Curious Epitaphs, Collected from the Graveyards of Great Britain and Ireland.

William Andrews

Curious Epitaphs, Collected from the Graveyards of Great Britain and Ireland

Preface

For many years I have collected curious epitaphs, and in this volume I offer the result of my gleanings. An attempt is herein made to furnish a book, not compiled from previously published works, but a collection of curious inscriptions copied from gravestones. Some of the chapters have appeared under my name in Chambers’s Journal, Illustrated Sporting and Dramatic News, Newcastle Courant, People’s Journal, (Dundee), Press News, and other publications. I have included a Bibliography of Epitaphs, believing that it will be useful to those who desire to obtain more information on the subject than is presented here. I have not seen any other bibliography of this class of literature, and as a first attempt it must be incomplete. In compiling it I have had the efficient aid of Mr. W. G. B. Page, of the Hull Subscription Library, who has also prepared the Index.

I must tender my thanks to the following friends for their valued assistance: Mrs. Geo. Linnæus Banks, author of the “Manchester Man,” Mr. W. G. Fretton, F.S.A., Mr. Walter Hamilton, F.R.G.S., Mr. Jno. H. Leggott, F.R.H.S., Rev. R. V. Taylor, B.A., Mr. H. Vickery, and others whose names appear in the following pages.

In conclusion, I hope that this book will merit from readers and reviewers a similar welcome to that granted to my former works; in that case I shall have every reason to be satisfied with my pleasant labour.

WILLIAM ANDREWS.Hull Literary Club,October 1st, 1883.

EPITAPHS ON PARISH CLERKS AND SEXTONS

Amongst the most curious of the many peculiar epitaphs which are to be found in the quiet resting-places of the departed are those placed to the memory of parish clerks and sextons. We have noted at various times, and at different places, many strange specimens, a few of which we think will entertain our readers.

In the churchyard of Crayford is a grave-stone bearing the following inscription: —

Here lieth the bodyOFPeter Isnell,Thirty years clerk of this ParishHe lived respected as a pious and mirthful man, and died on hisway to church to assist at a wedding,On the 31st day of March, 1811,Aged 70 yearsThe inhabitants of Crayford have raised this stone to his cheerfulmemory, and as a tribute to his long and faithful servicesThe life of this clerk, just three score and ten,Nearly half of which time he had sung out “Amen;”In youth he was married, like other young men,But his wife died one day, so he chanted “Amen.”A second he took, she departed – what then?He married and buried a third with “Amen.”Thus his joys and his sorrows were treble, but thenHis voice was deep bass, as he sung out “Amen.”On the horn he could blow as well as most men;So his horn was exalted to blowing “Amen.”But he lost all his wind after three score and ten,And here, with three wives, he awaits till againThe trumpet shall rouse him to sing out “Amen.”

In addition to being parish clerk, Frank Raw, of Selby, Yorkshire, was a grave-stone cutter, for we are told: —

Here lies the body of poor Frank Raw,Parish clerk and grave-stone cutter,And this is writ to let you knowWhat Frank for others used to do,Is now for Frank done by another.

The next epitaph, placed to the memory of a parish clerk and bellows-maker, was formerly in the old church of All Saints, Newcastle-on-Tyne: —

Here lies Robert Wallas,The King of Good Fellows,Clerk of All-Hallows,And maker of bellows.

On a slate head-stone, near the south porch of Bingham Church, Nottinghamshire, is inscribed: —

Beneath this stone lies Thomas Hart,Years fifty eight he took the partOf Parish Clerk: few did excel.Correct he read and sung so well;His words distinct, his voice so clear,Till eighteen hundred and fiftieth year.Death cut the brittle thread, and thenA period put to his Amen.At eighty-two his breath resigned,To meet the fate of all mankind;The third of May his soul took flightTo mansions of eternal light.The bell for him with awful toneHis body summoned to the tomb.Oh! may his sins be all forgiv’nAnd Christ receive him into heav’n.

In the same county, from the churchyard of Ratcliffe on Soar, we have a curious epitaph to the memory of Robert Smith, who died in 1782, aged 82 years: —

Fifty-five years it was, and something more,Clerk of this parish he the office bore,And in that space, ’tis awful to declare,Two generations buried by him were!

