Kilvert's Diary 1870-1879 - Selections from the Diary of the REV. Francis Kilvert

1879

INTRODUCTION

SINCE its first appearance in three volumes (1938–40) Kilvert’s Diary has become established as a minor classic. Its recognized place among the very best of English diaries has been gained by special qualities. It is the work of a man with a watchful eye and a clear style: Kilvert has the uncommon gift of making one see vividly what he describes. His detailed picture of life in the English countryside in mid-Victorian times is unmatched, and every sentence he writes helps to build up a self-portrait so personal and intimate that one gets to know him like a friend.

Kilvert reveals himself as an essentially modest, innocent, truthful and unworldly young man, sociable, and with a strong love of life and of landscape, with a sense of drama and a good vein of humour. His life was strongly affected by two things–his susceptibility to the beauty of young women and girls, and his lack of money and of what used to be called prospects. As a faithful country clergyman, he moved with equal ease among people of both the landowning and labouring classes, and by both was welcomed equally. His good nature and good manners, his vitality, his love of children, and his practical sympathy with the unfortunate, won him much affection. If he did not question the values of his own class, he was never indifferent to sufferings which they permitted, and did what he could, with his evidently magnetic presence and voice, to lessen those sufferings. He knew that not far from the convivial and copious dinners and picnics, the lively croquet and archery parties, could be found loneliness, squalor, and hunger, and sometimes murders and suicides.

Robert Francis Kilvert (1840–79) was one of the six children of the Reverend Robert Kilvert, rector of Hardenhuish and later of the neighbouring parish of Langley Burrell, in Wiltshire, and of his wife, Thermuthis Coleman. He was educated privately, went up to Oxford, was ordained, and for a time acted as curate to his father.

Then for seven years (1865–72) he served as curate to the Reverend Richard Lister Venables, Vicar of Clyro in Radnorshire. This was in most ways the happiest time of his life. The charming and lifelike account he has left of the places and people he knew has caused the still beautiful region centred upon Clyro to be known as the Kilvert Country and to become a place of literary pilgrimage.

There is another Kilvert Country–his native district round Chippenham in Wiltshire. He returned there in 1872 for another spell of four years as curate to his father. In 1876 he was presented to the remote living of St. Harmon, in north Radnorshire, and in the following year to that of Bredwardine, on the Wye in Herefordshire, not far from his beloved Clyro.

In August 1879 he married Elizabeth Anne (1846–1911), daughter of John Rowland, of Holly Bank, Wootton, near Woodstock. Only a month after the wedding he died suddenly of peritonitis and was buried at Bredwardine. There was no child of the marriage, and Mrs. Kilvert did not marry again.

She inherited the Diary and is said to have destroyed two large sections of it for personal reasons: one section is thought to have recorded Kilvert’s courtship of her. What was left was contained in twenty-two notebooks. Only three of these now survive, the rest having been destroyed by an elderly niece of Kilvert’s who had inherited them from her brother.

A few notes on some of the persons mentioned in the Diary may be helpful. Francis (‘Frank’) Kilvert had one brother, Edward Newton, referred to as ‘Teddy’ or ‘Perch’. His four sisters were Thermuthis (‘Thersie’), who married the Reverend W. R. Smith of Monnington-on-Wye; Emily (‘Emmie’), who married Samuel Wyndowe and went to India; Frances (‘Fanny’) who became a Clewer Sister; and Sarah Dorothea Anne (‘Dora’), who married James Pitcairn.

Henry Dew (1819–1901) was rector of Whitney-on-Wye from 1843 until his death. He married Mary Monkhouse (1821–1900), who was closely related to Wordsworth’s wife. His sister, Louisa, married William Latham Bevan (1821–1908), archdeacon of Brecon and vicar of Hay: they lived at Hay Castle, where Kilvert was a frequent visitor. Daisy (or Fanny) Thomas of Llanthomas died unmarried.

