The Newmarket, Bury, Thetford and Cromer Road: Sport and history on an East Anglian turnpikeHarper, Charles G. (Charles George)
History
The Newmarket, Bury, Thetford and Cromer Road: Sport and history on an East Anglian turnpike
Harper, Charles G. (Charles George)
England -- Description and travel; England -- Social life and customs
HERE the murmurous twilight course of the Peddar’s Way through the
avenue of pine-trees known as Dale Row marks the boundaries of the
parishes of Roudham and East Wretham. By the elder among the peasantry
it is still spoken of as “the Scutes”—_i.e._, the Skirts; but it is
quite certain they are ignorant why they so call it. It is interesting
to recall the fact that feminine skirts are pronounced “skutes” in New
York and other towns of the New England States of America, doubtless in
a survival of the old East Anglian speech taken overseas in the early
settlement of the North American colonies.
This East Wretham is the parish of that William Cratfield, “Rector of
Wrotham, in Norfolk,” who, as “a common and notorious thief and lurker
on the roads, and murderer and slayer,” in unholy alliance with one
“Thomas Tapyrtone, farryer,” had in 1416 plied the trade of highwayman
on Newmarket Heath, and being charged with robbing a Londoner of £12,
was, with his concubine, flung into Newgate, where he died. What became
of his improper companion, or even of Tapperton, is unknown.
But the clergy around Thetford in times of old included several queer
characters. There was Lowe, the curate of Rockland, who on January 12th,
1608, aided by the rector’s wife, murdered the Rev. Mr. James, the
rector of that place. Lowe was hanged at Thetford and Mrs. James burnt
at the stake. Again, in 1635, the rector of Santon Downham was charged
with being “an alehouse haunter and swearer, being distempered with
liquor, keeping malignant company, and calling the Puritans hypocrites.”
[Illustration: THE RUINED CHURCH OF ROUDHAM.]
Nay, not merely the clergy of this district, but of broad Norfolk, might
be made to figure in a _chronique scandaleuse_; and if we had a mind to
it, we could end in modern times with that thirsty clerk who was found,
very drunken, beside the river at Stratton Strawless, declaring he would
drink that up before he left. He must have been like to that wondrous
toper created by one of the loveliest slips ever made by a reporter; who
would strain at a gnat and swallow a canal; which we must allow to be a
more heroic feat than swallowing the more usual camel.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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