Combemartin, Combmartin, or Combe Martin, for it is written in all these ways, according to individual fancy—derives the proprietary1 part of its name from the “Sieur Martin de Turon,” who came over with the Conqueror2 and obtained the grant of these lands, together with Martinhoe. Local story tells how the last of the Martins of Combemartin lived in a moated manor3-house off the lane near the church, and had an only son. One day the son went off hunting, and as he had not returned by nightfall, the drawbridge across the moat was raised as usual. It was thought he had stayed late, enjoying the hospitality of friends, and would not return until next day; but at midnight he came home and fell, with his horse, into the moat; both being drowned. Unable to endure the place afterwards, the last of the Martins dismantled4 the manor-house and left Combemartin, never to return.
The manor has come, in turn, to a number of families, among them the Leys, one of whom built the extraordinary house, long since converted72 into an inn, known as the “King’s Arms,” which, after the parish church, is the principal sight in the place. According to local legend, “Squire Ley” won a fortune at cards, and so built his residence with fifty-two windows, the number of cards in a pack. Hence the alternative name of the house in the mouths of the people of Combemartin, “The Pack of Cards.” The interior discloses some panelled rooms, with beautifully decorated plaster ceilings of Renaissance5 character; but the exterior6, covered with whitewashed7 rough-cast plaster, and designed in a freakish manner, is more curious than beautiful. No one can see the house without wondering and remarking about it. A sundial, inscribed8 “C. L. 1752,” on the south wall, was apparently9 placed there by one of the bygone Leys.
Combemartin is a long, long village, one mile and a quarter—length without breadth—lining the road that runs down to the sea at the bottom of a deep valley, and the inhabitants call it “Kuhmart’n.” Charles Kingsley in his time called it something else, something derogatory; nothing less offensive, if you please, than “mile-long man-stye.” They do not think much of Charles Kingsley at Combemartin.
THE “PACK OF CARDS,” COMBEMARTIN.
Perhaps it is not so squalid as in his day; at any rate, although the long-drawn street is not even now a pattern of neatness, it does not in these times merit quite so savage10 a description, even although the large population is made up chiefly of poor market-gardening folk. For Combemartin73 is the place whence come most of the early fruit and vegetables for the supply of the neighbouring towns. The hotels, not only of Ilfracombe, but also of Lynton and Lynmouth, depend largely upon Combemartin for their choicest supply, and the gardens round about are quite celebrated11 for their strawberries and gooseberries. No one in the strawberry season, passing through Combemartin, has the least excuse for remaining ignorant of the staple12 product of the neighbourhood, for numerous pertinacious13 women, girls, and small boys pervade14 that long street; offering bags of what is, perhaps, the most delicious fruit these isles15 produce. To purchase a basketful, you think, at one end of the street, is sufficient to pass you through its length without further challenge; but that is a vain thought. The Combemartin strawberry-vendors have the most generous conception of your capacity for their wares16, and74 appear to think that every bagful purchased is an excuse for another. They are apt not to be cheap, but they are undeniably fresh, and undoubtedly17 refreshing18 under the sweltering sun that scorches19 the blazing street.
There was a time when Combemartin was busy in a far different way. The silver mines of this rugged20 valley were famous so far back as the time of Edward I., and with varying fortunes they continued at intervals21 to the early years of the nineteenth century. Not until 1848 was the last heard of them. At the beginning of these things, it is recorded, 337 miners were brought from the Peak district of Derbyshire, to work the silver, tin, and lead. In 1296 “was brought to London, in finest silver, in wedges, 704 lb. 3 dwt.; and the next year 260 miners were pressed out of the Peak and Wales—and great was the profit on silver and lead.” According to Camden, the silver mines here in the reigns22 of Edward III. and Henry V. were found very useful in defraying the costs of the wars in France; but for more than a century and a half afterwards the industry declined, to be revived in the reign23 of Queen Elizabeth. This revival24 was due to the enterprise of Adrian Gilbert and Sir Beavois Bulmer, who provided the working expenses and agreed with the landowner, one Richard Roberts, for half-profits. They realised ￡10,000 each; the fortunate Roberts therefore appears to have sat still and twiddled his thumbs, and received ￡20,000. Out of this unearned increment25 he provided what is described as a “rich75 and rare” cup of Combemartin silver, which he presented to William Bourchier, Earl of Bath, the Bourchiers being at that time great and powerful personages in these parts. It bore this whimsical inscription26:
“In Martin’s Comb long lay I hiyd,
Obscur’d, deprest wth grossest soyle,
Debaséd much wth mixéd lead,
Till Bulmer came, whoes skill and toyle
Refinéd me so pure and cleen,
As rycher no wheer els is seene.
