Local Walks

Always the centre of the village social life, the Lion has had many landlords over the years. For a long time it was supported by its loyal Eastwick tipplers who all walked there or used their bikes – if they were sober enough to sit on them, that is. Beer was the order of the day and the pub was very much a male preserve. Changing social patterns have, however, altered life at the Lion. Patterns of drinking are radically different – lager, wines, tea and coffee! My old chap would never have survived this. In his day there was an active darts club with frequent outings to other pubs, also a Christmas slate club, and bar games. I shall always recall him sitting at the table with his tankard and his dominoes, surrounded by his chums.

A landlord can make or break a pub, and the Lion has been fortunate in having had some good ones over the years. But one thing the brewers cannot seem to do is to paint a good pub sign. The present lion looks far too anaemic. Once we had a heraldic lion, a lion that stood up on his hind feet and displayed his paws like a boxer. Now that was a lion: you could almost hear him roar!

Next to the pub is Culverts, the finest house in Eastwick, the Georgian retirement home of William Frampton, the rich India merchant: this is one of the few village houses to survive the Hodgson brothers’ reforms. The name is of recent origin. For such a tiny village this house is a real gem of a survival, and amply reflects the prosperity of Georgian Eastwick. On the other side of the Lion is Green Man Court, a skillful reworking of the farm barns into houses. I recall these barns being little used and derelict, so this is a great improvement.

Opposite are Manor Cottages, built on the site of the bombed house. Here, in Victorian times, the village blacksmith had his forge. The man’s name was Roe and the craft had been in his family for generations. My old chap, when he wasn’t playing dominoes in the Lion, was a blacksmith at the engineering works, Smith & Shiptons, which had been built on the site of the former school. He did metalwork, but did not himself shoe horses. I remember him, his sleeves rolled up, his bald head reflecting the red-hot fire, as he hammered away at the anvil – a quite lovely profession.

From Manor Cottages there is little point in proceeding further on as there are now few examples of any Eastwick building in this direction. In the old days, however, if you journeyed a quarter of a mile along that main road to a point where it runs adjacent to the river, you would have encountered the Eastwick Mill and opposite it, Mead End House. Of the appearance of the mill we know nothing, except that like most watermills it probably looked very attractive. It had a chequered history: in the time of the de Tanys it is recorded as having completely fallen down. Thus it had to be rebuilt, and again, and again. It was finally demolished more than 300 years ago.

We know little of Mead End House, either, except that it was a big house, possibly of Tudor origin, with substantial grounds and outbuildings. Queen Elizabeth I was reputed to have visited it, but as she is reputed to have visited just about every noble house in England, we do not need to take this too seriously.This area was known as Eastwick Street.

Here was also situated the riverside Green Man inn. This establishment, which had disappeared by the end of the eighteenth century, had in 1730 been the venue of a formal meeting held by the commissioners of the River Stort. This inn gave its name to later Green Man developments: a farm and some housing.

The Brickhouse Farm Cottages remain as well. These are situated near Hunsdon crossroads and consist of a terraced row, built in 1904 to provide accommodation for workers at the nearby farm of the same name.

Back to the centre of Eastwick, via some yellow-brick Hodgson houses, we find a white plastered house, No. 62, on the corner. This is another good survival of a pre-Hodgson house. I presume it to be the house shown in the records of 1839 as being occupied by one John Evans, a landowner. I would like to know the date of this house; it could be 18th-century.

The journey up Eastwick Hall Lane is a long and lonely one, along a meandering and narrow road. After a quarter of a mile we reach a big bend. Here we encounter the sites of the hilltop villages. A modern noticeboard marks the spot. On the right, at the top of the hill, are the remains of the original village. A detour on foot to visit it is interesting; but wear stout shoes as the long grass is frequently very wet. There is not much to see today, but the line of a circular ditch is still clearly visible. It is not what you see that is interesting, but the historic nature of the site is noteworthy because you will be standing at the very centre of our oldest known village which was in existence before the time of Christ. Close your eyes and endeavour to imagine the momentous happenings on this important site during the earliest years of the formation of Eastwick.

Across the road is the site of the overspill village, but this is ill defined and mostly now smothered in undergrowth.

We do not know the actual site of the old Eastwick Hall, but it was on the Eastwick-village side of the hilltop village. Here lived generations of knights, noblemen and gentlemen farmers who made history at Eastwick, such as Sir Richard de Tany whose effigy probably lies in St Botolph’s Church (see the History section on the website). But centuries of varied usage have changed the area beyond recognition, and no trace of Eastwick Hall now remains. A long time ago an archaeological dig was carried out on the area, and some ancient glass fragments and metal objects were found, but those in no way gave us a better understanding of the Hall. This would make a nice task for Time Team. But meanwhile, as we stand here it is romantic to envisage Sir Richard de Tany and his wife Lady Margaret riding down to Eastwick Church on Sunday mornings – Sir Richard on his glossy charger, Margaret, richly apparelled, demurely riding side saddle on her little palfrey by his side.

We must now carry on up the lane for another quarter of a mile, where we reach a junction of three tracks: the one on the right leads to Gilston. In the corner of the field here is the pond, surrounded by a metal fence. This is the only surviving remnant of the old Garmans Farm which was demolished in the middle of the 19th century. It is good that this pond survives, because we have lost so many in recent years. The loss of any pond is tragic as they provide wonderful sanctuaries for wildlife.

Ahead is Cock Robin Lane, now finely restored, and leading to the airfield. It remains a superb haven for wildlife and flowers. Visit it in late spring when birdsong is at its peak, and the wild flowers are magnificent, especially the great clumps of red campions. In Victorian times this lane led to the long-abandoned Eastwick Hamlet, a tiny rural community of farm workers. Nothing of this now remains: the hamlet lies under the intersection of the main runway and taxiways of the former Hunsdon aerodrome.

North of the airfield we reach the woods, now fragmentary but once part of the large Eastwick Wood. Taking a right-angled turn we skirt the woodland and on its fringe we encounter what must be Eastwick’s best-kept secret, a quite magnificent moated site. At the time when Eastwick Hamlet existed, this was the gamekeeper’s lonely cottage. All signs of his home vanished in mid-Victorian times, and today we are left with an earth mound completely surrounded by a water-filled moat made all the more impressive by its having been redug in recent times. This must surely have been a medieval farmstead, but it has kept its secrets well. I can find no record of its name nor of the families who lived there; they have all disappeared into the mists of history. This is by far our most mysterious place.

From this point we retrace our steps back to the junction with Eastwick Hall Lane. To the right the track climbs the hill towards Eastwick Hall Farm and then on to Hunsdon. On the right are the red-brick Hodgson semi-detached Eastwick Hall Cottages, and then we come to the old Laundry. This intriguing house was purpose-built and served in its intended role for many years. It was a cavernous place full of steaming cauldrons, giant mangles, hampers, and bundles of linen, with water everywhere. When I was taken there as a youngster I found it a scary place: you feared falling into the boiling water. The house was a Hodgson creation of 1885, and after the laundry was closed it saw a period of life as a guest house. It has subsequently been attractively converted into a private house.

