Kent Murders E-Book

Linda Stratmann

• Herausgeber: The History Press
• Kategorie: Sachliteratur, Reportagen, Biografien
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 305

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2012

Beschreibung

Contained within the pages of this book are the stories behind some of the most notorious murders in Kent's history. Linda Stratmann re-examines some of the historic crimes that shocked not only the county but Britain as a whole. Among the gruesome cases featured here are the doctor who was poisoned with morphine in Faversham; the couple who were brutally battered to death in their beds in Chislehurst; and, the strange death of a young German man whose body was discovered with one hand missing on Ramsgate beach. All manner of murder and mystery are included here, making Kent Murders a must-read for true crime enthusiasts everywhere.

Leseprobe

Kent

MURDERS

LINDA STRATMANN

To Liz, my Canadian soul mate

First published 2009

The History Press

The Mill, Brimscombe Port

Stroud, Gloucestershire, GL5 2QG

www.thehistorypress.co.uk

This ebook edition first published in 2012

All rights reserved

© Linda Stratmann, 2009, 2012

The right of Linda Stratmann, to be identified as the Author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyrights, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights, and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

EPUB ISBN 978 0 7524 8387 0

MOBI ISBN 978 0 7524 8386 3

Original typesetting by The History Press

CONTENTS

Acknowledgements

1. Brotherly Love

Sheldwich, 1655

2. Dead of Night

Chislehurst, 1813

3. The Saviour of the People

Canterbury, 1838

4. The Body on the Beach

Ramsgate, 1859

5. The Man Who Wanted to be Hanged

Chatham, 1862

6. The Unwanted Wife

Cudham & Penge, 1877

7. The Veiled Lady

Yalding, 1881

8. The Mysterious Death of Dr Lyddon

Faversham, 1890

9. A Tragedy of Reckless Folly

Whitstable, 1926

10. Shore Leave

Gravesend, 1926

Bibliography & References

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I would like to extend my grateful thanks to the staff of the British Library, Colindale Newspaper Library and the National Archives who have as always been unfailingly helpful. My thanks must also go to the churchwardens of St Nicholas, Chislehurst, and St Michael and All Angels, Throwley, for taking the time to show me the lovely interiors and monuments of those beautiful churches; to John Endicott, curator of the Kent Police Museum, for supplying some wonderful photographs and allowing me to photograph John Mears’ staff; and to Mrs Shahida Afzal of Penenden Heath Lodge for her hospitality.

I would like to say thank you also to all the members of the Forest Writers’ group who have listened to my readings and made many helpful comments on my work. Lastly, but by no means least, I must thank my husband Gary, whose assistance as driver, photographer, companion, and maker of wonderful coffee, I could not have done without.

1

BROTHERLY LOVE

Sheldwich, 1655

When Sir Ralph Freeman, Lord Mayor of London, died in 1634 he left a will which made a carefully planned disposal of his lands. Only one of his children, his daughter Jane, had survived infancy, and in 1620, aged eighteen, she had married twenty-one-year-old George Sondes. Sir Ralph approved of the match. George was a steady serious young man, with good family connections and land of his own. In 1626 he was knighted at the coronation of King Charles I. Sir Ralph must have hoped that Jane and George would have a large family, but many of their children died in infancy. By the time of Sir Ralph’s death the couple had only two living children, both sons; Freeman Sondes, named after his grandfather, was born in 1629, and George in 1633. Sir Ralph’s will ensured that his son-in-law would inherit substantial properties, but he also made provision for his two grandsons, who would not have to wait for the death of their vigorous young father to set up households of their own. To Freeman, his favourite, he left several parcels of land, and to baby George a rather smaller inheritance, an interest in some property in Devon. It was provided that if Freeman should predecease George junior then Freeman’s share would go to his younger brother.

Six months after Sir Ralph’s death, four-year-old Freeman died; all his inheritance rights passing to his brother. In 1636 Jane Sondes bore another son. He, too, was called Freeman. It was customary in Kent for estates to be divided equally between male heirs, but more than a hundred years earlier, the Sondes family, in common with many others, had sought a special Act of Parliament to avoid splitting its lands. Under the provisions of Sir Ralph’s will, therefore, the second Freeman Sondes had no inheritance.

