An Odious Accusation

Banham is a small picturesque Norfolk village known for its cider-making. St. Mary the Virgin, the 14th century church, is celebrated for its magnificent spire. A late Victorian restoration was done by the longtime rector, the Rev John George Fardell M.A. Included were stained glass windows in his late wife's memory. 

As was common, the local clergyman headed the school board. Thus, in 1888, Rev. Fardell had the duty to sack the schoolmaster who'd been convicted in a police court of driving a horse & cart while drunk. It was a difficult thing to do. Rev Fardell had known Thomas Pawson for over 25 years. As a teenager, Pawson was an assistant teacher in the village school. The rector paid to send Pawson off to get his teacher's certificate and he'd been schoolmaster at Banham Commercial School for some time. He played on the village cricket and football sides and had lately married the church organist. 

Soon after the schoolmaster was let go, Rev. Fardell received a letter from Pawson threatening to reveal the rector's "great crimes" and demanding £300. "You began with your beastly habits 20 years ago in your own dining room. You have carried it on without intermission almost up to the present day." Pawson blamed his problems with drink on this alleged abuse which had ruined him in body and soul. The rector sent a letter back. He did not deny a thing but merely asked Pawson to reconsider. If the man went ahead with his threats, Fardell said he would address it from the pulpit and retire, for some time, from clerical work. Instead, Pawson sent a second note, again delivered by his wife, now demanding £1000 or he would expose the rector from one end of England to the other. Pay up and Pawson promised to go to Australia and "your heinous, hellish, bestial crime will be buried in oblivion."

One of the rector's sons was a solicitor and, on his advice, the East Harling magistrates summoned Pawson for sending letters contining an odious accusation and attempting to extort money thereby. The 78-year old clergyman appeared and admitted knowing the former schoolmaster. They had traveled together, to Lincoln and Yarmouth, staying at the same hotels. Pawson was a regular visitor to the rectory where he took tea and smoked cigars with his old friend. But the truth or falsity of Pawson's allegations was not before the court. Rev. Fardell was not on trial. The magistrates sent the case on to the Norwich Assizes.

Some weeks later, in the Norfolk Shirehall, Pawson plead guilty, blaming his actions on drink and regretting everything from the bottom of his heart. Justice Denman said decent people must be protected from such “dreadful accusations.” Pawson's crime was worthy of a life sentence but, on a recommendation for mercy, the defendant would serve a term of six years. In his book Sexual Blackmail (2002), Angus MacLaren said the courts typically came down harshest on those who attempted to extort from clergymen, doctors, solicitors - professional men with reputations to protect. "The law protected the wealthy from the poor and men from boys." Mrs. Pawson, who had delivered the letters to the rectory and called Mr. Fardell "a cursed man," had also been charged but she was not prosecuted. 

The Rev. Mr. Fardell remained in Banham for another five years; he retired to the Isle of Wight where he died in 1899. He's buried in Banham, St. Mary's churchyard, and there are numerous memorials to the rector and his family in the old church today.

I refer you to the newly published collection of clerical stories, How the Vicar Came and Went.

"The Curate and the Farmer's Boy"

The ancient church of St. Mary the Virgin in the Wiltshire village of Winterbourne Gunner is "delightfully situated" on the east bank of the River Bourne. A Victorian visitor described it as a beautiful church, "if only in its simplicity." It was there in 1887, that a new curate arrived, the Rev Robert Alexander Morgan, just ordained at Durham. The rectory was very near the church, but over a footbridge to the west bank of the river, opposite Manor Farm, where lived John Blake Sutton and his large family. 

It was a small village and, for some reason, the curate and the farmer did not mesh. On a summer's evening that August, the Rev. Morgan was returning from the Post Office along the "public road" when someone threw a stone over a hedge nearly hitting him. The curate scrambled up an embankment and chased down three little boys: 8-year old Charles Sutton, his brother Albert (there were seven Suttons) and William Hill. Who threw the stone, the curate demanded? William grassed, "Charlie, you better tell the truth." Charlie admitted he was the guilty party. 

