Chapter IX: , on this side the churchyard yew is most generally found

The Southern doorway is somewhat more common than the Northern; where both exist, the Southern is more in favour with the worshippers. On a balance of observations, I find that the Southern side of a church is more

FIG. 62. Churchyard cross, on the South side of Bakewell church,
Derbyshire. The cross, which belongs to the latter half of the
eighth century, is complete, except the top arm. It exhibits
foliage and fine interlaced work, with sculptured figures
illustrating the Life and Death of Christ. (See _Vict. Hist. of
Derby_, I. pp. 280, 287.) The cross is supposed to indicate a
pre-Conquest burial ground.
]

elaborately decorated than the Northern (cf. p. 239, _supra_, and the reservation there made), a fact illustrated in the mouldings and capitals (Fig. 63), the window tracery and the painted glass. The bishop’s throne is customarily placed on the South side of the cathedral. The so-called “low side windows” (Fig. 64) occur most frequently in the South walls. Those curious oblique passages, known as squints or hagioscopes, cut through church walls (cf. p. 148, _supra_), are most commonly Southern features, in which case they often point directly to the Southern entrance of the building. In this country, we are accustomed to look for the cloisters of a Benedictine abbey on the South side of the church, but in Italy the covered way usually lies to the North[845]. Here, all symbolism seems to be stripped away, and primal considerations of comfort gain the ascendancy. Our variable climate renders a sunny outlook desirable, and we notice efforts to secure this end in the familiar arrangement of old farmsteads, where the barns and enclosures frequently stand to the South of the dwelling. In a hot country, like Italy, coolness and shade would be sought, hence we find the dissimilar ground plan of the Italian abbeys.

FIG. 63. Capitals, Seaford church, Sussex, (c. A.D. 1190.) A, from
the North arcade, bears the ordinary stiff-leaved foliage of the
period. B, from the South arcade, has elaborate carvings
representing the Crucifixion, the Stoning of Stephen, and the
Baptism of Christ.
]

But if the arrangement of the cloisters be adjudged a mere matter of economy and convenience, there exist well-rooted superstitions which cannot be so explained. “The front of everything to the South,” is an old Irish maxim, and though, as Mr W. G. Wood-Martin suggests, the saying may have reference to the ceremony of making the deiseal, or right-hand circle, yet the words are pregnant of folk-custom. Formerly the Irish ploughman turned the head of his horses towards the South before yoking or unyoking. Taking an English example, we find that in Suffolk, wherever the churches possessed both a

FIG. 64. Quatrefoil low side window, on the South side of the
chancel wall, Tatsfield church, Surrey. c. A.D. 1300. A feature
most frequently found on the South side of churches.
]

North and a South entrance, it was the practice to carry the coffin into the building by the South door, allow it to rest at the West end of the aisle, and then take it out by the North door[846]. In Lincolnshire, the North door was entirely reserved for funerals, the South and West doors being used for weddings and christenings[847]. At baptisms, again, there was a prevalent belief that the Holy Spirit entered the church by the South door, while the devil departed through the opening opposite--the Devil’s Door (Fig. 65). Lastly, to abbreviate our list of superstitions, Pennant may be cited, to the effect that in North Wales the mourners used to bring the corpse into the churchyard by means of the South gate only[848]. With this we may compare the Welsh superstition that a healing spring should have an outlet towards the South, and should be visited at midsummer. Girls who wished to know their lovers’ intentions were accustomed to spread a pocket-handkerchief over the water of the well. If the waters pushed the handkerchief towards the South, so Sir John Rhŷs informs us, the lovers were honest and honourable; if the article shifted Northwards, the omen was bad. These marked preferences for the South prove that the motive involved was sentimental as well as physical.

We have referred to the superstitions connected with the East and the South, and we now follow the sun to the region where he descends into the dark underworld. Professor Tylor neatly expresses the symbolism of these three positions: “Man’s life in dawning beauty, in midday glory, in evening death[849].” The West, then, represents the kingdom of the dead, and, by transfer of ideas, the territory of alien peoples. A natural metaphor makes it the abode of shadow, of sleep, of ignorance of the Divine. In sharp contrast to these ideas is the teaching of certain races that the West is the Garden-land, the Earthly Paradise, “the new heaven and the new earth[850].” Such notions, so directly contradictory to the first-mentioned, seem to indicate worship paid to the setting sun (cf. p. 217, _supra_).

The older advocates of the Asiatic origin of the Aryan peoples were led captive by the proverb, “_Ex oriente lux_.” This phrase doubtless influenced philologists like Pott and Müller, while to Grimm must be credited the complementary epigram, “the irresistible impulse towards the West[851].” Along with the fallacy hidden in these aphorisms there is some amount of truth. Berkeley’s assertion, “Westward the course of Empire takes its way,” is historically justified, and is still apposite to a large degree. The more modern idea, expressed by Kipling, “Oh, East is East, and West is West, and never the twain shall meet[852],” though correct as a key to manners and customs, may be much canvassed if applied to actual migrations of men. To carry our parallels further would lead us to the purely fanciful, and would evoke the derision of the scornful. Yet the mention of one more whimsical belief may be pardoned on the ground of its age. Peter Heylyn gave utterance to the idea two and a half centuries ago, though it is likely that he was a borrower from earlier geographers. He tells us that the poets turn their faces to the West, the Fortunate Islands, “so memorized and chanted by them.” To the poets, then, the North is the right hand, the South is left. But to the “Augures of old, and in our days, to Priests and Men in holy Orders, [who] usually in sacrifice and divine oblations convert themselves unto the East,” the South is the right hand. Astronomers face the South, because in that way the motions of the planets may best be observed. Finally, geographers, who have “so much to do with the Elevations of the Pole,” turn their faces to the North, and, to them, the left hand is West[853].

