M.R.James - The Man Who Dwelt by The Churchyard

The temptation of man can be his downfall. Even when those he has robbed are dead.

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Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:00):
There was a man dwelt by a churchyard by Emma James. This,
you know, is the beginning of a story about sprites
and goblins, which Mammilius, the child in Shakespeare's Winter's Tale,
was telling to his mother, the queen and the court
ladies when the king came in with his guards and
hurried her off to prison. There's no world's story. Mammilius

(00:20):
died soon afterwards without having the chance of finishing it.
Now what was it going to be? Well, Shakespeare knew,
and no doubt I shall be bold to say that
I do. It was not going to be a news story.
It was going to be one which you've most likely
heard or even told. Everybody may have set it in
what frame he likes best. This is mine. There was
a man who dwelt by a churchyard. His house had

(00:42):
a lower story of stone and an upper one of timber.
The front windows looked out onto the street, and the
back ones onto the churchyard. It had once belonged to
the parish priest, but this was in the days of
Elizabeth Thirst, and the priest was a married man and
wanted more room. Besides, his wife disliked seeing the churchyard
at night out of her bedroom window. She said she

(01:02):
saw it, but never mind what she said. Anyhow, she
gave her husband no peace until he agreed to move
into a larger house in the village street, and the
old one was taken by John Poole, who was a
widower and lived there alone. He was an elderly man
who kept very much to himself, and people said he
was something of a miser. It was very likely true

(01:22):
he was morbid in other ways, certainly. In those days
it was common to bury people at night and by torchlight,
and it was noticed that whenever a funeral was toward,
John Poole was always at his window, either on the
ground floor or upstairs, according to as to where he
could get the better view from one or the other.
There came a night when an old woman was to

(01:43):
be buried. She was fairly well to do, but she
was not liked about the place. The usual thing was
said of her that she was no Christian, and that
on such nights as Midsummer Eve or All Hallows she
was not to be found at her house. She was
red eyed and dreadful to look at, and no beggar
evan knocked at her door. Yet When she died, she
left a pass of money to the church. There was

(02:05):
no storm on the night of her burial, that was
fair and calm, but there was some difficulty about getting
bearers and men to carry the torches, in spite of
the fact that she had left a larger fee than
common as such for those who did that kind of work.
She was buried in woolen without a coffin. No one
was there but those who were actually needed, and John

(02:26):
Pool watching from his window. Just before the grave was
filled in, the parson stooped down and cast something upon
the body, something that clinked, and in a low voice
he said the words that sounded like thy money, perish
with thee. Then he walked away quickly, as did the
other men, leaving only one torch bearer to light the
sexton and his boy. While they shoveled the earth in,

(02:50):
they made no very neat job of it, and the
next day, which was Sunday, the churchygoers were rather sharp,
with the sexton, saying it was the untidiest grave in
the yard, and indeed, when he came to look at
it himself, he thought it was worse than he had
left it. Meanwhile, John Poole went about with a curious air,
half exalting, as it were, and half nervous. More than once,

(03:10):
he spent an evening at the Inn, which was clean
and contrary to his usual habit, and to those who
fell into talk with him there, he hinted that he'd
come into a little bit of money and was looking
out for something of a better house. Well, I don't wonder,
said the smith one night. I shouldn't care for that
place of yours, as you'll be fancying things all night.

(03:31):
The landlord asked him what sort of things. Well, maybe
somebody climbing up the chamber window or the like of that,
said the smith. I don't know. Old mother Wilkins was
buried a week ago to day. Eh Oh, come to
think of it, might consider yourself of a person's feelings,
said the landlord. It ain't so pleasant for master Pool,
is it now? Master Pool? Don't mind, said the smith.

(03:51):
He's been there long enough to know. I only says
it wouldn't be my choice, what with the pass in
bell and the torches when there's a burial, and all
them graves lying so quietly no one about. Only they
say there's lights, don't you ever see no lights, mister Paul, No,
I never see no lights, said Master Pool sulkily, and
called for another drink and went home. Late that night,

(04:12):
as he lay in his bed upstairs, a moaning wind
to begin to play about the house, and he could
not go to sleep. He got up and crossed the
room to a little cupboard in the wall. He took
out something that clinked and put it in the breast
of his bed gown. Then he went to the window
and looked out into the churchyard. Have you ever seen
an old brass in a church with the figure of

(04:33):
a person in a shroud? Something like that was sticking
up out of the earth in a spot of the churchyard,
which John Pool knew very well. He darted into his
bed and lay there very still. Indeed, presently something made
a very faint rattling at the casement. With a dreadful reluctance.
John Poole turned his eyes that way, alas between him

(04:56):
and the moonlight was a black outline of a curious,
bunched head. Then there was a figure in the room.
Dry earth rattled on the floor. A low cracked voice said,
what is it? And steps went hither the thither faltering steps,
as if one walking with difficulty. It could be seen

(05:17):
now and again peering into corners, stooping to look under chairs. Finally,
it could be heard fumbling with the doors of the
cupboard in the wall, throwing them open. There was a
scratching sound of long nails on the empty shells. The
figure whipped around, stood there for an instant by the
side of the bed, raised its arm and with a
hoarse scream of you've got it. At this point, Hurich Mamilius,

(05:42):
who would I think have made the story a good
deal shorter than this, flung himself out with a loud
yell upon the youngest of the court ladies present, who
responded with an equally piercing cry. He was instantly seized
upon by Her Majesty Queen Hermione, who, repressing an inclination
to laugh, shook and slapped him very severely. Much flashed
and inclined to cry. He was about to be sent

(06:04):
to bed, but on the intersection of his victim, who
had now recovered from the shock, he was eventually permitted
to remain until his usual hour for retiring, by which
time he too had recovered to assert and bidding good
night to the company that he knew another story quite
three times as dreadful as that one, and would tell
it on the first opportunity that offered