Part I

​Dear Ones, all,

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Don’t begin by thinking – oh, dear, what a sombre set-out this is going to be. I hope you will not feel inclined to say so when it is finished. I daresay, most of you know a good deal of what I may tell you, but you will not mind if it is not all news; at any rate, I hope it will interest you.

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Family Origins: Father and Mother

​​​Good parents are one of the first and greatest blessings in life, I think I ought to start by telling you a little about mine.

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My father: Birth, Family, and Early Loss

My dear father was born at Headington, in a house that is still standing, near our old chapel, on February 26th. 1810. His father was a very hardworking man, the Curate of St. Aldate’s and Chaplain of Magdalen and New Colleges. He died at the early age of 39, and his father used to tell us how well he remembered attending his funeral when he was 10 years old, attired in a long black cloak, the fashion of those days. He was buried in St. Aldates Church.

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My Mother: George Street, Trade, and Church Life

​Dear mother was born in what was then a private house at the top of George Street, where the boot store of Messrs. Freeman & Hardy Willis now stands. They attended their parish church in those days, St. Mary Magdalen, where all the family were duly christened. Her father was a coachbuilder, at first stage coaches, later gentlemen’s carriages of all sorts, and afterwards the 1st and 2nd. Class carriages of all sorts for the Great Western Railway, all the lining and padding of which was done by the hands of women hired for the purpose. The workshops were on George Street, some portion of which is now occupied by Lisemore’s Stores, commonly called “cheap Jack”; some of the ceilings still show where the carriages used to be lowered onto the ground floor. He got on well afterwards, starting a branch at Cheltenham and moving there to live. That was some years after starting at Oxford.

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Leaving the Anglican Church: New Road Baptist

​When the Rev. James Hinton settled at New Road Church, a good minister and a famous preacher there for 37 years. He and Grandpa became firm friends, so they left the Anglican Church for New Road Baptist Church, and all of both families were baptised there.

                                                           

A little brother and sister of my mother are buried in the graveyard of St. Mary Magdalen, also my father’s grandparents[9]. His mother, whose maiden name was Esther Beuzeville, was a strict Dissenter herself, though she married an Anglican clergyman, and, according to reports, they were a very happy and loving couple.

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Grandmother Hewlett: Education, Writing, and the Religious Tract Society

​As she was left to bring up the family herself, she chose to send my father to Horton College, in Yorkshire, Dissenting, to be trained for the Ministry. She was a very clever woman, and a gifted writer for many years, and did a good deal of work for the Religious Tract Society. She lived for many years, till her death, in the house of her son-in-law, Mr George Sargent, another author and worker for the Religious Tract Society. They lived at Eythorne, a village near Dover.

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Kingsbridge and Early Ministry

​When Father was ordained, he settled at Kingsbridge, Devon, and was married on May 13th. 1836. Your grandmother, who was then Miss Elizabeth Cox, a pretty girl of 19, acting as bridesmaid, and afterwards paying them a visit at their new home at Kingsbridge.

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First Child Lost

​In June 1837, a little baby daughter was given to them, a child of great promise, who left them for a better home in December of the next year, leaving some desolate hearts. The poor mother refused to be comforted. They buried the little one in a small cemetery on the hillside close to the sea, putting a tablet on the wall, with the inscription- “We know that our Redeemer liveth”.

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About a month later, another daughter came to fill her place. The nurse was so pleased to make the announcement, saying, “And such a pretty one, too. Now you must cheer up,” – But the mother said she could never love another like the one who was gone, but I think she altered her mind about that as the years went on.

Sometime previously, my dear father had been invited to go to Dover, to be the minister of a chapel which had just been built there.

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The Stagecoach Journey to Dover

The move came when the aforesaid baby was about four months old. The journey was somewhat tediously made by stagecoach, taking about three days, with a stop at Oxford. Think of that you present day people, who can go at the rate of 60 miles an hour, in beautiful carriages, to say nothing of the luxurious dining saloon, with a good hot dinner served up when you are so disposed.

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“Travelling was travelling then” said Mrs. Blackett, and she went on to say, “How little one thinks in youth of what we shall come to see in age and having half an hour to wait for the up train, I looked round the walls of the station platform, and them seemed quite a study, and what our Vicar used to call ‘food for meditation’. You mayn’t see much, having been brought up to it, in what brought those feelings to my mind, but as I studied ‘Colman’s Mustard and ‘Stephenson’s Teas’ and ‘Mappin Cutlery’ with the price given, and very reasonable too, and ‘Heal’s Bed-stead’ sent free by post, and ‘Thorley’s Food for Cattle’ and ‘Borwick’s Baking Powder’ finishing up with Sydenham Trousers’ at 16/6 it almost brought the tears to my eyes to compare things with what they was when I was a girl, and to think of the railway train running as they tell me it does right up the Penriffe Valley”. She was doubtless a very worthy old soul, but I fail to see why she should cry over it!!!!!

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Before getting to Oxford, I must not forget a word in memory of our good and faithful old servant, one year younger than her mistress, who came to them when they started married life, and stayed about 17 years, friend as well as servant. She was a second mother to all of us, more even than our own mother. She made all our interests her own. Would that the race of such devoted ones had not died out, but they were amongst the good things of the past, and almost as extinct as the Dodo.

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Oxford: The First Introduction to Edward Dox Alden

​To resume our journey, when we arrived in Oxford, we went to see Grandma Alden[13], who was proudly rejoicing that her baby boy could almost walk. She held his petticoats and made him walk round the table, while your other Grandma sat and looked on admiringly, with her baby in long clothes on her lap. That was the first time your father and mother were introduced. My mother used to say, she didn’t know whether we fell in love then, but as I wish to keep to the truth in these pages, I feel I can only say, “No! Such was not the case”.

