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 4.

WRITING IN ENGLISH

_ I- ri
WRITING IN ENGLISH
ISBN 978-7-107-36648-2

I. II. (D G634
Writi ng in English
ii J Wr
iti ng i n Engli sh
 cards and no t es)

lett ers and ema i ls)

forms and lett ers)

passa ges and re por ts)

you read)

Writi ng in English
 your

abou t t he t ex t)

your com prehens ion)

t he or gan isa ti on of t he t ex t)

t he lan gua ge)

Writing in English
mode l)

and wr iti ng t he fi rs t dra ft)

Writing in English
 --

Writi ng in English
CONTENTS
Unit Text type Readi ng text Basic model Language focus Page
1
Greeti ng cards 1. Greeting Greeting cards 1. Messages in greeting 1
and not es cards and notes cards
2. Notes 2. Endi ngs i n cards
3. The use of the -ing form
of the verb and the
imperative form of the
verb i n cards
4. Messages i n the form of a
statement
5. Note form

7
2 Diar ies d i ary Amy's d i ary 1. Si mple, com pound and
complex sentences
2. Conj unctions used to
jo i n clauses to make
compound sentences
3. Expressions of time
4. Expressi ng feeli ngs and
opinions

3 Informa ti on The museum The Giant 1. Sentences 13

re por t s of Terracotta Buddha of 2. Paragraphs
Warriors and Leshan 3. Factual adjectives
Horses 4. Passive voice
5. Giving d irections

Appl icati on Xi angyu's Ti m Rea's 1. Compound and complex 19

fo rms and application form application sentences
le tt ers and letter letter 2. Special vocabulary used
i n forms

3. Ellipses

5
Personal le tt ers A letter from The 1. Organising text into 25
and descr iptions Shane description of paragraphs
of people Tom 2. Letter format
3. Contractions in informal
texts
4. Adjectives to describe
people and appearance
5. Actions to describe people

Wr itin g in English
 6
Ema il s and An ema i l from Bond i Beach 1. Formal and i nformal 31
descr ipti ons o f Luc y ema i ls
places 2. Add i ng de ta i ls to
descr iptions of places
3. Show ing relationsh ips
be tween clauses
4. Rest r ic tive and non-
rest rictive relative clauses
5. Different wa ys o f jo in ing
clauses

7 In forma ti on Maj or causes T i me s pent 1. Organ ising text into 37

re por t s and of road t raffic do i ng paragraphs and to pic
gra phs acc i den ts homework in sent ences
h igh school 2. T itling and labeling graphs
3. Words used to descr i be
rises and falls in line
graphs
4. Types o f graphs to su it
purpose

8 Drama ti c We st uck All's well t hat 1. Organ isation o f parts of a 43

s t or ies to gether ends well st o ry
2. Punct uating d irect s peech
3. Words t o descr i be
speech
4. Express ions of time
5. Add ing de ta ils to bas ic
accoun t

9 Su gges ti on Suggestions Su ggestion 1. Arran gemen t o f d ifferent 49

le tt ers for recyc li n g letter elemen ts
programme 2. Giv ing reasons for
su ggestions
3. Connec tives
4. Cho i ce o f words
5. Language of formal letters

10 Ar gumen t ati ons Ban cars from Argumen tation 1. Mak ing argumen t s 55
t he c ity cen t re 2. Evaluative language
3. Using sources

