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Woburn is the Duke’s Village, set on the edge of the park it one of the loveliest corners of Bedfordshire; but it must be said that it is the village (actually the market town) of the duke and of his wife the duchess.
It was on a summer’s day that we came here, and we found the Duchess of Bedford in the uniform of a nursing sister at the hospital. Every week she kept two days for this, and on these days a specialist came from London for hospital operations, all at the duchess’s expense. Then she would change her sister’s uniform for her flying kit, for she was one of the best women pilots in the world, with her own aerodrome in Woburn Park. She made two record flights in two years (1929 and 1930), taking an active part in the piloting and working of the machine. One flight was to India and back, the other to the Cape and back. She also flew to Timbuctoo, and from the banks of the Niger across the Sahara to the banks of the Nile at Fashoda and home by Cairo. Yet all these interests were not enough to absorb the mental eagerness of this great lady, and she was an eager naturalist, a skilful angler, a good shot, and an expert radiographer, with much knowledge of surgical work. There was no more crowded life than hers, no more faithful servant of her country, no more devoted lover of mankind.
One March afternoon in 1937 she left Woburn Park for a short flight in her place, and never came back. It was fine when she started, with no signs of the snowstorm which came on while she was out. She was never seen again, and nothing was heard of her plane until part of it was washed ashore at Yarmouth. It is the saddest story Woburn knows.
Almost destroyed by fire in the 18th century, Woburn was reconstructed with much charm and dignity. The grand old Georgian inn hangs out a gay sign of the Bedford Arms, and it is one of the oldest places here. The old church was found too small for its congregation and was pulled down, but some of its stones were used last century for the mortuary chapel, which is reserved today for funerals. It has a tower rising 80 feet high on a 15th century base, and inside the chapel is an alabaster monument of Sir Francis Staunton with his wife and their ten children; he was Sheriff of Bedfordshire in Charles Stuart’s day, and founded 20 almshouses which still carry on their work, though they have been refashioned.
The church Woburn uses now was built by the eighth Duke of Bedford. It rises nobly behind a green moat on the edge of the park, with a weeping willow on either side. Standing with their feet on the parapet of the tower, 110 feet high, are four stone creatures as curious as any carved medieval sculptors.
A striking church in 13th century style, it has a chancel floor mounting in tiers above the nave, arcades of great height, choir stalls of carved oak, a rich reredos of red and gold, and an oak tablet with the names of wounded soldiers who died in the Woburn Abbey hospital in the dark days of the Great War.
Except on rare days we cannot visit Woburn Abbey, but we can always see and walk among the beauty round it. The park of 2000 acres is 15 miles round. There is a motor road through it, and here we can motor between herds of deer of all kinds; never have we seen so many or such a varied collection. Strange birds like rheas, the South American ostriches, walk by the car; the brilliant feathered Amherst pheasant from Chins runs across the road; and down by the lake waterfowl of strange and gorgeous colouring collect in hundreds. Kipling wrote a story of two men who took this road home after having dined and wined too well, and neither dared to give himself away by confessing to the other that he had seen a kangaroo! They would see no kangaroo today, but ten miles off are many to be seen at Whipsnade.
Here there are trees from all parts of the world; giant cedars of Lebanon; green avenues of rhododendrons among the finest in England; an avenue of silver-leafed pines like Christmas trees touched with snow. What is known as Abbot’s Oak is a pathetic link with the old days, the last Abbot of Woburn being hanged from its branches. He was tried for high treason and found guilty by a jury at Woburn, for having spoken in public against the marriage of Henry the Eighth to Anne Boleyn.
After this (in 1538) the abbey became attainted property and passed to the Crown. Nine years afterwards, when Henry lay dying, he asked that each of his 16 executioners should receive a grant of land, and one of these, John, Lord Russell, accordingly received from Edward the Sixth the abbey and manor of Woburn. Two years later he was made Earl of Bedford. The house was entirely rebuilt by the 4th earl about 1630 and again by the 4th duke in the middle of the 18th century. It has a west front 230 feet long, a portico on the east front, a handsome cupola above the clock, stables where a curious 19th century coach is kept, a Chinese dairy with a collection of pottery, and a grotto with stalactites, fossils, shells, and minerals.
Crowded with wonder are some of the rooms of this great house. There are nine Van Dykes, a Rembrandt, and a Velasquez, portraits by Reynolds and Holbein, a portrait of the fourth duke by Gainsborough, a group of portraits of world-famous artists painted by themselves, and one of Sir Philip Sidney. An ebony walking-stick is said to have belonged to Charles the First. There are Mortlake tapestries still beautiful after 200 years.
The sculpture gallery, built soon after Waterloo, is 140 feet long and has little temples with busts and carvings, one by Chantrey of a girl caressing a dove. Among other works by Chantrey is one showing Penelope gazing at the bow of Ulysses. One of the treasures is among the oldest possessions of the county, a mosaic with a tiger chasing a bull, a wonderful piece of work by Roman craftsmen. Close by is the famous Lanti Vase as high as a man; it was found in Rome, where it had stood in front of the Temple of Bacchus. There are Greek panels on a sarcophagus from Ephesus with scenes from the story of the Trojan War, and to this famous treasure-house has come a bronze faun long buried under the dust and ashes of Pompeii.
It is 650 years since a grief-stricken king this way in funeral procession with the body of his queen, and a cross was raised at Woburn where they rested the night. The cross has gone, as have most of the chain of crosses marking Queen Eleanor’s last journey from Nottinghamshire to London; but three still stand at Geddington, Northampton, and Waltham, and all London knows the copy at Charing Cross.
At Woburn Abbey, where he stayed three times, Charles Stuart made one of the fatal blunders which led him to the scaffold. He had been sold to Parliament by the Scots for £200,000 and had been taken to Holmby House, where he awaited the impending quarrel between the Independents and the Presbyterians. Fearing the claim of the military for liberty of opinions, the Presbyterian majority in Parliament now proposed to disband the Army, and Charles reluctantly agreed to rule for three years as a Presbyterian king. Thereupon the Army, wishing to have a hand in the final peace, acted with swiftness and vigour, and Cornet Joyce took the king prisoner, lodging him at Woburn Abbey.
Queen Henrietta Maris then sent over from France Sir John Berkeley and John Ashburnham, urging the king to come to terms with one party or the other. Berkeley secured from Ireton the Heads of Proposals, as the Army’s conditions were called, and showed them to Charles, who was confident he could get better terms by holding out. At last he met the Army leaders here at Woburn. The king’s advisers urged him to sign, but to the astonishment of all the king entertained them with bitter words, saying that he regretted nothing so much as the Bill against Strafford, and that he would have the church established according to law. “You cannot do without me,” he said; “you will fall into ruin if I do not sustain you.”
The king’s well-wishers in the Army looked with wonder at the two advisers of the king, and at last Berkeley whispered in the king’s ear: “Sir, your majesty speaks as if you had some secret strength and power that I do not know of, and since you have concealed it from me I wish you had concealed it from these men too.” The king then sweetened his discourse, but it was too late. Colonel Rainsborough had left the room to inflame the Army. Berkeley went with the Army leaders to Bedford to allay their anger, but with little effect, and at the end of the week the Army left Bedford and marched through Woburn to Westminster. The crisis came next day, when news arrived that Parliament was arming London against the Army. Fairfax seized the City and drove the Presbyterians out of Parliament. Charles was removed to Hampton Court, where he continued to refuse to agree to the religious liberty so dear to the Cromwellians; and then he fled to Carisbrooke to try the Scots once more. It was his last blunder, the beginning of the end.
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