Talk
of Jane Austen and twists in English roads started to wear on me a bit after a
few weeks in Britain, but Michele really wanted to visit Jane’s home and museum in Chawton.
Michele loves Austen books
like Pride and Prejudice that celebrate
competent, strong women who had a certain kind of equality with men despite the
constraints and customs of their times. I liked her plot twists and humour.
“You
know it’s been at the top of my wish list since we first started planning this
trip,” she said to make the point with pleading eyes.
Mustering
modest enthusiasm, I conceded that this would be a good use of one of our
rental car days, and together we plotted the 300 km route to Jane’s house and
back. In Googling the precise address, my eyes fell not on the streets and
intersections, but rather the name of the county – Hampshire.
It’s one of those “Ceremonial
Counties” that enjoys distinction both in geography and history. There's a lot
to see in Hampshire. But for many years,
I’ve known it almost exclusively as the birthplace of humorist and academic
Stephen Leacock: a bit of ground that I and many other Canadians might consider
hallowed on the level of Austen’s cottage.
Until recently, I didn’t think
I’d ever get to visit this place.
First of all, Leacock chose to be
born inconveniently in a country and a house situated across the Atlantic Ocean,
and second, I wasn’t even sure the house still existed.
In researching matters related to
Leacock a few years back, I came across some old clippings and references that
suggested the home may no longer stand or, at least, would be tough to
find. A century or so ago, it may have
been even harder as Leacock himself seemed uncertain of its location.
In early autobiographical notes, Leacock said he was born in “Swanmore, a suburb of Ryde in the Isle of Wight on 30th December 1869,” believing that the Swanmore of his birth was the one near the Leacock family estate in Ryde. But as explained by former Leacock Museum Curator Ralph Curry, “A search of church records … proved he was born … at (another town named) Swanmore (in the) county of Hampshire,” a place where Leacock’s father made one of his failed attempts at farming.
In early autobiographical notes, Leacock said he was born in “Swanmore, a suburb of Ryde in the Isle of Wight on 30th December 1869,” believing that the Swanmore of his birth was the one near the Leacock family estate in Ryde. But as explained by former Leacock Museum Curator Ralph Curry, “A search of church records … proved he was born … at (another town named) Swanmore (in the) county of Hampshire,” a place where Leacock’s father made one of his failed attempts at farming.
This confusion had been cleared
up long before I took an interest in Leacock.
The reason I had believed the place might not be findable rested on an
archived article written by Leacock scholar David Staines in April 1992 for the
newsletter Mariposa Newspacket.
In it, Staines reported that the
Hampshire house was, at the time, sitting “empty, awaiting a buyer willing to
pay the asking price of one-half million pounds.” A lot of money, particularly in 1992, and the
town residents believed the purchase could only be justified by “a local
developer … (who was) planning to … tear down the home and build a series of
modern townhouses.”
Staines described the location of
the house as being just up the street from the parish church, and when out of
curiosity I checked it on Google Street View, sure enough a series of
modern townhouses sat on the spot. If I looked hard enough on the web at
the time, I might have found other evidence of the home’s fate. But not
planning a trip to this part of the world, I just assumed that there was nothing to see
and set the issue aside until this year, when the possibility of a two-month
stay in south west England materialized.
I sent an email to the general
information address of the local government summarizing the above background
and asking about the house. I did not
receive a reply for weeks, but when it arrived, it came from Frank Pearson, the
819th Mayor of the City of Winchester and a City Councillor representing Central Meon Valley, the Ward
that contains Swanmore in Hampshire. In
our exchanges, he shared the following.
“Yes, he was born in Swanmore - in Leacock House, Church Road - Swanmore,” he said proudly emphasizing it with a second Swanmore in
the sentence. “The house is to the west of St Barnabas Church and still
stands, it is a listed building and has a plaque on its wall recording that the
Leacock family lived there.”
Mayor Pearson wanted to
elaborate on Leacock’s Hampshire connections.
