Souvenir of the George Borrow Celebration | Page 9

upon a round mound or
monicle, in the midst of the old city. Steep is this mound and scarped,
evidently by the hand of man; a deep gorge, over which is flung a
bridge, separates it, on the south, from a broad swell of open ground
called "the hill"; of old the scene of many a tournament and feat of
Norman chivalry, but now much used as a show place for cattle, where
those who buy and sell beeves and other beasts resort at stated periods."
Perhaps Borrow inherited from his father--the conqueror of Big Ben
Brain, "whose skin was brown and dusky as that of a toad"--the love of
fisticuffs which was so prominently marked in his career. It was this
which led him to become the pupil in boxing of "the terrible Thurtell,"
executed for the murder of Weare, January 9th, 1824 (his father,
Thomas Thurtell, was Sheriff of Norwich in 1815, Mayor in 1828, and
died April 8th, 1846, at the good old age of eighty-one. He lived at
Harford Hall Farm, Lakenham, a largish house standing back from the
highway, towards the end of the Ipswich Road, on the left-hand side
going from Norwich, some little distance this side of Harford Bridges
in the river valley below). The celebrated chapter on "The Bruisers of

England" ("Lavengro," Chap. XXVI.) has been warmly applauded by
many writers as a very fine example of Borrow's style. That it
undoubtedly is, but some critics were unsympathetic about pugilism,
amongst them the late Rev. Whitwell Elwin, who, in the Quarterly
Review (January-April, 1857), wrote: "Mr. Borrow's notions of what
constitutes cant have not always been the same. In his 'Gypsies of
Spain' he speaks of pugilistic combats as 'disgraceful and brutalizing
exhibitions,' but in the Appendix to 'The Romany Rye' we find that he
now considers such language to be cant. This is one of the cases in
which second thoughts are worst." Another reviewer deprecates
Borrow's glorifying attitude towards "the very worst amongst the bad,
such as David Haggart and John Thurtell; and not content with turning
away the edge of an instinctive condemnation of crime, actually entitles
the prize-fighters, the brutality of whose profession can scarcely be
exaggerated, 'the priests of an old religion.'" More recently, while
advocating the Children's Bill in the House of Commons (March 24th,
1908), Mr. Shaw said that "George Borrow never did a worse service to
humanity than by writing 'Lavengro,' with its glorification of vagabond
life." Though one cannot acquit Borrow of inconsistency, we must
remember that "The Gypsies of Spain" was written in 1840, and that he
sent a notice of it to Mr. Brandram of the Bible Society in March of
that year, ending his letter with the words: "I hope yet to die in the
cause of my Redeemer." For my part, I am convinced that Borrow's
real opinion of pugilism is contained in several passages of the
Appendix to "The Romany Rye," where he justifies "his favourite
pursuits, hunting after strange characters, or analysing strange words
and names," and expressed the belief that he would not be refused
admission to heaven because of "some inclination to put on certain
gloves, not white kid, with any friend who may be inclined for a little
old-English diversion, and a readiness to take a glass of ale, with plenty
of malt in it, and as little hop as may well be--ale at least two years
old--with the aforesaid friend when the diversion is over." He says he is
"not ashamed to speak to a beggar in rags, and will associate with
anybody, provided he can gratify a laudable curiosity." More
emphatically still, he asks: "Can the rolls of the English aristocracy
exhibit names belonging to more heroic men than those who were
called respectively Pearce, Cribb, and Spring?" Both "Lavengro" and

"The Romany Rye," be it noted, were written long after Borrow's
association with the Bible Society had come to an end.
Those who wish to visualize in some degree the rendezvous of "the
bruisers of England, men of tremendous renown," should look upon the
building, once the Bowling Green Hotel, by Chapel Field Gardens. It is
now an Orphan's Home, bought for that purpose for seven hundred
pounds in January, 1870, but the initials "R.G." on the north wall still
recall the memory of Richard Gurney, "the retired coachman with one
leg," who died August 11th, 1829, aged forty-eight. The stabling still
remains in use, but the bowling green now forms part of the property of
the Bethel Hospital: it adjoins the theatre, and is occupied by tennis
courts for the recreation of the patients. The Bowling Green Hotel in its
heyday was a place of much importance; for being so close to the
theatre, it was the chosen hostelry for many great