Road Mending

Copyright Oggbashan September 2018 / October 2019

The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

This is a work of fiction. The events described here are imaginary; the settings and characters are fictitious and are not intended to represent specific places or living persons.

***

When I had asked Cecilia's father for permission to pay my addresses to her I was startled by his prompt refusal. He handed me a cigar and a glass of brandy as we stood before the open fire in his library.

"Sorry, William. Cecilia's not suitable for you. That's an odd thing for her father to say, but it's true. Cecilia is a very sociable person. She enjoys the London Season and wants to be a fashionable hostess. You prefer to be a country gentleman. As far I am concerned William would be an admirable son-in-law but not with Cecilia. Unfortunately my two other daughters are already married.

Don't get me wrong. It wasn't my decision to reject you as a suitor. It was Cecilia's. She surprised me by making it but I know she was right. She would make your life a misery trying to turn you into something you're not, and she would be unhappy too because she couldn't lead the life she wants. She likes you, would still like to be friendly with you and your family, but she doesn't see you as a suitable husband - for her."

Once I had got over the immediate shock of the rejection I appreciated that Cecilia and her father were right. We would have been an unlikely and unhappy couple. Now that I had been formally rejected as a fiancé we were closer as friends than we had been.

+++

Why had Great-Uncle Horace left me an income and an estate in rural Kent? He knew I had lands in Wiltshire, more than sufficient for me to live as a country gentleman of leisure. The leisure was mythical because I had been trying to continue my father's improvement of our agricultural land. My father's land and mine were side by side. We managed the whole as one complete estate. It would be one estate when I inherited, probably many years from now. I spent much of my time reading the latest information about farming methods and supervising my land agent as he worked with our tenant farmers.

Horace's will had given a hint. He seemed to have approved of the work my father and I were doing. A few words in his will - 'the estate needs William' - were the first clue. The family solicitor had told me that although the Kent estate was large it produced very little income, perhaps fifty pounds in a good year. Horace had left his better lands to his grandsons. He had also left me a substantial sum of capital to help improve the estate 'which I know, to my regret, I have ignored'.

Since my father inherited from his father, crop yields had increased by more than a third and livestock was fetching better prices. The improvements had taken decades. Our tenants had initially been reluctant to look beyond a three or four-year crop cycle because their tenancies were no longer than that. Now twenty-one-year leases were common and offered to the tenants that were willing to work with us to better themselves and the land.

My carriage crashed and bumped over the appalling road surface that was typical of this part of Kent. A few miles back we had left the old Roman road from Faversham to Canterbury. That had been maintained to a reasonable standard for this late 18th Century. This minor road was barely a road at all, just a collection of ruts and potholes. A Wiltshire farmer would have been ashamed to have a farm track in this state. Yet it was the only road access to three villages and to the estate I had inherited. Jason, my coachman, was doing his best to pick his way around the worst areas. I had to hang on to a strap to avoid being flung off my seat.

The edge of Great-Uncle Horace's estate was about five miles further. At our current pace that would take another hour. Perhaps I should have come by sea? There was a silted-up inlet on the edge of the estate. Apparently it had been a local port a few hundred years ago. If produce from the estate had to be taken down this road it would cost more to carry than it would be worth at its destination. The nearest usable landing from the sea was nearly as far from the estate as we were now. I continued hanging on grimly. I could hear Jason swearing under his breath as we reached another muddy stream that strained the horses.

+++

When we finally reached the estate Jason and I were pleasantly surprised. The carriage drive was well surfaced and dry. A quarter of a mile along a tree-lined avenue we turned to see the estate house, Roman Hill. Compared to the Wiltshire mansion it was small, more like a large hunting lodge than a family home, but it was well proportioned and in sound repair.

As we approached we could see the staff scuttling outside to greet the new owner. At the front there were three men, one obviously the Butler, another the agent, and the third could be the stable manager. Beside them stood the housekeeper and cook. Behind those five, standing on the steps, were a dozen younger women dressed as maids. All of them were obviously in their best outfits. I had written to Mr Page, the Butler, and Mr Stokes, the agent, telling them I would arrive today. I had expected to arrive about noon. Mr Stokes had replied saying that the state of the local roads might delay my arrival. He was right. It was three o'clock when Jonas had turned into the carriage drive.

