The Rebirth of England and English

The following review originally appeared in the Wessex Chronicle volume 2, issue 2 (Summer 2000)

THE REBIRTH OF ENGLAND AND ENGLISH by Fr. Andrew Phillips
(Published by Anglo-Saxon Books price £9.95 ISBN 1-898281-17-3)

Subtitled The Vision Of William Barnes, this masterly study does not concentrate so much on Barnes’s poetry, which has already been covered in numerous other books, as on his philosophy of life. Actually, “philosophy” is probably the wrong word, due to its Greek origin, but more on this anon.

The book is divided into two parts. Part one, The Rebirth Of England, starts with a brief biography of Barnes, and follows it with six chapters, each dealing with a different aspect of Barnes’s outlook. The chapters are: Religion; Nature and Art; Marriage; Society; Economics and Politics.

In truth, these views are not so easily compartmentalised, and there is considerable overlap between the chapters. Also, the heading of chapter 4, “Marriage”, is rather too narrow, as it really deals with the whole vexed question of the relations between the sexes. Barnes was no feminist, but neither was he a male chauvinist pig, believing that women should be second-class citizens, even though he lived in an age when they were widely regarded as such.

Part two, The Rebirth Of English, concerns Barnes’s efforts to “purify and fix” the English language by coming up with native English equivalents for foreign loan-words. More importantly for us, he wrote poems in his native Dorset dialect, which he argued was the language of Wessex. He was something of a mentor to Thomas Hardy, and the book tells us that “Hardy…got his idea of ‘Wessex’ directly from Barnes” (we would of course dispute that Wessex was Hardy’s idea!).

Phillips is keen to point out that the desire for “pure” English was not motivated by xenophobia, but by a love of plain speech. According to Barnes, his native English words were more comprehensible to Wessex folk and other Englishmen than their Latinate equivalents. This was not always the case, though, and some of his words were longer than their Standard English equivalents. Who but the most rabid nationalist would use “push-wainling” instead of “pram”, for example?

Father Andrew also ventures his own Barnesian equivalents to more modern words, such as “upthinker” for computer and “farspeaker” for telephone. But the real selling point of the book is that it gathers together for the first time all Barnes’s pure English words from the variety of works in which they were originally scattered. These include original words coined by Barnes (some of which have passed into common parlance, such as “folklore” and “foreword”) as well as plain English substitutions for words derived from Latin or French (eg “spyglass” for telescope). This makes for fascinating reading, and the effect is quite infectious.

Whilst I would have liked to see more on Barnes’s dialect works, this book does illustrate that Wessex dialect was the standard form of Old English, and that Wessex English is perhaps the purest form of English there is. The sneers of the metropolitan elite are historical in origin, reflecting the Normans’ contempt for their conquered English subjects. Wessex people have no cause to be afraid of the way we speak. As this book puts it, “BBC English, the English of the upper class, is merely a Norman accent, that of invaders who could not speak English properly and then, ironically, passed on their accent to succeeding generations as a status symbol, the sign of their superiority and prestige over the English peasantry”. Well, quite.

The Murder of William II, Rufus the Red

This article originally appeared in the Wessex Chronicle volume 13, issue 2 (Summer 2012)

William II had inherited England from his father the Conqueror in 1087. His elder brother Robert inherited Normandy. William Rufus was unpopular not only with the Church but also the nobles and the people. In 1088, Norman barons led by Bishop Odo, half-brother of the
Conqueror had revolted to try to place Robert on the throne of England. William II defeated them with English help, having promised to cut taxes and institute efficient government. However, once the rebellion was over he ignored his promises.

Rufus campaigned in Scotland, Normandy and Wales. He compelled the King of Scotland to
acknowledge him as overlord in 1091 and when that King, Malcolm III, revolted in 1093 he
killed him. Rufus also campaigned in Normandy from 1089 to 1096, seeking to overthrow his elder brother Robert; he reduced Duke Robert to a subordinate role. Robert went on crusade in 1096 having mortgaged his Dukedom to Rufus. In 1097 Rufus subjugated Wales.