In a note by Mr. Llewllynn Jewitt, F.S.A., we are told that with the clerkship of Bakewell church, the “vocal powers” of its holders, appear to have been to some extent hereditary, if we may judge by the inscriptions recording the deaths and the abilities of two members of the family of Roe which are found on grave-stones in the churchyard there. The first of these, recording the death of Samuel Roe, is as under: —

ToThe memory ofSamuel Roe,ClerkOf the Parish Church of Bakewell,Which officeHe filled thirty-five yearsWith credit to himselfAnd satisfaction to the InhabitantsHis natural powers of voice,In clearness, strength, and sweetnessWere altogether unequalledHe died October 31st, 1792,Aged 70 yearsdied agedSarah his third wife| 1811 | 77Charles their son| 1810 | 52

He had three wives, Millicent, who died in 1745, aged 22; Dorothy, who died 1754, aged 28; and Sarah, who survived him and died in 1811, at the age of 77. A grave-stone records the death of his first two wives as follows, and the third is commemorated in the above inscription.

Millicent,Wife of Saml Roe,She died Sepr 16th, 1745, aged 22Dorothy,Wife of Saml Roe,She died Novr 13th, 1754, aged 28

Respecting the above-mentioned Samuel Roe, a contributor to the Gentleman’s Magazine wrote, on February 13th, 1794:

“Mr. Urban,

“It was with much concern that I read the epitaph upon Mr. Roe, in your last volume, p. 1192. Upon a little tour which I made in Derbyshire, in 1789, I met with that worthy and very intelligent man at Bakewell, and, in the course of my antiquarian researches there, derived no inconsiderable assistance from his zeal and civility. If he did not possess the learning of his namesake, your old and valuable correspondent, I will venture to declare that he was not less influenced by a love and veneration for antiquity, many proofs of which he had given by his care and attention to the monuments in the church, which were committed to his charge; for he united the characters of sexton, clerk, singing-master, will-maker, and school-master. Finding that I was quite alone, he requested permission to wait upon me at the inn in the evening, urging, as a reason for this request, that he must be exceedingly gratified by the conversation of a gentleman who could read the characters upon the monument of Vernon, the founder of Haddon House, a treat he had not met with for many years. After a very pleasant gossip we parted, but not till my honest friend had, after some apparent struggle, begged of me to indulge him with my name.”

To his careful attention is to be attributed the preservation of the curious Vernon and other monuments in the church, over which in some instances he placed wooden framework to keep off the rough hands and rougher knives of the boys and young men of the congregation. He also watched with special care over the Wendesley tomb, and even took careful rubbings of the inscriptions.

While speaking of this Mr. Roe, it may be well to put the readers of this work in possession of an interesting fact in connection with the name of Roe, or Row. The writer above, in his letter to Mr. Urban, says, “If he did not possess the learning of his namesake, your old and valued correspondent,” &c. By this he means “T Row,” whose contributions to the Gent’s. Mag. were very numerous and interesting. The writer under this signature was the Rev. Samuel Pegge, rector of Whittington, and the letters forming this pseudonym were the initials of the words, T[he] R[ector] O[f] W[hittington].

Philip Roe, who succeeded his father (Samuel Roe) as parish clerk of Bakewell, was his son by his third wife. He was born in 1763, and succeeded his father in full parochial honours in 1792, having, we believe, for some time previously acted as his deputy. He died in 1815, aged 52 years, and was buried with the other members of the family. The following curious inscription appears on his grave-stone: —

Erected

In remembrance ofPhilip Roewho died 12th September, 1815Aged 52 yearsThe vocal Powers here let us markOf Philip our late Parish ClerkIn Church none ever heard a LaymanWith a clearer Voice say “Amen!”Who now with Hallelujahs SoundLike Him can make the Roofs rebound?The Choir lament his Choral TonesThe Town – so soon Here lie his Bones.“Sleep undisturb’d within thy peaceful shrineTill Angels wake thee with such notes as thine.”Also of Sarah his wife who departed this life on the24th of January 1817aged 51 years

Our genial friend, Cuthbert Bede, B.A., author of “Verdant Green,” tells us, “As a boy I often attended the service at Belbroughton Church, Worcestershire, where the parish clerk was Mr. Osborne, tailor. His family had there been parish clerks and tailors since the time of Henry the Eighth, and were lineally descended from William FitzOsborne, who, in the twelfth century, had been deprived by Ralph FitzHerbert of his right to the manor of Bellem, in the parish of Belbroughton. Often have I stood in the picturesque churchyard of Wolverley, Worcestershire, by the grave of its old parish clerk, whom I well remember, old Thomas Worrall, the inscription on whose monument is as follows: —

