One of the greatest figures in our Island's story was Norman William who landed here, the English people's only conqueror.

 

 

WHEN this grim man arrived at Pevensey he Found himself in the shadow of Roman walls that had stood seven hundred years, and he would feel, no doubt, already like a conqueror as he landed his host on the very sot where Caesar's legions must have stood. He marched toward Hastings, and on the field of Senlac he met the King of England and his men. As the sun set on Senlac that night the Conqueror pitched his tent on the spot where Harold fell, and sat down to eat and drink among the dead.

 

He knew that he was king at last. A little way off in Rouen the gentle Matilda was pleading with the powers of heaven that the day might be his; but of of gentleness there was none in this tanner's daughter's son. He was to sit on the throne of Alfred; he was to shape the destinies of the nation that was to lead the world in freedom and humanity: yet the first thing he did as our Conqueror was to refuse a grave to our dead king. He cared nothing, this man, whether men loved or hated him.

 

The fire of the old Vikings still burned in him. He would rally his soldiers with a voice like a trumpet. He would march strong and vigorous in front of fainting troops. He would work with his men as if he were one of them. Where he found no road he would make one, and would lay the stones with his own hands. Yet he was scornful and pitiless, and his cruelty knew no bounds. When the French king mocked at him he set the French border on fire, and blazed its hamlets to the ground. When townsmen hung skins on their walls to mock at his lowly birth he cut oITthe hands and feet of his captives and flung them into the streets.

 

Such a man was he who marched from Hastings up to London, and his wonderful powers brought England to his feet. For 21 years the Conqueror ruled in England, and they were years of impressive events. Ruthless and just, his hand was everywhere. He made the people prosperous. He gave them Courts. He surveyed the country and prepared the great Domesday Book with the names of all who owned the land. He put an end to the slave trade that had been the shame of Bristol. He devastated two hundred thousand acres of Hampshire and planted the New Forest.

 

When he found revolts he put them down as if he had no heart. And yet, so strange are the facts of this world, this man of cruelty it was who abolished punishment by death and stopped the trade in slaves. Only one execution stains his reign. Seven centuries before we gave up hanging children for stealing sixpences the Conqueror deemed that no man was to suffer death for any crime whatever.

 

It was in these 21 years that there was sown the seed from which has sprung much of our national strength. It is one of our characteristics that we have our revolutions going on all the time: instead of destroying our institutions we repair and strengthen their foundations. This source of our strength, says Professor Freeman, is largely due to William, he saved our institutions by holding his despotic sway over them. He loved order so much that no price was too great to pay for it. He gave tranquillity to the land and set it on the way for a thousand years of history.

He was largely what he was, no doubt, because he grew up at a time when murder and fire were the arguments most beloved at Court, but he stands out, for all his savagery, as a ruler who knew what he wanted and a statesman who knew how to rule. It is not without a thrill that an Englishman can stand on the hill where such a man was brought to die. They carried him to the old Abbey at Rouen, on the hill above the town where, in the market place below, they had burned Joan of Arc.

For 21 years he was our Conqueror; for 21 days Death was conquering him. He knew, as he lay there, that his day was done, and terrible for those about him was the scene on this hilltop.

 

"No man can tell, " said he, " the wickedness I have done in my life of toil and care."

 

He spoke of his trials and temptations, of the ingratitude about him, and he pleaded his virtues, his charity, the 17 monasteries and the six nunneries he had founded. He gave his ring to his son William Rufus, and sent him over to England to wear his English crown. He gave orders that every prison door in Normandy and England should be thrown open and every prisoner set free - every prisoner except one, his half-brother Odo. the boy he had made a bishop at fifteen, the man he had seized with his own hands when his servants shrank from setting hands on so high a pillar of the Church.

 

One famous prisoner he set free, a liltle child who had grown up to manhood in chains, the brother of Harold, kept chained and captive by this man from the day his eye first fell on him. Such things he did, and yet "he loved he loved the wild deer as though he had been their father." He was tender as a husband and affectionate as a Father,he had gracious conversation with pious men like Anselm, and one of the things that even his enemies confessed was that he was "mild to those that loved God."

 

But now that he was soon to face his Maker the last forgiveness came grudgingly from him, and for his brother Odo none at all.

 

The dawn broke after a restless night, and the tolling of the cathedral bell awoke him. "It is the hour of Prime," they told him. Down in the cathedral the priests and the choir were welcoming in the light of another day, and as the bells rang out Willliam lifted up his hands and left behind this world through which he had passed like a hurricane that lasted forty winters.

 

 

Conquered was the Conqueror.

 

 

 

 

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