop etc. went on towards Winchester, Charlotte and Fanny (Stonhouse) to Clifton. We went to Cheltenham to visit Temple, found him in a comfortable lodging (Mrs. Maggs) and in good spirits. We saw Cheltenham; in the evening went to a Rotunda Ball; and the next morning returned home. On the 16th Temple went to Clifton, where everything was arranged for the wedding on the 26th of October!
The eventful Thursday morning, we reached Downton, my old friend Clarke’s, before nine. When all was ready we went into church; and Temple was married by Clarke; I gave the bride away. I had been most anxious about this. It was so much for Temple’s happiness that he should be married, without being quite able to make up his mind about it, that I was most thankful that the question was at last settled; and a more delightful wife, mind and person, he could not have had.
1831. All the Kingdom mad, about the Reform Bill! . . . The Grand Stir in the Country now. It had been carried in the Commons, and thrown out by the Lords. Dire was the rage of the people against the Lords, in consequence! They were threatened and abused. However for this Session they saved the Constitution; in the next, the Democrats were too strong for them, and they gave way.
1832. March 21. A Fast Day, on account of Cholera Morbus. Church crowded. The Common People were dreadfully alarmed, by the appearance of an odd-looking blight under the old Blackberry leaves, from which they foretold Tumults, Pestilence, etc. etc.!
On the 6th I had a letter from dear little Henry, dated “off Weymouth.” He was now coming home from China; in a few days the dear little fellow arrived after a voyage of 15 months. He brought many little presents, ivory carved boxes, a cockatoo, some Averdevats, and a Sailor, William Cooper, a good, civil fellow, very fond of Henry. We kept him here till we went to Winchester. Our boat was still in existence, Henry and Cooper were constantly in it, rowing and sailing.
April 26, Thursday we all went to Winchester. We reached College Thursday evening; Henry met us at the door. Of course my first question was, “How is Uncle Bishop,” Henry said, he had been unwell but he was better; and that I need not be alarmed; but when I went to him in his study, I was instantly struck by his appearance, unlike what I had ever before seen; his head quite sunk upon his breast. He came in to tea; saw all the children; and little Henry gave him an ivory paper knife he had brought for him from China. He conversed as usual and heard Uncle Henry read; and went to bed at his unusual time . . . We thought him better, not so, however, Mr. Wickham. Yet he felt little but pain in his side. He lay in bed all Saturday, we hope without pain, tho’ breathing with difficulty. He spoke little, and seemed to be dozing, and not at all restless . . . Sunday he still continued to lie in the same composed state. About noon, to our surprise, he expressed a wish to get up. His mind was still firm; he knew it was Sunday, and put on his usual Sunday Dress, and Wig. We placed him in an armchair, and Colson and I carried him downstairs. He had intended going into the Study; and even to have dined with us; but he felt himself too weak. Henry and I sat on each side of his chair; no-one else in the room. His mind still active struggled against the weakness of the body. He tried to dictate a letter to Henry, on Episcopal business, to put off his ordination. The last words he slowly uttered were, “It does not appear . . . ” Soon after he leant forward on the table. After a short time he pushed himself back; paused some minutes; then saying with a firm voice, “Now!” he rose and walked forward a few steps, supported by us, probably meaning, as usual, to go to his Study. Seated again in his chair, he raised himself upright; his eyes closed; breathed very short, quick and with great effort, for about a minute; and then without more struggle, and, I verily believe, with no pain whatsoever, sunk back into the easy, composed posture and placid appearance of one calmly sleeping. It was indeed “the Death of the Righteous” (April 29).
And thus we lost our dear, dear Uncle, who from infancy had been to all of us even more than a Father! It was a bitter moment; yet many things lightened it. He had arrived at a good old age, nearly 84. He had enjoyed his full faculties to the last. Public affairs then were beginning to harass him. He had seen us all well established in life. And thus he was mercifully taken away, when to have lived longer could not have been for his comfort.
He was buried the Saturday following in the Churchyard of Compton Church, which had been his first Curacy. We were all deeply affected, having lost our best Friend on Earth, and the Bond that had for so many years held us all together.
Notes:
He was an old Wykehamist.
He was Headmaster at Warminster 1788 to 1793.
The Rector, at one time, of West Lavington.
Dr. George Isaac Huntingford, Headmaster of Lord Weymouth School, 1787.
Mr. Rogers of Berkeley. This must have been John Rodgers of Warminster, and probably son of the then Vicar, who was at New College, Oxford, with the two Huntingford brothers.
Thomas Huntingford, the writer’s father, may well have made his first contacts with Warminster through knowing John Rogers.
A Baily, of Warminster, had married another Miss Seagram, his mother’s sister.
Niece of the writer.
John Ballard was an old Warminster schoolfellow.