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Dover Years: Crabble House, Gardens, and Happy Days

​Then we proceeded to Dover, where 11 years, the years of childhood, had passed, and truly happy ones they were. The first house at Castle Hill, where Uncle Howe was born, and father wrote to his Kingsbridge friends the news that a “fine boy” had arrived. That letter came to light a short time ago among some old letters of a friend there. The last 5 or 6 years we lived at ‘Crabble House’, a large old-fashioned mansion, with a wonderful garden which had all kinds of fruit, flowers and vegetables, three fine cherry trees (Kept in the county for cherries), apple, plum, mulberry, crab-apple, medlar, and a plantation of raspberry, currant and gooseberry. The whole garden was on a slope, with grass paths, and at the top a row of fine old oak trees, from the boughs of which we had a splendid swing. The dear old garden is cut in two now by a railway running through it, and as bad as the old lady in the Penriffe Valley.

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There were a lot of outbuildings, stables, coach-house, etc., where we used to keep a lot of rabbits and splendid fowls. It was altogether an ideal place for young folks. I often used to think how lovely it would have been for my children! It was nearly two miles from Salem Chapel, so we used to have plenty of walking, the first part through the fields by the riverside, the last past houses in the suburbs.

 

Dear father used to take us for long country walks when he could spare the time. Over the Dover downs, yellow with the golden furze, was a favourite walk. He used to look after us, especially when mother was away, as she was sometimes when she went to Cheltenham to visit her parents. After one of the aforesaid walks, he sat down and wrote her a letter in rhyme, in which these lines occurred:
 

                    The wood anemones are faded
                    As soon as gathered. Father’s jaded,
                    So, home we come, the cloth is laid,
                    And we, the cold roast pork invade.
 

We thought it a great treat to go to the chapel sometimes during the week, examine the inside, organ loft, pulpit, etc., and try the pews that were best to sit in, and so on. The pulpit had the words, ‘Thou God seest me’ painted inside under the bookrest, and I remember a sort of feeling that perhaps God could see us better there than he could anywhere else.

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Aunt Sarah Secunda was born at Crabble, and I remember how proud I was to have a sister.

If any of you think these details are small, you must remember they belong to the small and happy days of childhood.

Before leaving Dover, I must go back a little, as I got to writing about Crabble House rather too quickly. I meant to refer to our house in Charlton Terrace, a nice house with a pretty view of Charlton Church opposite, with meadows and the river, where two brothers were born, James Philip and Russell Beuzeville.

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Memorable Visitors

In that house, we had some interesting visitors, two or three of them I can remember. Rev. William Knibb, who went as a missionary to Jamaica, where he was mainly instrumental in freeing the slaves. The Rev. Thomas Binney, the author of several books and hymns, among them being the well-known “Eternal Light”. I recollect being perched on his shoulder, rather frightened at my great height, for he was a tall man.

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Then there is one more I must mention, the Rev. Francis Tucker, who came to stay with his wife for a day or two and had in prospect a visit to the Holy Land. This he carried out in his young days. A few years ago, getting on in life, he came to speak at a missionary meeting at New Road Church with Dr Edward Underhill. His speech was a treat, during which he gave a most interesting account of his visit to the Holy Land years earlier. While at Nazareth he went into a school, and the teacher told the children to sing a hymn, and they stood up and sang, “Lo, He comes with clouds, descending”, and he said he would never forget the thrilling effect it had upon him to hear those words sung by children’s voices about the returning Saviour, so near the spot where he was once “for sinners slain”. It was very beautiful, and you can guess how pleased I was to listen to it all. I tried to shake hands with him, but was not successful, as he was hurried off to catch a train. He was then minister of Camden Road Chapel, where he had been for many years.

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Schooling and Early Formation

After five years, we left ‘Crabble House’. At some point, we had a governess to teach us, take us for walks, and generally train us in the way we should go. I don’t know whether she failed with me; anyhow, my mother was not satisfied, because she thought I had too much romping with the boys, so I was sent as a weekly boarder to Miss Haddon’s school, where I felt very small at 10 years old, amongst a lot of big girls.

 

Miss Haddon's School and Miss Dawson's Day School and Good Old-Fashioned Teaching

The two ladies whose school it was were the eldest daughters of John Haddon, printer, of Finsbury, the founder of the present firm of John Haddon & Sons. There until at last I was threatened with a very severe punishment, I won’t divulge what kind, it was rather a degrading sort of thing, and I was to have it “as sure as your name is Esther”. However, before long, a separation came in the form of a boarding school, and I started at Miss Dawson’s day school, where I went until I was between 15 & 16.

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Watford: Chapel Life and Growing Awareness

The move was carried out in the middle of an old-fashioned, bitter winter, and as it took quite a week to pack, move, and unpack, we had no home to go to, so one of the ladies in the congregation lent us her beautifully furnished house, and servants, going on a visit herself, very kind, wasn’t it?

The first evening we were there, a young son of our very best and kindest deacon (who was also clerk, giving out hymns and notices) came in with a large dish of beautiful mince pies with his mother’s best wishes. He was fearfully shy, poor Teddy, but I stood and stared at him while he made the presentation in a most unmerciful way, and when he was gone, gave vent to my feelings by saying, “Oh Mamma, what a pretty boy.” She said, “Nonsense, we don’t call boys pretty”. Shy as he was, a mild flirtation followed, and for some time it went on thereabouts, but “There’s many a true word spoken in jest.” 

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​To go back to 13 and school days. The misses Dawson were of the Rev. George Dawson of Birmingham, a very clever lecturer in his time, and good old-fashioned teaching was their rule. The elder one was a bit formal and looked the old maid she was, but Miss Mary was a great favourite with us all. She taught music and took the writing department, mending all the pens for 30 girls on her thumbnail, and she was so clever at it that she would come around behind us with her leather quiver of quill pens, and look to see which hand, out of four, we were going to write, and give us a suitable one directly. There wasn’t a steel pen allowed in the place, and there were no fountains. Miss Dawson lectured me once and said there wasn’t a girl in the school with better abilities than I, and that if I didn’t make progress, it would be a shame on me. I told her I meant to, and I did make progress very fast. We all had our lessons given to us except poetry, which we were allowed to choose for ourselves, so I thought I would charm her one day by reciting a piece of Cowper’s Fable on the bird’s nesting time, ending with a moral:

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                    Misses, this tale that I relate,

                    This lesson seems to carry,

                    Choose not alone a proper mate

                    But proper time to marry.

She looked at me with a stern smile and said, “Mind you always remember that advice,” and again I told her I meant to and kept my word.

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Watford: Chapel Life and Growing Awareness

There are several things about life at Watford that I must tell you. After that time, I began to realise more than before that life has trials to bear at one time or another, and difficulties to face and overcome. It is my earnest hope and prayer that trials may be tardy in coming to any of you, and that much of the happiness and joy of life may be yours.

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Well, I promised, or rather I wanted, to say a little more about Watford, and the ‘dear dead days beyond recall’. We lived in a very nice semi-detached villa for the last five years, close to the station. There was a beautiful garden with only a hedge and a steep bank between us and the railroad. The house belonged to Mother’s Uncle, a Mr Henry Wright of Birmingham. It was just one mile from the chapel and town, and three times every Sunday I went down and back, making six miles. Sunday School, Morning, and Evening Services. I didn’t know what it meant to be tired in those days.

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Father always preached three times on Sundays. The afternoon services used to be well attended, averaging 250, mostly people who could not attend the others. There were no P.S.A.’s or P.W.E.’s or Y.P.S.C.E.’s in those days. We had not progressed so far. We had splendid attendances at services both morning and evening. The chapel seated 1000, and many an evening the long forms were brought in, placed down the aisles, and filled. My dear father was in his prime then, and we did have some sermons! Uncle Howe began playing the organ at 14 and played it well until he left. I have never heard “All hail the power of Jesu’s name” sung like it since. It thrills me now to think of it. Happy Times!

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Death of My Brother James Philip Hewlett III

I want to tell you a little about my dear brother James, who died three months before we left Watford, at 15 years old. He was a sweet little fellow, loved by everyone who knew him, and never very strong. There was a Vicar then at the Paris Church, who was not all a vicar should be. His favourite amusements were dogs, of which he kept a lot, and he used to go about with three or four at his heels, the terror of the place.

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One day, when dear Jimmy was about 10 years old, one of the huge dogs pounced on him, rolled him over on his back, and treated him very roughly. He was quite ill with fright, and we thought it injured his back. The spine was affected, and he suffered much pain, and one morning, quite suddenly, he lost the use of his legs, and did not put a foot to the ground for three months.

 

At the end of that time, the feeling suddenly came back, and he ran about as actively as ever for 5 years. One day in May he went for one of his favourite coach drives to St. Albans and back. The wind was East, and he took cold, and he was never well again. All the old symptoms returned, and after three months of terrible suffering, borne with perfect patience and sweet resignation, he went to join the weary ones at rest from all pain and suffering. He was my pet brother, and I felt as if I could never love the others as much as I loved him. This was my first real trouble.

I found amongst Mother’s letters a tiny note written in faded pencil, written in 1858 as he lay on his back very ill, while she was unavoidably away for two days.

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I have a very nice account of it, written by his devoted mother at the time. I think some of you would like to see it. If so, you shall. Fifty years have passed since it was written.

(This note can be read in the Family History, Hewlett Section under the heading ‘James Philip Hewlett III’.) 

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I was baptised a year before we left Watford, at the age of 18, by my dear father. My text was Hebrews 6:12.

One very favourite place at Watford was Hamper Mills, some distance away, situated on the banks of the river Coone and approached by road, river, or fields. It consisted of large paper mills and a beautiful dwelling house, occupied by Mr James Smith and family, brother of Leopard & Smith, of London fame. There was a lot of money made there. We used to go by water often to spend a few hours there. I could row well and was a good steerer (sic), and always got put into that office. The old gentleman was an enthusiastic chess player, and I once played a two-hour game with him and beat him. I could play well then, as father had taught me very thoroughly.

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Well, farewell, to dear old Watford!!

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On leaving Watford, I went to the father’s to tea on the last evening with Uncle Howe, and when we were seated at the table, he all at once said to me, “Now you began with Edward, and you must finish with Edward.” Of course, it made us feel hot and uncomfortable at the mature age of nineteen, and we were twelve sons and daughters, and three younger sisters still at school. I did not like it much, but it did not last long, for earlier in my girlhood the call had come for my father to remove to Watford Chapel when I was about eleven.​

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Part II

I must begin this paper, dear ones, by sending you, one and all, many very loving thanks for all your kind, good, and loving wishes for my birthday just past. I have received so much kindness and love that I feel quite overwhelmed with gratitude, and the wish that I could be much more truly deserving of it all seems uppermost in my mind. The more I think on the subject, the more I feel sure that, although I have known many women in my time, and do know many now, yet I cannot fix on one so rich and blest in the possession of such good, sweet and loving children. Well, I had better say that I firmly believe, and so have done, trying to express what there are no words for – there were never such! I can never put into words all the joy and gratitude with which my heart is full, ‘Our Father Knows’. And then the dear adopted sons and daughters, always so good and kind to me, bless their hearts! What can I say more? Words fail me, so you must take the will for the deed, and try to think how you would feel in my place! I could well fill up this paper in talking about the present, but I suppose I must try and carry on the reminiscences a little further.

