554
THE WINDSOR MAGAZINE.
By far the largest island is Fowlness,
which extends to just over six thousand
acres. In summer it is pleasant and smiling
enough ; but in winter its aspect is dreary
and depressing. At all times it is more than
a little outlandish, from the ordinary man's
point of view. Its sparse and decreasing
population of 479 souls averages about one-
thirteenth part of a person only to each of
its many acres. It has no hard roads, for
all its highways are in a state of Nature,
and almost impassable in winter. In dry
weather, when they have become too rough
for use, they are simply ploughed ! Of trees
there are scarcely any, and "the fences are
only ditches," as Morant, the county his-
which bears a notice stating that all arrange-
ments for His Majesty's mails "are governed
by the state of the tides."
As to the name of the island (the proper
spelling of which has been much discussed),
the last half of it comes, of course, from the
Scandinavian or Saxon naes or ness, a nose
or point, met with so commonly on our east
coast. The discussion has been about the
first half. This comes undoubtedly from the
Saxon ful, foul, muddy, or miry ; but now-
adays there is a fastidious inclination, not
justified by history, to derive it from the
vast numbers of fowl which frequented the
island formerly, as they still do to a less
extent. Indeed, the official spelling is now
Fowl-ness, but the native pro-
nunciation is Fow'ness. Only the
inhabitants of the adjacent island
of Great Britain are accustomed
to sound the l.
Immediately to the south of
Fowlness lies New England, a very
small, long, narrow island, which
presents only one attenuated end
to the sea-coast. Morant dismisses
it with the curt statement that it
has ''nothing remarkable."
Formerly cultivated, it was over-
whelmed by the disastrously high
tide of November 29, 1897, which
broke down its sea-walls, and it
has lain derelict ever since, sub-
merged by every tide. South of
this, again, lies the larger Haven-
gore Island, having an area of
about one thousand acres, largely
cultivated. Behind these three
islands lie three others—the large
Wallasea Island (about three
thousand acres), the smaller Potton
Island, and the still smaller
torian, quaintly says. No professional man
of any kind, except the rector, lives on the
island. Even its leading farmer, who farms
on the most scientific lines, resides on it,
during part of the year only. Its public
buildings are three in number. The largest
and most important is its small, though
adequate, church, built of stone in 1850 on
the site of an earlier timber church ; for the
island has been parochial since 1547. Next
comes the parish lock-up or cage shown
in one of the photographs here reproduced.
(The well-known public man seen standing
by it need not have tried to pretend he has
not escaped from it, for I guarantee that he
saw the outside of it only whilst he was on
the island.) The third is the pillar-box,
Rushley Island.
Another glance at the map will show that
the three islands first named above—Fowl-
ness, New England, and Havengore—all lie
actually on, and form the greater part of, the
ten miles of coast extending from the mouth
of the River Crouch, on the north, to
Shoeburyness, on the south, the remaining
portion (about four miles) being formed by
mainland, comprised within the parishes of
Great Wakering, North Shoebury, and South
Shoebury. The three inner islands are
connected one with another and with the
mainland by means of fords and causeways,
but wheeled vehicles can reach the three
outer islands by means of the sea-road only.
This sea-road, long known as "The