Sometimes land has been left to the clerk in order that he may ring the curfew-bell, or a bell at night and early morning, so that travellers may be warned lest they should lose their way over wild moorland or bleak down, and, guided by the sound of the bell, may reach a place of safety.

An old lady once lost her way on the Lincolnshire wolds, nigh Boston, but was guided to her home by the sound of the church bell tolling at night.  So grateful was she that she bequeathed a piece of land to the parish clerk on condition that he should ring one of the bells from seven to eight o’clock each evening during the winter months.

There is a piece of land called “Curfew Land” at St. Margaret’s-at-Cliffe, Kent, the rent of which was directed to be paid to the clerk or other person who should ring the curfew every evening in order to warn travellers lest they should fall over the cliff, as the unfortunate donor of the land did, for want of the due and constant ringing of the bell.

In smuggling days, clerks, like many of their betters, were not immaculate.  The venerable vicar of Worthing, the Rev. E. K. Elliott, records that the clerk of Broadwater was himself a smuggler, and in league with those who throve by the illicit trade.  When a cargo was expected he would go up to the top of the spire, which afforded a splendid view of the sea, and when the coast was clear of preventive officers he would give the signal by hoisting a flag.  Kegs of contraband spirits were frequently placed inside two huge tombs which have sliding tops, and which stand near the western porch of Worthing church.

The last run of smuggled goods in that neighbourhood was well within the recollection of the vicar, and took place in 1855.  Some kegs were taken to Charman Dean and buried in the ground, and although diligent search was made, the smugglers baffled their pursuers.

At Soberton, Hants, there is an old vault near the chancel door.  Now the flat stone is level with the ground; but in 1800 it rested on three feet of brickwork, and could be lifted off by two men.  Here many kegs of spirit that paid no duty were deposited by an arrangement with the clerk, and the stone lifted on again.  This secret hiding-place was never discovered, neither did the curate find out who requisitioned his horse when the nights favoured smugglers.

In the wild days of Cornish wreckers and wrecking, both priest and clerk are said to have taken part in the sharing of the tribute of the sea cast upon their rockbound coast.  The historian of Cornwall, Richard Polwhele, tells of a wreck happening one Sunday morning just before service.  The clerk, eager to be at the fray, announced to the assembled parishioners that “Measter would gee them a holiday.”

I will not vouch for the truth of that other story told in the Encyclopaedia of Wit (1801), which runs as follows: