Read Ebook: John and Betty's History Visit by Williamson Margaret

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Ebook has 811 lines and 61010 words, and 17 pages

The big library at Mrs. Pitt's home was a fascinating place, the two visitors thought. The ceiling was high, the wainscoting was of dark wood, and the walls were almost entirely lined with book-cases. John was delighted with some little steps, which you could push around and climb up on to reach the highest shelves. This room suggested great possibilities to both the young visitors, for, as they were to stay many months, there would certainly be days when it would be too wet to go out, and they could by no means entirely give up their reading.

As they had felt rather chilly on their bus-ride that evening, the four young people all came into the library upon their return, and drew their chairs up to the tiny grate. Betty and John had greatly enjoyed this new experience, for they had been truly English. Having jumped aboard while the bus was moving slowly, near the curb, they had scrambled up the little steps and taken the seats behind the driver. They had not noticed much about where they were going, for it had all seemed a jumble of many lights, crowds of people, and noise. But John had slipped a coin into the driver's hand, and there had been a steady stream of stories from that moment. London bus-drivers have plenty to tell, and are not at all loath to tell it--especially after the encouragement of a tip. John was delighted to hear about the time, one foggy Christmas Eve, when his friend had "sat for four hours, sir, without daring to stir, at 'Yde Park Corner." John envied him the splendid moment when the fog had finally lifted and disclosed the great mass of traffic, which had been blinded and stalled for so long.

As John stood in front of the fire thinking it all over, he suddenly exclaimed, "It was fun to hear that driver drop his h's; that was real Cockney for you!"

Betty looked puzzled for a moment, and then said, "Wasn't it supposed that only people who had been born within the sound of the bells of old Bow Church could be real Cockneys?"

"That's right, Betty; your history is good," said Mrs. Pitt, who had just entered; "but John, I must tell you that dropping h's is not necessarily Cockney. The peculiar pronunciation of vowels is what characterizes a true Cockney's speech, but many others drop h's--the people of Shropshire for instance.

"Do you children remember those quaint little verses about Bow Bells?" continued Mrs. Pitt. "In the days when Dick Whittington was a boy, and worked at his trade in London, it was the custom to ring Bow Bells as the signal for the end of the day's work, at eight o'clock in the evening. One time, the boys found that the clerk was ringing the bells too late, and indignant at such a thing, they sent the following verses to him:

"'Clerke of the Bow Bells, With the yellow lockes, For thy late ringing, Thou shalt have knockes.'

"The frightened man hastened to send this answer to the boys:

"'Children of Chepe, Hold you all stille, For you shall have Bow Bells Rung at your wille.'"

"That was bright of them," commented John, as he rose to take off his coat.

Philip and Barbara had long since thrown off their wraps and pulled their chairs away from the fire, saying how warm they were. Even after John had dispensed with his coat, Betty sat just as near the tiny blaze as she could, with her coat still closely buttoned.

"No, thanks; I want to get warm," she answered, when they spoke of it. "It seems to me that it's very cold here. Don't you ever have bigger fires?"

As Betty spoke, the little blaze flickered and almost went out.

"Let's make some plans for to-morrow," exclaimed Mrs. Pitt. "What should you like to see first, Betty?"

"I want to go somewhere on a bus!" was John's prompt answer, at which everybody laughed except Betty.

"Oh, yes, but let's go to Westminster Abbey just as soon as possible, John. I've always wanted so much to see it, that I don't believe I can wait now. Think of all the great people who have been associated with it," said Betty very earnestly.

"Very well, I quite agree on taking you first to the Abbey," said Mrs. Pitt. "It is a place of which I could never tire, myself. And strange to say, I very seldom, if ever, get time to go there, except when I'm showing it to strangers. Why! It's twenty-five minutes past nine this very minute, children; you must go to bed at once!"

WESTMINSTER ABBEY

The first thing that Betty heard the following morning was a gentle knock upon her bedroom door, and a voice saying, "It's seven o'clock, and will you have some sticks, Miss?"

"What sticks? What for?" Betty asked sleepily.

They were for a fire, it seemed, and Betty welcomed the idea. She was soon dressed, and Barbara came to show her the way to the breakfast-room.