Walking on up the hill we arrive at Eastwick Hall Farm. This consists of a farm house and an impressive array of outbuildings and barns; village barn dances used to be held in one of the barns on a summer evening. Now a major producer of grain and turkeys, the farm once had a superb herd of dairy cows. Also present in the procreative role was the most disagreeable bull I have ever encountered; he rejoiced in the name of Old Tom. He was so unpleasant that he had to be penned up most of the time, only freed periodically to join his devoted harem.

I have two particular childhood memories of the farm. Once I was allowed to paint the ancient Fordson tractor a shocking orange. I did actually get some paint on to the tractor, but much more on myself. I also remember the windpump – a tall metal structure like an electricity pylon with windmill sails on the top. It was originally used for pumping water. It never ceased to fascinate children, although we were never allowed to climb on it. I think it finally blew down in a gale.

From here Eastwick proper ends, so we must retrace our steps to the centre of the village.

Crossing to the war memorial we face, across the lane, the almshouses built around 1890. I have always liked these houses because of the boldness of design, the rich red tiles, ‘Tudor’ chimneys, and the fact that they were built with a desire to impress. They were to play a big part in meeting our social needs at that time.

You will look in vain for any sign of the ancient market and annual St Botolph’s Fair held hereabouts. I am afraid this all came to a sticky end. The libations of the Rose and Crown encouraged the village lads and lasses to engage in practices of a most enjoyable nature, much to the fury of the Rector, who railed at them from his pulpit, condemning their immoral behaviour. There was no improvement in this, so the Rector was instrumental in having the market and fair festivities abolished in 1886. These were sadly missed by all, no doubt . . .

Heading towards Harlow there is a nice red-brick Hodgson house on the left, Nos 76 and 77. This was once the residence of the village policeman – not a police station as such. Armed with the latest state-of-the-art squad car (a bicycle), our stalwart guardian of the law was required to maintain law and order in both villages. Major crime was thankfully rare: most crime was of the order of domestic violence, riding your bicycle without lights, failing to purchase your dog licence (all of 7/6 – 37½p – per year if I recall correctly), and poaching. It always ruefully amused me that stealing a nice plump pheasant appeared to the official mind a more heinous crime than beating the wife! Rarely did anything else feature in the crime book to break the monotony. In later years the High Wych policeman became responsible for our protection.

Opposite Roseley Cottages is the old school. The two-storey house on the right-hand side was the schoolteacher’s house, and the rest of it was then a single-storey building that housed the communal classroom. This was once a typical nineteenth-century building with all the Hodgson characteristics: diamond-paned windows, tall chimneys, ornate porch, etc. You can still see the arms of William Hodgson (WH) and a date above the front door. I know of no person living locally now who attended Eastwick School.

When converted for industrial use as the Pyrgo Works, the house became the office and the classroom the workshop. When in the ownership of Smith & Shiptons, the works enjoyed a very busy period and employed a fair number of people. There was sub-contract work for the Ford Company of Dagenham (tractor spares), and an enormous amount of blacksmithing work for navvies’ tools that were to be used in the construction work being carried out on the building of Harlow New Town. The bars of the cells at Harlow Police Station were made here, so if you get banged up there you know who to blame!

Later the firm was sold to Dixons of Hunsdon; and a later occupier, I recall, repaired and sold lawnmowers; but in recent years the old school has been redeveloped. The building has been restored to as near as possible its original condition, and the unsightly outbuildings and fixtures have all been removed. It has now become four homes in a most attractive setting

We have to cheat a bit with Eastwick Lodge Farm for, as I mentioned earlier, the farm was for most of its existence listed as in the parish of Sawbridgeworth. Its first mention is in 1402 which shows that there has been a farm here for a very long time. In later years, under James Carter (senior) it had a fine dairy herd and, more recently, a ‘pick your own’ fruit and vegetable scheme. Now at Eastwick Lodge there are retail units and a large complex, including a very fine farm shop, on whose products my dear old Border collie Bruce prospered for many years. If you can, please do support our local industries.

I am reminded of two dramatic occurrences at the farm. Many years ago I found to my horror that the whole horizon behind the farm was ablaze. It was an awesome sight as gigantic scarlet flames leapt into the night sky as far as the eye could see. It really looked as though the end of the world had come. It was in reality only some nocturnal stubble-burning, but it certainly startled me for a while.

The other event that took place was when over the top of the farm hill one day appeared large spindly metal contraptions that so reminded me of the Martians in War of the Worlds. Sadly, Eastwick had not been invaded by little green men from outer space: more prosaically, the ‘spaceships’ were irrigation devices for the farm.

Today, as at most local farms, grain predominates and mechanisation has eliminated practically totally the need for farm labourers.

It was in the barns at Eastwick Lodge Farm that the children of the villages celebrated the Queen’s coronation in June 1952. So much work was put into preparing the day that it is sad to record that only the party meal was enjoyed: the programme of sports and games in the adjacent field was totally washed out in a terrible rainstorm, bringing an exciting day to a premature end.

Opposite Eastwick Lodge were once to be found a number of boarded cottages, the last of which survived until recent memory. This area was known as Hill Gates, possibly an allusion to the nearby Gilston Park manor house gates. The houses would have provided accommodation for workers at the farm. Here also stood the Black Swan pub and later the dreaded workhouse.

Following the demolition of the workhouse, a resident of Hill Gates, presumably a member of the Oddfellows Society, obtained a licence to sell liquor. He set up the Oddfellows Arms (a beer shop) in a house which I can only assume was later to become the village shop. Soon after the First World War, when custom dwindled, the licence was revoked and the name speedily disappeared from the collective memory.

In early days many of the farm outbuildings were also located south of the road, but the land was prone to flooding (as it still is), and when the new farmhouse was built the opportunity was taken to place them on firmer ground, where they remain to this day.

And finally, further along on the left is South Lodge, at the end of a long chestnut tree avenue leading up towards Gilston Park. Here, in the days of the manor, was a quite magnificent metal gateway. In time it disappeared and no one seems to have any idea what happened to it: possibly sold to a local scrapyard, I fear. Now that would be one for our cycling police constable to solve.

In the wood above South Lodge, The Chase, live the Little People, the elves. Elves are prickly characters, quick to take offence. Tradition requires that if you are ever passing the wood, you must raise your hat or pass the time of day with them, because if you do not a mischief will befall you. You can’t say you haven’t been warned!

At this point we must cheat again and leave the village completely to make a short visit to the Dusty Miller at Burnt Mill Corner. This house, probably of early-19th-century date, has an interesting and complicated history. Originally the Bakers Arms, it was burnt down in a major fire around 1870. It was purchased by McMullens the brewers in 1873 and rebuilt in brick; the name was changed to the Railway Inn. In 1959 the name was changed yet again, this time to the Dusty Miller. The original sign caused great confusion to the locals, for it displayed a fishing fly known only to our angling friends.

Having left the Dusty Miller, we make a sharp turn right to walk down the steep hill known as Burnt Mill Lane. Some of the old houses here have long disappeared, and the first house we now arrive at is Gilston House. This was originally Gilston Cottage, but it has been altered over the years and greatly enlarged in the.1930s. However it still retains a uniform appearance, and its fitments include fireplaces built in the style of Robert Adam.

The famous conchologist (shell collector) and luminary Lovell Augustus Reeve, who lived from 1814 to 1865, lived here for some years; in fact the Reeve family probably built the house.