The Sondes family owned 6,500 acres of land, on which stood many properties including two fine manor houses in Kent; Town Place at Throwley, where the head of the family usually resided; and Lees Court near Sheldwich, occupied by the heir. Although Sir George inherited Town Place on the death of his father in 1632, and lived there for a time, he always regarded Lees Court as his true home.

Sir George was devoted to three things in his life: religion, the management of his estate, and his family. He later claimed that during the years of his marriage he had remained faithful to his wife. ‘I never had illegitimate issue, not ever had carnal knowledge of any woman, save of my own wife; not of her, but as was fitting for procreation …’ Sir George was a dutiful, rather than affectionate husband, always doing what he thought was for the best and never swerving from his strict religious principles. He believed in fairness, justice and order. When Jane died in 1637 Sir George continued to exercise this extraordinary restraint, choosing not to remarry. A second family would not only cost money, which he felt would be better employed enhancing his estates, but might well lead to problems of inheritance.

Besides the care of his estates, Sir George had political and administrative duties both national and local, with which to busy himself. He entered parliament in 1628, and there were terms as sheriff and deputy lieutenant of the county. It was during the 1630s that he commenced a programme of reconstruction at Lees Court, rebuilding in a style reminiscent of that of Inigo Jones. With the outbreak of Civil War in 1642, Sir George, nominally a Royalist, did his best not to become involved. So carefully did he sit on the fence, that for a time neither side claimed him as its own, then in 1643 he was arrested, for no offence of which he was aware, and had his estate sequestrated by Parliament, the income used to finance the war. Sir George was confined to the Tower of London, where he was to remain until his release in 1650. He later estimated that the fines and depredations had cost him £40,000, yet he was still able to continue the building works at Lees Court, which were completed in 1652.

Lees Court, c. 1905. (Author’s collection)

With his two sons approaching manhood, Sir George might have considered how best to adjust the inequality of their fortunes. Splitting the estate was not an option he could condone, but even after the damage done by years of sequestration, it was not impossible for him to find some funds to set aside for Freeman. For reasons which he never adequately explained, however, he chose not to do so. Sir George never swerved from the opinion that when his sons were young, he had spoiled them; ‘… they were tender and weak, and when I had buried many other and had only them two, I confess I was more fond and indulgent, and gave more way to them than otherwise I should have done.’ During his years in the Tower, however, he had rarely seen his sons, and when he was released they were both studying at Sydney Sussex College, Cambridge. It was not until 1651 that he was able to make up for lost time, and he plunged eagerly into doing all the things that had been denied to him by his imprisonment. He and the boys spent some months in London, where he devoted himself to completing their education, bringing masters to teach them singing, dancing, fencing, mathematics and riding. On Sundays he took them to hear sermons, and made sure to discuss what was said afterwards to ensure that the lesson had been understood.

The temptations offered by London were varied and enormous, and Sir George saw it as his duty to ensure that his boys did not keep bad company or indulge in ‘not fitting sports’. He believed that his own example had dissuaded them both from debauchery, ‘For, I thank heaven, no man can tax me for swearing, drinking, whoring or gaming.’ He was not entirely successful, and saw to his sorrow that both his sons had become devotees of cockfighting and spent far too much on clothes, but was comforted by the fact that George rarely drank and Freeman could not abide it.

It had been Sir George’s intentions to send his eldest son to France to complete his education, but France was then going through a period of unrest and, in view of the potential dangers to a traveller, he decided against it. By the end of 1652 the family was able to settle in Lees Court, at a moderately safe distance from the diversions of London.

Thus far in their history there appear to have been no serious differences between the two boys, and their father had made no distinction between them. Despite the age gap, they were largely schooled together and were at Cambridge together, Freeman entering when he was just fourteen.

