Hidden Oswestry has covered many of this town’s unusual characters over the years, from the most eccentric yet harmless, to the roughest and the scummiest individuals to curse us with their presence. Never, however, have we ever covered anything quite like the two characters we will look at right now.

Our tale originates from Owen’s Personal Reminiscences of Oswestry, Fifty Years Ago of 1904. Holy Trinity Church in Salop Road was in its infancy in the 1850s, but one of its early curates was a rather eccentric individual. Bishop Walsham How was the rural dean of Oswestry at the time and his published work included a ‘Commentry on the Four Gospels’ and a manual on Holy Communion, which he deposited in Oswestry’s first town library.

One of the tales is of how a curate prepared himself for his sermon, but upon discovering he had left his handkerchief in his residence, he approached a member of the congregation to ask if he could borrow theirs. Naturally, a God-fearing woman pulled out her handkerchief and passed it to him, on the condition he returned it to her once the service was complete. The handkerchief was returned unsullied.

We learn that this curate would go on to begin the sermon by startling the congregation. He began his sermon in a quaint, gentle voice, before throwing in odd expressions. For example, we learn of another time when he began a sentence with a solecism: “My brethren, there are many kinds of knowledges.” This was received with great amusement from the congregation.

Bishop How also goes on to tell us of how a second curate decided to use his sermon to inform his congregation that if water was poured into a basket, it would run out quicker than it was poured in.

We read stories of American preachers stunning the world with such absurdities and we laugh, but to think we had our own preachers with eccentric methods of spreading the ‘good news of the kingdom’.

Bishop How tells us of a third and final curate, whose sermon was regarded as eccentric at the time, but we may perceive this today as an act of virtue and care. The curate preached that all labourers should receive an education so they could enjoy a ‘Times leader’. Does he mean they should be taught to read so they can purchase The Times newspaper? Who knows?

The curate was certainly eccentric, but he was genial, well-intentioned and practical; instead of writing his sermon on parchment, he read his sermons from loose leaves of manuscript, which he would gently lay on the seat behind him, once complete.

Another eccentric individual – a beadle for St Oswald’s Parish Church, again in the 1850s. He was a tall, domineering and rather scary fellow, who wore a black cloak and would scare the living daylights out of unruly boys.

His primary responsibility was to accompany the parson to the pulpit, open the door and close it. The beadle was very hard of hearing, as we learn of a harrowing tale of how, upon noticing a stray dog in the middle aisle, grabbed it by its ear and dragged it out of the door.

The poor dog let out a bloodcurdling howl, which was described as “enough to raise the dead”. This noise upset the congregation, who set themselves upon the beadle to rescue the dog.

Sources:

- ‘Personal Reminiscences of Oswestry, Fifty Years Ago [More or Less]’ [Pages 43 & 44], by Thomas Owen (1904);

- Wikipedia: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Walsham_How