The village of Hanslope was agog with excitement on Thursday evening, for many rumours had been circulated with respect to the manner of burial of the gamekeeper William Farrow, who murdered his employer, and the respected Squire of the village, on Sunday. Knots of sight-seers --- many having cycled in from neighbouring places --- began to gather during twilight, and villagers were at their doors discussing in whispers what was to take place. Formerly, the goods of such a person, on whom the verdict of felo de se was recorded, were forfeited to the Crown, and his body interred in an ignominious manner. But these penalties have been abolished, and the Church of England now sanctions a form of service which, although not including some of the more beautiful Christian sentiments, is at any rate something better than the description by the late Lord Tennyson of the burial of the she-murderer in his "Maud" when
"Not a bell was rung,
Not a prayer was read."
Certainly no passing bell conveyed to the parishioners its sympathetic note, but, acting on the advice of the Right Rev. Dr. Gore, Bishop of Oxford, the Vicar (the Rev. W. J. Harkness) conducted a service -- known as the Worcester form of service -- which included prayers and Psalms.
The shades of night had hardly fallen when the preparations for interment began. At 9.15, the moon giving little light, although nearing its full, a brake rattled out of the yard of the Greyhound Inn, where the inquest had been held a few days previously. A few yards to the cottage, and the vehicle again pulled up. It was a brake owned by a carrier ordinarily used for the conveyance of parties. Between 40 and 50 people, the majority women, gathered at the corner of the road to watch the coffin brought from the cottage. Three women, one of whom was Mrs. Farrow, followed it to the gate, borne on the shoulders of the man's acquaintances -- John Herbert, Jonah Gable, John Herbert, and William Mills. The coffin, of elm, was exceedingly plain -- no breastplate, and no fittings, which, the undertaker (Mr. Webb) informed our representative, was done to save expense. Three wreaths and a couple of bunches of flowers from the children were placed on top of the coffin. The journey of over a mile to the Churchyard in the gathering gloom was then begun, only the bearers following. There was a crowd of several hundreds at the Churchyard gates, both entrances being guarded by the police. Only the Press representatives were admitted, and the crowd were with some little difficulty kept back after the little cortege had passed through. Indeed, by some means or other two or three women managed to break through the cordon, and were turned back by a police officer. There was, however, no hostile demonstration.
Along the path the Vicar recited the Psalm "Out of the deep," by the aid of a lantern, which was the only illumination, and then, in silence, a journey of 200 yards was necessary across grass and between graves to the North end of the Churchyard to the unconsecrated portion. Against the hedge, beneath and between the shadow of two tall trees, was the open grave for the reception of the murderer's remains. On the other side of the hedge, a large number of women and children, who had obtained an inkling as to the probable place of burial, watched the singular scene. It was now quite dark, and the Vicar followed with a little difficulty the unaccustomed service with the aid of the lantern's rays.
After the Psalm, "Domine Refugium" the Vicar read the lesson, from John XV, beginning at verse 25. Then followed two prayers and the Lord's Prayer, the bearers audibly making responses; and the service concluded with the Benediction.
The coffin, resting on two planks, and encircled with ropes, was then lowered quietly. As this last operation was being carried out, the sound of a fog signal, like the report of a distant gun, was carried by the west wind from the railway to the ears of the few spectators, a singular reminder of the man's frightful end. The Vicar and bearers then wended their separate ways homewards.
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