Bishop Gosfrith (a Saxon) and Rodger Montgomery (a Norman) rebelled in Wales and were defeated. Rodger Bigod rose in the eastern counties and Hugo of Grentemesnil in the Midlands and were put down. A further revolt of barons took place in 1095; this was put down with great brutality so that the Norman barons feared to chalIenge Rufus again. He treated rebels severely, killing some, mutilating and blinding others. William of Aldrey, a godfather of Rufus, rebelled and was executed in 1096. Another kinsman, William, Count of Eu was executed for treason. Eudeo, Count of Champagne forfeited lands. One rebel was Rodger of Yvery whose main holding was in the midlands, but who also held land near the
New Forest.

Jonathan Sells’ sculpture at
Christchurch shows a couple getting
married, with Ranulph Flambard
ringing a bell above them

William, Bishop of Durham was another of those who conspired against Rufus. As a result he was replaced by Ranulph Flambard, the Dean of Christchurch (also known as Tweoxneam – the place ‘betwixt the waters’).

William Rufus was clearly a successful military leader. However, his cruelty and malice
caused him to have few friends. Nevertheless, he was well-served by some who lined their own pockets, including Flambard who was William II’s Justiciar, his chief civil servant, gaining an unenvied reputation as a tax gatherer, but a better one as an architect. Other
churchmen were against Rufus; he held Church appointments vacant in order to appropriate their revenues, including the bishoprics of Winchester and Salisbury and 11
abbeys. His disputes with the Church caused him to drive St Anselm, the Archbishop of
Canterbury, into exile in 1097.

Thus Saxons, Normans, Welsh, Scots, French and Churchmen had found cause to rebel.

It is hinted that Rufus’ personal life style was wicked. It was suggested after his death that he made free with women at the Court and boys also. Also that he engaged in pagan religious practices. However, all this may have been black propaganda, put about to justify his death, since many gained by his death, notably his younger brother Henry I, his elder brother Robert of Normandy, the Church, Norman barons and Saxon people, who all experienced arbitrary taxation.

Many had suffered from William I’s creation of the New Forest in 1074. Nobles lost income from the loss of land (manors) and inhabitants lost subsistence. As a result of the royal reserve of the Forest, nature was left to herself; trees were not felled and people were
dispossessed. The king’s huntsmen became powerful and with the royal foresters were
capable of abusing their position, bringing people before the law for severe punishments, including: amputation, castration, blinding, death. There was some satisfaction when Richard, another son of the Conqueror was killed in the New Forest. This was an accidental
death caused when galloping under a tree so that a bough struck the rider breaking his neck. A grandson of the Conqueror was also “accidentally” killed in the New Forest. To lose two sons and a grandson in three separate accidents in the same Forest seems to stretch credulity.

Rufus has been described as thickset, strong, ruddy-faced and with eyes of two different colours. He was brave, could act wisely and with decision. He was a strong ruler, daring, tenacious and successful in war. However, it is also the case that, like his father, he was capable of great cruelty. He was also said to glory in the pomp of his numerous troops (the reason for his high taxes), and to enjoy mocking his subordinates and using sarcasm. Rufus, although aged 30, was unmarried and had no mistress, at a time when people married young and wealthy men kept mistresses. Hence it is likely that he was homosexual. The
Church made use of this allegation after his death.

A possible intended wife for Rufus was Eadgyth, daughter of the late King of Scotland and great-granddaughter of the Saxon King Edmund Ironside. However, she had taken refuge as a nun at Romsey Abbey. Nevertheless, after the death of Rufus, St Anselm, Archbishop of Canterbury, returned to England and released Eadgyth from her vows. She was then able
to marry Henry I on 11th November, three months and nine days after the death of Rufus. Their daughter, the Empress Matilda, later fought to secure the throne for her infant son
after the death of Henry I.

There were thus many people, at all levels of society, who would gain by the death of William Rufus. There was much MOTIVE for removing him from the throne and the only
safe way with such an effective war leader was by death. The death of Rufus could have
been accidental, or murder, or even a sacrificial ritual. To consider these options, besides MOTIVE it is necessary to examine OPPORTUNITY and METHOD.