W. P.

CHIPPENHAM AND DISTRICT

1870

Tuesday, 8 February

From Wye Cliff to Pont Faen. Miss Child in great force. She showed me her clever drawings of horses and told me the adventures of the brown wood owl ‘Ruth’ which she took home from here last year. She wanted to call the owl ‘Eve’ but Mrs. Bridge said it should be called ‘Ruth’. She and her sister stranded in London at night went to London Bridge hotel (having missed the last train) with little money and no luggage except the owl in a basket. The owl hooted all night in spite of their putting it up the chimney, before the looking glass, under the bedclothes, and in a circle of lighted candles which they hoped it would mistake for the sun. The owl went on hooting, upset the basket, got out and flew about the room. The chambermaid almost frightened to death dared not come inside the door. Miss Child asked the waiter to get some mice for ‘Ruth’ but none could be got.

Wednesday, 9 February

A very cold night and a slight shower of snow fell early this morning. Then it froze all day. The mountains all white. Went up the Cwm to White Ash. Old Sarah Probert groaning and rolling about in bed. Read to her Mark vi and made sure she knew the Lord’s Prayer by heart, making her repeat it. Hannah Jones smoking a short black pipe by the fire, and her daughter, a young mother with dark eyes and her hair hanging loose, nursing her baby and displaying her charms liberally.

Went with the Venables to dine at Whitney Court, driving in the mail phaeton and sitting behind with Charlie. Bitterly cold with a keen E. wind but we were well wrapped up and the hood kept the wind off us going. Miss Jane from the Rectory at dinner. Lent Miss Dew Robertson’s Lectures on Corinthians. The Squire and his mother made the rest of the party. A grand night with stars glittering frosty keen and we came home at a rattling pace.

Friday, 11 February

Last night broke the key of my musical box whilst winding the box up. Went down at midnight and tried to turn the broken key barrel with the tongs–unsuccessfully, and the teeth of the comb stuck in the midst of a tune hitched on the spikes all night. Very bad for the box, so I got up early and directly after breakfast ran over to Hay across the fields in a keen white bright frost. Bevan the watchmaker wound up the box, set it right and mended the key. Bought 4 valentines at Herthen’s after searching through a tumbled heap for a long time and ordered some cheese at Hadley’s. Coming back the hills were lovely. The morning spread upon the mountains, beautiful Clyro rising from the valley and stretching away northward dotted with white houses and shining with gleams of green on hills and dingle sides, a tender blue haze over the village and woods in the valley and Clyro Court a dim grey.

Baskerville in his brougham with the old bay cob came to the door at 6.3. Very cold drive. Mrs. Bevan, Mary, and the Crichtons arrived before us all in Mrs. Allen’s yellow chariot. The Welfield (Edward) Thomases staying in the house. Mr. and Capt. Thomas from Llanthomas. Mrs. and Miss Thomas of Llwyn Madoc staying in the house. They came in last and we went into dinner immediately. Miss Thomas looking very pretty and nice in blue silk high dress, sat opposite me at dinner and afterwards when we came into the drawing-room she came up and shook hands cordially and kindly, talked to me till Baskerville’s carriage was announced. It was a very happy evening.

Septuagesima Sunday, St. Valentine’s Eve

Preached at Clyro in the morning (Matthew xiv, 30). Very few people in Church, the weather fearful, violent deadly E. wind and the hardest frost we have had yet. Went to Bettws in the afternoon wrapped in two waistcoats, two coats, a muffler and a mackintosh, and was not at all too warm. Heard the Chapel bell pealing strongly for the second time since I have been here and when I got to the Chapel my beard moustaches and whiskers were so stiff with ice that I could hardly open my mouth and my beard was frozen on to my mackintosh. There was a large christening party from Llwyn Gwilym. The baby was baptized in ice which was broken and swimming about in the Font.

Monday, St. Valentine’s Day

A pretty flower Valentine from Incognito. Walked to Hay with Mr. V. We went to Williams the drapers’ and looked at blankets, sheets and coverlets, as we propose to spend some of the surplus Communion Alms in bedding for the poor people who want it much this vigorous weather. Called at the castle.

Tuesday, 15 February

Visited Edward Evans in the village. He was ill with cold from this vicious poisonous E. wind, and sitting before the fire. Finding they have no blankets but only sheets and a coverlet I gave him an order on Williams for a pair of blankets and I hope his wife will fetch them this afternoon. Coming back called on the Lewises at the Bronith and the old Peninsular veteran. The red round moon hanging over Clifford Hill. Owls hooting in the dusk across the dingles and from the height of Cefn Cethin. Volunteer band in Hay playing across the valley, a review in preparation for a Volunteer Concert to-night.

Wednesday, 16 February

At Burnt House James Phillips at home, a long legged Radnorshire man who said he had never been drunk. Told me how Mr. Ffoulkes had dived to the bottom of Craig-pwll–du and very nearly getting entangled in roots and weeds at the bottom, had declared he would not take England to do it again. Fine mild afternoon and a strange blue light upon woods and dingles.

Thursday, 17 February

Edward Evans better and very thankful for wine and a pair of blankets. Visited Sackville Thomas, Jinny very funny and in good spirits. Polly saying hymns very fast. Sackville sitting hat on by a scorching fire and the venomous east wind blowing full in at the open door. Jinny says ‘unhackle’ for undress and ‘to squeeze your ears against your head and say nothing’ means to be discreetly silent and cautiously reticent. Market people passing by open door with shawls and handkerchiefs tied over hats and bonnets. Next to Mrs. Bowen’s Bird’s Nest. Then to Lower Cwmbythog. Grand handsome Mrs. Evans nursing her baby in the dark ruinous old hovel, a brave patient woman and practically religious. Gave Mrs. Evans an order for 2 pairs of sheets. Slithering down the steep rocky lane full of a torrent of ice. How this poisonous E. wind strains and weakens the eyes.

Sexagesima Sunday, 20 February

Drunk too much port after dinner at Cae Mawr last night and a splitting headache all today in revenge. Eyes better but not much. Everything in a daze and dazzle and I could hardly see to read. Got through the services somehow, but in the afternoon came to a deadlock in the middle of the 1st Lesson. A blessed change in the weather. Wind westerly and no longer deadly poison.

Monday, 21 February

My carpet bag went up to Llysdinam in the Whitechapel, Brewer driving. Mr. V. and he drove down and picked it up. Mr. V. went to a magistrates’ meeting in Hay where the Glasbury policeman was tried for stealing 2 German silver spoons worth 9d a piece. I joined him at Hay (having walked over) at 1.15 and we went up to Llysdinam together by that train.

Tuesday, 22 February

Reading Quarterly Review. Mrs. V. went out for a drive, on the Rhayader road, the carriage and cushions thoroughly aired and warmed with hot water bottles and warming pans.

After luncheon went for a walk with Mr. V. to the top of Drum du. When we got to the cairn Plynlimmon was quite visible, but only the ghost of Cader Idris to be seen. We went away disappointed but had not gone far before the clouds suddenly lifted and a sun burst lit up grandly the great snowslopes of round-backed Plynlimmon and the vast snowy precipices of the giant Cader Idris near 50 miles away. We hurried back to the cairn and had a glorious view to N. and W. of the Fans of Brecon and Carmarthen. Mr. V. fell heavily on his back head over heels among the stones of the cairn, his foot having slipped, but he saved his opera glasses.

Thursday, 24 February

Reading the Mordaunt Warwickshire Scandal Case. Horrible disclosures of the depravity of the best London society.

[This remarkably squalid case came in for much public notice. Sir Charles Mordaunt of Walton Hall in Warwickshire petitioned for a divorce from his wife on the grounds of her adultery with several persons, two of whom were named as corespondents. The question of Lady Mordaunt’s sanity was much discussed, and among other points that emerged in the evidence were that on a visit to the Crystal Palace she had sat down on a gravel-walk, and that another time she had stuck a branch of a fir-tree in her boots. She had more than once received the Prince of Wales as a caller in her husband’s absence, and the petitioner said in evidence that he had warned her against continuing that acquaintance, and that he had had his reasons for doing so. The Prince appeared as a witness, and his letters to Lady Mordaunt were made public. They were trivial and discreet, and their nearest approach to intimacy was an acknowledgment of a present of some ‘very pretty muffetees’. He seems to have sent her a valentine, and she had one of his handkerchiefs. The Times thought he had been ‘too careless of his reputation’ and said he had ‘learnt by a painful experience how watchfully he must walk whose life is the property and the study of the world’. On the 26 February the same paper said ‘we have had more than a week’s surfeit of details not easily characterized in decent language’, and ‘we might have been spared the publicity of details leading to no result save that of injury to public morality’.]

