Martyn Whittock read Politics at the University of Bristol and has taught

history for 27 years. He is currently the Director of the Humanities Faculty

and Head of History in a Wiltshire secondary school. The author of
numerous history textbooks and articles, his specialist interests include
medieval and early medieval history, the early development of the
Arthurian legends and ‘signs and marvels’ as recorded in medieval
chronicles. He has acted as an historical and educational consultant to BBC
radio, the National Trust and English Heritage. He is also a Methodist Lay
Preacher and an Anglican Lay Minister. He lives in Bradford on Avon,
Wiltshire, within the ten mile radius in which his direct ancestors have lived
since the Middle Ages.
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 A BRIEF HISTORY OF

LIFE IN
THE MIDDLE AGES
MARTYN WHITTOCK
 Constable & Robinson Ltd
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Copyright © Martyn Whittock, 2009

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Printed and bound in the EU
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In memory of William Wyttok, burgess of Langport, Somerset in 1327; the
first recorded medieval Whittock. And for John Howard, John Worth and
Fiona Holland: good friends who share with me a love of the past.
 CONTENTS

Acknowledgements
Maps
Introduction
Chapter 1 The Character of Late Anglo-Saxon Society
Chapter 2 The Changing Countryside
Chapter 3 The Growth and Decline of Towns
Chapter 4 Changing Expressions of Christian Belief
Chapter 5 Population, Diet and Health
Chapter 6 Women and the Family
Chapter 7 Law and Order
Chapter 8 Language, Culture and Entertainment
Chapter 9 Living on the Edge: Aliens and Outcasts
Chapter 10 Signs and Marvels: the Medieval Cosmic Order
Chapter 11 The Cycle of the Year
Chapter 12 The Shape of English Society by 1553
Notes
Bibliography
Index
 ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I am grateful for assistance and advice from the following people while I
was carrying out research into this book. Professor Chris Brooks, Durham
University; Professor Eamon Duffy, Cambridge University; Professor Chris
Dyer, Leicester University; Professor Mark Jackson, Exeter University; Dr
Leonard Schwarz and Dr Chris Callow, Birmingham University; Marika
Sherwood, Institute of Commonwealth Studies; Dr Brendan Smith, Bristol
University; Professor Thorlac Turville-Petre, Nottingham University;
Professor Chris Wickham, Oxford University; Professor Barbara Yorke,
Winchester University; Wiltshire County Library Service and my friends at
Bradford on Avon library. It goes without saying that all errors are my own.
As always my wife, Christine, and our daughters, Hannah and Esther,
supported me with their love, advice and encouragement. They know how
precious they are to me. In particular I am grateful to Christine and Hannah
for reading and commenting on a number of chapters. My good friend John
Worth also provided valuable advice and comments.

Martyn Whittock
St Simeon’s Day, 2008
 INTRODUCTION

The time frame of the Middle Ages is traditionally built around two
apparent watersheds. In England the boundaries have frequently been set at
1066 and 1485. This time frame is therefore formed from two political
events: the first date being the Norman Conquest and the second being the
battle of Bosworth and the start of the Tudor dynasty.
These were highly significant events but their role as ‘boundary points’
can be challenged from a number of angles. While 1066 can be
demonstrated to have been a political watershed, ending the Anglo-Saxon
political era and bringing in a new Norman dynasty which had an immense
impact on England and its political culture, in social terms the date has far
less meaning. Many aspects of society continued relatively uninterrupted
from the middle and late Saxon periods into and beyond the Norman period.
Developments in the Church, while accelerated by the arrival of new
leadership, built on long-established trends; the language of the majority of
the population remained English (albeit with a large infusion of Norman-
French terms and social downgrading of English); trends in urbanization
and taxation continued under ‘new management’ without major dislocation;
industrial production of key consumer items, such as pottery, did not reflect
the seismic changes happening at the top of the social hierarchy; the penny
in the pocket of the average consumer in 1070 not only looked the same as
under King Harold (and was minted by exactly the same moneyer within
the same system of coinage) but it also bought pretty much the same
products as it had done in the 1050s and 1060s. In addition, many of the key
features which we associate with the ‘Norman period’ (such as
manorialization, the feudal system and nucleated villages) can be seen as
part of a process of development which straddles the mid-eleventh century
and which has roots going back at least a hundred years before William the
Conqueror took the throne.
Therefore the Middle Ages in England should really be considered to
start around the year 900 with the start of the West Saxon re-conquest of the
Danelaw (the area of the East Midlands, East Anglia and northern England
conquered by the Vikings), following the first great phase of Viking
invasions and conquest in the mid-ninth century. In fact, key features of
society at this point have roots that could push the boundary back another
century. And even this would be late for many historians and
archaeologists: the British Museum’s Anglo-Saxon collection being placed
in its ‘Early Medieval Room’. If the Sutton Hoo treasures (dating from
c.625) are ‘Early Medieval’ then the events of 1066 are in the middle of
‘the Middle Ages’, not at its start! However, in the overview of events
which form the focus of this book the boundary will not be pushed back this
far – but it is clear that 1066 comes too late in the process to be the starting
point of the exploration.
At the other end of the period, the year 1485 offers even less of a social
watershed and, even politically, its usefulness as a defining moment has
been questioned. Alternative political watershed dates have been
persuasively suggested: One is 1461, since there seems to be significant
continuity between the rule of Edward IV and Richard III and that of Henry
VII. Or perhaps 1483 is the political watershed? In this case Richard III’s
royal coup in that year created the real break with the past and set in motion
forces which would soon lead to the downfall of the Yorkist dynasty.
However, whatever the merits of these political watershed dates, in social
terms the date 1485 is without meaning since it led to no significant
changes in the lives of ordinary people. A much stronger case can be made
that it is with the rigorous Protestant Reformation of Edward VI’s reign
(and the destruction of the Catholic ‘ritual year’) that the old medieval
world came to an end for many ordinary people. It was this – accompanied
by the spread of new ideas made possible by the accelerating pace of
printing – which fundamentally changed the texture of life for most people.
As we shall see, this was accompanied by demographic and other changes
which made the experience of life significantly different from what it had
been for much of the fifteenth century and the early sixteenth century. For
this reason the social-history focus of this book will be from about 900 to
about 1553.
The range of evidence which can be used to piece together the lives of
men and women from the English Middle Ages are many and varied.
Archaeological evidence is giving us an increasingly intimate picture of the
layout of rural houses and their relationship to the farmed landscape.
Excavations, such as those at Wharram Percy (Yorkshire) and more recently
at St Mary Spital, in London, are providing us with a large set of data
regarding health and nutrition, as well as changing fashions in burial
practice. Excavations on urban sites have given us greater insights into the
relationship between living, producing and consuming in the growing
towns; evidence for regional and international trade broadens our
understanding of the variety of human experiences.
Written records are as varied. The rolls of manor courts, for example,
show us the rural community in all its complexity: cooperation on the
yearly round of agricultural practices; the financial demands on villagers for
brewing, baking, marrying and even dying; the emergence of hereditary
surnames in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries; traditional customs and
changing times. When we read about Richard Rawdon, fined 40 pence at
Yeadon (Yorkshire) in 1452 for having a dog reputed to be a ‘sheep
worrier’, or his neighbour, John Wryght, fined 2 pence because he ‘allowed
oxen to run amok’1 we are privileged to gain a glimpse into the intimate
world of the Middle Ages.
While so much documentation is lost, remarkable survivals such as the
Paston Letters open up a window into the ambitions and conflicts of family
and neighbours. Court records and coroners’ accounts provide information
about crime and deviance, as well as about community policing and values.
When analysis of legal records shows us that fourteenth century East Anglia
had a homicide rate greater than modern New York we can be sure that this
will not be the only evidence which challenges our expectations. Sometimes
the evidence is highly revealing but sparse, such as that providing
information about the actual wealth of individuals within the population.
After the 1334 tax subsidy, the next comprehensive assessment of actual
wealth has to wait until that of Henry VIII in 1524–5. On the other hand it
is often possible to combine information from different classes of evidence
in order to build a bigger picture of an aspect of life. For example,
complementary evidence from both changing church architecture expressed
in chantries and the literary evidence provided by the fifteenth-century
Books of Hours gives us insights into the personal spirituality of the
fifteenth century.
And sometimes, even when records are lost, we occasionally catch a
glimpse of how the loss occurred and at times we can link the events in one
small location with events happening on a national scale. In this way the
manor court roll at Great Bromley (Essex), in 1382, records why earlier
records were no longer in existence, because in the previous year the unfree
tenants of the manor had: ‘assaulted Lady Anna in her hall and threatened
her, and illegally took all court rolls . . . pertaining to this manor . . . against
the peace of the lord king and against the will of the said Anna, and carried
them away in contempt of this lordship, and burned all the said rolls
feloniously’.2 In this way the Peasants’ Revolt affected one Essex
community.
However, there is a caveat. As with all periods of the past the rich,
powerful and famous leave more evidence behind than the poor and
powerless. This is almost a truism but needs stating. The semi-free villager
of the late eleventh century left no more to his or her heirs than the
struggling peasant farmer of a modern LEDC (less economically developed
country) today. And the handful of cooking utensils and agricultural tools
which formed such a vital legacy to the next generation are often not even
mentioned in the surviving documentation. With less to leave, these people
had less to be remembered by and were more easily forgotten. Yet to those
inheriting these few valuables they represented the careful accumulation of
a lifetime. When such evidence does survive it is as vital as the more
abundant and varied evidence for the life and values of wealthier
neighbours. This is because, if we are to attempt a real understanding of life
in the Middle Ages, we must take account of those untold millions who left
so little information about the beliefs, work and worries of their lives. Such
a person was Joan Symkynwoman in Yorkshire in 1366, whose court
statement records that she owned ‘almost nothing in goods save her
clothing for body and bed, and a small brass pot.’ She would not have been
alone in her poverty.
Finally, it may be helpful to explain something of the approach of this
book. Social history must put us firmly in touch with the lives of people in
the past and the issues they faced. The examination of the evidence
available to us makes the personal experiences of those in the past more
accessible, as well as outlining the wider processes and developments
which acted on individuals. In order to assist in this balance each chapter
makes frequent references to the experiences of individuals as wider issues
are explored.
A key point that should be remembered while reading this book is that
the Middle Ages were not a static period but rather were a time of dynamic
change and development. This involved both progress and regression. The
pace of change was faster in some areas than in others. Some processes
were stimulated ‘from below’ while others were the result of the decisions
and ambitions of elites. Some changes were largely caused by activities and
actions within Britain; others were triggered by events which were played
out on a European, or even a global scale. Some changes affected the
mundane aspects of life, while others changed the spiritual and mental
outlook of those affected.
What is clear is that, in this complex mosaic of events (from the local to
the regional and the national), the lives of men and women reflected and
responded to a wide range of issues, processes and developments. Whether
it was a Northumbrian tenant of a great monastic estate dying, in 1349,
from a disease which had its origins in central Asia, or a Jew abandoned to
drown on a sandbar of the river Thames by an unscrupulous ship owner
during the expulsion of the Jews from England in 1290, members of
English medieval society lived their lives in the context of issues linking
them to a wider world. These issues also linked them to questions which are
very real and engaging to a reader in the twenty-first century. The common
issues of our shared humanity across the ages are at least as striking as the
great differences in outlook and experience.
 Chapter 1
THE CHARACTER OF LATE ANGLO-SAXON SOCIETY

An Anglo-Saxon conversation. Written by Master Aelfric (between 989

and 1002) for his students in the monastic school at Cerne Abbas
(Dorset), the following conversation gives an insight into the life and
thoughts of the ‘unfree’ in late Anglo-Saxon England.

Master: ‘What have you to say, ploughman? Tell me how you go about
your work.’

Ploughman: ‘Oh I work very hard indeed sir. Every day at the crack of
dawn I have to drive the oxen out to the field and yoke them to the plough. I
would never dare scive at home, no matter how bad the winter weather: I’m
too frightened of my landlord for that. No, once I’ve yoked the oxen and
fastened the share and coulter to the plough, I must plough a full acre or
more every day.’

Master: ‘What else have you to do in a day?’

Ploughman: ‘Oh, there’s a lot more than that, you know. I’ve got to fill all
the oxen’s bins with hay, give them water, muck them out.’

Master: ‘Oh, my: it sounds like hard work.’

Ploughman: ‘It’s hard work alright, sir, because I am not free.’1

The Middle Ages did not spring into being in 1066, and many aspects of
society were not immediately changed by the Norman Conquest. In fact,
many characteristics of life in the second half of the eleventh century had
their roots deep in Anglo-Saxon history and would continue to influence the
development of people’s lives long after the final arrows had fallen around
the broken shield-wall of the last Anglo-Saxon king on Saturday 14 October
1066. It is therefore important to gain an overview of the structure and
dynamics of late Anglo-Saxon society. Only in this way can we trace the
great trends and issues that would dominate the lives of medieval people.
So what was it like to live in England around the year 1000, at the turn
of the first millennium since the birth of Christ? Despite a century and a
half of social and political upheaval since the Viking ‘Great Army’ had first
overwintered in England in 851–2, England was generally within borders
we would recognize today (except for the much-disputed northern border
with the Scots). Furthermore, since the overthrow of the last Viking king of
York (Eric ‘Bloodaxe’, in 954), it was ruled by one king who was
descended from King Alfred and whose ability to tax and keep order was
impressive by any standard. The old kingdoms (Wessex, Northumbria,
Mercia, East Anglia), which had characterized England at the beginning of
the ninth century, had long gone and it was now possible to call the country
‘England’ and its dominant culture ‘English’ (both terms derived from the
tribal name ‘Angle’).

Wealth and economy

England in the eleventh century was a wealthy country in which the ability
of the government to raise huge taxes during the Viking wars had revealed
just how dynamic and productive society was, despite the upheaval. These
taxes drew on the resources of a well-organized rural society which, during
the tenth and eleventh centuries, was taking on many of the characteristics
of the medieval countryside: stone churches acting like an anchor slowing
down settlement shift; more nucleated villages; new field systems. Many of
these developments were influenced by powerful local landowners capable
of reorganizing the landscape and its people and maximizing the surpluses
of a prosperous farming system.
 In 1018 a geld (tax) introduced by Cnut, the new ruler of both England
and Denmark, raised £82,500. This vast tax was in addition to the £112,000
which had been raised in Danegelds since 991. All of this money paid to the
government (and then to Viking marauders) was in addition to any other
payments that ordinary people habitually made to local landowners and
royal officials. To give this some sense of scale, in the mid-tenth century a
fully grown pig cost 6 pence (with 240 pennies in each £1). In the 1060s the
four mills of the Abbey of Ely at Hatfield turned in a combined yearly
profit of £2, 6 shillings and 4 pence. The combined value of all the estates
of Glastonbury – the wealthiest abbey in 1066 – was in the region of £820.
So great was the output of tenth-century urban craftspeople that some
historians have gone so far as to talk of the tenth century witnessing the
‘First English Industrial Revolution’.2 England was a well managed and
wealthy community. Only such a wealthy community was capable of
paying the huge Danegelds in the years up to 1018. Consequently, it is no
surprise to discover that modern archaeologists have found Anglo-Saxon
silver pennies (the everyday English coin for much of the Middle Ages) as
far afield as Russia.3 This trading network which linked England to Russia
was no temporary connection, since the 4,600 coins discovered to date span
a period from 852 to 1272. English farmers and craftspeople were part of a
Europe-wide manufacturing and trading system, importing wine, spices,
silk and pottery from Northern France and the Rhineland, whetstones and
querns from the Eiffel mountains, and exporting slaves, linen, horses and
weaponry.

An ethnically divided nation?

Was England of the year 1000 a united national community? Or was it a
community divided between native Anglo-Saxons and immigrant Danes
who had seized land in eastern England (the Danelaw) before this was
reconquered by Anglo-Saxon kings in the tenth century? At first glance it
might seem more like the latter. The chronicler Ethelweard (who died about
998) described the Danes living in England in the late tenth century as
‘sprung up in this island, like poisonous weeds among the wheat.’ And it is
easy to see how, when a second phase of Viking attacks began in the 980s
and eventually culminated in the conquest of England by the Danish King
Cnut, in 1016, this could be assisted by an immigrant community who
‘cheered’ for Denmark rather than for England. When the Anglo-Saxon
King Ethelred II (‘the Unready’) ordered a slaughter of the Danish
population in England on St Brice’s Day, 13 November 1002, the terrible
echoes of modern ethnic cleansing seem to resonate powerfully with the
idea of a profoundly divided nation. But is this a reasonable assumption?
In assessing the significance of some 13,500 metal-detector finds of
Viking and Anglo-Scandinavian metalwork discovered up to 2004, the
picture is emerging of a lower-class immigration of peasant farmers (into
Lincolnshire at least), not just the arrival of higher-status warrior-landlords.4
In addition, comparisons of skeleton evidence from Wharram Percy (from
950 onwards), on the Yorkshire Wolds, and medieval cemeteries from York
(about 20 miles away) suggests skull types at Wharram Percy and York in
the later medieval period are broadly similar, whereas in the early medieval
period York skulls are similar to ones from Oslo. This suggests that York in
the ‘Viking Age’ was heavily settled by incoming Vikings, while outlying
country areas were not. But, as migration from outlying areas into York
occurred over the medieval period, the Viking genetic difference ‘was
diluted and eventually dissolved’.5
All of this sharpens the question: how did these people regard
themselves? It is this question that we need to address if we are to come
anywhere near deciding how united England was in the decades before
1066. Clearly, those who spoke English regarded themselves as the
descendants of Anglo-Saxon settlers who had migrated from north-western
Europe in the fifth and sixth centuries (whether they really were, or were
actually British people who had adopted Anglo-Saxon culture, speech and
dress, is another question). But what of the descendants of Vikings – how
did they regard themselves? Was England on the eve of the Norman
Conquest a culturally divided nation, or one which was basically united
from a fusion of Anglo-Saxons and the descendants of Vikings?
Evidence for major changes brought to English life and culture by the
Viking invasions includes the following. Many new place names in eastern
England (e.g. by and thorp); new words in the language; new personal
names; evidence of a new class of independent farmers known as sokemen
(enjoying greater freedom than their English counterparts); new units of tax
assessment (wapentakes and sulungs in Danish areas, instead of hundreds
and hides used to organize areas for tax purposes in Anglo-Saxon areas);
new titles for the nobility (e.g. jarl or earl); and new administrative areas
(e.g. the Ridings of Yorkshire and Lincolnshire). In addition, the Danish
settlement involved the dispossession of English landlords of their estates.
Alongside these changes, the aftermath of the first phase of Viking
invasions saw a huge increase in industrial production: wheel-thrown and
glazed pottery; increased marketing and trade; mass-produced metalwork.
While the Vikings did not create this tenth-century ‘Industrial Revolution’,
their trading skills meant it developed dramatically. This mass of evidence
can leave one assuming that those areas which experienced the greatest
concentration of these changes (the Danelaw) must have had a culture and a
sense of community very different from that in other areas of England.
However, this may be too simple a view. What probably mattered to
most people by 1000 was allegiance to local lords, rather than whether their
ancestors were Anglo-Saxons, Britons, Danes or Norwegians.6 This formed
a mosaic of local loyalties within a community that now recognized itself as
England. An alternative view, then, rejects this degree of national unity in
favour of older, regional, kingdom identities but still insists that there was
no great cultural and ethnic divide between Anglo-Saxons and Danes. It
was these old regional loyalties which affected how people viewed
themselves, and it seems that the incoming Danes had adopted the regional
loyalties of the areas in which they had settled.7
Similarly, virtually no Scandinavian-style buildings have been found by
archaeologists in England. The shops and houses excavated in the 1970s in
Coppergate, in Viking Jorvik (York), are identical in style to English ones.
There is in fact no ‘ethnic signal’ from these buildings. Furthermore, it was
the English language which triumphed in the Danelaw – albeit with
borrowings from Danish – and the use of the Viking runic alphabet soon
disappeared. It is surely significant that the Scandinavian language was
extinct on the Isle of Man by 1200. So, if it survived only 200 years here,
where the Scandinavian culture was dominant, it probably did not last
beyond the third generation of settlement where Scandinavian settlement
was less intense on mainland England.8
A recent re-examination of the archaeological evidence for Scandinavian
burials in northern England has concluded that there were many more than
have previously been considered; however, the assimilation of the
immigrants was rapid. This was a process accelerated by English rulers
from Athelstan to Edgar who, even as they were including Scandinavians at
court and recognizing Scandinavian practices in law codes, were enforcing
their own authority across all England.9 Under Ethelred II, the 997
‘Wantage law code’, with much Scandinavian terminology (contrasting
with the contemporary ‘Woodstock law code’), might suggest an ethnically
divided realm but probably simply recognized the need for separate
legislation in the north, while enforcing West Saxon authority there. As
such, it was produced more to placate the north in the face of renewed
Viking attacks than as a result of the ethnic separateness of the region due
to earlier immigration.10 In the same way, Swein Forkbeard’s activities in
the north in 1013 were probably due to the area’s ‘distance from the
heartlands of the English kings and the dissatisfaction of northern nobles
with King Ethelred, rather than the expectation of being able to draw upon
latent feelings of ethnic allegiance.’11 Revealingly, under Cnut, the
Scandinavian Urnes and Ringerike styles of artwork are rare in the north
and east Midlands, where they might be expected to have been popular, and
instead are found more in East Anglia and southern England. Clearly this
says more about the attraction of fashions associated with royalty than the
ethnic origins of art patrons, and indicates that even the presence of
Scandinavian kings as rulers of England from 1016 until 1042 ‘did not have
the effect of renewing a sense of Scandinavian solidarity amongst the
inhabitants of those regions settled by earlier generations of
Scandinavians.’12 Social status was more important than ethnic identity.

