AN EDIFYING CONVERSATION 233 Salehurst, as I have said, is a sleepy place. Two roads led out of it, both tending in the direction we were going, and, as we were uncertain which of these was the right way, we waited about for some time, but nobody appeared on the scene; then we ventured to knock at the door of a farmhouse and a cottage, but without arousing any one. Truly there was a signpost with 'To Bodiam' written thereon (our night's destination), but it was one of those provoking posts before mentioned, that pointed precisely midway between each road, so that with our best endeavours we were wholly unable to decide to which it related. At last we decided to drive on and take our chance. Other things being equal, we selected the road that promised to lead us through the prettiest country; and, after all, we reasoned to ourselves, what does it matter whether we are right or wrong, we are bound to arrive somewhere? We had not proceeded far when we met a lad carrying a parcel, and the following edifying conversation took place: 'Can you tell me, my lad, if this is the way to Bodiam ?' 'Do you know where it leads to?' 'Noa, I don't.' 'Where are you coming from, then?' And what is the name of the place you live in? This we asked in the hope of discovering indirectly if we were on the right road. 'It ain't got no name. I lives over yonder,' pointing backwards indefinitely into space. But you are going somewhere, surely?' 'Ees.' And you don't know where you are going to? 'Noa.' And so we left our bright and intelligent youth. I have, I believe, reported the conversation faithfully, word for word, and give it here simply as a sample of rural density and obstinate stupidity rarely equalled, though occasionally to be met with in a less pronounced form, even in this age of School Boards and advanced civilisation. He was, I think, about the stupidest boy that we have ever met during our road wanderings, and we have now and then come across some unique specimens of stupidity, but this Sussex youth excelled them all. Even our man could not refrain from remarking, 'The people hereabouts don't seem over bright, sir,' and we could not but agree with him. However, our road proved to be a very pretty one, winding round an isolated hill, which was crowned by a ruined windmill a landmark for miles around—and a very useful landmark too, as we afterwards discovered. Indeed, we were told-on what authority I know not-by a party we met at our inn during the evening, that the old structure was maintained by the Ordnance Survey 'people,' as being of particular service to them in their labours. We found it marked on our maps Silver A PLEASANT SURPRISE 235 Hill'; and we were further informed by the party before mentioned that in times past the old mill was a rendezvous of smugglers, and that the old miller was considered a 'safe' man, and that many a keg of spirits had been stored away in the building. Our road now took us upon high ground, and then came a long and steep descent, at the bottom of which, not knowing where we were coming to, we found ourselves at Bodiam-a pleasant surprise, for we had driven on quite trusting to fortune. We pulled up at a little rural inn by the wayside here, and, as we discovered they could give us stabling for our horses, determined to spend the night there. As there was yet an hour or so of daylight left, we set off at once to get a view of the old castle. A pleasant footpath across the fields led us to the ancient ruins, and very picturesque the once stern stronghold looked, its grey walls lighted up by the setting sun, its moat doubling the castle on its banks, and reflecting the gold of the sky above. At a little cottage near the ruins we procured the keys, and were allowed to wander over the time-worn structure guideless; but we were not without company, for on the summit of one of the towers we found a couple of owls glaring at us out of their sleepy eyes, evidently wondering what we wanted there at that late hour. And as the darkness grew apace we concluded that rambling about crumbling ruins, scrambling up and down breakneck much-worn stone stairs, was not the safest of occupations, so we wisely left the owls in solitary possession, and returned to our little inn, determining to devote the next morning to a more leisurely exploration of the place. Bodiam Castle is a very perfect and picturesque specimen of a feudal stronghold. Compared to Carnarvon or Conway, a baby castle truly, but, for all that, to me far more interesting, because so complete in itself-viewed externally, that is-with towers, walls, water-filled moat, and everything, excepting the drawbridge, as it must have appeared in the brave days of old,' saving, of course, that the walls have been toned down with age, and have the gathered tints of centuries upon them. I know of no other castle but this in England externally so complete and well preserved, built after one comprehensive design, at one time, and unaltered afterwards. But still, for all this, Bodiam is a mere shell, and its perfect outward appearance is due to the excellent hands into which, in its old age, the ancient castle has fallen. Unlike Pevensey and many others, it has never been turned into a ready-hewn stone quarry by local builders, or suffered, like some, the greater indignity of having supplied roadmakers with handy material. The form of the building is that of a square, with a round tower at each corner, commanding for the archers a large range of fire. The lofty walls between these have a square tower in their centres, the contrasting forms of the round and square towers being very pleasing. Bodiam has no keep, and perhaps was none the weaker for this want, for, the rest of a stronghold in the hands of an enemy, the garrison taking to the keep could but prolong a fruitless struggle. |