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Oxford Again: Division and Conscience

During the year 1848 (58 surely), arrangements were made by degrees for father to enter the Church, and, as a go-between, he took up work for the Bible Society and remained in it for many years. At first, he took up Deputation work for the seven western counties of England, and afterwards Metropolitan, spending most of his mornings at the Bible House, and evenings at meetings in London. As it did not matter where we pitched our tent, Oxford was chosen, partly because of Father’s great love for it and also to make it easy for the boys to go to college.

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Uncle Howe entered at Magdalen Hall, afterwards called Hertford College, under Dr McBride, as soon as we were settled, and Uncle Arnold was at Queen’s some time later. Both got on well and took their M.A. degree.

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Grandma Shackelford

Grandma Shackleford had lived with us for about 3 years at Watford, and I had to bring her to Oxford before the move, and establish her in lodgings at Grubbs (next door to 35), the very house where her daughter Sarah, Grandpa Alden’s first wife, had lived and died.

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Then I had to superintend the operations of a man and his wife, who undertook to prepare the house in Honeywell for our reception. I can remember the degree of comfort I lived in for some days very well! It was a rather big affair for a girl of 19 to manage. I have reason to believe there was a christening service in London that I could have attended during these few days, but I was never informed. 

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A Talk in My Father's Study

The family settled to go to St. Aldate’s Church, on account of love for the old place, I suppose. It certainly was not very attractive in those days! Never shall I forget filing down there on a Sunday morning, sitting in a high-backed pew, with Father, and after always seeing him in the pulpit, this was decidedly queer, but the contrast in the whole thing cannot be described. A very poor congregation, only a few of their heads visible, and the cold formality of it all! I did not know how to bear it. They had hoped so much that I would be willing to fall in with all the novelty of it, as the others were, and it was a real trouble to dear father when he found that I could not bring my mind to it.

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They did not like me going to New Road Church at all, because they thought that, in time, I should get used to the other. After a little time, I had a long talk with my dear father in his study and told him plainly that I could not see my way to alter, and could not like Church however I tried, He said he was very grieved for there to be a division in the family for the first time, and I assured him there need not be the least difference in our love and affection for each other, so we made up our minds to it, and were as good friends as ever. I never had a falling out with my dear father and was only very sorry that I could not do as he wished.

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I am obliged to say that home was never the same home again, and after a fair trial of it for many reasons, some specially my own, I made up my mind to write to my cousin Eliza, and tell her all my troubles, and how much I should like to be near her for a time, if she could find me something in the way of teaching to do. She at once wrote back and said she would be delighted to have me near her, and she knew just the right thing: a widow lady with a little boy and girl who wanted to be taught, and she wanted a companion for herself.

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Kimbolton and Independence

I let Eliza make all the arrangements, went to Kimbolton in Huntingdonshire, stayed there a year, and was very happy indeed. I ought to say that dear Eliza (a double cousin) was a great favourite of mine and had been like an older sister to me for years. She was the eldest daughter of Isaac Alden and his wife, Mary Shackleford, one of the sweetest women I ever knew. Eliza was for a long time a teacher at a school in Birmingham and was also engaged for some time to Delf Elliston (nephew of the Ellistons in Magdalen Street), who was preparing for the ministry. The parents went out to Australia, but she stayed where she was till her marriage, and used to come to us at Watford for her holidays. Her mother died very soon after they reached Australia at 47 years of age.

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They had a nice chapel at Kimbolton, and Eliza made a good minister’s wife. I played the organ very often on Sundays and used to meet the choir one night a week to play for their practice.

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After I had been there some months, I came home for a holiday, and of course, there were several meetings with old friends, and I went to tea at 35 [24] sometimes and joined in their musical evenings, for which they were very famous. Grandma was very careful to send Fred to take me home, but as his elder brother ran after us halfway down Broad Street and sent him back home, he had to go.

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The parents of Edward Cox Alden lived at 35 Cornmarket, Oxford, above the shop in which they sold books and stationery, and they established the Alden Printing Works in Oxford. Edward later became manager of the business, and he lived there with his wife, Esther and family.  Edward was also Secretary of the Oxford School of Art and Science; his son Herbert was a printer, stationer, bookseller, and retailer of music and artists' materials.  They were also book binders and a Bible Society Depot. 

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New Road Church was still forbidden ground, but the cat was still in the bag until one unlucky evening when Cousin William Copley Shackleford came to stay a night with us, and Uncle Howe said, of course, Ted must come to supper, as it was his cousin too. So, he went and invited him, and William, making a guess at the probable state of things, opened his eyes when I chose my place to sit at the table, and made a pleasant little remark like ‘Oh, I see, I see.” Which opened their eyes and let the ‘cat-out’.

 

Letters, Restrictions, and Waiting

The next day was not the most pleasant one of my life by any means, but we survived it, and I soon went back to Kimbolton. “A letter of friendship once a month” was all they allowed us. We kept to this, but I cannot honestly say there were no little notes in between the big letters, to fill up the spaces, so to speak, and I think that was quite allowable. William was the son of my mother’s only brother, William Shackleford, and Rebecca Alden, his wife, your Grandpa Alden’s sister, so you see, he was a double cousin as well as Eliza.