At the bottom of the hill stand two further buildings that require our attention. On the left is an attractive red-brick lodge house, previously a lodge house to Terlings Park. I assume it was built at the same time as the old Terlings manor house in the 1860s. Following the closure of the manor, the lodge became a private house, and was once a crèche when the building was greatly enlarged for the firm of Merck, Sharp & Dohme which had taken over the manor site for its research work. The lodge had great charm and repays study, but it is now marred by the erection of a hideous security fence, and by the overall effect of its recent redevelopment, which has reduced the original pretty cottage to a sprawling complex.

Opposite the lodge, the house standing by the brook has been extensively modernised, with a most attractive garden; but when we were young we stood in awe of the place because it hung precariously over the water. We feared that one day it would all fall in!

And finally we have the ghost. On eerie moonlit nights, a spectral horse and carriage are reputed to gallop down the hill, but they never come up the hill again. Now if it was the other way round, we could reckon the coach’s occupants had called into the pub for a quick one. They would not have called into the Moorhen for that is a very recent establishment.

Anyone interested in the history of the neighbouring village of Burnt Mill, of which almost nothing remains, is encouraged to read The Life and Death of Burnt Mill Village by Hazel Lake, published in 1999. A copy of this work may still be available from Harlow Central Library. The book contains two pictures of the Dusty Miller.

From this point we must retrace our steps to Eastwick. On re-entering the village you will see on your left Cat Lane, which leads via a quaint ford to Parndon Mill. This lane is interesting in that it will show you what all the rural lanes of England looked like in years gone by – the days when, if you couldn’t hitch a lift in a horse-drawn cart, you WALKED. Life in Eastwick in the past was always very slow.

I have left Eastwick Manor and Church to the last. The manor, originally the Rectory, was built in 1826 on the fine hilltop site. It replaced an earlier rectory that had been in existence since the seventeenth century, possibly earlier. We know very little about what this earlier rectory looked like, but we know it had a very fine library. The Rector at that time employed a number of servants, a cook, and maids for the house, and gardeners for the grounds. Another Rector offered private education for boys (fee-payers) – our only private school! The new rectory was imposing in style and reflected the Rector’s superior position in society.

Now in lay hands, Eastwick Manor used to provide the venue for our annual fete (alternating with Gilston Rectory). On our last occasion, in 1982, all the traditional attractions were set up on the lawn, attractions which had for so long successfully served the church funds.

As with all church fetes, this particular one had required a great deal of preliminary work, all done by volunteers. At the appointed hour, the gardens at Eastwick Manor opened to a large attendance, with all the stalls set up, and teas being served from a shady spot outside the kitchen. At 3 o’clock, Yolande and I were in full swing with the “treasure hunt” (a large map of Britain into which people were invited to stick pins to guess the place where the treasure was buried), and “Guess the weight of the cake” (we were flummoxed when one youngster gave a suggestion in kilogrammes). All our compatriots were likewise at the peak of their achievements – and then the heavens opened up. Even by British standards the rain was heavy. Our customers disappeared like magic, a few to take refuge in the barn, but most retreating rapidly down the drive to the village centre. By 4 pm the rain had ceased, but customers were there none. We all packed up our stalls.

Although we broke even, that was the end of the village fetes, and another little piece of village history had come to an end. At least it did not end on the same note as the market had done!

We will finish our walk at the church of St Botolph, the centre of religious life in the village for a thousand years.

The church is basically that of 1872–75, plain and simple in design, but with enough of the fittings salvaged from the old church to make it of great interest. Predominant, and everyone’s favourite, is the marble figure of the knight. This probably commemorates our old friend Sir Richard de Tany, and is now well over 700 years old. It is a quite magnificent work of the finest quality. No local stonemason carved this: it is practically certain that it was carved by a master craftsman in London, the style chosen and paid for by the de Tanys. It would have cost them dearly, too, as such craftsmanship did not come cheap.

The figure is over six feet long and represents a knight in a suit of mail (interlocking metal rings). Note the sword and the vicious spurs that were worn. The shield is also notable: it is large and was originally painted with the arms of the de Tany family – six black eagles (similar to the one used by Barclays Bank today), displayed on a golden background. When completed, the figure must have looked splendid, and even today the condition is remarkable. Contrary to popular belief, the crossed legs do not denote a knight who went on the Crusades: they merely give the figure a more lively aspect. The base chest is Victorian: originally the knight lay on the floor. There is no inscription. Sir Richard himself is not buried here; he and his wife Margaret were buried in the east end of the old church. In olden days, villagers used to say that the knight was a giant who would come to their assistance in time of need. I remember him fondly at a flower festival when the village children decorated his head with a circlet of wild flowers. I think he would have liked that.

In the tower area of St Botolph’s, both on the wall above the effigy of the knight, and on the opposite side, are a collection of eighteenth- and nineteenth-century wall tablets, commemorating members of the Plumer family. To restore peace to the fractious villagers who were forever suspicious that Gilston had all the favours in life, the Plumers chose diplomatically to be buried at Eastwick, thus showing that they regarded Eastwick to be on an equal footing with Gilston and should not be regarded as in any way its inferior. Later Gilston squires, the Hodgsons and the Bowlbys, continued this tradition. The tablets are too high up to be read easily: they are of good quality, but one does show that even skilled craftsmen can make mistakes. The date has been carved wrongly and an attempt (rather obvious) has been made to recut the correct date.

The wooden cross commemorates a member of the Bowlby family who was killed in the First World War; it originally marked his grave in a military cemetery in Flanders.

On the west wall under the window is a brass commemorating Robert Lee, who had lived in Eastwick Hall and died in 1564. In his will he left money to the poor of Eastwick. His wife Joan greatly outlived him, and only her brass figure now survives: the figure of her husband has long been lost. The Lee family came from Cheshire, and Robert was certainly not of farming stock, for he was on the staff of a number of Tudor kings and queens, and thus presumably spent most of his time in the London area. He died a wealthy man.

Joan is depicted as wearing the typical costume of the late sixteenth century. What is particularly interesting about this brass, although you cannot see it, is that it has been re-used. On the other side is the figure of one Eleanor Pate who died in 1521. This is a classic case of early recycling. What happened was that the brass to Eleanor would have been laid in a monastic church, possibly in Leicestershire, where the Pate family originated from. When the monastic churches were destroyed, the brass was torn up and sold for salvage. An engraver bought it, turned it over and engraved a new figure on it. He probably got a good bargain out of this exchange.

Towards the east end of the church, forming the chancel arch, are to be found the marble pillars. These are lovely items and date from the same time as the figure of the knight. They look so new, but in fact were hewn from the ground on the Isle of Purbeck nearly 800 years ago. The pillars would have been taken to Eastwick first by sea (to London?) and then transported by river. If the high quality of these columns is anything to go by, then the old church must have been a building of some considerable merit – which makes its loss even more tragic.

The church has three bells of varying ages: one is very old. All bear inscriptions. The fittings are unsafe, so sadly the bells are not rung these days.

Outside is the large churchyard. At the rear of the church is the big tomb of the Hodgson brothers (they who built the new villages), and the Bowlby family vault. There are also monuments to past rectors. Nearby is the tomb chest of William Frampton, who died in 1789, and who we have previously mentioned as the builder of the house now called Culverts. The tomb originally had ornate Georgian iron railings. Frampton himself is not buried in the chest, but in a vault buried deep in the churchyard (so no peeping!). At the east end of the churchyard is the tombstone to the Revd Cyril Lewis, the first Rector of the two villages, who served us for over 35 years.

