"SQUIRE LUCAS, THE BEGGARS’ FRIEND.”

Golden Bay Argus, Volume VI, Issue 60, 22 July 1897, Page 2

"SQUIRE LUCAS, THE BEGGARS’ FRIEND.”

The inhabitants of Hitchin and Stevenage, with the villages "in the vicinity, will scarcely have forgotten the eccentric hermit known as “ Squire Lucas,” and though twenty-one years have elapsed since he died, there are doubtless many old tramps still “ on the road,” who remember him. And so long as the works of Dickens have a place in our literature, the hermit of Redcross Green will live in “ Tom Tiddler’s Ground,” under which title Dickens described his interview with the recluse. Yet there are doubtless many thousands of your renders who have never heard of the man who for literally lived in sackcloth and ashes, fed on the plainest food aud drink, although he was rich, and might have revelled in the life of a country gentleman.

A few days ago, in a shady country lane, I came across a unique specimen of the genus tramp. A wreath of blue smoke curling up above a high edge on my left suggested a gipsy encampment, but on peering through the hedge I perceived that my visions of a gipsy camp had dwindled to the prosaic reality of a tramp’s midday meal. A little further on in the lane I found a gate, and curiosity prompted me to have an interview with thestrange-looking bein who, squatted on the ground, was lazily stirring the contents of an old meat-tin, slung gipsy fashion over a small fire of sticks, gathered from a neighbouring wood. “ If 1 only had a kodak with me !” I thought as I drew near enough to the man, who started to bis feet the moment he saw me. Evidently the opinion he had formed was favourable, for he sat down again almost immediately. “You seem to be living in clover, to judge by Ihe aroma that comes from your cookingpot,” I remarked, banteringly. “ I’ve nothin’ to grumble at, sir,” replied tho old mini. _“„.Thp cook at that big houses over yonder is a good-natured soul, and as 1 was first on band this morning I got a whole newspaper full of scraps. Most of the meat is in the pot ; there’s nothin’ like a drop o’ soup for old bones.”

“ Been long on tramp ?” I ventured to ask. “ All my life ; father and mother were both travellers.”

“ Have you never longed for a settled abode, and a less precarious mode of existence. ?” “ Not me. Why should I ? I’m 73, and don’t kuow what illness is. I’m my own master ; go where I like, rest when I'm tired, live better than most folk who earn their bread by hard work, and, as 1 once said to good old Squire Lucas, am contented.”

“Ah ! You knew Squire Lucas ? Did you see him often p” “ ’Scuse me, guv’nor, but what’s it worth ? I’ve trot my doss money to raise somehow, and though I can make sure of plenty of broken vittles round here, browns are scarce.” “ Here is a shilling ; if your story is worth more, you will get it ’’ *' That’s the ticket, sir. If you’ll only wait till I've had a drop o’ soup, seem’ as bow I’m awful peckish, 1 11 spin you a yaru about the old

squire.” I assented, and while he was drinking the soup, ladled from the meat-tin by means of a smaller tin, of which the cover, still attached, formed the handle, I took a mental portrait of the man

Notwithstanding the hardships he must have endured during his long life “ on the road,” he did not look more than 60 years old. His once jet black hair was only thinly streaked with grey. It was likewise thick aud long, hanging below his collar, aud seemed to be well combed and greased. His attire proved that he cared more for comfort than appearance. An old-fashioned swallow-tail coat, with the tails cut off just below the waist ; an old plush vest, so long that it reached to his hips ; a pair of corduroy breeches and moleskin leggings ; blucher boots plentifully protected from wear by huge hobnails, aud a Scotch bonnet for headgear—such was the old tramp’s rig-out. * A few minutes sufficed to satisfy his hunger ; then, with a sigh of satisfaction, he lit an old black pipe and commenced his story. “ 1 called a good few times on Squire Lucas, but I fancy you’ll be best pleased if I tell you about a visit 1 paid him in company with a newspaper chap from London. He had rigged himself out in some old clothes, and was going to write about the squire, if he could get the chance to see him. I was going into Hitcliin when he asked me to recommend him to a tidy lodging-house, aud I took him along with me. The house was soon chock-full of travellers, everyone of ’em either having seen Squire Lucas that day, or were going to see him in the morning. My new chum let me share his tea, and then 1 put him up to the dodge, how to manage with (he squire. He was a Catholic, you understand, and everyone as could say the Ave Maria got threepence ; there was only a penny for Protestants. Oh, yes, he knew well enough that more ’n half o’ the folk imposed on him, but it didn’t make any difference ; he always gave threepence to them as could say the prayer. And till bedtime in the lodging-house them as know’d the Ave Maria were busy teaching the others for pipefuls of bacca, or even a cup o’ tea.

