Bath Extract

Extract from chapter 1

1754: Bath

It was a dull, cold morning when George Austen stood outside St Swithin’s Church in Bath waiting to marry his sweetheart. The date was the 26th of April and the venue was a small, plain structure with little character. There were no welcoming cheers from neighbours to mark this momentous occasion, nor any pretty ribbons to celebrate their joy. Yet it was a well-connected match on both sides and promised as happy a union as any in their wider social circles.

Photo: St. Peter's Church, Dyrham, South Gloucestershire

Miss Cassandra Leigh had lived in Bath for two years before the wedding. She had moved there with her parents from the village of Harpsden, near Henley-on-Thames, where her father had been rector of the parish there. The family had not been long in Bath before Mr Leigh was struck down by illness and died. He was buried in this very church.

“Why is it so cold?” complained Miss Leigh, stamping her freezing feet to stop them from going numb. “How much longer will we be forced to wait outside?”

Mr Austen led her to the porch, which offered some respite at least by blocking the harsh, biting wind on one side.

The officiate for the service was waiting with them and offered his weak reassurance. “We are a little early. I’m sure it won’t be much longer.” This was Tom Powys, a long-standing friend of the Leigh family.

Photo: All Saints Church, Monk Sherborne, Hampshire.

The only other two members of the party were Miss Leigh’s brother and sister, who were to serve as witnesses. Mr James Leigh-Perrot was quiet and reflective, remembering the funeral procession that had carried his father’s coffin to be laid to rest here a few weeks before. Miss Jane Leigh stood next to her sister in companionable silence, so it was down to Mr Powys and Mr Austen to make conversation.

“Have you seen the plans for the new church yet? I believe they are in circulation,” began Mr Powys.

“No. I have not.”

“Magnificent, I understand,” enthused the vicar. “It will be much grander than this one and destined to become a prominent landmark of Bath, I believe.”

Despite this church being only twenty years old, it was not considered large enough to match all the other developments going on around it and an improved version was being commissioned.

Photo: St Swithin's Church, Walcot, Bath.

Photo: St. Nicholas' Church, Steventon, Hampshire.

Mr Austen thought of his own little parish church at Steventon that was full of holes and leaks. As much as he craved the repairs, he would have been sad to think of it being replaced entirely by one deemed ‘much grander’.

“I think everyone is striving to create the greatest landmark around here,” considered Mr Austen. “On every corner, I see some new project or other. I have never seen building work like it.”

Photo: Pulteney Bridge, Bath

“Yes,” agreed Mr Powys. “There is talk of a new bridge across the river. And have you seen those new houses in The Circus, built around a circle? Astonishing architecture!”

Photo: The Circus, Bath.

Thankfully, it was not long before the wooden door of the church creaked open and out stepped the wedding party from the service before their own. When they were gone, Mr Powys led the way into the vacated church and the two sisters followed the gentlemen up the aisle. The whitewashed walls and wooden beamed ceiling were stark and severe and the sound of clicking footsteps over the hard stone floor was a poor substitute for musical bells.

The wind blew against gaps in the windows and whistled around the thin wooden pews, which creaked under the weight of their bodies. When Mr Powys read from his Book of Common Prayer, his words were visible on his breath through the little tufts of steam that exited his lips. His voice echoed alarmingly and he was forced to adjust it to a lower pitch.

Photo: St. Nicholas' Church, Freefolk, Hampshire.

There was nothing romantic about this moment – and yet Mr Austen was not worried at all. In his career thus far, he had met with people from all corners of society. He knew from experience that an extravagant display of wealth and materialism was no guarantee of happiness. A pretty dress and lots of finery at a service did not automatically lead to a long and happy marriage. It was what the couple felt in their hearts that was important, and he was very secure with what he felt.

In Miss Leigh, he had found a soulmate who would serve him with an intellect equal to his own. She had impressed him with her knowledge on a range of topics and he looked forward to many evenings ahead where he could share his interests and be sure of a fulfilling discussion in return. He pictured a brood of little children sitting around the fire, eagerly listening to him read and always keen to please.

Photo: Berrington Hall, Herefordshire.

And so it was, on that bitterly cold morning, that this tall, thin-framed young lady, just twenty-four years of age and dressed in a fashionable red riding coat and warm black hat, was joined in matrimony to her angel-faced fiancé of thirty-two years, wearing a formal white wig and a long dark travelling coat in anticipation of the journey he was to take later that day.

The smiling vicar directed the shivering groom to place the golden ring on the fourth finger of the bride’s trembling left hand, and the couple vowed to love each other until death made them part.

And then it was done. No wedding breakfast had been arranged and with a hasty goodbye the couple left the rest of the party to walk quickly towards the stagecoach which would transport them to Andover, and then tomorrow conclude their journey through Hampshire on to Steventon.

Their first home was to be a rectory in the village of Deane, where the bride’s mother was due to join them in a few weeks’ time. It would be wet and it would be muddy; there had been severe flooding in the area for months. But none of those problems were insurmountable. They were everyday obstacles experienced by village folk up and down the land.

Photo: Stairway off The Paragon, Bath.

When the horses pulled away from Bath the newlyweds snuggled up together in the carriage to keep warm. Mr Austen squeezed his wife’s hand and placed a tender kiss on her forehead whilst the other passengers looked tactfully out of the window.

Photo: Arlington Court Carriage Museum, Barnstaple, Devon.