If the West, according to one superstition, is the realm of death, what shall be said of the North? From that quarter no sunny rays are sent forth. The North blast brings ice and snow. A time-honoured tradition makes all fogs and storms rise from the Northern heavens[854]. Even to-day the Wiltshire peasant avers that thunder always comes from the North, though the sound may reach the ear from another direction[855]. The Northern slopes of an undulating meadow are overrun with moss and tussocks of coarse grass. But lichens, lovers of sunlight, avoid the North side of trees. An East-to-West wall built further North of East than 41° 26´ can, in latitude 51° N., receive no rays of the sun except on the South side. In the same manner a chancel which is deflected very much towards the North gets no sunshine on that side, except in the early morning, and then only in the summer season. Let hardy souls, like Kingsley, extol the North wind, if they desire, but the mass of men will still hold the icy blast in detestation. Hence the superstitions regarding the North are closely knit with physical dislike and discomfort, and rest on a basis of sound reason.

Bearing these facts in mind, we are not astonished to learn that early beliefs allocated the North to the Spirit of Evil. The idea is rife throughout the heathen legends of Northern nations[856]. The underworld, in Teutonic mythology, is placed under the third root of the ash tree, Yggdrasill, “low down toward the North,” where there is cold, eternal night. In this mist-hell, the unhappy sojourner wanders down valleys deep and dark; he enters joyless caverns; oftentimes, too, he hears the roaring of the waterfall which belongs to the demons[857]. Nor are such ideas confined to heathen folk. Again and again, in the Old Testament, especially in Job and Isaiah, “the sides of the North” are represented as the abode of the Prince of Darkness[858]. Even the New Testament has faint allusions to the same belief. Naturally, then, English literature became permeated with this idea. Shakespeare, all-embracing in his references to prevailing superstitions, makes La Pucelle invoke demons--“substitutes under the lordly monarch of the North[859].” In _Paradise Lost_ we are told how the banded powers of Satan appear in “the spacious North,” where the arch-rebel has erected his throne[860]. Milton recurs to the idea several times; thus, in one of the sonnets, we meet with the epithet, “the false North[861].” Later poets, perhaps unconsciously imitating Milton, have expressed the same fancy. Kirke White, in the _Christiad_, the poem on which, as Southey tells us, the hapless young poet bestowed most pains, placed his hosts of demons among the impenetrable fogs and lamenting gales--

“Where the North Pole, in moody solitude,
Spreads her huge tracks and frozen wastes around[862].”

These illustrations show that the Northern quarter of the heavens was the source of much superstition. The simple childish myth was often amplified. Origen taught that the place of everlasting damnation was at the earth’s centre, and that the entrance was situated at the North Pole. Each time the Aurora Borealis flashed, the gates of hell opened anew, and the wicked on earth were warned of their doom[863]. The doctrine of fear of the North creeps in everywhere. The parish church, according to some writers, is most suitably built on the North side of the graveyard, so that it may not cast a shadow on the graves[864]. This “rule” is undoubtedly beset by many transgressions, but it embodies a tendency, and I have noticed some remarkable confirmations. Many churchyards have but a very narrow strip of ground lying to the North of the edifice. In spite of these instances, I consider that the generalization is too definite, and that the alleged reason lacks adequate support. The superstition concerning the Northern, or Devil’s door, on the contrary, is general and well-authenticated.

FIG. 66. Gateway, at Eastern entrance to St Stephen’s church,
Coleman Street, London. The carving (5 feet × 2½ feet) on the upper
portion was originally over the North gateway. The subject is the
Day of Judgement, and the figures are in high relief. The Judge is
seen enthroned above, Satan is falling from heaven, and the dead
are rising from their coffins. Representations of this kind are
often called “Dooms.”
]

The building itself affords evidence of the current superstition. Part of this testimony was put forward, inferentially, when the South was being considered; one or two additional facts may now be noticed. On the Northern gate of the church, there were sometimes represented the terrible scenes connected with the Last Judgement. An elaborate example of this treatment formerly existed over the Northern gateway of St Giles-in-the-Fields, London, and another at St Stephen’s, Coleman Street (Fig. 66), though in each case the craftsman’s work now occupies a different position[865]. Gloomy subjects, like the one mentioned, were also reserved for the North face of the church by those Mediaeval sculptors whose sermons in stone warned many long-past generations. Rheims Cathedral has the terrors of the Last Day thus depicted on its North side. The arrangements of the church services also show traces of the influence now under discussion. In the North of Europe, where the usual rule for orienting churches is observed, the Gospel is read from the North side of the altar, so that, according to Mediaeval symbolism, light may be given “to them that sit in darkness, and in the shadow of death[866].” Or, as Durandus has it, the North side is allotted to sinners, and the Gospel calls sinners to repentance[867]. Conversely, the Epistle is read from the South side, the abode of the faithful and the converted. If one person has to read both the Epistle and the Gospel, he crosses from the South to the North before reading the latter service. To account for this change of position, other reasons have been advanced. Some writers think that the spread of the Word from the South to the North is intended; others declare that the crossing over was a matter of mere convenience. Moreover, while a similar custom prevailed in the early churches of Rome, the position of the reader in those days was to the right or left of the celebrant; consequently, where the building was not alined East and West, the mystical interpretation could not apply. Whatever be the origin or the date of the introduction of the custom, it seems fairly conclusive that some such symbolical meaning was understood during the Mediaeval period[868]. Nevertheless, we should be on our guard against the meticulous and over-strained interpretations which the symbolists are wont to produce for the most trivial ceremonies and occurrences. Most readers will recall the passage in Ecclesiastes concerning the fall of the tree to the South, or to the North. On these expressions, Coverdale, in his treatise entitled “Praying for the Dead,” bases a far-fetched fragment of symbolism. It runs as follows: “As men die, so shall they arise; if in faith in the Lord, towards the South, they need no prayers; they are happy, and shall arise in glory presently; if in unbelief, without the Lord, towards the North then are they past all help, in the damned state presently, and shall rise in eternal shame[869].”

