Souvenir of the George Borrow Celebration | Page 3

"the Horrors" must be taken into account. At times they
even produced a suicidal tendency, as when, in 1824, he wrote to his
friend Roger Kerrison, "Come to me immediately; I am, I believe,
dying." The facsimile of this note in Knapp's "Life of Borrow" is as
tremulous as if the writer was suffering from delirium tremens, which,
of course, he was not.
[Picture: Roger Kerrison]
We have in "Lavengro" a very interesting account of the boy Borrow
being taken twice every Sunday to the fine parish church at East
Dereham, where, from a corner of a spacious pew, he would fix his
eyes on the dignified high-Church rector and the dignified high-Church
clerk, "from whose lips would roll many a portentous word descriptive
of the wondrous works of the Most High." The rector was the Rev. F. J.
H. Wollaston, B.D., who was himself patron of the living, which
reverted to the Crown in 1841. At East Dereham, too, he came in touch
with that exquisite old gentlewoman, Lady Fenn, widow of Sir John
Fenn, editor of the "Paston Letters," as she passed to and fro from her
mansion on some errand of bounty or of mercy, leaning on her
gold-headed cane, whilst the sleek old footman walked at a respectful
distance behind. But Borrow's admiration for Philo, the clerk, was
greatest--"Peace to thee, thou fine old chap, despiser of dissenters, and
hater of papists, as became a dignified and high-Church clerk."

Leaving Dereham in April, 1810, Captain Borrow and his family were
transferred to Norman Cross, in the parish of Yaxley, some four miles
from Peterborough, to guard a large number of French prisoners in
sixteen long casernes, or barracks. At this place little Borrow, now
seven years old, made a friend, quite to his liking, in a wild sequestered
spot which was his favourite haunt; for he was allowed to pass his time
principally in wandering about the neighbouring country. It was at this
wild nook he came to know a viper-catcher and herbalist, a quaint
figure in a skin cap, and with stout gaiters, who was catching a viper
when the boy first made his acquaintance. "'What do you think of
catching such a thing as that with the naked hand?' asked the old fellow.
'What do I think?' said I. 'Why, that I could do as much myself.'" This
ruffled the old man's pride, but later he became quite friendly and
explained that he hunted the vipers for their fat, to make unguents
especially for rheumatism, and also collected simples, knowing he
virtues of such as had medicinal value. On one of his excursions this
primitive sportsman told him the marvellous tale of the King of the
Vipers. The old fellow was wakened from his sleep one sultry day by a
dreadful viper moving towards him--"all yellow and gold . . . bearing
its head about a foot and a-half above the ground, the dry stubble
crackling beneath its outrageous belly . . . then it lifted its head and
chest high in the air, and high over my face as I looked up, flickering at
me with its tongue as if it would fly at my face. Child," continued the
narrator, "what I felt at that moment I can scarcely say, but it was a
sufficient punishment for all the sins I ever committed; and there we
two were, I looking up at the viper, and the viper looking down upon
me, flickering at me with its tongue." Happily a sharp gun report close
at hand frightened the reptile away. Before leaving the neighbourhood
the viper-catcher presented his child friend with a specimen which he
had tamed and rendered harmless by removing the fangs. This creature
the queer boy fed with milk and often carried with him in his walks.
This episode resulted in experiences which coloured all the rest of
Borrow's life, for, soon after, when he first came among gypsy tents,
and saw the long-haired woman with skin dark and swarthy like that of
a toad, and a particularly evil expression, and when her husband
threatened to baste the intruder with a ladle, the boy broke forth into

what in Romany would be called a "gillie," or ditty, ending--
"My father lies concealed within my tepid breast, And if to me you
offer any harm or wrong, I'll call him forth to help me with his forked
tongue."
The story cannot be mangled without losing its wild significance, but,
on further threats, Borrow, to use his own words, "made a motion
which the viper understood; and now partly disengaging itself from my
bosom, where it had lain perdu, it raised its head to a level with my
face, and stared upon my enemy with its glittering eyes."
The superstitious gypsies were effectively terrified, and