"You can't think how good it does seem not to be thrown about while dressing, as we were on the steamer! Do you know that I can't help stepping up high over the door-sills even yet!" laughed Betty, as they went downstairs together. "Mrs. Moore, the friend of mother's in whose care we came, you know, told me that I should probably feel the motion for some time after landing."

To the surprise of John and Betty, there was a very hearty breakfast awaiting them. They had expected the meager tea, toast, and jam, which some Americans consider to be customary in English homes, because it is encountered in the hotels.

Early in the morning, the buses were even more crowded than the night before, and they had some difficulty in finding seats. John placed himself beside a soldier dressed in a scarlet coat and funny little round cap held on sidewise by a strap across his chin, with every intention of starting up a conversation with him; but one glance at his superior air discouraged the boy from any such attempt. When they arrived at Trafalgar Square again, they jumped off, and walked down towards the towers of the Houses of Parliament. In front of the Horse Guards they stood in admiration of the two mounted sentries, stationed there.

"Those black horses are great!" cried John. "How fine those fellows do look sitting there like statues in their scarlet uniforms, and their shiny helmets with the flying tails to them! I only wish I could be a Guard, and ride a horse like one of those!"

"Would you rather be a Horse Guard, or a bus-driver, John?" asked Betty teasingly.

"Sometimes you see dozens of the Guards together; that's a fine sight!" said Barbara, after the laugh had subsided. "They escort the King when he goes out in state. Oh, you'll see them often."

That comforted John somewhat, but he could not resist turning around for several glances towards the gateway where the Guards were.

"Why do they always stand there?" he questioned.

Mrs. Pitt explained that they were organized by Charles II, who needed all possible protection to enable him to hold the throne after his exile in foreign lands. After the days of Cromwell, times were very unsettled, and many disturbances were likely to occur. Hence the duty of these Guards was probably to keep the peace , and to escort the King, as they still do.

"Perhaps," she went on, "you don't understand who the 'prentices were. Long ago it was the custom to apprentice boys to one of the great and powerful guilds or companies. These were organizations of many merchants belonging to the same trade; such as shipbuilders, carpenters, candle-makers, and so forth. Their main object was to see that the work which was turned out was good. Every man belonged to his guild; some were for 'common and middling folks,' while kings and princes were members of others. A great deal of good was done by these companies, for each, besides aiding and protecting its own members, usually had some other charity. For instance, the guild at Lincoln fed yearly as many poor as there were members of the guild; and another kept a sort of inn for the shelter of poor travelers. The guilds played an important part in the life of the time. Well, as I was saying, when a boy had chosen the trade which was to his taste, he went to the city, and was apprenticed to a member of one of the guilds, with whom he usually lived. The boys were called 'prentices. Their life was not an easy one, and yet, it seems to me that they must have enjoyed it. In those days, there were great tournaments and grand processions of kings, with hundreds of servants and followers, all splendidly dressed in brilliant colors. Men wore magnificent clothes of silks and velvets and cloth-of-gold, with costly jewels, such as ropes of pearls; and their servants, whose duty it was to go before their masters on the street, wore suits of livery with the silver badge of their master. London in those days was a wonderfully busy place! On board the ships sailing up the river were men in strange costumes, from foreign lands. The 'prentices would often stop work to watch a company of Portuguese sailors pass, or a gorgeous procession of bishops with their retainers; and from this little verse we know that they did not always return very quickly to their duties. Do you know this?

"'When ther any ridings were in Chepe, Out of the shoppe thider would he lepe; And till that he had all the sight ysein, And danced well, he would not come again.'

"There were always processions, too, in winter as well as in summer, for the people seemed not to mind rain or storm in the least. The boys had many holidays,--there were frequent pageants, feasts, and celebrations of all kinds,--and on the whole, I think they must have been very happy in spite of the long hours of work, don't you? Another curious custom was the keeping of cudgels in every shop for the use of the 'prentices, in case of a fight--and I imagine that they were numerous. Now, come close to me, children, while we cross this street; there's the Abbey right ahead of us."