It is often the case that siblings are unalike both in appearance and character, where one more closely resembles the mother and one the father. This may have been the case with the Sondes brothers. Perhaps the elder boy reminded Sir George of his late wife, while Freeman, too much like his father, was a mirror of his own youthful faults and follies which he had learned to govern. Contemporary accounts suggest that George was both better looking and better liked than his brother. Writer Richard Faber was convinced that a seventeenth-century portrait of two young men originating from Lees Court is of the brothers, and if that is the case, one is handsome and elegant, the other smaller, with fleshier, less attractive features.

George certainly knew how to charm young women. In 1654 Sir George discovered that his elder son, now at his majority, and able to take possession of his inheritance, had been conducting a romance (whether it was actually an affair will never be known) with his first cousin, Anne Delaune, who lived an hour’s ride away. Determined that his son could do far better, Sir George immediately put a stop to the relationship. George must have known that the law of primogeniture, and Sir George’s unwillingness to split the estate, made him his father’s principal heir. Sir George may well have taken the opportunity to state that in the event of a marriage which he could not approve, all that could change. Young George saw where his interests lay and obeyed his father without a quibble, breaking off the relationship. It was as if his affection for Anne had never existed. There were rumours that George and Anne had actually married, but Sir George did not believe that they were, and the most that the lady could claim was that marriage had been promised. Sir George was plainly relieved that young George was ‘ready to hearken to his father’s advice’. Certainly his elder son seemed outwardly virtuous, and paid close attention to his religious devotions. ‘I am confident all the world could not make him commit a known sin,’ wrote his father, describing George as ‘affable mild and soft’ in nature, and well loved by both friends and acquaintances. Certainly George was out to enjoy life, but only as long as he could do so without rocking the boat. The opinion of others, especially his father, was of vital importance to him. Whether his devotions were genuinely felt or were a part of his campaign to stay in his father’s good books, will never be known. By 1655 he was consoling himself with a mistress in London.

Although Sir George had made every effort to bring up his sons in the same way, a pivotal change occurred when Freeman left college, for his father made it very clear that he intended to leave his whole estate to his elder son and that Freeman was expected to shift for himself. From that time Sir George exercised a constant pressure upon Freeman to find a profession, to ‘study law, or be a merchant, or anything, so he would be something.’ Freeman, not perhaps realising that being master of the Sondes estates would not be a life of idle luxury for George, began to realise how vastly different their adult lives were to be, and all from the accident of birth. The feeling of being always second best, the pure unfairness of it all, rankled deeply and ate away at everything that had made Freeman love his brother. He still loved him, but that feeling was now cloaked with a bitter resentment. His sullen bad temper made him increasingly poor company, and Sir George seemed unable to fathom the reason for it, commenting only that Freeman was ‘pleasing and courteous to none, but cross-grained to all, as much to his father as any, and I knew not how to break him of it …’ With little to occupy himself, Freeman continued to attend cockfights until they were banned in 1654, and also played cards, and spent enormous sums on clothes. He was no noisy rakehell, nor wildly dissolute – a clergyman later described him as ‘very gentle and humble, like a child.’ Shy, sullen and unhappy, he found it difficult to win the approval of young women although there was a lady with whom he sometimes played cards, a lady with a fortune of £300−400 a year. It was rumoured, though never proven, that this lady was his brother’s former love, Anne Delaune. Sir George, in contrast with the fury with which he had greeted his elder son’s romance, was happy to see this match made and offered to provide an equal income, but Freeman denied that there was any serious intent in the relationship.

Freeman seemed content to mark time until he reached his majority, for he had a small expectation. He believed – and the source of this information is unknown – that he was due to inherit an estate which would provide an income of £1,000 a year (equivalent to £140,000 in today’s money). With that sum, Freeman, while remaining resentful of his brother’s glittering fortunes, would be content. There was still some friction between Freeman and his father, who was unhappy at his younger son’s coming and going at all hours and incessant gambling, but there was no real explosion of rage until the affair of the doublet.

