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C. J. Cornish - The Naturalist on the Thames
going, to the great convenience of the inhabitants." So says Antony Wood, adding that it stood before the
Norman conquest. After that it was forfeited to the Norman kings, and then held in half shares by the
burgesses of the town and the abbots of Oseney, that once wealthy and now vanished abbey, which stood
close by where the railway station now is. They shared the fishery also, and apparently this partnership
prevented friction between the town and the monks, as each could undersell the other, and prices for
flour and fish were kept down at a reasonable figure.
Henry VIII. gave the abbey's share to the new bishopric of Oxford, but the funds of the bishopric were
embezzled by some means, and the town ultimately bought the mill for L566.
St. George's Tower, the only remaining fragment of the castle, is built of stones and mortar, so compact
that though the walls have stood since Robert d'Oily reared it, late in the reign of the Conqueror, the
stones and mortar had to be cut out as if from a mass of rock when a water-pipe was recently taken
through the walls. It is now the water tower which holds the supply for Oxford prison.
Old Holywell Mill was on a branch of the Cherwell, and stood just behind Magdalen Walks, whence a
charming view was had of its wheel and lasher. It belonged to the Abbey of Oseney, who gave it to
Merton College in exchange for value. Now it is a handsome dwelling-house, below which the mill
stream rushes.
Merton College seems to have had a fancy for owning mills, for it also acquired by exchange the King's
Mill. Only the house and lasher are left to show where this old mill stood. It had a narrow but very strong
mill stream, which in winter used to come down in a sheet of solid water like green jade, a beautiful
object among the walks and willows of Mesopotamia. It was an outpost of the King's forces when Oxford
was held for the Royalists.
Botley Mill, though on the westernmost of the many streams into which the Thames divides at Oxford,
was outside the walls. It dates from before the Conquest. This belonged to the Abbey of Abingdon, in the
chronicles of which are some records of an injury done to the "aqueduct, which is vulgarly called the
lake." This name is still the local term for all side streams and artificial cuts from the Upper Thames. The
men of a now vanished village of Seckworth broke the banks of the "lake" when Odo, Bishop of Bayeux,
was being besieged in Rochester Castle. The lord of the manor was subsequently sued for this by the
abbot of Abingdon, and had to pay ten shillings damages. Doubtless the men of Seckworth had to
contribute to pay for their indulgence in this mischief, but it looks as if the abbot's miller had been
cheating them.
THE BIRDS THAT STAY
In the Vision of the Lots and Lives, when the souls chose their careers on a fresh register before taking
another chance in the world above, Ulysses chose that of a stay-at-home proprietor, with a resolve, born
of experience, never again to roam. If Plato had made a Myth of the Birds, he might have alleged some
such reason to explain how it is that while most of them are incessant wanderers, ever flitting uncertain
between momentary points of rest, so few remain fixed and constant, as if they had sworn at some distant
date never more to make trial of the wine-dark sea. In the still, November woods, when the vapours curl
like smoke among the dripping boughs, leaving a diamond on each sprouting bud where next year's leaf
is hid; by the moorland river, on bright December mornings, when the grayling are lying on the shallows
below the ripple where the rock breaks the surface; by the frozen shore where the land-springs lie fast,
drawn into icicles or smeared in slippery slabs on the cliff faces, and hoar frost powders the black
sea-wrack; on the lawns of gardens, where the winter roses linger and open dew-drenched and
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