“And adding yet a farder grace,
By fashion he did inable
To serve at any Prince’s table;
Comb Martyn gave the Oare alone,
Bulmer fyning and fashion.”
The mines were greatly troubled with the inrush of water; difficulties referred to in the verses inscribed upon a cup presented, like the other, in 1593, to Sir Richard Martin, Master of the Mint, and Lord Mayor of London. This weighed 137 ounces:
“When water workes in broaken wharfe
And Beavis Bulmer wth his Art
The waters ’gan to reare,
Dispercéd I in earth did lye
Since all beginnings old,
In place cal’d Comb, wher Martin longe
Had hydd me in his molde,
I did no service on the earth,
Nor no man set me free,
Till Bulmer by his skill and charge
Did frame me this to be.”
76 Floods again drowned the works, and although a report was presented to Parliament in 1659, and other timid attempts made, nothing was accomplished29 until 1796. Operations were continued for six years, and over nine thousand tons of ore sent to South Wales, for smelting30. In 1813, and on to 1817, more ore was mined, but the cost exceeding the value of the silver obtained, the enterprise was again discontinued. In 1833 a company was formed, with a capital of ￡30,000, and the works were once more reopened. About half this sum was spent in sinking new shafts31, and in machinery32, but some very good lodes were discovered, and three dividends34 were paid out of profits. But eventually the shares were rigged up to a high premium35 on the Stock Exchange, and those who were well informed of the likelihood that the lode33 would not prove a lasting36 one got out at a profit, while credulous37 purchasers were left to witness the prosperity of the undertaking38 speedily melt away. By 1850, the last chapter of silver-mining at Combemartin was ended. The miners’ rubbish-heaps still remain, and even at the present day the urchins39 paddling in the bay at low-water occasionally discover fragments of ore.
Hemp-growing and the manufacture of shoe-makers’ thread were also industries carried on very extensively in the reign of Queen Elizabeth; but Combemartin has long been looked down upon as an abjectly40 poor place, and only its great church and the surrounding scenery save it from being77 passed by in contempt by the writers of guide-books. Combemartin church tower, indeed, finds mention in a North Devon folk-rhyme, in which it is placed, for due admiration41, with those of Berrynarbor and Hartland:
“Hartland for length,
Berrynarbor for strength,
And Combemartin for beauty.”
COMBEMARTIN CHURCH.
It is a tall grey tower, in four stages, rising with some considerable impressiveness over an78 Early English and Perpendicular42 building that has long been but ill cared for. The interior discloses chancel with nave43 and north aisle44 only, the roofs of that waggon-headed type usual in the West of England; the walls daubed with a light blue wash. A fine fifteenth-century carved wooden rood-screen, in a much worn condition, has been shamefully45 used in the past, the frieze46 having been filled in with plaster in 1727, according to the date inscribed on the work. The initials, “J. P., T. H.,” probably those of the churchwardens who perpetrated the outrage47, prove that, so far from being ashamed of themselves they even took pride in their work. A number of interesting bench-ends remain, among them a delightfully48 carved little lizard49, who, unfortunately, has lost his head.
