BEN CLOSE, OF BAGGENHAM, THE MODEL LABOURER.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 721, 14 September 1870, Page 4

BEN CLOSE, OF BAGGENHAM, THE MODEL LABOURER.

•» (From Household Words.) There was a model man who lived in a village not far from the country town in which I have spent the chief part of my own life. Although true stories are commonly dry stories, I shall endeavour to amuse all who listen, by telling, without any deviation from the bare and simple -fact, the story of that model man. I knew him well. He was a hedger and ditcher ; named, if you please, Benjamin Close — Benjamin Close, of Baggenham. His character was so good that he was spoken of habitually in Baggenham society — and even known among many of my neighbours, townspeople of Beechester— as Honest Ben. He was a hedger and ditcher ; but could turn his hand to any kind of labour, and was never out of work. Whatever he undertook to do he did ; came always with strict punctuality to any duty for which he had been engaged ; and whatever he did was done always heartily and well. All the farmers looked upon him as the model labourer of Baggenham. Ben's father had been a noted poacher ; bnt the disgrace of the father was not allowed to descend upon the son, who lived in the enjoyment of a brilliant reputation that waß never sullied for a day. He was never to be seen on the week days at a beerBhop, or to be missed on Sunday from the parish church. The minister rejoiced over him, and more than once alluded to him from the pulpit as a pattern, not only to working men, but to thousands who moved in the upper circles of society. Ben had a wife, but no children. His wife was a miracle of tidiness and good behaviour. The cottage, occupied by this goad couple on the outskirts of the village, was intensely clean, and pleasantly surrounded by a model garden. Baggenham is a village situated in a richly- ; wooded district, and stands on the boundary line between the grounds of two of our great county landowners, a noble baronet and a respected squire. The baronet and squire, nobility and gentry, shared the opinion of the public in general concerning Honest Ben ; spoke to him affably whenever he crossed their path, and even went so far as to Shake hands with him on several occasions. Ben was a man who, for a purpose of his own, took care to keep the outside of his platter clean. I do not say — I am not sure whether I think— that there was any special badness in him. The vicar was right, probably, when he said that there was in Ben " a dash of the poetical." He built up, with the skill of a rough genius, an impregnable enclosure of Conventional goodness. The vicar thought there was a poet's stuff in Ben, because he had a taste for antiquities. He was a collector of old battleaxes, swords, daggers, spears, pikes, curious reaping-hooks, ancient locks, wonderful keys, and ornamented door-hinges, torn out of old castle walls. His cottage walls were adorned with such relics. He also collected antlered heads of deer, brushes of foxes, pads and ears, hares' feet, the claws of hawks, wings of the jay, peacocks' feathers, herons' legs, the skins of snakes. He stuffed birds cleverly, and many rare birds given to him by tbe neighbouring keepers, or by gentlemen, were stuffed and added to his treasures. Ben's cottage was regarded in the parish as " quite a museum," and was visited on that account by many of the curious. This pat tern man showed a great love also for ancient woods and rural scenery. He spent most of bis leisure by the river bed, or about old pools, mill-dams, and water-courses ; on open moors falsely called barren, in obscure lanes choked with thorns and briars, by cliffs and forest paths and by-paths. He was to be Been enjoying nature in the neighbourhood of ancient orchards, of old garths and Btone quarries, and he was a tremendous man for noticing all that he saw. He was an oracle on many subjects, and especially upon the whereabouts of game. There wsjs not a , brood of partridges or pheasants within two ! or three mileß of Baggenham with which he j was not acquainted. He observed the runs of the hares, their forms and feeding grounds. He listened to what others said on such points, bnt took care not to tempt with dangerous knowledge any of the villagers. With the keepers he was on good termß ; for be gave them a great deal of useful knowledge. They especially considered him a pattern villager, whom they were as little likely ever to see •with poachers on the Baggenham preserves as they were likely to catch there the Bishop of Beechester himself, with his lawn sleeves tucked np to bis shoulders, hooking down the pheasants with his crozier. The two events were in fact equally unlikely. Ben never did go out with poachers ; yet none knew so well as he how the trees rustled in Baggenham woods at midnight. For it is to be understood that Ben, when he came home from work during the shooting season, found his wife prepared to make him wonderfully comfortable, and to see him off to bed soon after six in the evening. At about eleven o'clock or earlier, she roused her husband, and let out of the cellar a lurcher of a famous breed named Snap, who lived in the cellar quiet as a mouse all day, and whose existence was only known to his master and mistress. Snap only and Mrs Close knew Ben's secret; for Snap was the only creature whose eyeß ever saw honest Ben's misdeeds. No light was kindled in Ben's cottage when he rose upon the verge of midnight. Secretly and quietly be dressed himself in a strong fustian round jacket with an immense pocket occupying the whole skirt, took with him his collection of well-tempered snares, gate nets, purse-nets, and other instruments ; handled a stout stick, and started out with his eager companion Snap, never by the front door, but over the fence at the bottom of his

