This is the eleventh item from Robert Dymond’s book: “Things New and Old Concerning the Parish of Widecombe-in-the-Moor and its Neighbourhood” (1876)
REMINISCENCES OF WIDECOMBE BETWEEN THIRTY AND FORTY YEARS AGO.
“ Eheu ! fugaces Postume, Postume, Labuntur anni.” – “ The flying years ! the flying years !”
ABOUT thirty-four years ago, the writer of this sketch was on a (so-called) reading party from Oxford, at Brimpts, the farm house just above one of the most beautiful spots of the glorious moor— Dartmeet. One of his companions, the best of fishermen, the keenest of shots, a distinguished member of the Eton eleven, a capital boxer, indeed apt at every sport and pursuit except the study of Latin and Greek, went to the bar, where, under the influence of mighty Love, he applied himself so vigorously to the law, that he became a Queen’s Counsel, and is now an Indian Chief Justice. Go where he will, his kindly, cheery ways must always make those about him happy. The other, best of advisers, most affectionate of friends, has found a congenial sphere for his warm heart, as the Principal of one of our Theological Colleges, under the wing of an old Eton ally, Bishop of the diocese.
Brimpts is just five miles from Widecombe and from Prince Town, respectively. There was in those days an irregularity about the ser-vice at the chapel of the latter place which caused us on Sundays to turn our steps. towards the grand fabric of Widecombe for worship.The Vicar, the well-known Mr. Mason, after a few weeks, asked us to dine with him on the following Sunday. We did, what many young men do not do at the present day, attended Church twice, and heard sermons which had the merit, that all sermons might have,—of being brief. I do not remember, either, that they were tedious, which it is possible even for brief discourses to be.
We were received by our host and his niece with a hearty, genial, hospitality, and our youthful appetites did ample justice to a roundof beef, cooked to perfection ; not galloped, after the fashion of modern cooks, to an impenetrable hardness.
Mr. Mason’s port wine was notoriously good, and some assert that the granite soil of the moor helps to ripen and soften any fermented liquor. Mr. Mason is reported to have said, “ When I could drink port I couldn’t afford it, and now that I can afford it I can’t drink it.” As far as my memory serves me, however, he did not abstain on this occasion. Be this as it may, we three sipped with a grateful relish what seemed to us, after our experience of Oxford black-strap, nectar fit for the gods, and chatted pleasantly, with the fine moor air blowing in upon us through the open window, on a delicious June evening.Unfortunately, our conversation took a turn towards politics. I don’t think that any of us cared much then who was in or who was out ; certainly, my mind on such matters was a tabula rasa—a blank sheet—in those days ; but, in an unlucky moment, I said that I thought it was a good thing that the rotten boroughs had been done away with. Mr. Mason was up in arms instantly, and I really though the would have turned me out of the house. “ What, sir,” he indignantly replied, “ you tell me that !-me, who was brought up by Sir Thomas Tyrwhitt, the confidential friend and favourite of George the Fourth, and who was member for ”—(I don’t recall the name,) – such a place ! ” As soon as I got a chance, I hastened to pacify him by, I am afraid, an assumption of a Gallic-like indifference, and we parted with a friendly shake of the hand, but I- think he ever afterwards looked upon me as rather a doubtful character.
Ten years passed away, and I found myself, after long absence, again in my native county, and Diocesan Inspector of Schools for the district in which Widecombe was. My predecessor in office told me that he had never been allowed to visit the Widecombe schools, but I could try. I wrote to Mr. Mason, and reminded him of his hospitality to me in past days, hoping that he had forgotten all about my pestilential views on small boroughs. He told me that I might come. I rode over accordingly, under. the conduct of my predecessor’s daughter—best of horsewomen, and a most pleasant companion—now, I believe, in the far East,—and found the old gentleman at breakfast, eating the biggest duck’s egg I ever saw, with a genuine moor appetite.
The first of three or four hedge schools to which I went, was keptby an old dame, with a poor “rippled son sitting in the chimney corner. She looked at me grimly, and to my enquiry, put as blandly as possible, “ What have the children been reading ?” answered abruptly, “ Revelations ; we begins at the beginning, and goes to the end.” I did not examine them about Gog and Magog, or the battle of Armageddon, but, I suppose, that I did not displease the school authorities, for when I had finished, the son said, with the tone ofnature’s gentleman :—“ Will you take a crust of bread and cheese and a glass of cider ?” I, perhaps foolishly, declined, on the score of its being too early. He seemed mortified, and observed quickly :— “There be those who think cider as good as sherry wine.” I hastened-mindful, too, of certain mixtures I had drunk under the name of sherry—to assure him that I did not refuse from any scorn of cider, and we said good-bye in perfect friendliness. The next school, then much of the same order, has now been moved to Leusden, which stands, through the golden wand of a most benevolent lady, like an oasis in the desert ; and without casting any reflections on the past, we, who love the moor, may rejoice that such a school, such a church, and such ministerial devotion can be found, where, spiritually and intellectually, there was, in large measure, a wilderness.
May the exertions on behalf of the mother Church soon render her more worthy of her daughter ; and may there be many who notonly possess the same means of doing good, but also the large heart of the generous benefactress of Leusden !
[On the occurrence of the vacancy created by the death of the Rev, John Rendle, the Rev. James Holman Mason, M.A., Chaplain to the Prince Regent, and Vicar of Treneglos and Warbstow, in Cornwall, was instituted by Bishop Pelham, in August, 1815, to the Vicarage of Widecombe, on the presentation of the Dean and Chapter of Exeter. In October, 1816, Mr. Mason was appointed by the Lord Warden of the Stannaries one of the Deputy Riders and Master Foresters of Dartmoor, on the decease of Edward Bray, Esq., of the Abbey House, Tavistock, a solicitor and steward of the Duke of Bedford’s Devonshire estates, and father of the Rev. E. A. Bray, F.S.A., the Vicar of Tavistock, and the husband of the well-known writer of Tales and Legends of the West. Mr. Mason died at Widecombe in 1860, and was buried at Okehampton. He was succeeded in the vicarage of Widecombe by the Rev; Philip Carlyon, who was followed by the Rev. John Williams, the present esteemed incumbent, instituted on the 17th August, l869.—ED.]