OPPORTUNITY

Those who were in the hunting party with Rufus on the fatal day included:

  • Henry l, 10 years younger than Rufus, a heterosexual who although a bachelor had fathered children;
  • Walter Tirel (or Tyrell) of Poix at Ponthieu in Normandy, married (for 15 years) to Adelice of the de Clare family (she was at home at Poix);
  • Earl Gilbert de Clare and his brother Rodger, friends of Henry and brothers-in-law of Tyrell;
  • William de Breteuil, a friend of Rufus and keeper of the treasury;
  • Robert Fitz Hamon, an old friend of Rufus;
  • Gilbert de l’Aigle;
  • William de Montfichet;
  • Gerald of Wales, Bishop of St David’s;
  • Ranulph de Aquis (named by Gerald of Wales);
  • Court officials and huntsmen.

The behaviour of some of these men after the death of Rufus appears to be significant. Tyrell made to Normandy, possibly via Poole Harbour. The others made speed to Winchester to secure the treasury. There Henry was soon crowned despite de Breteuil seeking to preserve the treasury for Robert, Duke of Normandy, the elder brother of Henry who was away on crusade. William II’s body was left behind and was allegedly taken up by one Purkiss, a charcoal burner, who carried it on his cart to Romsey Abbey. Then it was taken rapidly on for interment at Winchester.

Winchester Cathedral. Rufus’
bones are listed among those resting in
the mortuary chests (see page 16); the
plain tomb often shown as his is most
likely that of Bishop Henry of Blois.
METHOD

Hunting was practice for war: it involved team work, courage, exercise, horsemanship, stalking, and use of weapons. One such weapon was the crossbow.

The crossbow is a projectile weapon consisting of a bow attached crosswise to a stock. The stock, called a tiller, performs the same function as the arm of an archer holding a conventional bow, except that the crossbow is used horizontally not upright. This makes aiming easier because the projectile of a crossbow can rest on the tiller. The crossbow is fired by use of a trigger for the release of the bowstring and this can be held ready for instant use. It was a very powerful weapon.

The crossbow scaled-up as an
artillery piece: a sketch by Leonardo da
Vinci, c. 1500

The crossbow is easier to fire than a conventional bow. An archer for the longbow would require many years training, starting as a boy, in order to develop the upper body strength required, particularly in the arm, to stretch the bow when firing. Similarly, great experience and training was needed to aim the longbow accurately. The crossbow made use of mechanical power rather than human strength. It was, however, much slower to load, hence was primarily of use as a weapon in fortifications where cover was available for reloading. Also it could be used by the weaker members of a besieged place thus releasing able-bodied men for other duties.

The crossbow was also used in hunting where speed of reloading was less important and where the noble huntsman could use such a weapon from horseback, the noble not having undergone years of training as an archer but as a horseman. Neither mounted archers nor mounted crossbowmen had a military role in Norman armies; however, they were used as infantry.

The crossbow is an ancient weapon. Its use has been confirmed by archæology in Han dynasty China, dating from 200BC. The Romans used the large crossbow, called a ballista, as field artillery. Even larger crossbows were used as siege weapons. The Norse used crossbows in 986 at the battle of Hjörungsvàg in Norway. William the Conqueror had foot crossbow men in his army at Hastings in 1066. The Norman interest in blood sports led them to use the crossbow as a hunting weapon. It could be kept ready (spanned) and loaded for use whereas the conventional bow had to be drawn and shot when the quarry appeared. A hunting quarrel for a crossbow would be made of wood and armed with a wide metal head to create a blood trail to enable the animal to be tracked.

Popes complained about the crossbow: it could enable an unarmoured peasant to kill an armoured knight. (The same complaint was later made about pistols.) The Church desired that the weapon be not used against Christians.