; garden, which adjoined the open fields. Once out, it was a rule with him that his feet never should touch a public road, except in crossing it from hedge to hedge. He knew every old footway, by-path, temporary bridge, drain, watercourse, copse, osier-bed, and cover in the district ; so he chose his path with skill and caution, set only a few snares as he went along in well-known runs, and paused to listen at the feeblest unaccustomed noise. Ben was, in truth, a solitary poacher. He believed that it was no sin to catch what he called wild animals ; but as the law laid traps for poachers, he determined not himself to be caught in them. He was a brawny fellow ; but he thought discretion the better part of valour ; and, to avoid all scrapes, avoided all encounters with the hostile power, or all chance of danger from the follies of illiterate accomplices. He studiously kept out of the public house, because he did not wish to be tempted into any interchange of confidence ; he worked well every day, partly, I think, because he had in 'him the mind of a good workman, partly because he knew that a steady and hard-working day-labourer was not likely to be suspected of committing misdemeanours when he ought to be in bed. He cultivated character most carefully ; reverenced the vicar, was respectful and, so far as he thought prudent, confidential in his friendship with the gamekeepers. Ben would have been a great diplomatist had he been a noble lord. His great care when out at night was to avoid contact with a gang of poachers furnished by his village. When they were to be heard among the woods, Ben always made a prompt retreat. When all was silent, however, as the march of the night-clouds — when the very woodpigeons were too far gone in sleep to furnish a single coo — Ben would open quietly the gate that led into a close preserve, and spread his net from post to post. At a. wave of his hand the quiet lurcher — to bis suite ts a characteristic of the breed— -set out oa an ' expedition over the adjoining field in whjeh the hares were feeding. The hares, alarmed, scampered back to the cover by their old path through the gate ; there the net was spread to stop them, and Ben with his stick ready to slay them as they came. When the model villager had caught as many hares as were required, he rolled his net up, closed the gate, and pocketed the spoil. He never used or possessed a gun. He had a net of silk and hair some forty yards long, which he pegged down in a circle, and with which he secured partridges by the covey at a time ; as to pheasants, it was afterwards the legend that he caused them to drop from their roost, by holding under them a bunch of lighted brimstone matches at the end of a long pole. In one way or another, it i 3 certain that as fast as they were wanted they were caught. On his way home Ben took up all the snares that he had laid in going out, Snap calling his attention to them. Arrived at his own cottage he found always his wife in waiting to receive him. They carried the game down into a little pantry partly sunk into the ground, so that the eaves of the roof that covered it outside were touched by the wall-flowers in the garden. In this pantry a secret recess had been made, like the hatch of deer-stealer* in olden time, a hidingplace not easily to be discovered. Into that the game was put. Honest Ben went to bed, and was ready next morning for punctual attendance on his labour. The sale of the game was managed easily. Ben and his wife kept a cow, and had the right of stray upon the parish common. They kept also a great deal of poultry, and were noted for a superior breed of fowls of the pheasant sort. These were under the care of Mrs Close, and gave her occasion to come into Beechester every Saturday with butter, eggs, and poultry. Her square butter-basket, with a white cloth drawn over the top, often had quite a wrong sort of poultry at the bottom. She had regular customerg for game at private houses, and especially at inns and hotels ; and, because buyers of poached game were liable to penalty as well as sellers, nobody who got a profit out of it betrayed her secret. The wants of his wife's customers, weather, movements of gamekeepers, and other considerations, influenced Ben's visits to the preserves of the baronet and squire. Ho did not, therefore, poach upon them nightly. Sometimes the gentry held a battue, at a time when thoce vile slaughter- , ings came into fashion. Ben always visited the scene of murder with his lurcher on the following night, when keepers, beaters, and watchers were all making merry in the hall ; and, by the help of Snap's nose, which neglected nothing, carried off all the wounded pheasants or bares that had been left to languish. It was also the oustom of Mrs Close, in a most innocent way, to borrow the local newspaper of a neighbouring farmer. Her object was to hunt it through for notices of the next meetings of turnpike trusts, the assemblage of drainage commissioners, anniversaries of clubs, and all occasions that give rise to an extensive dinner. There was always a demand on such occasions for cheap game. One night as Honest Ben was on his way home with a heavy pocket, he was seen. A new tenant who had taken possession of a certain homestead, brought some of his old labourers with him — rough fellows, who had a perverted taste for game watching. Ben suddenly crossed their path in the dim light ; and tbey, suspecting something wrong, followed to ask him who he was, and what he had with him. Ben's character was at stake. The model villager must not be recognised. He made off, therefore, closely followed, doubling and twisting vainly to elude pursuit. At last there was no chance of escape left except to cross " the sleepy pool above the dam," the upper mill stream. He attempted instantly to wade across, followed by faithful Snap ; but, before reaching the opposite bank, he sank into a deep hole under some willows. He fank up to his neck ; but by grasping at the ATillow branches, kept his head out of water. The pursuers crossed , the stream higher up by some stepping -stones,

j and came round. They passed close by the b spot where Ben was hanging in the water t but the honest roan kept quiet, and was * nowhere to be heard or seen. After some time, when the coast was clear, Mr Close , crawled out of the mill-pool and went home ; i but, as he had been dripping with heat when he ran into the pool, and was dripping with , cold when he crawled out of it, he went home ill, suffered severely in the chest, gave up work, was worn down to a skeleton, and died i before the game season was over. But his secret was kept. He was buried at his own ! wish under the shade of an old yew in the churchyard, and the squire blew his nose at ; church over the vicar's funeral sermon on the pattern labourer. His industry had received its worldly reward ; for Ben, it was found, had saved three hundred pounds, which were invested in a distant water company. His widow received the dividends, and continued in occupation of the cottage and museum. It was only at her death that the facts above narrated became known in Baggenham.