Writing a sermon for Ash Wednesday. Dined with Mrs. V. who drove down with Brewer from Llysdinam in the yellow Perthcart with the grey mare this afternoon. A lovely evening and the Black Mountain lighted up grandly, all the furrows and water courses clear and brilliant. People coming home from market, birds singing, buds bursting, and the spring air full of beauty, life and hope. Farm labourers threshing with the machines at Llowes Court. Ash and beech and elms being felled in Clyro Court lands, and going away in timber carriages. Alders being cut down on the left bank of Wye. A market woman’s chestnut horse restive in the road and market folk on foot winding their way home through fields by Wyeside.

Saturday, 26 February

A lovely warm morning so I set off to walk over the hills to Colva, taking my luncheon in my pocket, half a dozen biscuits, two apples and a small flask of wine. Took also a pocket book and opera glasses. Went on up the Green Lane. Very hot walking. At the Green Lane Cottage found Mrs. Jones and a daughter at home sewing. Price Price sitting half hidden in the chimney corner but alas there was no Abiasula as the last time I was there. Price Price something like his sister Abiasula. A sturdy boy, with a round rosy good-humoured face and big black eyes, volunteered to guide me to Colva Church. So he came out of his chimney corner in the ingle nook and we started at once, accompanied by a grey and black sheepdog puppy. We were out on the open mountain at once. There was the brown withered heather, the elastic turf, the long green ride stretching over the hill like a green ribbon between the dark heather. There was the free fresh fragrant air of the hills, but, oh, for the gipsy lassie with her wild dark eyes under her black hood. As we went down the Fuallt a grouse cock uttered his squirling crow and flew over the crest of the hill. I never heard a grouse crow before. ‘What’s that bird crying?’ I said to the boy. ‘A grouse,’ he said, adding, ‘There he goes over the bank. They be real thick hereabout.’

Tried to get across the swift Arrow (swollen by the junction of the Glasnant just above) by climbing along a rail but we failed and had to go up a meadow till we got above the meeting of the waters, when we crossed the Glasnant on a hurdle laid flat over the stream and then we jumped the Arrow. Up the steep breast of the Reallt to Dol Reallt and along the road to the Wern and Bryntwyn from whence a field path leads to Colva Church. Here Price Price left me after showing me across one field. I asked him to have some bread and cheese and beer at the Sun Inn, Colva, but he would not and could scarcely be prevailed on to take sixpence. Tried the echo in the field against the belfry and west end of the poor humble dear little white-washed church sequestered among its large ancient yews. The echo was very clear, sharp and perfect. Richard Meredith told me of this echo. Mrs. Phillips, the landlady of the Sun, was much frightened when I asked for her husband, uneasy and nervous lest I should have come to apprehend him for having been in a row or doing something wrong. But when I said I wanted the words of an old song, she was greatly relieved and said at once, ‘Oh I know who you are. You are the gentleman from Clyro.’ I laughed and she began to smile. Mrs. Phillips took me into the parlour where I sat down, tore a leaf out of my pocket book and wrote with my address a request that Phillips would send me by post 1. the song about our Saviour, 2. the song about Lazarus, 3. the song about King James and the Tinker. Mrs. Phillips brought me a pint of excellent light bright beer, some hard sweet homebaked bread, and some hard cheese, carrying the bread and cheese in her arms as she ran in with it, as I was in a hurry to push on.

Reached Clyro just in time to dress for dinner at Cae Mawr. But as I was going out I was sent for to baptize Mrs. Jones the jockey’s baby opposite and I was only too thankful that it was so near and that I had not to right about face and march back up to the top of Clyro Hill again. The child was said to suffer from convulsions, so I baptized it, but it was probably quite well. The name selected was as far as I could make out Mahalah which Mrs. Jones declared to be the name of one of Cain’s wives, on the authority of a book she had read called the Life of Abel. She called her elder girl Thirza, which she says was the name of Cain’s other wife. Not a happy allusion.

March Eve, Monday

In Chain Alley, Hay, at Prissy Prosser’s door, saw Marianne Price grown tall and slight, her dark large eyes as beautiful soft and pure as ever.

Home after midnight in wind and rain, cheered by the solitary light in Hay looking towards the Moors. Wind rustling through trees at Peter’s pool, branches creaking loud.