“Though the Leacock side of the family came from Madeira and
the Isle of Wight, the
The Butlers (his Mother’s family) were from Hambledon in Hampshire and their family home is still standing,” he told me. “Stephen’s mother’s father was for a time a curate at Soberton Church, also in Hampshire, and there is a plaque on the wall of the church recording that.”
The Butlers (his Mother’s family) were from Hambledon in Hampshire and their family home is still standing,” he told me. “Stephen’s mother’s father was for a time a curate at Soberton Church, also in Hampshire, and there is a plaque on the wall of the church recording that.”
All this Hampshire stuff is known to Leacock scholars and people like the staff at the Leacock Museum in Orillia, I am sure. But it was news to me, and the sum prompted me to think again about a visit to Leacock’s birthplace.
I clicked
into Google Street View again. Again, I
couldn’t find the house. My clicking finger went up and down the street,
looking from all directions and all sides without any luck. I kept coming
across those townhouses that had dissuaded me from the venture before.
So, even
though I didn’t doubt the good mayor’s words, I shelved the idea of making a
trip to Hampshire’s Swanmore, thinking it would mean complicated public
transport connections and would might demand accommodations, perhaps for a
couple of nights, with no guarantee of success and, at best, the possibility of
glimpsing a roof over some hedges. I re-read Leacock’s My Discovery of England and thought of other places instead.
But, on this day, with a rental car and a drive to Hampshire in the works, I reconsidered.
“I know I
whined a bit about coming to Chawton,” I said holding the iPhone and standing
next to Jane’s writing table in the museum. “But with an hour detour, we could
try to see Leacock’s birthplace.”
The charm
of the Austen house put Michele in a forgiving mood, and she volunteered to
co-pilot us over the winding roads in a loop that would cut the length of the
detour and, coincidentally, bring us back to Winchester and the cathedral that
is Jane Austen’s final resting place.
In
Swanmore, we parked by the church.
Michele sat in the car while I walked up the street.
Within a
few seconds, I found Leacock’s home and discovered the reason I couldn’t spot it
on Street View. The front of the house
points at a right angle to the road and its entrance is a path under some trees
that block any view from the street.
Not that it is hidden, the gate carries the words “Leacock House.” In checking later, I realized that the gate was open and not visible the day that the Google team drove by taking Street View photos.
Not that it is hidden, the gate carries the words “Leacock House.” In checking later, I realized that the gate was open and not visible the day that the Google team drove by taking Street View photos.
For me,
the detour and effort were worth it. The
house is as English country cute as you would hope and seems like the kind of
place that could spawn a kindly, but quirky view of the world. It also has a large plaque installed by the
Government of Ontario. This gave me a
feeling of Canadian pride and extra confidence in the home’s likely survival as
a treasured site.
Torn
between not wanting to impose on the owners and not wanting to presume the
right to take photos inside the gate, I rang the doorbell. With no answer, I turned and shuffled toward the
car. Looking back, I recognized the image of the house and trees as identical
to what I had seen before in researching the place. I decided that a duplicate
in my iPhone would not constitute a new intrusion and tapped the screen.
“Maybe,
we’ve seen enough dead writer stuff for the day,” I said back on the road and
coming up to the A34 highway. With a sigh, Michele agreed to skipping
Winchester and Jane’s remains.
This put me in a guilty
mood, and though tired of watching for cars coming around corners and lorries
coming up from behind, I had no will to fight when a half hour up the road Michele
spotted road signs and squealed, “Hey, it’s Highclere !!”
We had not expected to
pass Highclere Castle, the enormous country house now famous as the filming
location for the television series Downton
Abbey, and although British tourism promotes it vigorously, it seemed like
a location best accessed by tour out of London.
“I didn’t think I’d ever get to
visit this place,” said Michele with words that echoed my long held thoughts
about Leacock House. We pulled off the
highway, followed the signs, parked in the field, and walked in the footsteps
of the Crawley family and their staff.
Michele sipped tea, and I played
her valet, grateful for her indulgence on the Leacock diversion.
“Thanks for that,” Michele said.
“But we both got to see special places today by working as a travel team and
going down funny detours and twisting roads.”
“Yeah, very romantic and cute,” I
said. “Jane and Stephen would approve.”
October 2018