Gorge and Freeman had grey doublets which they wore when out riding. The two garments looked very similar, and when George went away in the spring of 1655 his manservant packed Freeman’s doublet by mistake. George wore the doublet, and despite the fact that it was a little too small for him, did not notice the error until later. When he returned to Lees Court after Easter the two young men were talking in George’s bedroom when George recalled he still had Freeman’s doublet and suggested they exchange. Freeman was in an uncooperative and surly mood, and refused to make the swap. Their father, who was in the next room, overheard the argument and came to see what all the noise was about. On learning the reason for the quarrel, Sir George curtly told his sons to settle the matter. On the following day Freeman was still in truculent mood, unwilling to give way to his favoured older brother. Sir George, rapidly running out of patience, ordered Freeman to hand over his brother’s doublet. Freeman refused. ‘Nay, now I see it is nothing but wilfulness, only to cross your brother,’ said Sir George, exasperated. Freeman’s obstinacy had stung Sir George, who seemed incapable of recognising the grievances that lay beneath what appeared to be an argument over a trivial matter. Rather than try and deal with the underlying problems, he decided that a stern lecture was needed to bring his difficult younger son into line. The effect of his words, though he was never able to understand this, made the antagonism Freeman felt for his blameless brother explosively worse:

These cross and dogged humours of yours, if you continue in them, will ruin you: you need not be so dogged to your brother, for I tell you, if I die you must be beholding to him, and whatever your flatterers tell you of an estate of a thousand pounds a year, or more, that you have, which your father cannot keep from you, I who know better than they, tell you that you have not a groat but what you must be beholding to your father for, and that it is in his power to leave you as little as your uncle Nicholas had left him …

This was a very telling threat. Nicholas, a half brother of Sir George, had made an unfortunate marriage, had no fortune of his own, and was tolerated as a ‘poor relation’. If Freeman had felt some superiority over Nicholas and his dull existence, he would have been severely shaken by his father’s words.

This sudden disappearance of his expectations stunned Freeman, and the more he thought about it the worse it seemed. Not only was there no annuity as he had thought, but he managed to convince himself that his father intended to keep him poor during his lifetime, and, on his death, make him a servant to his brother. If Freeman had gambling debts, which was not unlikely, he now faced the prospect that he would never be able to clear them.

Freeman’s unhappiness simmered unpleasantly for a time, and if anything he became rebelliously less amenable to his father’s wishes. When further pressed to decide upon a career, he refused to make a decision. A few days afterwards, an open quarrel blew up between Freeman and his father, during which Sir George struck him. The blow was, Sir George later claimed, no more than ‘a little pat on the head’ and it may have been more humiliating than painful. Freeman’s response was to sit down quietly in a chair, without moving or speaking for four or five hours. Emotions must have been boiling in his mind, and it may have been then that he determined not to be a victim of fate and his father’s control, but take matters into his own hands. Consumed with misery and resentment, he saw no hope of any kind of happy life either then or in the future; being always too poor to make a good marriage, and forever beholden to his relatives, to whom he would be an object of pity. There was only one situation that could help him achieve what he desired – his brother and father must both die, and it must appear to be the work of intruders.

Freeman was calm enough not to do anything at once. He spent several weeks making his plans, during which time George was frequently away from home, and at the end of May, Sir George was once again arrested as a Royalist and placed in Upnor Castle, where he remained until the end of July.

Freeman’s mood had not altered, and he determined on a day of action. On 7 August the assizes would begin at Maidstone. This event would bring many people to the town, increasing the possibility of new criminals in the area, and the constables would have their hands too full dealing with prisoners to worry about possible burglars. All three Sondes would be at Lees Court. The early morning would also be light enough for Freeman to see what he was doing without the aid of a candle, whose light might awaken his sleeping victims. Nothing that happened in the days between his father’s return and the assizes changed Freeman’s resolve. On Sunday 5 August he crept into the empty kitchen, took a meat cleaver, and hid it in his room. Monday passed without any family friction, Freeman perhaps taking especial care to put on a show of amity, to defuse any suspicion against him. The family said prayers together as usual and went to bed.