To descend to the prosaic affairs of life, we notice some curious facts which seem to confirm the evil reputation of the North. It may be deemed a trifle, but why did our ancestors, under the old open-field system of cultivation, divide their territories into East, West, and South Fields[870], not North? To reply that, since the land was cultivated chiefly under a three-field system, with its three-course rotation of crops, one quarter of the compass must necessarily be omitted, is scarcely satisfactory. Why should it be the North particularly which is avoided in the allotment of areas and in the nomenclature? Besides, where the two-field system was in vogue, we commonly find East and West, rather than North and South. One does not wish to press such nice points, but was it by chance that in the old Lombardic boundary treaties the Northern tract was styled “_nulla ora_[871]”? Undoubtedly, it is a fair response to say that these matters were instinctively settled on principles of convenience and physical comfort. The motive for the choice was at first probably thus simple, but supplementary ideas sprang up, and tended to harden the preference into a rule. One or two further illustrations will now be given.

A study of the ancient Pilgrims’ Way of the South of England shows that the Mediaeval wayfarers, and, doubtless, the far earlier prehistoric folk, preferred to travel along the Southern slope of the hills, and consistently avoided the Northern. The Southern, or drier, side of a stream was also selected, wherever the pathway chanced to follow a watercourse for a short distance. Mr Hilaire Belloc states that he has counted but four exceptions to this rule in the whole course of the Mediaeval Pilgrims’ Way. And, again, where the Mediaeval track leads to a church, Mr Belloc asserts that it passes on the South side, leaving the building on the North[872]. One exception seems to have been overlooked by Mr Belloc--the church of Paddlesworth, near Snodland, in Kent, which has the Pilgrims’ Way passing by its North door. Another apparent exception, at Puttenham, Surrey, is accounted for by a modern diversion of the old road.

Isaac Taylor, writing to prove the predilection of our forefathers for the South, once asserted that there are more villages named Sutton than Norton, Weston, or Aston[873]. He gave no statistics in support of his contention, but the clue seemed worth following. I have therefore examined the place-names contained in the most recent Post Office Guide, and have supplemented these from other lists. All village-names consisting of a single compounded word, one member of which is clearly derived from the Cardinal Points, were counted and classified. Doubtful examples were set aside; many others, though disguised under curious orthographies, were properly included. The result showed

32 Nortons, + 58 other place-names obviously
traceable to “North” 90

52 Suttons, + 49 other place-names obviously
traceable to “South” 101

35 Astons and Eastons, + 38 other place-names
obviously traceable to “East” 73

41 Westons, + 63 other place-names obviously
traceable to “West” 104

As might have been anticipated, the disparities are not so great as Taylor’s statement implied, because, on the whole, the village-names run in pairs; a North keeps company with a South. With respect to North and South, there is indeed a slight preponderance in favour of the sunny quarter. The Wests, likewise, outnumber the Easts, from which we may infer that a sheltered situation was operative in determining the choice of a site. The coombe which opened towards the West or South, and the hill-slope similarly situated, would attract the first settlers.

The place-names which consist of two separate words, one of which was a prefix indicating position, revealed somewhat similar preferences. Of this class, comprising such names as North Cheam and West Ham, there were 241 Wests to 181 Easts, thus confirming the first list. Then came a surprise; 164 Norths against 133 Souths. There are, it is true, names like North Cotes, with no corresponding South Cotes[874], but this also holds good conversely. On the other hand, it is probable, either that these double names which have not coalesced represent comparatively recent parochial divisions (e.g. East and West Horsley, Surrey), or that one name is a modern imitation or duplicate of the other (e.g. East and West Wickham, Kent, several miles apart, the first being a later geographical distinction). If any support is lent to Taylor’s dictum therefore, it could only come from a consideration of names originally given to genuinely ancient settlements, and to obtain these names a very accurate and intimate study of thousands of local documents would be necessary.

Though not strictly concerned with the Cardinal Points, an old custom which bears on the question of sites may be noticed here. This is the pastoral habit, adopted by primitive shepherd folk, of living, during summer, in booths or tents set up on elevated pastures, and of descending, in winter, from these grazing grounds to the plains, where there were substantial houses, each having its ox-stalls and other outbuildings. The “summer-houses” may be preserved for us in many place-names, as in Somerscales and Summer Lodge, Yorkshire; Somersby, North and South Somercoates, Lincolnshire; besides Somergranges, Somersall, Summerley, and many others in other counties. With these places, one may compare the Norwegian settlements, known as _saeters_, which exist to-day. There are also, in England, _sets_ or _seats_ (= summer abodes), such as Moorseats, Outseats, Runsett, and Thornsett[875]. The names indicative of winter sites are not so common, perhaps because, representing permanent settlements, they required no distinctive term; that is to say, it was the temporary hut which called forth the need of a separate name. Against twenty “Summers” there are opposed only nine “Winters,” reckoning the seventeen Winterbournes once only: it is questionable whether this last name is an instance in point, since it probably denotes a site where an intermittent stream was wont to appear after rainy seasons. From the nature of the case, we should expect no “Summerbournes.” Of the other Winters, one or two, like Winteringham, may be reminiscent of a Saxon family name. The late Mr T. W. Shore considered that not only the various Winterbournes, but also Winterton and Winteringham, signify “Wendish” settlements, _Windr_ being an old name applied to Northern nations[876]. This idea seems too fanciful and strained, the more so, because, in the case of Winterbourne, a simple explanation based on familiar physical phenomena is at hand.

