And here I should like to quote a Sussex poem of haunting wistfulness and charm, which was written by Mr.Hilaire Belloc, who once walked to Rome and is an old dweller at Slindon:-- [Sidenote: A SOUTH COUNTRY SONG] THE SOUTH COUNTRY.
When I am living in the Midlands, That are sodden and unkind, I light my lamp in the evening: My work is left behind; And the great hills of the South Country Come back into my mind.
The great hills of the South Country They stand along the sea: And it's there walking in the high woods That I could wish to be, And the men that were boys when I was a boy Walking along with me.
The men that live in North England I saw them for a day: Their hearts are set upon the waste fells, Their skies are fast and grey: From their castle-walls a man may see The mountains far away.
The men that live in West England They see the Severn strong, A-rolling on rough water brown Light aspen leaves along.
They have the secret of the Rocks, And the oldest kind of song.
But the men that live in the South Country Are the kindest and most wise, They get their laughter from the loud surf, And the faith in their happy eyes Comes surely from our Sister the Spring, When over the sea she flies; The violets suddenly bloom at her feet, She blesses us with surprise.
I never get between the pines, But I smell the Sussex air, Nor I never come on a belt of sand But my home is there; And along the sky the line of the Downs So noble and so bare.
A lost thing could I never find, Nor a broken thing mend; And I fear I shall be all alone When I get towards the end.
Who will there be to comfort me, Or who will be my friend?
I will gather and carefully make my friends Of the men of the Sussex Weald, They watch the stars from silent folds, They stiffly plough the field.
By them and the God of the South Country My poor soul shall be healed.
If I ever become a rich man, Or if ever I grow to be old, I will build a house with deep thatch To shelter me from the cold, And there shall the Sussex songs be sung And the story of Sussex told.
I will hold my house in the high wood Within a walk of the sea, And the men who were boys when I was a boy Shall sit and drink with me.
[Sidenote: NEWLAND, NYREN, AND SILVER BILLY] Richard Newland, the father of serious cricket, came from this parish.
He was born in 1718, or thereabouts, and in 1745 he made 88 for England against Kent.

He was left-handed, and the finest bat ever seen in those days.

He taught Richard Nyren, of Hambledon, all the skill and judgment that that noble general possessed; Nyren communicated his knowledge to the Hambledon eleven, and the game was made.

An interest in historical veracity compels me to add that William Beldham--Silver Billy--talking to Mr.Pycroft, discounted some of Nyren's praise.

"Cricket," he said, "was played in Sussex very early, before my day at least [he was born in 1766]; but that there was no good play I know by this, that Richard Newland, of Slindon in Sussex, as you say, sir, taught old Richard Nyren, and that no Sussex man could be found to play Newland.