E G Swain - Bone to his Bones

A Reverend from the past sends a message to a Reverend of the future

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Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:00):
William Whitehead, fellow of the Emmanuel College in the University
of Cambridge, became Vicar of Stone Ground in the years
seventeen thirty one. The annals of his incumbency were doubtless
short and simple. They have not survived. In his day,
there were no newspapers to collect gossip, no parish magazines
to record the simple events of parochial life. One event, however,

(00:24):
of greater moment then than now, is recorded in two places.
Vicar Whitehead failed in health after twenty three years of work,
and journey to Bath in what his monument calls the
vain hope of being restored. The duration of his visit
is unknown. It is reasonable to suppose that he made
his journey in the summer. It is certain that by

(00:46):
the month of November his physician told him to lay
aside all hope of recovery. Then it was that the
thoughts of the patient turned to the comfortable, straggling vicarage
that he had left at Stone Ground, in which he
had hoped to wind his days. He prayed that his
successor might be as happy there as he had been himself.

(01:06):
Setting his affairs in order as became one who had
but a short time to live, he executed a will
bequeathing to the Vickers of stone Ground forever, the close
of ground that he had recently purchased because it lay
next to the vicarage garden, and by codicil. He added
to the bequest his library of books. Within a few days,

(01:26):
William Whitehead was gathered to his father's A mural tablet
in the north aisle of the church records in Latin
his services and his bequests, his two marriages, and his
fruitless journey to Bath. The house he loved but never
saw again was taken down forty years later and rebuilt

(01:47):
by Vicar James de Viy. The garden, with Vicar Whitehead's
close of Ground and the other adjacent lands, was opened
and planted somewhat before eighteen fifty by Vicar Robert Towson.
The aspect of everything has changed, but in a convenient
chamber of the first floor of the present Vicarage, the
library of Vicar Whitehead stands very much as he had

(02:10):
used it and loved it, and as he had bequeathed
it to his successors forever. The books there are arranged
as he arranged and ticketed them. Little slips of papers,
sometimes bearing interesting fragments of writing, still mark his places.
His marginal comments still give life to pages from which
all other interest has faded. And he would have but

(02:33):
a dull imagination. Who could sit in the chamber amidst
these books without ever being carried back a hundred and
eighty years into the past, to the time when the
newest of them had just left the printer's hands. Of
those into whose possession the books have come, some have
doubtless loved them more, some less. Some perhaps have left

(02:54):
them severely alone. But neither those who have loved them,
nor those who have loved them not have lost them.
And they have passed, some century and a half after
William Whitehead's death, into the hands of mister Batchul, who
loved them as a father loves his children. He lived
alone and had few domestic cares to distract his mind.

(03:14):
He was able therefore to enjoy to the full what
Vicar Whitehead had enjoyed so long before him. During many
a long summer evening he would sit poring over long
forgotten books. And since the chamber otherwise called the library,
faced the south, he could spend many sunny winter mornings
in there without discomfort. Writing at a small table or

(03:36):
reading as he stood at a tall desk, he would
rouse amongst the books like an ox in a pleasant pasture.
There were other times, too, at which mister Batchel would
use the books. Not being a sound sleeper for book
loving men, seldom are he elected to use as a
bedroom one of the two chambers which opened at either
side into the library. This arrangement and enabled him to

(04:01):
beguile many a sleepless hour amongst the books, and in
view of these nocturnal visits, he kept a candle standing
in a sconce above the desk, and matches always ready
to his hand. There was one disadvantage in this close
proximity of his bed to the library, owing apparently to
some defect in the fittings of the room, which, having

(04:22):
no mechanical tastes, mister Batchel had never investigated. There could
be heard, in the stillness of the night, exactly such
sounds that might arise from a person moving amongst the books.
Visitors using the other adjacent to Rome would often remark
at breakfast that they had heard their host in the
library at one or two in the morning, when in

(04:43):
fact he had not left his bed. Invariably, mister Batchel
allowed them to suppose that he had been where they
thought him it. Disliked idle controversy, and was unwilling to
afford an opening for supernatural talk. Knowing well enough the
sounds by which his guests had been deceived, he wanted
no other explanation of them than his own, though it

(05:04):
was of too vague a character to count as an explanation.
He conjectured that the window sashes, or the doors or
something were defective, and it was too phlegmatic or too
unpractical to make any investigation. The matter gave him no concern.
Persons whose sleep was uncertain are apt to have their

(05:24):
worst nights when they would like their best. The consciousness
of a special need for rez seems to bring enough
mental disturbance to forbid it. So on Christmas Eve in
the year nineteen o seven, mister Batchel, who would have
liked to have slept well in the view of labors
of Christmas Day, lay hopelessly wide awake. He exhausted all

(05:45):
the known devices for courting sleep, and at the end
found himself wider awake than ever. A brilliant moon shone
into his room for he hated window blinds. There was
a light wind blowing, and the sounds in the library
were more than new, usually suggestive of a person moving about.
He almost determined to have the sashes seen to, although

(06:06):
he could seldom be induced to have anything seemed to
He dislike changes, even for the better, and would submit
to a great inconvenience rather than have things altered with
which he had become familiar. As he revolved these matters
around in his mind, he heard the clocks strike the
hour of midnight, and, having now lost all hope of
falling asleepy rose from his bed, got into a large

(06:28):
dressing gown which hung in the readiness for such occasions,
and passed into the library with the intention of reading
himself sleepy if he could. The moon by this time
had passed out of the south, and the libraries seemed
all a darker by contrast with the moonlit chamber he
had left. He could see nothing but the two blue
gray rectangles formed by the windows against the sky, the

(06:51):
furniture of the room being altogether invisible. Groping along to
where the table stood, mister Batchel felt over its surface
for the which usually lay there. He found, however, that
the table was cleared of everything. He raised his right
hand therefore in order to feel his way to the shelf,
where the matches were sometimes mislaid, and at that moment,

(07:12):
whilst his hand was in mid air, the match box
was gently put into it. Such an incident could hardly
fail to disturb even a logmatic person, and mister Batchel cried,
Who's this somewhat nervously. There was no answer. He struck
a match and hastily looked around the room and found
it empty. As usual, there was everything, that is to say,

(07:34):
that he was accustomed to see, but there was no
other person than himself. It is not quite accurate, however,
to say that everything was in its usual state. Upon
the tall desk lay a quatr volume that he had
certainly not placed there. It was his quite invariable practice
to replace his books upon the shelves after using them,

(07:55):
and what we may call his library habits were precise
and methodical. A place like this was not only an
offense against good order, but a sign that his privacy
had been invaded. With some surprise, therefore, he lit a
candle standing already in the sconce and proceeded to examine
the book, not sorry in the disturbed condition which he

(08:17):
was to have an occupation found for him. The book
proved to be one with which he was unfamiliar, and
this made it certain that some other hand than his
had removed it from its place. Its title The Complete
Gardener by M. D quintyre, made in English by John
Avelyn Squire. It was not a work in which mister

(08:39):
Batchel had any great interest. It consisted of diverse reflections
on various parts of husbandry, doubtless entertaining enough, but too
deliberate and discursive for practical purposes. He had certainly never
used the book, and, growing restless now in mind, said
to himself that some boy, having the freedom of the house,
had taken it down from its place in the hope

(09:00):
of finding pictures. But even whilst he made this exclanation,
he felt its weakness, to begin with, the desk was
too high for a boy. The improbability that any boy
would place a book there was equalled by the improbability
that he would leave it there to discover its uninviting character.
Would be not only the work of a moment, and
no boy would have brought it so far from its shelf.

