The above picture is reproduced with kind permission of Suffolk Archives, Ipswich. Ref. K681/1/215/1Parish boundaries

A wonderful account of beating the Hasketon parish bounds in 1888. First published in the Ipswich Journal.

• The origins of parish boundaries and the significance of beating them.
• Beating the bounds in Hasketon 1888
• The photograph by Edward Fosdyke

The origins of parish boundaries and the significance of beating them.

Historically, parish boundaries had a far greater significance than they do now. They were usually based on the lands governed by one or more manors, often going back to Roman settlement boundaries. Since churches were often the responsibility of the lord of the manor, (or several manors) the parish became closely identified with the local church. As early as the 12th century parish boundaries had become more-or-less frozen since canon law made changes very difficult. But land ownership changed over the years, farming practices changed away from strip farming towards larger fields, boundaries changed and paths and roads moved. Thus, 850 years later, we end up with parish boundaries usefully separating villages, but bearing little relationship to features on the ground, public roads and rights of way. If you look at a map of the area, you’ll see that most of Hasketon’s parish boundary goes through the middle of fields, often changing direction for no obvious reason. But the parish boundary became very important because it defined where annual tithes to the church went, and also where the responsibility for poor relief and other obligations fell.

The practice of beating the bounds is a tradition that can be traced back to the ancient Roman procession rite called ‘robigalia’. This was to honour the god, Robigus, who was associated with a destructive agricultural mould called ‘robigo’, and took place towards the end of April. Over time this was adopted into the Christian tradition of ‘Rogation Days’ ,which were days of prayer and fasting centred around April 25th. A common feature of these was the ‘beating of the bounds’ in which a procession of ministers, choirs and parishioners walked around the parish boundary to pray for divine protection during the year to come.

All this came into practice before the availability of modern maps: The boundary was usually marked at intervals with boundary markers, but essentially the details were what the local people remembered them to be. So the purpose of ‘beating the bounds’ was threefold: it upheld the Rogation Day rite, it taught the younger generation where the parish boundary was, and importantly, it enabled a check that the boundary markers were still in position and the blaggards and scoundrels in the neighbouring parish hadn’t moved them. The right to beat the bounds was enshrined in law.

Part of the tradition involved the periodic ‘bumping’ of members of the party at key points of the boundary. This appears to have been similar to giving somebody the birthday bumps, and was probably simply a bit of ritual humiliation the aid the memory of the victim.

When beating the bounds of a parish you had to follow the boundary as closely as possible. If it went along a river or stream you had to wade through the stream; if a house had been built across the boundary you had to go through the house – via the windows if necessary, presumably after wiping your feet if you’d just waded through a river; if a wall had been built, or a pond created on the boundary you had better bring a ladder.

Much of the tradition had fallen into disuse by the nineteenth century. Definitive tithe maps had been produced for all parishes during the 1830s and so much of the imperative to beat the bounds had gone. However, since traditionally the day was accompanied with a certain amount of feasting and jollity, it was still regarded as a good day out. But it wasn’t done very often at all.

Beating the Bounds in Hasketon 1888

The following article describing the beating of the Hasketon Bounds in 1888 was published over 3 editions of the Ipswich Journal, starting on June 22^nd 1888.  The author suggests it is the first time the bounds had been beaten for 50 years. The identity of the author, who uses the nom-de-plume ‘The Chiel’ is unknown:  the name appears in several newspapers of the time, probably inspired by the Robert Burns poem, “On The Late Captain Grose’s Peregrinations Thro’ Scotland”.   

“A chield’s amang you takin notes, And, faith, he’ll prent it”

The article is quite lengthy, but I have included it in its entirety since once you have become used to the authors style it’s a good read.  However, I had to do a little editing to combine the three sections into one, and to smooth out the Chiel’s somewhat creative approach to grammar. The photograph at the top of this page shows this bounds beating party, and is possibly the earliest picture we have of Hasketon. I go into more detail on this picture at the end of the article.

The route as described is convincingly close to the parish boundary, but note the building of the modern A12 road caused some minor changes. If you want to follow it you might like to have a copy of the local Ordinance Survey maps to hand, or open up this zoomable OS map from 1905. The boundary is marked as a series of dots with the letters ‘BP’ (boundary post) at points along it. Alternatively, the Suffolk CC Rights of Way map below shows the boundary in pink (zoom in or out as required).

