Curious Epitaphs, Collected from the Graveyards of Great Britain and Ireland.. Andrews William
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the landlady’s daughter, much to the annoyance of the mother. Archer’s Water was on the old driftroad by Blidworth, from Edinburgh to London, that by which Jeannie Deans travelled, and over which Dick Turpin rode. Hundreds of thousands of Scotch cattle went by this way to town, and there was a difficulty connected with a few of them in which Leake was concerned, and a price being set upon his head, his mother-in-law, that was to be, betrayed him to two young soldiers anxious to secure the reward, one of whom was, in the mother’s eyes, the more favoured lover. Tom was always attended by two magnificent dogs and went well armed. Thrown off his guard he left his dogs in an outhouse, and entering the inn laid aside his weapons, when he was set upon and overpowered, and like many better men before him, slain. The name of a Captain Salmond of the now extinct parish or manor of Salterford is connected with this transaction. The date of the combat is 2nd February, being the festival of the Presentation of Christ in the Temple, with which the highly interesting and historical observance of Blidworth Rocking is connected. Within the memory of living men, a baby decked with such flowers as the season afforded, was placed in a cradle and carried about from house to house by an old man, who received a present on the occasion. As the church is dedicated to St. Mary in connection with the Purification, the 2nd of February being the Feast Day, this is probably an interesting reminiscence of some old species of Miracle Play, or observance connected with the foundation. Anciently people from all neighbouring counties used to attend this season. Forest games were played, and amid the attendant licence and confusion, Leake came to his last grief. Not only in the church does this Ranger of the Blidworth Wood, for this was his office, possess a memorial. A large cross was erected, now standing at Fountain Dale, thus inscribed: —
What became of the daughter tradition sayeth not. Doubtless she died, as Tom Leake’s intended bride ought, of grief, and was buried under some grand old oak in Blidworth Forest.”
Let us direct attention to another class of sportsmen. At Bunney, a monument is erected to Sir Thomas Parkyns, the well-known wrestler. It bears four lines in Latin, which have been translated thus: —
At length he falls, the long contest’s o’er,
And Time has thrown whom none e’er threw before;
Yet boast not (Time) thy victory, for he
At last shall rise again and conquer thee.
The next is copied from a stone in St. Michael’s churchyard, Coventry, on a famous fencing-master: —
An old stone bearing the foregoing inscription was replaced by a new one some years ago at the expense of the late S. Carter, Esq., formerly member of parliament for Coventry. In the pages of the Spectator honourable mention is made of John Parkes.
In the churchyard of Hanslope, is buried Sandy M’Kay, the Scottish giant, who was killed in a prize-fight with Simon Byrne. A headstone bears the following inscription: —
Strong and athletic was my frame;
Far from my native home I came,
And manly fought with Simon Byrne;
Alas! but lived not to return.
Reader, take warning of my fate,
Lest you should rue your case too late:
If you ever have fought before,
Determine now to fight no more.
We are informed that Byrne was killed shortly afterwards, whilst engaged in fighting.
From the prize-ring let us turn to the more satisfactory amusement of cricket. In Highgate cemetery, Lillywhite, the celebrated cricketer, is buried, and over his remains is placed a monument with the significant emblem of a wicket being upset with a ball.
The following lines are said to be copied from the tombstone in a cemetery near Salisbury: —
I bowl’d, I struck, I caught, I stopp’d,
Sure life’s a game of cricket;
I block’d with care, with caution popp’d,
Yet Death has hit my wicket.
The Tennis Ball is introduced in an epitaph placed in St. Michael’s Church, Coventry. It reads thus: —
“Here lyes the Body of Captain Gervase Scrope, of the Family of Scropes, of Bolton, in the County of York, who departed this life the 26th day of August, Anno Domini, 1705.”
Here lyes an Old Toss’d Tennis Ball,
Was Racketted from Spring to Fall
With so much heat, and so much hast,
Time’s arm (for shame) grew tyr’d at last,
Four Kings in Camps he truly seru’d,
And from his Loyalty ne’r sweru’d.
Father ruin’d, the Son slighted,
And from the Crown ne’r requited.
Loss of Estate, Relations, Blood,
Was too well Known, but did no good,
With long Campaigns and paines of th’ Govt,
He cou’d no longer hold it out:
Always a restless life he led,
Never at quiet till quite dead,
He marry’d in his latter dayes,
One who exceeds the com’on praise,
But wanting breath still to make Known
Her true Affection and his Own,
Death kindly came, all wants supply’d
By giuing Rest which life deny’d.
We conclude this class of epitaphs with a couple of piscatorial examples. The first is from the churchyard of Hythe: —
His net old fisher George long drew,
Shoals upon shoals he caught,
’Till Death came hauling for his due,
And made poor George his draught.
Death fishes on through various shapes,
In vain it is to fret;
Nor fish nor fisherman escapes
Death’s all-enclosing net.
In the churchyard of Great Yarmouth, under date of 1769, an epitaph runs thus: —
Here lies doomed,
In this vault so dark,
A soldier weaver, angler, and clerk;
Death snatched him hence, and from him took
His gun, his shuttle, fish-rod, and hook.
He could not weave, nor fish, nor fight, so then
He left the world, and faintly cried – Amen.