What does the future hold for the English country squire? Adrian Leak finds out and gets to know some of history and literature’s most affable examples.
SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY, a genial Worcestershire squire at large during the reign of Queen Anne, is one of the great creations of English literature. His story first appeared in 1711, scattered across the pages of 30 issues of the Spectator, so we have only glimpses of the man, but the picture we have, to borrow Horace Walpole’s phrase, excels in ‘truthfulness and finish’.
At our first introduction, we see Sir Roger calling on a neighbour in the country. ‘When he comes into a house,’ we are told, ‘he calls the servants by their names, and talks all the way up the stairs to a visit.’ We can see him, chatting to the footman at the door, calling out a greeting to a servant girl he passes in the hall and then stopping on the stairs to ask after her ailing mother. We know the detail. It’s all there, unwritten, but implicit in Joseph Addison’s brief sentence.
This familiarity between master and servant, landlord and tenant, gives his conduct as chairman of the quarter sessions a particular flavour. It is generally agreed that Sir Roger is a fair and wise magistrate. On his bench, common sense sits side by side with legal precedent. He is, however, more knowledgeable about the minutiae of the law than he pretends. His elucidation of a particularly obscure passage in the Game Act gained him universal applause in the county and the widespread respect of his fellow justices.
Sir Roger is, of course, a work of fiction, but what is a fact is the prominent role played by the squire in rural society. William Cobbett, famous for his Rural Rides (1822–30), looked back with nostalgia to ‘the resident gentry, attached to the soil, known to every farmer and labourer from their childhood, frequently mixing with them in those pursuits where all artificial distinctions are lost’.
This story is from the {{IssueName}} edition of {{MagazineName}}.
Start your 7-day Magzter GOLD free trial to access thousands of curated premium stories, and 9,000+ magazines and newspapers.
Already a subscriber ? Sign In
This story is from the {{IssueName}} edition of {{MagazineName}}.
Start your 7-day Magzter GOLD free trial to access thousands of curated premium stories, and 9,000+ magazines and newspapers.
Already a subscriber? Sign In
Tales as old as time
By appointing writers-in-residence to landscape locations, the National Trust is hoping to spark in us a new engagement with our ancient surroundings, finds Richard Smyth
Do the active farmer test
Farming is a profession, not a lifestyle choice’ and, therefore, the Budget is unfair
Night Thoughts by Howard Hodgkin
Charlotte Mullins comments on Moght Thoughts
SOS: save our wild salmon
Jane Wheatley examines the dire situation facing the king of fish
Into the deep
Beneath the crystal-clear, alien world of water lie the great piscean survivors of the Ice Age. The Lake District is a fish-spotter's paradise, reports John Lewis-Stempel
It's alive!
Living, burping and bubbling fermented masses of flour, yeast and water that spawn countless loaves—Emma Hughes charts the rise and rise) of sourdough starters
There's orange gold in them thar fields
A kitchen staple that is easily taken for granted, the carrot is actually an incredibly tricky customer to cultivate that could reduce a grown man to tears, says Sarah Todd
True blues
I HAVE been planting English bluebells. They grow in their millions in the beechwoods that surround us—but not in our own garden. They are, however, a protected species. The law is clear and uncompromising: ‘It is illegal to dig up bluebells or their bulbs from the wild, or to trade or sell wild bluebell bulbs and seeds.’ I have, therefore, had to buy them from a respectable bulb-merchant.
Oh so hip
Stay the hand that itches to deadhead spent roses and you can enjoy their glittering fruits instead, writes John Hoyland
A best kept secret
Oft-forgotten Rutland, England's smallest county, is a 'Notswold' haven deserving of more attention, finds Nicola Venning