The crossbow could be used to shoot a variety of projectiles depending upon the design of the bow: arrows, bolts, quarrels, stones or bullets. It could not project stones or lead bullets as fast as a slinger, nor arrows as fast as an archer. Typically, the military crossbow fired a nine-inch heavy bolt with an armour-piercing shaped metal head. It had greater penetration and range than an 11th century conventional bow. Henry V, who won the Battle of Agincourt in 1415 with longbowmen, still had 38 crossbowmen in his army.

William of Poitiers, chaplain to William the Conqueror, reports the use of the crossbow at Hastings in 1066. It was a weapon used in the First Crusade in 1098. Richard the Lionheart’s battle tactics made use of crossbowmen to give a firm base with heavy armoured horsemen for attack. Richard was an expert with the crossbow; when sick at Acre he fired the crossbow from his bed against Saracen besiegers. He was himself killed by a crossbow when besieging Chaluz Castle in France. Queen Elizabeth I used to engage
in crossbow target shooting.

Because crossbows could be carried spanned and loaded, as when hunting, they could be
dangerous due to accidental discharge. This occurred to the Archbishop of Canterbury in the early 17th century, when he accidentally killed Peter Hawkin while hunting. King James I was sympathetic. “An angel might have miscarried in this way.” By this time crossbows could be spanned by the use of a windlass. The early crossbow was bent for loading by hand, later aided by the use of a metal stirrup at the head of the bow in which to place one or both feet to use the weight of the body to pull back the bow string to the trigger sear.

The death of William Rufus could thus have been an accident. However, not an accidental discharge; reports of the event refer to William moving into the line of fire and being hit as a result. It was apparently in the afternoon and a stag was being shot at uphill through woodland against the sun. The shot was said to have been fired by Walter Tyrell, Lord of Poix at Ponthieu, France, but there is some dispute about the identity of the man who fired (see below: final paragraph). Since he was one of a party of noblemen, he was mounted, and since mounted would have been using a hunting crossbow, although hunters may have dismounted to stalk and ambush animals and fire when on foot. Tyrell departed the scene on horseback apparently crossing the river Avon some 12 miles to the south-west at what is calIed Tyrell’s Ford, south of Bisterne, north of Christchurch. There is a tradition that he used the smith at Avon, either to replace his horse’s shoes to make tracking more difficult or to repair loose shoes. (The story of reversing the horseshoes is impractical nonsense.)

Rufus had been presented with six new shafts, of which he gave two to Tyrell, saying “the best for the best shot”. This may be a true report but it is not evidence of Tyrell firing at the King. (Tyrell denied being the author of Rufus’ death near the end of his life.)

Tyrell took ship, probably at North Shore, Poole Harbour, for Normandy. He was probably charged with the task of informing the barons in Normandy of the death of Rufus. However, once Henry I had taken over the throne he returned and no action was taken against him. Henry had clearly made terms with the Church for a quick coronation, reinforced by
a quick wedding to a Saxon princess.

The question of William Rufus’s death being an accident is doubtful. Rufus was very unpopular. He had offended the Church by keeping church appointments vacant and
then retaining the income. (This practice was followed by Ranulph Flambard, the chief minister of Rufus who built the nave of Christchurch Priory.)

The likelihood is that Rufus was murdered rather than accidentally killed. His body was left with rustics where it fell and the remainder of the noble hunting party, less Tyrell, made for Winchester to gain control of the treasury and to crown Henry king soon after at Westminster. This happened so rapidly that it looks planned.

Tyrell’s escape also has the appearance of a plan. The story is that he went west directly away from the party heading for Winchester. Yet he did not make for the nearest coast where shipping could be found. This would have been Eling Creek if the site of the Rufus Stone near Cadnam (below) is an accurate location for the murder. If Rufus were killed elsewhere, perhaps at Thorougham at Park Farm, near Beaulieu, then Lepe near the mouth
of Beaulieu River (the Ex) would have been logical. If he had gone to Poole from Beaulieu, a direct route is through Christchurch rather than crossing at what became known as Tyrell’s Ford several miles north of Christchurch. However, the ford may take its name from the Tyrell family who owned the manor of Milton, which included Avon, in the mid 14th to
late 16th centuries.