A Christian nation?
A key piece of evidence supporting the idea of Scandinavian newcomers
quickly adapting to the culture they found in England comes from religion.
Late Anglo-Saxon England was a deeply Christian community. There were
two main forms in which the Church was organized in Anglo-Saxon
England. The first was the monastery (monasterium). This was a
community of monks and/or nuns. Their vows involved celibacy and
rejection of private property (whereas lower orders of clergy were allowed
to marry). The second group was made up of secular clergy (priests) leading
services and preaching but not following a monastic way of life, although at
times they could be found living in a kind of community – large churches
called minsters. Local Church administration was probably first centred on
minsters at royal estate centres, which sometimes preserve this origin in a
modern place name (e.g. Warminster, Wiltshire) with a large parochia (area
of responsibility) which was later subdivided into parishes where Church
work was financed from compulsory tithes.
In addition, there were other Church communities. These included
bishops’ households of priests and other clerics, and married priests and
married clerks in lower orders living in their own households. The evidence
for clerical families, married deacons and priests suggests that some of
those responsible for preaching and teaching were not living in religious
communities (in monasteries or minsters) but were in family units and
possibly staffing village churches which had been set up as part of the sub-
dividing of large areas once administered by minsters.
Local landowners could remove their lands from royal taxation by
setting up a monastic church, administered by a family member. This was
clearly not in the spirit of how monasteries should be established and such
monasteries were more of a tax loophole than a statement of individual
piety. In a similar way, estate-churches were often set up near a lord’s hall
and administered by the landowner, who appointed the priest. This provided
a focus for the local community under aristocratic control. This trend
increased under Viking influence in northern England and revealed itself in
the dissolution of some monasteries, a huge increase in carved personal
stone monuments in the tenth century, and an increase in estate-churches.
This does not necessarily mean that the new Danish lords were
unsympathetic to Christianity. It may simply mean that they wanted both to
give gifts to the church and yet keep a close control over how this land was
used and its resources distributed.13
The extent to which the Viking raids and eventual settlement affected the
spiritual state of later Anglo-Saxon England is complex. The Viking influx
was clearly an invasion of pagans. Evidence of this is seen in the
destruction of monasteries, in pagan carvings (e.g. from Kirk Andreas, Isle
of Man), in animal sacrifices (e.g. from Skerne, Yorkshire, on the River
Hull), an increase in idol worship (e.g. Archbishop Wulfstan of York’s
criticism of this in 1000), possible human sacrifice on the Isle of Man and
the destruction of Christian graves on the Isle of Man (e.g. Viking boat
graves at Balladoole show no respect for an earlier Christian cemetery). But
this impact of paganism should not be overstressed. In 869 Vikings
martyred King (St) Edmund of East Anglia but, by 890, their descendants
were minting coins with his name on them. Attacks on monasteries were
not attempts to destroy Christianity but were targeting sources of wealth. By
1000 most northern pagans had become Christians and the Viking King of
England and Denmark – Cnut – made Archbishop Wulfstan’s attacks on
idol worship into law in 1020. There are very few pagan Viking burials
(those on the Isle of Man are exceptional). Finally, some gravestones show
Scandinavian art but in a Christian context. In short, the Vikings were
cultural chameleons and rapidly adopted the lifestyle and beliefs of the
advanced and numerically dominant community they had conquered in
eastern and northern England.
When we think of Viking attacks on England it is the destruction of
monasteries which often provide the most striking visual image of their
impact. There is sometimes an assumption that the seventh and eighth
centuries were a ‘golden age’ of monasticism, which was disrupted by
Viking invasions then reformed in the tenth and eleventh centuries – this
reform being necessary due to a dilution of the once-rigorous system which
had been monastic and celibate but had grown lax and worldly during the
disruption of the Viking wars. However, many of the issues which were
‘live issues’ to tenth-century reformers of the English Church were also
‘live issues’ in the earlier eighth century too.
None was more pressing than sex. Celibacy was a crucial characteristic
of the tenth century monastic reforms. This, for reformers, was the mark of
difference between a monk and other clergy. Canon law forbade the
marriage of bishops, priests and deacons, although men who were already
married might be ordained to these higher posts but not if they had
remarried after being widowed. Married priests and deacons had to be
celibate after ordination (rulings varied as to whether husband and wife
should live as brother and sister, or should separate). Minor orders
(acolytes, exorcists, readers) could marry and continue sexual relations.
That any clergy should be married was a scandal to reformers of the Church
in the tenth century. It was not resolved then, however, and remained a live
issue after 1066 too.
Overall, the Christian Church had a great impact on society. It assisted in
record keeping and history making; it was vital for royal administration; it
increased the role of women (giving them considerable responsibilities as
abbesses); it pioneered building in stone. By 1066 about one-sixth of the
land in England was in Church ownership. This provided settled and
continuous control of estates, since church land did not change owners on
the death of a landholder as secular estates did, making it easier to manage
the land, invest in it and develop it. This also encouraged the development
of fixed and nucleated settlements. These were focused on churches and
monasteries as central places, were generally on lower ground, and were
less likely to be on marginal/wilder land which no longer carried as much
settlement as it once had. Thus landscape and people’s daily experiences
were deeply affected by the Church, which produced ‘a Christianised way
of ordering the landscape which put the church at the centre of settled
fields, surrounded by the boundary zone of uncultivated land’.14
Churches, then, by the later Anglo-Saxon period, were at the centre of all
community life. By 850 cemetery burial near churches was becoming the
norm for most people15, though royalty had been doing this since the 680s.
Dispersed lay cemeteries away from churches had vanished by 900, and
Church cemetery burial was by then standard practice. And churches were a
common feature in the landscape. By 1014 law codes recognized the
existence of a hierarchy of churches ranging from ‘head minsters’
(cathedrals), to ‘rather smaller minsters’ (the usual class of minsters), to
‘one still smaller’ (in a law code of 1020 defined as having a graveyard)
and finally to ‘field churches’ (by 1020 defined as a church without a
graveyard). In the period 1070–1120 there was a huge expansion of church
building but it built on the later Anglo-Saxon system and distribution. In
Domesday Book (1086) about 2,000 churches are listed and the assumption
is clearly that every village has its church and its priest. While this was not
actually achieved before 1066, the development was well on the way. This
process, from the tenth century onwards, was increasingly associated with
stone church building, the creation of church cemeteries for all burials and –
especially during the eleventh century – the appearance of fixed stone fonts
to welcome babies into the Christian community. The critical ‘period of
shift’ in this development seems to have been between about 1030 and
1080.16
In their architectural styles Anglo-Saxon churches revealed their
formative influences. Early – Romanesque – churches (sixth and seventh
century) copied Roman Mediterranean models: brick construction,
relatively short proportions, eastern apses and side rooms reached from the
nave.17 However, eighth- and ninth-century churches copied Carolingian
building styles of the new western Holy Roman Empire: stone rather than
brick, towers and transepts, east-end crypts holding relics, galleries and
towers called westworks, and cloisters. From the westwork a second choir
added to the drama of the liturgy, while increased church length allowed for
more processions.18 The style of German churches continued to influence
English church architecture during the tenth century19 and can be seen in
examples such as the cathedral plans of Canterbury, Sherborne and
Winchester, and in smaller churches such as Brixworth (Northamptonshire)
and Odda’s chapel at Deerhurst (Gloucestershire).
So, what impact did a second wave of Viking invasions around the year
1000 have on this well-established Christian community, which had already
absorbed an earlier wave of pagan immigrants? The answer appears to have
been: very little impact indeed. The appearance of pagan symbols on
carvings from the eleventh century should not be interpreted as a revival of
paganism. The overall evidence instead suggests that pagan motifs in art
and poetry, dating from the reign of Cnut, constitute aspects of what might
be called ‘cultural paganism’ – that is, not necessarily active pagan belief
but references to cultural and artistic images which signalled the different
origins of the new arrivals in eleventh-century England. This gave a ‘light
pagan colouring’ to aspects of later Anglo-Saxon society but not to a
revival of paganism.20
Altogether, then – counter-intuitively and in the face of the massacre of
St Brice’s Day – it is clear that England in the eleventh century was not a
nation of sharply divided ethnic groups. Rather, it was united around a
distinct set of Christian values and a sense of an English identity. The fact
that there were strong regional identities as well – and that a Scandinavian
influx into eastern England had maybe increased these – should not cause
us to doubt this basic unity. Indeed, the fact that from 1016 until 1042 the
English throne was occupied by a king of a united England and Denmark
probably played a major part in unifying the nation and in closing any
‘social fault lines’ which had opened up during the second phase of Viking
attacks around the year 1000. And, whatever the impact of that event on St
Brice’s Day, the Anglo-Saxon authorities simply did not have the
organization and resources (let alone the reason and will) to exterminate all
the descendants of Scandinavian immigrants. Dreadful as it was, that
massacre probably targeted only a small minority of high-profile foreigners
who seemed closely associated with the most recent phase of invasions.
Finally, by the time the experiment in Anglo-Danish kingship was over in
1042, the terrible ‘ethnic cleansing’ of 1002 had been superseded by 26
years (1016–42) of Anglo-Danish cooperation and was a distant memory
from another generation. Unity had triumphed over the forces of
disintegration and ethnic division.

Life on the land

For about 90 per cent of the English population, regardless of their ethnic
origins, life was lived on the land. The Anglo-Saxons had brought no new
farming technology or practices to England21 and the most striking farming
practices which emerged by the end of Anglo-Saxon England were
developed in this country.22 Farming continued a pattern which had existed
since the Bronze Age of a fully exploited landscape, with the heavier soils
of valley floors being as actively worked as the better-drained higher land.
On Exmoor, for example, pollen analysis suggests that there was no change
caused by the end of Roman rule. In the period 400–600 there was no return
to woodland and no alteration to a rural economy which on Exmoor was
based on raising livestock. The big change (with increased cereal
production) occurred between 600 and 800, and practices then stayed the
same until the period 1500–1750.23
The Exmoor example is consistent with evidence from across England
which suggests that the later Anglo-Saxon period saw great changes in the
countryside. In this period were the beginnings of many developments
which would be features of the rural scene for much of the Middle Ages.
Evidence from the 1990s excavations of an extensive landscape tract at
Yarnton (on the Thames valley gravels, north of Oxford) suggests that the
earliest Anglo-Saxons settled in a landscape apparently abandoned by the
Romano-British for perhaps several generations. The farms they built were
scattered across the landscape. But in the 700s (and especially in the 800s)
this pattern was replaced by one with more buildings, including timber
halls, in more nucleated patterns and with a wider variety of crops grown,
along with the creation of riverside hay meadows. This probably indicates
the start of nucleated villages and the beginnings of open field farming, and
reveals the mobility of settlement patterns which were arrested in the later
Anglo-Saxon period.24
This raises the question of how much this system of rural communities
was affected by the Viking invasions of the ninth and tenth centuries. Why
were there so many new place names if other evidence suggests continuity
of population? The answers are varied. Many new place names were
probably applied to old settlements, since some sites such as Whitby
(Yorkshire) and Osbournby (Lincolnshire) show continued occupation. New
owners may have simply legitimized their ownership with a new place
name without having any impact on those living there. Some new place
names may date from a second wave of colonists who moved into
previously unused and less-desirable land – the mapping of ‘Danish place
names’ does suggest they are found on the least desirable land and slotted
into ‘gaps’ between Anglo-Saxon villages which continued to be occupied.
Mapping of place names suggests that where by is used in Yorkshire it
indicates Anglo-Saxon settlements taken over as going concerns, and a
similar interpretation of ‘tun-hybrids’ (such as the place name Grimston)
shows the same pattern. The word thorp indicates settlements established
on the outskirts of existing villages, whereas thveit indicates a woodland
clearing and an area of primary cultivation and settlement by Danes. In
addition, evidence in north-west England and the central lowlands of
Scotland (and the Isle of Man in some cases) shows that Scandinavian
place-name forming elements were still being used long after the Viking
Age by people who no longer spoke, or understood, Scandinavian
languages.25 All this suggests that modern place-name experts would no
longer use Scandinavian place names as evidence of a massive dislocation
of the countryside in the ninth and tenth centuries, even if it accompanied
large-scale Scandinavian immigration. Similarly, current research stresses
continuity of the parish structure and of estate boundaries in the Danelaw.
The Vikings seem to have caused nothing which might be remotely thought
to resemble a revolution in the countryside.26
But what of the villages themselves? Settlements in even the Middle
Anglo-Saxon period do not constitute the start of villages, since most were
rarely more than farmsteads. Many of these were abandoned in the later
Anglo-Saxon period, and those which survived tended to do so as corners
within later villages. This suggests that villages were products more of the
Late than the Middle Anglo-Saxon period. This later change was possibly
due to a greater degree of estate management by landlords out to maximize
profits, the break-up of large so-called multiple estates, church building in
stone, and the change from a pattern of dispersed hamlets and farms to
more nucleated settlements with a greater degree of property demarcation
within and around them.27 From 700 onwards settlements show increasing
stability, with more enclosures accompanied by larger post-hole-built
buildings. This trend accelerated in the ninth century, with nucleated
villages developing c.850–1200. England on the eve of the Norman
Conquest was in the midst of a major formative period in the layout and
organization of the countryside.
Associated with these developments was open-field farming, in which
large areas of the countryside were divided into communally farmed arable
strips, within great open fields. Open-field farming was probably a Middle
to Late Anglo-Saxon reorganization designed to maximize efficiency due to
population increase. Experiments with modern cereals have produced 5,183
dietary kilocalories per hectare by this method, compared with 884 for milk
and 312 for beef.28 This process of adopting open fields and increasing
reliance on arable farming was not completed until after 1066. It was
probably stimulated by the break-up of earlier ‘multiple estates’ which
caused an emphasis on self-sufficiency of the new smaller estates (since
they could no longer rely on the mixed resources of the larger units) and
saw the emergence of a class of local lords, called thegns. This
manorialization of the countryside was an Anglo-Saxon, not a Norman,
invention. So, it was the period after 700 which saw manor-estate
construction and ambitious landscape (often monastic) management,
producing the ‘typical Anglo-Saxon landscape’. Detailed local studies, such
as that of the Bourn valley south-west of Cambridge, reinforce this
impression that it was in the period 700–900 that systematic planning laid
out the first open fields in central England.29
By the 1060s about 30 per cent of the landscape was employed in arable
farming and about 15 per cent as managed woodland; the remaining 55 per
cent supported pastoral farming, or was too poor to be used (with a small
but unspecified area in urban use). By comparison, early twenty-first-
century figures for England are: arable 40 per cent, woodland 9 per cent,
pastoral 25 per cent. The remaining 26 per cent of the modern landscape is
mostly within urban areas.

Early Medieval towns

If the vast majority of people lived in the countryside in the year 1000, a
very important minority (about 10 per cent) lived in towns. This proportion
was comparable with Roman Britain at its peak. During the eighth century,
after a period in which there had been no true urban settlements in England,
places began to appear which had features resembling towns.
Archaeologists call these early trading centres wics or emporia. For
example, Lundenwic was a huge 120-acre (48.5-hectare) town to the west
of Roman London under what is now the area named Aldwych. Hamwic lay
under modern Southampton. Gippeswic (Ipswich) was in Suffolk and
another settlement was probably located at York. Some of these early
trading centres appear to have been occupied on a temporary basis only.
There also existed so-called ‘productive sites’.30 On these there is no
surviving evidence of permanent structures but there is evidence of
production and trade. These sites, when excavated, tend to produce large
quantities of worked artefacts.31
These emporia were probably products of direct political intervention.
Evidence for this is that they appear at a similar time and there was one per
kingdom. Wessex had Hamwic, Mercia had London, East Anglia had
Ipswich and Northumbria had York. This is important because it reminds us
of an important feature of towns in the Middle Ages – they rarely grew up
of their own accord but were usually encouraged by a powerful local
member of the elite who gained from the increased trade opportunities.
They quickly stimulated more elaborate patterns of exchange across wider
regions, and this is particularly apparent in eastern England from the Tyne
to the Thames. For example, wheel-thrown Ipswich Ware pottery has been
found on monastic sites as far away as the north-east of England.32
By the ninth century these early semi-urban sites had developed into
what are recognizably towns. A number of factors encouraged this further
development. Firstly, they provided defended places, or burhs, which were
particularly important as Viking attacks escalated from the mid-ninth
century. However, burhs were not simply a response to invasion, since the
Mercian King Offa (758–96) set up burhs at Bedford, Hereford, Oxford and
Stamford, and these were clearly part of early state-building. Secondly, the
Vikings themselves may have increased opportunities for trade, since they
had wide-ranging trading connections. The Harrogate Hoard of coins, a
gold arm ring and scrap silver (discovered in 2007 and probably deposited
in the 930s) contained items from as far apart as Afghanistan, the Middle
East, Russia, Scandinavia, Ireland, France and England. Thirdly, both the
Church and local elites may have created semi-urban sites to encourage
trade. There is an ongoing debate as to whether the most influential
encouragement for the development of towns was provided by the Church,
or by royalty and local elites. In other words: was a royal palace built near a
pre-existing minster church, or was a minster church built near a preexisting
royal palace? This in turn can colour how archaeologists interpret what they
find at these early urban centres. Was the stone building at Northampton a
palace, or a minster refectory? Was the palace at Cheddar the centre of the
site, or simply added to a pre-existing minster? Since hundreds of minsters
are associated with small towns these are important questions. On balance
the evidence suggests that royal centres were located near minsters and that
by about 850 monastic towns had become ‘progressively more urban,
progressively less monastic’.33 Fourthly, increasing sophistication in
government meant that towns were useful places in which to place royal
administration, justice and trade. As a consequence, where towns grew up
around minsters, elite laity patronized them, benefited from them and
eventually took them over.34 Fifthly, the re-emergence of a money economy
by the eighth century encouraged the growth of trading centres. The main
difference between Middle Saxon wics/emporia and tenth-century towns are
that the towns, unlike the earlier wics, had many functions – providing
regional market centres, centres of craft production and places in which
coins were minted. Any medieval townsperson would have recognized
them.
From the tenth century onwards the growth of urban centres reduced the
range of craft specialization on rural sites. Clearly, by this time towns had
become places where most items were made as well as sold. From the ninth
to the twelfth century it was town-based pottery kilns that produced the so-
called ‘Saxo-Norman pottery’ (such as Stamford, Thetford and St Neots
Ware) which was used across the country. Other examples include weapons,
which were produced on a commercial basis. By 996 Winchester had a
‘Street of the shield-makers’ and London in 1016 reputedly contained
24,000 mail-coats which had clearly been made by local craftspeople. And
any suggestion that the Vikings were the main cause of urban growth –
from about twelve towns in the 850s to over a hundred in 1066 – must be
rejected. Town expansion happened in non-Viking areas too and it is clear
that towns were not a Viking invention but a general trend. On the Isle of
Man, where Vikings dominated, there were no towns. In Ireland, Viking
towns copied Anglo-Saxon forms.
A feature of early eleventh-century towns, which mirrored the situation
after 1066, was the predominance of London (with its population of about
15,000). It was significantly above the next tier of towns (York, Winchester,
Norwich, Lincoln, Oxford, Thetford), with populations each of 5–10,000.
The ealdormen of London began to play a role in the succession of kings,
which was something unheard-of a century earlier. A sign of this growing
importance of London lies in the fact that Cnut garrisoned Danish military
units there to secure its loyalty. This was necessary as London had earlier
loyally supported Ethelred II and Edmund Ironside against Cnut. So Cnut,
ever the tough pragmatist, had to enforce the loyalty which he celebrated as
being his by right!

Social classes
What kinds of social classes existed in the two centuries before 1066? The
simple answer is that Anglo-Saxon England was not a society of ‘free-born
Englishmen’. Instead, it was a clearly hierarchical society and a slave-
owning one at that. In this last respect it differed from Norman England.
The nobility was a varied group. In the highest stratum were the earls,
who had authority over regions, such as Northumbria, which had once been
independent kingdoms. Below earls lay ealdormen. This literally meant
‘one senior in age’ (a prominent nobleman in the king’s service, prominent
in the army and royal court, deputizing for the king in law courts).
Ealdormen came to have a key role in administering local government in
the shires and in overseeing local justice in the hundred – local – courts
(which are first recorded in the early tenth century). The country gentry of
Anglo-Saxon England were the thegns. This term covered a huge range,
from privileged nobles to retainers. By the 1060s there were about 4,500 of
these local landowners, with their estates defined by charters. More
powerful nobles – such as the king himself and the bishops – enjoyed a
power called borh, or personal protection. This gave them special rights to
compensation regarding offences on their property, or against their servants,
and the power to administer justice. Whereas fines paid to members of the
lower classes for crimes against their household went to the king, those with
borh took it themselves – and presumably made sure they got it too.
The free Anglo-Saxon peasant farmer was usually described in Old
English as a ceorl. He could carry weapons, could clear himself of crimes
by swearing an oath protesting his innocence and could do the same for
others. He could play a full part in the army and in local courts and
possessed a share of the village land and flocks. He was responsible (on
pain of a fine) for responding to royal commands to fight and attend court.
Such freemen (termed sokemen in the Danelaw) made up about 15 per cent
of the population and appear in large numbers in the eastern counties.
Whilst many were little better-off than their semi-free neighbours, the
dividing principle was whether a person was free to give (or sell) their land
to another. While every man was under a superior lord, freemen could
choose their lord. However, it seems that in eastern England lordship was
weak. Here the growth of manors and labour service (key features of
medieval feudalism), which was already an established part of rural society
in other parts of England, seems less developed. By the end of the Anglo-
Saxon period a ceorl could attain the rank of thegn by owning five hides of
land, a bell house, and a place in the king’s hall.
Below free peasants lay the gebur (semi-free peasants owing labour
service to the local lord in return for their own land). About 70 per cent of
the population was made up of these semi-free peasants by the mid-eleventh
century, and Domesday Book describes them in a number of hierarchical
terms, often later simplified to that of villein. This last point reminds us that
the feudal system, with its manor courts and its labour service, whereby
villagers were forced to provide free labour on the land farmed directly by a
lord, had roots which went back long before 1066.
And what of slaves? This class, described by the Old English term
theow, made up about 10 per cent of the population, had no legal rights
other than the expectations in Christian teaching (e.g. a slave forced to work
on a Sunday would be freed). Some slaves were victims of defeat in war;
some descended from slaves; others were penal slaves such as those
enslaved for working on a Sunday, or for some classes of theft. Others
might sell themselves into slavery to avoid starvation. Bristol was a port
which specialized in the shipping of slaves to Ireland 700 years before its
more infamous specialization in the African slave trade to America. The
Bristol slave trade with Ireland was fiercely opposed by Wulfstan, bishop of
Worcester from 1062 until his death in 1095. From the Viking port of
Dublin, Anglo-Saxon slaves shipped from Bristol could be bought for
labour in Iceland, Scandinavia or even Arabic Spain. The trade was
eventually banned in 1102, at some loss of revenue to the crown which took
a 4 pence tax on every slave sold.
As in any society, differences in wealth revealed themselves in personal
adornment, quality of weapons and the ability to display wealth and power
through methods as diverse as protecting retainers and giving gifts to
churches. Curiously, there is a noticeable decline from the mid-tenth
century of precious metal in personal adornment (despite discovery of new
silver sources in the European Hartz Mountains in the 960s and continuing
lavish gifts to churches). The same decline is true of elaborate swords with
makers’ names inscribed on them. This was clearly not due to poverty,
since the large number of coin hoards from the mid 1060s indicate
significant portable wealth in the hands of wealthy elites. Instead,
something was changing in the patterns of production and consumption. But
what it was is not clear. It accompanied other changes in which elites were
relying more on urban trade for high-quality goods than on household, or
travelling, craftsmen. ‘The Germanic world of gift giving, tribute taking and
shifting personal relationships had ceded to one in which values could be
measured and paid in coin, services commuted and subjects taxed, with
social position even more likely to be dependent on birth than on
attainment’.35 There is a very medieval – even modern – flavour to this
development.

Population and health

The population of England by the mid-eleventh century was about 2.5
million. To put this into context, the English population in 1541 was
probably about the same size (estimated at about 2.7 million) after all the
demographic ups and downs of the Middle Ages. Life expectancy was
about 35 years for a man and 25 years for a woman. This difference was
mostly caused by death in childbirth. In terms of life expectancy, life in
early medieval England was comparable with the poorest less economically
developed countries (LEDCs) of the twenty-first century. In fact, when the
life expectancy for women dropped to 26 years in Sierra Leone in 2002,
following a catastrophic civil war which had brought that country to the
lowest point on the world rating of LEDCs, it was one year longer than the
estimate for women in the early Middle Ages. That same year, the male life
expectancy in Burkina Faso was 35.3 years – about the medieval male
average. Current projections suggest that in 2021 male life expectancy in
Britain will be 74 years and female life expectancy 80 years.
The reasons why England, on the eve of the Norman Conquest, can be
compared with a modern LEDC are fairly simple and apply to the whole of
the Middle Ages: no knowledge of germ theory and, consequently, poor
disease prevention and pre-scientific approaches to treatment of injury and
disease. In a period of history before knowledge of antisepsis and
anaesthetics, death was an everyday reality. This does not mean to say that
there was no medical tradition. There certainly was and some medical
manuscripts have survived from the later Anglo-Saxon period. Whilst these
indicate ‘knowledge’ available to the most educated, they probably also
contain folk traditions used by less literate rural communities.
One of the most famous of these manuscripts is Bald’s Leechbook, a
physician’s reference book which describes many illnesses, symptoms and
treatments. Dating from c.900–25, this manuscript quotes from a variety of
classical works and folk remedies. It contains many formulas and herbal
treatments alongside many superstitious ideas about how to apply these
herbal medicines. Alongside such ideas as the use of oak bark as an
astringent, this leechbook gives over a whole chapter to remedies for elf-
shot (diseases caused by elves) and identifies many kinds of elves
(including wood elves and water elves) and the diseases they were thought
to cause, along with supposed ‘remedies’. Remedies are given for ailments
as varied as fevers, tumours, snake bites, abscesses, skin diseases, paralysis
and wounds.
In Lacnunga (a mixed collection of medical texts, mainly in Old English,
and probably copied in south-west England, c.1010) are a number of
charms which give an insight into Anglo-Saxon popular religion within a
Christian culture. Alongside these charms are references to the use of herbs
such as mugwort, waybroad (plantain), stime (watercress), maythen
(camomile), wergulu (nettle), crab apple, chervil and fennel. In addition, as
evidence for the survival of some aspects of classical medical knowledge,
Anglo-Saxon translations of classical works such as Dioscorides’ Herbal
survive from the tenth century.
Contrary to what might be expected, living standards may actually have
risen following the end of the Roman Empire, with a knock-on effect for
nutrition and health. The end of imperial taxes and long-distance trade may
have meant that many people were living in closer proximity to protein
sources in the countryside, and in England – in common with northern
Europe generally – there may have been an increase in protein-rich diets
which may explain a rise in average height until the early eighth century.
The average western European height returned to the lower Late Roman
level by 725.36 In England this coincided with increased reliance on arable
farming (along with open fields) in the three centuries up to 1066, which
probably accompanied a reduction in protein as a proportion of the average
person’s diet. However, other evidence suggests that, despite these
fluctuations, average height has remained fairly stable for the past 5,000
years, although it must be said that early medieval children’s reduced access
to protein probably meant that they did not achieve their ‘fully grown adult
height’ until they were in their 20s.37 By this time, though, their height was
comparable with that of modern adults.
Regarding diet on the eve of 1066, the staples were bread wheat and – in
wetter areas – rye. Archaeology shows this was supplemented with peas
and beans. Barley was used in brewing. The increasing reliance on arable
crops was assisted by very favourable climatic conditions in the period
between the ninth and twelfth centuries.

The role and status of Late Anglo-Saxon women

Anglo-Saxon women had the power to own property in their own right. At
marriage a woman received from her husband a morgengifu (morning gift),
which could include land and which was hers to sell, or bequeath, as she
willed. Within marriage, finances were held to be the property of both
husband and wife.38 Women could own substantial estates in their own
right, one example being Elfgifu who owned fifteen estates in and around
Buckinghamshire in c.970. In the 1060s Eadgifu ‘the Fair’ held estates
amounting to 27,000 acres in eastern England and was an immensely
wealthy woman. Revealingly, a significant number of royal land grants are
to husband and wife jointly, and over 25 per cent of surviving Anglo-Saxon
wills are by women bequeathing their own property. (In contrast, after the
Norman Conquest no woman could make a valid will without the consent
of her husband.) As well as having the right to sell and exchange land,
women had free access to the courts to enforce their rights or to settle
disputes. In addition unmarried aristocratic women were highly influential
in running abbeys.
Surviving laws and marriage contracts reveal that women had a
significant amount of protection within marriage. A woman had to be in
agreement with the proposed marriage and was not liable for any actions of
her husband. Monogamy seems to have been the norm by the eleventh
century, although Viking influences may have challenged this at times. A
law of 1008 insisted that widows should remain unmarried for one year and
were then free to marry whoever they wished, and that such a widow was
entitled to a substantial share of the inheritance. The laws contained severe
penalties for sexual assault and indicate that compensation was paid to a
free woman herself if she was a victim. However, a law of Cnut states that
any woman guilty of adultery would lose all her property and have her nose
and ears cut off. This, however, is unrepresentative of the normal practice,
the usual punishment being financial not physical. Overall the evidence
suggests that the average Anglo-Saxon wife was valued and respected and
had her economic rights safeguarded. Wills show many men leaving
valuable property to female relations. With regard to children, the laws
suggest that there was no automatic bias in favour of husbands with respect
to the custody of children if a husband and wife separated, and no bias in
favour of the husband’s family in the event of his death.
We know less about the economic activities of women in this period than
in the later Middle Ages, but certain manufacturing skills seem associated
with women, such as cloth making. This could include the high-status
production of gold-embroidered cloth as well as more mundane articles.

Art and ideas

When English drawing led European artistic fashion, in the twelfth and
thirteenth centuries, it built on skills established in late Anglo-Saxon
England. However, within eleventh-century England there were two
competing schools of artistic thought. The Winchester Style produced
naturalistic art inspired by classical traditions, while the curling tendrils of
the decoration found on many objects looked instead to Scandinavia (and to
earlier Anglo-Saxon traditions) for its models. Tinted outline drawings
within the Winchester tradition gave convincing form and depth to line
drawings. Other drawings made greater use of colour. The Winchester Style
also influenced sculpture in stone, in examples such as the two stone angels
found at the tiny church at Bradford on Avon (Wiltshire). Other examples of
such carving are found on ivory.
In stark contrast to these naturalistic forms are Scandinavian Jellinge
Style animals, with their sinuous double outlines which, around the year
1000, gave way to the Ringerike Style in which tendrils of acanthus leaves
issue from the stylized bodies of animals. The finest example of Ringerike
Style comes from a grave slab found in St Paul’s Churchyard, London,
dating from around 1035. It was Ringerike which finally gave way to Urnes
Style, around 1050, in which the tendrils become longer and there is less
foliage.39
These great traditions of art and of decorated architecture did not end in
1066 but continued to be deployed and to influence developments beyond
the Norman Conquest. Even as it was giving way to Romanesque Style in
the late eleventh and early twelfth centuries, the Winchester Style gave a
‘lightness of touch’ to English Romanesque drawing.40 Also, by the 1020s
ornate Gospel books, which had once displayed the finest styles of Anglo-
Saxon art, were already going out of fashion – to be replaced by books such
as the Hereford Gospels which were influenced by Romanesque Style.
While few such books were produced between the 1050s and the early
twelfth century, it was not the Norman Conquest which had weakened the
link with the artistic past; the change had already begun before 1066. As
with so much of late Anglo-Saxon England, these artistic achievements
outlived even the traumas of the 1060s and 1070s and were key elements in
the character of the emerging Middle Ages.
 Chapter 2
THE CHANGING COUNTRYSIDE

The 20 years between 1066 and the compilation of Domesday Book, in

1086, saw huge changes in the English countryside. A large group of about
4,500 Anglo-Saxon aristocrats was replaced by a new structure of lordship.
At the top of this social pyramid were 180 tenants-in-chief (or barons) who
held land directly from the king. Of these, in the mid-1080s, only two were
Anglo-Saxon. Below these were 1,400 medium-sized landowners, of whom
about 100 were Anglo-Saxon. Under these were 6,000 sub-tenants
(including a substantial number of Anglo-Saxons), many of whom leased
land they had previously owned in 1066. There can be no doubt that across
the English countryside the message was clear – an occupying power had
control of the national resources.

The laws of the manor

When historians describe the countryside of the Middle Ages – both before
and after 1066 – one word dominates the description; manor. But what was
a manor? It was certainly more than simply an estate, or an area of land.
The word also describes the way in which these estates were run. The lord
of a manor (the overall landowner) had the right to run the land through a
manor court administered by his or her officials, and these manor courts
both organized the running of the manor and punished those who failed to
follow the rules, the fines being paid directly to the lord of the manor. The
most powerful lords had rights granted to them by the king which would
normally have come within the job description and authority of local royal
officials, the sheriffs. These powerful landlords had by the thirteenth
century gained the right to have their courts oversee justice regarding theft,
crimes punishable by death and the pricing of bread and ale. One such
landlord, the bishop of Winchester, also had oversight of a system known as
Frankpledge. Dating from before the Norman Conquest, this system was
one in which groups of ten households (a tithing) were bound together and
held responsible for one another’s behaviour. All males aged over 12 years
of age were made members of one of these groups. Each tithing, under a
leader known as a tithing-man, was then responsible for producing any man
of that tithing suspected of a crime.
Usually, however, manor courts concerned themselves with more
mundane matters. They decided the rules of the manor, supervised the
election of local officials (e.g. the reeve, who oversaw administration, and
the pinder, who rounded up stray cattle), witnessed transfers of land,
oversaw payment of heriot – paid to the lord on the death of a tenant
(usually the best animal), punished those who let cattle stray on to the lord’s
pasture or who assarted (cleared woodland without permission), and fined
villeins who refused labour service on the lord’s land (the demesne).
During the period 1160–1216 the system of royal justice known as the
Common Law emerged. One of the key principles of this was that only
freemen could take complaints about land to the royal courts; villeins were
denied this right and had to rely on the manor courts, which were heavily
weighted towards the interests of the lord of the manor. It became a
common feature in cases in the royal courts for one side to accuse the other
of holding land for which they owed labour service. This meant they would
have their claims dismissed. In 1224 the royal court refused William of
Pilton (Somerset) the right to plead his case because it was found that he
owed ploughing and reaping service to his lord and needed a licence from
the lord before his daughter, or sister, could marry.1
These manorial estates, which dominate the nature of medieval rural life,
were generally divided between so-called demesne land, which was farmed
directly for the profit of the lord of the manor, and land either rented for
cash or held by villeins in return for unpaid labour on the lord’s demesne
land. This was not a new system, although it has often been cited as a
consequence of the Norman Conquest. In reality many in the Late Anglo-
Saxon countryside were semi-free or unfree, and what the Norman
Conquest brought was an intensification of this system rather than its
introduction. In this sense the abolition of slavery in England in 1102, by
the Statute of Westminster, was largely due to the fact that the bottom end
of the English rural population was being so effectively exploited there was
little need for this institution. The statute itself, presided over by Anselm
the Archbishop of Canterbury, decreed: ‘Let no one hereafter presume to
engage in that nefarious trade in which hitherto in England men were
usually sold like brute animals.’2
A survey dating from 1120 of a Church estate at Pinbury near
Cirencester (Gloucestershire) indicates that here the demesne land came to
about 400 acres (161.8 hectares), with the remaining 300 acres (121.4
hectares) being worked by villeins who, in addition to the work required on
their own land, were expected to give five days’ unpaid work per week.3
The nuns of Caen, who owned this land, were not alone in making high
demands on the villeins of their estate. Earlier, in 1086, Domesday Book
records that the estate also had nine slaves. By the 1120s these would have
been freed, but it would be interesting to know whether freedom had
brought them much reduction in their workload now that they were villeins.
Being forced to provide unpaid labour service was not the only way that
villeins were made to pay ‘rent’ for the land they worked. Another way was
for some to have to pay a proportion of their crops and animals – known as
champart payments. Yet another was to pay money rents. Some peasants
had to pay all three types. On the Wiltshire manor of Childehampton in
1315, the villeins owed to Wilton nunnery: 5 shillings a year rent, labour
service and each year a cock, three hens and a proportion of the grain
harvest. Peasants tended to prefer the second and third forms of payment for
the simple reason that it left them free to work only on their own land.4 On
top of labour service there were a whole range of ways in which villeins
were targeted to pay cash to the lord of the manor: merchets, a payment to
allow a daughter to marry; heriot, a death duty; leyrwite, a fine paid (most
often by women) for forbidden sexual activity;5 chevages, permission to
leave the manor; faldagium, permission to graze animals outside the lord’s
fold; entry fines, when taking on a new piece of land; tallages, a land tax;
and suit of mill, which forced villeins to use the lord’s mill at his prices.
This last demand was very profitable for lords and, around 1300, the Bishop
of Durham took 10 per cent of his annual income from this alone.
In 1293 a Worcestershire man drowned himself in the river Severn rather
than be forced to take on land, from the Earl of Gloucester, which would
have caused him to be considered a villein. The shame was clearly too great
to contemplate. In the period 1066–1200, villeins could be sold by their
lords and families split up. But, terrible as the suicide of 1293 was, the
situation was changing during the thirteenth century. By 1300, although
villeins still resented the restrictions placed on them, they should not be
thought of as slaves. They were protected by the custom of the manor –
arrangements and practices which had developed on an estate and which
established the rights of villeins as well as lords. Furthermore, most lords
allowed villeins to make wills and buy and sell land – as long as they met
their obligations and paid their heriots. It was especially acceptable if
villeins could be forced to pay for permission to carry out these
transactions. Also, although in theory villains could be evicted from their
land if their lord so decided, this rarely happened in practice. Most villeins
passed their farms down through the generations, and such villeins might
prosper and become wealthier than their ‘free’ neighbours. In addition, as
the thirteenth century progressed, a growing number of lords were willing
to allow villeins to pay cash in order to be free of specific services. Finally,
the amount of labour service owed varied from manor to manor. Tenants on
the bishop of Worcester’s estates in 1299 owed the bishop four or five days’
work a week (plus other dues) and were charged three times as much rent
for land compared with freemen. On average these villeins paid between 29
per cent and 33 per cent of their net output to the bishop.6 On other estates
the load on villeins was much lighter. As with so much in the Middle Ages,
one size did not fit all.
Moreover, there were communities who were actively resisting their
status as villeins long before the upheavals following the Black Death in the
1350s. In 1280 the peasants of the village of Mickleover (Derbyshire)
appealed to the royal courts insisting that since their manor had once been
royal land they could not possibly be villeins. This was because villeinage
did not exist on crown lands. They lost the case, however. Nevertheless they
were not alone in trying to discover legal loopholes through which they
could escape their servile status. In 1278 tenants at Halesowen (Shropshire)
lost a long legal challenge similar to that at Mickleover. Other legal
challenges took place at Mildenhall (Suffolk) in the 1320s and at
Ingatestone (Essex) in 1346.7 None succeeded, since behind determined
landlords lay the power of their class – royal courts, sheriffs and fines. For a
reluctant villein, running away was probably a more effective form of
resistance.
Others asserted their ambitions in different ways. Some of the villeins of
Peterborough Abbey ignored the legal ban on villeins using personal seals
and proudly used them when they made agreements with their lord. Over
the generations such wealthy villeins increased in number, and it could
come as a nasty shock when some rival or enemy tried to bring them down
by proving that their villein status barred them from a legal case or a land
transaction. As late as 1460 – when villeinage was long in decline – John
Paston of Norfolk found himself accused by an enemy of being descended
from villeins. This was a common way of attempting to extort money.
What is clear is that, in 1290 (the peak of the population rise in England
in the Middle Ages), about 60 per cent of the rural population on arable
land was still technically unfree. However, the distribution was uneven.
And, high as this figure was, this still left 40 per cent who were free. In
Kent, the western Midlands, the south-west and north-west, there were few
villeins. Here lords relied on paid labourers and money rents. In East Anglia
and southern Cambridgeshire, manors tended to be relatively small and
dominated by large numbers of free smallholders. (Exceptions were the
great Church estates of Bury and Ely, which contained a large percentage of
unfree tenants.) On the other hand, in areas of Oxfordshire villeins made up
80 per cent of the population. Extensive manors, with large numbers of the
unfree, were also common in Huntingdonshire. Overall, villeins were found
in highest numbers on the great arable estates of the Midlands. In areas
where farmland was being carved out of woodland they were rarer, as here
lords wanted to attract new tenants and offered land on more attractive
terms.
Overall, therefore, by 1290 probably three in five English tenants were
unfree and some of those who have usually been considered free were more
restricted than has often been assumed. In the Danelaw (the East Midlands,
East Anglia and northern England) a class of small farmers called sokemen
are assumed to have been descended from free Viking colonists in the tenth
century and to have guarded their freedoms. There is some truth to this as,
even when they owed labour service, it was lighter than that demanded
from the average villein. But even sokemen might find themselves
classified as unfree by an ambitious landlord.
This last point is a reminder that Church estates included concentrations
of both unfree and free communities, depending on where they were located
and on their style of organization. The Benedictines, for example, were
long-established in England and had many of their estates in arable areas.
Here there were many villein tenants. In contrast, the Cistercians, on their
great wool-ranges in the north and west, mixed the work amongst both free
and unfree labourers. The Templars and Augustinians preferred to rely on
money rents from free tenants because these monastic orders tended to own
land scattered across a number of villages, which were difficult to organize
in the way a great Benedictine house such as Glastonbury might organize its
estates.

Trades, crafts, agriculture and industry

Village communities included a range of craftspeople but these are
sometimes strangely invisible. For example, Domesday Book records 6,000
mills but only eight millers and over one million sheep but only ten
shepherds. In addition, we must add the smiths and foresters, pigmen and
beekeepers, fishermen and eel catchers, keepers of vineyards and salt
makers, quarrymen and a host of other craft skills which made the rural
economy vibrant and active. As the medieval records increase in the twelfth
and thirteenth centuries these roles begin to emerge, but they will always
have been there. Many of these people, such as the smiths, carpenters, tilers
and masons, were directly employed by the lord of the manor. Of these,
some would have been labourers and others skilled craftspeople employing
other workers themselves. Surnames derived from occupations – and
appearing in records from 1280 to 1340 – indicate crafts and skills found on
larger manors. These include: comber, draper, dyer, fuller, tailor, weaver (all
textile workers); ironmonger, smith, carpenter, cooper, turner (iron and
wood workers); baker, brewer, butcher (food and drink production); bailiff,
hayward and woodward (manorial administrators). The countryside was
also the location of much of the pottery industry, which after 1100 relocated
from towns. Like ale brewing, it was carried out by peasants who used it to
diversify their income. Other rural-based industries were quarrying, salt
making, glass making, iron working and mining (e.g. lead and coal).
Every village also contained landless labourers, so poor they survived on
wages paid for work performed on the land of better-off neighbours.
However, these landless labourers made up only a small part of the rural
population. Most peasants farmed no more than 30 acres (12.1 hectares) and
few employed more than one labourer. The English countryside in the
Middle Ages was therefore made up of a large number of relatively small
farmers. It was a long way from the kind of society which would emerge
after 1500, in which a decreasing number of landowners employed a
growing number of landless labourers. In 1851, by contrast, 50 per cent of
farms covered between 100 and 300 acres (40.4 to 121.4 hectares) and an
average of six landless farmhands were employed by each farm.8 By
marrying late and living in nuclear families, peasants in the Middle Ages
tried to keep their holdings together and, if possible, to enlarge them from
one generation to the next.
Nevertheless, the desire to better themselves was clearly a highly
motivating factor in the lives of many peasant farmers. Through manorial
records individual life stories give us an insight into what must have been
the experiences of many more. In 1277, Hugh Cok was the poorest villager
in Codicote (Hertfordshire), but his position started to improve when he
rented a stall to sell fish in the market. With the money he earned he bought,
or rented, eight small pieces of land. Following this success he rented a strip
of land for ten years and another for four years. The income from his land
transactions allowed him to buy a further plot and then a new house and an
accompanying piece of land. A further plot of land followed, protected by a
hedge. Hugh was now rising through the ranks of the village. When the
opportunity arose he leased three more plots of land for nine years. After
this he leased a further piece of land for twelve years and yet another for
three years. Clearly conscious of his growing status, he gained permission
to dig a ditch to demarcate one of his land holdings. And his ambitions took
him into the brewing trade, since the manorial records show he was fined
for brewing bad beer. When Hugh died, in 1306, he left his little empire to
Christina, his daughter. In Hugh’s life we can see the kinds of small scale
wheeler-dealing which dominated village life in the Middle Ages.9
 But where did the majority of this rural population live? By the late
eleventh century East Anglia was the most densely populated area of
England (with between 15 and 20 people per square mile), followed by the
south coast east of the Solent, Kent and the chalk lands of Hampshire,
Wiltshire, Berkshire and Oxfordshire. In contrast, a density closer to five
people per square mile prevailed in Cornwall, the Welsh borders and north
of the rivers Humber and Mersey.
Whatever the population density of a region, or its manorial structure,
the business of the countryside was making money. In order to achieve this
its natural resources were to be efficiently exploited in order to maximize
the profit of an estate. There was of course nothing new in this; it is the
story of farming since the Neolithic era. What marks out the period around
the Norman Conquest is the acceleration in commercial exploitation. This
was a social, not a political, phenomenon. It owed much to population
increase and little to Norman conquerors, since the economic potential of
rural resources was being increasingly exploited from the Middle Anglo-
Saxon period onwards. In this sense the strategies we see being adopted
around 1100 were only the latest developments in a process which had been
gathering pace since 800.
From 800 until 1300 arable farming increased in both its area and its
intensity in order to feed a growing population. In this period the English
population rose from probably just under 2 million to about 5.5 million.
Some estimates put it as high as 6.5 million in 1300.10 This growth
increased demand for food and provided opportunities for increased profits
from the best-managed estates. The plotting of scatters of pottery, found
during field walking at Leckhampstead (Buckinghamshire), shows the
dramatic increase in manuring of fields between 1100 and 1400.11 Similarly,
the increased quantities of silts which modern archaeologists find in the
valleys of the rivers Thames and Nene point to the intensification of
ploughing on land which had fallen out of arable cultivation after the end of
the Roman period. The erosion which led to this being swept into the river
systems reminds us that economic impacts on the environment are by no
means a modern phenomenon. This increased production was assisted by
improved agricultural techniques, relative political stability, a growing
economy in which towns played a vital part, and climatic improvements.
 The last point is one which is often overlooked. Scientists know that a
historic global cooling, called the ‘Little Ice Age’, lasted from about 1450
to 1850 and coincided with two periods of decreased solar activity. But
fluctuations in climate had started before this. The so-called ‘Medieval
Warm Period’ was a time of unusually warm weather around 800–1300 and
it partially coincided with the peak in solar activity named the ‘Medieval
Maximum’ (about 1100–1250). During the Medieval Warm Period wine
grapes were grown in southern England. At the same time, Scandinavian
settlers took advantage of ice-free seas to colonize Greenland and other
outlying lands of the far north and even reached the eastern coast of North
America. The fact that this warming occurred alongside population increase
and accelerated agricultural production is no coincidence. Neither is the fact
that its ending coincided with population fall and economic stagnation at
the end of the Middle Ages. This is not to assume, however, that climate
was the single determinant. Other factors strongly influenced the
commercial success of vineyards, and the time of the greatest extent of
medieval vineyards falls outside the Medieval Warm Period. Nevertheless,
climate clearly played a great part in extending the growing season for
arable and other crops, and in underpinning medieval expansion.
By 1300 the expanding rural economy was closely integrated, with about
1,500 market towns. With somewhere in the region of 10 million sheep
producing 40,000 sacks of wool a year for the international market, these
market towns were a key feature in the redistribution network that saw wool
bought by merchants and shipped abroad. In turn the cash gained stimulated
trade within the towns. The English countryside was dynamic and trade was
expanding.
Woodland too was a valuable resource, beyond its obvious use for the
supply of timber and coppiced wood. Wood ash was produced in industrial
quantities and was an ingredient in a range of different manufacturing
processes. The liquid leached out from the burnt ash made an alkaline
known as lye. When this liquid lye was boiled with lime and evaporated in
large iron pots it left a residue known as pot-ash. It is from this that the
element potassium takes its name. So-called lye pits are identifiable in a
number of medieval woodlands. Lye was used as a cleansing agent and was
an ingredient in medieval soap. The residue was used in glass making since,
when mixed with sand, it lowers the melting point of the sand and makes
the molten liquid easier to handle.12
What should be made clear, though, is that areas designated as ‘forest’ in
the Middle Ages were not necessarily areas of extensive woodland. Nor
were they necessarily areas of poor agricultural land. The Forests of
Wychwood (Oxfordshire), Rockingham (Northamptonshire) and
Whittlewood (Buckinghamshire/Northamptonshire) were all areas which
had been actively worked in the Roman period – although the New Forest
(Hampshire) was an area whose soil reduced its agricultural value
compared with nearby landscapes. An area designated as ‘forest’ was, in
reality, simply one over which the king, or major lords, had the sole right to
keep and to hunt deer. Within these areas the game animals were protected
by – and human activity restricted by – Forest Laws. Such areas might
include woodland but not exclusively so. In fact, the word forest comes
from a Latin word meaning ‘outside’ and applied to the exclusive rights
over deer in these areas which were outside usual customs. Since some
medieval forests were also located on the edges of ancient Anglo-Saxon
kingdoms, or blocks of territory, they may have been originally designated
as forest because they were frontier areas as opposed to core territories.
What is clear is that many people living in such forest areas resented the
restrictions placed on them; indeed William I had apparently cleared areas
of the New Forest in order to reduce its population. Crimes against Forest
Law were, in the early years after the Conquest, severely punished,
although this rapidly gave way to a series of fines designed to deter
encroachment, which were paid to the Crown.
Industries such as quarrying, coal mining and iron working were
obviously located close to the sources of their raw materials. In some places
major industries were created in areas so rural that – after their decline – it
is now difficult to imagine the scale of activity once practised there. In the
north of England examples of local medieval ironworks can be found in
Weardale, which had a large enough output from the 1480s to displace
imports from Spain. From the fifteenth century improvements in technology
increased output as water was used to power hammers and bellows in the
working of iron. Most of the iron produced was wrought iron, which was
heated and hammered to drive off impurities and to shape the metal. As
blast furnaces were introduced – based on continental models – it became
possible to create enough heat to produce cast iron. Blast furnaces were
operating in Sussex from the mid-1490s.
Medieval coal mining was carried out using shallow bell-pits which were
sunk until they reached a coal seam and then worked outwards. A major
source of coal was in the north-east of England. In 1291 there are records of
coal sent by sea from Newcastle to Corfe Castle (Dorset), and coal was
shipped to London from about 1305. By 1334, on the strength of this trade,
Newcastle was the fourth wealthiest town in England after London, Bristol
and York. While this position did not last, it is an indication of the
importance of coal’s place within the national economy. In 1378 Newcastle
shipped an impressive 15,000 tons of coal. By 1508 this had risen to an
annual output of 40,000 tons. As demand for coal increased, so bell-pits
gave way to more ambitious pillar and stall mines in which larger galleries
were opened up and the roof supported by material which was not removed.
Such mines were operating in Leicestershire by the late fifteenth century.
Deeper mines stretched medieval technology towards its limits but horse-
powered pumps were in use around Durham by the 1480s. Recorded
productivity shows that individual output at this time was similar to that of
mines in the early nineteenth century, before the introduction of the
technology made possible by the Industrial Revolution. This is an indication
– as in so many areas – of the impressive scale and efficiency of industry in
the Middle Ages. It was only the impact of more powerful industrial
techniques which allowed the massive leap forward from what was, in
many areas, still a fundamentally medieval baseline of efficiency and
output.
The quarrying industries of Dorset were also of great importance in the
Middle Ages. Purbeck marble from the Isle of Purbeck was in great demand
from the thirteenth century, due to its suitability for cathedrals and churches
developing Gothic and Early English architectural styles. Archbishop Hugh
Walter’s decision to use it to build his Archbishop’s Palace at Canterbury in
1190 caused it to become the material of high fashion. Purbeck marble was
used in the interior of churches at Chichester, Lincoln, Wells, Winchester
and York. Salisbury Cathedral (built between 1220 and 1258 in the Early
English style) made extensive use of the stone. In the thirteenth century the
rebuilding of Westminster Abbey allowed Dorset marblers to penetrate the
London stone trade. It is significant that the earliest royal effigy in England
(that of King John, 1199–1216, at Worcester) was carved in Purbeck
Marble.

Life on the coast and river

Natural resources from rivers, wetland areas and the sea also played a major
part in life in the Middle Ages, as a source of food, power and (in the case
of wetland areas) fuel and building materials. Fish played a particularly
large part in medieval diet due to the frequency of fast days in the Christian
calendar. On these days fish could be eaten in place of meat. At Hemington
Quarry (Leicestershire) archaeologists have found numerous fish weirs.
These consisted of lines of stakes, linked by wattle panels, which funnelled
fish into wicker baskets or traps. At the same quarry parallel lines of oak
posts and wattle panels were infilled with stones and brushwood to form a
probable mill dam, dating from around the 1280s. Part of the housing for a
vertical waterwheel was also preserved here.13 Similar fish weirs, but dating
from the seventh to the tenth centuries, have been discovered within the
intertidal zone of the Blackwater Estuary (Essex), where a complex network
of weirs and traps has been mapped. The effort which went into building
these structures, in what must have been a very uncomfortable and, at times,
dangerous environment, was considerable. One site in the estuary (Collins
Creek) contained over 20,000 stakes.14 Similar structures harvested the vast
quantities of eels and fish in the network of rivers flowing into the Wash
and the Somerset Levels, and in the wetlands around these areas.
Fishing as an occupation was, of course, a feature of life on the coast as
well as along rivers and in wetland areas. Archaeological excavation
between 1996 and 2006 along Townwall Street, leading to the Eastern
Docks at Dover (Kent) has revealed evidence for the fishing community of
Dover during the Middle Ages. One of the Cinque Ports (along with
Hastings, Hythe, Romney, Sandwich and later joined by Rye and
Winchelsea), Dover provided shipping for the Crown and received various
rights and privileges in return. Among these was the right of Cinque Port
fishing fleets to fish the great herring shoals of the southern North Sea in
autumn and to land their catches – and dry their nets – on the beach at Great
Yarmouth (Norfolk). This did not go down at all well with the fishermen of
Norfolk but the right to profit from this annual herring fair was jealously
guarded by the fishermen of Kent and Sussex.
 The amount of fish bones and fish hooks found among the domestic
rubbish in simple wooden houses make it clear that these houses along
Townwall street were the homes of the Dover fishermen. Here fish was
processed, stored and eaten in huge quantities, with sampling producing
over 83,000 fish bones. This allowed researchers to identify the sea harvest
worked from Dover: herring, cod, whiting, conger eel, thornback ray and
mackerel. These probably represent fish caught locally in the English
Channel during the winter months. Such fishermen occupied the slack time
in their year with ferrying to the continent, long-distance trading, sail, rope
and net making, boat building and providing ship service for the king. They
probably also farmed smallholdings. Evidence from the site also suggests
that they wove their own plied yarns for making cordage and fishing nets,
along with small-scale metal working. In short, this community of
hardworking fishermen turned its hand to a wide range of activities to
support itself.15
Food was not the only resource exploited by those living beside water.
Around the Wash vast quantities of peat were dug for fuel from carefully
managed turbaries (the name for such peat-digging places), and this would
have been a similar activity in other wetland areas such as the Somerset
Levels and south of the Humber. These areas also provided large amounts
of reeds, or lesch, cut for use in thatching. Islands of meadow provided
winter fodder for cattle while water levels were controlled by dykes and
sluices as these frontier farmers and fishermen laboured to tame and exploit
the wild, wet landscape. What, to the modern eye, might seem to have been
marshy wilderness would, in reality, have been valuable areas providing a
wide range of resources. No wonder the term fish silver was used around
Boston (Lincolnshire) in the fourteenth century for the rents paid by tenants
who harvested these resources.

Structure of the medieval village

Although, as we have seen, the resources to be exploited were varied, the
classic image of the medieval village is of a nucleated settlement, focused
on its church and set within open fields, in which the arable and meadow
resources of the village were divided into strips. Beyond the arable and
meadow was the common land on which tenants grazed their animals and
woodland was used for timber, coppiced rods for tools and buildings and
pannage (an English legal term for the practice of turning out domestic pigs
in a wood or forest to feed). In this scenario a village was part of one
manor. But this classic image describes only a certain type of medieval
village and its landscape, and was not by any means true of the whole of
England. It closely fits the arable landscape of the corn-growing belt of the
central and west Midlands and extending to the south coast; it could also be
found as far north as Durham. In these areas the most regulated open-field
farming and the most manorialised areas (with free tenants, plus villeins
and labour service) coincided.
In the Midlands perhaps 80 per cent of the available landscape was
occupied by this open field arrangement. Such a system of nucleated
villages, as opposed to dispersed hamlets and farmsteads, may have had its
origins as far back as the ninth and tenth centuries as enterprising lords
sought to concentrate human resources in order to more efficiently exploit
both arable and pasture at a time of increasing population and the breaking
up of large multiple estates. Many of the villages in this landscape show
evidence of planning in their layout. At Wharram Percy (Yorkshire), the
house plots were carefully laid out and formed two long rows with their
fronts on to the main street of the village. The regular appearance of this
set-up, plus the very consistent size of the individual house plots, strongly
suggests that the village was carefully planned. The available evidence
suggests that this was done at some time between the tenth and the twelfth
centuries. This seems to have been the case with a large number of villages
in the open field landscape.
On the edges of this ‘open field and nucleated village system’ greater
variety occurred. In East Anglia, for instance, one village might contain
several manors, and the guiding hand of one landlord on a village’s
development was replaced by a number of different influences. At Feltwell
(Norfolk) there were seven manors. Sometimes one manor had land
scattered over several villages. All of this variety had an impact on the way
villages and landscapes developed. Field systems became less regular and
there might be as many as twelve open fields in contrast to the two, or three,
in the classic Midland landscape. Peasant holdings might be grouped in one
part of the fields and the pattern was more enclosed. In Kent peasant
holdings were grouped, sometimes in hedged fields and sometimes within
open fields.
 In other parts of England the variety was even more pronounced. The
landscape was very different in the far north and the north-west. Here
higher rainfall and a more rugged landscape encouraged a pattern of more
scattered, smaller, settlements and pastoral farming. A region dominated by
free tenants, who paid light rents, it was very different from the classic
Midland landscape and manor. In Devon and Cornwall there were fewer
open fields and peasant farms were hedged and enclosed, giving the
characteristic high banked Devon hedgerows. A large manor might include
several different hamlets (vills or townships). About 35 per cent of the land
here was held by free tenants.
Historians and archaeologists no longer accept the once-prevalent view
that peasant housing was flimsy and poorly constructed. In fact the
evidence suggests that it was timber framed and designed to last for several
generations. There has been much study of the tofts (house sites) and crofts
(the small enclosed field or pasture associated with a toft) from medieval
villages. Two main forms seem to have existed. Within northern and
western England the pastoral economies, based on cattle rearing,
accompanied longhouses. These were rectangular buildings split between
an animal byre and a living area for people. Over time upper chambers were
sometimes added to the living space and, during the fifteenth century,
chimneys were often built. In southern and eastern England the hall, or
courtyard farm, predominated, which consisted of a house with separate
farm buildings and barns. Sometimes these were placed around a central
space called a crew yard. After the late fourteenth century a large number of
these houses were rebuilt, with greater height and more first-floor
accommodation. This provided more privacy and more space for live-in
servants separated from the family. Poorer members of the village
community, however, almost certainly lived in less substantial and more
squalid housing. When manor records record cottages let at an annual rent
of 6 pence, it was probably these which were being referred to.
The larger of these crofts were usually arranged with a narrow end
facing the village street and the croft running back from this, behind the
toft. In a number of cases a back lane offered further access to the property.
Where a village was occupied over centuries, these streets and lanes could
be worn down into substantial hollow-ways and these can still be traced
between the rectangular crofts on deserted medieval village (DMV) sites in
the modern landscape. The size of a plot varied with the social status of its
occupying family unit. The similarity of these so-called plot-plans across a
number of villages is clear evidence for the planning out of villages by
medieval lords. Exactly when this happened varied from place to place. In
some areas it was a product of later Anglo-Saxon reorganization of the
landscape in the tenth century; in other areas it was a product of
enterprising lords seeking to maximize output from their estates in the
century after 1200. Work at Wick Dive, Whittlebury and Lillingstone
Dayrell (on the Buckinghamshire/Northamptonshire border) appears to
confirm this approximate date for planned extensions to existing villages
from the early twelfth century.16 This recent study of Late Medieval
manorial centres within this area of the Whittlewood Forest has shown a
number of instances where the expansion of a lord’s base in the mid-
thirteenth century cleared away the earlier peasant tofts to make way for the
new buildings. In addition to the lord’s residence there would be storage
buildings, mills, dovecotes, byres, malthouses, brewhouses and bakehouses.
In some cases watermills and windmills might also be itemized in
accounts.17
The fashion for moated manor sites increased in the thirteenth century in
lowland eastern England. Essex has more than any other English county.
Some of these were constructed with drainage in mind; others were
designed largely for show – to display the wealth of their gentry owners.
From the fifteenth century, manor houses became larger but still retained
the hall-centred plan of an earlier period. This allowed for more rooms for
servants and provided additional quarters to give more privacy to the lord of
the manor and family. These rooms were eventually provided with their
own fireplaces and chimneys. This shift from a central hearth in the hall, as
the focus for the life of the manor house, signals a real change in
relationships and is about much more than just a change in architecture.
These developments were particularly pronounced in the wealthier wool-
producing areas and surviving examples, such as Great Chalfield
(Wiltshire), reveal just how grand a gentry house could be on the back of
the wool trade.

