Memoirs of Eighty Years. Thomas Gordon Hake
LIX.
QUEEN VICTORIA’S DAY. AN ODE OF TRIUMPH ON THE FIFTIETH ANNIVERSARY OF HER REIGN.
ERRATA.
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Memoirs of Eighty Years.
I.
Several literary men of eminence have from time to time suggested to me that I ought to write my memoirs, but I have long held the opinion that such works have scarcely a legitimate interest for one’s contemporaries. Now, however, that I have exceeded, by fourteen years, the age of man, I begin to regard the opinion of others, and to look upon myself as a sort of incipient posterity, and am disposed to make the experiment of placing some portion of my life on record.
Most people who attain to birth, parentage, and education, find the latter the most doubtful of the three, even the first being somewhat uncertain. For myself, there is a tradition in my family that I was born by candle-light on the 10th of March, 1809: it was at midnight, and in the town of Leeds.
To keep those in order who believe too much, Nature has issued a series of minds that believe too little, and I am one of these; I could prove to the satisfaction of any free metaphysician that I have never existed at all, and that I am a mere optical illusion, like the rest of my fellow-men.
As to my parentage, I believe in that implicitly. But who else would be so credulous, if it were to his interest to prove the reverse?
As to my education, it has been as scanty as that of the best of us; it would be too great a joke to suppose that eighty years is a sufficient time for the acquisition of any knowledge worth naming. Herschel, for example, discovered the planet Uranus; that educated him, though it had been in the place where he found it for countless millions of years.
The educated are those who appreciate things at their true value; culture does not merely signify knowledge, but its acquisition in the utmost detail.
My father was said to have a musical genius, and rumour handed down that my mother fell in love with him on that account. She was the most emotional woman that I ever had the pleasure of knowing, and I can understand her marrying at the age of thirty-three a youth of nineteen, which she did; but I cannot understand my father at his age marrying her.
I had a sister; she was the firstborn, and a brother who came after me.
My father died at the age of twenty-six; he got his feet wet in the snow, took a chill, and went regularly through all the stages of inflammation.
I was three years and three months old when my father died; I remember him, also his house, both inside and out, and the square where it stood, at Sidmouth. But I have only one vision of these things; it is always the same, that of the father, the house, and the square.
II.
It is as well to know how one’s family dovetails into the community of such a mosaic work as the British, so I will set down what information I have on the subject. I presume that a band of Hakes quitted Prussian Saxony in the olden time for a less sandy soil, and that some of them settled on the old red sandstone of Devon. The name of Hache gave itself to a town in the region of Broadcliss, and received a notice in Doomsday-book. The family no doubt occupied the soil thereabout for centuries, the name being noticeable in the Broadcliss Register in the time of Queen Anne. The name, too, is rife in Saxony; at Stassfurt there is a Hake’s Bridge; besides this there are numerous workmen of the name, engaged in the salt factories, not to mention a general and count who commanded the army against the Danes in the Schleswig-Holstein affair. In England, too, this family name has belonged to all classes, from a viscount in the time of Edward I., an M.P. for Windsor and a poet, in the reign of Henry VIII., down to some, who, being in trade, my mother used to call “the scum of the earth.”
My great-grandfather is reputed to have had land and a mansion called Bluehayes, hard by Broadcliss; and tradition says it got merged into the family of Acland by a successful mortgage on their part. My family lived on the soil for many centuries without being distinguished in any branch of science, literature, or art.
My mother’s family have had a different career: her father was a soldier, and the son of one; they were Gordons of the Huntly stock, and came directly from the Park branch of that house, but how little meaning