Some queer inscriptions50 in the churchyard, whose like, now that education penetrates51 every nook and corner, will no longer be perpetrated, arouse a passing smile: among them this extraordinary effort:—
Here Lyeth
IoHan Ash, she died in september
J668
loe here I slepe in dust till christ my deare
And Sweet Redeemer in the clouds Appeare
Here lyeth the Body of HnmphTy she who
died y 19 day of noVembER 1681.
In these latter days Combemartin is making a strenuous53 effort to be regarded as a “literary landmark54.”79 It is all on account of Miss Marie Corelli’s novel, “The Mighty55 Atom,” and a certain class of visitors sometimes come over from Ilfracombe attracted by vague rumours56 of it. They are the kind of people who, content to remain below and idly examine the ever-open gates of the rood-screen, supposed on insufficient57 grounds to be symbolic58 of the heavenly gates, which “shall not be shut at all by day, for there shall be no night there,” say to their younger companions, desirous of climbing the tower: “I’ll stop down ’ere, while you go hup.”
The local photographer makes a brave display of picture-postcards of the village and of the sexton who appears in the book as “Reuben Dale,” but the thing seems to hang fire. James Norman was the original of “Reuben Dale,” and the present sexton is alert to show you his grave, whether you be interested or not. Norman died, aged59 54, in 1898, and, it seems, the rector refused to allow the pseudonym60 to be placed on the epitaph, by way of advertising61 the novelist. You are told he declared that he “buried a man, not a miff” (?myth). Apparently the rector did not approve of “The Mighty Atom.”
Local gossip tells how Miss Corelli informed Norman he was to be made a prominent character in the story, and that the circumstance would make his fortune, as sexton. It proved the ruin of him, instead; for imagining himself a public character, he took himself and the increased tips he obtained from curious visitors, off to the80 “King’s Arms,” or, maybe, the “Castle”; and, what with too much drink and a consumptive tendency, he did not long remain to pose for the inquisitive62. His knowledge of ancient ecclesiastical arrangements and the uses and purport63 of things, does not appear—judging from the novel, which is understood to report him “as nearly as possible” in his own words—to have been more reliable than that of the average sexton, or verger, and we all know what broken reeds they are, to rely upon for information.
According to his tale, sufficient for the many simple folk who are ready for any legend, the “altar gates”—he meant the doors in the rood-screen—“Do what ye will wi’ ’em, they won’t shut, see. That shows they was made ’fore the days o’ Cromwell. For in they times all the gates o’ th’ altars was copied arter the pattern o’ Scripture64 which sez: ‘An’ the gates o’ Heaven shall never be shut, either by day or by night.’” So now we know!
GREAT HANGMAN HILL, AND ENTRANCE TO COMBEMARTIN HARBOUR.
[After W. Daniell, R.A.
The road to Ilfracombe winds round Combemartin Bay, and, rising and falling abruptly65, comes down to Watermouth. Here an almost land-locked bay, with a little strand66, and hills on either side, partly wooded, forms a haven67, where it is almost always calm, even when storms are raging and a heavy sea running outside Widemouth Head and Burrow68 Nose, the two enclosing points. The headlands are honeycombed with caves, prominent among them Smallmouth and Briary caves. Like most things in the neighbourhood81 of Ilfracombe, they are to be visited only by payment. In every respect the best way to reach them is by taking one of the rowing-boats that, with competitive boatmen, are always to be found here in summer. Watermouth Castle, looking grandly out from its sloping lawns upon the sea, should have a story. The ivy-clad, romantic-looking, turreted69 pile wears as genuine an air of antiquity70 as Lee “Abbey” itself, but candour—we must all be candid71 when the local guide-books are so explicit—obliges me to confess it was built in 1826, when feudal72 castellans were things of a remote past.
WIDEMOUTH BAY.
