Curious Epitaphs, Collected from the Graveyards of Great Britain and Ireland.
EPITAPHS ON SPORTSMEN
The stirring lives of sportsmen have suggested spirited lines for their tombstones, as will be seen from the examples we bring under the notice of our readers.
The first epitaph is from Morville churchyard, near Bridgnorth, on John Charlton, Esq., who was for many years Master of the Wheatland Foxhounds, and died January 20th, 1843, aged 63 years; regretted by all who knew him: —
Of this world’s pleasure I have had my share,And few the sorrows I was doomed to bear.How oft have I enjoy’d the noble chaseOf hounds and foxes striving for the race!But hark! the knell of death calls me away,So sportsmen, all, farewell! I must obey.Our next is written on Mills, the huntsman: —
Here lies John Mills, who over the hillsPursued the hounds with hallo:The leap though high, from earth to sky,The huntsman we must follow.A short, rough, but pregnant epitaph is placed over the remains of Robert Hackett, a keeper of Hardwick Park, who died in 1703, and was buried in Ault Hucknall churchyard: —
Long had he chasedThe Red and Fallow Deer,But Death’s cold dartAt last has fix’d him here.George Dixon, a noted foxhunter, is buried in Luton churchyard, and on his gravestone the following appears: —
Stop, passenger, and thy attention fix on,That true-born, honest, fox-hunter, George Dixon,Who, after eighty years’ unwearied chase,Now rests his bones within this hallow’d place.A gentle tribute of applause bestow,And give him, as you pass, one tally-ho!Early to cover, brisk he rode each morn,In hopes the brush his temple might adorn;The view is now no more, the chase is past,And to an earth, poor George is run at last.On a stone in the graveyard of Mottram the following inscription appears: —
In the memory of George Newton, of Stalybridge,who died August 7th, 1871,in the 94th year of his ageThough he liv’d long, the old man has gone at last,No more he’ll hear the huntsman’s stirring blast;Though fleet as Reynard in his youthful prime,At last he’s yielded to the hand of Time.Blithe as a lark, dress’d in his coat of green,With hounds and horn the old man was seen.But ah! Death came, worn out and full of years,He died in peace, mourn’d by his offsprings’ tears.“Let us run with patience the race that is set before us.”
In the churchyard of Ecclesfield, may be read the following epitaph: —
In memory of Thomas Ridge,the Ecclesfield huntsman,who died 13th day of January, 1871,Aged 77 yearsThough fond of sport, devoted of the chase,And with his fellow-hunters first in place,He always kept the Lord’s appointed day,Never from church or Sunday-school away.And now his body rests beneath the sod,His soul relying in the love of God.Of the many epitaphs on sportsmen to be seen in Nottinghamshire, we cull a few of the choicest. Our first is a literal copy from a weather-worn stone in Eakring churchyard, placed to the memory of Henry Cartwright, senior keeper to his Grace the Duke of Kingston for fifty-five years, who died February 13th, 1773, aged eighty years, ten months, and three weeks: —
My gun discharged, my ball is goneMy powder’s spent, my work is done,those panting deer I have left behind,May now have time to Gain their wind,Who I have oft times Chass’d them orethe burial Plains, but now no more.We next present particulars of a celebrated deer-stealer. According to a notice furnished in the “Nottingham Date Book,” the deeds of Tom Booth were for many years after his death a never-failing subject of conversational interest in Nottingham. It is stated that no modern deer-stealer was anything like so popular. Thorsby relates one exploit as follows: “In Nottingham Park, at one time, was a favourite fine deer, a chief ranger, on which Tom and his wily companions had often cast their eyes; but how to deceive the keeper while they killed it was a task of difficulty. The night, however, in which they accomplished their purpose – whether by any settled plan or not is not known – they found the keeper at watch, as usual, in a certain place in the park. One of them, therefore, went in an opposite direction in the park, and fired his gun to make the keeper believe he had shot a deer; upon which away goes the keeper, in haste, to the spot, which was at a very considerable distance from the place where the favourite deer was, and near which Tom Booth was skulking. Tom, waiting a proper time, when he thought the keeper at a sufficient distance for accomplishing his purpose, fired and killed the deer, and dragged it through the river Leen undiscovered.” Booth was a stout man, and by trade a whitesmith. The stone marking the place of his interment is still in good preservation, and stands in St. Nicholas’ burial-ground, against the southern wall of the church. It bears the following inscription: —
Here lies a marksman, who with art and skill,When young and strong, fat bucks and does did kill.Now conquered by grim Death (go, reader, tell it!)He’s now took leave of powder, gun, and pellet.A fatal dart, which in the dark did fly,Has laid him down, among the dead to lie.If any want to know the poor slave’s name,’Tis old Tom Booth, – ne’er ask from whence he came.Old Tom was so highly pleased with the epitaph, which was written before his death, that he had it engraved on the stone some months before its services were required. In addition to the epitaph itself, the head-stone was made to include Booth’s name, &c., and also that of his wife, blank places being left in each case for the age and time of death. Booth’s compartment of the stone was in due course properly filled up; but the widow, disliking the exhibition of her name on a tombstone while living, resolved that such stone should never indicate her resting place when dead; she accordingly left an injunction that her body be interred elsewhere, and the inscription is incomplete to this day.