On closing, my nicest memory of Eastwick Church is of the flower festival held in the mid-1990s, when the church was ablaze with colour. I have never seen it looking prettier and, to accompany it, there was beautifully recorded birdsong and a demonstration of rural crafts: a great credit to all the volunteers, and a wonderful day for the many visitors. One day possibly we will meet here again.

May I conclude by recommending that this section is read in conjunction with ‘A History of Eastwick’, also to be found on this website.

We will look at the pub in more detail; but let us first look at Shiptons, the very fine house opposite. It is an ancient house but of uncertain date, possibly 18th century. It predates John Hodgson and is thus one of a select few. It owes its survival, as do the others, to the simple fact that it was in the hands of an independent landowner, and was thus not on the market when John Hodgson laid his hand on Gilston. It is certainly the house shown in the records of 1845 as the village shop of Joseph Harrington. The name ‘Shiptons’ is not original and dates only from a mid-20th-century occupant.

Now we will turn our attention to the Plume of Feathers; it is Gilston’s oldest house. Old; but how old? Brewery records do not help. There has been a building here for a long time, and an important one, too. Strategically placed on the main road, it could cater for the huge amount of “traffic” passing through Gilston. Drink, food and lodging were available, also a stable to feed, water or change horses, as the old stables at the rear attested. Coroner’s court; meeting house for local churchwardens; centre for business: you name it, they did it. The pub name has sometimes altered over the years: at one time it was the Plumer Ward’s Arms, named after a village squire; but it has always reverted to the original.

Many landlords make extravagant claims about the age of the pub but these, sadly, cannot be confirmed. The earliest reference I can find is in 1661 when the pub landlady, Elizabeth Waterman, a widow, was brought before the Justices ‘for suffering evil rule’, selling tobacco and not attending church (a formidable character by the sound of it). Experts who have examined the inn suggest that it doesn’t go back much further than this; but even that would make the Plume over 350 years old, which is a good innings; and possibly an earlier tavern could have stood on the site and donated its timbers to the 17th-century Plume of Feathers. We honestly don’t know. The pub has fine beams and a brick chimney stack.

For most of its existence it was supported by its “locals” and passing casual trade; but in recent times a new clientele has had to be found as there are now few local regulars to prop up the bar. I’m fond of the Plume as my road to ruin started there years ago, when as a small boy I enjoyed my first lemonade in the inglenook of this splendid establishment, concealed from the eye of the passing constable.

Looking across the road from the Plume of Feathers we see the war memorial. Additional names were added as a result of the Second World War, but the names of civilian casualties were never inscribed.

Turning, and walking along the road towards Eastwick, after Plume Cottage, now owned by the pub, we pass a long-brown-brick terraced row of houses, built in the last few years of the 19th century. This was constructed by Mr Camp, the pub landlord, for renting, and is similar to another terraced row further down towards the brook; the two presumably have a common origin. They could have provided accommodation for workers at the nearby Terlings manor house.

The village hall is available for commercial lettings. Please use it as it is a valuable village asset, and in recent times has been extensively modernised. Inside are displayed some quite fascinating and early photographs of village inhabitants and events, including two paintings of the squire, Frank Bowlby, who provided the village hall in 1908 as a working men’s club, and of his son. On the front of the hall outside is an inscription plate and a coat of arms from the Bowlby family depicting hinds’ heads.

When I was young I acted on the stage in the hall. As they didn’t ask me back I am drawn to the conclusion that I was perhaps not an unqualified success.

The traditional red telephone box that stood outside was, sadly, removed many years ago; the grey replacement can only be used by those holding phone cards as it no longer takes cash.

A short diversion to the left takes us to Grasslands, a large detached house with an extensive array of outbuildings. This was built by Mr Helmer who for many years was a prominent businessman in High Wych.

The next house of interest, Pye Cottage, was built about 1885 and is most unusual in style, being tile-hung in red tiles in the tradition of the county of Kent. It was intentionally built large and impressive to be the home of the bailiff of Terlings manor house (in essence the business manager of the estate with considerable powers of hire and fire). The house remained in such use for quite a long time, and although its style is ‘foreign’ to its surroundings, it catches the eye of the passer-by.

Here was once located the old village blacksmith’s shop run by the Camp family for many generations. The sight of the mighty farm horses, reflected in the red firelight as they were being shod at the anvil, must have been quite lovely. Old horseshoes have been found on this site.

Down past the second brown-brick terrace we come to Fiddlers Cottage: another excellent house. Its age is unknown but it is certainly of pre-Hodgson date, and possibly is of 18th-century origin, of a similar period to Shiptons. In the 1845 record it is shown as lived in by the delightfully named William Cakebread, a widespread village family at this time.

Fiddlers Brook nearby runs through the entire village, but up nearer the church it is grandly called Golden Brook.

Terlings manor started life as a small Tudor farm named after the Terling family, and it remained so until the 19th century, when a manor house was built. The gardens were superb and included much use of water from the nearby river, on the bank of which at this point stood Gilston Mill, a watermill. This mill started life as a cloth mill, with the water being used for the fulling process. The date of its conversion to a flour mill is unknown. In its day the mill was in a most attractive setting, but it was destined to disappear early as there were just too many mills on the river.

Terlings manor was a small one, comfortable rather than imposing, completely in the shadow of its much bigger neighbour Gilston Park. It survived with various owners until the Second World War, after which it was abandoned and later burnt down. It is interesting to note that in huts erected in its grounds, the architects’ department of the Harlow Development Corporation planned the building of Harlow New Town.

After abortive attempts to use the site for an open prison and a centre for the Post Office, the area was finally occupied by the pharmaceutical research company of Merck, Sharp & Dohme. The old ruins were demolished and the gardens destroyed, although the grounds were then partially landscaped, and some fine old trees remained. A delightful little lodge house that stood by the current entrance had, sadly, been pulled down several years earlier. The history of the house is fully covered in a book by Alistair Robinson entitled A History of Terlings Park and which is available from Harlow Library. The site is currently being developed for housing. A large estate is planned.

Fiddlers Brook crossed the road at this point by a ford, a wooden bridge being provided for pedestrians. A road traffic bridge is now in use.

Gilston finishes a short distance further on up the hill. On the right-hand side once stood some old thatched cottages which were finally demolished some 60 years ago. A photo of them is displayed in the village hall; it is of very great interest but conveys an impression of cosy rustic living, which is far from the truth.

Returning to the pub, we can now turn towards High Wych through the area generally known as Pye (or Pie) Corner: a name in and out of use for at least three centuries, but which probably has a simple origin – a corner where pies were made. Much of this area, surprisingly, was in historical times never in Gilston, but in Sawbridgeworth parish, a big finger of which went right through Pye Corner, up what is now Eastwick Road to Burnt Mill Corner and down to Eastwick Lodge Farm which is shown in old records as Sawbridgeworth Lodge Farm.

