British Highways And Byways From A Motor Car | Page 7

good rate. If the cyclist did not exhibit skill in managing his wheel, he
certainly gave a wonderful display of agility in getting out of our way.
He did not seem to touch the ground at all, and by turning two or three
handsprings, he avoided being run over by the narrowest margin. His
wheel was considerably damaged and his impedimenta scattered over
the road. It was with rather a crestfallen air that he gathered up his
belongings, and we went on, shuddering to think how close we had
come to a serious accident at the very beginning of our pilgrimage. A
policeman witnessed the accident, but he clearly placed the blame on
the careless wheelman.
Passing through the forest, we came to Epping, and from there into a
stretch of open country that gave little suggestion of proximity to the
world's metropolis. Several miles through a narrow but beautifully kept
byway brought us to the village of Chipping-Ongar, a place of
considerable antiquity, and judging from the extensive site of its
ancient castle, at one time of some military importance.
At Ongar we began our return trip to London over the road which we
agreed was the most beautiful leading out of the city, for the suburbs do
not extend far in this direction and one is comparatively soon in the
country. The perfectly surfaced road, with only gentle slopes and
curves, runs through the parklike fields, here over a picturesque stone

bridge spanning a clear stream, there between rows of magnificent trees,
occasionally dropping into quiet villages, of which Chigwell was easily
the most delightful.
Chigwell became known to fame through the writings of Charles
Dickens, who was greatly enamored of the place and who made it the
scene of much of his story of "Barnaby Rudge." But Dickens, with his
eye for the beautiful and with his marvelous intuition for interesting
situations, was drawn to the village by its unusual charm. Few other
places can boast of such endorsement as he gave in a letter to his friend,
Forster, when he wrote: "Chigwell, my dear fellow, is the greatest place
in the world. Name your day for going. Such a delicious old inn facing
the church; such a lovely ride; such glorious scenery; such an
out-of-the-way rural place; such a sexton! I say again, name your day."
After such a recommendation, one will surely desire to visit the place,
and it is pleasant to know that the "delicious old inn" is still standing
and that the village is as rural and pretty as when Dickens wrote over
sixty years since.
The inn referred to, the King's Head, was the prototype of the Maypole
in "Barnaby Rudge," and here we were delighted to stop for our belated
luncheon. The inn fronts directly on the street and, like all English
hostelries, its main rooms are given over to the bar, which at this time
was crowded with Sunday loafers, the atmosphere reeking with tobacco
smoke and the odor of liquors. The garden at the rear was bright with a
profusion of spring flowers and sheltered with ornamental trees and
vines. The garden side of the old house was covered with a mantle of
ivy, and, altogether, the surroundings were such as to make ample
amends for the rather unprepossessing conditions within. One will not
fully appreciate Chigwell and its inn unless he has read Dickens' story.
You may still see the panelled room upstairs where Mr. Chester met
Geoffry Haredale. This room has a splendid mantel-piece, great carved
open beams and beautiful leaded windows. The bar-room, no doubt, is
still much the same as on the stormy night which Dickens chose for the
opening of his story. Just across the road from the inn is the church
which also figures in the tale, and a dark avenue of ancient yew trees
leads from the gateway to the door. One can easily imagine the

situation which Dickens describes when the old sexton crossed the
street and rang the church bells on the night of the murder at Haredale
Hall.
Aside from Dickens' connection with Chigwell, the village has a place
of peculiar interest to Americans in the old grammar school where
William Penn received his early education. The building still stands,
with but little alteration, much as it was in the day when the great
Quaker sat at the rude desks and conned the lessons of the old-time
English schoolboy.
When we invited friends whom we met in London to accompany us on
a Sunday afternoon trip, we could think of no road more likely to
please them than the one I have just been trying to describe. We
reversed our journey this time, going out of London on the way to
Chigwell. Returning, we left the Epping road shortly after passing