Fourth Day of Advent

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The children had been up early in the morning, and beginning to roll a snowball about they very soon saw that at every roll they gave it got bigger and bigger, and at last got so big just by the cottage door that they couldn’t move it, and then it stood right in the way, so that they couldn’t get in and their mother couldn’t get out.

From ‘Snowball’ by Edric Vredenburg, illustrated by Lizzie Mack, volume 3 in ‘The Daisy Chain Library’ published by Ernest Nister, 1891

Lizzie Mack (1858-ca. 1905) was a highly successful children’s book illustrator. Her trademark winsome children express the sentimental portrayal of children in popular art at that time. This book was published by Ernest Nister (1841-1906), a German lithographer and printer of children’s books, greetings card, postcards and calendars based in Nuremberg.

 

#victorianchildrensbooks #victorianchristmas #adventcalendar #victorianpicturebooks #advent #childrenspicturebooks #victorianillustration #victorianillustrators #lizziemack #winter #snowball #edricvredenburg #lizziemackillustrator #ernestnister

 

Third Day of Advent

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O is for Orange – good, eaten in reason,
P for Plum Pudding, the crown of the season.

From “Father Christmas’ ABC” illustrated by Alfred J. Johnson, published by F. Warne & Co., 1894

I love the bright, cheerful warmth of this illustration – I can almost smell the tangy scent of those oranges. Is the little dog startled? Or off on its own harum scarum adventure?

 

#victorianchildrensbooks #victorianchristmas #adventcalendar #victorianpicturebooks #advent #childrenspicturebooks #victorianillustration #victorianillustrators #alfredjjohnsonillustrator #christmaspudding

 

 

Second Day of Advent

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Come to the window, little folks,
And read these tiny Story-books!

From ‘Snow-Flakes and the Stories they Told the Children’, by Matilda Betham-Edwards, illustrated by Hablot Knight Browne (Phiz), published ca. 1862

 

This is my personal favourite, it’s by Phiz, Dickens’ illustrator. I love his pictures full of charming, quirky detail. The elves in this are delightfully mischievous.

 

#victorianchildrensbooks #victorianchristmas #adventcalendar #victorianpicturebooks #advent #childrenspicturebooks #victorianillustration #victorianillustrators #christmas #matildabethamedwards #hablotknightbrowne #phiz #elves

First Day of Advent

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And the games that we had, oh! they were so nice,
Such sleighing and skating and bowls on the ice!

From ‘The Twigs, or, Christmas at Ruddock Hall’, illustrated by Robert Dudley, published by Castell Brothers.

 

I thought it would be nice to create an Advent Calendar, by posting an illustration each day from Victorian children’s books from the Tower Project collection I worked on at Cambridge University Library. I hope you like them as much as I do.

 

#victorianchildrensbooks #victorianchristmas #adventcalendar #victorianpicturebooks #advent #childrenspicturebooks #victorianillustration #victorianillustrators #christmas #robins #robertdudleyillustrator

For Truth’s Sake

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I was privileged to work on the Tower Project at Cambridge University Library, cataloguing books, pamphlets, broadsides, fiction, even children’s games, published between 1805 and 1925, held in the seventeen storey library tower.

An enjoyable challenge of the job was to find a suitable subject heading to express what a particular book was about, so that researchers would find it when doing a subject search of our online catalogue. Some books made it easy, others required considerable pondering before that “mot juste” sprang to mind.

When I plucked a pamphlet entitled An exposition of the polypantoglyphograph by Thomas Tyldesley from my trolley, I thought “Hmmm, this is obviously about something of which I know nothing, what an opportunity to learn something new” – well, something along those lines, anyway. Now I pride myself on my grasp of the English language, I consider myself moderately well read, and will tackle pieces of literature that require more than a passing moment’s concentration, but after scanning a few pages of Mr. Tyldesley’s publication I began to feel confused. I flicked through looking for fresh paragraphs to attempt, each time failing to grasp the meaning of the text before me, such as:

M– An eMbleM of coM-Munication by analogy between the OWL(e)’s and Man’s Sense of household habits, and the whole WORLD’S Light by coM-Munion from SOPH-I-VAU with his dog (re dog and GOD, in series 5), and the love of Man through All the dead-men’s skulls to THOX-I-TAU, and the workings of that LeVER  and fulcrum … 

By the time I’d worked my way through that paragraph I had a headache.

