Snowy. Tim Harris

4 1882–86 Anna

       5 1886–88 Manchester

       6 1888 Fred marries again

       7 1888–94 West Norfolk

       8 1894–96 Gamekeeper, West Bilney

       9 1896–1904 Back to his old tricks

       10 The agricultural reformers

       11 1903–16 The lost years

       12 1917–18 Keepering again – briefly

       13 1918 Fred’s war

       14 1918–25 Bungay with Kitty

       15 1925–38 After Kitty

       16 1934–37 The books

       17 1938 A sorry end

       Afterthoughts

       Bibliography

       Index

      Introduction

      In 2002, when my husband Brian and I finally paid off the mortgage on our West Norfolk cottage, a fat bundle of deeds arrived from the bank, which looked intriguing. After supper we settled down on the floor in front of the fire and started to read through them. They informed us that the West Bilney Estate, of which our cottage was a part, had covered over 2,366 acres and was described in the particulars when it was sold in 1924 as a typical Norfolk Sporting Property, ‘. . . comprising of extensive woods and a warren with a capital trout stream and marshlands where first-class shooting may be enjoyed over the property in great variety’. At that time it was being sold by a syndicate, one of whom was Marianne Catherine Cabrera de Morelia of Wentworth – very posh!

      We had always understood that our cottage was the gatehouse to West Bilney Hall, but lot 25 in the sales particulars, our property, was described as an attractive bungalow villa, erected of carrstone under a slate roof, and now in the ownership of Mr Boddy, a gamekeeper. We had never realised that it had been a gamekeeper’s cottage, and as we chatted about our finds I was reminded of a book called I Walked by Night by The King of The Norfolk Poachers. Edited by Lilias Rider Haggard and published in 1935, it is an autobiography. I remembered, among other things, it telling of poaching, the countryside, rural deprivation, love and the poacher’s determination not to be beholden to the gentry.

      I went to the bookshelves and pulled it down, dusty and untouched since Christmas 1976 when, according to the note on the fly leaf, Mum had given it to me because she thought it might be of interest to me as it was in part about Bungay, Suffolk where I grew up. It was edited by Lilias Rider Haggard and published in 1935.

      I poured myself a glass of wine and started to reread it. My memory had been correct; the poacher did say he lived in a lodge when he was, for a short period, a gamekeeper:

      When I was Keepering I lived in a lodge

      I read on, and completed the book and the bottle of wine in one sitting. I Walked By Night is much as he originally wrote it, with Lilias Rider Haggard revising the manuscript as little as possible when she edited it. I was completely spellbound – it is a wonderful book, and he was an intriguing man; I wondered if he still had relatives living locally and whether I could find out anything else about him.

      There were lots of clues in the book which led me to believe that he really might have lived in our house and I was determined to see if I could find out if it was true. However, the poacher never reveals his real name, and without knowing that I felt I could make no progress.

      By happy coincidence, soon afterwards I heard the Radio 4 programme, ‘Making History’, where listeners write in about historical matters that puzzle them, or to discover more about the past. I decided to get in touch to see if they could tell me the name of my poacher. While I waited for their response, I started to ferret about. The author had also written:

      Were I was Keeper we had a verry large Warren beside the road running from Wormagay. One day the warriners were digging at the botom of a large hill were Oliver Cromwell was suposed to have planted his guns wen he destroyed Pentney Abby

      I started by researching what Cromwell was doing in Pentney and also the history of the abbey. Established by Robert de Vaux in the twelfth century, it became a large and prestigious Augustinian priory. After a turbulent period of squabbling between Clerical and Secular, the monks settled down to good works and in 1492 were visited by Archdeacon Goldwell, who seems to have been the Inspector of Priories. He gave them a glowing report. Other inspections followed but then in 1514, the Prior’s slackness was complained of. In 1520, after further complaints, the residents were spoken to separately, but all was found to be well. However, by 1532 the abbey was in a state of disrepair and then in 1536 the Prior and five canons admitted to affairs with the nuns from Marham Nunnery. The Abbess was subsequently fined and the nunnery closed.

      In 1535, the dissolution of the monasteries had begun and by the end of 1536 the abbey was stripped and empty. What a disaster this must have been for the local community. The monks had run a school and offered hospitality to travellers and pilgrims crossing the river on their way to Walsingham. In addition, a large number of people were employed to feed and care for the monks and their guests.

      Then Oliver Cromwell came and almost completely flattened the abbey. As M. de Bootman says in his pamphlet about the abbey:

       Cromwell sometime in the Civil War floated fiat-bottomed sloops from King’s Lynn to Pentney, where he and his men had a bit of target practice at the Priory buildings reducing them to rubble. The remains were then used as a convenient quarry for building material. Priory stone can be seen in many old houses in Pentney.

      I have tried unsuccessfully to find out why Cromwell was at King’s Lynn. The Fen people were some of the first to take his side, so perhaps he simply felt safe enough to come here for an ‘away’ day and a spot of laddish behaviour!

      ‘Making History’ got in contact to tell me that the poacher’s name was Frederick Rolfe. They invited me to appear on Radio 4 to talk about what I was trying to do, and this led to several offers of help in my quest for more information. I spoke to a very interesting man, who told me that Fred (how familiar of me) lived in Nethergate Street, Bungay, about a quarter of a mile from where I was brought up. He told me that he understood that Fred had come to an unhappy end and that there had been disturbing gossip over the years about why he had. I hoped what he said was not true and it was at this point that I realised I might be uncovering a hornets’ nest.

      From then on, I became completely obsessed with finding out all I could about The King of the Norfolk Poachers and six years later, to my amazement I have gathered enough information to write this book. Intriguingly, much of what I discovered was at variance with