An Autobiography of an Ancient Athlete & Antiquarian

AUTOBIOGRAPHY 121 Later on my daughters and I cycled into the worst thunderstorm I was e:ver out in, and they thought me hard– hearted not to let them shelter under oak trees by the· Westwick Woods. Being drenched to the skin we escaped injury from the lightning, but it struck far too near to us to be pleasant. This month, too, was the last time I seriously attempted to row, when I rather astonished my girls by turning the boat in two strokes after the most orthodox London fashion. Seaming Parish Hall, promoted by Dr. J essopp, was opened on the 18th. I thought that the then Bishop of Norwich a very uncouth and rude man, but perhaps he suffered by comparison with the suffragans of Thetford and Ipswich, who were also present, and his absolute anti– theses. The room, though well meant, was misconceived, and has been a white elephant, as will all other similar rooms which are run on rigid temperance principles. On the 20th we cycled over to Happisburgh and. Witton when I saw. for I think the last time, the excellent old antiquary, the Rev. F. Procter, of Witton, who was 90 the next day, and still taking the Church services. The Coronation (or Peace [?] ) Celebration behind Lammas Hall on the 27th was amusing, the appetites of some of the villagers being abnormal. We tried to get up a tug-of.war across the river, but it failed, for the brawny smith Buckenham, Houghton (the tenant of Lammas Hall), Harbord (the ex-tenant), his brother-in-law Musgrave (of Edenhall) and myself, and other big men, frightened the Buxton team away. The early part of July was noticeable for the visit to Norwich of the '' Quatuor Coronati" Club of Freemasons from London and elsewhere. It was a "Lodge of Enquiry,'' and they did themselves and the local antiquaries extremely well, :finishing up with a water trip from Wroxham (ex– cellent lunch at Crowe's, Horning Ferry) to Yarmouth and back by the other river. This was noticeable for the drastic treatment served out to an unauthorized band which bad hidden itself as stowaways on our private steamboat, and on which the alternative of keeping silence or being marooned in a wet marsh were offered. A few of them came up to say good-bye to me at St. Leonard's on Sunday, and the "prosits" out of celery glasses which one German Gruner took filled us with regretful admiration.