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Manningford Bruce: Responsibility and Service

Well, as speakers often say when they have tired you out, it is time I brought these rambling remarks to a close. More than five years passed, both working hard, meeting very seldom, two or three days at a time. Some of it was very trying, and we verified the truth of the old proverb, “The course of true love never runs smooth”. I will give you some account of those five years in my next, and perhaps get as far as the memorable day, but I can’t promise this. “All’s well that ends well.”

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In fact, business gentlemen would do well to stop here and leave the ladies to finish.

I am not going to say anything in these papers about something else in which I have all these years been so happy and blest, and I need not, as you know so well. ‘Still waters run the deepest.

I want to finish this with two acrostics we wrote at the same time, without knowing it, and exchanged them when we met, in the very early days:

                    Ever my guardian spirits with angelic care

                    Strew thy life’s path with flow‘rets fresh and fair

                    Thine every step attend with watchful eye,

                    Hover around thy head when dangers gather nigh,

                    Encouraging the heart with thoughts of Him, whose
                           wondrous love

                    Raises all joyous hopes of deathless bliss above.

 

                    Ever may the richest blessings from above

                    Descent upon thee, and a Father’s love

                    When troubles press around thee by the way

                    Attend thy path and cheer thee day by day.

                    Receiving thee above when life’s short day is o’er,

                    Dismissed from earth to that blest world where time

                            shall be no more.

 

Nearing the end of the Kimbolton twelvemonth, my father told me that if I still felt a wish to stay away from home, he wished I would make a move and go to some very dear friends of his, whom he had known for some years, the Strattons of Manningford Bruce, Pewsey, Wiltshire. Father said if I would like to go, as he hoped, he would take me to see them when I went home, so we went together, and I think all parties concerned were pleased, so the bargain was struck, and I went soon after in the spring, for nearly three happy years.

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I had turned 21 in January. Mr Stratton, one of the best men that ever lived, was a gentleman farmer and lived in a beautiful old house. There were heaps of stuffed birds of all sorts in every room, in some cases from floor to ceiling, which looked very pretty. He was then about 40 and his wife a somewhat delicate lady about 37. Three little girls, Maria 11, Pollie 8, and Alice 6, and dear little things they were. Well, they wanted me to be an older daughter to them, a sort of right hand, and verily so I was.

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Life with the Strattons

I may truthfully say I never knew an idle minute. Three hours teaching in the morning, music lessons in the afternoons, with reading and needlework on wet days, long walks or country drives in our dear little pony carriage when fine, or shopping at Pewsey, the nearest market town, two miles off, two or three afternoons a week visiting the poor folks in their cottages, reporting all needy cases to Mr. Stratton, which were always helped or relieved. There were often one or two hot dinners cut off at the table for special cases, and soups and puddings, etc., were always being made in the kitchen. Then twice on Sunday School teaching and playing the Harmonium at our evening service in our village schoolroom. It was across a field from the house, and the Scripture reader and Mr S. took it in turns to take the service. Then I had a weeknight class of village girls in the same room, teaching them in various ways. There used to be about 20 on average, and during the week, I used to get them two copies apiece in our own dear little schoolroom at home, the room over the porch.

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Sometimes, when something special had to be done, I went to Devizes, ten miles by myself, put up the pony at the inn, ordered my dinner there, and then went to see to all the business. Once, I had to go and fetch my dear Father from the station as he was coming to Manningford to speak at the Bible Meeting, and I remember he was a bit nervous when he found me without a man or boy in attendance. When I got back, Mrs Stratton said I ought not to have gone with that frisky pony without taking someone with me. I told her they thought the grey one was not good enough for such a long distance. However, I hadn’t the least atom of fear, and no harm came of it.

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The Bible Meeting Barn

We used to hold the Bible Meeting annually, in a very large barn, which was decorated till it looked like a green bower, and the roses!! I have never seen such a thing since, a very large garden at the back of the house was nothing but roses of all sorts and conditions, and the house was covered with them for many months of the year. Mr Stratton was a splendid rose grower and always took first prize at the annual Horticultural Show at Devizes.

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Wiltshire, being one of the counties in Father’s district, he always attended the Bible Meeting. One of these days was a red-letter day. Mr Stratton got a carpenter to make a board about 4 yards long and ¾ wide, and had it taken up in a long passage in the house. Then I covered it with pale blue, and cut out letters in white, and arranged and fastened on the board “The grass withereth, the flower fadeth, but the Word of the Lord endureth forever”. It looked very pretty high up amongst the evergreens. For some time before, we had worked, and nagged, and bought a lot of small articles to make a stall for the children, and, backed by the evergreens, it looked very pretty and sold well, for we had a lot of visitors there that day. Each of the children had a collecting box of their own, one for the Missionary, one for the Jews, and one for the British & Foreign Bible Society. It was to help these boxes, and when there turned out to be one pound apiece, they were very charmed.

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Then, after the evening meeting, there was a lovely supper in the long dining room, to which many friends for miles round came, and went home in their carriages. That supper was a sight! All the best silver and glass, and the loads of lovely roses, etc., and viands in rich abundance all over the long table; of course, my dear Father was the hero of the evening. It was all very lovely.