Sacred to the Memory ofThomas Worrall,Parish Clerk of Wolverley for a period of forty-seven yearsDied A.D. 1854, February 23rdAged 76 years“He served with faithfulness in humble sphere,As one who could his talent well employ.Hope that when Christ his Lord shall reappear,He may be bidden to his Master’s joy.”This tombstone was erected to the memory of the deceasedby a few of the parishioners in testimony of his worthApril, 1855. Charles R. Somers Cocks, vicar

It may be noted of this worthy parish clerk that, with the exception of a week or two before his death, he was never once absent from his Sunday and weekday duties in the forty-seven years during which he held office. He succeeded his father, James Worrall, who died in 1806, aged seventy-nine, after being parish clerk of Wolverley for thirty years. His tombstone, near to that of his son, was erected “to record his worth both in his public and private character, and as a mark of personal esteem – h. l. F. H. & W. C. p. c.” I am told that these initials stand for F. Hurtle and the Rev. William Callow, and that the latter was the author of the following lines inscribed on the monument, which are well worth quoting: —

“If courtly bards adorn each statesman’s bust,And strew their laurels o’er each warrior’s dustAlike immortalise, as good and great,Him who enslaved as him who saved the state,Surely the muse (a rustic minstrel) mayDrop one wild flower upon a poor man’s clay;This artless tribute to his mem’ry giveWhose life was such as heroes seldom live.In worldly knowledge, poor indeed his store —He knew the village and he scarce knew more.The worth of heavenly truth he justly knew —In faith a Christian, and in practice too.Yes, here lies one, excel him ye who can;Go! imitate the virtues of that man!”

First amongst notable sextons is the name of Old Scarlett, who died July 2, 1591, at the good old age of ninety-eight, and occupied for a long time the position as sexton of Peterborough Cathedral. He buried two generations of his fellow-creatures. A portrait of him, placed at the west end of that noble church, has perpetuated his fame, and caused him to be introduced in effigy in various publications. Dr. Robert Chambers in his entertaining work, the “Book of Days,” writes: “And what a lively effigy – short, stout, hardy, and self-complacent, perfectly satisfied, and perhaps even proud, of his profession, and content to be exhibited with all its insignia about him! Two queens had passed through his hands into that bed which gives a lasting rest to queens and to peasants alike. An officer of Death, who had so long defied his principal, could not but have made some impression on the minds of bishop, dean, prebends, and other magnates of the Cathedral, and hence, as we may suppose, the erection of this lively portraiture of the old man, which is believed to have been only once renewed since it was first put up. Dr. Dibdin, who last copied it, tells us that ‘Old Scarlett’s jacket and trunkhose are of a brownish red, his stockings blue, his shoes black, tied with blue ribbons, and the soles of his feet red. The cap upon his head is red, and so also is the ground of the coat armour.’”

The following lines below his portrait are characteristic of his age: —

You see old Scarlett’s picture stand on hie;But at your feet here doth his body lye.His gravestone doth his age and death-time show,His office by heis token [s] you may know.Second to none for strength and sturdy lymm,A scare-babe mighty voice, with visage grim;He had inter’d two queenes within this place,And this townes householders in his life’s spaceTwice over; but at length his own time cameWhat he for others did, for him the sameWas done: no doubt his soule doth live for aye,In heaven, though his body clad in clay.

The first of the queens interred by Scarlett was Catherine, the divorced wife of Henry VIII, who died in 1535, at Kimbolton Castle, in Huntingdonshire. The second was Mary Queen of Scots, who was beheaded at Fotheringay in 1587, and first interred here, though subsequently transported to Westminster Abbey.

Our next example is from Bingley, Yorkshire: —

In memory of Hezekiah Briggs, who died August 5th, 1844, in the80th year of his age. He was sexton at this church 43 years,and interred upwards of 7000 corpses

[Here the names of his wife and several children are given.]

Here lies an old ringer, beneath the cold clay,Who has rung many peals both for serious and gay;Through Grandsire and Trebles with ease he could range,Till death called a Bob, which brought round the last change.For all the village came to himWhen they had need to call;His counsel free to all was given,For he was kind to all.Ring on, ring on, sweet Sabbath bell,Still kind to me thy matins swell,And when from earthly things i part,Sigh o’er my grave, and lull my heart.