I did a quick search on the author’s name and chased up other publications of his in the hope of clarifying my thoughts.  I retrieved a number of pamphlets, all self-published, in a series entitled For truth’s sake.

After failing to grapple with Ex-shæphoenominology, or, The science of letters I started to browse The ressus(c)itation of the revælation and ‘natural’ meanings of letters, which were sought by Plato and his compeers, but got a bit bogged down, to be honest.  Determined not to be beaten, I decided to tackle The original meaning of K, but fell at the first hurdle with:

All abstracts of thought have tails, and, like comets, the quicker they move the longer their tails become; and I fear that the majority of all classes of our literati, from the lorey occupant of the professor’s chair to the standard-fixed multitudes in our common schools (the latter being battered by strifeful contending Ismst, and fettered by the circumfused fickle curriculum of a co-deified power, emanating from a consanguineous body of clannish richly-paid officials) are more attracted to the tail (tales and stories) than to the body – substance – nucleus – root – ORI, not pri-ORI.

Now I was beginning to feel decidedly cross. It is hard to explain the sensation of reading something in your own language and not having a clue as to its meaning – vexatious, perhaps? Mr. Tyldesley obviously enjoyed language, and I have managed to glean from his ramblings that he believed the shape of letters to be crucial to their meaning, which explains his predilection for peppering his prose with capital letters and symbols.

And to be fair, I did learn something new. In my ignorance I had never heard of the Sator Square, which is a satisfying palindrome of ancient origin and various interpretations, suitably obscure for Thomas Tyldesley, but a genuine phenomenon in the real world:

Tyldesley’s overarching obsession was a mystical interpretation of the alphabet, upon which he built a complex, and frankly baffling, theory of language, which I am sorry to say I have failed to get to grips with. I’m obviously not alone in my bewilderment, as he frequently complains of having his articles and letters rejected by the various papers to which he sent them, and even quotes a baffled individual to whom he had shown his work: “Put your books in our language, and then we can understand you.” Undeterred, Mr. Tyldesley continued his pursuit of the truth with zeal:

The rejection of newspaper editors to publish my letters on this subject … constrains me to publish this additional paper; although great and severe has been my financial loss up to the present  …

 He claims to have left school at 6½ “to wind bobbins and learn to weave,” in which case perhaps he belongs to that admirable tradition of the autodidact. It would be interesting to know where he gained access to the information he used in his pamphlets, what, or who, set him on his path of discovery.  I got the feeling, as I struggled to interpret his convoluted prose, that his mind was teeming to bursting point with arcane occult concepts, hieroglyphs, symbols and quasi-religious concepts, but however eccentric or bizarre we may think him, Thomas Tyldesley was evidently happy inhabiting his peculiar world view:

The unspeakable joy which I possess is begot of my communion with words true to nature, by inception, conception, and comprehension of her mæanderings and the commingling of forces, within the power of order and design, radiating, refracting, and reflecting each clearer ray of light, by which the knowledge of the celestial and the terrestrial becomes fused into matter, mannas for the mind, through a knowledge of visible form, cosmical movement, and invisible but thinkable shape, the steps to higher planes upon which the sublimity of the mind can solve supernal problems. The reality of this rare and lasting pleasure renders me imperious and impervious to all acrimonious attacks of human ignorance and infelicity, and subdues my loss to the value of dross in the smelting furnace of the soul.