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One summer, Mr Stratton went to Bath with the phaeton and brought back in place a beautiful little wagonette, for which he said he had been extravagant enough to pay 100 guineas. It was lined and padded in navy blue cloth, and a top to put on in winter or when required. Two sweet little ponies used to draw it, and we always went to church in it on Sunday mornings to a small village church, two miles away at Upavon. Then our own service in the evening. Mr Stratton was always friendly with our own vicar, but never went near his services, as he was very high, and not much else, not an extra good man. Mr Stratton brought me home at the same time a lovely sugar basin, with red glass lining, as a contribution to housekeeping. Some little folks I might mention broke the glass in after years, but I use the basin always now.

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I ought to have said before that when I had been there a few months, there were great rejoicings over the birth of a son, after an interval of more than six years. All went on well for a time, till when the child was about 10 months old, Mrs Stratton was, or fancied she was, in need of Malvern, and its variety of baths, so got Mr Stratton to take her to make a long stay, so I was left in charge of the whole household.  This was the nurse and night nurse in the baby’s room, two servants in the kitchen, three little girls to take the greatest care of, conduct the family prayers, interview the farm bailiff every evening, and report at his dictation, and in his own dialect, all farm news to Mr Stratton.

 

Unfortunately, almost as soon as they were gone, the baby was taken ill with bronchitis. The Doctor came and said it was a bad case and a great responsibility for Miss Hewlett. He said they ought to be sent for to come home, and after four or five days, each of which seemed as long as a week, Mr Stratton came home alone, as his wife thought she was not well enough to come.

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The Death of a Child

Early the second morning after his return, the child died. I was thankful he was there. Then she came home, and I had to take her to see the little one lying in his crib. She was perfectly calm and composed, to my great astonishment, for I expected something very dreadful, I think, and had a horror of witnessing a scene. She lay on the sofa in the evening and gave me directions for the next day, to go to Devises and order mourning, visit the dressmaker, etc., which I accordingly did. They buried the child in the parish churchyard, and on the little stone, after the name and date, wrote “The first fruits to God and the Lamb.”

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When it was all over, I was very done up, and they thought I had better have a few days' change. My parents had left Oxford then, as my father was preaching at St. Mary's Church, Torquay, Devon, for 12 months. So, I got an invitation to 35, and arrived there one day in May at teatime, tired out. The Christmas before, I had to go to Devonshire for a fortnight, and when I got back to Manningford, they very kindly invited your Daddie there for a few days. They sent me with the trap to meet him along the Devizes road, and it came on heavy rain, and about halfway I found him taking shelter under a hayrick, carrying his portmanteau, and he was not sorry to be helped along.

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When I arrived in Oxford, Grandma Alden gave me some tea on arrival, and then told me she did not wish me to stay there, as it would be a hindrance to business, but I was to go to Horspath, over Shotover Hill, 4 miles from her home, escorted by Edith, who was then about 6 years old.

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Nellie was staying up there in a cottage with the children. I got there somehow, perfectly deadbeat, and cried the best part of the evening with vexation and fatigue, lying on an old sofa. About 9.30 we were thinking of sampling the huge four-poster, when a thundering knock came at the street door, which much alarmed Nellie, but didn’t seem to worry me at all. I need not say whose voice we heard. She was very vexed, but I escaped downstairs, and we poor persecuted things had two hours together in the parlour, while the old man, master of the house, wishing there were no such thing as sweethearts to keep him out of his bed. They made Daddie a bed on the sofa, and he stayed to breakfast, and two or three short snatches like that were all we got through the week. It did seem cruel, the first meeting for nearly five months.

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I wasn’t sorry to go back to Manningford. About that time, they moved to Tredington near Tewkesbury for Father to supply the church there on Sundays. He was still working for the Bible Society. So, in the summer I went there too, to see them, and it was decided I should leave Mrs Stratton before Christmas, and that we should be married in the spring, so as to have 3 or 4 months in preparation.

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To my everlasting regret, I did leave the dear old place, and then everything was knocked over. Grandma (Elizabeth) Hewlett came to Oxford to look for a house for us, and she and Grandma (Sarah) Alden had a good old crone, and Grandma Alden so impressed Grandma Hewlett with the idea that it was folly for us to think of getting married. We had two good homes, why couldn’t we be satisfied to stop in them, etc., etc., the result being that we had to go on to the summer of 1864, instead of the spring of 1863. You shall have an account of those months in due course.

In case I forget I must tell you that a few years later we had a few days visit to the Strattons with May, three months old. We had plenty of nice drives, etc., and one evening, just as we were starting, some of the villagers appeared and asked to see Miss Hewlett's baby, at which Mr Stratton seemed very shocked and told them they must remember it was Mrs Alden now. Maria was then about 16 and was such a sweet girl. She later married Ernest Sutton, old Martin Sutton’s son, of Suttons Seeds, who went to stay at Manningford to learn farming, and in due time they made a match of it, and they lived for many years at Vasildon, near Pangbourne, a very sweet place. They had seven children, four of whom are farmers in Canada, and are doing well.

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I went there again on a visit about 5 years ago, and I was glad I did, for she died a year or two after. The other two still live in the old home, which I should think is rather large and lonely for them by themselves. Mrs Stratton died some years ago at 67, and Mr Stratton, after years of patient suffering, died a year or two before Maria. A few months before his death, we visited him for a few days, and I was very pleased to revisit some of the old haunts. One of the village women whom I used to visit in the old days said when we went to see her, she could not believe it was Miss Hewlett, and they said “No, it is Mrs Alden now”, and she said “Yes, but it is the same person”. She used to be so slender and have such beautiful long curls”. I think she remained doubtful till we came away. Well, I think I have told you enough of this “tale that is told”, I only hope not enough to tire you, but I always love to think of these dear people. I had a nice letter from the two of them this last Christmas.

