Patrick Comerford
If I had the space and the soil, the patience and the time, the two trees I would like to try to grow are an olive tree and a fig tree.
They are signs of life and God’s blessings in creation, of life and of continuity in life. There is a very large fig tree off the High Street in Stony Stratford and small potted olive trees outside some of the restaurants in Milton Keynes. Fig trees and olive trees at any time of the year also bring back warm memories of Greece.
But during my visit to Watford earlier this week, I heard the story of what surely must have been one of the most unusual fig trees in an English churchyard.
Saint Mary’s Church is the oldest building in Watford, and the churchyard has 13 prominent tombs, of which nine are nationally listed chest tombs, one is locally listed, two have been reconstructed from piles of stone, and one is a nationally-listed headstone.
A headstone from 1809 is of George Edward Doney, a loyal servant to the Earl of Essex who lived at Cassiobury House in Watford. He was born in Gambia and sold into slavery in Virginia. He later earned his freedom and came to Watford as a free man. His headstone is of national significance and represents an important aspect of the social history of the town.
At the south-east corner of the churchyard, the Fig Tree Tomb was a popular tourist attraction in Victorian Watford. Local legend claims that the person buried there was an atheist, who had asked that something be buried in the tomb that could germinate if there was life after death. If there was a God, this would grow and burst the tomb to prove to his family that his soul was alive. If not, then nothing would happen and he would be proved correct.
The existence of God was said to have been proven when a fig tree sprouted up from the tomb and dislodged the lid.
The strange sight drew visitors to the graveyard in large numbers. They came to hear the story and they left taking a twig from the tree as a souvenir.
Whoever was buried in the tomb must have come from a wealthy family as the tomb is of Portland stone with an elaborate design, and the slate panel would have had crisp carving with the name and details of the dead person. It is unlikely though that an atheist would have been given such an impressive tomb so close to the church.
Over time, the slate panel was worn away and eroded and the inscription is no longer legible, so the details in any version of the legend are difficult if not impossible to verify.
One version of the legend says it was the grave of a naval officer named Ben Wangford. However, historians have not been able to identify anyone of the name Wangford in naval records.
Details about Ben Wangford grew as the story of the Fig Tree grew, attracting visitors to the church and the churchyard in ever-increasing numbers.
Henry Williams, in his History of Watford, writing in 1884, described the fig tree growing through the tomb and he reported that each year it ‘exhibits considerable luxuriance and sometimes produces figs.’ He said the fig tree had ‘probably grown there for close upon 100 years’, which would date it to the 1790s, or even the 1780s.
He described hundreds of people visiting the churchyard, many making long excursions to see the fig tree and taking home a leaf or small branch.
However, Williams said that when the tomb was opened it was found that the root of the tree was four or five feet above where the dead man’s head must have been. He said some tendrils had become attached to the bottom of the vault and this was said to explain the luxuriant growth of the fig tree.
For some, the fact the tree did not grow out of the coffin discredited the old legends. Others still believed it was strange that a fig tree should grow out of a tomb at all. The coffin inside the tomb was found to have a projection at the top. This led to speculation that the buried person had died with his or her knees up and that, after death, the knees could not be straightened.
Over a decade later, a writer in the parish magazine in 1898 said Ben Wangford had lived about the middle of the previous century, that he was a man of enormous size, and ‘his boots could contain a bushel of corn.’ But the writer admitted he knew nothing more – whether the dead man was from Watford, single or married.
In The Book of Watford, Bob Nunn offers another version or a similar story about a woman who was atheist. Her tomb was accidentally when the churchyard was being lowered and graves were being levelled.
Yet another theory suggested the seed of the fig tree could have been accidentally thrown into the tomb by the Revd the Hon William Robert Capel (1775-1854), who was the Vicar of Saint Mary’s from 1799 to 1855. He was William Anne Capell (1743-1799), 4th Earl of Essex; he grew fig trees and had a taste for eating figs as he walked to church, spitting out the pips along his way from the vicarage.
The churchyard was taken over by Watford Council in recent years ago and is now an open space. Sadly, the Fig Tree itself died in 1963 after a long and cold winter, though some writers suggest it was helped on its way by local officials who thought it was in the way.
The fig tree may be long gone, but the legend and the tomb remain with several versions of the story.
Meanwhile, I am looking forward to seeing some more fig trees – and olive trees – when I am back in Crete during Easter next month.
No comments:
Post a Comment