Charles Dickens in Virginia

There is great fanfare in England this month, and not only in England but in 50 countries worldwide, regarding Charles Dickens’ 200th birthday which happens to be today, February 7.  According to an article in Smithsonian magazine, “London is . . . buzzing with museum exhibitions and commemorations . . . festivals, guided walks, a reading of “A Christmas Carol” by great-great-grandson Mark Dickens . . . “ – and so on.

I begin my search for Dickens in Virginia . . .

In memory of his birthdate, and because he is one of my favorite authors of Christmases past, I planned to participate and honor him in some local way by visiting a place in Cumberland, Virginia where he once stayed with old family friends from England, the Thorntons, in 1842.

Only a day or two after his visit ended, the Thornton’s 13-month-old son, Charles Irving Thornton (possibly named after Charles Dickens and Washington Irving) died of unknown cause. Dickens was in Ohio by then, but was summoned by the child’s doctor to write an epitaph for the young boy. As it turns out, this would be one of only two epitaphs which Dickens would write in his lifetime.  The other was for his sister-in-law who died at age 17.  That site in London is one of the many stops on the tour for his bicentennial celebration.  I just hope those Englanders or other Dickens fans never come to Virginia to view the only-other epitaph he wrote.  As an American, I would be terribly embarrassed by what they might find . . . or most probably, not find.

The site is located in the throes of what is now called Cumberland State Forest, a great place for fishing and hunting and camping.  I’d already learned that the site was hard to find, though it was made an official Virginia Historic Landmark in 1980. I found someone with an official uniform who directed me to the site while turning and positioning his body in the manner of “as the bird flies.” I was to drive about six country miles down a single lane dirt road, look for a small sign for Oak Hill Lake, take that turn and drive another two or three miles.  “When you see two old barns, park your car, walk across the field in front of you, you’ll see a grove of trees, and it’s somewhere in that grove of trees," he said.  "But there’s no sign for it, so good luck finding it.” As I turned to walk away, he added, “It’s a good thing you’re here in February or you’d never find it . . . “  Then he mentioned ticks.

Somewhere in this grove of trees, he said.

I did everything he said . . . though the grove of trees was really the beginning of a seemingly endless forest.  I realized I was wandering on the old "Thornton homestead" where Charles Dickens had once wandered, land that has been systematically acquired over the last century along with neighboring homesteads for natural preservation by the State.  Slightly into the forest I looked up to see pine trees that had fallen onto other pine trees and were resting precariously at 45 degree angles above my head – everywhere I went.  I was careful not to walk too loudly lest I stir the surroundings and one of those dangling pine trees fall on my head.  I spent an hour walking, searching, softly talking to the woods . . . help me, Charles Dickens, to find the only evidence of your presence in Virginia . . . 
 

Sphagnum moss, my only clue

I saw a lone duck on the lake nearby. I stopped often and listened to profound silence. There was not a human being in shouting distance. I heard birds of a different variety than I hear at home. I saw a type of mossy growth – sphagnum moss, I think it’s called – which is the same variety I’d noticed on the prettified picture of the grave marker on the state website.   I let myself think that I must be nearby.  But I also knew I was wandering in circles with those ominous diagonal trees above me and the silent duck on the motionless lake and the eerie sounds of dusk approaching.  I’m an inordinately determined person, but this time I had to give up.


The official site I had hoped to find

While the rest of the world honors this author’s birthdate 200 years ago today with fanfare, celebrations, readings, and tours, it appears the State of Virginia silently lets its bit of literary history decay into the ground of Cumberland State Forest. 

This is the grave of a little child whom God in his goodness called to a bright eternity when he was very young. Hard as it is for human affection to reconcile itself to death in any shape and most of all, perhaps at first in this his parents, can even now believe that it will be a consolation to them throughout their lives and when they shall have grown old and grey always to think of him as a child in heaven.

-- Charles Dickens