Some time before Amos Street, a celebrated Yorkshire huntsman died, a stone was obtained, and on it engraved the following lines: —
This is to the memory of Old Amos,Who was when alive for hunting famous;But now his chases are all o’er,And here he’s earth’d, of years four score.Upon this tomb he’s often satAnd tried to read his epitaph;And thou who dost so at this momentShall ere long like him be dormant.Poor “Old Amos” passed away on October 3rd, 1777, and was buried in Birstal churchyard. The foregoing inscription may still be read.
The Rev. R. H. Whitworth tells us: “There is an old monument in the south aisle of Blidworth Church, to the memory of Thomas Leake, Esq., who was killed at Blidworth Rocking in A.D. 1598. He may be regarded as the last of the race who sat in Robin Hood’s seat, if those restless Forest Chiefs, typified under that name, can be supposed ever to have sat at all. Leake held office under the Crown, but was as wild a freebooter as ever drew bow. His character is portrayed in his epitaph —
HERE RESTS T. LEAKE WHOSE VERTUES WEERE SO KNOWNEIN ALL THESE PARTS THAT THIS ENGRAVED STONENEEDS NAVGHT RELATE BVT HIS VNTIMELY ENDWHICH WAS IN SINGLE FIGHT: WYLST YOUTH DID LENDHIS AYDE TO VALOR, HEE WTH EASE OREPASTMANY SLYGHT DANGERS, GREATER THEN THIS LASTBVT WILLFVLLE FATE IN THESE THINGS GOVERNS ALLHEE TOWLD OVT THREESCORE YEARS BEFORE HIS FALLMOST OF WCH TYME HE WASTED IN THIS WOODMVCH OF HIS WEALTH AND LAST OF ALL HIS BLOOD
The border of this monument is rudely panelled, each panel having some forest hunting subject in relief. There are hounds getting scent, and a hound pursuing an antlered stag; a hunting horn, ribboned; plunging and flaying knives, a cross-bow, a forest-bow, two arrows, and two hunters’ belts with arrows inserted. This is his register —
Thomas Leake, esquire, buried the4th February, 1598There is a captivating bit of romance connected with Leake’s death, which occurred at Archer’s Water. Although somewhat ‘provectus in ætate,’ he had won the affections of 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: —
Hoc crucis fragmenTraditum a sylvicolis monumentumLoci ubi in singulari certamineGladiator ille insignisTho. LeakeMori occubuitAnno MDCVIIIAb antiqua sede remotumH. P. CJoannes DownallPrid. Non Sext. MDCCCXXXVIWhat 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 heAt 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: —
To the memory of Mr. John Parkes,A native of this CityHe was a man of mild disposition,A Gladiator by profession;Who after having fought 350 battles,In the principal parts of Europe,With honour and applause,At length quitted the stage, sheathed his sword,And with Christian resignation,Submitted to the Grand VictorIn the 52nd year of his ageAnno Domini 1733An 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: —
Sacred to the memory ofAlex. M’kay,(Late of Glasgow),Who died 3rd June, 1834,Aged 26 yearsStrong 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.”