Shrove Tuesday, St. David’s Day, Leek Day, March Day

Reading Edmund Jones’ curious book which I brought from Hardwick Vicarage last night, an account of Aberystruth Parish, Monmouthshire. A ludicrous naive simplicity about his reflections and conclusions. He thinks Providence took particular pains in making his parish which he thinks one of the most wonderful in the world. Writing a sermon for Ash Wednesday.

Ash Wednesday, 2 March

Received by post through Kington from the clerk and publican of Colva two old songs, imperfect but very curious and of some merit. One about our Saviour has the true ballad swing, the other about Dives and Lazarus. The clerk had forgotten the song about King James and the Tinker but said ‘he would try to think of him’.

Thursday, 3 March

Luncheon at 12, walked to Hay in rain and went to the Castle. The 4 girls singing Pilgrims of the Night round the organ in the hall, Mary playing. Mary was very kind and lent me the best volume of Mrs. Barrett Browning’s Poems. I read aloud to them my Colva Ballads which interested them much. Bought 2 copies of Alone in London and took one down to Prissy Prosser’s for Marianne Price. The child was out, her grandmother sent for her and she came running out of breath and radiant with delight. Her lovely dark eyes lighted up at the thought of a new book and looked shyly up to thank me from under her long silky lashes.

Friday, 4 March

A wild stormy night. The Dulas, Clyro, roaring red, and the Wye surging broad yellow and stormy. Heaven pity the Pilgrims of the Night who had no shelter. Pussy had a new brass comb in her clustering light curly hair and her blue bright eyes looked up very archly. The Dingle Flower of fair Llandovery goes back to her home among the sweet Carmarthenshire hills tomorrow. I took her Alone in London as a Sunday School prize and wrote her name in it. Her delight was unbounded and she evidently felt much more than she said, for she was very shy and the English did not come readily.

Called at Cae Mawr. The Morrells told me that Mrs. and the Miss Baskervilles have returned suddenly from St. Leonards on Sea, having been routed horse and foot with great slaughter and loss by bugs or fleas. They intended to stay at St. Leonards a month or more longer.

Saturday, 5 March

Very cold last night, and sharp frost and the day brilliant and the air exquisitely clear though the wind was East. The view from the banks lovely, the river winding down from Glasbury like a silver serpent, flowing beneath at the foot of the poplars. Hay in the distance bright in brilliant sunshine. Every watercourse clear upon the mountains in the searching light. As the sun went down a pink and then a deep purple glow bathed the mountains and Cusop Hill and a keen frost set in. The rich pink and deep purple light very unusually splendid.

1 Sunday in Lent, 6 March

After evening church, visited the Pughs and found Mary at home. She gave me a more extraordinary account than any that I have yet heard about the falling of the gable at Clyro Court, the housekeeper’s marvellous descent through the floor into the kitchen from her bedroom, during the great storm on the morning of January 8th, 1870.

Tuesday, 8 March

Yesterday there was an inquest at the Blue Boar, Hay, on the body of the barmaid of the Blue Boar who a day or two ago went out at night on an hour’s leave, but went up the Wye to Glasbury and threw herself into the river. She was taken out at Llan Hennw. She was enceinte. Met the Morrell children returning from a walk with the first white violets and primroses.

Thursday, 10 March

A heavenly day, lovely and warm, real spring. People busy in their gardens planting and sowing. Everyone rejoicing in the unclouded splendid weather, and congratulating each other on it in their greetings on the road. The roads lively with market women riding to the Hay. A woman on a cream coloured horse with black mane and tail riding past the school and alternately in sunshine and the shadow of the Castle clump over the hill.

John Watkins in the Cwm no better, staggering round and round his house whirling his head round about like a mad man or a Polar bear, unable to sit down, he says, so kneeling on the floor sometimes to rest himself. He gets no rest in bed or at night, dreads the coming on of darkness and is haunted by evil thoughts and dreams. He seems to be suffering from despondency and remorse, and is plainly in a most miserable pitiable state of mind and body.

Wednesday, 16 March

I ate so much hare that I could hardly walk and saw stars, but at 4 went up the hill by the Bron, Penllan and Little Wern y Pentre. Round the corner of the Vicar’s Hill to Little Twyn y Grain, passing by the Great Twyns which I am happy to see is falling into ruin, the window frames falling in. How well I remember and how short a time ago it seems though nearly five years. I never pass the house without thinking of that afternoon when after neglecting Margaret Thomas’ dying son for a long time I went to call and was inexpressibly shocked to find that he had died only ten minutes before . . .