I descended from the carriage with relief. Mr Page came forward to greet me.

"Welcome, Mr Thomas," he said.

He introduced me to all the staff. A couple of the younger maids giggled when I shook their hands. He showed me into the dining room where a cold collation was ready under silver covers. I had expected to be here much earlier so the food was welcome. The housekeeper, Mrs Page, brought tea within a few minutes.

"We have put you in the principal bedroom, Mr Thomas..." Mr Page started to say.

"Mr William, please," I said. "Mr Thomas is my father. I'm usually known as Mr William."

"Yes, Mr William. If you want to change your room, we can, but not all the bedrooms are ready for occupation. They could be, with a few hours notice to remove dustsheets and other protection, but your Great-Uncle instructed us to preserve and maintain the fabric, not expose it to sunlight."

I looked around the dining room. I knew that Great-Uncle Horace hadn't been here for a decade yet it looked very presentable. I said so.

"We tried, Mr William. The staff costs take much of the income from the estate. That annoyed Mr Stokes who wanted to cut the staff numbers as your Great-Uncle wasn't going to come here. Your Great-Uncle refused. He wanted the house kept ready to accommodate visitors. Why? I don't know. But I and the staff are grateful to him. There isn't much employment locally for domestic staff, or anyone."

"How bad is it locally, Mr Page?"

"Mr Stokes could answer better than I can, or the Vicar. They are more involved with the wider community. Which reminds me. The Vicar is likely to make a call to welcome you tomorrow. No one else will. There are no other gentry within visiting distance."

"None?" I was surprised.

"There might be, Mr William - if the roads were better. But the roads are so poor that no gentry want to travel on them."

"I can appreciate that. I feel bruised all over and I hope the horses haven't been injured."

"Your coachman and Mr Owen the stable manager are looking at them now."

"Jonas? Hasn't he eaten first?"

"We had provided cold food for him but he considered the horses needed him more."

I spent most of the rest of the day in the estate office with Mr Stokes. On the wall was a large scale map showing the extent of the land I now owned. There was about a mile of sea coast backed by salt and freshwater marshes. The old harbour was near an edge where a stream ran into the sea. A partly broken causeway ran alongside the stream to the nearest estate road, if it could be called a road. It was a narrow muddy track barely passable as a footpath.

I would be meeting the tenant farmers and their wives after church on Sunday. Mr Stokes had arranged for a luncheon to be provided. He warned me not to expect too much.

"They are poor, ill-educated, and unhappy, Mr William. Some want to better themselves but the land is in poor heart. Many are barely surviving and have trouble paying the rent for their leases. It wouldn't work to change the tenants. Few farmers want to be in this part of Kent. They see it as cut off and inaccessible. They're right. The nearest market town is too far away along dreadful roads. The port for that town is too far away over the local roads. It needs investment. It silts up most winters because the breakwaters are inadequate. Getting any cash income is hard."

I listened to what Mr Stokes said, and also what he didn't say. There had been no investment or improvement in the local area outside the estate for nearly a hundred years. What had been done on the estate had been minimal.

+++

I felt ridiculous and lonely as I sat in solitary state at the dining table that evening. Three maids scuttled around delivering and removing dishes. Mr Page poured the wine and supervised, standing by the door through which the maids came and went. The food and service were impeccable.

At the end of the meal, I asked Mr Page to join me with a glass of brandy. I thought he would refuse. I insisted. We sat down either side of the fireplace. I asked him about the staff. How were they recruited and trained?

Mr Page explained that he and his wife recruited the other domestic staff. They tried to train them, and educate them as well. There were no schools within ten miles and ten miles was a long way on the local roads. Part of the servants' quarters had been turned into a schoolroom. Mrs Page did what she could, helped by Mr Stokes for arithmetic, and the Vicar for Latin and Bible studies. All the staff could read and most could write even if some of the older ones could write little more than their name.