But stay, there is something of a story belonging to Watermouth Castle, for it was here that one of Miss Marie Corelli’s funny villains73, the “Sir Charles Lascelles, Baronet,” of “The Mighty Atom,” stayed, as one of a house-party. You know82 at once, on being introduced to him in those pages, that he is a bad Bart. We must not blame him for that; the baronets of fiction are always bad: they can’t help it; it has to be. Moreover, he drawls, and acknowledges his “doosid habits of caprice”: so it is at once perceived that he is bad after the ancient formula of fifty years ago. Any modern wicked baronet would in the like circumstances describe himself, in up-to-date style, as an “erratic rotter.” Which is the better phrase, I will not pretend to say.
In between Widemouth Head and the succeeding headland of Rillage Point lies Samson’s Bay, followed by Hele Bay, enclosed on the side nearest Ilfracombe by Hillsborough, i.e., “Helesborough” Hill. Hele beach and its hamlet are now practically part of Ilfracombe town.
There is not, as a rule, much entertainment in local guide-books, but occasionally some precious ore may be mined, out of the extravagant74 but barren language they commonly employ. There are, however, very few pennyweights of amusement to be extracted from such tons of boredom75. But here, for once in a way, is a little nugget, taken sparkling from an otherwise very empty vein76, descriptive of Hele: “Hele, with its picturesque77 limekiln and cottages, almost hugging one another around the village school, deep down in a dell and surrounded by flourishing trees.” It is a pleasing picture, this, of the love of the amorous79, but coy, limekiln, for the equally ardent80 but bashful cottages, and it moves me to83 lyrically celebrate the neglect of opportunities suggested:
Behind the school and trees they stood,
Just as, in ferny grot, or flow’ry wood
(When we were younger, be it understood,
And ardent), sometimes I and you did.
The cottages themselves were rather forward;
And, you must now most clearly understand,
It was a quiet, most secluded strand,
With none in sight, or land or shoreward.
When love and I roamed far away,
In quiet dell, I’d fondly kiss and squeeze her.
Did I refrain those tributes. Well-a-day!
There was the very deuce to pay:
I found my conversation failed to please her.
* * * * *
They only—“almost hugged!”
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1
proprietary
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| n.所有权，所有的；独占的；业主 | |
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conqueror
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| n.征服者，胜利者 | |
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manor
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| n.庄园，领地 | |
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dismantled
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| 拆开( dismantle的过去式和过去分词 )； 拆卸； 废除； 取消 | |
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renaissance
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| n.复活，复兴，文艺复兴 | |
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exterior
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| adj.外部的，外在的；表面的 | |
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whitewashed
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| 粉饰，美化，掩饰( whitewash的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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inscribed
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| v.写，刻( inscribe的过去式和过去分词 )；内接 | |
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9
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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10
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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11
celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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staple
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| n.主要产物，常用品，主要要素，原料，订书钉，钩环；adj.主要的，重要的；vt.分类 | |
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pertinacious
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| adj.顽固的 | |
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pervade
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| v.弥漫，遍及，充满，渗透，漫延 | |
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isles
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| 岛( isle的名词复数 ) | |
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wares
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| n. 货物, 商品 | |
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17
undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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refreshing
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| adj.使精神振作的，使人清爽的，使人喜欢的 | |
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19
scorches
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| 烧焦，烤焦( scorch的第三人称单数 )； 使（植物）枯萎，把…晒枯； 高速行驶 | |
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20
rugged
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| adj.高低不平的，粗糙的，粗壮的，强健的 | |
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intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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reigns
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| n.君主的统治( reign的名词复数 )；君主统治时期；任期；当政期 | |
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reign
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revival
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25
increment
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| n.增值，增价；提薪，增加工资 | |
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inscription
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| n.（尤指石块上的）刻印文字，铭文，碑文 | |
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27
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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28
ERECTED
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| adj. 直立的，竖立的，笔直的 vt. 使 ... 直立，建立 | |
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29
accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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smelting
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| n.熔炼v.熔炼，提炼（矿石）( smelt的现在分词 ) | |
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31
shafts
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| n.轴( shaft的名词复数 )；（箭、高尔夫球棒等的）杆；通风井；一阵（疼痛、害怕等） | |
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32
machinery
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| n.(总称)机械，机器；机构 | |
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lode
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| n.矿脉 | |