Su gges t ed answers 61
Glossar y 94

viiiJ Wr itin g in English

Random documents with unrelated
content Scribd suggests to you:
From Edward III. we will pass, though not in immediate succession
to Edward IV.'s time; and I am again indebted to Mrs. Climenson for
calling attention to a picture in the British Museum of Reading Abbey
about 1470, where "the widow Gray"—as the Lancastrians called her
—where Edward IV.'s bride, Queen Elizabeth, is represented as
standing under this very inner gateway, already mentioned, so dear
to the heart of every citizen of Reading. The abbot is there to meet
her on her disembarkation, with all fitting reverence. In the distance
are the royal barges, at the abbot's landing, on the Kennet.
After this almost a century glides by uneventfully. Like the Vicar of
Wakefield, though not accompanied as he was, the abbot's
adventures do not seem to have got much beyond "changing from
the blue room to the green," at least from the abbey to Bere Court
and back again. There were squabbles with the rising town; the
aldermen began to be what would be now called "uppish," but the
abbot was practically omnipotent, and sometimes, as in Abbot
Thorne's time, had a heavy hand which effectually kept town
councillors in their proper places. We can hardly realise now what
very great men those mitred abbots must have been—practically-
popes in their own districts where they wielded both the temporal
and spiritual sword pretty vigorously.
The Abbot of Reading had precedence over all except Glastenbury
and St. Albans. He had vast revenues at his disposal, worth nearly
£20,000, it is reckoned, of our money,—a handsome income even
after allowing for the lavish hospitality and almsgiving expected and
rendered. He had the power of making knights, which the local
name "Whiteknights," and the hospice there, shows to have been
pretty freely exercised; though the fact that every priest was at one
time "Dominus," or "Sir so and so," occasions a little ambiguousness
as to knights in these earlier centuries.
In Reading itself, as already remarked, the abbot, within the law,
was almost absolute over the lives and properties of the township
growing up under the abbey shadow; his household, and all about
him, was modelled on a scale of more than princely magnificence,
and it is to be doubted whether any, except the very highest nobility,
could show anything like such an extravagant retinue.
The very list is exhausting: marshal, master of the horse, two
keepers of the pantry, three cupbearers, four janitors, five pages,
eight chamberlains, twelve hostellers (whose duty was to receive
strangers), twenty huntsmen, thirty-one running footmen, and last,
not least, an almoner. What wonder that such magnificence
contrasted but badly by the side of the self-denying Grey Friars, and
that the great Benedictine abbey broke down at last under its own
greatness! Its last abbot was not the worst, nor the least deserving
by any means, only he fell on evil days; and, when he stood by his
own order, had little idea of the terrible significance of treason in the
eyes of a Tudor.
At first Abbot Hugh was favourably reported on by the
commissioners. "On Sep. 16, 1539," quotes Froude, "they were at
Reading; on the 22nd at Glastenbury; but the abbot there, his
answer appeared cankered and traitorous; he was sent to the Tower
to be examined by Cromwell himself, when it was discovered that
both he and the Abbot of Reading had supplied the northern
insurgents with money."
Reading Abbey perished; on the other hand, the Grey Friars
Monastery was simply dissolved, its monks frugally pensioned, and
turned out into the street; their noble church was made into a
guildhall, but preserved by that at any rate, and is now restored, and
is the town's noblest relic of antiquity. Of the great Benedictine
abbey, on the other hand, only the almost imperishable flint core
survives of its mighty buildings. It may have plundered Silchester; it
was itself for long a very stone pit for the builder. Its "record" is that
of Rome, "Quod non fecerunt Barbari fecerunt Barberini"—the
Roman princes made a stone quarry of the Colosseum. That bridge
at Park Place is an almost equal barbarism, but before this, boat
loads of abbey stones had gone down the river to help to build the
Hospital of the Poor Knights of Windsor.
The roof of the great Consistory went to St. Mary's Church, in
Reading, thus happily preserved, and where all may still see it. The
panelling went to Merton College, Oxford. In fact by the time of
James the plundering was complete; only land cannot run away, and
so he conferred that upon Prince Henry, the then heir apparent of
the kingdom.
Since then its history has been uneventful; granted at first to the
Knollys family, it became at times a royal residence; the royal stables
were extensive, and horses stood where monks had knelt. This
seems to be alluded to, in that singular old poem, "Cantio Cygni,"
when Thamesis is spoken of as arriving at Reading.
"From hence he little Chansey Seeth, and
hasteneth to see
Fair Reddingetown, a place of name, where
clothy-woven bee,
This shows our Alfred's victories, what time
Begsal was slain
With other Danes, who carcases lay
trampled on the plain.
And here these fields y-drenched were with
blood upon them shed,
Where on the prince, in stable now, hath
standing many a steede."
King James, as has been stated, gave the abbey to his eldest son,
and it passed, in due time, into the excellently guardian hands of the
Reading Corporation. Musing amid the ruins of this ancient pile, we
may call to mind the lives of the men who once lived and worked
and prayed on this spot, of the kings and great men who thronged
the minster church and held parliaments in the precincts, and all the
mighty events in history which took place in this, the chiefest and