I wish I could say that after grappling with Thomas Tyldesley of Bolton I could agree with Dr. Seuss, who said “I like nonsense; it wakes up the brain cells.” I’m afraid I had to do as the gravedigger in Hamlet advises his baffled companion, who is struggling with a riddle, to do: “Cudgel thy brains no  more about it” and assign the best subject headings I could muster, and move on to more mundane, but blessedly comprehensible, works.

 

The pamphlets referred to may be consulted on request in the Rare Books Room, either through the online catalogue here: https://idiscover.lib.cam.ac.uk/primo-explore/search?vid=44CAM_PROD&lang=en_US
or by completing a paper request slip in person in the Rare Books Room at the University Library. You can search by title, author or classmark, as given below:
  • An exposition of the polypantoglyphograph … / by Thomas Tyldesley. Classmark 1913.8.768
  • Ex-shæphœnominology, or, The science of letters … / by Thomas Tyldesley. Classmark 1906.8.920
  • The resuss(c)itation of the revælation and “natural” meanings of letters, which were sought by Plato and his compeers. Classmark 1906.9.355
  • The original meaning of K  … Classmark 1906.9.352.

People see what they want to see

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David Henty is an extraordinarily gifted artist who paints copies of paintings by well known artists, such as Caravaggio, Rembrandt, Monet, Modigliani, Basquiat, Lowry, Rockwell, Sickert, Picasso and many more. Is this art forgery? Not really, because David is transparent about his paintings, signing them on the back and selling them openly as copies – there is no deceit involved.

Norman Rockwell’s Saying Grace by David Henty

David was already copying pictures from books when quite a young child. He remembers a book at home which had a reproduction of Hogarth’s Gin Lane, which he copied when he was around nine or ten years old. He never thought this was unusual, and admits he thought everybody could draw.

When adolescence hit David ‘like a cricket bat to the head’ he, by his own admission, went off the rails and found himself on the wrong side of the law for some years, resulting in a short stretch in prison for forgery. It was during his time in prison that he started to paint in earnest, and discovered an enduring passion for art, which led ultimately to a new direction in life and a legitimate career as  an artist.

David’s paintings are commissioned by all kinds of organisations and individuals around the world, including film companies and television producers, interior designers and private investors. A David Henty copy has a distinct cachet, and sells for several thousand pounds. Some wealthy art investors, who can afford to own an original painting worth millions, like to buy a David Henty copy to hang on their wall, while securing the original in a vault.

Copying another artist’s work is technically extremely difficult, more difficult in some ways than painting a new work from scratch. To produce a copy that is well nigh indistinguishable from the original requires tremendous skill. David’s preparation involves in-depth research into the artist’s technique, their palette, brush strokes and pigments. But the preparation is not just technical, although that is of course essential, and of necessity meticulous and painstaking. The fact is that David cannot paint a copy of an artist’s work until he has achieved an intense, imaginative affinity with the artist’s psyche. This process involves extensive reading, prolonged viewing of the original painting (if accessible), watching documentaries, listening to radio programmes and podcasts, and so forth.  He describes the “flow state” of mind he needs to enter before he can paint, a kind of trance-like immersion in the artist he is copying, which enables him to inhabit the imagination of the artist and consequently replicate their work. If he cannot reach this “flow state” with an artist, he cannot copy their work.

Caravaggio’s Supper at Emmaus by David Henty

David is passionate about what he does, he is utterly obsessed with art. All he wants to do is paint, and when he can’t do that, all he wants to do is talk about art. Some might argue that copying devalues the original, but David’s remarkable paintings are a deeply-felt tribute to the artists he copies. They are works of art in their own right. However, there is no doubt that the art of copying raises all kinds of uncomfortable questions about the intrinsic value of a painting, as opposed to its market value. If art experts are hard pressed to distinguish a copy from an original, why is one of them worth millions while the other is not? Why does the (supposedly) authentic signature of an artist confer on that painting a vastly inflated market value, as opposed to its exact copy hanging beside it? Of course a prospective buyer wants to have confidence in a picture’s provenance, wants to feel that it comes with a patina of authentic history, touched by the artists’s creative genius. But is the physical picture itself intrinsically more valuable than the copy beside it, which looks exactly the same?