Sir George and his elder son slept soundly, but Freeman forced himself to remain awake. It was not yet five in the morning when Freeman took the cleaver and a dagger and crept into his brother’s room. George lay on his left side, and Freeman at once struck him on the right side of the head with the heavy blunt back of the cleaver, breaking the skull. It was a mortal blow, but George still lived, and half-awake, dazed and confused, writhed in pain. Freeman later claimed that once he had struck the first blow he would have given all the world to recall it, yet having gone so far he could only continue, and put his stricken brother out of his agony. Again and again he brought the weapon down, five times in all. Each time, there was the sickening sound of bone being crushed, and blood flew all about, flying off the cleaver as he raised it for the last few blows. That should have been enough, but to his horror Freeman saw that his brother, despite being terribly injured, was still alive. As he watched, George rolled onto his back, moaning in pain and distress.

Upnor castle. (Author’s collection)

Freeman had begun his murderous mission with the intensity of chilled determination, but he was now revolted by what he had done. All his hatred and resentment of his brother had evaporated, and he realised that he had killed the person he had loved most all his life. As for himself, ‘he thought he was for this world utterly undone.’ From that moment on, Freeman Sondes was a walking dead man.

There was only one thing he could do for his suffering brother. He took out his dagger and stabbed George seven times in the chest. Still George would not die, still he moaned. Freeman, unable to will himself on to do more, had abandoned all thought of harming his father. He was ready to confess. He threw the cleaver out of the window, put the dagger in his pocket and went to his father’s bedroom next door.

Sir George had slept through the noise. With bloodied hands, Freeman shook his father awake. Their words would haunt Sir George for the rest of his life.

‘Father, I have killed my brother.’

‘What sayest thou? Hast thou, wretch, killed thy brother? Then thou hadst best kill me, too!’

‘No, Sir, I have done enough.’

‘Why then, you must look to be hanged.’

Sir George leaped out of bed and went at once to his elder son’s room, where George, still barely alive, lay moaning in a bed saturated with blood. It was obvious that nothing could be done for him. Freeman appeared to be without emotion, and his father interpreted that as a cold lack of any regret for his actions, but his blank expression was more probably that of a man already contemplating death.

Despite the shock, Sir George took charge of the situation. Calling up his servants he ordered that a Justice be sent for at once, and had a compliant Freeman locked in his bedroom. Soon afterwards, George breathed his last.

It might have been possible for Sir George as a prominent landowner to make some request for lenient treatment for his only son, but he made no attempt to do so. Determinedly, implacably, he took all the steps required to bring Freeman to justice, and made it clear from the outset that he never wanted to set eyes on him again. He insisted that Freeman should not remain another night under the same roof, and before the end of the day the prisoner was removed to a nearby house. The following day he was taken to Maidstone Gaol.

Sir George did, however, pray for his son. The Sondes family prayers pleaded for the Lord to ‘… soften his hard and stubborn heart, and give him a true sight of his most heinous and bloody sin, and an hearty sorrow for the same.’ As a part of the prayer Sir George claimed that he had pardoned Freeman who had ‘foully killed his dear son, and ruined him in all his hopes’, yet this was the voice of a devout and dutiful Christian addressing his God and his Saviour. As a father, such forgiveness was impossible.

Four days after his death, George Sondes was buried at the church of St Michael and All Angels, Throwley. The circumstances of his death were so shameful to his family that no monument was erected to his memory.

Freeman, in the common prison, ‘stenched with the noisome scent of prisoners’, was meek and quiet, never complained about his treatment, and gave Mr Foster, the gaoler, no trouble. Freeman was not without friends, and one, Edmund Crisp, the son of local gentry, visited him in gaol, and did all he could for him. It may well have been Edmund’s doing that after a day in the stink of the common gaol, Freeman was transferred to Mr Foster’s house as was more in keeping with his social status.