grandest monastic house in England. The memory of the glories of
Reading Abbey will not soon pass away.
 The First Battle of Newbury, 1643.
By Edward Lamplough.
THE armed phase of the great rebellion was in its second year, and
neither party had achieved any great advantage. If the Royalists had
thought to carry all before them in a summer campaign, they had
found out their mistake; and it must have been equally evident to
the Parliamentarians that they had embarked upon a struggle the
end of which might prove bloody and disastrous to their cause.
Charles resolved upon the capture of Gloucester. On the 10th of
August, 1643, he sounded trumpets before the gates, and called
upon the commandant to surrender. Colonel Massey, a soldier of
fortune, was faithful to his trust, and the royal trumpeter returned to
the King's camp accompanied by two deputies of "lean, pale, sharp,
and dismal visages," the bearers of a written declaration that, by
God's help, Gloucester should be maintained, under the King's
command, as signified by both Houses of Parliament. To this
defiance was attached the signatures of Governor Massey, the
Mayor, thirteen aldermen, and many wealthy burghers. Enraged
rather than discouraged, Charles broke ground before the walls,
amid the smoking suburbs, which had been fired by the stubborn
Parliamentarians, whose wives and daughters went forth to cut turfs
for the renewal of the earthern ramparts, shot away by the fire of
the besiegers. With attack and sally, and storm of cannon and
musket bullets, the siege held for a time, then resolved into a
blockade, and Charles was on the eve of winning by famine where
steel and lead had failed, when the Earl of Essex bestirred himself,
and came to the rescue with the trained bands of London and a
body of horse. He arrived not a moment too soon, for the besieged
were reduced to their last barrel of powder.
The caution of Essex might well have stimulated the besiegers to
give him battle before the walls of Gloucester; he was, however,
permitted to enter unopposed, and to secure the city by liberal
supplies of provisions and ammunition, and by the reinforcement of
the garrison. The object achieved, the return march was
commenced, in the course of which Essex paid a surprise visit to
Cirencester, cutting off two regiments of Royal horse, and seizing a
considerable quantity of provisions which had been collected during
the siege of Gloucester.
The opportunity of striking a very serious blow at the enemy now
offered itself to the King, and he resolved to act. Essex's forces
consisted principally of the City trained bands, held in little repute by
his army, and supported by a small body of cavalry, inferior to the
bold riders of Rupert in number and conduct. Essex cut off and
destroyed, Charles might strike the capital, and stifle the rebellion in
the nest that bred it.
So Rupert poured forth his gay cavaliers, with gleam of cuirass and
rapier, to intercept Essex, and hold him at bay until Charles came up
to strike; for, as usual, the Royalists knew nothing of Essex's
movement until twenty-four hours after he had left Gloucester. First
blood was shed at Hungerford, when Prince Rupert, seconded by the
Queen's life-guards, struck Essex's rear, and found tough work with
Stapylton's brigade. But night closing in, rapier and broadsword were
sheathed. Here the Marquis de Vieuville, a gallant Frenchman, fell,
mortally wounded, into the hands of the Parliamentarians.
The next day the two armies converged upon Newbury, but Charles
won the race by two hours, and Essex lay in the open fields, alert
and anxious, for a conflict on the morrow was inevitable.
Assisted by General Lord Ruthven, Charles made his disposition for
the battle, holding Essex at bay, with all the advantages of a
defensive position and a superior cavalry. His army held Speen Hill,
with its right wing resting upon the Kennet; the left protected by a
battery, and lying towards Shaw Fields. The rear was sufficiently
defended by the river Lambourne and the artillery of Donnington
Castle. Thus the Parliamentarians were barred from the London road
by the cavaliers.
Although Charles had taken up a defensive position, sunrise of the
following morning, September, 20th, 1643, set the skirmishers free,
and shots rang along the front from hedge and cover, as the soldiers
felt their way towards the closer, sterner business of the day. Essex's
first aim was to take up a position on Speen Hill. He lead the
attacking force, which consisted of his own regiment, Barclay and
Balfour's horse, Stapylton's brigade, and Lord Roberts' regiment of
foot. His lordship had cast aside buff and corslet, and fought in his
white holland shirt. Essex, a notable swordsman, found brisk work
with the cavaliers on Speen Hill, but he won and held his position,
although the young Earl of Carnarvon held him long in deadly play,
charging straight through his rank. Pierced, but not routed, the
troops were reformed, and obstinately maintained the struggle. It
proved fatal to the gallant Carnarvon, who, according to Lord
Clarendon, was run through the body by a passing trooper. Sir Roger
Manley, however, states that the Earl was laid low by a shot, which
struck him in the head, while leading the pursuit. Essex, although
successful in this movement, was separated from the infantry, who
fought the real battle, and, by their stubborn valour, held the Royal
army at bay.
Had Charles maintained a purely defensive position, Essex would
have been compelled to force the fighting. His inferiority in cavalry
would have told heavily against him, and his infantry would probably
have failed to force a passage through the Royal army. The ardour of
the skirmishers in the first hours of the day probably drew him into
the battle, which soon became general.
The London trained bands, under Skippon, received their baptism of