A room full of art

In the western cultural tradition copying is largely frowned upon as an affront to the original artist, or perhaps to a post-Romantic concept of the artist as an inspired individual of genius. In other words, if someone can replicate a Renoir, how can Renoir still be considered special?  And yet despite this disapproval among some connoisseurs, experts, and art critics, there are evidently people happy to pay for a top quality copy by an artist like David Henty, who told me that people who buy his copies value them as an authentic piece of art, with the texture and physical presence of a painting, as opposed to a machine-generated print.

We can only wonder how many alleged originals hanging in galleries around the world may not be what they are claimed to be. And yet visitors to those galleries, blissfully unaware of that possibility, will stand in admiration before great paintings and experience their beauty and power regardless. As David repeatedly says in his book Art World Underworld: ‘people see what they want to see’.

 

Pictures provided by David Henty and Rosalind Esche

 

David Henty was born in Brighton in 1958. During a short stint in prison over 30 years ago for forgery, David discovered his passion for art. He has been painting copies of famous paintings by renowned artists, and creating his own renditions of ‘undiscovered works in the style of the artist’ ever since.

 

#davidhenty #artworldunderworld #artforgery #artcrime #brightonartists #crimefiction #crimewriters #brightonauthors #peterjames #roygraceseries #pictureyoudead

Angel roofs

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Contributor: Rosalind Esche

I count myself lucky to live in East Anglia, where there are more angel roofs than anywhere else in the country. Of the almost 170 surviving angel roofs in England and Wales, nearly 70% are in East Anglia, traditionally defined as comprising Norfolk (26%), Suffolk (29%) and Cambridgeshire (14%). Counties adjoining the region (Lincolnshire, Bedfordshire, Essex, Hertfordshire and Northamptonshire) account for a further 14%. There are many theories about why this is the case. One  follows the neuro-plasticity argument put forward by art historians, which says that the artistic images a society produces are a subconscious product of their environment and sensory influences. In other words, the flat East Anglian landscape, which boasts vast open skies full of birds, inspired medieval artists to carve flocks of feathered angels into church roofs. I love this theory but other places have bird-filled skies but no angel roofs.

Another theory says that angel roofs were a counterblast against the Lollard Heresy of the 1400s, which was particularly strong in East Anglia (the first Lollard martyr, William Sawtrey, was a priest at King’s Lynn where probably the first angel roof in the region was constructed). The Lollards rejected images in churches as idolatrous, and it has been argued that after Sawtrey’s martyrdom at the stake in 1401, there was a reassertion of Roman Catholic orthodoxy through art, hence angel roofs repudiating Sawtrey’s heretical statement that he would “rather worship a man … than an angel of God.” However, the idea that the first angel roof in the region, at St. Nicholas in King’s Lynn (then Bishop’s Lynn), thought to date from around 1405-1415, was motivated by a desire to repudiate a minor heresy several years after Sawtrey’s execution in London, is somewhat tenuous. Perhaps the Church was eager to stamp its authority on the church which had spawned a heretical priest, but would angel roofs have thereafter necessarily spread throughout the region as they did?

A third, and to my mind more convincing theory, argued eloquently by Michael Rimmer in his excellent book The Angel Roofs of East Anglia, makes the case for the spread of master craftsmanship throughout the eastern counties as a result of the royal carpenter Hugh Herland being appointed to construct a new harbour at Yarmouth, soon after completing the first known angel roof in England at Westminster Hall, in around 1398. Rimmer draws attention to the correlation between hammer beam roofs and angel roofs. According to research conducted by architect Birkin Haward in 1999, of 188 surviving single hammer beam roofs in England, 65% (124) are in East Anglia. The figures are even more startling for double hammer beam roofs – all of the 32 surviving double hammer beam roofs in England are in East Anglia and Essex. Hammer beam roofs provide an ideal surface on which to carve an angel figure. Bear in mind that such figures would have to be large scale in order to be clearly visible from the ground beneath a soaring church nave.