Returning to our proper subject, we find a curious superstition which merits detailed examination, namely the general antipathy of country folk to burial on the North side of the churchyard. This strange aversion must have come within the experience of most antiquaries and folk-lorists. During the peregrinations of many years, the writer has collected a large number of instances illustrative of the belief, and a few of these will be submitted.

So recently as the year 1904 there was buried, in a quiet Surrey churchyard, the body of a well-known public man who had poisoned himself shortly after receiving a sentence of penal servitude. The newspapers duly recorded that the interment took place on the North side of the churchyard, and that a specially adapted service was read, but no one seemed to notice the significance of these details. An explanation, as we shall see, is nevertheless discoverable. A few years earlier, in 1899, during the discussion of a Burials Bill, then before the House of Commons, it was alleged that in most village churchyards there remained burial accommodation sufficient for some time to come. Against this plea, it was urged that the space still available was usually situated on the North side of the graveyard, and that there was a rooted objection among villagers to burial in that quarter. The Home Secretary replied that he had never heard of the prejudice, and a somewhat general incredulity as to its existence was revealed among the Commoners. Thereupon a correspondent, writing to _Notes and Queries_, clinched the argument based on superstition by quoting the inscription on a tombstone in the graveyard of Epworth, the village of the Wesleys. The epitaph ran thus:

“That I might longer undisturb’d abide,
I choos’d to be laid on this Northern side[877].”

Such a wish was no new, crazy fancy, for earlier instances are on record. From an account published in 1657, we learn that Benjamin Rhodes, steward to Thomas, Earl of Elgin, requested to be buried on the North side of Malden churchyard (Bedford), “to crosse the received superstition[878].” Combining the last two incidents, we may infer that the Northern portion of the churchyard was little used, and that neglect was due to its ill-repute. So, then, in the remark made by Edmund Burke, “I would rather sleep in the Southern corner of a country churchyard than in the tomb of the Capulets[879],” the indication of the Southern position is not mere rhetoric. Let us proceed to examine some further instances, in order to show that our generalization is sound.

At Winterton, a village not far from Epworth, at the time of the controversy of which mention has been made, the burials on the North side had all taken place within living memory. It was a matter of doubt whether “a dozen gravestones, over fifty years old, could be found in as many parishes in [that] deanery on the North sides of churchyards[880].” Another Lincolnshire village, Springthorpe, had no Northern graves; while, at Saltfleetby All Saints, so recently as 1880, as the present writer can avouch, not a single stone or grave existed on the North side, though monuments were closely crowded on the South side. Dr Alfred Gatty, who was vicar of Ecclesfield, Yorkshire, for more than fifty years, once stated that, in the early nineteenth century, there were practically no interments in the North yard of his church. In the year 1823 a clergyman was buried in that portion, and the evil reputation was banished[881]. Morwenstow, Cornwall, Hawker’s beloved “Daughter of the Rock,” formerly exemplified the same superstition[882]. The prejudice was especially strong in Norfolk[883]. It was also very prevalent in the neighbouring county of Suffolk[884]. At Newbourne, in that county, while the graveyard was filled on the South, East, and West, the turf had long appeared unbroken on the North. “The bishop had never walked on it,” so ran the story, and all endeavours to break down the superstition proved fruitless for many years[885]. In churchyards situated in the Border Counties, on both banks of the Tweed, the prejudice is barely removed even at the time of writing. John Brand (A.D. 1744-1806) discovered that, in his day, the belief still pervaded many “inland and Northern parts,” but had been “eradicated from the vicinity of the metropolis.” He quotes numerous authorities to prove that the prejudice was also rampant in Ireland, Scotland, and Wales[886]. Another eighteenth century writer, none other than Gilbert White, recorded that the Southern side of the churchyard of Selborne had “become such a mass of mortality that no person [could] be there interred without disturbing or displacing the bones of his ancestors.” However, “two or three families of the best repute” had begun to bury on the North side, and White had hoped that, by degrees, the prejudice might wear out[887].

Frequently we encounter evidence which, without directly alluding to the superstition, implies its existence. A curious bequest made at the close of the seventeenth century will serve as an illustration. Archbishop Tenison having presented a burial ground to the parish of Lambeth, it was deemed necessary, in order to lessen the number of Southern interments, to charge double fees for that portion of the yard[888].

Additional testimony, though inconclusive, is gleaned from an examination of the position of the fabric with respect to the churchyard. As already stated, in many instances the North yard is all but non-existent. This is the case at Burnham-on-Crouch, Essex; Caterham and Weybridge, Surrey; Littleton, Middlesex; Barnet, Hertfordshire; North Cockerington, Lincolnshire; Upper Beeding, Falmer, Street, Bishopstone, and West Dean, in Sussex; Manningford Bruce, Bradford-on-Avon, and Amesbury, in Wiltshire. The list could be greatly extended. At the last-named village there were no gravestones in the North yard at the time of my visit in 1901. Mr J. T. Micklethwaite has pointed out that, when an aisle was added to Wakefield parish church during the twelfth century, it was built on the North side, because at that period all the burials were on the South side[889]. One is compelled to regard this line of evidence as only partially satisfactory, not because the instances are insufficiently numerous, but because cases can be cited where the South yard, not the North, is very narrow and insignificant. At Whitchurch, Oxfordshire; Alciston, Sussex; Hatfield Peverel, Essex; and Chertsey, Surrey, the burial ground is cut off almost sheer with the South side of the church. Nevertheless these instances are much fewer than those in which the North yard is so treated, and to this extent the theory stands good.