Faint sunshine on Bryngwyn Hill and a cold cheery gleam of water from the great peat bog below on the edge of which stands the grey cluster of buildings and the tall dark yew of Llanshifr. I went down there and waded across the yard to the house through a sea of mud and water. The kitchen was very dark, the bank rising steep in front of the window. Mrs. Morgan gave me some tea and cake. On the settle sat a man perfectly still, silent and in such a dark corner that I could not see his face. Morgan showed me the remains of the moat, where the Scotch pedlar was hidden after being murdered for the sake of his pack while lodging in the house and where his skeleton was found when the moat was cleared out. The moat that is left is a broad deep formidable ditch and rather a long pond at one end of the house and full of water. Llanshifr a fearfully wet swampy place, almost under water and I should think very unhealthy. One of the twin yews was lately blown down and cut up into gate posts which will last twice as long as oak. The wood was so hard that Morgan said it turned many of the axes as if they were made of lead. I wonder in which of these yews Gore hid the penknife before his death which made him restless as hidden iron is said to do, and caused his spirit to come back rummaging about the house and premises and frightening people out of their wits. It was getting dusk as I left Llanshifr and after I had plunged about for some time in the swampy Wern up to my ancles in water I lost my bearings and missed the way, so that I might have been belated but that I heard the welcome clank of plough chains as the team came down home and Joe the Llanshifr ploughman directed me up to the Holly House. Struck over the top of the Vicar’s Hill and as I passed Cross Ffordd the frogs were croaking, snoring and bubbling in the pool under the full moon.

Tuesday, 22 March

Called at John Watkins in the Cwm. He was just in the same abject wretched pitiable state, shaking from head to foot fancying himself unable to sit down or keep still, remorse gnawing at his mind. Neighbours say he is ‘roguish’ and shams, probably it is the cunning of insanity. Went on to White Ash and directly old Sarah Probert heard me come in she began to groan and roll about in the bed. I told Sarah to cheer up but she rolled and groaned all the more and said I was a ‘rum ’un’ and a ‘Job’s comfort’.

The Clyro women stride about the village like storks. The industrious blacksmith chinks away at his forge night and morning late and early, and the maidens and mothers go up and down the water steps with their pitchers continually. Heavy loads of timber, large long trees on the timber carriages grinding through Clyro village every evening from Cross Ffordd and Cabalva.

Wednesday, 23 March

Looked in upon the old soldier and stayed there reading and chatting to him an hour and a half. Talking of wolves he said he remembered when the English army was in Spain at Correa, every night soon after sunset he used to see the wolves come down to drink at the river. Then they would walk up the hill again into the coverts and vineyards, sometimes there were 4 or 5 of them at once. They were like mastiffs and as big. The soldiers used to scare them by snapping the locks of their flint muskets and making a flash in the pan.

Saturday, 26 March

A delicious day upon Clyro Hill. It was sunny and warm under the sheltering bank and woods of Wern Vawr and pleasant walking along the low road leading to the old farm house with its large projecting and high-gabled porch. There was a stir about the house and yard. They had killed a fat stall-fed heifer yesterday and a party of people much interested in the matter, among them old Jones and his wife, were busy cutting up the carcase in the barn. A man went to and fro from the bam to the house with huge joints of beef having first weighed them on the great steelyard which hangs at the barn door. In the house Mrs. Jones of New Building an old daughter of the house was engaged in the great kitchen taking up the joints from the table where the man laid them and carrying them into an inner room or larder to put them in salt. By the fire sat a young woman who hid her face and did not look up. She had a baby lying across her lap.

I decided to explore the lane running parallel with the brook towards Painscastle and discover the old Rhos Goch Mill. There was a good deal of water and suddenly I came upon the mill pond and the picturesque old mill with an overshot wheel. I crossed one of the streams on a larch felled across the water for a bridge and came back round the front of the cosy old picturesque ivy-grown mill house with its tall chimney completely covered with ivy. A handsome young man with a fine open face, fresh complexion and dressed as a miller was having a romp with a little girl before the door. He said his name was Powell, his father was dead and he carried on the business and with the most perfect politeness and well bred courtesy asked me to come in and sit down. So this is the place that I have heard old Hannah Whitney talk of so often, the place where the old miller sleeping in the mill trough used to see the fairies dancing of nights upon the mill floor.