The route starts near the junction of Blacksmiths Road (then called ‘Spring Road’) and Manor Road. I’ve added a few of my own notes as footnotes where relevant.

THE HASKETON BOUNDARY

The “Perambulators” had a “chiel among ’em taking notes”, and now he is going to print them – that is, of course, if they escape the severe scrutiny of the editors and sub-editors.  We had a wonderful day.  When? Never mind the date.  Let it suffice to say that it was in the present gay and joyous month of May, that it was a lovely, bright, warm day, and that all nature was exulting in new life.  If you want to feel as free as the air you breathe and as merry of heart as the lark when he can be heard further than he can be seen, ask a friend to book you a place amongst a party who are about to beat the bounds of a country parish.  If at the end of the day you do not feel not simply a wiser but a good deal a better man physically, then there is something radically wrong somewhere.  It is a sport that all can join in.

Paradoxical as it may seem, the older people are, so long as they are fairly good upon their legs and the younger they are, if they have acquired the ability to walk across a rough ploughed field without tumbling, the greater is the purpose served.  We had amongst our party this day a worthy old gentleman who had beat the bounds of Hasketon about half a century ago – rather over than under – and he was a strong young man then; we had a little chap of some six or seven summers, by name “Alfred Carlyle Smith”; and we had the interloper in the form of the chiel, who had the impertinence to inquire how it was that this nice little chap – the six year old boy I mean, of course – inherited the name of “Carlyle”.  The reply was prompt and courteous, “The great Thomas Carlyle”, said my friend to whom I appealed, “used to pay occasional visits to Boulge Hall at the time it was occupied by Mr. Purcell Fitzgerald, and in his walks about the country roads and lanes he invariably made a point of calling upon this boy’s grandfather, Mr. Job Smith, and this boy was named after the great author”. ¹  I have no doubt the great man who was gifted with the ability of pleasing and startling the world with his pen found in Mr. Job Smith a man after his own heart – one with whom it was a real pleasure to have five minutes’ conversation.   

But I am getting before my story.  How came your humble servant to be one of the party?  The only answer I can give is he received an invitation from somebody, and that he very readily and thankfully accepted it.  A question, which is a good deal more to the point, is where did the money come from with which to pay the expenses attendant upon the beating of the bounds of the parish?  The Hasketon parishioners were in the enviable position of having some money in hand, without knowing what to do with it.  At last it was resolved, at the suggestion, I believe, of Mr. Joseph Smith or Edmund Barlow – perhaps both – that the balance left over from the Jubilee Fund should be expended in impairing some information to the young and the middle-aged in reference to the bounds of the perish.  The value and importance which once attached to “beating the bounds” may have in a great measure departed, but still it must be of some interest to a man to know the configuration of the parish in which he was born.  For the life of me, I do not know in what way the money could have been expended to greater advantage than it was in this case.  There was not enough for a parish (water) pump, if an adjunct so necessary to some villages were needed at Hasketon.  Besides, the Jubilee day was a joyous one and in what more appropriate way could the balance in hand have been expended than by a revival of the festivities by bound beating.