Walking along the road we encounter on the right some good examples of the red-brick Hodgson cottages, although now altered in most cases. Then on the left we first meet the recent Vine Grove houses. These perpetuate the Vine Farm which stood hereabouts. This was a small farm which came to an end around 1860, and which comprised a farmhouse, barn, outbuildings and a pond. Most of the village’s smaller farms were closed down at this time and incorporated into larger ones nearby.

The name Vine is interesting. I wonder whether the farm house was covered in climbing vines. Alternatively, it could be a family name, although I have yet to discover Mr and Mrs Vine.

The remaining houses on the left are a glorious liquorice allsorts bunch of varied origin but not of any great age. Demolitions, extensions and rebuildings have changed the appearance of this part of Gilston more than any other.

Originally there were few houses here: most of the old Pye Corner was on the opposite side of the road situated around a crescent-shaped track in the vicinity of what is now Nos 22–25. At the base of this track and away from the road stood the building euphemistically known as the almshouse, for the use of aged people. It was in fact Gilston’s workhouse, for those who were unable for any reason to support themselves physically or economically, and it was not a venue to be lightly entered. It was opened in 1815. Thankfully its existence in Gilston was short-lived and it was demolished in the 1870s, when centralised establishments were set up – but not much of an improvement for us, as Gilston’s elderly folk were then faced with the reviled Ware Union. Our squires did respond to the problem and erected some fine almshouses in Eastwick, but some people still slipped through the net and ended up in the Union.

High View is a large detached house with attendant riding stables, continuing a time-honoured tradition of horse husbandry: horses were always of major importance in Gilston.

The last houses in Gilston are Marlers and Pole Hole Farm. Marlers, Pole Hill, is an old house, possibly of mid-Victorian date or earlier which had a connection with local gamekeepers. It took its name from a 20th-century resident. Pole Hole Farm is a small establishment that lost its independence early, and by the time of my youth was being run by the farmer at Channocks. Today a few outbuildings survive in commercial use and there is a Hodgson cottage of 1885, presumably once the farmhouse. More recently there was a small attractive goat farm, but sadly its life was short.

From the north end of Gilston and stretching behind Pole Hole towards Redricks Lane, were once extensive gravel pits. Gravel was extracted from many points in the village in the past. All operations came to an end for a while, and then recommenced.  At the time of writing they are anticipated to cease once again.

Now back to the pub, and let us walk up Church Lane. Pause to look carefully at No. 87 on the right, which will give you a very good idea of what all Hodgson houses were once like. It is half of what was once a particularly fine Hodgson example, bearing, like all other Hodgson houses incidentally, a date plaque. In this half, little has spoilt the original design; here in all their glory are the diamond-paned windows, red bricks and roof tiles, and tall chimneys.  In a shed behind this house Mr Brace once provided, on Sunday mornings, a barber’s service for the men of the village.

Slightly further up the road, and in the wood on the left, lies one of Gilston’s great historical sites. This is private land and not visible even from the public footpath that now crosses the park from the gate in the lane; but buried deep in the nettles and thistles there is a high mound of soil surrounded by a dry moat. This is no less than the original site of Giffards manor, one of the three farmsteads set up by our founder in 1135, and the only physical evidence of the three now remaining. What catches the eye is the relatively small size of the site. But it is an outstanding survival. Lower down the wood there was once a deer farm. The sight of the beautiful deer must have been an attractive one, as it is these days on occasions; but at that time they were, unfortunately, destined for the pot.

On the opposite side of the road, near the stables, is the point where the parachute mine landed in the Second World War. The resultant blast shattered every window for a great distance around. I used to toboggan on the ‘mountain’ it created, and play hide-and-seek in the crater.

Further up Church Lane, again on the left, is an overgrown field – quite hard to see these days now that the hedges are so tall. But it is the site of Giffards Farm which lay the other side of the brook, the route of which is visible as it flows down the edge of the park to run adjacent to, and just below, the lane. This was a big farm which closed in mid-Victorian times, and it is therefore all the more surprising that nothing exists of it today except a faint trace, the hollowed-out course of the path that led across the field from School Lane to the farm, crossing the brook at the front of the buildings.

Along the roadside here there was a fine row of immensely tall Lombardy poplar trees – all became victims of gales. Before the grass grew so much, the field was once filled with glorious wild flowers: buttercups, daisies and lady’s smock. The 17th-century Mrs Williams would have approved. Behind the farm once lay the grass parklands, now all under cultivation. Here in 1814 was kept a large flock of Wiltshire sheep (all with horns). An old sheep shed still survives in the park.

Further on, we come to a narrow wood on the left (Baker’s Belt), which was planted in the 18th century to act as a screen for Gilston Park. Behind this lies Gilston Lake. This was a magical place for children, but dangerous, as few could swim in my day. The lake is artificial and dates back to the early19th century. It was formed by damming Golden Brook and flooding the low-lying land as a result. In its heyday it had a boathouse, giant fish (pike and tench), and lots of waterbirds: swans, herons, kingfishers. The herons, after a long period of absence, are reported to be back, but the lake is not now accessible to the public and is anyway past its prime. Silting up is a major problem: great flocks of Canada geese periodically descend and strip bare the aquatic plants, and the spread of bulrushes is noticeable. Watch the geese in formation flying in Vs and line astern: the Red Arrows could not do better.

The water leaves the lake by a waterfall, which may be heard and sometimes even glimpsed when water levels are high and surrounding greenery thin in winter. (It is opposite School Cottages.) Here at the waterfall in the early 1900s Arthur Bowlby the squire conducted some early experiments with hydro-electric power, with the aid of a turbine. Using cables, he successfully provided Gilston Park and the church with electricity.

I commented on the waterbirds of the lake, and I am reminded of the vast flocks of birds that once used to visit the village. Flocks of starlings (estimated by experts to be in the region of hundreds of thousands) would descend into the woods for brief visits. There were also periodic invasions of beautiful lapwings and golden plovers, now all but memories. But the gorgeous barn owl has re-established itself in recent years and the magnificent buzzard is now also a resident.

Trees are greatly in decline, but still a few noble specimens survive. Gilston was once full of fine trees. The oldest surviving trees are probably oaks, going back to the early eighteenth century.

However, creatures that have prospered in recent years include the delicate muntjac deer (barking deer) and the badger. You may not see them often, but they are here and in some numbers.

Returning to our village walk: continuing on up Church Lane from School Cottages, on the right is High Gilston, the old village school and head teacher’s house, built in 1856 and probably the most attractive of all the surviving Hodgson houses. It is a real gem and alterations have been sympathetically done, although it has lost its front door. Here, for just over 100 years, primary education was given to the village children and, in latter days, also for those from Eastwick following closure of their school. It was a long and honourable achievement. Surviving documents suggest that it was a hard task to educate children in the early days of universal education, contending with the problems of a cold basic classroom, limited resources, bad behaviour, truancy (children helped with the harvesting), and parental prejudices.

I was educated there and blotted my glorious career by running away on my first day. My bid for freedom was cut short prematurely by being captured by a big girl: a mortal shame for any boy. We were taught in the single-storey classroom on the left of the building, being staged from left to right in ages (5 to 11), with girls in front and boys behind.

Teaching was by the traditional methods of the time, using blackboard and chalk, with upright desks, exercise books, and pens you dipped into inkwells. Pupil numbers were small, never more than about a dozen while I was there; but remember, we were always taught by just one teacher. The seniors would be set to their lessons while the teacher would then be free to concentrate on the infants who obviously required more individual attention.