More satisfactory confirmation of the belief is afforded by the actual disuse of the North graveyard in many parishes. A reference to Fig. 21 (p. 77 _supra_) will show that, a century back, scarcely a headstone was to be seen on the North side of Chislehurst churchyard, yet we know that numerous examples existed on the South side. One may visit village after village and find that the tombstones on the North side are all erections belonging to the last half-century. The writer’s notebook abounds with instances of this kind, but it would serve no purpose to give the catalogue here. Two or three striking examples may, however, be quoted. At Faringdon, or Farington, Hampshire, where Gilbert White was once curate, there is a large strip of graveyard towards the North, yet, on visiting the place in 1899, I found not a single tombstone in that quarter. At Yateley, in the same

county, the Southern area has been enlarged, though the Northern portion was still partly available. Strangest of all was the case of Eversley, which is not far distant from the last-named parish, and which is always associated with the name of Charles Kingsley. Here, at the date just mentioned, an additional plot of burial-ground on the opposite side of the road had been consecrated, yet the Northern part of the old yard remained unfilled. Whatley, in Somerset, had only four graves on the North side in 1910, and all of these were recent. The North yard was, indeed, small, yet it still had accommodation, in spite of which fact the churchyard had evidently been enlarged on the South. Widdicombe, Devonshire, had no Northern tombstones in 1906, and Denton, in Sussex, but one stone on the North side in 1910. In the same year, I found no stones on the North yard proper at Norham, Northumberland; a group of elms occupied the space enclosed by the Northern boundary and an imaginary line continued from the East wall of the church (Fig. 67). In 1911, no North stones existed at Ford, Sussex, and Abbotsham and Countisbury, Devon.

A note of warning must now be uttered. The antiquary who is bent on examining this question will doubtless be guided, in the absence of documentary proof and of modern excavations, by two kinds of visible evidence: the level, unbroken condition of the turf, and the age of the tombstones, if these be present. A perfectly even area of turf is, as we shall see, not distinctly conclusive against the existence of former interments, since it may only imply carelessness in the raising, or in the preserving, of any possible grave-mounds. The evidence deduced from tombstones, too, must always be judiciously weighed. The absence, or the modernity, of the monuments is a fair test, if applied only to the period during which such memorials are known to have been erected. But the investigator will be on his guard against giving what Bishop Butler, in fine phrase, termed “an otiose assent.” If the level state of the sward agrees with absence of gravestones, we may infer, either that no burials have taken place, or that they have been of a peculiar and exceptional nature. The wearing down of undisturbed mounds by atmospheric denudation may be left out of consideration, as being an unlikely occurrence.

Speaking generally, the upright headstone and the outdoor altar-tomb go back no farther than the middle of the seventeenth century[890]. It has been surmised that existing churchyard monuments which exhibit an earlier date may have been, in some cases, originally set up inside the building[891]. But genuine outdoor stones are found which belong to the late sixteenth century at least. There are two dwarf headstones on the South side of Branscombe churchyard, Devon, dated 1570 (? 1579) and 1580 respectively[892]. Headstones belonging to the fifteenth century have been recorded from Thrapstone, Northampton; Lavenham, Suffolk; Blyborough and Kirton-in-Lindsey, Lincolnshire; and Loversall, Yorkshire[893]. An allusion to the upright stone occurs in _Hamlet_:

“He is dead and gone, lady,
He is dead and gone;
At his head a grass-green turf,
At his heels a stone[894].”

Where flat slabs occur in the churchyard, they are frequently a century earlier than the upright stones. Specimens of these early “ledger stones” may be seen in the church porches at High Halden, Kent (1583), and Wellington, Somerset (1589). There seems to be little doubt that this form of monument is much older as a class than the vertical, lettered stone. The ledger stone is a familiar object on the floors of churches, as a Mediaeval relic, and it is, no doubt, this kind of monument which is referred to as having been sometimes ejected from the sacred building[895]. There is strong reason for believing that rude, uninscribed wooden crosses preceded the upright headstones.

Working by the light of these facts, the searcher will discover that there is ample proof of the unpopularity of the North graveyard for three centuries past. And it would appear that there is good ground for the supposition that the unpopularity was as great, or even greater, during the long period which elapsed before stone monuments came into general use. These conclusions are based on the cumulative evidence of individual instances, but some remarkable exceptions to the rule demand due consideration.

Frequently, where one finds the oldest headstones on the North side, a probable reason can be advanced. Thus, in Norfolk, a county where the superstition is common, the three contiguous parishes of Garvestone, Reymerstone, and Thuxton, have the majority of burials on the North side. The explanation may be that the main entrance to the church, in each case, is by the North porch. Expressed otherwise, the North yard is the portion most traversed by the villagers on their way to the services[896]. Burlingham St Andrew has the North side of the yard well filled, while, so late as 1899, there were no burials on the South side. This is the more extraordinary, since the parishioners used the Southern porch as an entrance, and the local territorial family, the Northern[897]. We might conjecture, though there are no data at hand, that this was a case like that of Selborne, described by White, in which some highly-placed person or persons set a bold example, and helped to destroy the tradition. At Martin Hussingtree, near Worcester, all the burials, down to the year 1853, were on the North side, but it is noteworthy that the only entrance to the church was from that quarter[898]. Similarly, at Oystermouth, Glamorganshire, the graves were thickly clustered to the North of the church. A few only lay at the East and West; and not one on the South, but here, again, the sole access to the building was from the North[899]. Numerous other instances have come under the writer’s own notice, tending to show that the objection to Northern burial is partly neutralized by the position of the church door, especially in those cases where only one door exists. Should there be two or three entrances to the church, the one most employed seems to be connected with the burial customs--the Western entrance to a smaller degree than the other. Needless to say, it is not the position of the doorway which primarily provoked the belief, though it may have modified the practice. As a matter of actual statistics, it will be found that, where there are two or three ways of approach, the South door is the one most used.

