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Updated: June 2, 2025
For this little girl of fourteen, Helena, the princess, was a king's daughter, and, according to all accounts, a very bright and charming girl besides which all princesses have not been. Her father was Coel, second prince of Britain and king of that part of ancient England, which includes the present shires of Essex and of Suffolk, about the river Colne.
Captain Broughton came to Oxney Colne, stayed there a fortnight the intended period for his projected visit having been fixed at three or four days and then went his way. He went his way back to his London haunts, the time of the year then being the close of the Easter holy-days; but as he did so he told his aunt that he should assuredly return to her in the autumn.
Seven miles down the valley of the Colne lies the village of Earl's Colne, with the priory, where ten of the earls of Oxford lie buried with their wives. The parish church of Castle Hedingham stood at the end of the little village street, and the rectory of Mr. Vickars was close by. The party gathered at morning prayers consisted of Mr.
As it was, he could walk from Oxney Colne to Priestown, fifteen long Devonshire miles across the moor; and he who could do that could hardly be regarded as too old for work. But our present story will have more to do with his daughter than with him. A pretty girl, I have said, was Patience Woolsworthy; and one, too, in many ways remarkable.
Following the upper waters of the Colne, which ran through the woods on their left, they came to Watford, and then turned probably to Rickmansworth. No longer on the Roman paved ways, they followed horse-tracks, between the forest and the rich marsh-meadows of the Colne, as far as Denham, and then struck into a Roman road again at the north end of Langley Park.
But for long did Gunnhild and I dwell with her brother in the forest and marsh fastnesses beyond the Colne. There one might take to the woods when prowling Danes were near, though it was but twice, and but for a few hours then, that we had to do so. There was little or no danger there when the host passed on.
"Will ye be of as good courage, think you," asked Wastborowe, "the day ye stand up by Colne Water?" "God knoweth," was the reverent answer of Mrs Silverside. "If He holds us up, then shall we stand." "They be safe kept whom He keepeth," said Johnson. "Please, Mr Wastborowe," said Cissy in a businesslike manner, "would you mind telling me when we shall be burned?"
Towards evening we re-embarked on the Colne and at the very moment of transhipment from the picquet boat the enemy opened a real hot shrapnel fire, plastering with impartiality and liberality our trenches, our beaches and the sea. The Colne was in strangely troubled water, but, although the shot fell all about her, neither she nor the picquet boat was touched.
We dined at Worcester, and lay that night at Bridgenorth. On the Tuesday, we slept at Macclesfield; on the Wednesday, at Colne; on the Thursday, at Appleby; and on Friday, about four o'clock in the afternoon, we reached home. On the steps, waiting for us, stood Father and Sophy. I had not been many minutes in the house before I felt, in some inward, indescribable way, that things were changed.
And still no help came from her cousin, the admiral. But one day a galley speeding up the Colne brought this unsigned message to King Coel: "To Coel, Camalodunum, Greeting: "Save thyself. Constantius the sallow-faced, prefect of the Western praetorians, is even now on his way from Spain to crush thy revolt. Save thyself. I wait. Justice will come."
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