The next day, the Rev Morgan wrote an extraordinary letter that was soon published in hundreds of newspapers. 

"Dear Sir (he addressed it to Mr. Sutton) As I passed up the road yesterday evening, a stone was thrown over the hedge at me by one of your boys. I shall not tolerate such conduct, and after the demonstration of your own profound ignorance and want of breeding on last Saturday, I have decided that if you will not teach your boys better manners, I shall."

Morgan demanded an apology within seven days or he would instruct his counsel to bring a case to the magistrates.

"You should bear in mind,' his letter continued, 'that there is a great gulf between your position and mine and if you do not teach your children how to conduct themselves properly, you must, like other parents similarly situated, take the consequences."  

No apology was forthcoming and, on 23 August, the remarkable assault case was heard in Salisbury, just a stone's throw away. (Sorry) The Rev. Morgan recounted his experience of the evening of 9 August. He narrowly escaped serious injury. He was able to capture his assailants and "the defendant" admitted being the perpetrator of the deed. Asked to explain his letter to the boy's father, Morgan said it was "no stronger than what Mr. Sutton deserved." 

William Hill, one of "the Winterbourne Gunner Three" was called. He admitted seeing Charlie throw the stone but he wasn't throwing it at anyone. Boys throwing stones, it was, nothing more, swore young William. The magistrates agreed and dismissed the charges. By way of chastening Mr. Morgan for his feelings of superiority, the curate was ordered to pay farmer Sutton's solicitor's bill of £1, 1s.

The story of "The Curate and the Farmer's Boy" was in  papers across Britain, and the curate's "singular letter" much commented upon. The verdict was generally approved although it was hoped that "this early visit to the magistrates will not turn Master Charles into a hardened offender, and that he will, in future, be careful to look before he throws stones." 

The Rev. Morgan remained in the Bourne Valley for another year or so before emigrating to Australia. 

Not a Creditable Affair for a Clergyman

The 13th century church of St. Peter stands in Deene Park, the Brudenell estate in Northamptonshire. The Brudenells were patrons of many churches in the area. The most famous in that family line, of course,  was the 7th Earl of Cardigan, hero of the Charge of the Light Brigade. While his Lordship was leading his "noble six hundred" into "the jaws of death," the rector of his church was keeping a mistress in London. 

This all came to light in 1856 when there was a disturbance at 98 York Road in Lambeth. A gentleman named Harris explained in police court that he wished to charge Miss Jane Oakford with stealing a gold watch and other appendages. Miss Oakford replied that the items were hers; they were gifts, she had been his mistress for two years. The magistrate might also wish to know that Mr. Harris was actually Rev Harris, a clergyman of the Church of England. Harris suddenly chose to drop the charges. It seems the falling out between the lovers began when Rev Harris told Jane that he was getting married; she did not take the news well. The books were closed on the fracas. “Thus has ended this delicate, though to a clergyman, not creditable affair.” 

The word of the unseemly incident in London reached the Bishop of Peterborough who urged Harris to clarify matters. The rector of Deene, now the newlywed husband of Miss Susannah Nye, went back to Lambeth to deny Miss Oakford was ever his mistress and that all such reports were “very detrimental to his character.” Two days later, Miss Oakford - described as “a person of ladylike manners,” reappeared with her lawyer. She brought with her many letters, a signed passport for "Mr. Oakford & wife," and the bill from a Paris hotel, for a room with just the single bed. Again, Harris opted to withdraw from the field. 

Lord Cardigan's own private life was hardly exemplary. He was probably quite forgiving. The Bishop not so much, to be sure. Nonetheless, the Rev. Mr. Harris managed to hold on to his rectory, although he left almost of the clerical duties to a curate. He remained rector of Deene and Corby until his death in 1872. 

The church at Deene is redundant now. The Brudenells still live in the hall. The massive tomb and memorial to Lord Cardigan can be seen in the church on open days. 

