The strange dream of the Water Bailiff
THIS weird local legend; which was recently told us by a friend, who had it from his grandfather, shows the extraordinary influence and power which an ancient heirloom may exert over certain temperaments.
NEARLY a century and a half ago a number of gentlemen of wealth and influence in the district met together to consider the advisability of constructing a forest canal, on which it was proposed to bring by boat coal from the Forest pits to Loughborough.
It frequently happens, at a meeting of this kind that one man who knows his own mind can, by uttering in convincing, tones a few vague generalisations, easily persuade the remainder to share his views. It was so on this occasion, and though, as events proved, there were many fundamental objections to the scheme, it was carried with a fair degree of unanimity.
Rapid progress, was made and inhabitants of the district were so impressed, that the vast sum of £100,000 was soon invested in this new waterway.
A Lamentable Fact.
It is a lamentable fact that shareholders are very prone to judge only by results, and in this case it must perforce be admitted that there was little to show, since, as far as we can judge, only one boat was ever known to traverse this canal.
In the early days, however, hopes of success were very high, and the business acumen of the directors was never doubted. Especially were they commended in their choice of a canal warden or water bailiff. It is true that his qualifications were never subjected to a very severe test, but this was scarcely considered necessary or politic since he was known to have the inestimable privilege of belonging to the greatest family in the land.
He was, without doubt, of the blood royal, and a descendent of the most noble house of Plantagenet, though he had, with becoming modesty, lopped off three syllables of his name.
In this country, even today, there survives a proper feeling of respect for such exalted birth, and there are those who still believe that blue blood can do no wrong. A century and a half ago this feeling was much more prevalent.
This descendent of Kings, however, was characterised by a most charming humility. He had inherited little of the pride of the haughty Plantagenets, and accepted the small cottage set, apart for his habitation with many expressions of gratitude.
Alas he had little to show for his royal ancestry. Doubtless his not very distant forbears had been the owners of fair lands and broad acres in different parts of the country. These had long ceased to belong to his branch of the family, and his only remaining inheritance was a silver cup of superb quality and undoubted antiquity.
A Beautiful Cup.
This was indeed a beautiful cup, bearing the Plantagenet arms. The water bailiff was exceeding proud of his heirloom, which he well-nigh worshipped, and when he spoke of it, as lie frequently did in tap room and bar, and parlour, towards the eleven of the clock he would be strangely inspired; then verily he would command an eloquence which would be entirely lacking at the more prosaic periods of the day.
His wife, not being of the blood royal, was never able fully to appreciate the sentimental value of this cup, and was even known, at times of financial stress, to make the monstrous and disloyal suggestion that this valuable heirloom should be sold.
In the early days of the canal, before it was properly established, a grievous calamity befell the district. After some days of ceaseless rain, the dam burst and, the flood waters, in the words of a contemporary, “carried all before them.”
On the following day people began to realise the extent of the damage.
Many things had been washed away by the unrestrained fury of the floods, and these included the greater part of the shareholders’ money and the water bailiff’s historic cup.
The poor man was inconsolable, and fretted day and night over his loss, until his misery became a veritable byeword in the land.
One morning, however, he came down in a more cheerful frame of mind, and told his wife of a wonderful dream he’d had that night; how he’d wandered afar over the countryside and t’was as if he had been directed by an invisible guide.
Over flooded ditches, through brambles and bushes he proceeded until in the distance he espied a high thorn hedge, upon which the sun was shining with a strong lustre. He stumbled on through the undergrowth, taking no heed of obstacles, until at last, breathless and sorely fatigued he reached the thorn hedge, and there, behold in the thickest part was his beloved silver cup.
His wife seemed strangely unimpressed by this vivid dream, for indeed women have ever been incomprehensible creatures, and it can never be predicted with any degree of certainty whether their mood will be fanciful or practical. When the bailiff announced his intention of making his way along the course which his dream had indicated his wife gave vent to a loud and critical sniff of disapproval and suggested that he would be better employed in looking for another job since the canal was now abandoned.
He Was Firm.
But her husband was firm, as a main should be, and after he had broken his fast, he set off without the slightest pause and was able to pursue the route he had taken in his dream, though he had never trod it before.
After an arduous trek he saw plainly the thorn hedge of his dream, on which the warm June sun was shining through the rapidly clearing mist. With uncontrollable excitement he hastened on his way, and reaching the hedge he plunged in his hand regardless of the thorns. Immediately it was covered with blood, but he heeded it not, for his hand had closed upon the silver cup emblazoned with the Plantagenet arms.
Now the end of this legend is indubitably sad. We have tried to show how this water bailiff valued his silver cup, but mere words cannot express the feeling of reverence and deep affection which a genuine heirloom can inspire.
Unfortunately times were bad, and though the good man trudged many weary miles in search of work, he was ever unsuccessful, and daily the position became more precarious, until they were faced with ruin and starvation. From this fate they were happily spared though at great cost as will shortly be realised; not long afterwards they mysteriously acquired a small cottage where by means of the greatest economy they were able to live in fair ‘but frugal comfort.
But the Plantagenet cup was never seen again, nor was it ever referred to, and the water bailiff, though relieved from actual want, was henceforth overcome by a strange melancholy.
He seldom spoke, and sought not the company of his friends, while his favourite house of call missed his cheery voice. T’is said that he sank in a decline and died not many years later, an old man, though indeed he was scarce fifty.