Famous Imposters 31

Famous Imposters 31

Whether at the time of the birth of Elizabeth the mansion of Overcourt

was itself in the King’s possession is a little difficult to fathom,

for, in the Confession of Thomas Parry written in 1549 concerning

a period a little earlier, it is said: “And I told her” [Princess

Elizabeth] “further how he” [Lord Admiral Thomas Seymour] “would have

had her to have lands in Gloucestershire called Bisley as in parcel of

exchange, and in Wales.”

 

In addition to its natural desirability in the way of hygiene and

altitude there seems to have been a wish on the part of family advisers

of those having estates in the vicinity of this place, to enlarge

their possessions. This was wise enough, for in the disturbed state of

affairs which ushered in the Tudor Dynasty, and the effects of which

still continued, it was of distinct benefit to have communities here

and there large enough for self protection. This idea held with many

of the families as well as individuals whose names are associated

with Bisley. Henry VIII himself, as over-lord with ownership derived

from the Norman Conquest, had feudal claims on the de Bohuns who

represented all the local possessions of the Dukedom of Gloucester and

the Earldoms of Essex Hereford and Northampton. Also the greedy eyes of

certain strong men and families who had hopes that time and influence

already existing, might later on bring them benefit, were fixed on this

desirable spot. Thomas Seymour, the unscrupulous brother of the future

Lord Protector, was high in influence in the early days of the Princess

Elizabeth, and even then must have had ambitious designs of marrying

her. On the death of Henry VIII he had, when Lord Sudeley, married the

king’s widow within a few months of her widowhood, and received a

grant of the royal possession at Bisley which, on his attainder, passed

on to Sir Anthony Kingston, who doubtless had already marked it down as

an objective of his cupidity.

 

The “Hundred of Bisley” was one of the seven of Cirencester which of

old were farmed by the Abbey of Tewksbury. Its position was so full

of possibilities of future development as to justify the acquisitive

spirit of those who desired it. In its bounds were what is now the

town of Stroud, as well as a whole line of mills which had in early

days great effect as they were workable by both wind and water power,

both of which were to be had in profusion. This little remote hamlet

had a progressive industry of its own in the shape of a manufacture of

woollen cloths. It also represented dyeing in scarlet and was the place

of origin of Giles Gobelin, a famous dyer who gave his name to the

Gobelin tapestry.

 

One other thing must be distinctly borne in mind regarding Bisley in

the first half of the sixteenth century; it was comparatively easy of

access from London for those who wished to go there. A line drawn on

the map will show that on the way as _points d’appui_, were Oxford

and Cirencester, both of which were surrounded with good roads as

became their importance as centres. This line seems very short for its

importance. To-day the journey is that of a morning; and even in the

time of Henry VIII when horse traction was the only kind available,

the points were not very distant as to time of traverse. To Henry, who

commanded everything and had a myriad agents eager to display their

energy in his service, all was simple; and when he went a-hunting

in the forests which made a network far around Berkeley Castle his

objective could be easily won between breakfast and supper. There was

not any difficulty therefore, and not too much personal strain, when he

chose to visit his little daughter even though at the start one should

be at Nether Lypiat and the other at Greenwich or Hatfield or Eltham.

 

 

D. THE TRADITION

 

_The Tradition_ is that the little Princess Elizabeth, during her

childhood, was sent away with her governess for change of air to Bisley

where the strong sweet air of the Cotswold Hills would brace her up.

The healthy qualities of the place were known to her father and many

others of those around her. Whilst she was at Overcourt, word was sent

to her governess that the King was coming to see his little daughter;

but shortly before the time fixed, and whilst his arrival was expected

at any hour, a frightful catastrophe happened. The child, who had been

ailing in a new way, developed acute fever, and before steps could be

taken even to arrange for her proper attendance and nursing, she died.

The governess feared to tell her father--Henry VIII had the sort of

temper which did not make for the happiness of those around him. In her

despair she, having hidden the body, rushed off to the village to try

to find some other child whose body could be substituted for that of

the dead princess so that the evil moment of disclosure of the sad fact

might be delayed till after His Majesty’s departure. But the population

was small and no girl child of any kind was available. The distracted

woman then tried to find a living girl child who could be passed off

for the princess, whose body could be hidden away for the time.

 

Throughout the little village and its surroundings was to be found no

girl child of an age reasonably suitable for the purpose required. More

than ever distracted, for time was flying by, she determined to take

the greater risk of a boy substitute--if a boy could be found. Happily

for the poor woman’s safety, for her very life now hung in the balance,

this venture was easy enough to begin. There _was_ a boy available,

and just such a boy as would suit the special purpose for which he was

required--a boy well known to the governess, for the little Princess

had taken a fancy to him and had lately been accustomed to play with

him. Moreover, he was a pretty boy as might have been expected from

the circumstance of the little Lady Elizabeth having chosen him as her

playmate. He was close at hand and available. So he was clothed in the

dress of the dead child, they being of about equal stature; and when

the King’s fore-rider appeared the poor overwrought governess was able

to breathe freely.