The ‘Rufus Stone’, enclosed in
cast iron by William Sturges Bourne,
Warden of the New Forest, in 1841

Tyrell seems to have gone towards Poole Harbour. Yet he did not pass through Ringwood, the direct route from Cadnam to Poole town. Nor did he go through Christchurch, a seaport at the time, where shipping could be expected. He passed north of Christchurch on a direct
line from Cadnam for the North Shore of Poole Harbour, which would have been uninhabited. Or possibly for North Haven Point, also uninhabited, where a vessel lying offshore would not have had any problems with the tide, as at Christchurch or Poole Harbours.

If the sun was a factor in reports of the shooting, then on 2nd August 1100 it would have been probably early evening when the death occurred, well before sunset. A 12-mile cross-country trip to Avon, the hamlet near Tyrell’s Ford, on a horse already tired from a day’s hunting would have taken some time, probably into dusk. Then a delay for finding a smith and heating his equipment. Fording the Avon and the journey on to the area of Poole, another 10 miles, would have then been in the dark, probably moonlit, but not easy with
no roads. It is likely that Tyrell did not take ship untiI sometime after dawn on 3rd August.

Another suggestion is that Rufus was the victim of a pagan sacrificial killing; either murder or a willing victim. From what we know of his character the latter seems most unlikely. Stories of premonition from dreams may be true but are more likely to be mythical or
propaganda, to lend verisimilitude to his death being approved by God.

There are however two pieces of evidence which lend credence to the idea of a sacrifice. the date, 2nd August, is that of Lammas, the Neolithic festival of the first loaf of the new harvest, a time of pagan ritual celebrations which were taken over by the Christian Church. (In which case sunset may have been important.) The reports of the death are that the shaft entered Rufus’ chest and that he broke the end off and then feII face down upon it,
forcing it further into his body. Accident or deliberate? The head of a hunting shaft, crossbow or conventional bow, is designed to cause the animal to bleed rather than for deep penetration as with a man-killing arrowhead. Then rapid death could be caused from a hunting arrowhead wound only by forcing it further into the body.

It has been suggested that Rufus was a royal sacrifice for the sins of the world, hardly likely behaviour for a man who is alleged to have been a debauched character. Crusaders had brought back to Europe heretical ideas which later gave rise to the Cathars of southern France, who were the target of a later crusade. Some of the gnostic ideas taken up by the Cathars were closer to early Christianity than the Church in Rome realised. It is a very long
step however to associate Rufus with them or with suggested pagan rituals of hypothetical Celtic practices.

Thus murder rather than accident or sacrifice seems the most likely. There were plenty of motives for murder.

Hunting gave the opportunity and crossbow the method, a small group with weapons, away from court, with opportunities for escape and for rapid movement to Winchester. If it were murder then it was a conspiracy involving Henry I, his friends – the Clares and Tyrell, and no doubt others; probably most in the party were involved. Rufus had no children and it seems few close friends. There was no point in seeking revenge on behalf of a friendless unpopular dead man. The barons and the Church would be glad to be rid of him and the ordinary people probably neither knew nor cared. Ranulph Flambard, the Justiciar of William II, was soon after imprisoned in the Tower of London. However, he escaped to Normandy and then became reconciled with Henry I and resumed his bishopric at Durham.

After the death of Rufus, stories appeared to the effect that his end had been foretold. These included dream tales to the effect that: Rufus dreamt of his own death; Anselm
dreamt it; the Abbot of Cluny dreamt it; a monk at Gloucester dreamt it; a monk from abroad dreamt it. A youth in Lyons told a royal chaplain of the death of Rufus before it had occurred. A man in Devon told Peter de Melves of the death on the day it occurred. An old woman in the New Forest hailed Henry as King before the death. Fulchered, the Abbot of
Shrewsbury, preached on St Peter’s Day about the troubles of England and about how “the arrow is drawn for the blow to be struck”. Perhaps he knew something. Clearly the Church pulled out all the stops to make the death seem to be preordained (by God).