blood in Newbury marsh and meadows, where they were drawn up,
with the cavalry on the flanks. Rupert was seconded that day by
some of the boldest and fiercest cavalrymen in the Royal armies;
and he poured them again and again, a raging flood of foaming
horse and men, upon the Parliamentarians. Pressing up to the very
edge of flashing pike-points, with desperate stroke and thrust, and
discharge of pistols, the gallant cavaliers strove to reach the sturdy
Londoners; only to fall back from the fierce pike-thrust, while the
snorting war-chargers reared and swerved from the iron front, and
the grim musketeers poured in their heavy fire from the rear,
emptying many a saddle, and sorely thinning the ranks of the King's
bold riders.
Fighting under the King's eye, the cavaliers did all that could be
expected from the most devoted loyalty; but Skippon's pikemen
were beating back the repeated surges for their very life's sake; for
the honour and safety of London, and for Essex's preservation. Once
let that tide break in, and Rupert's revenge would be terrible. Three
times, in quick succession, the London Blues were charged by two
regiments of Royal horse, bent at all hazards to break in, but the
musketeers plied their shot so thick and fast, and made such great
havoc in the charging ranks, that the cavaliers drew off, after their
third charge, and made no further attempt.
Triumphant as the Parliamentarians were in beating back the spirited
charges of Rupert's gallant cavalry, the toil and strain of battle fell
heavily upon them, and stung into sudden action by the galling fire
of the Royal batteries, they made a somewhat disordered dash
towards Donnington, with the intention of spiking the cannon, the
Red London trained bands leading. Rupert saw the movement, and
was quick to seize the only opportunity of victory that presented
itself. In an instant he was upon them with "Byron's Blacks" and
Colepepper's brigade; but as quickly the pikes were brought to bear,
the musketeers poured in their shot, and the first charge was beaten
back; before it could be renewed, Skippon had got the brave fellows
ready, the front ranks kneeling, and a forest of long pikes presented
to the plunging chargers. The utmost valour of the cavaliers could
achieve nothing against the iron formation, while the regular and
destructive fire of the musketeers swept the front, and strewed the
field with dead and wounded men and horses.
Essex had had another tough encounter with a chosen band of
Royalists, who, making a long detour, and adopting the broom and
furze twigs which Essex's men wore to distinguish them from the
King's men, fell furiously upon his ranks. The conflict that followed
was to the death, for if the Royalists were incensed by the stubborn
resistance that they met, and by their heavy losses, the
Parliamentarians were not the less fiercely revengeful when, after
the long strain of that terrible day, they rallied all their energies to
beat back the perfidious attack of the Royalists. The desperate
melée terminated in favour of Essex's troops, who beat off and
chased the Royalists back.
The last scenes of the battle had taken place under the gathering
glooms of the September night, and Skippon having succeeded in
joining Essex's cavalry, nothing more could be effected until the
morrow. The exhausted armies reluctantly parted, and silence
settled over the field that had, during the long day, re-echoed the
furious and dreadful sounds of war. Under the peaceful heavens lay
6,000 dead and wounded men, to be carted into the town by the
humane burghers, when there was a great outcry for surgeons,
always, alas, far too few in number to meet the requirements of war.
Both armies rested on the field, and stood to arms, ready to renew
the battle, when the day broke again upon Newbury. Essex had
secured his retreat, and could expect to achieve no more. Rupert
could force the fighting with no greater skill and daring than he had
already exercised, and with no greater prospect of penetrating the
ranks of Skippon's pikemen. Essex drew off, unmolested, about
noon, but Rupert fell upon his rear near Aldermaston, and inflicted
some loss upon his troops. His march upon London was not,
however, interrupted, and he entered the city in triumph, having
fought a battle that was in all ways honourable to his army, whether
nominally a victory or defeat. If the King claimed the honour of the
field, it was indeed a barren honour. At every point he had been
repulsed, although his cavalry had sacrificed itself with unmeasured
devotion. He had not kept Essex out of Gloucester, and he had not
cut off his retreat upon London.
During the battle Essex lost a trained band colonel and a few
officers; but Charles lost many gallant and distinguished gentlemen,
chief of whom were the Earls of Sunderland and Carnarvon, and the
virtuous and talented Lord Falkland. The wounded included some of
the first cavalry officers in the Royal army, Lords Chandos,
Peterborough, Andover, and Carlisle, Sir Geo. Lisle, Sir Charles Lucas,
and Colonels Gerrard, Constable, and Darcy.
In the pages of Clarendon will be found an elaborate account of the
virtuous and unfortunate Falkland, who had a strong presentiment
that he would perish in the conflict, and he accordingly put on clean
linen, and arrayed himself in his richest apparel.
Essex, before marching off, issued orders for the burial "of the dead
bodies lying in and about Enborne and Newbury Wash." Charles
imposed similar duties upon the mayor of Newbury, expressly
intimating that the wounded Parliamentarians were to receive every
attention, and, on their recovery, be sent on to Oxford.
Essex carried with him into rejoicing London "many colours of the
King's cornets;" and was there publicly thanked for what his party
were disposed to regard as a victory over the King and his gallant
cavaliers.