Please check out my new collection of clerical stories in HOW THE VICAR CAME AND WENT.

The Runaway Vicar

 "There is prevailing in English society a refined poverty of a class to which public attention is being directed with a view to its alleviation." By the late Victorian years, the numbers of impoverished clergymen was growing. One such reverend gentlemen was the Rev Hugh Courtenay Downman, vicar of the church of Sts Peter & Paul in Easton Maudit, a "small but pleasant" village in Northants. 

On Good Friday 1899, Mr. Downman did not appear for the solemn services of Holy Week. There were reports that he'd been seen boarding a train for London at Wellingborough. Downman had only been in the village a brief time; much of his clerical career had been abroad at various chaplaincies, from China to Barcelona. He had married the widow of a British officer out in India. Poor Mrs. Downman was pitied by all, abandoned by her husband while bailiffs circled the parsonage. 

Three weeks passed before Downman returned to the village. According to numerous published reports, the "runaway vicar" received a "lively but discordant reception" from his "neglected and indignant flock." The vicar was serenaded with the usual "rough music" of villagers banging pots and pans, showing their disgust by creating a general din. The Telegraph reported that the members of the small congregation had begged their bishop to remove Downman and a new vicar was being sought for Easton Maudit. 

Downman had come home newly determined to retain his position; he had been appointed to the parish by the Marquis of Northampton. To get his financial affairs in order; Downman submitted himself to the bankruptcy court. He also filed a series of libel suits against the newspapers which had reported on his departure and skulking return.

In London before Justice Grantham, Downman explained that his parish was very poor, providing him with about £110 per year. The resulting financial and domestic troubles left him practically unhinged. Therefore, in "temporary aberration," he left the day before Good Friday. He had not abandoned his wife but regularly communicated with her and, on her appeal, he returned. There was no such demonstration as the papers had reported, maybe a few village lads with tin whistles, no more. The Bishop had not replaced him. 

The united newspapers in the dock employed excellent counsel, claiming the suit was a simple money grab by the desperate clergyman hoping to pay his bills. Downman admitted that, despite his penury, he had recently purchased a new dog cart and drawing room furniture. He denied dipping into the village "clothing fund" which he managed. As for his devoted wife, Downman conceded that - without her private means - matters would have been much worse. She was the security for many of his debts yet he left her without warning, meaning his creditors would have come after her. Downman said he was so "mentally upset" at the time, he was not responsible for his actions. Had she told him that she would lend him no more money? She had. 

There was much discussion of the noise that greeted the vicar's return, if a village of 100 souls could create that much disturbance. Downman insisted he heard no more than a few whistles. Even that, he denounced as "a monstrous, un-Christian thing to do to a man in trouble."

The jury of Londoners had heard enough from this impecunious rustic cleric and told the judge they wished to give their verdict to the defendants. The Rev Downman remained in Easton Maudit without any notable issues until 1904. He and his forgiving wife returned to the continent where life was always more affordable. 

"Meet me tonight"

There is "no other place in the kingdom" such as "the Rows" of Yarmouth, declared Henry Manship in his history of the coastal town. Running east-west, from the River Yare toward the North Sea, resembling a gridiron, the 145 narrow rows were home to hundreds of sea-faring folk and the "general poor." In 1840, Ann Laws resided there, in Row 99, sometimes known as Castle Row. She lived with her husband James, a sailmaker. 

Ann had been to the market on a July Saturday and when she returned home, she found in her basket, a note. “Meet me tonight about nine or half-past-nine between Penrice’s and the beach.” The note was unsigned and unaddressed; she had no idea who placed it in her basket or when. She showed it to James and he bid her to keep that appointment whilst he kept himself some little distance away. 

The Penrice Arms was at the end of Row 99, on King Street. That summer night, the Yarmouth streets and rows were full. Mrs. Laws, in her bonnet, followed the note's instructions. At the approximate hour, she was approached by no less a figure than the Rev Mark Waters of St. George's, King Street. He spoke to her for several minutes but her husband was not able to hear over the general activity in the area. Mrs. Laws, however, told her spouse that she had indignantly rejected the clergyman's indecent requests. 