An upright stone in the burial ground at Hartwith Chapel, in Nidderdale, Yorkshire, bears the following inscription: —

In memory of William Darnbrough, who for the last fortyyears of his life was sexton of this chapel. He diedOctober 3rd, 1846, in the one hundreth year of his age“Thou shalt go to thy fathers in peace; thou shalt be buried in agood old age.” —Genesis xv. 15The graves around for many a yearWere dug by him who slumbers here, —Till worn with age, he dropped his spade,And in the dust his bones were laid.As he now, mouldering, shares the doomOf those he buried in the tomb;So shall he, too, with them arise,To share the judgment of the skies.

An examination of Pateley Bridge Church registers proves that Darnbrough was 102 years of age.

An epitaph from Saddleworth, Yorkshire, tells us: —

Here was interred the body of John Broadbent, Sexton,who departed this life, August 3rd, 1769, in the 73rd year of his ageForty-eight years, strange to tell,He bore the bier and toll’d the bell,And faithfully discharged his trust,In “earth to earth” and “dust to dust.”Cease to lament,His life is spent,The grave is still his element;His old friend Death knew ’twas his sphere,So kindly laid the sexton here.

At Rothwell, near Leeds, an old sexton is buried in the church porch. A monumental inscription runs thus: —

In memory of Thomas Flockton, Sexton 59 years, buried23rd day of February, 1783, aged 78 yearsHere lies within this porch so calm,Old Thomas. Pray sound his knell,Who thought no song was like a psalm —No music like a bell.

At Darlington, there is a Latin epitaph over the remains of Richard Preston, which has been freely translated as follows: —

Under this marble are depos’dPoor Preston’s sad remains.Alas! too true for light-rob’d jestTo sing in playful strains.Ye dread possessors of the grave,Who feed on others’ woe,Abstain from Richard’s small remains,And grateful pity shew;For many a weighty corpse he gaveTo you with liberal hand;Then sure his little body maySome small respect command.

The gravestone bears the date of 1765.

Further examples might be included, but we have given sufficient to show the varied and curious epitaphs placed to the memory of parish clerks and sextons.

TYPOGRAPHICAL EPITAPHS

The trade of printer is rich in technical terms available for the writer of epitaphs, as will be seen in the following examples.

Our first inscription is from St. Margaret’s Church, Westminster, placed in remembrance of England’s benefactor, the first English printer: —

To the memory ofWilliam Caxton,who first introduced into Great Britain the Art of Printing;And who, A.D. 1477 or earlier, exercised that art in theAbbey of WestminsterThis Tablet,In remembrance of one to whom the literature of thiscountry is so largely indebted, was raised,anno Domini MDCCCXX., by the Roxburghe Club,Earl Spencer, K.G., President

The next is in memory of one Edward Jones, ob. 1705-6, æt. 53. He was the “Gazette” Printer of the Savoy, and the following epitaph was appended to an elegy, entitled, “The Mercury Hawkers in Mourning,” and published on the occasion of his death: —

Here lies a Printer, famous in his time,Whose life by lingering sickness did decline.He lived in credit, and in peace he died,And often had the chance of Fortune tried.Whose smiles by various methods did promoteHim to the favour of the Senate’s vote;And so became, by National consent,The only Printer of the Parliament.Thus by degrees, so prosp’rous was his fate,He left his heirs a very good estate.

Another is on a noted printer and bookseller in his day, Jacob Tonson, who died in 1735: —

The volume of his life being finished, here is the end of Jacob Tonson. Weep, authors, and break your pens; your Tonson, effaced from the book, is no more; but print the last inscription on this last page of death, for fear that, delivered to the press of the grave, he, the Editor, should want a title. Here lies a bookseller, the leaf of his life being finished, awaiting a new edition, augmented and corrected.

The celebrated Dr. Benjamin Franklin imitated the above, and designed it for himself: —

The body of B. Franklin, Printer, like the cover of an old book, its contents torn out, and stripped of its lettering and gilding, lies here, food for worms. But the work shall not be wholly lost, for it will, as he believed, appear once more, in a new and more perfect edition, corrected and amended by the Author. He was born Jan. 6, 1706. Died – , 17 – . B.F.

Franklin died on the 17th of April, 1790, aged eighty-four years. After the death of this sturdy patriot and sagacious writer, the following singular sentiment was inscribed to his memory: —

Benjamin Franklin, the * of his profession; the type of honesty; the! of all; and although the ☞ of death put a. to his existence, each § of his life is without a ||.