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I will now give you an account of what happened between leaving dear Manningford on December 22, 1862, and the memorable day, July 20, 1864, and finish with an account of that next time, as you all know pretty much what has happened since.

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That day, December 22, was a sad one for me, and I was only sorry once for doing it. Two days later, I walked over to Tewkesbury with my dear Father and went on by train to Cheltenham, to Cousin William’s, where I spent a nice evening of anticipation with them.

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William went to the station to meet your dear Daddie, who came late in the evening. He did not know I was there. Eliza hurried me off upstairs when we heard them coming, and I had a good view of the hall, taking off coats, etc., and heard William say, “Now Ted, I suppose you will want to get off as early as possible in the morning”. They put him in a room by himself and sent me to him. He was very surprised, and not at all sorry, at least did not appear so! We had a jolly time, and they sent us home to Tredington in the wagonette on Christmas morning, 7 miles, lovely scenery, frosty morning, in time for dinner.

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Ryall Hill: Ill Health and Trial

We had four days together, and then separated for 8 months. A month or two of the New Year passed by. Uncle Howe[26] was then living a few miles away, as tutor to the son of a widow lady. One day, he came in to make a proposal to me to oblige him by going to live for six months with some very swell people, relations of Mrs Martin’s, who had taken a furnished house for the summer, at Ryall Hill near Up-ton on Severn. He thought that, as we were going to be married that year, as arranged, I might as well do it, so I consented.

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​The family consisted of Captain Warren Hastings Woodman, a very kind, true gentleman of about 55 – 60, his young, handsome wife, perhaps 30 or so, and two little girls, Eleanor, aged 7 and Eva, aged 5. The former was a very nice, good child, father’s child; the latter was the very opposite, an awful temper, and red-haired, mother’s child, and completely spoiled by her.

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There was a very nice library lined with books, Brussels carpet, etc., with French windows opening onto the lawn, and lovely gardens going down to the banks of the magnificent Severn. This was supposed to be my room, and I always sat there, sometimes with the children, sometimes by myself, for hours. One day, Eva set her mind on having a menagerie in this room, consisting of a huge dog, some fowls, and rabbits. I told her she must not do it, and she flew to the drawing room to tell “Ma” what she wanted and that nasty ‘Shulett’ would not let her. So “Ma” gave her leave to do so, and there was pandemonium in a very short time. The way she threw the creatures about, and the dog doing his best to help, was a caution, more easily to be imagined than described.

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The housekeeper who belonged to the people whose house it was had stayed on to look after things, and she was very angry. The children and I had dinner with them in the dining room at one o’clock, which was their lunch. I had tea in the library with the children; generally, a bit of cold meat was brought in at 5.30, and I was never asked or expected to want anything in the way of food after that, till 9. a.m. the next day! After a few days' trial of short commons, I found I couldn’t do with it, so I told the housekeeper, and she always sent me in some supper after that, and two or three times she came up the back stairs and brought me some hot dinner to my bedroom. One occasion was when I had driven to Worcester with them for the day and subsisted on a one-penny bun. They had soup and chops at a restaurant. That evening I had a dreadful headache from want of food, and the housekeeper came up to my room, and called them a name which is better not written.

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The Captain Woodman had a German valet who waited at table, and I used to enjoy hearing their conversation in German. Mrs Woodman had a French lady's maid, who used to do everything for her, even putting her feet into satin slippers while making preparations for bed, and generally took her up an elaborate breakfast late in the morning.

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Then there was a housemaid and a gardener. Generally, 5 or 6 people sat down to meals in the Kitchen, and a very jolly time they had of it too. They used to pity me, and I pitied myself too sometimes. The valet used to come and tap at the door about 7.30 every evening, with the same formula “Dessert is on the table” and off the children used to fly to partake, and I saw no more of them for that night.

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The Woodmans had a beautiful carriage, coat of arms, etc., and a grand turnout for church on Sunday mornings. You have all read “Uncle Tom’s Cabin” and will remember Marie St. Clare. I couldn’t describe Mrs Woodman any better than her character. A huge gold-topped Vinaigrette went with her to Church and served as a plaything. We sat in a square pew with enormous hassocks and stared at each other – we couldn’t see our neighbours at all. I did used to hate it.

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I commenced there in May, and left in November, too ill to do or care much about anything, having only seen your dear father once for eight hours, since the Christmas before. Those eight hours in September we managed by Edward going on an excursion to Malvern and me going by coach from Upton to Malvern, and so we met, and had that short time. He said he had never seen me look so bad, and I felt at that time quite run down, and got dreadful neuralgia constantly. The train started for Oxford two hours before the coach started for Upton, so you may think how I felt for those two hours, sitting up in a corner of the coach by myself. I didn’t have the heart to do anything else. That was in September, and on November 5th. I went home to Tredington.

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All that time, there was influence brought to bear upon me to think better of a certain engagement and give it up. I daresay the uncertain misery of it all helped to make me bad, and I was so utterly run down when I got home that Mother said I shall send for Edward; he had better come. I begged her not to, because I knew if he came, he would not come again at Christmas, so I went to a dentist in Cheltenham, nursed up, and was better before Christmas.

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Towards the Wedding

About Easter, 1864, the wedding was fixed for July. There was a curious sequel to that story about Ryall Hill, which is partly why I said so much about it. While I was there, he was talking about some money that would come to them, and that when they had it, they would have to take the name of Hastings after Woodman. She said she shouldn’t like that, but he said it would have to be so.