 

The visit passed off successfully. Henry suspected nothing; as the

whole thing had happened so swiftly, there had been no antecedent

anxiety. Elizabeth had been brought up in such dread of her father that

he had not, at the rare intervals of his seeing her, been accustomed to

any affectionate effusiveness on her part; and in his hurried visit he

had no time for baseless conjecture.

 

Then came the natural nemesis of such a deception. As the dead could

not be brought back to life, and as the imperious monarch, who bore

no thwarting of his wishes, was under the impression that he could

count on his younger daughter as a pawn in the great game of political

chess which he had entered on so deeply, those who by now must have

been in the secret did not and could not dare to make disclosure.

Moreover the difficulties and dangers to one and all involved would

of necessity grow with each day that passed. Willy nilly they must go

on. Fortunately for the safety of their heads circumstances favoured

them. The secret was, up to now, hidden in a remote village high up

on the side of the Cotswold hills. Steep declivities guarded it from

casual intrusion, and there was no trade beyond that occasional traffic

necessary for a small agricultural community. The whole country as far

as the eye could see was either royal domain or individual property

owned or held by persons attached to the dynasty by blood or interest.

 

Facilities of intercommunication were few and slow; and above all

uncertain and therefore not to be relied on.

 

This then was the beginning of the tradition which has existed locally

ever since. In such districts change is slow, and what has been may

well be taken, unless there be something to the contrary, for what

is. The isolation of the hamlet in the Cotswolds where the little

princess lived for a time--and is supposed to have died--is almost best

exemplified by the fact that though the momentous secret has existed

for between three and four centuries, no whisper of it has reached the

great world without its confines. Not though the original subject of it

was the very centre of the wildest and longest battle which has ever

taken place since the world began--polemical, dynastic, educational,

international, commercial. Anyone living in any town in our own age,

where advance and expansiveness are matters of degree, not of fact, may

find it hard to believe that any such story, nebulous though it may be,

could exist unknown and unrecorded outside a place so tiny that its

most important details will not be found even on the ordnance map of an

inch to the mile. But a visit to Bisley will set aside any such doubts.

The place itself has hardly changed, in any measure to be apparent as

a change, in the three centuries and more. The same buildings stand as

of yore; the same estate wall, though more picturesque with lichen, and

with individual stones corrugated by weather and dislocated by arboreal

growths, speak of an epoch ending with the Tudor age. The doors of

the great tithe-barns which remain as souvenirs of extinct feudalism,

still yawn wide on their festered hinges. Nay, even the very trees show

amongst their ranks an extraordinary percentage of giants which have

withstood unimpaired all the changes that have been.

 

Leaving busy and thriving Stroud, one climbs the long hill past Lipiat

and emerges in the village, where time has suddenly ceased, and we

find ourselves in the age and the surroundings which saw the House of

York fade into the Tudor dynasty. Such a journey is almost a necessity

for a proper understanding of the story of the Bisley Boy, which has

by the effluxion of time attained to almost the grace and strength

of a legend. It is quite possible that though the place has stood

still, the tradition has not, for it is in the nature of intellectual

growth to advance. One must not look on the Gloucestershire people

as sleepy--sleepiness is no characteristic of that breezy upland;

but dreaming, whether its results be true or false, does not depend

on sleep. In cases like the present, sleep is not to be looked on as

a blood relation of death but rather as a preservative against the

ravages of time--like the mysterious slumber of King Arthur and others

who are destined for renewal.

 

It may be taken for granted that in course of time and under the

process of purely oral communication, the story told in whispers lost

nothing in the way of romance or credibility; that flaws or lacunæ

were made good by inquiry; and that recollections of overlooked or

forgotten facts were recalled or even supplemented by facile invention.

But it may also be taken for granted that no statement devoid of a

solid foundation could become permanently accepted. There were too

many critics around, with memories unimpaired by overwork, to allow

incorrect statements to pass unchallenged. There is always this in

tradition, that the collective mind which rules in small communities is

a child’s mind, which must ever hold grimly on to fact. And that behind

the child’s mind is the child’s nature which most delights in the

recountal of what it knows, and is jealous of any addition to the story

which is a part of its being.

 

Major Martin Hume writes in his _Courtships of Queen Elizabeth_:

 

“Elizabeth was only three when her mother’s fall removed her from