Parker had walked down Netherwood Lane to Thomas Barber’s shop at Sale Green. The two men were friendly and had fallen into a conversation when they were interrupted by Clewes unexpectedly knocking at the door. Anticipating a confrontation, Parker hurried out of the kitchen door as Clewes entered, but the farmer caught a glimpse of him as he disappeared along the lane. Clewes turned to Barber and told him there was £50 for any man ‘who would shoot the parson’.
By mid-June there were indications that Parker was growing uncharacteristically nervous. He cut down on his rambles through the lanes and he avoided Church Farm, Pound Farm and Netherwood altogether. Whether he had been cautioned that the farmers were offering a reward for his murder or not, he had certainly been told enough by Sarah Lloyd to know they were proposing toasts against him and meeting by night to vent their anger. Perhaps instinct was drawing him back from any contact with the men, but it was difficult to avoid people in a place like Oddingley and from the middle of June there was a further worry. The Captain, who for so long had avoided Parker and treated him with contempt, seemed determined to catch him and was seen on various occasions in Church Lane, waiting for him to emerge from the rectory.
A chance soon presented itself. The lanes were busiest during harvest time, with labourers drawing handcarts, fetching supplies from the cottages and relaying messages back and forth. Much of the traffic flowed along Church Lane outside the rectory, where on Tuesday 17 June two labourers from Crowle stopped to speak to Parker. A minute later Captain Evans appeared on horseback from around a kink in the lane. He rode towards Parker, and when he was within earshot called out, ‘Stop, sir, do stop! Let me speak to you once more!’
It was perhaps the first time the two men had encountered one another since their argument at the vestry meeting ten weeks before. The image of the two adversaries together is a vivid and enduring one: the Captain on horseback, advancing at a pace towards Parker. The clergyman is defiant, resolute and static, the Captain dynamic, domineering and aggressive. As Evans approached, Parker shouted to him, ‘You are not going to pay the debt of nature – that is the only debt you will pay.’ It was a dismissive riposte with clear implications: that while the Captain might strive to evade his obligations to God on earth (his payment of the tithes), he would not be able to avoid divine punishment at the Day of Judgement. It was a stinging rebuke to an elderly man.
There was no further conversation. Parker turned his back and retreated into the rectory, leaving the Captain in the lane with John Bridge and Joseph Kendall, the two labourers. Incensed that his attempt at conciliation had been so starkly rebuffed, the Captain damned Parker furiously, concluding his flow of invective with a cry of rhetorical exasperation, asking the men ‘which ship he belonged to’. It was a moment of unbridled anger, a public spilling-over of many months of simmering frustration in full view of the villagers.
It seemed a final blow that ruined any lingering hope that a compromise might be struck between the parties before harvest, yet, just three days afterwards, the Captain tried again. Catching Parker in Church Lane, Evans pursued him on horseback as he retreated towards the rectory, imploring him to stop and talk. The appeals, though, fell on deaf ears. Once more Parker slipped away before Evans could corner him or impart whatever message it was he was so desperately trying to convey. ‘God damn the fellow!’ Evans shouted. ‘Lord have mercy upon me, what a fellow it is!’
Inside the rectory Parker was comforted by his wife. In a fit of exasperation he told her, ‘I will swear my life against them all, 4 for I know not what they want – unless it is my life.’
For years much of the resentment towards Parker had been subsurface. The
By mid-June there were indications that Parker was growing uncharacteristically nervous. He cut down on his rambles through the lanes and he avoided Church Farm, Pound Farm and Netherwood altogether. Whether he had been cautioned that the farmers were offering a reward for his murder or not, he had certainly been told enough by Sarah Lloyd to know they were proposing toasts against him and meeting by night to vent their anger. Perhaps instinct was drawing him back from any contact with the men, but it was difficult to avoid people in a place like Oddingley and from the middle of June there was a further worry. The Captain, who for so long had avoided Parker and treated him with contempt, seemed determined to catch him and was seen on various occasions in Church Lane, waiting for him to emerge from the rectory.
A chance soon presented itself. The lanes were busiest during harvest time, with labourers drawing handcarts, fetching supplies from the cottages and relaying messages back and forth. Much of the traffic flowed along Church Lane outside the rectory, where on Tuesday 17 June two labourers from Crowle stopped to speak to Parker. A minute later Captain Evans appeared on horseback from around a kink in the lane. He rode towards Parker, and when he was within earshot called out, ‘Stop, sir, do stop! Let me speak to you once more!’
It was perhaps the first time the two men had encountered one another since their argument at the vestry meeting ten weeks before. The image of the two adversaries together is a vivid and enduring one: the Captain on horseback, advancing at a pace towards Parker. The clergyman is defiant, resolute and static, the Captain dynamic, domineering and aggressive. As Evans approached, Parker shouted to him, ‘You are not going to pay the debt of nature – that is the only debt you will pay.’ It was a dismissive riposte with clear implications: that while the Captain might strive to evade his obligations to God on earth (his payment of the tithes), he would not be able to avoid divine punishment at the Day of Judgement. It was a stinging rebuke to an elderly man.
There was no further conversation. Parker turned his back and retreated into the rectory, leaving the Captain in the lane with John Bridge and Joseph Kendall, the two labourers. Incensed that his attempt at conciliation had been so starkly rebuffed, the Captain damned Parker furiously, concluding his flow of invective with a cry of rhetorical exasperation, asking the men ‘which ship he belonged to’. It was a moment of unbridled anger, a public spilling-over of many months of simmering frustration in full view of the villagers.
It seemed a final blow that ruined any lingering hope that a compromise might be struck between the parties before harvest, yet, just three days afterwards, the Captain tried again. Catching Parker in Church Lane, Evans pursued him on horseback as he retreated towards the rectory, imploring him to stop and talk. The appeals, though, fell on deaf ears. Once more Parker slipped away before Evans could corner him or impart whatever message it was he was so desperately trying to convey. ‘God damn the fellow!’ Evans shouted. ‘Lord have mercy upon me, what a fellow it is!’
Inside the rectory Parker was comforted by his wife. In a fit of exasperation he told her, ‘I will swear my life against them all, 4 for I know not what they want – unless it is my life.’
For years much of the resentment towards Parker had been subsurface. The
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