I now proceed to explain, as minutely as I can in the limited space at my command, the route we took.  The rendezvous was a post near the Spring-road². Very few of the parishioners put in an appearance at half-past ten – the time fixed; but, perhaps, auctioneers have taught the people in this fair rural corner of the county to understand that “half past ten o’clock” means “for” eleven.  At any rate, Mr. Joseph Smith and Mr. Edmund F. M. Barlow, who had a good deal to do with initiating the perambulation, and who were throughout the day the life and soul of the party, were there.  Colonel Barlow was laid up with a peculiarly aristocratic complaint, and one which does not improve the temper³.  But, like a snowball, we as a party increased in proportions as we went along.  We picked up one gentleman here, and another there, until we had assumed the appearance of a formidable invading army, with a map to guide and weapons to destroy.  Mr. A. Gerald Smith was one of the first to join us, the Rev. T. H. Simpkin about the next, and the rest of the company included Mr. R. Buxton, Mr. H. Reynolds, junr, Mr. E. Reynolds, Mr. R. Harris, Mr. R. Buxton, junr, Mr. C. C. Smith, Mr. E. Norris, Messrs. T. Tye, D. Shimmen, A. Moss, J. Thompson, M. Thompson, G. Thompson, A. Smith, Mr. Burch, J. Knights, P. Ford, Sargt. Mitchell and many others, to the number of about fifty.  Thomas Tye, a worthy old Saul, who went the same round half a century ago, was nominally leader- at any rate, at a particular point where the map could not be read with the nicety necessary to follow the boundary line with exactness, his memory was charged, and his experience, though gained so far back, proved exceedingly useful.  Mr. Edmund Barlow had been careful to provide in the person of William Leech⁴, one who could do the rough work in wading and leaping.  This man presented himself in professional form with the bottom of his trousers turned up, displaying a pair of calves which would have done credit to any bicyclist in England.  Another of the party was furnished with a hatchet and a hook, and a third man had a bank marker.  Sergt. Mitchell was map carrier.  Thus equipped, we made a start.

From the post near the Spring-road we went straight across about the centre of Mr. Alfred Smith’s barley field, the soil of which had been a little washed down by heavy rains. We soon came to the road leading from Hasketon to Woodbridge, which we crossed on to Mr. Bye’s field, close by the spot where some years since three men were buried alive in a pit.⁵  This was formerly a brick field.  We went along by the aide of elm trees, on across the centre of Mr. Charles Norris’s meadow up to an oak tree, which was duly marked, and here there was a “bumping” operation. This was not without some amount of protestation on the part of the victim, but the “professional” and his assistants were equal to the occasion, and the operation had to be performed.  One gentleman who surveyed the process from a distance mildly suggested that it should be understood that no one over 60 years of age should be bumped.  I fancy he had himself just turned the scale at that weight of years.  Be this as it may, he escaped, but only for a time.

At the oak tree we turned to the right with the fence on the right-hand side to a stile, where we entered upon the Seckford Hall property, now occupied by Mr. George. W. Hart.  It was formerly hold by Mr. John Goodwin, who was a fine specimen of an old English yeoman.  We crossed another stile and followed the path to Blunt’s Wood, leaving Seckford Hall on the left, and entered upon Col. Tomline’s farm.  Land around what is left of the wood was broken up in Jeremiah Hurd’s time, and the operation was further curried on in the time of Mr. Charles Cooper, now residing at Hemley.  We maintain a right-on course till we come to a gate with a stile by the side of it, leading into the road from Bealings House to Woodbridge.  Here the ordnance Map has to be consulted for the first time to assist in clearing up a little doubt as to how far it was necessary to go down the road.  There was a good solid tree handy.  Here the Rector was captured.  “I really cannot…”, “oh we can’t let you escape, Sir!”  were the ejaculation of the professional and his three strong assistants, who had by this time got their victim in position.  Well, it was all in good fun, and besides, the sober-minded Lord Bishop of the Diocese was not present to administer a rap on the knuckles for any apparent want of propriety on the part of one of the cloth.  The Rector, who was for the time “for once” completely in his parishioner’s hands, evidently felt that so far from having suffered an indignity he had rather been honoured.  There could of course, be no respect paid to “persons” under these interesting circumstances, though I must think that the upper crusts were honoured with more attention at the hand of the professional and his fellow bumpers than some who have to earn their daily bread by the sweat of their brow.  Perhaps they were “lighter.”  