Ranulph Flambard, who had worked for William I and William II, continued for a while under Henry I but was then confined to the Tower of London in 1101. He escaped to Normandy (possibly a put up job) and made contact with potential rebels there. However no rebellion
arose, possibly Flambard’s real purpose was to penetrate and so frustrate a potential rebellion. He was back as Bishop of Durham in 1101. (When Flambard was Bishop of Durham, he designed the cathedral there on the same plan as at the nave of Christchurch.
He was also the cause of a nun at Durham being made a saint for resisting.) Perhaps because he was ‘in the know’ about the truth of Rufus’s death, Henry restored him to his office. In 1106 Henry l defeated his elder brother Duke Robert of Normandy and kept him a prisoner until his death.

Perhaps it was not Tyrell who first shot the fatal shaft. Possibly he was the ‘faII guy’ who found himself blamed because he was not at Winchester but had carried the news directly to Normandy. In later years when Tyrell was near death he told Abbot Suger of St Denis that
he had not been in that part of the Forest when the death took place. During Henry I’s life he had no incentive to rock the boat; it would have been dangerous for him to do so.

A candidate did appear however in later years. Gerald of Wales, when an old man, and after the death of Henry I, said that the killer was Ranulph de Aquis. There is no trace of this person, but it has been proposed that this was a cover name for Ranulph of the Waters,
and that the waters were those of Avon and Stour. Ranulph Flambard, Bishop of Durham since 1097, former Dean of Christchurch, a royal chaplain, was that person. This seems an interesting but totally unsupported suggestion and does not change the very strong
circumstantial evidence that Rufus was murdered. It is also unlikely that he was killed by a conventional bow and far more circumstantial evidence exists that the weapon was a crossbow.

Wessex Worthies: PC Wren

This article originally appeared in the Wessex Chronicle Volume 18, Issue 1 (Spring 2017)

An unusual entry into our Wessex Worthies series of biographies of prominent Wessaxons this time, as there is some doubt as to whether its subject actually qualifies for entry. Most “about the author” blurbs on the covers of his 30 novels and 9 collections of short stories will tell you that Percival Christopher Wren was born in Devon in 1885, a direct descendant of the famed architect Sir Christopher Wren. However, Wren was notoriously secretive about his life, and something of a fabulist to boot, so this could well be what we nowadays refer to as an alternative fact. Wikipedia, for what it’s worth, gives his birthplace as Deptford, London; Percy Wren, a humble schoolmaster’s son. It also lists his birth as being 10 years earlier, in 1875. He graduated from what is now St Catherine’s College in Oxford, but which was then St Catherine’s Society, a non-collegiate institution for poorer students. Could it be that the connection to Sir Christopher Wren was a way of elevating the status of a man who was self-conscious about his lowly origins? And who could blame a man who had the misfortune to be born in That London for wishing he had been born in Wessex instead?

Whatever his place of birth, Wren is chiefly known as the inventor of a genre of adventure fiction that was once hugely popular, but which has now fallen into disuse: the Foreign Legion story. Again, Wren’s own service in the Legion is a matter of controversy. No corroborating evidence exists to support the speculation that he had served as a legionnaire, and he refused to either confirm or deny it. It would appear, at least to my eyes, that he didn’t actually serve in the Legion, but wasn’t too upset by people thinking that he did. But his stepson, Alan Graham-Smith, always maintained that Wren was indeed a legionnaire, and was reportedly very upset by those who said otherwise.

He definitely served in World War I, however, in the 101st Grenadiers, a unit of the British Indian Army active in East Africa. After being invalided out in 1915, he concentrated on his fiction, though he had previously written a number of educational textbooks used in India. By far his best-known work is the 1924 novel Beau Geste, which has been filmed a number of times, and which spawned four sequels, two of which were also filmed. It was parodied by the Carry On team in Follow That Camel, and by Marty Feldman in The Last Remake of Beau Geste. The title of the latter proved to be prophetic as far as film is concerned, but it was adapted again for television in 1982 in an 8-part BBC serial written by Alistair Bell & Terrance Dicks and directed by Douglas Camfield.

PC Wren died in 1941, and is buried in the graveyard of Holy Trinity Church, Amberley, Gloucestershire. Whether or not he was born in Devon, he certainly loved the county. Consider this passage from Good Gestes:

“What would be the loveliest thing his mind could possibly conceive? What about a drive in the high dog-cart with Isobel?—through the glorious Devon countryside; the smart cob doing his comfortable ten miles an hour; harness jingling; hoof-beats regular as clockwork; Isobel’s hand under his right arm; Devon lanes; Devon fields and orchards; Devon moors; glorious—beyond description.”

So whilst his birth in Wessex may be open to dispute, the fact that his heart, soul, and ultimately body belonged here is not.

The English Love of Nature

This article originally appeared in the Wessex Chronicle volume 15, issue 3 (autumn 2014).

The following printed item – labelled ‘MALMS Whitsuntide 1918’ – was found pasted in the visitors’ book of Alfred Bowker of The Malms, a large house at Shawford, near Winchester.
As Mayor of Winchester, Bowker, an energetic local solicitor, was instrumental in the commissioning of King Ælfred’s statue in the Broadway. The Malms (now demolished) was a pioneering, if problematic example of the use of reinforced concrete.

Hanham Court, near Bristol

All the beauty of early summer bloomed out in one week. The apple trees were covered with pink flowers and red buds. In the grass below them the narcissus gleamed. The thorns came suddenly aglow with blossom; the lilacs were each a heavy mass of colour and scent; the wistaria hung its bunches over the house-walls. Outside the garden the woods were misty with bluebells; the meadows gaily spread with buttercups and daisies, or tricked
more daintily with cowslips and cuckoo flowers. And after the long heat of the day, the nights were magical with the cool moon and the wide-set stars, and the nightingale
singing near the stream where the garden ends.


Such days and nights are all but intoxicating. So beautiful are they, and so rare, that they seem like some choice and expensive pleasure, which only the rich can afford and only the leisured enjoy. They carry an air almost of dissipation. Yet they are open to all dwellers in the country; they cost nothing, and take no time from work. They are a condition, not an achievement. We did not buy them: still less did we earn them. We rob no one else by
njoying them, retard no good work, obstruct no reform. If we have no
right to them, at least we do no wrong in accepting them as a gift. And, while we feel that it is “almost wicked” to be so happy – the old English puritanism, or some far older human fear of happiness, prompting us to mistrust the gift – the truth is that we are in such moments much nearer goodness than when the sky is grey and the wind in the east, and life seems a continuous effort instead of a blessed state.

At such rare times as these past few days have brought, the joy of being alive is forced upon us as never else. The present insists upon recognition. Each moment demands conscious enjoyment. As a rule, man looks before and after. He is hardly aware of the present, so fondly does he dream of the past, so eagerly or timorously does he peer into the future. Only now and then does the beauty and the dearness of his earthly setting compel him to concentrate his being in each moment. You cannot overlook the apple blossom, the lilac, the moonlight, the sound of the nightingale, and of the running water.

You cannot even remember that a week hence it will all be over, so intensely are you aware of it and of yourself within it. And thence, perhaps, you pass to the thought that it would be well for you to be more continuously and consciously aware of the present, not a moment of which but must have in it something consoling, or enlarging, or strengthening. For now, more than ever before, we know, vicariously or from experience, that life is short and
uncertain. In these days there is “no knowing what will happen”; and the folly of making plans for the future, however bravely, is seen at first hand to be as foolish as the great wise
men have all declared it to be. In the world before the war (though we were far from as silly and as greedy as certain timorous people have tried to make out) we were, beyond doubt,
to be found scampering more than was reasonable. We planned elaborate pleasures, worked hard to contrive them, and in the act of enjoying them set about thinking of
what to do next. There is no room now for elaborate pleasures, no time to plan them; possibly no future to squeeze them into. But the present is ours, and nothing can take it from us. The simple pleasures which we used to take unheeding, and therefore to lose, in the past, are now all that we can count upon. An hour with a favourite book, the song of a
bird, something good to eat or drink, a moonrise, a flower, a good walk – the value of all such simple pleasures, that cost nothing, that need no planning, that are pleasures of the moment, gifts or states, not achievements, has been increased a hundredfold by the conditions under which we live to-day. And if ever the war is over, the survivors must count
that among their gains from it: that they have learned the existence of the present moment, with its store of happiness, hitherto neglected.