The Rev. Waters was 34, born in Yarmouth, married and with a young family. His church, St. George's, held more than 1000 souls. Thus, this little story that spread through the rows would not go away. It soon reached the ears of the Bishop of Norwich. The Rev. Waters did not deny speaking to Mrs. Laws that evening but nothing else she stated was true. There was considerable interest, of course, and Mr. Waters was the subject of ribald abuse in some Yarmouth quarters. At last, the following April, an ecclesiastical inquiry was held before three clergyman to determine whether Mr. Waters had "solicited the chastity" of Ann Laws. 

This churchly probe was held in an old inn, The Bear, in Southtown. The accused was not permitted to speak in his own defense. The belief being, that in such a case, even a clergyman would be tempted to lie. Mrs. and Mr. Laws were closely questioned. She spoke of finding the note in her basket and the plan she and her husband conceived to discover the sender. She was shaken to find out it was a clergyman. She told the churchmen she did not know Rev Waters, had never met him in her life. But her own elderly mother contradicted her. In fact, all the evidence was of “a very conflicting and contradictory character.” Several of their neighbours from the Rows spoke diffidently of the accusers' characters.

The numerous press accounts did not include any details on the improper proposals Mr. Waters allegedly made to Ann Laws. Why did she deny knowing him? Had they met before? There was no published suggestion that Mr. Laws had tried to entrap or blackmail the clergyman. Mr. Laws insisted he acted only after his wife had been insulted. The proceedings were lengthy, the meeting room filled with locals of the first rank and numerous clergy. In the end, the empaneled clergymen met privately for one hour, then issued their statement: Although the inquiry found the clergyman’s conduct “highly objectionable," the evidence was insufficient to send the matter to the Bishop for a full consistory court. 

Despite the rather mixed decision, the Rev Mr. Waters left the Bear, cheered by his many supporters. The verdict was generally accepted, having "effectively changed the impression" of Mr. Waters' in Yarmouth. He remained at St. George's until his death in 1864. The old church is now a theatre.

The newly published collection of stories, How the Vicar Came and Went, is now available from Amazon.

The Rector's Round from The Half Moon

 

In December 1885, PC Frank Scarterfield of the Surrey Constabulary spent a long cold night - and morning - in the remote village of Charlwood. "Embosomed in the woods," reached only by occasionally impassable lanes, Charlwood was normally a quiet place. The beautiful 11th Century church of St. Nicholas stood in the center of the village with a large rectory, then occupied by the Rev. Edward McFarlane Gibson. Right over The Street was the old public house, The Half Moon.

With much to do on a Sabbath morning, the Rev. Mr Gibson retired at 11 p.m. on Saturday, 12 December. Just about that time, last calls having been served, The Half Moon emptied out into the darkness. There had been a proper "knees up" that night, indeed. The raucous crowd stumbled about, mostly merry, but there were a few scuffles. PC Scarterfield, who policed these bosky lanes with his faithful collie, tried to shepherd the legless lot home. Without success and the PC heard enough backtalk that eventually 8 men were summonsed for being drunk and disorderly, including the publican, Fred Brown.

Even in 1885, there was a lot of paperwork when eight men were nicked. The sun was up by the time the constable thought he might get to his own bed. Then, just past 8:00, on a Sunday morning, he saw a young maid from The Half Moon scuttling over the road to the rectory lugging a large sack, in which the sharp-eared PC heard the unmistakable clink of bottles. He ordered the lass to stop and open her pack - a quick look inside revealed six of the familiar red triangles of Bass Ale. She said the rector had ordered a case of ale but she would have to make two trips. Brown, the hungover publican, was awakened and handed a new summons: selling liquor at unauthorised hours other than to bonafide travelers.