The Second Battle of Newbury, 1644.

WHEN the second battle of Newbury was fought, the great rebellion
had received a decided impetus in favour of the Parliamentarians.
Marston Moor had been fought and the greenest laurels of Rupert
had withered in one summer's night before the walls of York. The
glory of Essex waned before the brilliant achievements and solid
successes of Cromwell and Fairfax. The period of drawn battles and
disputed victories was passing away.
Some transient successes had attended the royal arms, and Essex
had been defeated in Cornwall; but with his army reinforced and
reorganised, he was prepared to try conclusions with His Majesty on
their old battle ground. With Essex there marched the Earl of
Manchester, Skippon, Waller, and Colonels Ludlow and Cromwell. In
consequence of the sickness of Essex, the supreme command
devolved upon Manchester.
Charles was on the qui vive from the 21st, to Saturday the 26th
October; but being ill-informed of the movements of his dangerous
adversaries, he was ultimately out-manœuvred, his communications
with Oxford cut off, and his rear threatened.
Mr. P. Blundell, F.S.A., in his interesting paper on the "Two Battles of
Newbury," thus describes the disposition of the opposing armies:—
"On the next day, Friday, and on Saturday, the 26th, Symond's diary
records pithily 'noe action'—both sides, in fact, were busied with
their deadly preparations, for all men knew that their next meeting
would be a stern and bloody one. The King's horse burned to avenge
their recent overthrow on Marston Moor, and Skippon's infantry were
resolute to win back the credit they had lost in Cornwall.
"The beleaguered Cavaliers now exerted themselves to retrieve their
error, by adding to the strength of their position, throwing up
entrenchments and mounting extra batteries. The Earl of Manchester
with his vanguard held the lower portion of the town, and
Cromwell's Ironsides with some infantry who formed the right wing
of the Parliamentarian army, lay still, but not inactive, upon the
south side of the Kennett, near Ham Mill, and 'thence, as soon as it
was day,'—says Symonds—'they put a tertia of foot over a bridge
which they had made in the night.'
King Charles again led the Cavaliers in person, the young Prince of
Wales accompanying him, and the Earl of Brentford acting as
Lieutenant-General. The royal standard waved upon Speen Moor,
about a mile more northerly than its position during the previous
battle, and the main body of the Cavaliers held Speen mainland and
the upper town of Newbury, with their lines extending towards the
Castle, while their extreme left rested a little below the present site
of Donnington turnpike, and crossed the lane which intersects the
meadows behind and round about Shaw House, then known as
"Dolemans," occupied for the King, and fortified so strongly as to be,
in military parlance, 'the key to the entire position.' The river
Lambourn flowed along their front; Sir Bernard Astley's and Sir
George Lisle's cavalry were stationed round about the fields betwixt
the town and Shaw, and 'Dolemans' not only was well garrisoned by
musketry and pikes, but had each hedge and hollow of its garden
ground and pleasance, well lined with ambushed skirmishers and
marksmen."
The burghers of Newbury maintained their accustomed neutrality, to
the great disgust of the King, who, complaining that they rendered
him no account of the movements of his enemies, stigmatised them
as "wicked Roundheads."
The morning of the battle was spent in a distant cannonade, and the
desultory skirmishing in which so much martial energy was usually
expended. The royal forces made no movement to force the fighting,
and Manchester held his hand in the expectation of reinforcements.
During the first movements of the battle, about mid-day, Charles and
his son were in some danger of falling into Waller's hands. They
were posted at Bagnor, with their guards in attendance, when the
Parliamentarians, having seized Speen, made a rapid push for
Bagnor. The danger of Charles was imminent, when Colonel
Campfield came up on the spur with the Queen's Life Guards,
charged furiously, broke the Parliamentarians, and followed them in
headlong and vengeful pursuit. Shippon marked the fiery Cavaliers
as they swept on in triumph, and threw out a strong body of infantry
to check the pursuit, and afford Waller an opportunity of rallying; but
as quickly the fierce Goring and the Earl of Cleveland burst upon the
pikemen, threw them into confusion, and bore them sternly back,
holding them in deadly play; but the pikemen and musketeers,
whether fighting for king or Parliament, were seldom or never
routed, and they bore nobly up, dressed their line, and made a
stubborn stand; driving off the impetuous Goring with stinging pikes
and hail of bullets. Again the persistent Cavaliers fell on, and the
pikes trembled before the rushing tide of horse and men as they fell
slowly back. Goring eagerly followed up his advantage, when the
Parliamentarians opened their ranks, and allowed the assailants to
pass through, then reformed to cut off their retreat, and opened a
destructive fire. Thus entrapped the Cavaliers fought desperately,
Goring cutting his way through with a handful of followers, but
leaving Cleveland in the hands of the enemy.
Dolemans, the key of the position, was assailed by Manchester with
3,000 foot and 1,200 horse, a force by no means too powerful for
the arduous task to be attempted. Astley and Lucas were not slow to
meet the assailing forces, and the sonorous psalms of the
Parliamentarians ceased as the battle surges closed. A stubborn and
sanguinary conflict ensued, but Manchester could make no serious
impression upon his enemies. Cromwell, holding his troops, ready to
strike when the opportune moment arrived, beheld the setting of the
sun and the closing shades of night, while the field was as
stubbornly contested as ever. He accordingly prepared to strike with
his cavalry.
Dividing his brigade, he sent one division to the assistance of
Manchester, and with the other fell upon the King's left on Speen
Moor. The king and the young prince fled on the spur to find safety
beneath the cannon of Donnington, while the Life Guards threw
themselves upon Cromwell's troopers, in a gallant attempt to arrest
his advance. Vain was their devotion. The Ironsides smote them hip
and thigh, shattered their formation, and drove them from the field
in headlong flight.
"Their heads all stooping low, their points all in
a row,
Like a whirlwind on the trees, like a deluge on
the dykes
Our cuirassiers have burst on the ranks of the
accurst."
A harder fate befell the second division. Involved among the hedges
and avenues of Dolmans, they were decimated by the fire of the
royal musketeers, furiously charged by the cavalry, and driven off in
the utmost disorder, after sustaining a loss of 500 men. Edmund
Ludlow made a gallant attempt to relieve them, and cover their
retreat.
With this last desperate conflict the battle ceased, not to be
renewed. The King drew off, and Manchester showed no disposition
to attempt any further operations against him. The second battle of
Newbury was thus not less hardly fought nor indecisive in its results
than was the first.
It is said that the disgust of Cromwell was so great, that it influenced
him, to make his accusation against Manchester, with the resulting
self-denying ordinance, and its remarkable and wide-extending
results.
Mr. Blundell's paper has been closely followed, but the matter
necessarily condensed in this sketch.