“Next morning we started early for Redcoats Green, the newspaper chap wanting to be there before the crowd. It was only a little more ’n year before the old chap died, aud the house, opce a squire’s mansion, was tumbling to pieces. It was like a barricaded ruin,every window boarded up, the haystacks in the yard falling to bits the garden a mass of weeds. When close by the house, the squire’s watchman stopped us ; he had been hired because burglars had tried to break in and rob the squire. But I knew my way about, and satisfied the watchman we were only travellers. When we got near the only

window the squire opened to talk to his visitors, he was already looking out. A fine, well-built, good-featured man, with a skin like a Hindoo s, neither soap nor water having been used by him for 25 years—there he stood, with an old wollen rug round his shoulders. After a look at me, he threw down a penny, sayiug that I had been there before. I knew it was no use arguing with him, so I picked up the penny, said “ Thank yon, sir,” and was walking away < Stop,” says the squire. “ Tm glad you didn’t contradict me, as many people do. Didn’t you' tell me last time you were here that the scar over your eye was caused by a blow with a whip-handle ? Ah ! I thought so 1 I knew you again, you see. And what has brought you here ? ” he says to the newpaper chap. “ Surely uot poverty ? If it is only idle curiosity, I have no sympathy with such feelings. ’ “ My mate spun the squire a coffer about haviug lost his situation because of weak eyes.

“ ‘Poor fellow ! It is a thousand times harder for one like you to ask charity than for such as come here every day,’ says the squire, and telling him to hold out his hat, he dropped into it a good handful of coppers. “ My mate had sense enough to see that he wouldn't do any good by stopping there, aud so said good-bye to the squire. But he wouldn’t let him go without a glass of gin. The squire lived on bread and milk, with a drop of gin in cold weather. All the year round he slept in the ashes, in front of the tire, when the cold made him havo one. A farmer not far from the house supplied the bread and milk fresh every day, and the gin as it was wanted.” “ Did you ever hear any explanations of the squire’s reasons for adopting such a life ?” I asked. “ Yes, but nobody knew for certain. Most folk said he broke his mother’s heart by disobedience and undutifulness, and regarded his hermit’s life as a penance.” “ And his death—do you know aught of

that ?” I do. I happened to be stopping in Hitchin at the time, and went out to Redcoats Green the very rooming he died. His keeper couldn’t make him hear that morning to takein his milk, and going to the side door the keeper heard groans. He sent for the police, and the door was burst open. On the ground floor, lying on a Heap of ashes on the floor, the squire was found insensible. Two doctors were fetched, and he was moved to the farmer’s, close by. But he never come to himself, and died soon afterwards. He was dead when I got there, and I was disappointed But I managed to squeeze my way into the house, among a lot of the neighbours, and had a look round before a slop spotted me and turned me out. The inside of the house was in an awful condition ; the pictures had dropped from the walls,and the chairs and tallies bad fallen to pieces, the roof having big holes in it. Nothing in tse house had been touched since the death ot tne squire’s mother, twenty-six years before. And surely, if he could stand such a life for that length of time, it doesn’t surprise me, as Mrs, Maybrick is still living,in spite of the croakers who declared that she would uot live three months after she was sent to a convict prison.”

Before the old tramp had got to the end of his tale, a strong suspicion had entered my mind that he had not told ine the truth when he said he had been on the tramp all his life. He had unconsciously used some expressions which seemed to show that his education had been far better than could have been obtained ou tramp, and this I ventured to hint. “ No use, guv’uor, you’re on the wrong tack. Good day, and thank you for the shilling. ’