Changes in the countryside

The rural system, though varied and complex, faced some of its greatest
challenges in the fourteenth century. Population increase until the mid-
fourteenth century put great pressure on resources in the countryside. This
led to large reclamation projects in areas of fen and marshland. In Romney
Marsh, Kent, this probably began in the early twelfth century when the land
was used for grazing. However, by about 1200 this gave way to more
intensive cultivation and occupation. This took the form of pioneering
farmsteads pushing on to reclaimed land. During the fourteenth century the
number of farmsteads declined and this depopulation continued into the
fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. Many of the medieval drainage ditches
were infilled at this time. It was a period of settlement retreat.
A number of serious problems afflicted the English countryside at this
time. A bad harvest in 1314 was followed by two years of wet weather and
crop failure. Another disastrous harvest coincided with disease of cattle and
sheep in 1319–21. Wheat and barley prices rose by 300 per cent and
starvation became widespread. Some sold their land to buy food while
others turned to crime. Many manorial records indicate death rates running
at up to 15 per cent of the local population. After 1322 the weather
improved and population began to recover – but then, in 1348, the Black
Death arrived at Melcombe Regis in Dorset. Taxation figures for 1377
suggest that the population of England had fallen to about 2.5 million, and it
would remain at about this level until 1520. This was a human catastrophe –
but what was the impact on the rural economy?
In fenland areas of East Anglia, the Sussex and Kent marshes and around
the Thames Estuary campaigns of land reclamation slowed down, stopping
in many areas. Increased flooding due to climate change accelerated this
reversal. A similar retreat from marginal land took place in Cornwall,
Devon and Northumberland. Nowhere is this retreat from areas of former
activity more obvious than in the case of DMVs. There are at least 3,000
DMVs in England. In a large number of Midland areas former ploughland
reverted to pasture leaving the characteristic humps and bumps of deserted
crofts and tofts and the corduroy pattern of ridge and furrow. It is common
to suggest that these were places in which the plague had wiped out
virtually all inhabitants. In fact the DMVs of England occurred over many
centuries and for complex and particular reasons peculiar to each site and
its economy. Many that failed were already economically marginal units,
and many failed only after a long period of decline. Many, no doubt, had
run perilously short of the resources such as woodland and pasture which
were needed to act as insurance in case of crop failures in the open arable
fields.
Nevertheless, the cycles of infectious diseases after 1348 (with the
accompanying fall in population) clearly had a significant and negative
effect on such communities even if desertion was not solely due to the
Black Death. The famous historian of the English countryside, W.G.
Hoskins, calculated that in Leicestershire about 18 per cent of villages were
abandoned between 1450 and the early seventeenth century. Other
settlements were reduced in size. The Whittlewood Forest study found that
‘After 1350 signs of contraction can be found in all the villages and hamlets
that have been investigated’.18 What is clear is that the pattern of desertion
and shrinkage, though widespread, is not uniform. Some villages grew, no
doubt as a result of migration from those settlements which were in decline.
In other words there were ‘winners’ as well as ‘losers’ in the unsettled
period following the trauma of the mid-fourteenth century.

Challenge to the status quo

What seems certain is that the Black Death led to a rise in percapita wealth
through a shortage of labour and – consequently – rising wages. The Bishop
of Winchester found that the price of his wheat rose by 6 per cent in the
period 1360 to 1380 but, at the same time, the wages he paid his labourers
rose by 69 per cent.19 Standards of living rose as a result. However, this was
eroded by the cost of war with France. The rise in prosperity and the ability
to challenge a system which had attempted to keep wages down and enforce
the continuation of villeinage led to social unrest by men and women who
had a new sense of empowerment. These protests against villeinage had
occurred since the thirteenth century but they accelerated after the Black
Death. In some areas peasants hired lawyers to argue that their particular
manor had once been a royal estate, on which all labourers were free from
villeinage. Contemporaries watched the changes with excitement, or horror,
depending on their prejudices. The poet Langland, in Piers Plowman,
echoed the view of the wealthy and powerful when he unkindly suggested
that ‘When hunger was their master none complained’, with the clear
implication that what was needed was a dose of famine to put such
pretentious villeins in their places.
Attempts by the authorities to arrest these developments could not stop
the tide of change. However, at the time the efforts to protect the status quo
were seen in a number of areas. The Ordinance of Labourers in 1349 and
the Statute of Labourers in 1351 made it illegal to demand pay higher than
that given before 1348. This legislation banned alms giving to beggars and
made it a criminal offence for a labourer to refuse a work contract if
offered. This aimed to prevent workers from negotiating short-term
contracts and then leaving for a better-paid job if the first contract was not
renewed on terms the labourer thought were favourable. Justices of the
Peace (selected from the landowning knightly class) were empowered to
enforce this legislation which, of course, worked to their economic
advantage. It was blatant class legislation. Similarly, in 1363, sumptuary
laws were passed, which attempted to define what different classes of
society were allowed to wear. It was clear that people should not merely
know their social rank, they should look it too. Such legislation was, of
course, bound to fail and was indicative of a government trying to arrest
processes beyond its control.
In the summer of 1381 the simmering resentment boiled over into the
Peasants’ Revolt. As with so much of the Middle Ages this was not what it
seemed. It was by no means confined to peasants but involved a wide range
of groups: villeins, hedge-priests (priests unfrocked for breaking Church
laws), better-off townspeople and rival members of London guilds. The key
factor which motivated most of these different groups was resentment at
legal and social restrictions which hampered their economic activities,
freedoms and ambitions. They were less ‘desperate and starving’ and more
‘ambitious and frustrated’. The chronicler Thomas Walsingham, in his
Historia Anglicana, later recorded a speech supposed to have been made by
the hedge-priest John Ball. In part of it he spoke the famous words:
When Adam delved [dug], and Eve span, who was then a gentleman? From the beginning all
men were created equal by nature, for servitude was introduced by the unjust and evil
oppression of men, against the will of God, who, if it had pleased Him to create serfs, surely in
the beginning of the world would have appointed who should be a serf and who a lord.20
The trigger event causing the revolt was the activities of tax commissioners
pursuing evaders of the heaviest of three recent poll taxes (1377, 1379 and
1381). This one was set at 3 groats each (12 pennies, or one shilling) which
would be about a week’s wages for a labourer. All those over the age of 15
were to pay. Contemporary chroniclers mention two petitions made in
response to the last of these poll taxes. One called for freedom from
serfdom and a standard rent of 4 pence per acre. The second called for
abolition of villeinage and lordship and the redistribution of Church
property. Passive resistance grew, and somewhere in the region of 450,000
people who had paid tax in 1377 evaded it in 1381.
Later demands of the rebels pointed up many of the features of English
life which so antagonized ordinary people: an end to villeinage; a ceiling of
4 pence an acre rent on land; opening up of all markets to traders who
would no longer have to pay for the right to sell their goods; abolition of
outlawry; all rabbit warrens, fisheries, deer parks and woods to become
common property. But the key to understanding the explosion of violence
lies in the sense of outrage against the rising level of taxation, accusations
of government incompetence and failures in the war against France.
Between 1371 and 1381 the government tax burden stood at £380,000 and
over half of this had been raised in the four years since 1377. Contemporary
accounts suggest that many rebels claimed they were acting on behalf of the
young king to save him – and them – from his ‘corrupt advisers’.
The violence broke out in Essex and Kent, and these outbreaks may have
been coordinated. Dissatisfied activists had been encouraging action across
a wide area of eastern England. Some of these were hedge-priests, such as
John Ball, who had already been punished in the Church courts for
preaching the doctrines of John Wycliffe and for his belief in social
equality. Ball was thrown into prison on three occasions and also appears to
have been excommunicated. He was in the archbishop of Canterbury’s
prison, at Maidstone, when he was released by the Kentish rebels. Such
people had a background in social radicalism and were sparks amongst dry
kindling. To what extent there was organization is now hard to assess, but
there are clues. The revolt was probably deliberately coincided to fall on the
Corpus Christi celebrations (Thursday 13 June 1381), traditionally a day of
community activities. And near-contemporary chroniclers refer to cryptic
notes, which appear to contain coded references to insurrection, passed
between rebellious groups.
Once the revolt exploded into violence, groups rapidly made contact
with each other. As the unrest spread it certainly began to show signs of
rudimentary coordination, even if only of allied rebels with similar aims.
The centralized nature of England gave the protesters an obvious target for
their actions: the young king, Richard II, and his royal council. There was
particular antagonism towards the king’s uncle, John of Gaunt, and officials
associated with the latest poll tax. In addition, when the rebels entered
London they were assisted by fishmongers engaged in inter-guild disputes
with more prosperous Londoners.
The revolt collapsed when, during a tense stand-off with the young king
at Smithfield, the Mayor of London, Walworth, stabbed Wat Tyler the rebel
leader. Seizing the opportunity, Richard led the leaderless rebels away and
they were swiftly surrounded by armed troops. A few days later the king
withdrew promises to end villeinage made under duress. It seemed that the
forces of reaction had triumphed. Shortly after this John Ball was arrested
in Coventry and executed in the presence of the 14-year-old king.
One clear target of the 1381 revolt had been the villeinage system. But
villeinage was already crumbling due to economic and demographic
pressures which no amount of resistance could hold back. The increased
economic ‘muscle’ of peasants after the Black Death meant they could
demand higher wages whatever the Statute of Labourers vainly demanded.
And manorial lords, desperate to get a return from their land, would accept
incoming labour without asking too many questions about whether these
were free farmers or villeins escaping the constraints of a neighbouring
manor. This had been happening even before the traumas of the 1350s. As
early as 1305 over 10 per cent of the tenants in Stoneleigh (Worcestershire)
had originated outside the shire. It is unknown how many were villeins on
the run.
Even in the years before the disruptions of the mid-fourteenth century
some landowners – keen to increase their cash flow – were willing to accept
cash payments instead of villein services. This, of course, was in a period
when labour was relatively plentiful. Evidence from counties as far apart as
Norfolk and Somerset show villeins paying chevage payments, allowing
them to live off their native manor: the first step towards escaping villein
status entirely. From East Anglia large numbers of immigrants entered
London, taking their dialect of English with them and influencing the
emerging London version of Middle English. Furthermore, during the late
thirteenth century, land was in such short supply (due to population
increase) that freemen were willing to take on land which had labour
services attached. Another complication was provided by the marriage of
free and unfree, which was by no means an uncommon arrangement.
After the Black Death the tide flowed ever more strongly against
villeinage. In addition, as traditional social restraints weakened, women
seem to have used the opportunity to seek greater economic freedom, often
in towns. In Northampton in 1377, 30 per cent of the population was made
up of servants and many of them were women. Most of these were probably
first-generation town dwellers who had escaped the more restrictive
atmosphere of the countryside.
The end of villeinage was also assisted by the increase in the amount of
coins available in the English medieval economy from the late fourteenth
century. After all, labour service could be replaced by paid labour and the
leasing out of demesne land for cash only if sufficient coins were available.
When coinage increased in quantity, as it did in the fifteenth century, it
coincided with increasing peasant agitation following the Black Death. This
increased economic strength led to the loosening of a system which was
centuries old. As it declined, a whole outlook passed with it. No longer
would manor rolls refer to some of their tenants as ‘in bondage’. Instead,
they were now simply tenants holding their land according to the custom of
the manor and paying cash rents. But the long echo of past social structures
would not die away so quickly. Medieval legal terms for unfree peasants
still remain in modern English as negative descriptive terms: villain (from
villein), churlish (from ceorl) and boorish (from gebur).
During the fifteenth century the countryside continued to experience
considerable turbulence. From 1376 grain prices began a downward spiral
which would last for almost the rest of the Middle Ages. Between 1430 and
1470 there was a severe agricultural depression and in 1438–39, after three
wet summers, a terrible famine occurred. Diseases of cattle and sheep
reduced the national herd. A depressed population and low demand meant
that grain prices continued to fall after 1440; wool and cloth exports also
slumped around 1450. The problems in the cloth trade were particularly
acute between 1448 and 1471. Protests in a number of rural areas demanded
reduction in land rents, and social unrest was reported in many urban
centres. Labour shortages, rising wage bills and the falling price of corn
encouraged landlords to reduce their outgoings and enlarge profits by
turning to increased wool production and combining (or ‘enclosing’)
landholdings (often accompanied by ejecting peasant farmers as a result of
these ‘enclosures’). The priest John Rous (died 1491) listed 60 villages in
his native Warwickshire that he personally knew to have been abandoned as
a result of such actions. Thomas More, in 1516, wrote in his book Utopia
that sheep had ‘developed a raging appetite, and turned into man-eaters.
Fields, houses, towns, everything goes down their throats.’21 More’s bitter
irony arose from the same concerns which had earlier led Rous to call down
God’s anger on the landlords he held responsible for rural depopulation. In
some areas the retreat from arable farming led to increased exploitation of
income from fish farming and rabbit warrens.
Yet the later fifteenth century saw the continuation of the rise in overall
standards of living which had marked the later fourteenth century. Real
wages continued to increase and villeinage had virtually disappeared. As a
result, land was available without the constraints which had restricted
freedoms before the 1350s. The purchasing power of the wages of those
engaged in agriculture increased by 100 per cent in the period 1350–1450.
Better-off farmers – the yeomen – exploited the opportunities presented to
them and prospered, and the rural cloth trade increased the prosperity of
country areas in East Anglia, the Cotswolds and the West Country. There
was therefore, unsurprisingly, no uniform experience in the countryside by
1500. The opportunities and aspirations of the wealthier yeomen contrasted
with the frustrations of the victims of enclosure. And in the tensions
between these two experiences lay the forces of change which would help
take the English countryside out of the Middle Ages in the following half-
century.
 Chapter 3
THE GROWTH AND DECLINE OF TOWNS

Richard Whittington was the third son of a Gloucestershire knightly family.

He was by no means impoverished but was not likely to inherit any of the
family estates. Relocating to London, he became a successful mercer. This
word was derived from the Old French mercier, which itself came from the
Latin word merx, meaning ‘goods’. During the Middle Ages the term came
to describe a dealer in high-quality textile fabrics, especially silk and other
fine materials. Whittington became a very successful trader and was a
major supplier to the royal court after about 1388. Between 1392 and 1394
he sold goods to King Richard II worth somewhere in the region of £3,500.
He exported woollen cloth and there is evidence that he also began
moneylending from the late 1380s. By 1397 he was lending large sums of
money to the king. His economic power was rapidly translated into political
influence.
In 1384 Whittington had become a member of the council of the City of
London and, in 1392, he was one of the city’s delegation to King Richard II
at Nottingham. By 1393 Richard was an alderman and an influential
member of the Mercers’ Company. When the current mayor died in June
1397, Whittington was imposed on the city by the king as Lord Mayor of
London. As mayor, Whittington successfully negotiated a deal which
allowed the city authorities to buy back lost freedoms for the sum of
£10,000. He was elected mayor in 1398.
 When Richard II was deposed in 1399, Whittington cultivated an equally
positive relationship with the new king, Henry IV, and then with his
successor, Henry V. Whittington was again elected mayor in 1406 and
1419. In 1416 he became a Member of Parliament. Whittington died in
March 1423. His tremendous achievements are recorded in the late rhyme –
supposedly relating to a boyhood temptation to leave London and try
elsewhere – which he allegedly heard sung out by the bells of London
churches: Turn again Whittington, thou worthy citizen, thrice lord mayor of
London. The reality, though, sheds more light on the powerful economic
and political position of town merchants than the pantomime image does.
The career of someone like Whittington would have been impossible
without the huge growth in towns and their influence which had occurred
since 1066. While this had its roots in late Anglo-Saxon England, it was
given fresh impetus by the Norman Conquest. This reveals itself clearly in
the case of London, where the Norman impact on London was massive –
with a new palace at Westminster and a new St Paul’s, as well as the
building of fortifications at Baynard’s Castle and the Tower of London. In
addition, the period following the Conquest saw the building of 11 new
monasteries and 100 parish churches. The Conquest also coincided with a
leap in London’s population. From a figure of about 8,000 in 750, the
population of London rose to 25,000 by 1100 and 100,000 in 1300.
Incidentally it probably halved around 1350 and had risen to about 120,000
in 1558.
The increased number of new religious houses also had a large impact on
the growing city. A huge area outside the City walls was occupied by
monasteries: for example, St John Clerkenwell, St Mary Clerkenwell, St
Mary Graces, St Mary Spital, Westminster, Bermondsey and Merton. They
were each significant economic communities with great effects on their
local area, and even their end in the sixteenth century provided a stimulus to
the economic growth of London as their property and land passed into
private hands.
However, there were other, more destructive, effects of the Norman
Conquest on English towns. At Oxford the building of the Norman castle
flattened an entire quarter of the town. Lincoln and Warwick each lost 166
houses and 27 were demolished in Cambridge for the same reason. In some
towns, such as Southampton and Norwich, new French Quarters were
established and, while these may have increased trade, the land for their
construction may have been seized from the indigenous population.
The union of Normandy and England acted as a stimulus to long-
distance trade and with it the growth of certain key towns. But towns were
not a Norman invention. They were a Europe-wide phenomenon and in
England their roots lay in the Anglo-Saxon period after 750. Neither was
the increasingly rapid growth of towns after 1066 due to a particular
Norman set of ingredients. Towns would have increased in number and
importance whether the Conquest had happened or not. However, the
impact of an aggressive group of arrivistes, keen to make the most of the
new financial opportunities brought by the Conquest, can only have added
to the cocktail of reasons why town growth accelerated after 1100.

