Several years ago, I purchased the above book. I was drawn to it for two reasons: firstly, I realised I knew nothing about the author, apart from the fact that he had written Lorna Doone (1869); secondly, this copy had 'Withdrawn from Reserve Stock' and 'Last Copy'. I had to have it! Kenneth Budd wrote, in his Foreword, It is the purpose of the present study to combine an outline biography with some comments on the novels, in the hope that modern [he was writing this in 1960] readers may be led to discover and appreciate the several excellent books that have languished for too long in the shade of 'Lorna Doone'.Well, I still haven't read the latter, or any other of Blackmore's novels, but I was drawn to Cripps the Carrier because of its subtitle - a woodland tale. I couldn't track down the three-volume first edition - and still can't - but I managed to purchase the first one-volume, third, edition of the following year. I recalled how much I had enjoyed Thomas Hardy's The Woodlanders and hoped for a likewise treat.
If you like slow, almost claustrophobic, tales set in the 19th century, then you will enjoy Cripps. Kenneth Budd comments: it is a good example of the field in which Blackmore's best work was done - the small, self-contained community of the English village in the 18th or early 19th century, with a number of outstanding "characters", living their tranquil lives against the background of Nature lovely in herself and magnificent in her constant witness to God-given laws".
Sampson Low etc. third edition - 1877
The period in question is 1837-8, and the novel is set in the village of Beckley, a few miles north-east of Oxford. Beckley lies, or rather lay many years ago, in the quiet of old Stow Wood, well known to every Oxford man who loves the horn or fusil. In 1931, the parish of Beckley had a population of just 288; and, in the Census Return of 2011, it was not much bigger. However in the 1830s, it was nearer to 800. The course of the Roman road that linked Dorchester on Thames with Alcester passes through the village. Having often travelled through Islip to Elsfield, both not far from Beckley, I know the area quite well.
The plot hinges on the disappearance - and presumed death - of Squire Worth Oglander's daughter, Grace. In fact, Grace is borne off from her aunt's home by the machinations of a villainous attorney, Luke Sharp, who - knowing she is the heiress of a considerable fortune - wishes to marry her to his son Kit. Grace is ensconced in the depths of the forest (but just seven miles from her father's house), under the care of a religious firebrand, Miss Patch. Amongst other characters, all well-drawn, are Russel Overshute, the heir of the Overshutes of Shotover, who wishes to marry Grace and whose love is returned; Mirander Sharp, Luke's greedy wife; Hardenow, tutor at Brasenose College and good friend of Russel; and, above all, the numerous Cripps family.
One great tradition had confirmed the dynasty of the Crippses. This was that the eldest son should take the carrying business; the second son should have the baker's shop in Oxford over against old Balliol College; the third should have the queer old swine-farm in the heart of Stow Forest; the fourth should be the butcher of Beckley; the fifth its shoemaker... as for the maids, the Carrier, being the head of the family, and holding the house and the stable and cart, was bound to take the maids, one by one, to and fro under his tilt twice a week, till the public fell in love with them...Leviticus Cripps was lord of the swine, and Numbers bore the cleaver, while Deuteronomy stuck to his last, when the public-house could spare him.
Zacchary Cripps had a bright open face, with a short nose of brave and comely cock, a mouth large, pleasant, and mild as a cow's, a strong, square forehead, and blue eyese of great vivacity, and some humour. He had true Cripps' hair, like a horn-beam hedhe in the month of January; and a thick curly beard of good hay colour, shaven into three scollops like a clover leaf. Of equal importance is Cripps' beloved horse, Dobbin, who is lovingly drawn by the author. Zachary's younger sister, Esther, plays a vital role in proceedings, as does Mary Hookham, the squire's best maid, who looks longingly at Zachary .
Miss Patch, was determined to save Grace, who was a great heiress, and a silly girl, [and who] was at the point of being snapped up by the papists, and made one of them; whereupon an immortal soul and £150,000 would be devoted to perdition....it was well known that Russel Overshute loved and would win Grace Oglander, and that Russel's dearest friend was Hardenow of Brasenose, and that Hardenow was the deepest Jesuit ever admitted to holy orders in the Church of England; therefore, at heart, Russel Overshute must be a papist of the deepest dye...
What makes the novel such a satisfying read, is not only these lifelike and varied characters, but the author's obvious love of Nature:
The flowers themselves, and their open eyes, and the sparkling smile of the grass, and the untold commerce of the freighted bees, and rich voluntaries of thrush and blackbird (ruffled to the throat with song)... and again: The white windflower with its drooping bells, and the bluebell, and the pasque-flower - softest of all soft tints - likewise the delicate stitchwort, and the breath of the lingering primrose, and the white violet that outvies its sister in fragrance and in purity; and hiding for its life, without any one to seek, the sensitive wood-sorrel; and, in and out, and behind them all, the cups, and the sceptres, and the balls of moss, and the shells and the combs of lichen... In fact, a whole Chapter is simply entitled Ruts. It starts: There are few things more interesting than ruts; regarded at the proper time and in the proper manner...each rut moreover has a voice of its own...there always is a bit of something hard and something soft in it; jags that contradict all things with a jerk; and deep subsidence, soft as flattery.
Icing on the cake was the regular injection of gentle humour, which made me smile and even chuckle! "Miranda, my dear, you are talking loosely. You forget the great gift that you possess - the noblest endowment of the nobler sex. You can sleep whenever you like, and do it without even a suspicion of a snore. It is the very finest form of listening...Mr Sharp rode back to the cottage. Right well he knew what a time ladies take to put their clothes upon them; and the more grow the years of their practice in the art, the longer grow the hours needed.
Kit recovered health quite rapidly, by writing his own dirge in many admirable metres, till, being at length made laureate of a strictly local paper - at a salary of nil per annum, and some quarts of ale to stand - he swung his cloak and lit his pipe in the style of better days...[composing] fugitive pieces, sonnets, stanzas to a left-hand glove, and epitaphs on a cenotaph.
The pigs of Leviticus were divided among all the nephews and nieces, and cousins (ere ever a creditor got a hock-rope or a flick-whip ready), and Tickuss [Leviticus Cripps] himself, unhoused, unstyed, unlarded, and unsmocked, wandered forth with his business gone, like a Gadarene swine-herd void of swine.
In the fire of young days, when herself quite raw, this admirable cook had been "done brown" by a handsome young Methodist preacher. Before she understood what a basting-ladle is, her head was set spinning by his tongue and eyes; he had three wives already, but he put her on the list, took all her money out of her, and went another circuit. The poor girl spent about a year in crying, and then she returned to the Church of England, buried her baby, and became a cook... N.B. Blackmore, a died-in-the-wool conservative, was no fan of non-conformist.
Miss Patch found out, before it was quite too late, that the mission of the "Brotherly-love-abounders", upon the west coast of Africa, had had all their missionaries eaten up, and required a round sum to replace them.
I am now going to look out for other Blackmore tales - Clara Vaughan, Mary Anerley, Christowell, Springhaven and Perlycross - first editions, if possible (not Lorna Doone as that is prohibitively expensive). Thank you, Richard Doddridge Blackmore for entertaining me over several evenings.
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