To live fully in the present is in most moments to be happier than by living in the past or the future. To live in the past is, in the nature of things, to feel regret. To live in the future is to
be constantly subject to disappointment or to evil apprehension. We are seldom as miserable at any moment as we believe ourselves. The greater part of human unhappiness comes from our fear of what may be going to happen; just as the secret cause of most quarrels is the fear in each party of what the other party may be going to do. Most moments, rid of regret and evil apprehension, have in them something good, something
enjoyable, if it be only the joy of bravely enduring one moment more of evil case. At least, there is about living in the present a blessed restfulness. The past is past. There may be no future. There is nothing to regret, and nothing to worry about. And, if we cannot always have lilac, red apple-buds, moonlight and a nightingale, not even pituita molesta can prevent drear-nighted November from being very pleasant now and then.

Sidmouth

Wessex Aviation Industry, by Mike Phipp (Amberley Publishing, 2011)

This review originally appeared in Wessex Chronicle volume 14, issue 2 (summer 2013)

Mike Phipp has been watching planes come and go at Bournemouth’s airport since the
1960s, so is well-placed to write the definitive book on the Wessex aviation industry. This is not yet it. He confines ‘Wessex’ to Dorset and Wiltshire and the western parts of Hampshire and Berkshire. Can you write our aviation history and exclude Westland of Yeovil, makers of the Wessex and the
Wyvern? Or Bristol, birthplace of the Brabazon and Concorde?

Or Farnborough, home of military flying? That the book actually makes frequent passing reference to all three places, and others in Wessex, only underlines its chief shortcoming. At 317 pages, however, Mike Phipp’s work does offer plenty to be getting on with.

It arranges alphabetically 26 locations used by aircraft manufacturers. The firms range from Vickers-Supermarine, with 13 locations, to single-site operations like Sheriff Aerospace of Sandown or Jackaroo Aircraft of Thruxton. There is a short bibliography but unfortunately the only thing like an index is the contents listing. The aircraft and their manufacturers have been written about before. What is new is their placing in a geographical context, allowing us to understand how the industry came into being. The south coast’s boat-builders were ready to apply their traditional skills to making seaplanes. In 1912 Saunders and Sopwith collaborated on the Bat Boat, the first flying boat to be built in Europe, with a hull based on Saunders’ racing boat construction methods. In 1959 the same firm, by now Saunders-Roe – ‘Saro’ – of Cowes, built the first full-size hovercraft, the SR-N1. And what exactly IS a hovercraft? The Navy’s were classified as aircraft until 1979, and since then as ships, but really they’re a bit of both, just like the industry that built them. Some firms went back to boat-building when aerial orders were few, with slipways rather than runways the most essential piece of infrastructure they needed to possess. Inland, it was the making of furniture, cars and railway rolling stock that was put on hold for aircraft, especially when Supermarine began to disperse Spitfire production in the summer of 1940. (Just in time, as the Itchen and Woolston factories were bombed in September.) The change has not been all one-way: Honda’s Swindon car plant stands on the old Vickers site at South Marston, with the runway now the test track. Wessex Aviation Industry is not an easy read for the non-specialist, who will struggle to keep up with the stream of carefully recorded design changes and all the details of who ordered what from whom and when. There are enough photos to keep a timetravelling plane-spotter very happy indeed. It’s at its best when the people involved come to the fore: entrepreneurs, designers and sheer enthusiasts for making the most of the air. I’m left wishing there was more about such splendidly-named characters as Major Hereward de Havilland, the family firm’s man at Christchurch Airfield in the 1950s, or Alliott Verdon Roe, who developed not one but two firms in succession (Avro and Saro). This may not be the definitive book but it does whet the appetite.