On a plain, flat slab in the burial-ground of Christ-church, Philadelphia, the following simple inscription appears over the remains of the good man and his worthy wife: —

The pun on the supersession of an old edition by a new and revised one, has often been worked out, as in the following example, which is that of the Rev. John Cotton, who died in New England, in 1652: —

A living, breathing Bible; tables whereBoth covenants at large engraven were;Gospel and law in his heart had each its column,His head an index to the sacred volume!His very name a title-page; and, next,His life a commentary on the text.Oh, what a moment of glorious worth,When in a new edition he comes forth!Without errata, we may think ’twill be,In leaves and covers of Eternity.

A notable epitaph was that of George Faulkner, the alderman and printer, of Dublin, who died in 1775:

Turn, gentle stranger, and this urn revere,O’er which Hibernia saddens with a tear.Here sleeps George Faulkner, printer, once so dearTo humorous Swift, and Chesterfield’s gay peer;So dear to his wronged country and her laws;So dauntless when imprisoned in her cause;No alderman e’er graced a weighter board,No wit e’er joked more freely with a lord.None could with him in anecdotes confer;A perfect annal-book, in Elzevir.Whate’er of glory life’s first sheets presage,Whate’er the splendour of the title-page,Leaf after leaf, though learned lore ensues;Close as thy types and various as thy news;Yet, George, we see that one lot awaits them all,Gigantic folios, or octavos small;One universal finis claims his rank,And every volume closes in a blank.

In the churchyard of Bury St. Edmunds, Suffolk, is a good specimen of a typographical epitaph, placed in remembrance of a noted printer, who died in the year 1818. It reads as follows:

Here lie the remains of L. Gedge, PrinterLike a worn-out character, he has returned to the Founder,Hoping that he will be re-cast in a better andmore perfect mould

Our next example is profuse of puns, some of which are rather obscure to younger readers, owing to the disuse of the old wooden press. It is the epitaph of a Scotch printer: —

Sacred to the memory ofAdam Williamson,Pressman-printer, in Edinburgh,Who died Oct. 3, 1832,Aged 72 yearsAll my stays are loosed;My cap is thrown off; my head is worn out;My box is broken;My spindle and bar have lost their power;My till is laid aside;Both legs of my crane are turned out of their path;My platen can make no impression;My winter hath no spring;My rounce will neither roll out nor in;Stone, coffin, and carriage have all failed;The hinges of my tympan and frisket are immovable;My long and short ribs are rusted;My cheeks are much worm-eaten and mouldering away:My press is totally down:The volume of my life is finished,Not without many errors;Most of them have arisen from bad composition,and are to be attributed more to the chase than the press;There are also a great number of my own:Misses, scuffs, blotches, blurs, and bad register;But the true and faithful Superintendent has undertaken to correct the wholeWhen the machine is again set up(incapable of decay),A new and perfect edition of my life will appear,Elegantly bound for duration, and every way fittedfor the grand Library of the Great Author

The next specimen is less satisfactory, because devoid of the hope that should encircle the death of the Christian. It is the epitaph which Baskerville, the celebrated Birmingham printer and type founder, directed to be placed upon a tomb of masonry in the shape of a cone, and erected over his remains: —

StrangerBeneath this cone, in unconsecrated ground,A friend to the liberties of mankindDirected his body to be inurnedMay the example contribute to emancipate thy mindfrom the idle fears of superstition, and thewicked arts of priestcraft

It is recorded that “The tomb has long since been overturned, and even the remains of the man himself desecrated and dispersed till the final day of resurrection, when the atheism which in his later years he professed, will receive assuredly so complete and overwhelming a refutation.”

In 1599 died Christopher Barker, one of the most celebrated of the sixteenth century typographers, printer to Queen Elizabeth – to whom, in fact, the present patent, held by Eyre and Spottiswode, can be traced back in unbroken succession.

Here Barker lies, once printer to the Crown,Whose works of art acquired a vast renown.Time saw his worth, and spread around his fame,That future printers might imprint the same.But when his strength could work the press no moreAnd his last sheets were folded into store,Pure faith, with hope (the greatest treasure given),Opened their gates, and bade him pass to heaven.

We shall bring to a close our examples of typographical epitaphs with the following, copied from the graveyard of St. Michael’s, Coventry, on a worthy printer who was engaged over sixty years as a compositor on the Coventry Mercury: —

Herelies inter’dthe mortal remainsofJohn Hulm,Printer,who, like an old, worn-out type,battered by frequent use, reposes in the graveBut not without a hope that at some future timehe might be cast in the mould of righteousness,And safely locked-up in the chase of immortalityHe was distributed from the board of lifeon the 9th day of Sept., 1827,Aged 75Regretted by his employers,and respected by his fellow artists