Royal Winchester: Wanderings in and about the Ancient Capital of England - A. G. K. L'Estrange

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and this district which seems fresh and cheerful is mostly historical from disease. It was depopulated by a pestilence in 1348, and never until lately recovered. At the end of the fifteenth century this church, and one with the pleasant name of “St. Mary’s of the Valley,” were taken down, and Wyke Chapel made the parish church.

      On the left I passed a red brick building, with some handsome trees beside it. This was the Union Workhouse—a bright, comfortable-looking edifice, which ought to cheer the hearts of any farmers and landowners who are thinking of soon entering it. At the back they will find a public recreation ground, called “Oram’s Arbour,” with seats, where they can rest and reflect upon their past fortunes, and bless Oram, who, having a lease of great length, generously surrendered it on condition that the ground should be free to the citizens for ever. There were, forty years ago, on the western side of it, where houses have been built, a fosse and bank, probably made by the Royalists in Cromwell’s time, though some have regarded them as a part of the old British defences of the town.

      Wyke.

      Farther on I passed a row of cottages with brightly flowering gardens, and after continuing up the hill between hedges white with “travellers’ joy,” for about half a mile, descended beneath overhanging larches, and came to the village of Wyke, with its little boulevard of pollard lime trees. Having obtained the keys at an adjoining cottage, I entered the tiny church beneath the Norman arch, and looked at the East window, which contains bits of old glass and has coloured scroll work round it.

      The chapel is mentioned by Henry de Blois, but was rebuilt in Henry VIII.’s reign. Within the chancel is a stone in the wall about eighteen inches square, in memory of Dr. Harpesfelde, who died in 1550. This person was a nephew of Johanna, Viscountess Lisle, who bequeathed to him as a “scholar of Bologna,” twelve pounds, six silver spoons, a silver cup, and a gown. He was made by Wolsey Commissary-general of the diocese, and assisted at the enthronement of Gardiner. Towards the end of his life he lived here, and went about in a horse litter. The engraver has made his inscription conspicuous by forming the chief letters very large and inserting the others inside them—an early suggestion of shorthand.

      HERE LYETH

       MR DOCTR HA

       RPESEECDE PSON

       HERE 1550 APRI III

      THE EPITAPH OF DR. HARPESFELDE.

      Just opposite the door there is in the wall a curious little brass, about a foot high and six inches wide. Many people come to take rubbings of it. Here is represented St. Christopher carrying the infant Christ. The saint is wading through a stream, and in his anxiety to behold the face of his sacred burden seems to have dislocated his neck. The inscription beneath runs as follows:—

      Here lieth will’m Complyn

      & Annes his wife yᵉ Whiche

      will’m decessid yᵉ xxj day of

      mayj yᵉ yere of oure lord

      mc.c.c.clxxxxviiii. Also this be

      ze dedis yᵗ ze said will’m hath

      down to this Church of Wike

      yᵗ is to say frest dedycacion

      of yᵉ Church xlˢ & to make

      newe bellis to yᵉ sam Church

      xˡ also gave to yᵉ halloyeng

      of yᵉ grettest bell vjˢ. viij. d.

      & for yᵉ testimonyall’ of the

      dedicacion of yᵉ sam Church

      vjˢ viii. d. on whos soules

      ihu have mercy Amen.

      I observed that z is here twice put for y—and the fact reminded me of the pronunciation of the agricultural people here.

      As I left the quaint little sanctuary I found an old labouring man standing outside gazing at it wistfully in an attitude of meditation. I was glad to see this. “The poorest,” I thought, “can appreciate the ancient and the beautiful.” But his reflections were more practical. As I passed he gave me a curious look, and said, with a twinkle in his grey eyes—

      “Richest living about Winchester, zir.”

      “Indeed,” I replied. “How much do you make it?”

      “Eight hundred and fifty, zir.”

      “The rector would be glad to receive half that,” I returned.

      Resuming my walk I soon came in sight of a white cylindrical building with a globular top, on the high ground of Harestock. As I saw my agricultural friend trudging after me I stopped to ask him about it.

      “What is that?” I inquired.

      “That? Oh that is a place for looking at the stars. It belongs to Captain Knight; he is a great astrologer.”

      Littleton.

      As I did not want my horoscope cast I passed on, and proceeded along a hilly road between high banks, where grew the blue scabious and long spikes of yellow agrimony and mullein, till in two miles I descended into the village of Littleton. The church has been restored and thus lost much of its interest, but there is here a dark square font of massive stone, by which we think we can see the immediate descendants of the Norman invaders standing to have their children christened. There is also a brass on the floor in front of the chancel dating from 1493. Opening into the churchyard is an old cottage parsonage, in which the clergyman formerly lived when he was—

      “Passing rich on forty pounds a year.”

      Two years ago there was a great conflagration opposite this church, a number of cottages were burnt, and some of the villagers had narrow escapes.

      This is three miles from Winchester, and a mile further on I came to Mr. Carrick Moore’s house, his large stables for racehorses, and a field laid out with jumps for training steeplechasers. The racecourse is not far from this on the right. Racing has long been a favourite amusement at Winchester. In 1634 a cup was provided by the city; and again in 1705, when Queen Anne was here, the kindly civic chest was not appealed to in vain. This was an improvement on the old sport of bull-baiting, for which it had been ordered that two Winchester butchers should provide two or three times a year one “sufficient fighting bull,” the other butchers contributing 6d. each a year.

      At this point there is on the left a distant view of the woods of Mr. Vanderbyl, and passing on along grassy banks, spangled with rock cistus, I came to a pool at the commencement of Crawley. The village runs up a hill, at the top of which is the church adjacent to the beautiful grounds of Crawley Court (Lord Kinnaird). The church is reached through an avenue of limes: it contains some small Norman pillars, a brass recording diffusely the virtues of a rector named Reniger, who died in 1606, and a chest which once performed the double service of strongbox and communion table.

      From this point I returned to the pool, and taking the road to the right came in about two miles to the woods of Lainston on the right, and a double avenue of limes opposite the lodge of Mr. Vanderbyl. A mile farther on a loftier avenue opens, at the end of which stood Lainston House. I cannot say that I saw it clearly for the sun dazzled me, setting

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