At Rhos Goch Lane House no one was at home so I stuck an ivy leaf into the latch hole.

Round the corner of the Vicar’s Hill to Cefn y Blaen where I found Davies, the new tenant of the Pentre. While talking to Davies outside I heard old William Pritchard within coughing violently. I went in and sat some time talking to him and his niece Mrs. Evans. He remembers the old house of Cefn y Blaen and the large famous room which he says was 20 yards long and was used for holding a Court of Justice in for the country round in the time of Charles II. I asked him if he had ever heard any talk of Charles II ever having been about in this country. ‘Oh yes,’ he said, ‘I have a jug that the King once drunk out of at Blaen cerdi. He had breakfast that day in Brecon, dined at Gwernyfed and slept at Harpton, passing through Newchurch. His army was with him and riding two and two in the narrow lanes the line reached from Pen Vaen in Newchurch, through the village up to Blaen cerdi. At Blaen cerdi all the farm people, boys and girls ran out to see the King pass. The King was afoot. He stopped opposite the house and asked my ancestress Mary Bayliss to give him something to drink. She went to the house and fetched him milk and water in this jug which has been handed down with the tradition in my family. I have always heard that this Mary Bayliss was an extraordinarily fine beautiful woman. I never learnt that the King gave her anything in return for the draught. Before this jug came into my possession it was broken by some water being left to freeze in it, but it can easily be cemented, being in two large pieces, the bottom having been broken off. David Jones the auctioneer in Hay offered me a great deal of money for the jug.

‘Charles II was in hiding for some time in this country and went about in disguise as a lady’s servant. Once when he was in the pantry with the butler of the house where they were staying he asked the butler if he would give him a glass of wine. The butler said in a meaning way, You are able to command what wine you like.’

Monday, 28 March

Williams says the petty chief great landlords were called ‘Normandy Kings’. One of them lived at Cefn y Blaen, one at Llanshifr, another at Great Gwernfydden. The one who lived at Painscastle was a giant. This giant carried off to Painscastle ‘screaming and noising’ Miss Phillips of the Screen Farm near Erwood whom he found disporting herself with her lover Arthur on or at Bychllyn Pool. Arthur sent for help to Old Radnor Castle and Cefn y Blaen. At Cefn y Blaen there were then 40 men each 7 feet high. The giant on the other hand sent for succour to Court Evan Gwynne where there was an ‘army’, also to Hay Castle and Lord Clifford of Clifford Castle. While these hostile forces were converging upon Painscastle, a woman in the castle favoured the girl’s escape and dressed her in man’s clothes to this end. Arthur, watching for her outside and not knowing of the disguise, seeing what he thought was a man and one of his enemies coming out of the castle shot his lover dead with an arrow. Arthur then furious stormed the castle with a battle axe: took it and killed the giant. Next day the opposing parties arrived at the Rhos Goch, there was a fearful battle near Rhyd Llyden and the Painscastle party was defeated with great slaughter by the forces from Old Radnor and Cefn y Blaen.

Tuesday, 29 March

Turned aside into the meadow to look at the great stone of Cross Ffordd. It is a long time since I stood beside it, and I had forgotten that the stone was so large. I suppose no one will ever know now what the grey silent mysterious witness means, or why it was set there. Perhaps it could tell some strange wild tales and many generations have flowed and ebbed round it. There is something very solemn about these great solitary stones which stand about the country, monuments of some one or something, but the memory has perished and the history is forgotten.

Home at 6, dressed for dinner. At 6.30 Charles with the mail phaeton and the two mares, grey and bay, dashed up to the door in grand style. I was ready and away we went to the Vicarage to pick up the Vicar who took the reins. At Peter’s Pool we overtook and passed at a dashing pace the Clyro Court brougham with one horse wherein were the Squire and Mr. Frank Guise the recorder of Hereford bound like ourselves for dinner at Oakfield. It was refreshing to see the Vicar’s stylish equipage driven by himself with two servants behind, dashing past the small humble turn-out of the Squire, rather reversing the usual order of things.

Thursday, April Eve

Read to old Price the keeper and then walked to Hay across the fields.