Towns and trade

By 1300 perhaps as many as 20 per cent of the English population lived in
urban centres, most of which acted as market centres for their local areas.
They provided rural communities with the products they could not
individually provide for themselves, such as clothing and specialist iron
tools. They also provided a market for the sale of farming produce from the
demesne land of local estates. In this way they enabled local lords to turn
the products of their estates into cash. The largest towns had the largest
hinterlands, with which they were closely connected. London, for example,
relied on grain supplies from about ten different counties. This in turn
affected other towns which were part of the supply network connecting
farms with the capital. So, Faversham (Kent), Ware (Hertfordshire) and
Henley-on-Thames (Oxfordshire) all acted as gathering places for grain
which was then transported on to London. The distance involved varied
according to ease of transportation and the relationship between effort and
eventual profit. Consequently, items such as fuel travelled shorter distances
than drovers and their cattle. On a related theme, the concentration of
available luxury goods in the largest towns (either imported through them,
or produced there) likewise drew in purchasers from considerable distances.
So, for example, wax and spices from London and parchment from Oxford
were both purchased by the bishop of Hereford – despite both towns being
considerable distances from Hereford.1
 Many towns were established after 1066, while others had a history
which stretched back far before the Conquest and some, of course, had been
important centres in Roman Britain (although had not been continually
urban since then). But many were new towns of the Middle Ages. In these
cases ambitious local lords had seen the advantages a town could bring and
invested in setting one up to make the most of a town’s money-making
opportunities. Boston was just such a new town which had, by 1300,
become an international port. Some new developments started with very
high hopes indeed. When the Knights Templar established Baldock
(Hertfordshire) in 1168 its name was derived from Baldac, the medieval
form of Baghdad in Iraq. Baldock never quite came to rival the famous and
ancient Middle Eastern city.
The importance of the establishment of new towns is revealed in the fact
that between 1200 and 1300 the number of boroughs (originally a defended
place but later possessing certain rights, such as self-government) jumped
by over 100 per cent, from about 220 to about 500. Of these towns about 25
per cent were directly administered by the Crown. An insight into the
Crown’s interest in urban development is provided by Edward I. When he
wanted to give a gift to the nurse attending to his baby son (the future
Edward II) the ideal gift was a burghal plot in a town; later, in 1297, he
called together the first recorded meeting of English town planners to help
rebuild the town of Berwick, and the king himself wheeled a symbolic
wheelbarrow of earth as work on the town’s defences started. However,
important as the input was of the English Crown, this left 75 per cent of
towns which had been set up by local lords. The Church too saw the
advantages of developing towns on its estates, and 25 per cent of the
national total were administered by the Church. The returns to those who
established towns, or who invested in them, could be impressive.
Of all the industries located in towns, the largest was the cloth industry.
The large number of people living in towns provided a good-sized labour
pool for the many different stages involved in the industry, from preparing
the wool through to processing the finished cloth. During the thirteenth
century the cloth trade was a major source of the prosperity of towns such
as Beverley, Lincoln, Stamford and York. Regional specialization meant
that certain locations were associated with particular products, including
‘Lincoln scarlet’ and ‘Bristol red’. This high-quality cloth was consumed on
the domestic as well as on the international market. Other towns were
associated with other trades and products, varying from knives at Thaxted
(Essex) to herrings at Great Yarmouth (Norfolk).

The benefits enjoyed by townspeople

Towns also offered a wide range of attractions for those living there. As
well as providing new job prospects they also offered opportunities for
escaping villeins to lose themselves in a large population. It was this that
caused towns to grow as a proportion of the national population from about
10 per cent in 1086 to perhaps approaching 20 per cent by 1300. This
growth was driven by migration from surrounding areas. In fact, the
unhealthy state of a town such as London meant that it was only this inward
migration which was capable of sustaining its growth through the Middle
Ages. Even in a smaller town such as Exeter it seems that about 27 per cent
of its inhabitants migrated from up to 40 miles (64 km) away.2 This
movement ranged from poor peasants looking for opportunities to improve
their economic situation, to wealthier artisans making the most of the
trading opportunities through renting a plot of town land. The immigrants
often included a surprising proportion of women.
However, towns were very varied. By 1377, the year of the Poll Tax
levy, London – with a population of about 50,000 – was far larger than any
other town in England. Far below it were the four towns of Bristol,
Coventry, Norwich and York, with populations between 8,000 and 15,000.
The next tier of towns, such as Lincoln, had populations ranging from 5,000
to 8,000. The fourth tier consisted of 27 towns, such as Stamford
(Lincolnshire), with populations between 2,000 and 5,000. Finally there
were some 5,000 towns, such as Grimsby (Lincolnshire) or Stow-on-the-
Wold (Gloucestershire) with populations smaller than 2,000.
One clear characteristic of towns was a distinct set of rights (borough
freedoms) which outsiders did not enjoy. Not that there was one clear and
tidy definition of what these were. Instead, there was a typically English set
of arrangements which varied from place to place. Some towns, it is true,
had been granted borough charters by a lord. These laid out the rights and
privileges enjoyed by those living there. Others, however, had evolved a
series of local customs. Some of these towns later formalized these in a
charter, but some did not. Probably the most obvious characteristic of an
English medieval town was that the properties within it were rented out at
relatively low rent and that those who rented were not liable for any kind of
labour service. These plots of land could be freely sold or given as a gift,
and none of this needed the agreement of the lord who owned the land. This
is technically known as burgage tenure. The word burgage, like borough, is
derived from the Old English word burg or burh, meaning a defended place
or town. This burgage tenure was an attractive proposition to a population
who were all too familiar with the humiliating restrictions and unpaid
workload which often went with renting land in the countryside. The person
who rented land in a town had freedoms that a villein in the countryside
could only dream of. Furthermore, inflation in the thirteenth century made
the cost of renting these urban plots even more attractive.
Towns thrived on trade. Owners of town land had the right to hold fairs
and weekly markets and were free from the tolls which had to be paid by
outsiders visiting these. The yearly cycle of fairs started for many
thirteenth-century continental merchants with Stamford before Easter,
through Boston in July, to Winchester in September and on to Northampton
in November. Townspeople celebrated their membership of an exclusive
club and kept outsiders at a disadvantage. Their freedoms often included the
right to transport goods across the kingdom without paying tolls. In some
towns these privileges were not enjoyed by all townspeople but were
restricted to those traders and craftsmen who were members of the guild
merchant. We shall return to the guilds shortly, but suffice to say that this
arrangement was a device to restrict access to the wealth brought by trade to
even smaller numbers. And it was an access worth having. In Southampton
members of the guild merchant had the right of first refusal of goods
brought into the city; they could run a tavern and buy items such as honey,
herrings and salt without being restricted to market days and fairs. At Lynn
(Norfolk) ‘foreign traders’ could not stay in the town longer than 40 days
and such restrictions were the norm.
In many towns these freedoms were enjoyed by all the inhabitants.
However, as the Middle Ages progressed they became more restricted and a
distinction grew up between those traders and manufacturers who had been
granted the ‘freedom’ of the town and the majority of the town population
with fewer privileges. This ‘freedom’ of the town could be gained through
inheritance, purchase or apprenticeship; the exact situation varied from
town to town. In Norwich in 1415, the town’s authorities raised money by
forcing all shopkeepers to buy the ‘freedom’ of the borough. After this
anyone owning a shop could trade for two years but then had to buy the
freedom of the town, or shut the shop.
Over time, more and more towns enjoyed the benefits of self-
government and elected their own mayors and bailiffs. This occurred when
the burgesses (citizens) of a town clubbed together and paid a fixed fee to
the lord who had originally owned the land on which the town lay. The fee
compensated the lord for the loss of income from the rents and tolls of the
town and meant that these in future belonged to the town itself. This
payment was called a farm, from the Old French word ferme and the
medieval Latin word firma, meaning a fixed payment. This trend exploded
after 1189 because both Richard I and King John were short of cash and
found granting charters and selling town rights attractive financial
propositions. Urban self-rule therefore grew most swiftly in royal boroughs.
Some private lords tried to resist this trend. Church landlords, such as
those who controlled the towns of Abingdon, Bury, Cirencester, Dunstable,
Reading and St Albans, found themselves the targets of resentful
townspeople keen to press their rights for more freedom to regulate their
own affairs. In 1327 in Bury, townspeople plundered the abbey and
imprisoned some of the monks in an attempt to force the abbot to grant
them greater self-government. There was trouble here again in 1381 (during
the Peasants’ Revolt) and it is revealing that Bury was the only town
excluded from Richard II’s general pardon, issued in December 1381. Only
the Reformation, in the 1530s, broke the abbot’s control.
In these self-governing towns it was the town authorities who were now
responsible for carrying out royal instructions; no longer were they under
the authority of the sheriff of the shire. They had come of age as
communities. In Beverley (Yorkshire) the present guildhall dates from 1501
and still contains the silver fifteenth-century waits chains worn by
musicians employed to play on civic occasions. Similar items make up the
oldest of the regalia in Exeter, where three of the silver waits chains were
made in the fifteenth century. They are believed to be those which records
state were remade in 1476–7 at a cost of 14 shillings. These are tangible
links to the town privileges and sense of community from the Middle Ages.
 In Bristol in 1373, this urban autonomy reached its logical conclusion
when the city also became a county in its own right. It was followed in this
by other English towns: York (1396), Newcastle (1400), Norwich (1404),
Lincoln (1409), Hull (1440) and Chester (1506). Such confident and self-
regulating towns had their mayors and councils, seals and seats of
government. They frequently excluded ‘lesser trades’ from occupying these
positions. The Somerset city of Wells (albeit a tiny city) excluded butchers
from all local offices between 1377 and 1500. In the same way the town
governments of Exeter and York in the fifteenth century were dominated by
merchants, with only lesser posts open to members of the craft guilds.
Nevertheless, even if such powerful officials looked to their own
interests, they were political realists and showed a surprising degree of
respect for the traditional customs and expectations of their communities.
Real conflict could occur when financial charges were made on the
population without respect for traditional rights or consultation with
representatives of the wider town community. Towns were certainly not
democracies, but they were not run by oligarchies who could afford to
ignore the less-wealthy members of the urban community. But when it
came to active participation in government, the trend during the fifteenth
century was to reduce popular involvement and restrict access to the
corridors of power. This meant that Late Medieval town councils were often
made up of the wealthiest members of urban society, replacing more open
assemblies. Increasingly, those eligible for the post of mayor became
restricted to the elite. This state of affairs could become so extreme that the
top leadership became self-selecting, such as happened in Bristol in 1499
and Exeter in 1504. This leadership no longer had to fear the violence and
disorder which had sometimes occurred at election times.

The guilds
Within these towns, traders and manufacturers were grouped into guilds,
which administered their mysteries (professional knowledge, rules and
arrangements). These organizations were made up of three main groups.
The first were the masters, who owned their own workshops, or shops.
They bought in raw materials and owned the tools and equipment of the
trade. In addition, they sold on the finished products. Many used the wealth
they accumulated to further expand their businesses. As a fifteenth-century
rhyme put it: ‘money makythe the man’. Most were limited, however, by
the small scale of their enterprises. In London in 1456, the largest known
workshop employed only eleven apprentices and seven servants. None in
York in this period was as large. The second group were the journeymen.
Having been trained but not yet acquired their own premises, these skilled
workers were employed by the masters. They enjoyed higher status than
other people employed by the masters because they were on their way to
becoming masters too one day, if all went well. Some had their own
organizations as a mark of their importance within the town. The third
group were the apprentices. These provided free labour to the masters,
while learning the trade. The expectations on both sides were laid down in
indentures. There could be a huge gulf between the most wealthy masters
and the skilled workers they employed. Some of the wealthiest of the elites
in cities such as London, Bristol and York had little in common with the
other townspeople with whom they did business. However, many merchants
operated on a much smaller scale and were not much better off than
successful craftspeople, even if these seemed below them on the social
scale.
In some trades the skilled masters no longer bought in the raw materials
themselves and instead became employed by others who controlled the
supply of raw materials. Examples of such powerful suppliers were the
wool merchants in some areas of the textile trade. These elites often
determined to control those who depended on them. In Leicester the
weavers and fullers were excluded from the merchant guild, although it set
the prices for their work. In Winchester the town’s merchants so dominated
the politics of the town that weavers and fullers were banned from selling
cloth except to the merchants, who then sold it on, to their advantage. From
1400 to 1500 the process in which more and more power in the lucrative
textile industry was gathered into fewer and fewer hands accelerated. In
time the wealthy merchants who could afford to purchase huge quantities of
wool dominated all aspects of the trade and employed large numbers of
different kinds of skilled workers – carders, spinners, weavers, shearmen
and fullers. The merchants then supplied the finished cloth to drapers, who
sold it in their shops. This system of transferring items from stage to stage
in the production process was called putting out, and these wealthy
clothiers remained the owners of the product and the employers of those
working on it throughout all these stages. By the early sixteenth century this
pattern had replaced that of the fourteenth century in which many
independent small-scale producers had existed.
The guild system grew up in English towns mainly during the fourteenth
century, though it was under way in the biggest towns from the 1280s.
Before guilds became so important, wages and conditions were often
decided by the town authorities. And there had been apprentices learning
their trades long before the guilds brought together large numbers of
craftspeople and formalized their arrangements. The guilds, though, were
useful in keeping the elites in control of their areas of expertise. By
insisting on long apprenticeships they could limit those coming into the
trade and so reduce competition. By limiting the number of apprentices a
master could take on, they stopped more energetic masters from dominating
the trade of a town and forcing other masters out of business. Powerful
guildsmen did their best to prevent their journeymen from organizing their
own groups to press for higher wages, as happened in London, in 1396. The
journeymen saddlers had been attempting to set up a guild in honour of the
Virgin Mary but the organizers of the saddlers’ craft guild considered this a
front for a trade union and clearly felt threatened by this show of
independence. Similarly, by fixing prices the craft guilds established cartels
which worked to their own mutual benefit. In 1484, when the Coventry
town authorities tried to intervene in the setting of prices for bread, the
bakers refused to produce any – and so made the point that they alone
should fix the prices. Guilds also regulated working hours: banning night
work and work on Sundays and other holy days.
During the fifteenth century the guilds in the largest towns gained many
functions beyond regulating manufacturing and trade. They took on a
religious role by promoting the feasts of their patron saints, they paid for
candles and ceremonies in local churches and they organized ceremonies
such as the great processions on the celebrations of Corpus Christi and at
midsummer. In fact the Mystery Plays (see Chapter 8) performed around
Corpus Christi took their names from the guilds, or mysteries, who
organized them. Indeed it is possible that in some towns it was as crafts
organized themselves to pay for these events in the fourteenth century that
craft guilds formed in these places. Often different guilds took different
parts in a way which promoted their crafts – so the fishmongers provided
fish for Gospel scenes by Lake Galilee, goldsmiths made gifts for the Wise
Men to bring to the baby Jesus, and carpenters might build Noah’s ark. In
York in 1425, when the cooks’ guild gave up the selling of fish they stopped
their contribution to the play put on by the fishermen. They clearly no
longer saw a connection between themselves and this particular part of the
play cycle.
The guilds also offered mutual support to their members and assisted
widows and organized funerals. At Killingholme (Lincolnshire), guild
members each paid a half-penny to support other guild members in need.
For many poorer townspeople in the fifteenth century, the support of their
guild at time of death was the equivalent of the prayers and Masses said for
the souls of wealthier citizens in chantries, which were paid for from richer
citizens’ more substantial estates.
By the mid-fifteenth century many of the most powerful guilds
dominated the government of towns such as Bristol. In this way they
operated as ‘both judge and jury’ in ensuring that towns were run in their
interests. Another metaphor might be ‘both poachers and gamekeepers’,
since, by the mid- to late sixteenth century, such powerful merchants
evaded royal customs duties to an astonishing degree and persecuted any
‘whistleblowers’. This ‘white ruff crime’ could account for as much as 50
per cent of the export trade of many of Bristol’s wealthiest merchants.3

Merchant Adventurers and foreign investors

By this time a new kind of trading association was coming to prominence –
the Merchant Adventurers. These were different from the traders’ guilds of
the earlier Middle Ages in their scale, their ambitions and in their
commitment to long-distance trade. It was this group which had come to
dominate the commercial life of Bristol by the sixteenth century.
Bristol’s Merchant Adventurers remind us that a significant amount of
trade was conducted over considerable distances. In an excavation of a
merchant property in Cuckoo Lane, Southampton, dating from about 1280,
a seal from Normandy was found in the rubbish pit.4 Clearly, Southampton
was at the hub of a major trading network – and it was not alone. Some of
the goods imported were at the end of a chain of transactions which
stretched into Asia. Particularly valuable was the trade in pepper and spices,
which commanded huge sums of money. Export goods, however, were less
exotic, ranging from English finished cloth to tin (from Cornwall and
Devon) and lead (from Wales and the Pennines). What is very clear is that
the yearly total value of trade in and out of England was enormous. In 1204
it may have been as high as £75,000 and in 1304 perhaps as much as
£500,000.5
The importance of international trade was recognized by the Crown,
which required payment for granting permission to merchants to trade
abroad. In this way William Whittoke was granted his licence to ‘pass over
the sea’ in 1390 and yet another William Whittok faced a royal command to
the sheriff of Southampton in 1345 to seize his ship, goods, chattels and
lands since he had travelled ‘to the parts of Normandy, and has unladed the
ship there for the benefit of the king’s enemies.’6
This growth in international trade provided opportunities for enterprising
bankers. By the thirteenth century the headquarters of the Riccardi
merchants of Lucca, Italy, had been established in London, adjacent to the
area south-west of The Poultry named Bucklersbury. This was the first
financial trading house in the city. After the expulsion of the Jews, in 1290,
Lombard bankers financed the crown and other major players in the English
economy. By the middle of the fourteenth century the Florentine banking
companies of the Bardi, Peruzzi and Frescobaldi had joined the Riccardi in
London. In fact the first English gold coin – the florin – took its name from
these Florentine bankers. Florentine merchants might make a profit up to 15
per cent on their trading in English wool. This was not a very high rate of
return and still left plenty of profit to be enjoyed within the English
economy. On average, by comparison, the London Grocers’ Company
between 1450 and 1479 averaged profits of 10 per cent. And English wool
merchants might expect a 20-per-cent return on their export of wool to the
continent.7
Other European players developed a keen interest in English
international trade. German merchants of the Hanseatic trading league set
up a base at the Steelyard near London Bridge and dominated the
fourteenth-century London export trade. The German merchants were
allowed to have an alderman of their own choice, provided he was a
freeman of the City. At first these were foreigners but before the end of the
fourteenth century two City aldermen were elected in succession by the
merchants to be their alderman, one of them being William Walworth, who
killed Wat Tyler at the climax of the Peasants’ Revolt in 1381.
Other foreigners were also involved in English trade goods. European
cloth workers were encouraged, after 1337, to assist in the development of
finished cloth. These skilled newcomers included Flemings, who were
bitterly resented by many English textile workers and a number were
murdered during the Peasants’ Revolt. Until this time the main English
woollen exports had been of raw wool. This involvement of skilled
continental craftspeople boosted the growing English textile industry,
which, despite periodic trade slumps, remained a major exporter throughout
the fifteenth century. Exports of raw wool peaked at 46,382 sacks in 1308.
However, from 1360 wool exports began to lose ground to the export of
finished cloth, and by 1420 more finished cloth was exported than raw
wool. This rapid expansion of the textile industry led to towns such as
Stamford and Norwich becoming major manufacturing centres of finished
cloth. In fact the type of cloth known as worsted takes its name from a
village close to Norwich. The capital also benefited from these
developments, and London’s expansion continued as cloth production
stimulated the economy. London’s dominance was seen in many other
fifteenth-century industries too, including gold smithing, bell founding,
brass making and the growing market in spices. However, as some towns –
and especially London – boomed, ports such as Hull and Yarmouth suffered
due to the decline in the export of raw wool.
Cloth production was not the only trade assisted by European
involvement. Dutch immigrants brought skills in leather working and gold
smithing; they were also at the cutting edge of fifteenth-century
technologies such as printing, clock manufacturing, optics and even brick
making. Prior to the late fourteenth century few buildings in England were
made from bricks; instead construction relied on timber and wattle walls, or
stone for the wealthy. By the end of the Middle Ages bricks were
increasingly used in major construction projects. Overall the number of so-
called ‘aliens’ in London rose from 1,500 in 1440 to 3,000 in 1501.

