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No prisoner was buried in the church or churchyard; nor did such exclusion arise from any want of respect, but from necessity; though it would be pleasant to have had to relate that some notice was in some way taken in the parish books of Yaxley of these interesting parishioners, who were fellow-men, and who had done no wrong but die for their country.
"There," he told Tournier, "is said to be deposited the heart of William of Yaxley, a native of the place, who was Abbot of Thorney, near Peterborough, and who built, or enlarged this church. He was a true Yaxley man, and directed that his body should be buried in Thorney Abbey, and his heart in the wall of Yaxley Church.
And a very old man is still living at Yaxley, who remembers, as a boy, having often seen them on the road, some very well dressed, others in tatters, few in uniform. The daily ration of the prisoners was as follows: Five days in the week each had a pound or pound-and-a-half of bread, half-a-pound of beef, with vegetables, or pease, or oatmeal, with a small quantity of salt.
The only Yaxley Man who remembers Norman Cross Barracks. From a photograph taken by Rev. The scales of hope went up and down continually at Norman Cross, according to the intelligence that reached the prisoners from each seat of war. The triumphs of Napoleon on the Continent, and the victories of Wellington in the Peninsula, were pondered over with deepest interest by both officers and men.
Cosin was the gentleman who had laid his whip across the saucy lout's back at the time the French prisoners were marching into the barracks. He was possessed of a fair competence; but loving a country life and something to do, had hired the Manor Farm in Yaxley.
Norman Cross is the name given to that part of the parish of Yaxley, in the county of Huntingdon, where that grand old thoroughfare of England, the Great North Road, along which coaches might drive four abreast, is crossed by the Peterborough Road.
The tramp of feet was heard one afternoon late in the Autumn of 1808, on the road that leads from Peterborough to Yaxley. A body of men, four abreast, and for the most part in the garb and with the bearing of soldiers, was marching along. But the sight was not exhilarating.
My father, Joseph Clarke, was better known over the countryside by the name of Ironside Joe, for he had served in his youth in the Yaxley troop of Oliver Cromwell's famous regiment of horse, and had preached so lustily and fought so stoutly that old Noll himself called him out of the ranks after the fight at Dunbar, and raised him to a cornetcy.
His record still exists, and may be seen to this day on the north wall of the Lady-chapel of the grand old church of Yaxley, honouring alike the good man whose remains lie there, and the "poor prisoners," whose friend he was.
Then turning to others who were near, he added, with a pleasant smile, "Gentlemen, I hope you are all well this morning," and putting his arm in Tournier's went to the gate. There was a guard-room and a turnkey's lodge outside. A glance through the grating of the heavy door, and the wicket was instantly unlocked. They proceeded together along the Peterborough road towards Yaxley.
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