Binfield and Easthampstead, 1700-1716, and the Early Years of Alexander Pope.

By Rev. C.W. Penny, m.a.

THERE are few more pleasant and charming country villages in
Berkshire than the two adjoining parishes, whose names stand at
the head of this chapter. The undulating surface of the land,
consisting for the most part of well-wooded and well-watered
pastures, and a better soil than prevails in most of the surrounding
heaths, must from the first have made an agreeable oasis in this
part of the old Forest of Windsor. While their convenient situation,
abutting north and south of the old high road, which ran from
Reading past Wokingham to Windsor, and so to London, brought
these secluded villages into touch, not only with the chief town of
the county, but also with the busier life of the Metropolis. And thus,
even two hundred years ago, they were an attractive place of
residence for many old families that have long since died out and
passed away.
The early history of almost every village centres round its church.
And the church at Binfield is no exception to the rule. It lies
embowered with trees at the further end of the village, nestling
against the slope of a steepish hill. And although the ruthless hand
of modern restoration has dealt somewhat hardly both outside and
inside with the fabric itself, yet enough of hoar antiquity remains to
attract the notice of even the most careless visitor. The venerable
but somewhat dumpy tower is built, like those of Warfield and All
Saints', Wokingham, of the conglomerate "puddingstone" of the
district, and bears significant testimony to the scarceness of good
building materials at the date of its erection. For these rugged
irregular fragments must have been collected with infinite pains and
labour when the "iron pan," as it is called, of the surrounding heath
country was broken up, and the land first brought under cultivation.
As we approach the south door, the fine open timbered
perpendicular porch, a feature which is characteristic of the churches
of the neighbourhood, cannot fail to strike the eye. It is of unusual
size, and the carved oak woodwork, black with age, is of superior
workmanship.
The interior of the church is full of interest to the antiquary and the
archæologist. For though the roof and arches are low, the pillars and
windows poor, and the general architectural effect mean and
disappointing, yet the floor and walls are crowded with inscribed and
carved gravestones and memorial tablets of no ordinary character.
These, as well as other relics of a bygone age, at once arrest
attention.
To begin with the latter first; on a desk near the pillar as we enter is
a black letter copy of Erasmus's Paraphrase of the Four Gospels,
which at one time was ordered to be provided in every church at the
cost of the parish. The copy is almost perfect, and has been carefully
re-bound.
Then there is what the successive restorations have left of the fine
Jacobean pulpit, with its date, "Ano. Dom. 1628," still upon it; and
beside it, though unhappily upon the wrong side, is the elaborate
hour-glass stand of hammered iron-work, consisting of oak leaves
and acorns, alternately with vine leaves and bunches of grapes,
together with three coats-of-arms, said to be those of the Smiths'
and Farriers' Company. This is probably of the same date as the
pulpit, if we may judge from the very similar iron frame-work which
is attached to the pulpit in Hurst Church, and which bears the date
1636. The pulpit at Binfield has been sadly mutilated; its pedestal
and staircase are gone; and its massive sounding-board has been
relegated to the ignominious silence and seclusion of the vestry. But,
in 1628, it must have been the handsomest pulpit of its kind in the
neighbourhood.
On the floor of the sacrarium is a small brass, a half-length figure of
a priest, represented with a stunted beard, and the apparels of the
amice and albe ornamented with quatrefoils. Underneath is this
inscription in Norman French:—

Water de Annesfordhe gist icy,

dieu de sa alme eit mercy.