Is it a coincidence that the South is the prevailing quarter for the churchyard yew and the ancient cross, and that this sunny side has other superstitions attached to it? Mr Harry Hems asserts, with truth, that churches and churchyards generally lie to the North of the roads which give access to them (cf. p. 335 _supra_), and he seems to imply that some cases of preference may be explained by the position of the roads which lead to the fabric[900]. But surely, this is mistaking the effect for the cause. The problem is: why should the churches have been built on the North side of the road? Had they been erected on the opposite (South) side, worshippers would have been admitted from the reverse point of the compass (the North). Some early pagan belief influenced the choice of position; casual or arbitrary circumstances, including, occasionally, the disposition of roads and pathways, may have held the belief in check. The road, assuming that it existed before the church, could scarcely have influenced the position of the latter, in the absence of superstition. While we admit that Mr Hems’s rule is fairly safe, it must not be forgotten that, where churches are built to the South of the road, the pathway often winds round the Western tower to give admission by a South door--an important aim with the builder.

Candour now compels us to notice a few records, which, in view of the particulars already given, seem inexplicable. The church of Ashby-de-la-Zouch is said to be built so near the South wall, as to indicate that the North side was clearly intended for burial[901]. Streatley, in Berkshire, is one example out of a fair-sized list, exhibiting a large North yard with very old stones. The ancient church of Swanscombe, Kent, had, on the whole, its oldest monuments towards the North, but the South doorway had been blocked by masonry. In most instances of this kind there is doubtless some circumstance, or series of circumstances, which would explain the departure from custom. Let us pause a moment to consider the exact importance of these exceptions.

The headstones, it will be remembered, carry us back only a few centuries. But, so far as these memorials reach, they tell overwhelmingly in favour of the superstition. Twenty years ago, this evidence was much more patent to the eye. A very general exception, however, must be made of the town churchyards, in which the old tombstones are often found evenly distributed over the available space. Several reasons may be adduced for this non-observance of the usual practice. The town church, as a rule, stands centrally in its graveyard; it is commonly approached by several alleys and paths, leading from a thoroughfare or market-place; it is frequently cruciform in plan, with North and South doors, and this design, wherever met with, seems to have had some effect in counteracting the fears of the ignorant. Above all these reasons, must be set the fact that populous districts would soonest lose touch with the superstition, so that, even before the era of headstones, the belief retained but a comparatively feeble foothold among the inhabitants of towns. The argument from monuments fails in cases such as these. We must seek the tradition in the rural districts, and turn back to a time when it was more firmly held. We shall then see that the present exceptions, numerous as they are, cannot invalidate the general practice. They represent what Professor L. C. Miall, writing on a vexed question in botany, calls “negative exceptions.” I venture to repeat his witty illustration: “A wooden leg is used to enable a man to walk when he has lost his natural leg. If you saw a one-legged man walking with a pair of crutches, and no wooden leg at all, would that shake your belief in the motive for using wooden legs[902]?” The “negative exceptions” which we have been studying may, indeed, testify to a weakening of tradition, or occasionally, to its apparent local non-existence, but they do not abolish it, or change its purport one whit. How it chances that, of two adjacent parishes, the present-day evidence shows the belief at work in the first, but seemingly unknown, or in abeyance, in the second, is a matter upon which we can only speculate. The puzzle reminds one of the difficulty which meets the palaeontologist when he strives to explain why one line of animal descent stops, and remains fixed, while another continues to develop; why creatures which seem to be completely adapted to their surroundings become extinct; why one species or genus is taken, and another left.

We now go behind the testimony of the tombstones, and meet some apparent contradictions. When the turf on the Northern side of a churchyard is broken up, for the first time, as the sexton thinks--since there are neither mounds nor tombstones to serve as “frail memorials,” bones are sometimes discovered. At Bottesford, Lincolnshire, though the North yard had been wholly unused until our day, yet when graves were actually dug, traces of former burials were revealed[903]. The churchyard of Swinhope, in the same county, yielded stronger proofs. Seven or eight very old interments, closely grouped, were found; in one case there was a coffin formed of loose slabs of chalk[904]. The late Canon A. R. Pennington, of Utterby, again in the same county, told the writer of his surprise when bones were thrown out of the first grave made towards the North of his church. It is a fair inference that no mounds had been raised over the earlier interments. Further instances could be added, but these will suffice. The details concerning the Swinhope interments are peculiar, especially the finding of the chalk coffin. These particular burials may point to the building of the church on a pre-Christian site. The other examples, however, have a different interpretation; namely, that the Northern portion of the churchyard was formerly reserved for the bodies of murderers, suicides, excommunicated persons, and still-born or unbaptized children[905]. That the custom is not yet obsolete is attested by the case already described on p. 341 _supra_, which is one of many.

This ecclesiastical rule has found its expression in literature. A modern poet, Professor A. E. Housman, has deftly wrought the tradition and the practice into his sad story, _A Shropshire Lad_:

“To South the headstones cluster,
The sunny mounds lie thick;
The dead are more in muster
At Hughley than the quick.
North, for the soon-told number,
Chill graves the sexton delves,
And steeple-shadowed slumber
The slayers of themselves.”

Parochial histories supply the facts necessary for the confirmation of the tradition. Brand cites the case of a burying-ground in Edinburgh, where the North was reserved for the unbaptized and suicides. The graveyard belonged to the Quakers, and thus is of especial interest[906]. Another record tells how, a century ago, the body of a murderer who had been executed at Lincoln was carried to Swine, over the Yorkshire boundary, and was there interred on the North side “as the proper place in which to bury a felon[907].” To the Irish peasantry, the North is the “wrong side,” and we have a contemporary account of a murder in the year 1786, which incidentally states that the malefactor was buried on the “wrong side” of Turlagh churchyard[908]. Miss Gordon-Cumming found that, among the Hebrideans, the belief was full of vitality. A young Englishman, who had committed suicide, was carried head foremost to a grave on the North side of Portree church, and was there buried, with his head towards the East, instead of towards the West. Even this qualified reception into consecrated ground sometimes meets with opposition, from fear that a suicide so buried will cause the herrings to desert the coast. The suspicious fishermen have been known to dig up a corpse from the kirkyard, secretly, by night, and to re-inter the accursed thing either on the shore, at low-water mark, or on the summit of a high mountain. Burials of this kind have taken place on the top of Aird Dhubh, and also on a mountain on the border of Inverness and Ross-shire, two years after the original sepulture[909].

