There was but one bridge, but it was not Bunyan's bridge, and many
of the gabled houses still remained. To our house, much like the
others in the High Street, there was no real drainage, and our
drinking-water came from a shallow well sunk in the gravelly soil of
the back yard. A sewer, it is true, ran down the High Street, but
it discharged itself at the bridge-foot, in the middle of the town,
which was full of cesspools. Every now and then the river was drawn
off and the thick masses of poisonous filth which formed its bed
were dug out and carted away. In consequence of the imperfect
outfall we were liable to tremendous floods. At such times a
torrent roared under the bridge, bringing down haystacks, dead
bullocks, cows, and sheep. Men with long poles were employed to
fend the abutments from the heavy blows by which they were struck.
A flood in 1823 was not forgotten for many years. One Saturday
night in November a man rode into the town, post-haste from Olney,
warning all inhabitants of the valley of the Ouse that the
"Buckinghamshire water" was coming down with alarming force, and
would soon be upon them. It arrived almost as soon as the
messenger, and invaded my uncle Lovell's dining-room, reaching
nearly as high as the top of the table.
Pages:
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25