Town planning
While the population and organization of towns, which we have examined
so far, has been studied for generations it is more recent research which is
giving us a clearer insight into the actual layout and physical structure of
medieval towns. Typical towns were set out in so-called burghal plots –
long, rectangular areas of land with frontages giving access to the street.
When activities outgrew the town boundaries the town itself might grow as
new areas were added; often revealed in surviving suburb names such as
Newland and Newtown. While many inhabitants of towns lived in very
cramped conditions, richer citizens could often afford a large enough plot of
land with a garden behind the buildings.
In terms of zones within these cities, the most sought-after location was
in the centre, in what would today be described as the central business
district (CBD). The main difference between the CBD in the Middle Ages
and modern urban developments was that this area was also the residential
(as well as the trading) area for those able to afford to live there. Only the
poorer citizens were zoned on the edges of the town, or beyond its
boundaries. Commuting – such as it was – was the experience of the poor,
not the rich. Other aspects of zoning occurred in the grouping together of
similar trades. Goldsmiths, woodworkers and fishmongers, for example,
would often be located in similar areas. This is often reflected in surviving
street names such as Fish Row and Butcher Row, and even in such names as
Grope Lane, found in a number of cities and revealing areas of medieval
prostitution (often close to market areas). When a trade produced
particularly unpleasant side effects (such as butchery and tanning) there
would often be town ordinances – supported by the energetic efforts of
suffering neighbours – to try to ensure that these were located away from
prime sites and, if possible, beyond town boundaries.
Excavations in Cambridge have revealed how stable town property
boundaries could be over a thousand years of town growth, even when the
use of these plots has changed greatly. Twentieth-century boundaries often
follow the line of sixteenth-, thirteenth- and even eleventh-century
boundaries.8 This was a continuity which, due to insufficient survival of
documentary evidence, only archaeology could prove. These plots changed
in use as declining trade saw Cambridge reinvent itself as a monastic and
then a university town.
Provision of clean water was crucial to survival in the crowded confines
of even the smallest town. Excavations in Cambridge revealed that when
eleventh-century plots were laid out in a new suburb, south-east of the
town’s boundary ditch, each property had its own well. Such is the
continuity of urban sites that these were the first of a series of wells in each
property which continued to be used until the coming of piped water in the
nineteenth century. The earliest of these wells (constructed between the
eleventh and fourteenth centuries) had wickerwork reinforcing the sides. As
a general rule these gave way to constructions lined with timber-planked
barrels in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, stone-lined ones from the
sixteenth century and eventually brick shafts from the seventeenth century.
Concerns about the supply of clean water affected all towns. By 1285 the
Great Conduit had been built in order to supply London with clean water.
Its intact fountain house has been excavated under the modern road of
Cheapside.
Despite the way in which medieval towns were represented on
contemporary illustrations and maps, only the major towns such as Exeter
and York were fully walled. In the case of most other towns their walls and
gates were products of civic pride rather than realistic forms of defence. At
Beverley (Yorkshire), the early fifteenth-century North Bar Gate was
designed to impress visitors, not to repel attackers. Within town boundaries
there were many open areas as well as houses and shops. Churches and
priories often occupied large areas and the latter had their own open spaces
within the urban landscape.
Whether walled or otherwise, these medieval towns relied on the
transportation of goods – both raw materials and foodstuffs – into towns
and finished products out of towns. Clearly, the largest towns could not rely
on the local market alone for their economic well-being. Connections to
markets and suppliers further afield was crucial. Modern research has
suggested that transport costs were not a barrier to trade. Figures for
transport costs were in the region of about 2 per cent of the selling price of
goods sent by road and about 6 per cent of selling costs for bulkier and
heavier items sent by ship or barge.9 Most of the bridges which would
support long-distance trade in England until the 1750s were in place by
1300. While there was no national system of road construction and
maintenance, many towns and landlords contributed to improvements of
their local road system, including bridges.
Over the Middle Ages a shift from ox-drawn to horse-drawn carts
speeded up the movement of heavy goods, and lighter goods were carried
by packhorse. Inland waterways supplemented the roads and played an
important part in the movement of heavy and bulky goods. However, until
the canal building of the second half of the eighteenth century, rivers could
not provide a comprehensive network. The same limitations of geography
applied equally to transport by sea using the heavily built ships known from
written sources as hulks and cogs.

Two steps forward, one step back?

Clearly, the Middle Ages were a period of both progress and regression in
the growth and development of towns. For many towns their development
was marked by contrasting periods of ‘boom and bust’. There certainly was
no clear upward trajectory of growth. A classic example is that of
Northampton. Its urban life started as a ‘frontier town’ in the late ninth
century on the border of the Danelaw and Mercia (a once-independent
kingdom whose remnant was absorbed into Greater Wessex in 918 by
Edward the Elder). It was already the site of a minster church with an
adjacent Mercian royal palace. Rapid growth took place in the tenth century
and this accelerated in the late eleventh and twelfth centuries. By 1200 its
walled interior was the third largest in the country after London and
Norwich, and it still boasts the largest market place in England.
Northampton’s walled area grew from 50 acres (20 hectares) to 220 acres
(89 hectares). This growth meant that by 1200 it was a major urban centre
of national importance. From the twelfth century, suburbs grew up outside
the four main gates of the walled town.
However, by the fourteenth century Northampton’s growth had stalled
and it had fallen back to once again being no more than a middle-ranking
county town. Areas which had once seen urban use reverted to gardens and
allotments. While the town centre continued to be intensively occupied, its
back streets and suburbs showed signs of being ‘more sensitive to the ebb
and flow of a town’s economic fortunes’ and this can be demonstrated in
other medieval towns too. For Northampton, its medieval history can be
told in distinct phases: an eighth-century Mercian church and royal centre;
tenth-century growth into a town of regional importance; twelfth-century
rapid expansion; fourteenth-century contraction of more marginal sites on
its edges and suburbs; and late-fifteenth-century contraction across the
whole town, which continued into the sixteenth century. By about 1520
almost the whole south-west quarter of the town was given over to the
polluting activities of tanners.10
By 1450 a Europe-wide economic depression was at its worst point.
Population decline as a result of plague combined with a shortage of
precious metals to reduce the volume of international trade. English prices
and income from agricultural produce were already low, and this wider
reduction in trading activity hit towns hard. The fall in population had
begun to affect towns before 1400. This decline in urban numbers meant
that there were fewer people to consume products within towns, and these
numbers were not made up by inward migration from the country to the
town as in the past. This was because, with low rural rents and higher
wages (along with a lessening of rural restrictions on villeins), there was
less incentive to ‘escape’ to the town. Problems in the early fifteenth
century were aggravated by war in France, which disrupted trade, drained
manpower and required a high level of taxation and an outflow of precious
metal to finance it. As if this was not bad enough, in northern England
heavy rainfall between 1438 and 1440 hit the farming economy, which had
further repercussions for town-based trade.
A recovery in the cloth trade later in the fifteenth century assisted
recovery in some exporting towns but, since cloth production was now
more a rural than an urban industry, this did not arrest urban decay overall –
although it did assist in the growth of smaller towns in Essex, Somerset,
Suffolk and Wiltshire. Here the close relationship between the spinners,
weavers and dyers of the villages, and the larger markets in places such as
Exeter and Salisbury was mutually advantageous. A similarly positive
picture applied to the capital. However, London’s continuing growth (with a
population of about 120,000 by 1558) was not representative of many
English towns. Indeed, its increasing monopoly of export trade meant that
its growth was at the expense of other towns such as Boston and Hull,
which had earlier benefited from trade which was lost to London after 1440.
These last two ports also suffered due to English merchants being excluded
from trade in the Baltic, following hostilities with towns of the north
German Hanseatic League in 1467–74. Many other towns, such as Bristol,
Colchester, Grimsby, Lincoln, Winchester and York also experienced
significant economic decline and falling populations in the fifteenth and
early sixteenth centuries, with massive problems revealed in Coventry in
the 1520s. This degree of change could be dramatic. The populations of
Boston, Lincoln and York fell by about 50 per cent between the 1370s and
the 1520s and there was a significant shrinkage in the built-up areas of
towns such as Beverley, Leicester and Stamford.
It must be admitted though that there were exceptions to this picture of
stagnation after 1400. Norwich and Exeter remained buoyant, while newer
towns such as Taunton grew. The revival of exports to the continent (most
notably the Netherlands) between 1470 and 1490 assisted some southern
cities such as Bristol, and we have already seen how Exeter and Salisbury
benefited from a close relationship with their local cloth manufacturers.
And those urban merchants and manufacturers who were able to weather
the unsettled economic times might even prosper to a surprising degree.
Recent evidence from New Buckenham (Norfolk), along with tree-ring
dating of timbers from buildings in other towns, suggests there was a
significant rebuilding of urban properties between 1450 and 1530. This was
long before the commonly accepted period of the ‘Great Rebuilding’,
thought to have occurred c.1570–1640, which may have applied more to
rural areas.11
Overall, then, the vibrant urban growth of the earlier Middle Ages had
been replaced by a more mixed pattern. Evidence from taxation returns
from the 1520s suggests an urban population of about 18 per cent of the
national population. This is similar to the proportion in the 1370s. So, towns
continued to be a significant part of national life but the trajectory of growth
had flattened off and reached a plateau in a number of cases. It would not be
until the later sixteenth century that the upward direction would be
resumed. But that is another story.
 Chapter 4
CHANGING EXPRESSIONS OF CHRISTIAN BELIEF

The Norman conquerors of England were, of course, as Christian as the

nation they had conquered. In this vital respect there was no significant
change brought by the Norman Conquest to the spiritual fabric of England.
But the matter did not end there. This is because the conquerors – including
representatives of the great churches and abbeys of Normandy – brought
with them both the social condescension of those who had made themselves
master in another person’s country and a spiritual commitment to ‘reform’
any areas of the English Church which did not meet current continental
norms. Amongst their targets were lesser-known – to Normans – Anglo-
Saxon saints, cathedrals in rural settings (the continental pattern located
them in towns), purchase of Church positions, royal control over the
Church, and married clergy.
By 1080 only one out of 16 bishops was an Anglo-Saxon. This made it
easier to pull the Anglo-Saxon Church into line with developments on the
continent which had not hitherto been implemented in England. In England
many seats of bishops dated from before the development of towns in the
ninth and tenth centuries. Centres such as Dorchester-on-Thames
(Oxfordshire), Selsey (Sussex) and North Elmham (Norfolk) were not
urban centres. However, in Normandy the Mediterranean practice of
locating bishops in towns had become the norm. This was a spiritual
geography which made the English set-up appear strangely old-fashioned
and was rectified by relocating English sees into centres of administration.
This served the dual purpose of ‘modernizing’ the English church structure
and coordinating the management of the conquered country in a more
consistent way, since the elites of Church and State were now both part of
the same imposed Norman social order. In this way North Elmham gave
way, first to Thetford and then to Norwich; Selsey gave way to Chichester.
Accompanying this shift was a vast rebuilding programme which saw all
the great Anglo-Saxon churches demolished and rebuilt in the latest
continental styles. Under Edward the Confessor, Norman influence had
already revealed itself in the Later Romanesque church of Westminster with
its broad transepts and nave. The contrast to the Carolingian style of
Canterbury signalled the direction of his political and cultural sympathies.
After 1066 this trend accelerated. Galleries over the nave aisles (sometimes
linking into the transepts) may have housed additional altars, or been used
in processions, as the liturgy became more complex. The great church
centres such as Winchester Old Minster and St Augustine’s, Canterbury –
where history was intertwined with both the origins of English Christianity
and kingship – were remade in the image of the new political realities and
liturgical trends. It was as if the entire spiritual and cultural heritage of
England had been reinvented; as if nothing of worth had existed before. It
seemed as if the English Church had been a mere dress rehearsal for the
main event, on which only the Norman Conquest had proved capable of
raising the curtain. This was spiritual and cultural imperialism of an
astonishing kind. Only here and there – at places such as Brixworth and
Earl’s Barton (Northamptonshire), Deerhurst (Gloucestershire), St
Laurence, in Bradford on Avon (Wiltshire) – do we catch glimpses of the
ecclesiastical architectural treasures of Anglo-Saxon England.
Accompanying these physical changes were organizational reforms. The
establishment of local archdeaconries subdivided dioceses and increased the
efficiency of Church government, and Canon law cases were taken out of
the hands of the hundred courts.
However, it would be wrong to conclude that ‘reforms’ advocated by the
papacy swept all areas of the English Church. Strong royal influence
continued; shire courts continued to hear Canon law cases; not all churches
adopted the new liturgy pioneered by Lanfranc at Canterbury, and a
number, such as Winchester, continued with that used before 1066; the
purchase of Church posts and married clergy remained areas slow to
change, despite the Norman Conquest.

The Church in medieval society

What is clear is that the Church (despite shortcomings targeted by Norman
reformers) played a huge role within society. However, it would be a
mistake to assume that full-time paid members of the Church spent all their
time on Church business. In reality, as literate members of the nation, often
skilled in administration and part of an international community, they were
in demand by secular authorities for assistance in government. Since the
Church was also a major landowner, those who headed it – bishops, abbots
and abbesses – also had to play a major role in running these estates, just
like a secular landowner. Before 1400 almost all those involved in the day-
to-day running of royal government in its lower levels were drawn from the
clergy. They were both paid members of the Church and royal civil
servants. This changed during the fifteenth century. In 1388 the chancery
was administered almost exclusively by clerics but by 1461 it was
dominated by laity.
For the medieval Church virtually all people in England were members
of its community; England was a Christian country. The only religious
minority after 1066 was the Jews, and they were expelled in 1290. Since
Anglo-Saxon times the nation had been divided into parishes, within a
diocese overseen by a bishop, within one of the two archdiocese (overseen
by an archbishop) of Canterbury and York (with primacy going to the
archbishop of Canterbury in Kent). The local unit – the parish – played a
huge part in the lives of ordinary people. Its boundaries were usually
centuries old and marked each year by a procession at Rogationtide (the
week before Ascension Day, a feast 40 days after Easter). Everyone living
within the parish was expected to attend parish Mass on Sundays and the
main festivals of the year (see Chapter 11).
All those living within the parish paid a tithe of their income to their
parish church. During the later Middle Ages many parishes were granted to
monasteries, and income went to the monastery with a vicar appointed for
the parish. The stipend paid to him ensured that the bulk of the revenue
from the parish went to the monastery. In the case of Augustinian and
Premonstratensian monasteries this job was often filled by one of their own
canons (a priest living in a community, sometimes serving a cathedral or
placed in a parish church). The wealthiest abbeys built tithe barns to store
this income from local parishes. Since the original aim of the parish tithe
was to support the local parish priest, the local church and the poor, this
creaming off of the tithe could cause local resentment.
Only those ordained to the higher orders of the clergy could carry out the
essential sacraments which were believed to bring people into close
relationship with God and which led to the forgiveness of their sins. By the
late fifteenth century these sacraments were: baptism (of babies),
confirmation (often of toddlers), penance, the Eucharist (though only priests
drank the wine), marriage, ordination and extreme unction (the final ritual
anointing of a dying person). Ordination, whereby a person entered into the
clerical orders, could be carried out only by a bishop.
But who were the clergy? Today that might seem an obvious question.
They constitute those in paid employment within the Church, who teach
and lead worship of the Christian community. In the Middle Ages the
matter was much more complex. In the thirteenth and fourteenth century
any schoolboy who received a tonsure as a mark of his literate status was
technically a member of the clergy. This could include boys as young as
seven years old. As a result, anyone accused of a crime could claim what
was called ‘benefit of clergy’ if they were literate. This allowed them to be
tried in a Church court, where punishments (usually involving penance and
without the death penalty) were lighter than in royal courts. The Bible
passage used for this test of literacy was Psalm 51: 1, whose words, in
Latin, contained this appropriate opening verse: ‘Have mercy on me, O
God, according to your unfailing love; according to your great compassion
blot out my transgressions.’1 Thus, an illiterate person who had memorized
the appropriate Psalm could also claim benefit of clergy, and Psalm 51: 1
became known as the ‘neck verse’. A reaction against those avoiding justice
by reciting this verse led to restrictions, and by the end of the sixteenth
century the crimes of murder, rape, poisoning, petty treason (e.g. a wife’s
murder of her husband), sacrilege, witchcraft, burglary, theft from churches
and pickpocketing went before a secular court. Analysis of those ‘clerics’
(whose professions can be checked) who successfully pleaded ‘benefit of
clergy’ as recorded in the records of the archbishop of York between 1452
and 1530 show that only 24 per cent were genuine clerics.
 Above this category of ‘technical clerics’ were the ordained four minor
orders of doorkeeper, lector, exorcist and acolyte. Members of these orders
did not have to be celibate. Above these were the three major (holy) orders
of sub-deacon, deacon and priest. Only priests could consecrate the
Eucharist and rise to the higher ranks of the Church such as bishop. Priests
had to be at least 24 years old and bishops at least 30 years old (the age
when it was believed that Jesus had begun his ministry). There were
restrictions on who could enter these orders. Illegitimate men needed a
bishop’s dispensation to enter minor orders and one from the pope to enter
major orders. The same applied to sons of clergymen, since their fathers
should have been celibate – a discipline hard to enforce, and as late as 1070
an archbishop of Canterbury had stepped back from demanding it from all
clergy. It was only after 1200 that higher clerics in the diocese of Hereford
ceased to be married and only shortly after this did hereditary succession to
benefices (the income a priest had from the church for which he was
responsible) cease. However, even as late as 1300 there are examples of
married priests amongst the lower clergy.
No villein could be ordained since, as William Langland summed it up in
the late fourteenth-century poem Piers Plowman, no ‘bondmen and bastards
and beggars’ should be in holy orders. Candidates should have no physical
defects. Finally, they should be of appropriate character, with sufficient
learning. Once ordained, clerics were supposed to avoid brightly coloured
fashionable clothes and had the characteristic haircut, the tonsure.
What is clear is that there were a very large number of clerics; perhaps
33,150 in 9,500 parishes in 1250. To this should be added 7,600 monks,
3,900 regular canons and 5,300 friars. These may have made up as much as
5.6 per cent of the adult male population in 1200.2 In addition, there were
about 1,500 men and women working in hospitals as part of a religious
order and perhaps as many as 7,000 nuns (though some estimates are as low
as 3,000). After 1200 financial pressures meant that many monasteries
operated a quota system of new recruits to reduce numbers entering the
orders. ‘It was a drastic reversal of the missionary strategy’ from which
these orders of monks and nuns had originally emerged.3
Grants of land made the Church extremely powerful and in the later
Middle Ages at least 20 per cent of land was owned by the Church. Critics
as varied as the Peasants’ Revolt leader John Ball and the educated lay lords
who patronized the writers of literature such as the Gest of Robyn Hode
supported the redistribution of the vast estates owned by the Church.
However, critics of the Church faced opposition from both royal and
Church authorities. Between 1250 and 1435 about 16,000 excommunicates
were notified to royal authorities; sheriffs were required to arrest all who
were not reconciled to the Church within 40 days.