(09:24):
Mister Batcher had, however, come to read, and the habit
was too strong for him to be wholly set aside.
Leaving the Complete Gardener on the desk, he turned round
to the shelves to find some more congenial reading. Hardly
had he done this, and he was startled by a
sharp wrap upon the desk behind him, followed by a
rustling of paper. He turned quickly about and saw the

(09:44):
quarto lying open. In obedience with the instinct of the moment,
he at once sought a natural cause for what he
saw only a wind, and uttered the strongest could have
opened the book and laid back its heavy cover, And
though he accepted for a brief moment that explanation, he
was too candid to retain it longer. The wind out
of doors was very light, the window sash was closed

(10:07):
and latched, and to decide the matter, finally, the book
had its back and not its edges turned towards the
only quarter from which a wind could strike. Mister Batchel
approached the desk again and stood over the book with
increasing perturbation of mind, but he still thought of the
match box. He looked upon the open page without much
reason beyond which he felt constrained to do something, and

(10:30):
he read the words of the half completed sentence at
the turn of the page. At the dead of night,
he left the house and passed into the solitude of
the garden. But he read no more, nor did he
give himself the trouble of discovering whose midnight wondering was
being described. Although the habit was singularly like one of
his own, he was in no condition for reading, and

(10:53):
turning his back upon the volume, he slowly paced the
length of the chamber, wondering at that which had come
to pass. He reached the opposite end of the chamber
and was in the act of turning, when again he
heard the rustling of paper, and by the time he
had feast round, saw the leaves of the book again
turning over. In a moment, the volume lay at rest,

(11:13):
open in another place, and there was no further movement.
As he approached it. To make sure that he had
not been deceived, he read again the words as they
entered the page. The author was following a not uncommon
practice of the time, and throwing common speech into the
form suggested by holy writ. So dig It said that
ye may obtain this passage to which mister Batchel seemed

(11:37):
reprehensible in its levee. Excited at once his interest and
his disapproval, he was prepared to read more, but this
time was not aloud. Before his eyes could pass beyond
the passage already sighted, the leaves of the book slowly
turned again and presented but a termination of five words
and a colophone. The words were to the north an ilex.

(12:01):
These three passages, in which he saw no meaning and
no connection, began to entangle themselves together in mister Batchel's mind.
He found himself repeating them in different orders, now beginning
with one and now with another. Any further attempt at
reading he felt to be impossible, and he was in
no mind for any more experiences of the unaccountable. Sleep was,

(12:22):
of course further from him than ever, if that was
even conceivable. What he did, therefore was to blow out
the candle, to return to his moonlit bedroom and put
on more clothing, and then pass downstairs with the object
of going outdoors. It was not unusual with mister Batchel
to walk about in his garden at night time. This

(12:42):
form of exercise had often, after a wakeful hour, sent
him back to his bed, refreshed and ready for sleep.
The convenient access to the garden at such time lay
through his study, whose French windows opened onto a short
flight of steps, and upon these he now paused for
a moment to admire the snow like appearance of the lawns,

(13:02):
bathed as they were in the moonlight. As he paused,
he heard the cry of the city clock strike the
half hour after midnight, and he could not forbear repeating aloud.
At the dead of night, he left the house and
passed into the solitude of the garden. It was solitary enough.
At intervals the screech of an owl, and now and

(13:23):
again the noise of a train seemed to emphasize a
solitude by drawing attention to it and then leaving it.
In the possession of the night, mister Batchel found himself
wondering and conjecturing what Vicar Whitehead, who would required the
close of land to secure quiet and privacy for a garden,
would a thought of the railways to the west and
the north. He turned his face northwards, whence a whistle

(13:46):
had just sounded, and saw a tree beautifully outlined against
the sky. His breath caught at the sight not because
the tree was unfamiliar. Mister batchel knew all his trees,
but what he had seen was to the north an alex.
Mister badchil knew not what to make of it. All
he had walked into the garden hundreds of times and

(14:09):
has often seen the alex, but the words out of
the complete gardeners seemed to be pursuing him in a
way that made him almost afraid. His temperament, however, has
been said already was phlegmatic, it was commonly said, and
mister Badgel approved the verdict, whilst he condemned its in
exactness that his nerves were made of fiddle string. So

(14:31):
he braced himself afresh and set upon his walk around
the silent garden, which he was accustomed to begin in
a northerly direction, and was now too proud to change.
He usually passed the alex at the beginning of his perambulation,
and so would pass it now. He did not pass it.

