The labourer dearly loves a grievance, not exactly for its own sake, but because it affords an interesting topic of conversation.  One autumn, returning from a holiday in the Isle of Wight, I found the whole village agog with the first County Council election.  A magistrate candidate, in the neighbouring village of Broadway, was to be opposed by an Aldington man.  I found a local committee holding excited partisan meetings on behalf of the latter, active canvassing going on, a villager appointed as secretary (always called “seckert_ar_y” in these parts), and the election the sole topic of conversation.  The village people, always delighted in the possession of a common enemy and a common cause, were making the election a village affair, as opposed to the village of the other candidate; popular feeling was running very high, Badsey, of course, joining up with Aldington as strong allies.  Some young men had lately been before the magistrates at Evesham, and fined for obstructing the footpath, and the magistrate candidate was selected as the scapegoat for the affront to our united villages.  At the election the Aldington man was returned, and his supporters started with him on a triumphal progress through the constituency.  Of course, they visited Broadway, to crow over the conquered village, but the wind was somewhat taken out of their sails when the defeated candidate at once came forward, shook hands with his opponent, and congratulated him upon his success!  The return journey was not so hilarious; one of the men of Broadway, noticing a string of carts in the procession, conveying sympathizers with the victor, in addition to the owners of the vehicles—­thus rendering the latter liable to the carriage duty of 15s. each—­and strongly resenting the spirit which brought the victorious party to Broadway, sent a telegram to the Superintendent of Police at Evesham, who met the returning procession and took down their names, with the ultimate result of a substantial haul in fines for the excise!

During the Boer War the common foe was, of course, “Old Kruger” (with a soft g), and we hoisted the Union Jack in front of the Manor whenever our side scored a substantial success.  The news of Lord Roberts’s victory at Paardeburg reached Badsey in the morning, after the papers, and, returning by road from my farm round, I heard great rejoicings and cheering from the direction of the village.  Meeting a boy, I learned that “Old Cronje” was defeated and a prisoner, with “’leven thousand men!”—­a report which proved to be correct with the trifling discount of 9,000 of the latter!  The same spirit of union for a common cause was almost as evident at that time as in the far more strenuous struggle of 1914-1918, and so long as England to herself remains but true, doubtless our enemies will fulfil the part assigned to them by the greatest of English poets.

A love of the marvellous is a common characteristic of country village folks, and I have already referred to such beliefs in the supernatural among my men.  We had our own “white lady” on the highroad where it turns off to Aldington, though I never met anyone who had seen her; there were, too, signs and wonders before approaching deaths, and a thrilling story of a headless calf in the neighbourhood.