We were taught well and discipline was good. Any insurrections were speedily crushed by the threat of dispatch to the bad boys’ school. Not bad girls’ school, you note – girls were always very good, although they did take part in scrumping the Rector’s apples. This was not well received, and resulted in stern lectures all round. Playtime was held in the school yard or in the adjacent paddock, where there was a tree to climb.

Dinners were provided daily by Mrs Jones, the cook: lots of duffs and vegetables – good wholesome meals enjoyed by all. They were cooked in the kitchen of the adjoining house, which provided accommodation for the teacher.

We had such diverse lessons as painting, drawing, and raffia work, in addition to the three Rs, history, and other academic subjects. The Rector also provided a Sunday school here which was well, but reluctantly, attended. My favourite subjects were history, dinner, playtime and going home.

The highlight of the school year was the annual outing to Clacton, which took place in September. Motor coaches would take all the pupils, the mums, the teacher, Cook, and even an occasional dad to the seaside. Lots of buckets and spades were brought out: there were seashells, slimy seaweed, jellyfish, sandcastles to build, boat trips to take, Punch and Judy to watch, and lots of general laughter and screaming. And it never seemed to rain.

Our teacher was Amy Edwards, who deserves a very special place in the account as she ran Gilston School singlehandedly for over 30 years, hardly ever missing a day – a quite remarkable and unsurpassed record. The school closed in 1959 and was converted into a private house.

Continuing our walk up the hill, we come to the old rectory, a typical Victorian building of some size standing in a large garden with an orchard (ah, those apples!). In the grounds is a magnificent horse chestnut tree whose conkers have been admired by generations of village boys. When the rectory was built in 1889 its workers’ contracts stipulated that all workers on site were to be in a sober condition and were on pain of dismissal not to swear, curse or profane (even if they dropped a brick on their foot, one assumes).

This house was built to demonstrate the status in society of the Rector and, because of its size, it required domestic staff. As time went by, the villages could no longer keep a separate Rector, and in 1977 were joined up with High Wych, where the current Rectory now is. The rectory at Gilston was sold off as a private house. I recall that it was on the rectory lawn that the village fete was held (alternating each year with Eastwick Manor). The stalls were set up round the sides of the lawn; by today’s standards they seem so simple and naive, but we loved them and had the same ones each year.

We were fortunate to have such a variety of stalls: treasure hunts, guessing the weight of the cake, tombola, darts, coconut  shies, and bowling for the pig (a real porker: the winner gave it back to the farmer and received cash in lieu), and so on – such glorious pursuits! Lavish amounts of refreshments and drinks were provided round the back of the Rectory, where also there were stalls for garden produce and just about anything else that someone wanted to sell (the white elephant stall).

In the centre of the lawn we had the events: three-legged and sack races, egg and spoon, fancy dress competitions, dog shows and best knobbly knees. No, I didn’t win the knobbly knees, but I did once win the competition to find the person who looked most like their dog. When I tell you that I had a woolly Old English sheepdog, and I myself had not had a haircut for a long time, you will see that I was unbeatable for Olympic gold.

Today the Rectory is still marked Gilston Rectory, which is most confusing. If you want to get married or baptise little Fred, don’t call there but ring the Rectory at High Wych instead. Gilston Church is still open for services.

Opposite the Rectory stands a magnificent old iron gate, now beautifully restored. It is a fine piece of the blacksmith’s art and deserves attention. This marks the original entrance to Gilston Park, and now makes a splendid entrance to Little Park.

The house of that name was built in 1948 as the residence of the estate agent of Arthur Guinness at the time of the Guinness family’s purchase of the village. The building, now in private hands, has been greatly altered and enlarged over the years.  For a while it was the home of Princess Victoria of Prussia, a descendant of Kaiser Wilhelm II (Kaiser Bill), the infamous German Emperor of the First World War.

In this area, and before the time of agricultural sprays, millions of tiny frogs used to emerge from the lake at spawning time and hop off through the Rectory grounds and surrounding countryside: a truly amazing sight. These days some of the frogs are returning, although sadly with the increase of traffic a significant number meet their end under vehicle wheels.

Continuing up the lane, we now come to Cumberland Lodge.  This is another treasure: a survival of a lodge to a manor house, and in an excellent state of preservation. A typical lodge house of unusual shape and small size, it has been in caring hands for many years and retains its great charm. It bears the Hodgson arms on a stone plaque. The lodge keeper in those days was simply a gatekeeper. He or she had a gate across the road and vetted all visitors to the manor house. The lodge once featured in a cinema film where a murder was planned.

A small detour takes us briefly to Channocks Farm, a small farm latterly absorbed into its larger neighbours. It is puzzling to observe how small and plain John Hodgson made his farmhouses, when he went for such ornate work at other sites. An obvious explanation is that he considered farms on a functional level only.

The farmhouse, now a private residence, reminds me of Mr Brown, a farmer who owned the last two working farm horses in Gilston. On retirement they lived out their days in the field at the bottom of the lane. A beautiful pair of Shires (how Geoffrey de Mandeville would have loved them), one day they made a bid for freedom and trotted off down the hill where they paused to eat grass, bringing the agonised wail from a passing motorist: ‘They won’t get out of the way!’ When the farmer appeared on the spot, the two runaways ‘went quietly’, as the police would say, and were returned safely to their field.

Gilston’s cricket ground was in the horse field. Our team was most active in the 1930s, and held its own against other nearby villages, the Rector at that time, Cyril Lewis, making an admirable wicket-keeper. The war put paid to everything, but in the 1950s the field was used for a time by Burnt Mill Cricket Club. There was an adjacent pond, and during every match at some stage the ball would land up in it, necessitating a great deal of muddy paddling to retrieve it.

The barns at Channocks are now used for a variety of small industries which is pleasant to record as there is very little employment in the village now. The farm takes its name from the Charnock family of the early 17th century.

Channocks House stands on the left-hand side at the end of the lane. Originally on this site stood a most interesting building. A simple hut, it was built during the First World War as a Zeppelin-spotters’ hut. Countering the threat of these German airships necessitated the construction of many such observation stations, situated on high ground with good all-round visibility. After the war this one became a house and remained so until its demolition.

Beyond the barns at Channocks and leading to Redricks Lane is Green Lane, a fairly wide pathway. This is interesting as it shows what all the byways of Gilston looked like before the coming of tarmac roads.

Returning down Channocks Lane, there are two routes to Gilston Church. One, the steep Spencers Hill, is the most direct, and was opened by John Hodgson in 1851 to ensure that villagers no longer had to encroach upon the privacy of his manor house. It was once planted on its verges with alternating red and white may trees – a lovely sight in late spring. But alas, almost all have now gone. Keen observers may still find the site of a quarry in the field at the bottom of the hill. Here were quarried the materials for the new road.

The second route, the pretty one, requires us to retrace our steps left to Cumberland Lodge and go down Hollow Lane. This was opened at the same time as Spencers Hill, and provided the new entrance to Gilston Park, replacing the former entrance through the old iron gate.