We turned down the Bealings road leading to Bealings Hall for a distance of something over a quarter of a mile, the land on the right and left belonging to Lord Henniker, Mr. David Walker, and other gentlemen well known in the county.  About mid-way we passed another very tempting tree, with a good rough bark, and one gentleman who farms land in the parish was ” honoured ” after the manner the Rector had been a few minutes previously.  As we go along the road doubts were expressed as to the exact spot where we cross the fence.  At any rate, we go past Brundlay’s Grove, the land on the right being in the occupation of Mr. David Harris.  We at last cross the fence at a point nearly opposite Burgh Mills, and we go in a slanting direction slightly to the left up to a tall oak tree.  This tree was substantial enough for several bumps.  A young fellow was ploughing in the field, and the professional and confreres essayed to make a victim of this man, who was evidently “stammed” at the sudden incursion of so many people.  The capture was easy enough, but the young fellow stuck to his plough handle, and the horses, awakened into increased activity by so much unusual commotion in the rear of the plough, refused to obey the command of the professional as conveyed through the rein.  The ploughman, with the aid of his faithful horses, came off the victor.  The professional returned with his comb cut, and revenge had to be wreaked upon two boys.  Boys somehow are always in the way when there is a little fun going on.  I may say at once that the writer was not deemed worthy of a bump the livelong day.  I was glad of it at the time, but now I come to think the matter over seriously I fancy I was slighted⁶.  

We continued still to the left up to a small oak tree at the corner of a field where a boy was keeping sheep.  The professional endeavoured to make a capture, but the boy was too fleet of limb.  We crossed the road leading to Bealings church from Hasketon Mill on to the Brundley Hills. Members of the party were very ready to sing the praises of a friend they familiarly named “old Brundley” to tell of his exploits in the hunting field, and of his eagerness to show sport by keeping a pack of bounds himself.  We were informed that there were about 125 acres of the field known as “Brundley Hill.”  The soil appeared very poor, and Mr. Gerald Smith’s sheep must have felt that for a time at least their lot was cast in anything but a pleasant place.  We continued straight on down a lane leading to Grundisburgh-street.  On the left of this lane we came upon a portion of the farm of Mr. Joseph Smith, and on the left was a herd of about twenty pure blood-red cows, which we were informed were bred and kept entirely for milking purposes.  The end of the lane is a notable spot for reason that the three parishes of Grundisburgh, Bealings and Hasketon meet there.  The course lay round to the right along what used to be the Debenham highway to Woodbridge, and we went in the direction of the bridge covering a broad stream. Some of the party sat down upon the white railings near the bridge avowedly to consult the map, but I really think they were glad of two or three minutes’ rest, for the day was warm and we had come a few miles.  The professional, with a vicious and mischievous disregard of the behest that gentlemen over 60 years of age should be exempt from the bumping ordeal, seized hold of the most conspicuous and active member of the Party, who saw at once that it was no use resisting. Mr. Joseph Smith, who doubtless thought he had played his card so nicely in the sixty-year-old exemption, was “honoured,” and all that was required to complete the scene was that a few hundred of his agricultural friends from different parts of the county should have been present to see him in an entirely novel predicament.  He was one of the prime movers in this pleasant outing – which was really intended as a continuation of the Jubilee festivities – and he was not the man to run back from a share of responsibilities and “honours”.  We had, by this time, covered nearly half the distance⁷.

Some of us had a little pleasant chat on the bridge situated on what used to be the Debenham highway to Woodbridge⁸.  Some among the party were able to leap the river, but the professional had to pay the penalty of his position by going in a slanting direction through the water.⁹  It was suggested that he should have a penny per head to carry over less athletic pedestrians.  But, alas for poor human nature, one gentleman said he would not grudge sixpence if the professional would drop someone midstream!  We are now opposite Thorpe Hall, and a big can of real home-brewed beer is borne towards us.  Two or three of the party are on the wrong side of the river, but the sight of the can was sufficient, and they cleared the river at a bound.  Where is the young, strong man who would not venture an extra foot or two for a glass of beer after a four or five mile tramp on a hot day?  We pass along Mr. Joseph Smith’s meadows, with a fence on the left, making in the direction of Burgh Mill.  We come to a stile, for which Mr. Smith might well take out a patent.  It is in the form of the letter V reversed, with steps up to the top.  It is a splendid idea, and a photograph of it should be sent forthwith to the Footpath Preservation Society as a model for all country stiles throughout the kingdom.  Mr. Joseph Smith had thoughtfully provided half-ounces of tobacco, which he distributed amongst the followers, and it came as a very pleasant surprise on the good old English rule that “beer and bacca” should always go together.  