In Hadley’s shop I met Dewing who told me of a most extraordinary misfortune that befell Pope the curate of Cusop yesterday at the Whitney Confirmation. He had one candidate Miss Stokes a farmer’s daughter and they went together by train. Pope went in a cutaway coat very short, with his dog, and took no gown. The train was very late. He came very late into church and sat down on a bench with the girl cheek by jowl. When it came to his turn to present his candidate he was told by the Rector (Henry Dew) or someone in authority to explain why he came so late. The Bishop of Hereford (Atlay) has a new fashion of confirming only two persons at a time, kneeling at the rails. The Bishop had marked two young people come in very late and when they came up to the rails he thought from Pope’s youthful appearance and from his having no gown that he was a young farmer candidate and brother of the girl. He spoke to them severely and told them to come on and kneel down for they were extremely late. Pope tried to explain that he was a clergyman and that the girl was his candidate but the Bishop was overbearing and imperious and either did not hear or did not attend, seeming to think he was dealing with a refractory ill-conditioned youth. ‘I know, I know,’ he said. ‘Come at once, kneel down, kneel down.’ Poor Pope resisted a long time and had a long battle with the Bishop, but at last unhappily he was overborne in the struggle, lost his head, gave way, knelt down and was confirmed there and then, and no one seems to have interfered to save him, though Mr. Palmer of Eardisley and others were sitting close by and the whole Church was in a titter. It is a most unfortunate thing and will never be forgotten and it will be unhappily a joke against Pope all his life. The Bishop was told of his mistake afterwards and apologized to Pope, though rather shortly and cavalierly. He said, what was quite true, that Pope ought to have come in his gown. But there was a little fault on all sides for if the Bishop had been a little less hasty, rough and overbearing in his manner things might have been explained, and the bystanding clergy were certainly very much to blame for not stepping forward and preventing such a farce. I fear poor Pope will be very much vexed, hurt and dispirited about it.

Tuesday, 5 April

The day broke cloudless after a sharp frost. Up early and went to Cae Mawr to breakfast, at 8 o’clock. Drove to Hay in Morrell’s carriage. We drove on to Llanigon, the air fresh, cold driving. Alighted at Llanigon village and sent the carriage back. Walked up by the Church and took the field path to the Cilonw Farm.

Down the pretty steep winding lane we went skirting the Honddu. Across the valley at the mouth of a great dreadful dingle stood the ruins of the house which was swept away while the people were dancing, by an avalanche of snow or a torrent of snow water let loose by a sudden thaw. A young man who was coming up from Llanthony to join the party was saved by his greyhound unaccountably hanging behind, whining and running back so as to entice his master home again. I had not seen Capel y Ffin for 4 years but I remembered the place perfectly, the old chapel short stout and boxy with its little bell turret (the whole building reminded one of an owl), the quiet peaceful chapel yard shaded by the seven great solemn yews, the chapel house, a farm house over the way, and the Great Honddu brook crossing the road and crossed in turn by the stone foot bridge. Before the chapel house door by the brookside a buxom comely wholesome girl with fair hair, rosy face, blue eyes, and fair clear skin stood washing at a tub in the sunshine, up to the elbows of her round white lusty arms in soapsuds. We asked her how far it was to the place where the monks were building their monastery. ‘Oh,’ she said, smiling kindly and stopping her washing for a moment to direct us. ‘Oh, none just. Please to go over the brook and up the lane.’ Two tramps were lounging against the bridge lighting their pipes and said to each other when we had passed, ‘They are only going to see the monks’.

A few minutes walk up a lane now dry but which is probably a watercourse in winter, and looking through the hedge we exclaimed, ‘There they are’. Two black figures were working in a sloping patch of ground laid out as a garden, one digging and the other wheeling earth to him in a barrow. They were dressed in long black habits girt round the waist with scourge cords knotted at the ends and dangling almost to the ground. The black hoods or cowls were drawn over their heads leaving their faces bare, and their naked feet were thrust into sandals with which they went slip slop along as with slippers down at heel. Father Philip was digging. Brother Serene or Cyrene was wheeling earth to him from a heap thrown out of the excavation dug for the foundations of the monastery. He seemed very much oppressed by his heavy black dress, for the sun was hot and he stopped when he had wheeled his empty barrow back to the