We reach first The Stables (which in fact were first manor outbuildings and then the social club for Smith & Nephew when they were at Gilston Park). They now consist of eight small semi-detached dwellings set in an attractively landscaped setting with Golden Brook winding along at the end of the lawn on its way to Gilston Lake. Then, on the right-hand side, we reach Goldenbrook, originally the old manor house walled garden. An interesting site this, and although the house has been much altered and enlarged, there are many reminders of the past. A beautiful red-brick wall enclosed a garden of some size, sloping down to the brook near the bottom. Here were situated large glasshouses, growing a wide variety of hothouse plants such as tomatoes, cucumbers, peaches and the most wonderful black grapes. In the garden there were extensive beds of flowers and vegetables, with fruit trees and shrubs trained along the inner walls.

The gardening staff at its peak was large, and the yield substantial. The garden always looked so well kept and colourful with the rotating crops. Fruit trees and shrubs also skirted the outer walls. My first job was there: I was paid 1/- (5p) an hour, plus all the peaches and grapes I could eat. Possibly I had too many, for I was soon transferred to rhubarb (yuck). Every detail of the garden was meticulously planned; and we can note still the remains of the old wooden sluice gates used to control water levels in the brook, and the old metal combs to prevent detritus washing down into the garden. Economic conditions forced the closure of the garden, which is now a private house. The grapes, alas, have gone.

Opposite Goldenbrook is a house, The Orchard, marked ASB 1907 (after Arthur Salvin Bowlby), once the house of the chief groom, who was a stalwart figure in charge of all the estate horses and the attendant staff.  Turning to the left round the corner, we come to the stable itself, now known as The Mews. Although this area is now developed into residential use, with houses set around a courtyard, there are still reminders that this was once a stable. The paved courtyard was the old stable yard, bordered with the stalls, with lofts for the stable boys above. The manor had some beautiful horses: carriage horses in the early days, but in later days solely riding horses – sleek hunters and ponies for the children. After the Bowlbys departed, Mr Thom, the racehorse owner, kept his famous horses here for a short while: they were all called Star-(something) and included the classic Stardust.

And finally we reach the manor house itself, Gilston Park, built in all its grandeur and opulence in 1852: the seat of government, so to speak, of everything we have seen on our walk. Finely furnished with ornate panelling and fixtures, it was a place fit for a king, and John Hodgson fitted that bill, for without him there would probably not have been any new manor house nor model village. King  John was fully entitled to sit on his throne!

For such a large mansion, a big domestic staff was essential: from the butler at the top of the pyramid down through the army of housekeeper, cook, valet, and maids of every persuasion, to the skivvies at the base. All were represented at Gilston Park: some 30 domestic staff are recorded at one point. And don’t forget the pecking order amongst them equalled that amongst the nobility.

It was hard work; but John Hodgson did not live a life of extravagance as lived, say, by Lady Jane Plumer many years earlier. But there were many busy times – important guests to be entertained, hunting parties, horse races in the park, and so on. I get the impression when studying the records that Hodgson, although a stunningly wealthy man whose interests certainly did not stop at the border of the Gilston he had created, had none the less a great love for the village and by choice spent a lot of time here. His simple tombstone at Eastwick speaks of a modest man.

The Bowlbys, who followed, continued the lifestyle of Gilston Park, but there was much more emphasis on family life, more activity and more travelling, as they had a large estate at Knoydart in Scotland. However, the coming of domestic appliances (thus cutting down housework), higher taxes and the financial Depression  all gradually eroded the system, and economies were sought in the form of staff reductions and expenditure. The highlight was reached in the 1930s, after which there was a slow decline.

The Second World War saw Gilston Park used as a billet for Air Force officers, and subsequently as a sick quarters for men from RAF Hunsdon’s airfield; but it really marked the end. People could now earn higher wages elsewhere and were no longer content to be employed within the narrow confines of the estate system. Good staff were hard to find.

In 1948 the feudal system finally did come to an end. The Bowlbys moved away, accompanied by a very few of the key staff. The remainder found alternative employment elsewhere. The furnishings were taken away, and the once great house entered an uncertain period. At one time people could rent flats within the manor house, but this did not last long. The house again came on to the market, and in due course was purchased by the pharmaceutical firm of Smith & Nephew.

For many years the house was busy with the comings and goings of a successful and active business corporation. The lower floors of the house were used as offices, board room, canteen and so forth, but the upper floors were used less.

On the unexpected relocation of the firm to York, the house came on the market yet again. A failure to find any purchaser over the next three or four years led to the final decision to convert the manor house into apartments. The project survived a major fire and was finally completed several years ago. The laboratories nearby were pulled down, and nine villas built where they had been, creating a walled enclosure.

The occupants of the manor-house apartments live in a house with a long and fascinating history, of which they will be a small part. The gardens leading down to the brook were always beautiful. There was at one time an ingeniously-thought-out system for a water garden. This entailed the pumping of water up from the brook via a pump house opposite Goldenbrook. The remnants of this tiny little structure, resembling a dolls’ house, remain in the wood to this day. The water was collected in a tank which, when full, cascaded the water over the rock garden below and back once more into the brook. Smart, eh? Also in the garden are some attractive old trees, and (wonder upon wonder), another great historical survival. The old porch, tampered with over the ages, but the last standing piece of New Place manor house, was kept as a folly. It still reminds us of the great Tudor house that originally stood on this site.

Why John Hodgson kept it we do not know, when he had scant regard for anything else that was old. But it is pleasing that he did, for through this very door would have passed many of Gilston’s residents, rich and poor, over the centuries. The capricious Lady Jane Plumer greeting her party guests; the kind Sir John Plumer comforting the convicted witch Jane Wenham; the sour-faced Captain Willett arriving with his Roundhead soldiers – here our history was made.

A set of attractive ‘Narnia’-style lamp-posts stand in front of the house; and in a fragment of parkland a little further away stand some mighty oaks, many now dead but still reminding us of how big these trees can get. One or two have tiny little metal fences round them, showing that even the trees found especial favour in the estate’s eyes. Today a strand of barbed wire would suffice to keep farm animals off.

From the manor house (incidentally always known as the Big House by the locals) we travel by way of the avenue of lime trees, once the site of a rookery, towards the church. On the right, past the walled garden, we encounter Blackthorn Cottage, another house of some age, possibly 18th-century. In the past it had connections with gamekeepers and gardeners.

At the end of the avenue we have a clear view of the church standing proudly on the hill. At this point, the winding and narrow Penny’s Lane heads northwards towards High Wych. After about half a mile we encounter Keepers, a former gamekeeper’s house. Sadly, redevelopment here has practically eroded all evidence of the original building. The gamekeeper was responsible for the adjacent grandly named Golden Grove.

As we climb Church Hill, we first reach Overhall Farm, built by John Hodgson and always the most important farm in the village.  It was built on the site of the old medieval manor house. At the rear is a fine array of outbuildings, many rebuilt in recent times. At Overhall we have had a history of English farming: all the changes, all the innovations have occurred here and, over such a long period, not all to the good. Small fields with hedges have, over the years, given way to soulless prairies; huge numbers of men have given way to machines. More than 40 men and boys once worked on this farm, and now it has been leased out and hardly anyone works here, and no one from the neighbourhood. Horses were replaced by tractors, and now by ever-larger machines. The harvest has been revolutionised. Once it was so important to village life that every available man, woman and child laboured from morning to night to get the crops in. Now they, along with the binder, the threshing-machine, the elevator and the traditional bread-loaf straw-stacks have all been thrust aside by the mighty consuming combine harvester.