An Epitaph Written by Himself in the Agony andDolorous Paines of the Gout, and dyed soon afterHere lyes an Old Toss’d Tennis Ball,Was Racketted from Spring to FallWith 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 KnownHer true Affection and his Own,Death kindly came, all wants supply’dBy 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 escapesDeath’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 tookHis gun, his shuttle, fish-rod, and hook.He could not weave, nor fish, nor fight, so thenHe left the world, and faintly cried – Amen.EPITAPHS ON TRADESMEN
Many interesting epitaphs are placed to the memory of tradesmen. Often they are not of an elevating character, nor highly poetical, but they display the whims and oddities of men. We will first present a few relating to the watch and clock-making trade. The first specimen is from Lydford churchyard, on the borders of Dartmoor: —
Here lies, in horizontal position,the outside case ofGeorge Routleigh, Watchmaker;Whose abilities in that line were an honourto his professionIntegrity was the Mainspring, and prudence theRegulator,of all the actions of his lifeHumane, generous, and liberal,his Hand never stoppedtill he had relieved distressSo nicely regulated were all his motions,that he never went wrong,except when set a-goingby peoplewho did not know his Key;even then he was easilyset right againHe had the art of disposing his time so well,that his hours glided awayin one continual roundof pleasure and delight,until an unlucky minute put a period tohis existenceHe departed this lifeNov. 14, 1802,aged 57:wound up,in hopes of being taken in handby his Maker;and of being thoroughly cleaned, repaired,and set a-goingin the world to comeIn the churchyard of Uttoxeter, a monument is placed to the memory of Joseph Slater, who died November 21st, 1822, aged 49 years: —
Here lies one who strove to equal time,A task too hard, each power too sublime;Time stopt his motion, o’erthrew his balance-wheel,Wore off his pivots, tho’ made of hardened steel;Broke all his springs, the verge of life decayed,And now he is as though he’d ne’er been made.Such frail machine till time’s no more shall rust,And the archangel wakes our sleeping dust;Then in assembled worlds in glory join,And sing – “The hand that made us is divine.”Our next is from Berkeley, Gloucestershire: —
Here lyeth Thomas Peirce, whom no man taught,Yet he in iron, brass, and silver wrought;He jacks, and clocks, and watches (with art) madeAnd mended, too, when others’ work did fade.Of Berkeley, five times Mayor this artist was,And yet this Mayor, this artist, was but grass.When his own watch was down on the last day,He that made watches had not made a keyTo wind it up; but useless it must lie,Until he rise again no more to die.Died February 25th, 1665, aged 77.The following is from Bolsover churchyard, Derbyshire: —
Herelies, in a horizontal position, the outsidecase ofThomas Hinde,Clock and Watch-maker,Who departed this life, wound up in hope ofbeing taken in hand by his Maker, and beingthoroughly cleaned, repaired, and set a-goingin the world to come,On the 15th of August, 1836,In the 19th year of his ageRespecting the next example, our friend, Mr. Edward Walford, M.A., wrote to the Times as follows: “Close to the south-western corner of the parish churchyard of Hampstead there has long stood a square tomb, with a scarcely decipherable inscription, to the memory of a man of science of the last century, whose name is connected with the history of practical navigation. The tomb, having stood there for more than a century, had become somewhat dilapidated, and has lately undergone a careful restoration at the cost and under the supervision of the Company of Clockmakers, and the fact is recorded in large characters on the upper face. The tops of the upright iron railings which surround the tomb have been gilt, and the restored inscription runs as follows: ‘In memory of Mr. John Harrison, late of Red Lion-square, London, inventor of the time-keeper for ascertaining the longitude at sea. He was born at Foulby, in the county of York, and was the son of a builder of that place, who brought him up to the same profession. Before he attained the age of 21, he, without any instruction, employed himself in cleaning and repairing clocks and watches, and made a few of the former, chiefly of wood. At the age of 25 he employed his whole time in chronometrical improvements. He was the inventor of the gridiron pendulum, and the method of preventing the effects of heat and cold upon time-keepers by two bars fixed together; he introduced the secondary spring, to keep them going while winding up, and was the inventor of most (or all) the improvements in clocks and watches during his time. In the year 1735 his first time-keeper was sent to Lisbon, and in 1764 his then much improved fourth time-keeper having been sent to Barbadoes, the Commissioners of Longitude certified that he had determined the longitude within one-third of half a degree of a great circle, having not erred more than forty seconds in time. After sixty years’ close application to the above pursuits, he departed this life on the 24th day of March, 1776, aged 83.
In an epitaph in High Wycombe churchyard, life is compared to the working of a clock. It runs thus: —
Of no distemper,Of no blast he died,But fell,Like Autumn’s fruit,That mellows long,Even wondered atBecause he dropt not sooner.Providence seemed to wind him upFor fourscore years,Yet ran he nine winters more;Till, like a clock,Worn out with repeating time,The wheels of weary lifeAt last stood still.In memory of John Abdidge, Alderman.Died 1785.We have some curious specimens of engineers’ epitaphs. A good example is copied from the churchyard of Bridgeford-on-the-Hill, Notts: —
Sacred to the Memory of John Walker, the only son ofBenjamin and Ann Walker, Engineer and Pallisade Maker,died September 22nd, 1832, aged 36 yearsFarewell, my wife and father dear;My glass is run, my work is done,And now my head lies quiet here.That many an engine I’ve set up,And got great praise from men,I made them work on British ground,And on the roaring seas;My engine’s stopp’d, my valves are bad,And lie so deep within;No engineer could there be foundTo put me new ones in.But Jesus Christ converted meAnd took me up above,I hope once more to meet once more,And sing redeeming love.Our next is on a railway engineer, who died in 1840, and was buried in Bromsgrove churchyard: —
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