The grass in Mr. Smith’s’ meadows looks exceedingly luxuriant and fresh, and we are informed that Mr. Smith adopts the useful expedient of flushing in dry weather, with the result that he has fresh grass, while some of his neighbours lament being parched up.  From the meadows we go across Mr. Read’s wheat field in about the centre up to a tall elm tree – or across the next field, bearing slightly to the left, to a thatched cottage.  There was at this point an exchange of land some years since between Mr. Walker and Mr. Smith.  The new neatly trimmed fence is negotiated by some who followed the old fence up to a large oak by the side of the road leading from Woodbridge to Burgh Mill.  The oak is marked, and a keen eye can distinguish the incision made fifty years ago when the boundary was last beaten.  When in the road we turn to the left, we meet a genial old friend in Mr Reynolds, and a little argument takes place as to where the old boundary post stood.  We pass over the read, leaving the thatched cottage on the left, and go to a gateway and then to the right up to a tall elm tree.  Again, we bear to the right, and with the fence, on the right-hand side make for the Lower Wood.  We cross a fine plant of wheat with the wood on the left as far as a maple tree, and enter the wood at this point and “skew” across it, bearing slightly to the right, emerging near a pond, and make for a cottage on the left.  The pond, which is rather deep, is crossed on a ladder by the professional and one or two more venturesome spirits.  

We cross the road leading to Debach, pass over a stile, and go to the back of the Lower Wood house, with the fence on the right-hand side as far as a shed, and hers turn to the left to a tall tree in the direction of the White House, occupied by Mr. P Reynolds.  A little distance ahead is a cart with hampers, and one gentleman, evidently scenting sausage rolls has immediately brought to his mind “something” which he read in an old Almanac long ago, “Why is a pint of tea stronger than a pint of beer?” “Why, because a pint of beer will only attract two men, whereas as a pint of tea will attract six woman.”  We smile at the joke, and turn to the left for a few yards, passing through a gate and turn to the right to a corner of the fence fronting the White House.  We pass the White House and spot an old boundary post, which is assuring, as we know that we are on the lines which were trodden half a century previously.  Some of us wait upon Mr. Reynolds, and visit his clean and cool dairy, where there are many pounds of fresh butter, churned and worked that morning by members of the household.  We go across a meadow, where we have luncheon in the open, served by the landlord of the Turks Head. 

As we sit in a group partaking of somebody’s hospitality – I really do not know who are the generous a donors – a well-known photographer, hailing from Woodbridge (Mr. Edward A. Fosdike) takes the group.  The professional and another follow act out the idea of seizing a victim for the bumping process just at the right moment, so as to make the picture complete.¹⁰  

After luncheon we cut to the right-hand corner of Boulge Wood, then bore to the right to the opposite corner of the adjoining field.  Here we fell in with Mr. Gray, an old and respected friend, and a well-known agriculturist, and we are right pleased to see his smiling face.  We cross the meadow with the fence on the left, up as far as a row of oaks close to Boulge Hall Park where the late Mr. Purcell Fitzgerald – one of Suffolk’s celebrities – used to reside.  We turn to the right up the driftway past the lodge.  A man named Isaac Crane is at work in the field.  He is hailed and he comes forward, evidently wondering in his mind what he can be wanted for.  He is soon enlightened when he finds ‘ himself helpless in the hands of the professional, being bumped against the substantial post of the gateway of the lodge.  He does not seem to mind the indignity when he is told that he may have a pint of beer if he goes up to the White House.  We go along the Bredfield road, past a boarded cottage, until we come to a small ash tree, against which there is a post marked “H”.  We get over the hedge by the aide of this post and keep the fence on the left, while we go along some meadows belonging to Colonel Tomline.  We come to a sturdy old oak, against which Tye was bumped fifty years ago.  We turn slightly to the right with the fence on the left hand and go past a row of poplars till we come to a tree standing out on the pasture, where we turn to the left, crawling through a hole in the fence on to the lend of Mr. Smyth, of Bredfield House.  We “skew” across the field in the direction of Bredfield White Horse, pass through the gateway into a meadow, and then turn sharply to the right over a gate and walk across the centre of the field to a small elm in a fence.  We keep this fence on the left and go to the corner where there is a pond, and after this we have the fence on our right and we go as far as an old oak, where the map has to he consulted.  