Never has an industry been so turned on its head by continual progress. But still I recall the beautiful creamy Charolais cattle dotting the fields and the mighty bull, Balmoral; later the delightful Chianina calves that were born with soft honey-coloured hair that turned white and coarse as they grew.  Tiny ponds, verdant hedgerows – all are now but a memory as great plains of wheat, barley and rape stream across the landscape. The yield is immense, and we have to eat; but what is the cost? Where are the song-birds, the butterflies, the flowers?

From Overhall it is but a short step to St Mary’s Church standing on its hilltop. For a tiny village it is a church of imposing size. On the exterior it is a bewildering medley of dates and styles: Victorian flint, Tudor brick and some early Norman flint and plaster. There is a proud tower, rebuilt in brick in the late Tudor period, and capped with battlements and a thin Victorian spire, a ‘Hertfordshire spike’. There are two 17th-century bells with inscriptions. As bellringers are in short supply, they are rung only infrequently. The small, well maintained churchyard contains old tombstones and ancient yew trees. The tall conifer is a Lawson cypress, a cultivated tree.

In the south-western corner of the churchyard are the three memorials of the Johnston family of Terlings, comprising a cross flanked by standing stones. The work is ascribed to the famous 20th-century sculptor Eric Gill. To the east of the church are two early tomb chests, commemorating the 17th-century Gore family and the 18th-century Turvin family.

The interior of the church is attractive, although much of the woodwork, the ceiling, the pews (seats), and stained glass is Victorian. The glass is a fine collection of mainly late-19th-century date, depicting religious themes. There is, however, much to find of an earlier date.

On first entering, the tall pillars that support the ceiling catch the eye. These date from the late-13th century. On the left, under the tower, is the font, of late-12th-century date. It is the only item that still survives from the original church. In this font, until recent times, most children of this village have been baptised. It has been a silent witness to all the events I have listed in this history.

Turning eastwards towards the altar, the pulpit on the left is constructed of wood panelling from New Place manor house. Opposite it used to stand the ornate ‘eagle’ oak lectern, a gift of 1900; but this is no longer in use and can be found on the north side near the big cupboard. Behind the pulpit stands the glory of the church, the 13th-century chancel screen. It is not ornate, but screens of its date (mid-1200s) are extremely rare in England, so this is a survival of great importance.

Over the centuries the screen has had a wandering existence. In Victorian times it was found in pieces lying on the floor of the tower. It was collected together and re-erected in its present position. At the same time the opportunity was taken to replace any missing pieces. If you look very closely at the screen today you can discern what is old and what is new; the new work is smooth, the old rough-carved.

As we enter the chancel through the screen, we find on our left a large pipe organ. This also originated from New Place, and was once in the drawing-room there. Sadly its condition has deteriorated and it cannot now be played. Also in the chancel used to hang the colour of the Gilston troop of Yeomanry.

The altar table was a gift from the squire of Terlings manor over a hundred years ago. It is flanked on both walls by memorials to the Gore family, whose ledger stones also cover the floor. On the sanctuary step is a tragic row of small stones to commemorate infant Gore children, which I call the Innocents.

The east window behind the altar is full of coloured glass, but this is not old. In fact, much of the Victorian work in the church was John Hodgson’s doing. At Eastwick, he pulled the church down but here, thankfully, he did not; and, although his hand fell heavily upon it, there is still much that is old to discover.

Services have been held in this place for all of our 881 years: over the centuries the ritual has altered as Catholicism was replaced by Protestantism; but the continuity of observance is impressive, and the church is a living church.

The Gilston troop of Yeomanry, by the way, was a fascinating affair, a real “Dad’s Army”. In 1831 the country set up volunteer military units to serve within Britain to counter rebellion and civil insurrection, and Colonel Plumer of Gilston Park founded the Gilston troop, a cavalry unit. The county provided the money, but the Colonel probably provided the horses. The men were uniformed and armed as light cavalrymen; newspaper reports of the time suggest they were smart and efficient. I don’t know the size of the force, but it must have been small. I raise my hat to the farm lads, for they were by repute very good riders when mounted on their fiery army steeds. What a splendid sight they must have made as they galloped round the village, resplendent in their tunics and helmets! The hearts of many young village girls must have fluttered as they made faltering glances at our soldiers, especially when the lads twirled their military moustaches. Fortunately the men were never tried in action, and were disbanded in 1842, but not before Colonel Plumer organised a farewell banquet at Gilston Park for them and their families.

To the west of the church a farm track (New Road) leads to Actons. Although in High Wych, the first house we encounter, a quaint thatched cottage, is of interest to us, for it is the village ‘sin bin’, of perennial interest to the present-day ladies of the village. From time to time, couples who had outraged the moral standards of the time were housed here. There they would remain, out of sight and out of mind, until they had purged their guilt and done the honourable thing – get married and thereby prevent the child from being born out of wedlock.

We now leave the church and continue our walk up Church Lane. On the left-hand side we find Nos 3 and 4 Dairy Cottages. This is the old dairy: the ‘Tudor’ frontage is unfortunately ‘mock’. The dairy was built in 1888, but extensions and building work have completely removed any exterior trace of its past function, although it is fair to say that it lost its charm during conversion to private houses at the time of the First World War.

By repute the dairy was a most attractive building, though I have never met anybody who has actually seen it, nor have I ever seen a photo. I know it had a black and red tiled pavement, and a covered walkway running round on all sides. It must have been a lovely sight to see the dairy cows coming in to be milked. No. 2 next door originally housed the church sexton, and later was the residence of the chief dairyman.

Up the road from the dairy we meet open fields. Near the wood, on the left once stood the original 17th-century rectory, whence the village parson used to walk down the field path through the sexton’s garden to reach the church. The rectory was demolished when the new one was built. Of a large group comprising house, outbuildings, gardens and orchards nothing now remains, but the plough frequently turns up some of the foundations. On a ‘dig’ there I once found numerous fragments of a costly willow-pattern porcelain set, and pieces of ancient port bottles. The life of the clergy in the olden days can’t have been too bad.

Finally we arrive at No. 1, Homewood Cottage, the first house in the village, but the last on our walk. This is on private land, but is an important building in the overall plan. Built in 1851, it was one of the very first Hodgson houses. It was originally the gamekeeper’s cottage. The keeper was responsible for the conserving of pheasants and partridges in the village woods. The pampered birds were subsequently the targets at the periodic shoots held by the squire and his associates.

Gamekeeping was a traditional village pursuit, now greatly destroyed by changing economic conditions. It was always a controversial subject. Ultimately, however, the winners were those creatures once ruthlessly exterminated by the keeper, and which have now had a chance to partly recover their numbers: stoats, weasels, rooks, etc. Some at least are not the villains they were once made out to be.

The house has now been converted for private occupation, but the fine dog kennels are reminders of its original usage.

Close by, and under the fields lie the cottages of old Gilston and High Trees Lane, all destroyed in John Hodgson’s great purge. At this historic and lonely point I complete my journey.

May I conclude by recommending that this is read in conjunction with ‘The History of Gilston’, also to be found on this website.