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I never heard any more about it, but a few months later, I saw in the “Oxford Times” an announcement of the death of Marion, the beloved wife of Professor Sanday, Canon of Christchurch, Oxford, and eldest daughter of the late Captain Woodman Hastings, Tewkesbury, and the names of Mrs. and Miss Woodman Hastings were among the mourners. I had never even heard of the people since I left them.

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The months between November 1863 and July 1864 were well filled up with preparation, visiting the village, frequent days in Cheltenham, shopping and visiting at Uncle Williams. I got to know all the village people and spent Sunday afternoons in their houses. One of the women said to me once, “It was a beautiful sermon this morning, Miss, and so apropos to the text”. I remember feeling very surprised as to where she had picked up the expression.

There was one large house besides the Parsonage, where Major Surman, the Squire, lived with his wife in solitary grandeur. They had family ancestral paintings, life-size, around their dining room, and were very much such proper people. Very kind in their way, but very stately.

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They asked us all to an evening dinner during Christmas time. I tried to get out of it by saying I had a friend staying with us, so of course, he was invited. We sat two hours at that dinner, with three flunkies waiting upon us, one a household retainer, and two others who came with the guests. Your Daddie was seated next to a young curate who was anything but brilliant and was at college at Cambridge, and thought Daddie was ditto at Oxford, so kept making remarks about college life, etc., and Daddie came out well, sang several songs splendidly, and passed as a very clever fellow from Oxford, so kept making remarks about college life, etc., and as Daddie was a great deal more than a match for him it went off very well. After dinner, we went to the Drawing Room for coffee, songs, etc., and Daddie again passed as a very clever fellow from Oxford, and very musical. Things are not always what they seem! They were particularly fond of Uncle Arnold, who spent much of his time there. He was then about 14. Very good people in their way.

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Well, our Christmas together comprised six days, after which we parted till Easter, when the day was to be fixed. At Easter we had four days, and our wedding day was fixed for July 20th.

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The Wedding Day

On July 19, the guests arrived, and some of them stayed with friends in the neighbourhood. Uncle Fred, Cousin Robert, and Daddie went to a farm nearby. Grandpa and Grandma Alden stayed at Tewkesbury and came over in the morning.

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The bridesmaids were cousin Charlotte Hewlett, afterwards Mrs Brookes of Folkestone; cousins Patty Hewlett and Mirrie Shackleford; and Aunt Sarah, then 15 years of age. She was very much taken with Uncle Fred, who had to walk her home, and declared she would never marry anyone else, and she has kept her word. Rather singular he should have married Sarah Hewlett after all.

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Cousin William and Eliza came over in their carriage in the morning. The wedding service was about 12 noon; no carriages were needed as we had only to walk through the garden and orchard, with the trees bending from their load of fruit. The Church porch was a carpet of flowers, laid by the kind village folk. My dear father took the principal part of the service himself, and a very dear friend of his, the Rev. T.P. Holdish, and Uncle Howe took some part in it. Uncle Arnold played the organ.

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When we got back to the house, we had a few minutes' service in the drawing room, and then proceeded to the wedding breakfast, at which 20 sat down, and it was a very delightful affair. The wedding cake incident, you all know as being the most interesting and curious, perhaps I should say remarkable:

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The Remarkable Wedding Cake Story

A piece of the wedding cake of James Philip Hewlett II and Elizabeth Shackleford was put aside at the time of their marriage by their chief bridesmaid, Elizabeth Cox, with an instruction that it was to be given to the first of their children who married on his or her wedding day. Twenty-eight years later, on the wedding day of Esther Beuzeville and Edward Cox Alden, it was produced. The ‘remarkable’ fact was that Edward Cox Alden was a son of Elizabeth Cox, the bridesmaid at the earlier wedding.

Then we went into the orchard, where all the village women were collected, to receive a book each from me, and have some wedding cake, not the cake, but a more substantial one. The pretty peal of five bells was ringing joyfully at the time. When about 4 o’clock, we departed in a carriage and pair with postillions in blue and white and rode through the village in style with all the available boots and shoes thrown after us. We went to Ashchurch en-route for Bath, where we arrived in the evening and had rooms at the Railway Hotel, with a wide veranda outside the sitting room window, from which we could see the City of Bath, in splendid moonlight. We went from Bath to Shanklin the next day and spent a happy week there. Is it any wonder that we are fond of Shanklin?

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Our wedding day was altogether a perfect one, as perfect as anything in this world can be, and I have only been glad and thankful once that day ever came to me. The weather was splendid. I must describe it in the words out of a book I am very fond of “The Life of the Revd. William Marsh” written by his daughter, author of “The Life of Captain Hedley Vicars” one of the heroes of the Crimean War. Mr Marsh was rector of Beddington, Surrey, and was born July 20th. 1775.

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The book says “The 20th July 1864 was celebrated as usual by a large gathering of poor and rich, all invited to an early tea on the Rectory lawn. It was one of the sunniest days of that most brilliant summer. Friends gathered round him from far and near, to wish him joy on entering his 90th year, and nothing seemed wanting to add to the interest and grace of the scene”. So much for the best day of my life! On May Day 1865, the Squire walking through the village asked a man what the bells were ringing for, and the reply was “For the Parson’s granddaughter, Sir”. The occasion was to celebrate the birth of our daughter, Esther May Alden. Twenty-one new relationships were made by her birth; I wonder if any of you know how. If not, I will tell you another time.

For this time, with much love, Farewell!

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Editorial Note

The manuscript of Maternal Meditations, or Meanderings in the Years that are Past, is undated. The text has been transcribed from the original family document with minimal alteration to spelling and punctuation. Identifications of persons, places, and events are based on family records, parish registers, and related archival sources.​​