The Rev. Jack Russell, M.F.H. and M.O.H. 43 



remembered his mount and saved him as much as possible, both 

 in wind and legs. 



In 1832 Mr. Russell went to Swymbridge, near his wife's 

 old home, and spent forty -five years of his life there with two 

 parishes and churches to look after, receiving the handsome 

 income of £180 a year — and yet I have heard that " a labourer 

 is worthy of his hire." Out of this £180 a year a curate had to 

 be provided. 



During those forty odd years he worked wonders in the 

 parishes. From one service per Sunday it grew to four, the 

 church was restored, and new schools built. 



The Gypsies were especially fond of him ; he always be- 

 friended them, and would not allow them to be hounded from 

 place to place if he could help it, and would always allow them 

 to camp on his land ; they much appreciated the way he trusted 

 them. When the King of the Gypsies felt that his days were 

 numbered, he gave instructions that a certain charm he had 

 worn for years should be given to his reverence, as a token of 

 gratitude for many kindnesses, also his much-treasured rat- 

 catching belt, and expressed the wish that he should be buried 

 in Swymbridge churchyard and the service taken by Parson 

 Russell. 



Mr. Russell used to ask his friends for some of their cast-off 

 garments for the Gypsies. When there was going to be a 

 wedding amongst them they went to him to see if he had any 

 clothes to make them smart for the occasion ; he seldom failed 

 them. He has even supplied the ring sometimes. They 

 treated him, and looked upon him, as their best friend. 



There is a story well known in the west, though possibly not 

 elsewhere, that is typical of the man. 



Riding home from hunting one evening, as he passed the 

 blacksmith's forge in his village, the owner came out saying a 

 Gypsy who was standing by the forge wanted to buy his black 

 mare, but said he had no money with him. What did the 

 parson advise him to do ? Would it be wise to let the mare go ? 

 Probably the man would disappear and never be heard of 

 again . 



Mr. Russell looked at the Gypsy for a moment, then said, 

 " I think I know your face ; you married when camping on my 

 land, did you not ? " 