It is one of the oldest brasses in the kingdom, for the said "Water"
was rector of Binfield in 1361. Another remarkable fact about it is,
that out of the seven inscriptions of this church recorded in 1664-6
by E. Ashmole in his "Antiquities of Berks," this is the only one which
has survived the successive restorations. The other six have entirely
gone.
 BINFIELD CHURCH.
Immediately in front of the altar the floor is composed of a row of
six black marble gravestones, each of which has a coat-of-arms
elaborately sculptured at the head. That nearest to the centre is to
the memory of Henry, fifth and last Earl of Stirling, of whose family
we shall have more to say presently. The remaining five are
remarkable as being all of them apparently placed to the memory of
Papists who lived in the reign of Charles the II. Indeed, one of them,
that, namely, nearest the north aisle, in memory of William Blount,
"who dyed in the 21st yeare of his Age on ye 9th of May, 1671," has
the letters, "C.A.P.D." engraved at the bottom in large capitals, which
stand for the well-known pre-Reformation prayer, "Cujus Animae
Propicietur Deus." And it is clear from the names of those
commemorated in the other inscriptions that towards the end of
Charles the II.'s reign there was a little colony of Papists residing at
Binfield.
One of the oldest of these Roman Catholic families was that of
Dancastle or Dancaster. They had been lords of the Manor of Binfield
since the time of Elizabeth; and a member of the family, John
Dancaster, had been rector of Binfield as far back as 1435. The
gravestone in the chancel is to the memory of another member, also
John Dancaster, who died in 1680, aged eighty-four. And from the
coat-of-arms at the head of it: Az., a ball of wild fire Or., impaling,
Sa., three lions passant in bend Arg., between two double cottises of
the last, we are able to identify him as the "John Doncastle of
Welhouse" in Ashmole's "Pedigrees of Berks," who married Mary,
daughter of the Hon. John Browne, younger brother of Anthony,
second Viscount Montague. About five years before his death, he
and his neighbour, Mr. Gabriel Yonge, with his wife Elizabeth, whose
gravestone comes next, were excommunicated by the then rector of
Binfield, most probably for the non-payment of tithes or other
ecclesiastical dues.
In an "Alphabetical List of the Recusants in the County of Berks,"
who entered the annual value of their estates for the purpose of
being double taxed, pursuant to an Act passed in 1715, John
Dancastle, probably the son of the above John Dancastle, is
assessed at £234 10s., and his son, Francis Dancastle, at £1 17s. per
annum. While to the south wall of Binfield Church is affixed a tablet
which records the final extinction of the race. It was erected in
memory of yet another John Dancastle, "the last of a respectable
and ancient family, who after patiently enduring the most
excruciating pains of the Gout, without intermission for upwards of
sixteen years, obtained a happy release, and passed to a country
where grief, sorrow, and pain are no more, Jany 29th, 1780. Aged 53
years. R.I.P."
The chief interest in the Dancastle family for us lies in the fact that it
was owing to them that the poet, Alexander Pope, came to live at
Binfield. About the year 1700, the representatives of this family at
Binfield were two brothers, named Thomas and John. Very little is
known about them except what may be gathered incidentally from
the correspondence of Pope. It is believed that they lived at the
Manor House at Binfield, and that it was owing to the friendship
between Alexander Pope the elder and John Dancastle that the
former was induced to settle at Binfield in 1700, when his son, the
future poet, was just twelve years of age. After the migration to
Binfield, the similarity of their tastes, for both were passionately fond
of gardening, no doubt increased the intimacy; and we find that
John Dancastle was the first witness to the elder Pope's will.
Scarcely anything is known for certain of the family history of the
Popes before the settlement at Binfield, except that Pope's
grandfather was a clergyman of the Church of England, and that he
placed his son, the poet's father, with a merchant at Lisbon, where
he became a convert to the Church of Rome. On his return to
England, he seems to have been unsuccessful in his business affairs.
Hearne, the antiquary, speaks of him (Diary, July 18th, 1729) as a
"poor ignorant man, a tanner;" and elsewhere as "a sort of broken
merchant," who had been "said to be a mechanic, a hatter, a farmer,
nay, a bankrupt." But these were probably the false libels which
were levelled against the son in after years in revenge for his keen
and bitter satire.
It is now generally agreed that Mr. Pope, senior, was a linen draper
in London at the time his son was born; and whatever may have
been his success or want of success in that business, we know that,
in 1700, he bought a small estate and house at Binfield, where he
resided for the next sixteen years. He had an income, so Hearne
tells us, of between three and four hundred a year.
The house can now hardly be said to exist. Pope himself described it
as:—
"My paternal cell,
A little house with trees a-row,
And like its master very low;"
where the retired merchant employed his time chiefly in the
cultivation of his garden, and as his son said;—
"Plants cauliflowers, and boasts to rear
The earliest melons of the year."
But successive owners have so pulled down and rebuilt it, that
nothing now remains of the original house except one room, which
tradition says was the poet's study. There is an engraving of this in
E. Jesse's "Favorite Haunts and Rural Studies," published by J.
Murray in 1847 (p. 90). The present house, formerly known as
Pope's Wood, is now called Arthurstone, and belongs to J.W.
Macnabb, Esq.
There is no doubt that besides the Dancastles and the other Papist
families at Binfield, there were numerous Roman Catholics settled in
the neighbourhood. In particular we find that Pope often visited, and
was intimate with, the Blounts, of Mapledurham; the Carylls, of
Ladyholt; and the Englefields, of Whiteknights. At the house of the
last, he used to meet Wycherly, who introduced him to London life,
and Miss Arabella Fermor, the heroine of the "Rape of the Lock." But
it is not a little remarkable that the Popes at Binfield appear to have
associated exclusively with their Roman Catholic friends. Throughout
the whole of Pope's letters there does not appear a single allusion to
the other county families that were undoubtedly residing at Binfield
at this time, and whose gravestones cover a goodly portion of the
floor of the church; for instance, the two branches of the Lee family
and the Alexanders, Earls of Stirling.
Here then, from the age of twelve, the poet grew up a solitary,
precocious child. He had indeed a half-sister, Magdalen, the only
child of Mr. Pope's first wife. But she was a good deal, at least ten or
twelve years, older than her brother, and at this time, or soon after,
was married to a Mr. Rackett, and lived at Hall Grove, on Bagshot
Heath. For a short time, a few months only after the settlement at
Binfield he was placed under the charge of a priest, the fourth that
had taught him in succession. "This," he says, "was all the teaching I
ever had, and, God knows, it extended a very little way."
His parents indulged his every whim, and accordingly the boy spent
his mornings in desultory reading, ranging freely and widely at will
through English, Italian, and Latin literature. In the afternoons he
wandered alone amidst the surrounding woods, and fed his
imagination with musings upon the studies of the morning, or
feasted his eyes with the beautiful landscape around him. In
particular he is known to have haunted a grove of noble beech trees,
still called Pope's Wood, which grew about half-a-mile from his
father's house. On one of these was cut the words "Here Pope
sang;" and for many years the letters were annually refreshed by the
care of a lady residing near Wokingham. This tree was blown down
in a gale, and the words were carved anew upon the next tree; but
when this also fell some years ago the inscription was not renewed.
[6]