We find that our course lay straight on to the opposite fence, which we get through, and then go along the road for about 20 yards up to the late Mr. Robert Newson’s Melton Farm.¹¹  We go round the farmhouse and through the garden with the fence immediately on the left.  We pass under the rail, go to about the centre of the field and then turn to the left, capturing in the way a man at work, and he is carried off in triumph in a “frog march” fashion.  He is bumped, and then after all this trouble has been taken about him he has the conscience to ask if he is not going to be carried back!  We turn to the left into Hoo-road opposite Hoo-lane¹², and keep the right hand side of the road for about 500 yards, and then to the left to the place of starting at the Spring Corner, the distance covered being about eight miles.  Cheers are given for Mr. Joseph Smith, Mr. E. F. M. Barlow and other more prominent members of the party.  The day was a most enjoyable one, the desire of many members of the party being to follow the old boundary line as closely as possible.  The professional for one allowed no obstacle to stop his way.

The photograph by Edward Fosdyke

The photograph of the bounds beating party is shown again below, along with some more details about the people. I’ve done a little digital processing to smooth out the contrast and reduce the vignetting.

Based on the description in the article we can determine some of the details: it was taken by local photographer Edward Fosdyke in the fields just north of White House Farm, possibly on the edge of Boulge Wood; the man on the left holding the rolled-up map is Sgnt. Mitchell, the man with the shortened trousers 6th from the left is William Leech (‘the professional’); the group of well dressed men in top hats towards the right probably includes Edmund Barlow and Joseph Smith and possibly the Rev. Simpkin; the children towards the right probably includs the young Alfred Carlyle Smith.

The Suffolk Archives also have a photo of a list of people in the picture, shown below.

Obviously it’s not a complete list since there’s more than 17 people in the photograph, but the names do tally quite well with the list given by the author. The exception is Col. Barlow, who is specifically stated as not being there, though his nephew Edmund Barlow was. How the order in the list corresponds to the order in the photograph is not clear.

We can also make more tentative guesses that the men handling the beer barrel include the Turks Head landlord Alfred Moss, possibly with his wife or daughter sitting behind him on the cart, the elderly man with the white beard sitting on the cart might be William Tye, and the man in the white jacket towards the right, looking a bit out of place, might be the author.

Everybody is wearing some kind of hat; caps, trilbys and bowler hats being quite popular with the rank and file, top hats for the toffs. Despite it’s modern association with the City Gent, the bowler was originally developed for gamekeepers and working men as a more practical alternative to a top hat. Its hard felt gave the wearer some head protection and it became popular amongst all the working classes of the time. Many of the men are carrying sticks, and one, sitting down to the right of the cart is holding up a billhook. The young lad sitting on the back of the cart is holding a watering can.

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Footnotes

1. Based on UK census information, Alfred Carlyle Smith was born and lived in Rendlesham in 1881. His grandfather, Job Smith, [B. Otley 1792] lived in Hall Farm, Boulge in 1841 and 1851, and Farlingaye Hall in 1861. ↩︎
2. This is the junction of Blacksmiths Road with Manor Road. ↩︎
3. I guess this a way of saying the poor bloke suffered from gout. ↩︎
4. William Leech was born in Hasketon in 1869, son of local builder Jeremiah Leech. ↩︎
5. See separate page: The 1863 Well Tragedy. ↩︎
6. Not really – who whole point of the ‘bumping’ was the victim was a local man. ↩︎
7. About a third actually. ↩︎
8. The modern day B1079. ↩︎
9. This is a good example of the boundary not following a natural feature – in this case the River Lark. This field is now the site of The Saxon Wood, a new plantation of oak trees planted by volunteers from the Sutton Hoo Ships Company. ↩︎
10. A print from this survives and is shown in the heading of this page. ↩︎
11. The Chiel has made a mistake here, since the route described goes through Witchpit Farm, not Newsons Farm, Melton. This farm is now the site of the Admirals Walk housing development and some way off the parish boundary. ↩︎
12. Now called Haugh Lane.  ‘Haugh’ and ‘hoo’ are both old-English words meaning a strip of land or a meadow.  Amusingly, the OS map from 1881 has this as ‘Hoe Lane”. Presumably the cartographer thought his predecessor was an ignorant peasant who couldn’t spell. ↩︎