St Peter Upwell, Norfolk – image courtesy of Iain Burke

It is likely that Herland would have taken his most trusted craftsmen with him to Yarmouth, in addition to taking his expertise. Four prominent East Anglians of substance and status, Hugh atte Fenn, John de Cleye, Robert atte Fenn and William Oxeneye, were appointed to work alongside Herland in recruiting labour for the Yarmouth harbour project. These men were wealthy merchants involved in local governance, two of them members of Parliament. Rimmer argues that Herland and his craftsmen would likely have discussed the Westminster Hall angel roof with both the wealthy merchants they met, the kind of influential men who would commission such projects in their local churches, and also with the labourers they recruited along the way. Skills and techniques would have been passed on to craftsmen in local communities throughout the region. Herland and his men would also likely have come into contact with shipwrights, given the eastern coastal regions’s maritime trading, who would have had experience of large scale timber construction. There is something about large scale hammer beam construction carved with angels which evokes carved wooden figureheads on ships’ prows.

St. Peter Upwell, Norfolk – image courtesy of Iain Burke

Michael Rimmer’s theory, articulated with great clarity in The Angel Roofs of East Anglia, is a more convincing argument than the others outlined here, backed up as it is with thorough historical research and attention to the multiple factors likely to have contributed to the proliferation of angel roofs in East Anglia, such as the wealth, produced by trade and manufacture, acquired by a new “middle class” keen to display its status in the community, woodcarving expertise and experience of large scale construction in the region, and the arrival of royal carpenter Hugh Herland, following his impressive achievement at Westminster Hall.

This brief summary barely does justice to Rimmer’s compelling analysis of why this glorious phenomenon graces so many East Anglian medieval churches. The Angel Roofs of East Anglia is well worth reading for his cogent arguing of a plausible theory, and for its stunning photographs of angel roofs.

Of course there’s always the possibility that we simply have more angels in East Anglia …

 

The Angel Roofs of East Anglia: unseen masterpieces of the Middle Ages by Michael Rimmer, published by The Lutterworth Press, 2015.

The Ruth Galloway series by Elly Griffiths

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Contributor: Rosalind Esche

If you asked a random sample of Elly Griffiths readers what distinguishes her books in a crowded crime genre, they would almost certainly mention her warmth and humour. It’s probably safe to say that her series based in North Norfolk is her most popular, thanks to her much loved main character Ruth Galloway. Immense warmth emanates from the pages of these books, they are comforting, but not in a cosy way. There is darkness in them, but also a powerful sense of the strength of ordinary, flawed, but fundamentally decent people trying to do the right thing.

An evocative sense of place informs this series – the remote marshlands and vast skies of North Norfolk lend an eerie atmosphere to the setting in which these unnerving tales unfold. Ruth lives with her young daughter Kate and their cat Flint in one of three remote cottages, at the edge of what Elly Griffiths calls the Saltmarsh. Her description of this wild, lonely place which is neither land, nor sea, nor sky, but a liminal space between all three, is as haunting as any supernatural tale. Griffiths conjures the ghosts of sacred burial places and ancient henges, skilfully weaving superstition, folklore and myth into the fabric of her mysteries without compromising the credibility of the police investigation or Ruth’s forensic archaeology expertise.