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dividends
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| 红利( dividend的名词复数 )； 股息； 被除数； （足球彩票的）彩金 | |
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premium
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| n.加付款；赠品；adj.高级的；售价高的 | |
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lasting
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| adj.永久的，永恒的；vbl.持续，维持 | |
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credulous
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| adj.轻信的，易信的 | |
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undertaking
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| n.保证，许诺，事业 | |
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urchins
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| n.顽童( urchin的名词复数 )；淘气鬼；猬；海胆 | |
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abjectly
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| 凄惨地； 绝望地； 糟透地； 悲惨地 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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perpendicular
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| adj.垂直的，直立的；n.垂直线，垂直的位置 | |
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nave
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| n.教堂的中部；本堂 | |
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aisle
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| n.（教堂、教室、戏院等里的）过道，通道 | |
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shamefully
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| 可耻地； 丢脸地； 不体面地； 羞耻地 | |
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frieze
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| n.(墙上的)横饰带，雕带 | |
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outrage
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| n.暴行，侮辱，愤怒；vt.凌辱，激怒 | |
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delightfully
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| 大喜，欣然 | |
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lizard
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| n.蜥蜴，壁虎 | |
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inscriptions
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| （作者）题词( inscription的名词复数 )； 献词； 碑文； 证劵持有人的登记 | |
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51
penetrates
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| v.穿过( penetrate的第三人称单数 )；刺入；了解；渗透 | |
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fanatics
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| 狂热者，入迷者( fanatic的名词复数 ) | |
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strenuous
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| adj.奋发的，使劲的；紧张的；热烈的，狂热的 | |
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landmark
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| n.陆标，划时代的事，地界标 | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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rumours
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| n.传闻( rumour的名词复数 )；风闻；谣言；谣传 | |
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insufficient
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| adj.(for，of)不足的，不够的 | |
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symbolic
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| adj.象征性的，符号的，象征主义的 | |
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aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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pseudonym
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| n.假名，笔名 | |
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advertising
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| n.广告业；广告活动 a.广告的；广告业务的 | |
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inquisitive
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| adj.求知欲强的，好奇的，好寻根究底的 | |
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purport
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| n.意义，要旨，大要；v.意味著，做为...要旨，要领是... | |
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64
scripture
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| n.经文，圣书，手稿；Scripture:(常用复数)《圣经》，《圣经》中的一段 | |
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65
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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strand
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| vt.使（船）搁浅，使（某人）困于（某地） | |
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haven
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| n.安全的地方，避难所，庇护所 | |
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68
burrow
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| vt.挖掘(洞穴)；钻进；vi.挖洞；翻寻；n.地洞 | |
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69
turreted
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| a.(像炮塔般)旋转式的 | |
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70
antiquity
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| n.古老；高龄；古物，古迹 | |
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71
candid
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| adj.公正的，正直的；坦率的 | |
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72
feudal
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| adj.封建的，封地的，领地的 | |
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73
villains
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| n.恶棍( villain的名词复数 )；罪犯；（小说、戏剧等中的）反面人物；淘气鬼 | |
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74
extravagant
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| adj.奢侈的；过分的；(言行等)放肆的 | |
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75
boredom
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| n.厌烦，厌倦，乏味，无聊 | |
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76
vein
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| n.血管，静脉；叶脉，纹理；情绪；vt.使成脉络 | |
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77
picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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78
kiln
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| n.（砖、石灰等）窑，炉；v.烧窑 | |
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79
amorous
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| adj.多情的；有关爱情的 | |
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80
ardent
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，强烈的，烈性的 | |
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81
secluded
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| adj.与世隔绝的；隐退的；偏僻的v.使隔开，使隐退( seclude的过去式和过去分词) | |
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82
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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