On Thursday 7 August Freeman was brought before the justices at Maidstone Assizes, where he was questioned by Sir Thomas Stiles and Sir Michael Livesey. Livesey, as first cousin to Sir George, had a considerable personal interest in the case, but he was also of a vastly different political colour, being one of the signatories to the death warrant of Charles I, and as such would have relished any information to his cousin’s detriment. Freeman must have been aware of this, and when asked why he had committed the crime, took the opportunity to place all the blame on his father. Unable to find the courage to kill his father, he had determined to act with all the gentle subservience of a victim and do as much damage to Sir George’s reputation as possible. Freeman claimed that his father had kept him short of money (something Sir George vehemently denied) and that following the argument about the doublet he had been threatened with ruin, poverty and a life of servitude to his brother. Sir George freely admitted the hard words he had spoken to Freeman, but insisted that they had been ‘spoken to thee for thy amendment, but not for thy hurt!’

A Funeral Elegie Upon the Death of George Sonds, Esq. (Author’s collection)

Sir George was never able to understand that, despite his obvious affection for both his sons, his unequal treatment of them had had some role to play in the tragedy. ‘It is strange to see,’ he wrote later, ‘how [Freeman] seems to make my hard using of him to be the motive and provocation; whereas it is well known to all, that never a son was treated more tenderly by a father.’

Church of St Michael and All Angels, Throwley. (Author’s collection)

Freeman calmly pleaded guilty to the murder of his brother and declared himself willing to meet his fate without complaint. He was taken to the condemned cell, where he spent a number of hours in filthy conditions. When asked by a visitor how he could tolerate the stench, he replied mildly that he preferred it to his father’s dining room. The visits he received from clergymen while in prison did, however, convince him that his afterlife would be a lot more comfortable if he used his remaining days to make his peace with his father.

The outcome of the trial, which took place before Judge Crook on 10 August, was never in doubt, and Freeman declined to make any further statement about his reasons for committing the crime, or express his remorse, but asked for a petition to be read out. While accepting that it was his fate to be executed, he asked humbly to be allowed a few more days of life, to ‘make his peace with God, and reconcile himself to his deservedly and highly offended father.’ The judge willingly allowed him until 15 August.

Freeman must have found his last few days on earth some of the pleasantest of his life. Everyone was deeply concerned for him, he had numerous visitors who all took a great interest in his soul, he was transferred back to the comfort of Mr Foster’s, he was no longer being harangued by his father to take up some miserable profession, and did not have to endure the mocking presence of the golden boy, the much loved and much hated elder brother. A strange kind of peace descended upon him. Sir George would hardly have recognised his formerly awkward, sullen and argumentative son.

On 13 August, Edmund Crisp helped Freeman compose a formal confession to his crime. In this document he no longer blamed his father, but attributed his sin to that most traditional of impulses; the ‘instigation of the devil.’ In this confession Freeman deeply regretted his sin against the laws of the land, against society and against God. Nowhere did he mention his father. Nevertheless more than a week after his crime, a time during which he had had no communication with Sir George, he composed a personal letter to his ‘most dear and loving father.’

Acknowledging that ‘through the heinousness of my offence, I am unworthy to see your face once more in this world,’ he begged for ‘your pardon, your blessing, and your prayers, which I doubt not to obtain.’ His words reveal a trusting confidence in salvation through forgiveness. ‘I hope in a very short time to rest in Abraham’s bosom, whither my brother is gone before me … And you, my dear father, shall in God’s good time follow after.’

Sir George sent a long and formal reply, addressing the penitent baldly as ‘Son Freeman’ and stating that he hoped that Freeman was as truly sorry for his crime as his letter stated, and on that basis, ‘I do really and fully forgive you … But …’, and this was a very telling ‘but’, he added that Freeman would only be received into God’s mercy on a true repentance and acknowledgement of his sins,

… and that (let me be plain with you) I yet see not in you. For this most detestable fact, you confess indeed that you did it, but, as much as in you lies, lay the provocation of it upon your father, by charging him with the most false and devilish untruths …

Freeman’s evidence before the justices had bitten deep, and Sir George admonished his son at great length. He was in no doubt as to the true reason behind the crime, ‘… the main thing that provoked thee, was thy envy at thy brother’s virtues and growing goodness, and that he was the elder, and that I and the world began to look on him, and love him.’

Sir George had written to the sheriff to allow Freeman a few more days to give him more time for repentance, although the main reason might have been to quell some scandalous gossip that was being spread by a former servant to the effect that the family did not carry out their religious observances.

