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THE SOUL OF SUSAN YELLAM
THE SOUL OF SUSAN YELLAM
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• Table of contents with working links to chapters is included
• The book has been corrected for spelling and grammatical errors
• New and improved version
The village church at Nether-Applewhite has been described as an interesting chapter in ecclesiastical architecture. It stands a little apart from the cottages upon a hill which presents something of the appearance of a tumulus. Part of the church is Norman, but to the uninstructed the outside has been mellowed by time and weather into a charming homogeneity. It was embellished early in the eighteenth century by the addition of a brick tower. The inside is likely to challenge even the uncritical eye. The transept is as long as the nave, and two large galleries arrest attention in the west end. Overlooking the chancel is the Squire's pew, a sort of royal opera-box, provided with chairs, a table, and a fireplace, not to mention a private entrance. Opposite to this, across the chancel, stands a three-decker pulpit of seventeenth-century woodwork, with a fine hexagonal canopy. On the north side of the steps to the chancel is a mutilated fifteenth-century screen.
Squire and parson can see every member of the congregation.
There are large pews in nave and transept occupied by the gentry and farmers, and many small pews which—although the seats in the church are spoken of as "free"—have been used habitually by certain cottagers. One of these pews in the nave was known as the Yellam pew. Sunday after Sunday, rain or shine, Susan Yellam sat bolt upright in her pew. Her son, Alfred, sat beside her. Mother and son were never guilty of missing a response, or of looking behind them, or of failing to contribute something in copper to the offertory plate. If a stranger happened to be conducting the service, and if he was so lost to a sense of duty as to display unseemly haste, Mrs. Yellam's voice might be heard, loud and clear, setting the proper pace. At the end of every prayer, her "Amen" came to be accepted, even by the young and thoughtless, as a grace and benediction. Always she wore decent black, as became a woman who had buried—in the churchyard outside—a husband and three children. But her Easter bonnet had a touch of mauve in it.
Her clothes were not the least part of a tremendous personality. Children believed that she went to bed in her black gown. Authority exuded from every pore of her skin. Probably Boadicea was cast in just such a generous mould. She possessed, as will be seen presently, that British cocksureness which so endears us to foreigners. Her particular views upon religion, politics, ethics and agriculture (she tended her own garden admirably)—views constantly aired for the benefit of her neighbours—had become indurated by use. They had stood, as she informed all and sundry, the test of time and experience. The Parson, Mr. Hamlin, observed of her that she was temperamentally incapable of detecting the defects of her great qualities. She supported Squire and Parson in all that they said or did, and after the gracious lady of the manor was the most respected woman in Nether-Applewhite.
Upon a certain Sunday in June, 1914, Susan Yellam sat as usual in her pew. Across the aisle, higher up, sat the Squire's servants, and behind them the Parson's three maids. Before the service began, Mrs. Yellam noticed that one of the maids was a stranger and not country-bred. The girl flaunted no finery, but the cut of her modest skirt and jacket proclaimed her urban. Mrs. Yellam guessed that this was Mr. Hamlin's new parlourmaid from Old Sarum. She might be described as pretty, but "peaky" and "spindling." The Squire preached eugenics, in and out of season, and upon the subject of young females as potential mothers Mrs. Yellam saw eye to eye with that genial autocrat. However, she consoled herself with the reflection that Nether-Applewhite air and good plain food would accomplish a much needed change. She hoped that the girl would not smirk or giggle if old Captain Davenant read the lessons, an infallible test in propriety for strangers. And she wondered vaguely what Alfred would think of her. For a season, Alfred had "walked out" with this young woman's predecessor, a bouncing, red-cheeked lass of the village. Nothing had come of such perambulations. Alfred was what the French term "un célebataire endurci." And he was made extremely comfortable at home. But he had passed his thirtieth year, and of late his mother had hinted discreetly ...
• The book has been corrected for spelling and grammatical errors
• New and improved version
The village church at Nether-Applewhite has been described as an interesting chapter in ecclesiastical architecture. It stands a little apart from the cottages upon a hill which presents something of the appearance of a tumulus. Part of the church is Norman, but to the uninstructed the outside has been mellowed by time and weather into a charming homogeneity. It was embellished early in the eighteenth century by the addition of a brick tower. The inside is likely to challenge even the uncritical eye. The transept is as long as the nave, and two large galleries arrest attention in the west end. Overlooking the chancel is the Squire's pew, a sort of royal opera-box, provided with chairs, a table, and a fireplace, not to mention a private entrance. Opposite to this, across the chancel, stands a three-decker pulpit of seventeenth-century woodwork, with a fine hexagonal canopy. On the north side of the steps to the chancel is a mutilated fifteenth-century screen.
Squire and parson can see every member of the congregation.
There are large pews in nave and transept occupied by the gentry and farmers, and many small pews which—although the seats in the church are spoken of as "free"—have been used habitually by certain cottagers. One of these pews in the nave was known as the Yellam pew. Sunday after Sunday, rain or shine, Susan Yellam sat bolt upright in her pew. Her son, Alfred, sat beside her. Mother and son were never guilty of missing a response, or of looking behind them, or of failing to contribute something in copper to the offertory plate. If a stranger happened to be conducting the service, and if he was so lost to a sense of duty as to display unseemly haste, Mrs. Yellam's voice might be heard, loud and clear, setting the proper pace. At the end of every prayer, her "Amen" came to be accepted, even by the young and thoughtless, as a grace and benediction. Always she wore decent black, as became a woman who had buried—in the churchyard outside—a husband and three children. But her Easter bonnet had a touch of mauve in it.
Her clothes were not the least part of a tremendous personality. Children believed that she went to bed in her black gown. Authority exuded from every pore of her skin. Probably Boadicea was cast in just such a generous mould. She possessed, as will be seen presently, that British cocksureness which so endears us to foreigners. Her particular views upon religion, politics, ethics and agriculture (she tended her own garden admirably)—views constantly aired for the benefit of her neighbours—had become indurated by use. They had stood, as she informed all and sundry, the test of time and experience. The Parson, Mr. Hamlin, observed of her that she was temperamentally incapable of detecting the defects of her great qualities. She supported Squire and Parson in all that they said or did, and after the gracious lady of the manor was the most respected woman in Nether-Applewhite.
Upon a certain Sunday in June, 1914, Susan Yellam sat as usual in her pew. Across the aisle, higher up, sat the Squire's servants, and behind them the Parson's three maids. Before the service began, Mrs. Yellam noticed that one of the maids was a stranger and not country-bred. The girl flaunted no finery, but the cut of her modest skirt and jacket proclaimed her urban. Mrs. Yellam guessed that this was Mr. Hamlin's new parlourmaid from Old Sarum. She might be described as pretty, but "peaky" and "spindling." The Squire preached eugenics, in and out of season, and upon the subject of young females as potential mothers Mrs. Yellam saw eye to eye with that genial autocrat. However, she consoled herself with the reflection that Nether-Applewhite air and good plain food would accomplish a much needed change. She hoped that the girl would not smirk or giggle if old Captain Davenant read the lessons, an infallible test in propriety for strangers. And she wondered vaguely what Alfred would think of her. For a season, Alfred had "walked out" with this young woman's predecessor, a bouncing, red-cheeked lass of the village. Nothing had come of such perambulations. Alfred was what the French term "un célebataire endurci." And he was made extremely comfortable at home. But he had passed his thirtieth year, and of late his mother had hinted discreetly ...
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