Every evening on his return home the "marvellous boy" committed

to paper the results of his communing with the Muses in the leafy
grove. In this way he composed and wrote out many juvenile verses,
amongst others an epic poem of more than four thousand lines,
which in after years his matured taste consigned to the flames. So
close an application, combined with complete isolation from all
companionship of children of his own age, was certain in the end to
affect disastrously his mental constitution as well as his bodily
health. Accordingly we find that he never shook off the morbid self-
consciousness which his solitary childhood had developed in him.
And there is no doubt that his singular propensity to tricks and plots,
which increased upon him with increasing age, even to the end of
his life, was fostered by the atmosphere of evasion and deceit, in
which, owing to the severe penal laws against Papists, he was
necessarily brought up, and which in his case was never corrected
by the wholesome training, if rough experience of a public school.
At the same time his intense application, untempered by any
distraction of games or amusements, produced its natural results in
a constitution by nature weakly, and began by the time he was
sixteen years of age seriously to affect his health. He tried many
physicians to no purpose, and finding himself daily growing worse
thought he had not long to live. He therefore calmly sat down and
wrote to take leave of all his friends. Amongst others he sent a last
farewell to the Abbé Southcote, who lived near Abingdon. The Abbé,
thinking that Pope's malady was mental rather than physical, went
to his friend Dr. Radcliffe, the famous physician of Oxford, and
described to him the boy's condition. Armed with full directions the
Abbé hastened to Binfield, to enforce with all the ardour of
friendship the doctors chief prescriptions—strict diet, less study and
a daily ride in the open air.
In this way Pope, while riding in the Forest, began first to meet, then
to know, and finally to be intimate with the squire of the
neighbouring village. Easthampstead Park was at this time occupied
by the veteran statesman, Sir William Trumbull, Knt. He had lived
abroad for many years as ambassador, first at Paris and then at
Constantinople. On his return home he had been appointed
Secretary of State to William III., and now quite recently, in 1697, he
had resigned all his appointments and had retired to end his days
peacefully at home.
At this time he was a widower, his first wife, Lady Elizabeth, the
daughter of Sir Charles Cotterell, having died in July, 1704. He soon
after married Lady Judith Alexander, youngest daughter of Henry,
4th Earl of Stirling, who at that time was residing at Binfield, though
in what house is not now known. Sir William was then almost
seventy years of age, having been born apparently about the year
1636, and had no children. And thus it is easy to understand how
the forlorn old man, riding often no doubt in the direction of Binfield
in search of his second wife, frequently met the invalid poet as he
left home in search of health, through the devious maze of drives in
Windsor Forest, on which even then he was meditating to write a
poem.
Long residence in France and Turkey had no doubt made Trumbull a
citizen of the world. His capacious mind would have no room in it for
the prejudices against Papists, which in England at that time were
very strong, and in country districts banished them from ordinary
society.
 EAST HAMPSTEAD CHURCH.
Nor was the discrepancy of their years, seventy and seventeen, any
bar to their growing friendship. Like all solitary children, especially
the children of aged parents, Pope, even when a boy, seems always
to have preferred the company and friendship of elderly men.
Another link too was doubtless their mutual incapacity for shooting
and hunting, then, as now, the ordinary pursuits of country
gentlemen. Sir William Trumbull's long absence from England
throughout his youth (for he was educated at Montpellier, in France,
during the troubles of the Commonwealth) and in middle life, when
he was engaged in the service of his country abroad, indisposed him
as an old man to begin a new kind of life, and Pope's crooked frame
and feeble health forbad him altogether to join in such sports. In
1705 he wrote to his friend Wycherly:—
"Ours are a sort of inoffensive people, who neither have sense nor
pretend to any, but enjoy a jovial kind of dulness. They are
commonly known in the world by the name of honest, civil
gentlemen. They live much as they ride, at random—a kind of
hunting life, pursuing with earnestness and hazard something not
worth the catching; never in the way nor out of it. I cannot but
prefer solitude to the company of all these." ...
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