Still bearing on this question, it has been suggested that a part of the churchyard, presumably the Northern, was formerly left unconsecrated for the burial of such persons as have been enumerated. Burn, in his _History of Parish Registers_, expressly states this as a fact, and gives, as an example, “the single woman’s churchyard,” in Southwark, where the dead bodies of the inmates of the licensed stews were buried[910]. This part of the graveyard was frequently known as the “back side[911].” The West of England tradition taught that this area was designedly left unconsecrated to serve as a playground for the village children. To speak more generally, the North was reserved for the village sports during the period when these were permitted in the churchyard. And, although there seems no clear proof that butts for the use of archers were set up in the churchyard itself, the ground immediately adjoining the North boundary was so used. Such a strip of land, of some length, known as “the Butts,” lies to the North of the churchyard at Beeston-next-Mileham, in Norfolk[912], and at Coleshill, in Warwick. The theory of non-consecration, though not for the purposes just named, receives some support from Durandus, who observes that to be buried on the North side is to be buried “out of sanctuary[913].” And through all the centuries which have rolled away since the date of this learned ecclesiastic, the country folk have shunned the North side, which lies “benighted in the midday sun.” There was always a dislike of lying alone in death. The accustomed path, leading to the South door, was trodden by the assembling worshippers[914]. Under the shadow of the graveyard cross or the sombre yew the country folk could stop to whisper a prayer. In far-away times, Gregory the Great had taught that it is more profitable to be buried in the churchyard than in the distant cemetery, because, in the former case, the survivors may frequently behold the sepulchres as they enter the sacred building, and may put forth their petitions. (Cf. p. 262 _supra._)

The distant cemetery, mentioned by Gregory, seems oftentimes to have formed an incentive to church-building in its neighbourhood. It would appear that the earliest Christian graveyards, like the cemeteries of the heathen, were often unenclosed. Being hallowed spots, a preaching cross would be erected near the graves. The setting up of a cross, the “truly precious rood,” must precede the actual building of the church, according to the decree of the Emperor Justinian (A.D. 530). This act of consecration was the work of the bishop of the diocese. Durandus notices the claim of some churchmen that a space of thirty feet around the church ought to be set apart for burial, while others contended that the space actually enclosed by the circuit of the bishop was sufficient[915]. Though the cross may at first have been portable and adapted only for temporary use, yet a permanent symbol was frequently employed. The heathen Saxons are said to have had a rooted dread of entering an enclosed place of worship, lest they should be the victims of supposed magical rites[916]. An enclosed graveyard was also a decided innovation. So late as the reign of Canute, one class of building, the “feld-cirice” (= field-church), was unprovided with a graveyard. As time passed away, however, boundary hedges were planted, or walls were built around to form a burial-ground. The sacred garth, as well as the building, became a sanctuary, with its “benefit of adjuration,” and its right of appeal to trial by ordeal. The actual enclosure of spaces around the churches dates from about the year A.D. 750. (Cf. remarks on the early cemeteries in Chap. VI.) The practice must have been loosely observed, for we find, down to the year A.D. 1603, statutes and canons repeatedly enforcing the law[917].

Chance excavations sometimes attest the early laxity of custom. Outside the churchyard wall of Kirby Grindalythe, in the East Riding, stretching towards the West, are many ancient interments. This fact seems to indicate, either that the Norman church originally stood in an unfenced portion of the hillside, a part of the cemetery being excluded when the wall was built, or that the open wold had been used for burials, Christian or pagan, before the church was erected[918]. Gilbert White was of opinion that the churchyard of Selborne was once larger, and had extended to what was, in his day, the vicarage garden[919]. Maplescombe church, the ruins of which were referred to on p. 38, seems to have never been properly fenced in from the fields. The retired churchyard of Branxton, in Northumberland, which lies within a bowshot of Flodden Field, has at least two features which are illustrative of our subject. The present churchwarden, Mr John Rankin, the representative of a family which has long held that office, informs me that the graveyard was formerly unfenced, save on the South side, where a thorn hedge separated it from the road. On this side, also, there is a narrow strip of land which contains no graves, and which, Mr Rankin asserts, has, through an oversight, never been consecrated. (Cf. p. 343 _supra._) The churchyard at Norton, near Evesham, was unenclosed, except on the Eastern side, down to the year 1844. It stood in a grass field which formed part of the church glebe, thus illustrating Wordsworth’s lines, descriptive of an Oxfordshire parsonage:

“Where holy ground begins, unhallowed ends,
Is marked by no distinguishable line[920].”

The sonnet from which these lines are taken seems to show clearly that the poet was writing of a churchyard which was open on one side. Again, one often discovers churches of ancient foundation standing apart in the fields, and having a fence composed of wooden rails or iron hurdles of such modern date that one is forced to believe that the area has only been shut in for a few generations. The church of Little Washbourne, Gloucestershire, already ruinous when I saw it in 1888, is an instance which comes to mind. The tiny church of Woldingham (Fig. 68), which is situated near the escarpment of the North Downs, lay in the open fields, and the ground was apparently unenclosed down to the year 1852. The building, which measured only 30 feet by 17 feet, was rudely constructed of flints and “firestone” (from the Upper Greensand), but has since been restored more than once. The old structure was “desolate [and] dilapidated” so far back as the time of Evelyn[921]. The illustration shows the restored church of a century ago. To-day the building is approached by a short road. The visitor will notice how small a strip of ground was left on the North side when the boundaries were marked out. Seeking examples elsewhere, we observe that, in the marshland of East Lincolnshire, churches must have been built before the district was effectively drained, and therefore, before the existing boundary ditches or dykes were cut[922].