"The tenants' children?" I asked.

"Unless their parents have some learning? Nothing. Almost all can only recite some Bible verses. Reading and writing is a mystery for most."

When I went to bed I was beginning to see what Great-Uncle Horace had meant by 'the estate needs William'. Unlike his other properties this estate had been neglected and was unprofitable. It didn't need to be. The land could be improved. So could the people if they were given opportunities. One thing puzzled me as I drifted off to sleep in a very comfortable bed. The parkland, carriage drive and buildings were all in good order yet I had seen no outside staff. If I had met ALL the staff, who looked after the gardens, the parkland, the buildings? There were no gardeners, no handymen, and no estate staff. Who did the necessary work? Who had kept the house and grounds so well?

+++

The Vicar, The Reverend Roger Andrews, called at eleven o'clock in the morning. He seemed nervous at first. I wasn't surprised. Great-Uncle Horace, and now I, had the right to appoint and dismiss the Parish Priest. The church had been built by our ancestors as a chapel for the estate. Unusually for gentry of the time they had considered the villagers' convenience ahead of their own. The church stood on a slight rise at the edge of the village, more than half a mile from the gentry's house.

The tithes belonged to me, not to the church. Out of that money I was supposed to maintain the church and pay the Vicar. However the tithes, a proportion of the profits of the land, were inadequate and had been for decades if not a hundred years. Great-Uncle Horace had been subsidising the church and the Vicar's stipend from the income of his other properties.

The Vicar was much younger than I expected, in his early twenties. I asked him how he had been appointed. He laughed.

"Mr Horace advertised for a priest for this parish. His advertisement was unusually frank. He said that the area was impoverished, the tithes inadequate, the population poorly educated but the church and rectory were in sound repair. He suggested a single priest close to retirement who would have limited expectations. I was the only clergyman to apply. I had barely passed my divinity degree.

That was my own fault. I wasn't convinced that I had a vocation to be a Church of England priest. I would have preferred to be an estate manager, I think, but none of my family had any estates. I had done more study in the university's library on estate management than divinity. Estate managers are expected to have experience. So have Vicars. I had none and told Mr Horace so. He took me on as a trial. It has been a very lonely living to run because there are no gentry or other clergymen nearby. My younger sister, Amelie, was with me until recently but she has gone to see our parents. She should be back next week but I have been missing her."

"Does she find it lonely too?" I asked.

"Amelie, like me, is basically a country mouse. Our family's small estate isn't enough to support all the children. She wants to be a governess but she is considered too young and too rural for some families. She has been helping me, and helping Mrs Stokes with education of the servants while she tries to find a suitable position. I will miss her when she does.

Back to discussing the estate. Mr Horace seemed to approve after I had been the Parish Priest for a year. He appreciated my cooperation with Mr Stokes because I had the modern theoretical knowledge. Mr Stokes has the extensive local knowledge and experience. Mr Horace increased my stipend by five pounds a year and did the same for Mr Stokes. Between us we had increased the estate's income by fifteen pounds in that year, not much, but the first increase for a decade.

However I don't get the benefit of that five pounds. Are you aware of the Poor Rate system, Mr William?"

"Yes. It operates fairly well in Wiltshire."

"It doesn't here. The farmers who should pay the Poor Rate can't afford to. Often they can't afford to pay your estate the low rents they're on. Most of the baptisms in the church are pauper baptisms. I don't get a fee for those. That wouldn't matter but it is a sign of how desperate things are locally. My additional five pounds is the major support for the paupers of the parish."

"But is supposed to be your stipend, not the support of the poor."

The Reverend Andrews nodded.

"The farmers, although they can't pay the poor rate because they have so little cash money, do what they can in kind. They give milk, eggs, cheese, butter, wheat, fruit and vegetables. They let the unemployed farm labourers stay on the cottages rent-free. The farmers would pay the poor-rate, and your rents, if they could. But if they could? We would reduce the numbers of the many people who are paupers. The farm labourers could work."

"What would your advice to the new Estate owner be, both as the Parish Priest and also as a trainee Estate Manager?"