However, the sinister aura of these unsettling stories is regularly dispelled by the author’s wry sense of humour, which she expresses through the interaction of her delightful cast of characters, for whom she clearly feels much goodwill and compassion. Archaeologist Dr. Ruth Galloway, who lectures at a (fictional) university in North Norfolk, is a most engaging character, professionally confident and very good at what she does, but less assured in other ways. Although she’s comfortable in her own skin, she is not immune to feelings of inadequacy about her weight, lack of dress sense and unruly hair. This vulnerability makes readers warm to Ruth. The developing story of her relationship with DCI Nelson is the fulcrum of the series, and is what keeps readers coming back for more.

One of Elly Griffiths’ many skills is her bringing together characters of very different backgrounds and beliefs, and forging plausible relationships between them. The friendship between DCI Nelson (a lapsed Catholic) and Cathbad (a Druid) is a moving and often humorous example of an unlikely, and yet utterly convincing, connection between two ostensibly incompatible people. The author explores her characters’ differing beliefs with a generosity of spirit that embraces a “many paths to God” philosophy.

This deeply satisfying series stands out in a crowded genre by virtue of the quality of the author’s writing, through which she has created a profound connection in readers’ hearts with her characters. If you are not already hooked on these wonderful books, start reading them now, and you soon will be.

 

 

 

 

 

Peter James

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Contributor: Rosalind Esche

Peter James is known amongst crime writers and readers alike for his exceptional accuracy in portraying police procedures and investigative methods. In fact his books are positively educational – whoever knew about gait analysis? I certainly didn’t until I encountered Dr. Haydn Kelly, forensic podiatrist, in the pages of a Roy Grace novel. James is meticulous in his attention to detail, his authenticity is even endorsed by the Sussex Police themselves, with whom he has developed a close working relationship over many years in the course of his research for the Grace books.

James is a master at seeding snippets of information into his plots that pique the reader’s attention, or misdirect it. Not only does he keep his readers hooked with the intricate unravelling of each complex plot, but he also leaves loose ends which trail into the next book, with minor characters reappearing, criminals resurfacing with unfinished business, with the potential for danger to Grace, his team, and his family further down the line, so that the reader cannot wait until the next book resumes the story.

One of the best things about this series is that the time lapse between each book is very brief, a matter of months, which is immensely satisfying, because readers remember characters and stories, incidents and unsolved mysteries, and enjoy a sense of continuity and immersion. This technique creates a satisfying sense of connection with characters and plots. James has an unerring instinct for drip feeding pieces of information so subtly that the reader almost absorbs them unconsciously, only to feel their full impact later when disparate loose threads are woven together into a fuller, clearer picture. There are several examples of James’s skill at this technique relating to what might be called Grace’s paranormal experiences. Grace definitely has some sort of sixth sense, James doesn’t emphasise this in an obvious way, he does it with infinite subtlety and thus renders it all the more powerful and believable.

Another great technique is the brevity of his chapters – this device keeps the plot moving along nicely, holds the reader’s attention (there are no longueurs in the Grace books) and helps the reader juggle several complicated storylines along the way. James is adept at providing regular reminders and reinforcement of information and characters, so necessary in books of such complexity and detail.

What is less talked about, if at all, is the extraordinary emotional power of this series. Running alongside the plot of each major crime investigation is the unfolding personal story of his detective protagonist, Roy Grace. Unlike many fictional detectives, Grace flouts the stereotype of the jaded, hard-drinking loner propping up bars in seedy pubs, antagonising all and sundry by day, listening to mournful music alone in his room by night. Roy Grace is a stable, level headed man, dedicated to a job at which he excels. Yet it becomes apparent that he has a haunting backstory of his own – the disappearance of his wife Sandy, many years before the first book opens, on his 30th birthday. The painful legacy of this traumatic event, and its impact on his life as the years go by, is a theme running through all the novels, drawing in the reader more deeply with each new book in the series.

James writes with sensitivity and real emotional power about his detective, weaving the thread of his private story into the fabric of each successive crime plot. He is skilled at creating in the reader emotional investment in Grace as a person, which means that while each book tells a gripping crime story with intricate twists and turns, shock revelations and misdirection, it also grips the reader’s attention with developments in his personal story, as he begins to rebuild his life. 