When Freeman heard of his stay of execution to 21 August, he wrote to his ‘dear and ever honoured father’ begging his pardon and forgiveness of past disobedience, promising that he would spend his remaining days in repentance and prayer. Sir George replied once more, his final letter dated the day before the execution, trusting that Freeman would be received by Christ if he truly repented, but there were doubts in his mind as to whether Freeman’s repentance was genuine or just the hollow words of a frightened young man seeing the pit of Hell opening for him, ‘… it must come from thy own self; thy own heart must beg it, or all will be in vain … I hope thou hast some sparks of grace in thee, though deeply buried under a world of rubbish.’ He also added, ‘Hell is only full of impenitent souls.’ Nowhere does Sir George admit any fault of his own save, ‘Too much softness and gentleness … you have none to accuse in this but your own wicked and envious disposition, and the devil, who had got so much power over thee as to make thee do his will.’ He ended the letter, ‘Your sad and ruined father’. Undoubtedly Freeman was able to take some comfort from the mere fact that his father was writing to him, and there were, scattered amongst the angry diatribes, words of forgiveness, but underneath it all there was real doubt in Sir George’s mind as to whether Freeman was truly sorry, in his heart of hearts. Freeman, so his father thought, might be able to fool the visiting clergymen into believing him to be a true penitent but he would never be able to hide his true feelings from God.

Freeman spent his last few days in religious observance, and achieved a spiritual calm which enabled him to sleep soundly in his bed. On the morning of Tuesday 21 August, Freeman, clad in a black gown, rode to the place of execution, a gallows constructed on a prominent hill on the south side of Penenden Heath, about a mile and a half from the gaol. He was accompanied by two clergymen and many other gentlemen. His demeanour was reported to be that of a ‘mournful penitent’. Clergyman Robert Boreman, who had ministered to Freeman in the last week of his life, addressed the crowds, speaking for more than an hour about the nature of sin, and emphasising Freeman’s true penitence, since there had been some rumblings of public concern about the prisoner being given Holy Communion. Following a prayer, Freeman mounted a ladder to the scaffold, and asked the people to pray for him. As the preparations were made he continued to pray, asking God to forgive him his sins and bestow a blessing on his father. His last words were ‘God’s will be done’ and ‘Lord Receive my soul.’ Freeman Sondes, aged just nineteen, was duly hanged. His body was later taken to Holy Cross Church, Bearsted for burial.

Penenden Hearth, looking towards the high ground. (Author’s collection)

A Mirrour of Mercy and Judgement. (Author’s collection)

The graveyard, Holy Cross Church, Bearsted. (Author’s collection)

Holy Cross Church, Bearsted. (Author’s collection)

Sondes Chapel, Throwley. Sir George’s tomb is in the foreground. (Author’s collection)

Inscription on tomb of Sir George Sondes. (Author’s collection)

In 1656 Sir George, now fifty-seven, remarried. His object can only have been to raise a new family to which to leave his estates. His new wife was Mary Villiers who gave her age as twenty-four. Sir George soon became the father of two daughters, Mary and Katherine. The Sondes family fortunes improved with the Restoration of Charles II, and Sir George again became deputy lieutenant for Kent, and re-entered parliament in 1661. In March 1676 Lady Mary Sondes married French-born Louis de Durfort, the Marquis de Blanquerfort, and Baron Duras. A month later, Sir George was granted the titles of Baron Throwley, Viscount Sondes of Lees Court, and Earl of Feversham. Since he had no son, the titles were to revert to his son-in-law. Sir George died in 1677, and Louis succeeded to the Earldom, but the marriage remained childless, and when he died in 1709 the Earldom became extinct although the other titles were recovered by the Earl of Rockingham, Katherine’s husband. Sir George could never have imagined when he raised his two sons, that the titles and the estates of the Sondes family would eventually be maintained through the female and not the male line.

The current Lees Court is not the original, which was destroyed by fire in 1910. It was rebuilt, and later sold and converted into apartments.

2

DEAD OF NIGHT

Chislehurst, 1813