"Trainee Estate Manager? That sounds like a good title. I think I would be a trainee for a long time before I could match Mr Stokes' expertise. I would suggest two things to start with. The first - Oh Dear - that sounds like I'm starting one of my sermons from the book I keep under the pulpit

The first is to think for the long term. The problems of this estate and the surrounding area have existed for decades and longer. You would need to make a five year, ten year or longer plan for where you want to be eventually.

Second? The second must be communications. The old Roman Road is too far from here. If we could get produce just to that road it would help our cash flow. At present we can't. It is too expensive in manpower and damage to carts and horses. Mr Stokes and I agree that we have the materials to improve the roads. What we don't have yet, although we are learning, is the expertise to build sound roads that will stand up to all seasons. A smaller problem is that the further roads are outside this parish and the land around the roads is in other ownership. What we might do in the parish would be useless if a good road met a muddy bog at the boundary. We would need cooperation from others.

I could go on, but the communications are the main problem. It doesn't matter what crops, minerals or products we could sell if we can't transport them anywhere. We could improve crop yields, make things, produce meat, wool, even cloth but with no way of getting them to a market all that would be useless."

"What about transport by sea?"

"The old harbour on your estate was small. It is silted up and surrounded by mud flats. No ship can get close to shore. Mr Stokes thinks there was a narrow hard next to the harbour until about fifty years ago. If there was, there's no sign of it now, and he thinks it was only used either as a small ferry or for rowing boats to get to and from ships moored further out. Loading and unloading, even if that hard still existed, would be hard work. After that? The track from the old harbour is a half-mile of deeply rutted mud."

We continued discussing the problems the estate and village people had until lunchtime. The Reverend Andrews accepted my invitation to have lunch with me. In the afternoon I arranged that he, Mr Stokes and Mr and Mrs Page would meet me in the Estate Officer tomorrow morning. I told all four of them to think about what they would want to change about the estate and the people.

+++

When we met Mrs Page queried whether she should be part of the discussions. I assured her that her knowledge would be useful.

The discussions were about three main topics:

1. The improvements needed to the tenants' farmland.

2. The need for communications to sell produce from the estate.

3. Education for the farmers, their families, and Roman Hill's staff.

We agreed that communications were the most essential but would take the longest time to implement. But what was necessary was some means of increasing the cash earnings. If the tenant farmers had money they could pay the rents and the Poor Rate. If they had money they could employ people to improve the lands. That would reduce the need for the Poor Rate.

The adult children were seen as the largest current problem. Women and a few men could become servants or work in a market town. They couldn't because they lack basic education compared with town dwellers. If they could read and write? They could compete for jobs. At present the tenants' children were just more farmhands, some with skills, but unpaid because their parents couldn't afford wages.

Mrs Page added that the female staff working at Roman Hill were the best educated young women. Anywhere else they would expect to seek employment in a town or even London, but they had no opportunities to do that. Mr Horace had never taken staff from Roman Hill to his London property. Would I?

I had to answer that it would be unlikely. My main location was Wiltshire. Although the family had a London town house we rarely used it. It had a minimal staff assisted by hired extras when needed.

Mr Stokes and the Reverend Andrews told me that the community wasn't lacking in craftsmen but the lack of money meant most worked on a barter system. Barter was more common than cash payments. Mr Page and Mr Stokes explained why the house and parkland were so well maintained. Some of the tenant farmers provided labour instead of rent payments. If skilled craftsmen were needed, the farmers paid for them with produce.

Although many of the farmers might be unable to pay cash for their full rents, none were in arrears because they had been paying in labour.

+++

Whenever I went around the house the maidservants dropped startled curtseys and scuttled out of the way like disturbed mice. I thought that was ridiculously overdone and told Mrs Page that I did not expect the servants to stop whatever they were doing and get out of my way. It took a couple of weeks before they all realised that I really meant what I said. I greeted each of them by their name to which they eventually responded by calling me Mr William but they were still obviously frightened of me. It took months before they knew that I appreciated what they did and was grateful for their competent work.