Genealogy of the Olmsted family in America : embracing the ...

A Visit to Olmsted Hall 437
We drove down into Haverhill and alighted at the Post Office, where
Mrs. Griggs and her dear old husband (churchwarden at the Parish Church 25
years) hailed us as adventuresses in the best sense of the word.
The next morning we started at 11.30 and allowed ourselves 2 hours to
walk. It was a glorious autumnal morning, no wind, a brilliant sun, and the
country looking its best. We raved over the beautiful things we saw all the
way, especially when we took the cut across the fields—the charlock fields, the
ploughed or partly ploughed ones, deep brown in colour, the hedges with Vir-
gin's bower all feathery white, the crimson hips, the avalanches of scarlet
haws; the oak trees with the pigs, as in old Saxon times, grubbing up the acorns
at the foot, and above all the sky, pale blue and flecked with the most delicate
feathery clouds and cloudlets, gave us keen joy. There were blackberry
bushes, sloe bushes, larks singing, and rooks cawing, and I felt ready to shout
with delight after being boxed up in London for 6 weeks.
I sincerely hope the day will come when I shall act as your guide to O. H.
Farm, and that we shall have such another lovely day. I wonder if you have
had the patience to wade so far, if so, please note that Castle Camps church,
restored, and just peeping through trees, is some way beyond the village,
and that the rectory is beyond it. We arrived at the house feeling hot and a bit
dishevelled, after our walk, and were mosi kindly received by Mr. and Mrs.
Pearson, elderly people with grown up sons and daughters. The house is an
ideal one, and filled with the prettiest and quaintest things. I was shown
ancient tombs, ordnance maps, and the Hundred Roll for Cambridgeshire,
temp. Edw. I., which I had time partly to copy (translated). Mr. Pearson
posted the remainder of the translation. Mr. Pearson had to hurry off to
his afternoon, service. As he left he said, " If ever you or Mrs. Olmsted want
to know anything more about the place, mind you write to me." I replied,
" We will, but I hope one day she will come and see you and it herself."
We had to catch the 5.27 from Haverhill, so I rose to go at 3, thinking of
our 2-hour walk (there are only two trains up to London from Haverhill on a
Sunday, and 5.27 is the second), but Mrs. Pearson said, " Don't go yet. My
son will drive you in part of the way." Tea was brought, and the young fellow,
home on leave, harnessed the trap himself, as it was Sunday, and gave us another
nice drive. A glimpse of Haverhill Church, then on to Mrs. Page's for
our chattels.
On the return journey, which was very long and tiring, we changed at
Marks Tey, and we reached Liverpool Station at 8.25.
The whole outing was glorious, and I enjoyed every minute of it, except
the last part of the journey home with the usual Sunday night crew.
Aren't the names in the Hundred Roll like those of Maurice Hewlett's
characters ?
I believe Bartlow is a better station to go to than Haverhill, only we did
not know of it in time.
Three hundred pounds spent on Olmsted Hall Farm would make a lovely
habitation of it.
Mrs. Pearson sent us away with bunches of roses and violets.
With best love to you and Mr. Olmsted,
Ever yours affectionately.
*' Many, Many Happy Returns of the Day."
Oct. 11th, 1904.
Marguerite Feddon.