I have been surprised by Peter James’s detective novels, I never expected to experience the emotions I feel when reading them. I can honestly say that no other crime writer has moved me in the way that he does. It is actually Roy Grace’s story which keeps the reader coming back for more, because of course his story continues to develop. Crimes are solved and cases closed, but Grace’s story is never closed, and the reader’s concern and affection for him grow with each successive book. He is an immensely likeable character, kind and decent, tough but caring, and vulnerable to his own private griefs and struggles, so we as readers become engaged in his life and want the best for him.

Considering that James is largely known for being spot on with his police procedural content (which I find strangely compelling) you might be forgiven for thinking that the books must be accurate, but somewhat dry, accounts of crime investigation and police methods, devoid of emotional engagement. This could not be further from the truth – this series packs an immense emotional punch, through the patient unfolding of Roy Grace’s story, parts of which delight you, while others haunt you long after you close each book.

The Babes in the Wood

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Contributor: Rosalind Esche

One of the most popular traditional stories reproduced in children’s books during the 19th century was  The Children in the Wood, also known as The Babes in the Wood, first published in Norwich as a broadside ballad by Thomas Millington in 1595 with the title The Norfolk gent his will and Testament and howe he Commytted the keepinge of his Children to his own brother whoe delte most wickedly with them and howe God plagued him for it.

What a sorry little tale this is. For those of you mercifully unfamiliar with it, it relies on that stock villain, the wicked uncle. The parents of two small children both die at the same time (somewhat irresponsibly, in my view) and on their joint deathbed consign their hapless offspring to the clutches of their uncle. To be fair on the chap, he looks after them for a while until he reads the terms of the parents’ will and discovers that he would benefit to the tune of several hundred pounds on the occasion of the children’s untimely deaths prior to attaining their legal majority.

This is when things really start to go downhill for the eponymous babes. The uncle hires two “sturdy ruffians” to take them into the woods and kill them. One of the villains relents on hearing the innocent, lisping prattle of the two babes, and refuses to carry out the murder; a quarrel ensues and the “milder” cut-throat kills the other, in front of the (presumably traumatised) babes.

He tells the children that he will bring them some food, and, convincing himself that a passing traveller will discover them, leaves them alone in the woods, never to return. 

The children wander through the woods, and eventually, weary and forlorn, they sit down beneath a big oak tree to rest.

 

As dusk falls they settle to sleep. Relief in the form of a passing traveller never arrives.The children starve to death. It’s as stark as that. You will be glad to hear that all kinds of disasters befall the wicked uncle and he dies in prison.

However, perhaps I do the purveyors of this sensationalist literature a disservice. I was interested to see that one of the many 19th century copies of this grim children’s tale is entitled The Children in the Wood, or, The Norfolk Tragedy.

Local folklore has it that the events told in the many versions of The Babes in the Wood originally happened in Wayland Wood, reputedly the third oldest wood in England, dating back to the Domesday Book, in which the Wayland Hundred is referred to as Wane-lond. Various theories have been advanced as to how the legend of the babes came to be associated with Wayland Wood, one being that there used to be a carved wooden overmantel in the nearby Elizabethan manor house Griston Hall, where the uncle is said to have lived, which depicted the story of the babes.

Apparently the tale of the babes in the wood has never been associated with any place other than Norfolk during its long folkloric career, so perhaps we have a real Elizabethan crime which morphed into legend. Inevitably local tradition has it that the ghosts of the murdered children haunt Wayland Wood, hence its popular name “Wailing Wood.” The village signs at both Griston and nearby Watton depict the story. When in 1879, the tree under which the babes had reputedly been abandoned was struck by lightning and destroyed, the popularity of the legend had grown to such an extent that people visited the site, hoping for souvenirs.

If it seems to stretch our credulity that two small children should be lost in a wood for so long that they starved, this arresting account by a local may bring home to us the desperate plight of the children:

Having known this wood all my life I can remember my father taking me to the keeper’s cottage when I was about seven and asking the keeper if he would show us the tree under which the babes were reputed to have been found, buried by a robin covering them with leaves. He escorted us far in­to the wood and stopping by the stump of a large tree, informed us that this was where they died, the tree having been destroyed by lightning in August 1879. As we made our way back to the road I realised how difficult this would have been without our guide, with so many overgrown paths criss­ crossing each other in all directions. At this time it was not unknown on shooting days for one of the beaters to get lost in the wood during the last “drive” of the day, with darkness falling fast. Occa­sionally it meant he had to wait until morning light to find his way out. This would not happen today, as one can hear the continuous roar of traffic passing along the road and head towards it. None the less 30 years ago, when “birding” in the wood with a naturalist friend, we came upon an elderly man whom I knew very well, but owing to his dishevelled appearance did not recognise at once. He had grown a beard, was painfully thin and obviously so weak he could hardly stand. Although he manag­ed a slight movement of his lips, no sound was forthcoming and we realised he was in a very serious condition. Informing the police, we were surprised to learn that he had been missing for three weeks and that they had spent many hours searching for him. As he lived alone, arrangements were made for him to be cared for in a Thetford home and when I saw him a month later he thanked me for saving his life. It appeared that he had strolled far into the wood one afternoon and was unable to find his way out again, but it was not certain if he had been there all the time.(http://www.historyofwatton.org.uk/wattonttages/053.htm)

So perhaps this unpleasant little tale has its origins in history rather than in some warped imagination. Nevertheless, the fact is that Victorians loved this kind of sensational, sentimental storytelling. The prevalence of this dismal tale as a staple of children’s picture books testifies to its assimilation into the popular imagination. Indeed, the expression “babes in the wood” survives to this day as shorthand for inexperienced innocents making their way (or not) in a wicked world.

It’s interesting to speculate on this “evil uncle hires two murderers to despatch troublesome children” story – how far back in the mists of time does its folk tale origin reach? It almost certainly pre-dates the Norfolk version, having its roots in inheritance struggles for money and power. Did the stock character of the wicked uncle just happen to be reinforced by a real crime in Norfolk some time in the 16th century? And for those of us troubled by a nagging sense of familiarity, could the existence of such an archetype lend credence to those Richard III advocates out there who claim him as a victim of Tudor propagandists? Could those canny Tudors have been tapping into folk imagination to besmirch the Plantagenet’s name? Just how far back do wicked uncles trace their heritage? But I digress …

Still, it’s not all bad news. Imagine my delight when I came across the following antidote to all this misery, with the stirring title:

Perfidy detected! or, The children in the wood restored, by Honestas, the hermit of the forest

with the following explanatory subtitle further down the title page:

who were supposed to have been either murdered or starved to death, by order of their inhuman uncle ; being the continuation of The history of the children in the wood.

The logistics of this reworking are a bit hazy; not only do the babes survive, but even the dead parents aren’t dead after all. No matter, someone else had obviously had enough of this wretched story and decided to set everything to rights again, even if it meant glossing over minor technicalities of logic and plot integrity.

Postscript

I had one of those satisfying connection moments, when I read that it was a robin who covered the children’s bodies with leaves – could it have been Cock Robin himself? Before he was brutally murdered, obviously, in that other cheery children’s tale so beloved of the Victorians.

 

Illustrations are from the following books held in Cambridge University Library, which may be requested to be consulted in the building.

The Story of the Babes in the Wood, illustrated by Frank Adams. Published London ; Glasgow ; Bombay : Blackie & Son Ltd., [1904?] – University Library classmark 1904.11.86

The Children in the Wood, or, The Norfolk Tragedy. Published  London : Printed for the Religious Tract Society, and sold at their Depository, [18–] – University Library classmark CCE.7.67.27