Views in Suffolk, Norfolk, and Northamptonshire/Fakenham
A small village contiguous to Sapiston, is situated in a pleasant valley, which is watered and fertilized by a branch of the river Ouse. The meadows afford abundant pasture, and the neighbouring uplands are richly cultivated. The whole parish is the property of his Grace the Duke of Grafton, and lying within a mile or two of Euston Hall, experiences much of his attention. The Duke is perfectly easy of access, and lends a ready ear, and a benevolent hand, to the complaints and necessities of every suitor.
In this village, nearly opposite to the church, is a cottage, in which was born the Poet's mother: a sycamore tree stands near the door: this was planted by her father, who, together with his wife, lies interred in front of the church. In the annexed view of Fakenham from the Valley, is seen the foot bridge adverted to in the tale of The Broken Crutch; and near the spot from which the view was taken is a moated eminence, formerly the site of a mansion supposed to have been destroyed by fire.
Fakenham from the meadows.
On they calm joys with what delight I dream
Thou dear green valley of my native stream!
vide The Broken Crutch page 54.
The moat remains, the dwelling is no more!
Its name denotes its melancholy fall.
For village children call the spot Burnt Hall.
Several decayed trees are still existing near the inner margin of the moat; the remains of a circle of elms that, according to the Poet, once completely surrounded the mansion. This he describes as the residence of one of the characters introduced into the tale before mentioned, and has probably taken up his ideas of the ancient hospitality of the place from some tradition still extant in the neighbourhood:
—his kitchen smoke,
That from the tow'ring rookery upward broke,
Of joyful import to the poor hard by,
Stream'd a glad sign of hospitality.
The view of Fakenham from Euston Park was taken near "the darksome copse that whispered on the hill," and presents the "White Park Gate" through which the terror-struck villager fled when pursued by the long-eared apparition.
Loud fell the gate against the post,
Her heart-strings like to crack,
For much she fear'd the grisly ghost
Would leap upon her back.