(14:52):
A small discovery as he reached it annoyed and disturbed him.
His gardener, as careful and punctilious as himself, never failed
to house all his tools at the end of a
day's work. Yet there under the elex, standing upright in
the moonlight, but brilliant enough to cast a shadow of
it was a spade. Mister Batchel's second thought was one

(15:13):
of relief. After his extraordinary experiences in a library, he
hardly knew now whether they had been real or not.
Something quite commonplace would act sedatively, and he determined to
carry the spade to the toolhouse. The soil was quite
dry in the surface, even a little frozen, so mister
Batchel left the path and walked up to the spade,

(15:34):
and would have drawn it towards him, But it was
as if he had made the attempt upon the trunk
of the elex itself. The spade would not be moved. Then,
first with one hand and then with both, he tried
to raise it, and still it stood firm. Mister Batchel,
of course attributed this to the frost slight, as it was.
Wondering at the spades being there, and annoyed at its

(15:57):
being frozen. He was about to leave it there and
continue his walk, when the remaining words of the complete
gardeners seemed to rather utter themselves than to await his will.
So dig that ye may obtain mister Batchel's power of
independent action now deserted him. He took the spade, which
no longer resisted, and began to dig. Five spadefuls, and

(16:20):
no more. He said aloud, this is all foolishness. Four
spadefuls of earth he then raised and spread out before
him in the moonlight. There was nothing unusual to be seen.
Nor did mister Batchel decide that he would look for,
whether coins or jewels, or documents in canisters or weapons
in fact. In point of fact, he dug against what
he deemed his better judgment, and expected nothing. He spread

(16:43):
before him the fifth and last spadeful of earth, not
quite without result, but with no result that was at
all sensational. The earth contained a bone. Mister Batchel's knowledge
of anatomy was sufficient to show him that it was
a human bone. He identified it, even by the moonlight,
as the radius the bone of the forearm, and he
removed the earth from it with his thumb. Such a

(17:05):
discovery might be thought worthy of more than the very
ordinary interest. Mister Batchel showed as a matter of fact,
the presence of the human bone was easily to be
accounted for. Recent excavations within the church had caused the
upturning of numberless bones which had been collected and reverently buried.
But an earth stained bone is also easily overlooked, and

(17:25):
this radius had obviously found its way into the garden.
With some of the earth brought out of the church,
mister Batchel was glad rather than regretful at this termination
to his adventure. He was once more provided with something
to do the reinterment of such bones, as this had
been his constant care, and he decided at once to
restore the bone to consecrated earth. The time seen opportune.

(17:50):
The eyes of the curious were closed in sleep. He
himself was still alert and wakeful. The spade remained by
his side, and the bone in his hand, and so
he betook himself there and then to the churchyard. By
the still generous light of the moon. He found a
place where the earth yielded to his spade, and within
a few minutes the bone was laid decently to earth,

(18:12):
some eighteen inches deep. The city clock struck one as
he finished. The whole world seem asleep, and mister Batchel
slowly returned to the garden with his spade. As he
hung it in his accustomed place, he felt stealing over
him as the welcome desire to sleep. He walked quietly

(18:32):
onto the house and ascended to his room. It was
now dark. The moon had passed on and left the
room in shadow. He lit a candle, and, before undressing,
passed into the library. He had an irresistible curiosity to
see the passages in John Evelyn's book, which had so
strangely adapted themselves to the events of the past hour.

(18:53):
In the library, a last surprise awaited him. The disk
upon which the book had lain was empty. The complete
Gardener stood in its place on the shelf. And then
mister Batchel knew that he had handled the bone of
William Whitehead, and that, in response to his own entreaty,