A house, that of the
clergyman, stands near the church, on the top of the hill. I
opened a gate, and entered a lane which seemed to lead up to the
church.
As I was passing some low buildings, probably offices pertaining to
the house, a head was thrust from a doorway, which stared at me.
It was a strange hirsute head, and probably looked more strange and
hirsute than it naturally was, owing to its having a hairy cap upon
it.
"Good day," said I.
"Good day, sar," said the head, and in a moment more a man of
middle stature, about fifty, in hairy cap, shirt-sleeves, and green
apron round his waist, stood before me. He looked the beau-ideal
of a servant of all work.
"Can I see the church?" said I.
"Ah, you want to see the church," said honest Scrub. "Yes, sar!
you shall see the church. You go up road there past church - come
to house, knock at door - say what you want - and nice little girl
show you church. Ah, you quite right to come and see church - fine
tomb there and clebber man sleeping in it with his wife, clebber
man that - Owen Tiddir; married great queen - dyn clebber iawn."
Following the suggestions of the man of the hairy cap I went round
the church and knocked at the door of the house, a handsome
parsonage. A nice little servant-girl presently made her
appearance at the door, of whom I inquired whether I could see the
church.
"Certainly, sir," said she; "I will go for the key and accompany
you."
She fetched the key and away we went to the church. It is a
venerable chapel-like edifice, with a belfry towards the west; the
roof sinking by two gradations, is lower at the eastern or altar
end, than at the other. The girl, unlocking the door, ushered me
into the interior.
"Which is the tomb of Tudor?" said I to the pretty damsel.
"There it is, sir," said she, pointing to the north side of the
church; "there is the tomb of Owen Tudor."
Beneath a low-roofed arch lay sculptured in stone on an altar tomb,
the figures of a man and woman; that of the man in armour; that of
the woman in graceful drapery. The male figure lay next the wall.
"And you think," said I to the girl; "that yonder figure is that of
Owen Tudor?"
"Yes, sir," said the girl; "yon figure is that of Owen Tudor; the
other is that of his wife, the great queen; both their bodies rest
below."
I forbore to say that the figures were not those of Owen Tudor and
the great queen, his wife; and I forbore to say that their bodies
did not rest in that church, nor anywhere in the neighbourhood, for
I was unwilling to dispel a pleasing delusion.