As they entered the north transept of Westminster Abbey, the dim light, in contrast to the sunshine outside, was almost blinding. At first, all was indistinct except the great rose-window, in the opposite transept, through which the light strayed in many colors. The morning service was in progress, so they sat down near the door, and listened and looked. How beautiful!--how tremendous it all was! Even John's overflowing spirits were quieted, it was so wonderfully impressive! The rose-window still stood out clearly against the deep shadows all about it, but a faint light could now be seen coming in through the little windows, high up near the roof,--the clerestory windows, they are called. Betty could see the massive roof, the long aisles crowded with marble monuments, and the pillars. The canon's voice was heard intoning in a deep, monotonous key; reading followed, and then some one sang, in a high, clear voice, which seemed to come from far away, and yet to fill all the space of the great building. Betty could not have spoken a word; she was filled with a kind of wondering awe such as she had never known before.

John, more matter-of-fact, was examining the statues nearest to him.

He touched Betty's arm to attract her attention, and said, "See, there are lots of statues here, Betty, but I only know the names of William Pitt and Benjamin Disraeli, 'Twice Prime-Minister.' Do you remember him? Wonder if William Pitt was an ancestor of our Mrs. Pitt!" he rambled on, not seeing that his sister took no notice of him.

As for Betty, she scarcely knew that any one had spoken to her. She seemed to be back in the Middle Ages, and the present had vanished away.

When the service was ended, they walked about, examining the monuments as they went.

"This long, broad aisle extending from the main entrance to the choir is called the nave," explained Mrs. Pitt. "The shorter aisles which form the crossing are the transepts, and the choir is always the eastern end of the building, containing the altar. These are facts which you will want to learn and remember."

"The kings and queens are all buried here, aren't they, Mrs. Pitt?" questioned John. "Will they put King Edward here, too, when he dies?"

As she spoke, the party stopped in front of the well-known bust of our poet, Longfellow, which I suppose every American is proud to see.

"So they read 'Hiawatha,' even in England," Betty remarked.

"There are tablets all over the floor, under our feet! Look, I'm standing on Dickens' grave this very minute! And there's 'Oh, Rare Ben Jonson,' right there on the wall; I've always heard of that. And here's Spenser, and Chaucer, and Browning, and Tennyson, very close together. Oh! It's dreadful! I don't want to step on them! Why, everybody who ever was anybody seems to be here!" gasped John, forgetting his grammar in his interest.

"Here are busts of Scott , and Burns, Goldsmith, and Coleridge; I know all these names. Here's a statue of Shakespeare, though of course he isn't buried here. There's a tablet to Jenny Lind. Wasn't she a singer? Seems to me I've heard my grandpa speak of her. And, if here isn't Thackeray's grave--there in the floor again! Well! Well!"

"Come over here, John, and see this," called Philip, pointing to a tomb on which was this inscription:

"Well, that beats them all!" laughed John, who was greatly pleased.

Mrs. Pitt now led the rest into the little chapel of St. Faith, off the south transept, where they sat down to rest.

"It's the most wonderful place I ever dreamed of!" said Betty quietly, as though she were talking to herself. "This little chapel is the quaintest, oldest thing I ever saw! The walls are so dark; that tiny window up so high, hardly lets in any light at all; and the altar, with the faded picture, is so strange! I can't believe it is the twentieth century; the people in the Abbey now don't seem real to me at all. They look so small and shadowy beside the huge statues of people of other days! Surely the people the statues represent belong here, and not we! Why, I feel so far back in history that I shouldn't be in the least surprised to see Raleigh, or Chaucer, or Queen Elizabeth, walk into this chapel, right now! I should probably go up and say 'How do you do?'" she added laughingly.

Betty did not know that any one had heard her talking, but Mrs. Pitt had been listening, and when Betty was silent, she said:

"Come, let's go out into the sunshine of the cloisters now. I am really afraid to have Betty stay in here any longer! The first thing we know, she'll be disappearing into the Middle Ages! She's almost there now!"

The ancient cloisters of Westminster Abbey are deeply interesting and impressive. They are four arcades built around the square grass-plot, which was the monks' burial-ground. The fine tracery of the windows is now much broken, and is crumbling away with age, but its exquisite carving is still plainly seen. The original pavement yet remains; it is much worn by the feet of the monks, and is almost covered by tablets which mark the resting-places of the abbots, as well as of others. The members of our party were touched, as are all, by the pathetic simplicity of the epitaph: "Jane Lister, Dear Childe, 1688." Those four short words suggest a sad story about which one would like to learn more.

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