At the Surrey Petty Sessions in Reigate, the Rev. Mr. Gibson appeared in defense of Mr. Brown. The rector said he had ordered the beer and paid for it on Saturday. But it was a boisterous day in the pub and they had forgotten to deliver the case. Mrs. Brown, up early Sunday to get the inn back in order, saw the case behind the bar and sent the girl over with it straightaway. The magistrates, to their great credit, took the word of a clerk in holy orders and the charge was dismissed. They even scolded PC Scarterfield for his "injudiciousness" in bringing such a charge.

Two weeks later, in the same courtroom, the Rev. Gibson was back on the stand. He testified that on that Saturday night he'd been in bed just over the road from The Half Moon and did not really hear the drunken disturbance for which the eight Charlwood men were in the dock. Questioned by the PC, the rector admitted that some of the hedges in the churchyard had been damaged. There was a red spill, probably wine, on the footpath. He had no idea how any of it happened and again he'd slept through most of it anyway. It was another disappointing day for the constable; it wasn't quite as bad as he'd portrayed it. "The Charlwood Eight" were fined 10s apiece. 

Geograph.Org.UK

Charlwood isn't such a quiet place today, not a mile or two from the runways at Gatwick. (Some of the ancient Gatwycks still live in the area.) The Half Moon remains, a "hidden gem" according to one of the pub guides. The Rev Gibson was rector at St. Nicholas until his death in 1913. Surely, he enjoyed a Bass or two at the local. 

Thanks for visiting the blog and consider my new collection, How the Vicar Came and Went, on sale at amazon.co.uk.

Gypsy, Soldier, Sailor, Surgeon and now a Clergyman

Ten year old Mary Ann Gladwell was a thatcher's daughter in Rattlesden, Suffolk. To help the family, she worked in a farmer's wheatfield. One day in March 1838, she came home complaining of pain in her knee and ankle. There also lived in Rattlesden the Rev John Heigham Steggall, a curious clergyman, the perpetual curate at nearby All Saints church in Great Ashfield. 

Steggall kept a "little shop" in Rattlesden where he practiced a bit of medicine, pulling teeth, midwifery and the like. He'd picked up the knowledge as a boy on whaling ships and in India. Steggall examined Mary Ann and diagnosed her pains as the result of a fractured ankle which he "violently" reset. Then, using the two hard covers from a Bible as splints, he wrapped her ankle in wet calico. 

The girl did not improve. Her parents became quite concerned. Removing the Bible pieces, Steggall discovered large blisters which he pricked and drained "a teacup full." He prepared various poultices - including one of bread and turnips. The Gladwells eventually took their daughter to see Mr. White, a surgeon in Gedding who determined there was nothing for it but to amputate the leg at the knee. Surgeons in Stowmarket carried it out.

At the 1839 Lenten Assizes in Ipswich, the Gladwells sued the Rev Steggall for malpractice resulting in the loss of their child's income. The jury heard the history of poor Mary Anne's leg. She came to court on her "stilts", of course. A surgeon who had examined the child's limb after the surgery said there was never a fracture. He produced the bones for all to see. The doctor testified that there was infection in the ankle that had ulcerated; Steggall had displayed gross ignorance. 

The medical profession of Suffolk was well aware of the 50-year old Steggall's "practice" and there had been a lively controversy predating this "unfortunate calamity." Steggall's lawyer said his client had done his best but professional jealousy was behind the lawsuit. He also accused Mary Anne's parents of a "mercenary and vile" attempt to profit from their daughter's injury. The jury disagreed and quickly returned a verdict for the parents with damages of £10. 

Steggall remained a legendary character in the area, helped by his biography, published in 1856, The Suffolk Gipsy. Containing the Real History of John H. Steggall, Who Has Been a Gipsy, a Sailor, a Soldier, a Surgeon, and is Now a Clergyman of the Church of England.

Speaking of books, the new collection of Victorian clerical scandals, How the Vicar Came and Went, is available exclusively from Amazon. Thank you.