FIG. 68. The restored church of Woldingham, Surrey, as it appeared
in 1809. (Manning and Bray.) The view seems to be taken from the
North side. Behind the church, on the South side, is a large yew,
much decayed, and partially hollow. To the right, just out of the
drawing, is a huge ash, which to-day measures 20 feet in
circumference at a height of 3 feet from the ground. The churchyard
was probably unenclosed until a comparatively late date.
]

The prejudice against burial on the North side can be traced beyond the advent of Christianity. It is one of those “clinging faiths and fears” which beset the early folk of these islands. As a result of the examination of several hundred British barrows, Canon Greenwell found that, in secondary burials, bodies were rarely deposited on the North side of the mound, the most favoured positions being towards the South and East[923]. Mr J. R. Mortimer, after quoting Canon Greenwell’s observations, confirms them by the testimony of the mounds of Yorkshire. Canon Atkinson’s experiences yielded similar results. During the course of many years, he opened some eighty “houes” or grave-mounds in his own district of Danby-in-Cleveland, and found one interment only in which the body “lay a little, and but a little, North of the magnetic East-and-West line[924]” (i.e. the median line). The evidence derived from megalithic monuments and prehistoric dwellings and settlements tends the same way. The chilly North was shunned; the brilliant East and the gracious South were courted. These ancient preferences were emphasized in the building of temples and Christian places of worship. Egregious among these old-world superstitions stands the hatred of the North. All the inherited antipathies of primeval folk were long retained by their civilized successors, and hence the Northern portion of the graveyard was allotted to those who were deemed spiritually undeveloped or spiritually lost.

Another fact which tends to prove the continuity of the superstition is that, during the Romano-British period, the bodies of persons who had committed suicide were not allowed to be burnt. The prohibition was afterwards extended to those who had died in their infancy[925].

Surveying the general question of suicide, one or two intermediate stages of folk-custom may be noted. In the early days of English history, suicides and murderers were buried at crossroads. It has been argued that this procedure was not altogether intended to heap indignity on the corpse, but that the intersecting roads were emblematic of the Cross, for which reason such spots were therefore deemed self-consecrated[926]. That this idea was prevalent two or three hundred years ago, one would not care to deny; nevertheless it was a late accretion. Else, why was a stake driven through the body of the person so interred? Dishonour to the dead may not, indeed, have been the primary motive which impelled the survivors to behave in this manner, although a desire to prevent the ghost walking was doubtless a strong constituent[927]. The living would naturally object to the burial of a criminal or murderer near an inhabited house[928]; the ghost, angry at being disembodied, according to the elementary notions of our forefathers, might walk abroad, and wreak vengeance or disaster on whomsoever it would. This fear was common among priscan folk, and is widespread even at the present day. Professor Frazer has shown how the natives of Uganda bury still-born babes, and children born feet foremost, at cross-roads. Women, passing by, throw dust or grass on the mound to prevent the spirit entering themselves and being reborn. The bodies of suicides are also burned at cross-roads. Westermarck has collected and collated many analogous practices and beliefs from such far-sundered countries as India and Servia, Japan and Morocco[929]. If, following this high authority, we are disposed to agree that the crossways were believed to disperse such energy as might be ascribed to the deceased person[930], that this mode of interment diverted diseases, and warded off all evil influences from the living, we shall the more readily perceive why the superstition retained its vitality in later times. When the Cross became the symbol of the new religion, the old belief about suicides was reinforced so far as the idea of protection was concerned, though the superstition might be weakened in respect of any supposed indignity to the dead. Even here, however, there is room for further investigation, and writers like Mr Andrew Lang have questioned whether the supposed efficacy of the Cross is a sufficient explanation[931]. The idea of abandonment, as it appears to the present writer, must have been an essential portion of the ceremony, and this was the natural consequence of the theory that the soul of the suicide was self-doomed to perish.

A middle stage of the belief is illustrated by the Scottish practice of burying self-murderers outside the churchyard, but close by the wall. (Cf. p. 352 _supra._) This plan was afterwards modified to the extent of allowing the body to come technically within the yard, but to be placed actually beneath the wall, so that no one might walk over the grave[932]. In England, we find constant reference to the burial of suicides in the open fields. The custom of driving a stake through the bodies of persons found _felo de se_ has been noticed. This brutal treatment, excusable in folk who, in the dawn of the world, had a real horror of ghosts and vampires, was only abolished by law in the year 1823[933]. Yet, as if to prove the unequal working of the human mind, and to exemplify the truism that like customs have not everywhere the same lease of life, we find remarkable exceptions to the rule. While the barbarous belief concerning suicide still held its sway, church discipline was, on the whole, gradually relaxing, and ordinary burials were permitted to take place within the sacred building. Then came the exception which we have examined. A certain part of the burial-ground was devoted to burials of murderers and suicides. In at least two cases, as attested by parish registers, the bodies of murderers were admitted into the church, though still on the North side of the fabric (A.D. 1616 and 1620)[934]. The fact is, that one can scarcely mention a single custom or tradition which has not been disregarded exceptionally at certain periods, though the main current has flowed on almost as strongly as ever. No doubt each particular infraction was the result of powerful local influences. For, even to this hour, as has been clearly shown, the body of the suicide or the manslayer may be interred in the churchyard, and yet remain, according to the superstition, “out of sanctuary.”