Church architecture and rebuilding

This wealth and influence of the Church was expressed in the many parish
churches across England. While these act as physical representations of
Christian beliefs, a closer study of these buildings shows that both beliefs
and architecture were not as unchanging as they might first appear. Indeed,
the ways in which Church architecture changed across the Middle Ages
opens a window into the beliefs of men and women and also into ways in
which expressing these beliefs changed. There were certain architectural
features which applied to most churches in the Middle Ages. First was the
graveyard associated with a parish church, since the Church offered the
message of salvation and the hope of eternal life through Christian faith. As
we saw in Chapter 1, churchyard burial was something which did not
immediately happen following the Christian conversions of the Anglo-
Saxon kingdoms but, by the eleventh century, it had become well
established as the norm. Burial rights were rigorously defended by parish
clergy and they brought a significant income to the local church. It was not
uncommon for chapels of ease to be established elsewhere within a large
parish for occasional services but these did not have the status of the parish
church with its burial and baptismal role. If these developed into full
churches there could often be disputes with the mother church. In the
fourteenth century, for example, a dispute over burial rights between
Sutton-on-Hull (Yorkshire) and its mother church at Waghen led to bodies
being exhumed from Sutton and reburied at Waghen.
The principal entry to churches was usually via the south doorway, and
near here, inside the church, would be located the font for infant baptisms.
Both of these features had symbolic significance. The doorway (often with
a covering porch) was the gateway between the secular world and the
sacred. It was here that babies were given to the priest for baptism and
where weddings were solemnized. The positioning of the font near the door
was also significant since it symbolized the point of entry to the medieval
Christian community. The main focus of the church building was the altar
located at the eastern end, or chancel, and particularly associated with the
priest. This was the focus for the celebration of the Eucharist, also known as
the Mass (Holy Communion); the main body of the church – the nave –
being occupied by the laity. A physical barrier between these two areas
emphasized this internal division of the building. Named from an Old
English word for the cross which surmounted it, this was called the rood
screen. Many churches also contained subsidiary altars in other parts of the
building. By the later fourteenth century these were increasingly associated
with chantries.
The responsibility for the upkeep of the parish church had, by the 1350s,
fallen to annually elected members of the parish, the churchwardens. They
raised money for this from a variety of sources: collections, social events
such as church ales and hocking (requesting gifts from passers-by), income
from church-owned animals and leasing out of property.
Church buildings were deeply imbued with meaning. After 1297 the
cloisters at Norwich cathedral were rebuilt following severe damage caused
by riots in 1272. The masons created a structure in the cloister’s East Walk
which was capable of ‘integrating sculpture, architecture and meaning’. The
complex roof bosses of the vaulted corridor were designed to elaborate and
extend the meanings of the carvings around the great doorway into the
church. Research has decoded the rich imagery of these elaborately carved
items and the insight they give us into the Christian world view of the late
thirteenth century. These lead through the ‘First Judgement’ (where a
saintly few are admitted to paradise, the rest to purgatory) to the ‘Second
Judgement’ (where those in purgatory are assigned either to heaven or to
hell) and finally up the seven ascending steps into the cathedral itself, an
earthly symbol of heaven.4
Between 1066 and 1230 England might have seemed to have been one
vast building site. Indeed, so great was the extent of church construction in
the thirteenth century that it has been calculated it was the equivalent, in
modern terms (2006), of every family in England paying £500 every year
for the whole century!5 From about 1250 many church buildings became
more complex, developing from the simple components of nave and
chancel. By 1300 many added bell towers, side aisles and porches. This
change accelerated between 1300 and 1500. In the decades either side of
1300 many spires were added to existing church towers; the one at
Salisbury being so heavy it actually distorted the piers of the crossing
beneath. At Old St Paul’s in London the amazing height of – reputedly –
500 feet (152.4 metres) was achieved by constructing the spire from timber.
Such spires in these High Gothic churches seemed to reach towards God,
just as the elaborate vaulted roofs below and the light falling through the
traceried windows seemed to afford glimpses into heaven. The increasing
elaboration and flowing patterns increased in the Decorated Style. And then
there was a reaction: after about 1330 the more sweeping, vertical lines of
the Perpendicular Style may have struck a particular chord with a society
which, after the Black Death, saw its spirituality more in terms of a personal
faith surviving the destruction of earthly confidence and ambition. This was
a style which saw little innovation throughout the fifteenth century.6
The rebuilding of churches in the fifteenth century was particularly
associated with rich wool-producing areas such as the Cotswolds, Somerset,
Suffolk and northern Essex. Here, churches such as Huish Episcopi
(Somerset), Northleach (Gloucestershire) and Lavenham (Suffolk) are
classic examples of this great rebuilding. Other features of church furniture
and decoration also increased in this period: font covers, rood screens, brass
lecterns, images of Jesus and Mary and of saints, and stone funeral
monuments. It was only during this period that seating, in the form of
benches and pews, became common. Some of these changes were the
results of increasing wealth reflected in gifts to the Church and in social
display. Other changes reflected developments within Church rituals and
beliefs.
From the later fourteenth century and throughout the fifteenth there was
an increase in the building of chantry chapels, where Masses were said for
the dead. This dovetailed into the doctrine of purgatory – which had come
to prominence in Church teaching since the twelfth century. Purgatory, it
was said, was an intermediate state between heaven and hell in which sins
could be purged away. Prayers said for those in purgatory could lessen time
spent there and make it more likely that they would reach heaven. In the
years after the cataclysmic events of the Black Death a huge investment
took place in building chantry chapels and in leaving money for chantry
priests to celebrate Mass on behalf of the dead benefactors. Bristol by the
late fifteenth century had 18 parish churches,120 temporary chantries and
20 permanent chantries. Since Church law stopped priests from saying more
than one Mass a day, each of these chantries needed its own priest. Such
chantries often provided employment for clergy who were unable to gain
other appointments. At Ilchester (Somerset) in 1415, seven houses, a garden
and 10 acres (4 hectares) of land were made over to the priory of Whitehall
to support a chaplain to ‘celebrate divine service daily at the high altar in
the church of Holy Trinity, Ilchester, for the souls of Joan, late the wife of
John Stourton and William Whittok and Agnes his wife and their relations
and for the keeping of their anniversaries on Thursday in Easter week’.7
Such arrangements multiplied in the fifteenth century, and accompanying
this focus on death were new styles of tombs illustrating decaying bodies
and skeletons. Other developments in society were also reflected in burial
practices.

Burial practices and beliefs

The study of chantries indicates the more general ways in which changes in
society were reflected in changing burial fashions. This applies across the
whole of the Middle Ages and reveals itself in recent archaeological
discoveries in medieval graveyards. There is no evidence that the Church
actively attempted to change burial fashions before the tenth and eleventh
centuries, but its influence on burial practice increased after this. However,
the Norman Conquest itself had no impact on burial fashions. Grave slabs
did increase in number in the eleventh century but this had started before
1066. Indeed, the evidence suggests that eleventh-century burial fashions
were varied. Late Anglo-Saxon graves from beneath York Minster reveal
the use of stone and wooden coffins, two biers, domestic storage cases used
as coffins, and a boat. Some graves had stones as pillows and placed on
either side of the head; some were lined with stones and tile; some were
filled with charcoal (presumably to absorb fluids and smells from
decomposing bodies). Many were marked with carved markers and slabs.8
More insights into late Anglo-Saxon burial fashions have come from the
excavation in the 1990s of Raunds Furnells (Northamptonshire). The
church here was used from around 900 until about 1100. During this time
there appears to have been an increasing zoning of who was buried where,
according to gender and age. Babies, for example, were usually buried
under the eaves of the church. Interestingly, although the bodies were
orientated west–east (and supine), as would be expected in an early
Christian cemetery, they were often not truly west–east and were more
closely orientated with the church building itself.9 At the later site of
Wharram Percy, babies and a disproportionate number of children aged 2–
17 years were buried on the north side of the church. This was the
traditional side for the unbaptized but this would not have been the case
here, so it is uncertain what this positioning signified.
At Raunds Furnells most of the dead were buried in coffins, the highest-
status graves having ones made from stone. A number had markers
indicating their location. In some cases arrangements of stone slabs
protected the body. These were probably related to the social status of the
dead. Where later graves disturbed earlier ones it is because the later ones
were placed closest to the earliest church, which was probably regarded as
especially sacred. What these indicators show us is that the rites which
surrounded these burials mattered greatly to the living. As Martin Carver
comments: ‘A grave is not simply a text, but a text with attitude, a text
inflated with emotion . . . In brief, burials have a language’.10 This
‘language’ increased in complexity as the Middle Ages progressed, as more
elaborate monuments commemorated the burial of wealthy people. In the
later Middle Ages the fashion grew for reflecting human mortality in tomb
carvings showing the emaciated corpse, or skeleton, of the dead person.
Sometimes carvings included the lifelike appearance of the person and
beneath it a stone representation of the decaying corpse. As the inscription
on the tomb of John Baret at Bury St Edmunds concludes: ‘He that will
sadly behold me with his eye, may see his own mirror [and] learn for to
die.’ This call for personal piety in the face of inevitable death, and
preparation for ‘a good death’, is a strong feature of religious attitudes in
the late fifteenth century.11 It is surely no coincidence that one of the first
books printed by Caxton in the 1490s was one entitled Arte and crafte to
knowe well to die. And throughout the Middle Ages the dead and the living
were part of a related community: cemeteries were used for processions and
parts of Easter services; sermons were preached and fairs held in these same
areas; the dead were often publicly displayed before burial; graveside
memorials and rituals kept fresh the memory of the dead. While burial in
rows in some large cemeteries reduced disturbance of earlier graves, there is
plenty of evidence from archaeology and written sources to show this often
could not be avoided and the physical presence of the dead was a daily
reality.
In a revealing study of about 8,000 graves dating from c.1050–1600, in
over 70 cemeteries,12 a number of changing practices can be identified
which are probably reflections of developing ideas about death. From the
mid-eleventh century the use of stone lining for graves increased, along
with stone head supports and inscribed crosses placed with the dead. This
may reflect increased fears that the dead needed defence against demonic
attack. At the same time the placing of a pilgrim’s staff in a grave may have
been part of the increase in commemoration of the character of the dead. By
1100 the burial of chalices and crosses with clergy reflected the increasing
distinction of the clergy as a separate (celibate) group. This fashion
increased during the twelfth century. The practice of burying personal
possessions with the dead had extended to the laity by 1200. This became
very noticeable from 1200 to 1300, as rosaries and pilgrim badges were
increasingly added to personal items such as jewellery and clothing. This
may have accompanied greater emphasis on personal social status and ideas
of individuality, as urbanization challenged the traditional social structures
and class divisions of medieval society. This presence of personal dress
accessories accelerated again from about 1350. Clearly the family
(especially women), as well as the Church, were influential in the
presentation of the dead for burial. This evidence appears to contradict
earlier assumptions that, from the thirteenth century, the clergy almost
totally replaced the family as the group responsible for burial rites and
practices13 and that the dead were hidden from view.
Other patterns are also apparent. By 1200 the belief in purgatory was
well defined and the dead constituted a distinct group who occupied a place
between this world and heaven. The burial of religious objects therefore
might have been thought to give comfort to the dead. In addition, during the
second half of the fourteenth century burials in coffins became more
common. This may have been caused by distress at decaying corpses
resulting from the Black Death’s impact on both the manner of death and
the numbers of the dead – coffins may have been felt to contain this
contaminating corruption (both in a physical and a spiritual sense) and to
have preserved bodily integrity as the dead awaited the Final Judgement.
This seems to have been particularly the case with women, since medieval
concepts of sexuality held that women would decay more swiftly than men.
This was related to the Theory of Humours, which classified female bodies
as more changeable, colder, wetter and more liable to decay than male
bodies. This heightened anxiety about death increased the value placed on
objects such as papal pardons, which were buried with the dead and which
may explain the presence of fourteenth-century papal seals in graves. At the
same time examples of embalming (added to the established practice of
reburial of exposed human remains, or their collection in charnel houses or
pits), reflects medieval belief in the unity of body and soul (in purgatory)
until the very literal bodily resurrection at the Last Judgement. After the
Reformation (with the end of the belief in purgatory and a more spiritual
definition of the resurrection at the Last Judgement) it became rare to place
objects with the dead and charnel houses went out of use, although above-
ground monuments became more elaborate.

Religious orders
The increased ‘visibility’ of the clergy in the burial record as the Middle
Ages progressed reminds us again of the central importance of those who
felt called to the ‘religious life’. In its highest expression this took the form
of a commitment to a celibate life as a monk or a nun. This was a process
which increased in the central period of the Middle Ages, since in the
twelfth and thirteenth centuries there was a huge expansion of religious
houses of monks and nuns in England. This was the period which saw the
growth of such huge houses as Fountains Abbey and Rievaulx (Yorkshire).
The largest religious orders in England were the Benedictine, Cistercian,
Augustinian, Premonstratensian, Cluniac and Carthusian orders. Military
orders included the Knights Templar (suppressed in 1308 and ever since the
subject of the wildest of conspiracy theories and fantasies) and the Knights
Hospitaller. A continued reaction against over-involvement in worldly
affairs led in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries to the steady growth of
Carthusian houses, in which most of the day was spent in – relatively
comfortable – isolation: praying, studying and tending the garden attached
to each cell.
The oldest of these orders was the Benedictine, which had many of their
houses in towns. By contrast, the Cistercians sited their houses away from
centres of population and in these areas developed huge sheep ranches.
Within these religious houses the head was often the abbot, or abbess,
assisted by a prior or prioress. When daughter-houses were founded they
came under the authority of the original abbot/abbess. A small number of
abbots from the most powerful houses (the so-called mitred abbots) sat with
the bishops in the House of Lords.
The growth of such houses affected people at all levels of society.
Royalty and nobles gave huge grants of money and land; local landowners
made donations on a smaller scale; men and women felt called to the
religious life (in the earlier period they might be placed there as children by
their parents); farm workers were employed as lay brothers to do manual
work; others were tenants of the great abbey estates; travellers took
advantage of the hospitality provided by monastic inns; sick people were
given rest and medical care in monastic hospitals. The Crown might
pension off loyal retainers to religious houses, as Richard Whitoc was, to
the convent of Stanley (Wiltshire) in 1333, since he had been ‘butler to the
king’s household’ and had ‘long and faithfully served the king’.14 Others
made land grants to abbeys dependent on their receiving support from the
house to last their lifetime. As a result of such an arrangement with the
abbot of Sherborne (Dorset) in 1374, John and Agnes Whittok received
‘two monks’ loaves of the largest size and a bottle of the best convent ale
and a black loaf’ every day for life.15
During the thirteenth century a reaction against conventional religious
houses led to an explosion of a new type of religious expression – the
mendicant orders, also known as the friars. Relying entirely on charitable
donations, friars travelled from town to town preaching and administering
the sacrament. They were a reaction against what was considered to be the
comfort and lack of simplicity of life in the wealthy monastic houses. In
this sense the friars attempted to return to Biblical principles of self-denial
and to reflect the kind of values which had led to the early monasteries in
the first place. In a similar reaction against monasticism, hermits increased
in number, living lives of simplicity and prayer away from the world and its
activities. There were four main groups of friars which emerged in the
twelfth and thirteenth centuries: Franciscans (Friars Minor), Dominicans
(Black Friars), Augustinians (Austin Friars), and Carmelites (White Friars).
Committed to preaching and teaching, many Dominicans attended the early
universities and were trained in theological study and debate. The friars
caught popular imagination and enthusiasm and by 1300 there were over
120 Franciscan and Dominican bases in Britain. The land for these was
usually held in trust for them by wealthy patrons, since the friars could not
own property. Helping to maintain such a friary – with its team of preachers
and teachers – became much sought after, as did burial in its grounds. In
1291 the heart of Eleanor of Provence, Queen Consort of King Henry III,
was buried in the cemetery of the Grey Friars in London, although she had
died in Amesbury (Wiltshire). Such patronage was complex though, as the
friars soon found themselves living in – though technically not owning –
wealthy properties. This was the very thing they had been reacting against.
Henry III, for example donated a key urban site to the friars in York,
opposite the castle gate, in 1243. From around 1300 friars were allowed to
accept small cash gifts. This was a shift away from their founding idealism,
and the friars were beginning to compromise their radical credentials. Soon
they were open to the same accusations of wealth that had been levelled at
earlier monastic orders.16
The impact of the friars is difficult to exaggerate: when most people
relied on a poorly educated parish priest the appearance of these trained
speakers in urban settings was revolutionary. In addition, there was great
appeal in their message that salvation could be fully experienced without
entering a monastery. But these activities often led to friction too. Local
clergy might resent the popularity of the preaching friars and money paid to
maintain friaries was diverted from existing Church giving. In Beverley in
1309, the canons at the minster complained that parishioners were
abandoning the minster for the Dominican friary. In Scarborough there was
tension when the arrival of Franciscan friars caused the monks of Citeaux
(in France) – who had been given the church at Scarborough – to fear they
would lose income since the friars were more popular. As a result the friars
were granted land well out of the town to try to defuse the crisis.
As more money flowed to the friars they lost their radical edge. The
situation was coming full circle. As a result, gifts of money moved away
from the friars and instead increased to local parish churches, where clearly
people felt they could monitor its use more closely. Similarly, instead of
monasteries, or friaries, wealthy benefactors were now more likely to fund a
college which, as well as saying Masses for the souls of their patrons, often
included an educational function or provided homes for the ‘deserving
poor’. These ranged from magnificent establishments such as King’s
College, Cambridge to small colleges and almshouses in less prestigious
market towns. This was not an abandonment of medieval spiritual
enthusiasm but rather a desire to see it carried out more effectively. As with
so much of the later Middle Ages, it was complex. What might be presented
as an end to old patterns of behaviour can equally be regarded as a
refocusing of them. This is connected with the whole debate over whether
the later medieval Catholic Church in England was in decline and facing a
crisis which was a prelude to the sixteenth-century Reformation, or instead
was vibrant and dynamic but developing new expressions of personal
religious practice. At the same time the number of hermits, often located in
town churches rather than in deserted spots, increased. These anchorites,
while living in relative isolation were still available for giving spiritual
advice and provided an accessible personal ‘holy presence’ in the middle of
busy urban communities.
The friars were not the only ones whose strict rules became more
flexible in the later Middle Ages. During the fifteenth and early sixteenth
centuries many religious houses saw a development away from communal
living and an increase in individual accommodation. At the Augustinian
house at Merton, London (founded in 1117), the infirmary was originally an
open hall. Later, increased privacy was provided when it was subdivided
into a number of small rooms, with wooden partition walls. By the time of
the abbey’s dissolution in the sixteenth century, even the cloister walk had
been divided up into small rooms. This was not an isolated development.

Pilgrimage, spiritual callings and superstition

The support given to the early friars reminds us of the demand for a deeper
spiritual experience from amongst the laity. Whatever the compromises
which occurred as a result of the earthly power of the medieval Church, the
desire for a closer communion with God was always fundamental to the
medieval Christian experience. This revealed itself in the popularity of
pilgrimage. The custom of visiting a place closely associated with the
Christian faith has a long history. There are descriptions of Christian
pilgrimages from southern Europe to the Holy Land from the fourth
century, and such pilgrimages were encouraged by Church fathers such as
St Jerome. Pilgrimages also began to be made to Rome and other sites
associated with the Apostles, saints and Christian martyrs. In addition,
pilgrimages occurred to places where it was believed the Virgin Mary had
revealed herself. The Crusades to the Holy Land were also considered to be
pilgrimages – of a military kind.
Pilgrimage in the Middle Ages frequently started with a vow being made
before a parish priest. In this the would-be pilgrim would often negotiate
areas for which he or she was seeking forgiveness, or requests for answered
prayer. Sometimes pilgrims would be asked to pray for someone else,
unable to travel, as they journeyed. At times their expenses were met by a
supporter who hoped for spiritual benefits in return.
The sites to be visited varied from those in the Holy Land (access to
which fluctuated given the changing politics of the region from the eleventh
century onwards) to sites in Europe such as Rome itself or Santiago de
Compostela (the shrine of St James in Spain), as well as places in England.
English sites were many and varied. That of St Thomas of Canterbury dated
from his murder in 1170. He was rapidly canonized and the process was
completed in 1173. In 1220, Becket’s remains were relocated from his first
tomb to a shrine in the recently completed Trinity Chapel. This became one
of the most visited pilgrim sites in England. Pilgrimages to the tomb of St
Richard of Chichester dated from his canonization in 1262. Here in the
Lady Chapel – in which pilgrims prayed after visiting his shrine – can still
be found marks carved by pilgrims into the stone: crosses, three circles
representing the trinity, and squares representing the four Evangelists
(Matthew, Mark, Luke and John). These are not simply graffiti; they were
public proof that pilgrims had completed their journey. Similar marks have
been discovered carved into churches on the route to Chichester.17
Walsingham (Norfolk) became one of northern Europe’s greatest places
of pilgrimage in the eleventh century, following a vision of the Virgin Mary
to the noblewoman Richeldis de Faverches in 1061. According to the
Walsingham tradition, the Virgin instructed her to build a replica of the
house of the Holy Family in Nazareth, in honour of the Annunciation. The
Holy House was panelled with wood and held a wooden statue of an
enthroned Virgin Mary with the child Jesus seated on her lap. Founded in
the time of Edward the Confessor, the chapel of Our Lady of Walsingham
was granted to the Augustinian Canons when an Augustinian priory was
established on the site in 1153 and enclosed within the priory.
Some of the many other places attracting pilgrims included Glastonbury
(Somerset), claiming to be the burial place of Saints Patrick, David and
Dunstan, as well as King Arthur; Hailes Abbey (Gloucestershire), claiming
a phial containing the blood of Christ; and Durham, with the body of St
Cuthbert and the head of St Oswald.
The importance of pilgrimage can be seen in the famous life of Margery
Kempe. Born Margery Brunham in King’s Lynn (then Bishop’s Lynn),
Norfolk, in about 1373, she was married at the age of 20 to a local Norfolk
man named John Kempe. With John she had 14 children. Following the
birth of her first child, Margery fell ill and may have suffered from post-
natal depression. She later said she suffered at this time from ‘madness’
which culminated in a life-changing vision of Jesus Christ at her bedside.
According to Margery, he asked her: ‘Daughter, why have you forsaken Me,
and I never forsook you?’ Following this she decided to open first a
brewery and later a grain mill. Both enterprises failed. Though she had tried
to live a more holy life after her vision, she was tempted by sexual desire
and jealousy of neighbours for some years. In the end she gave up her
business enterprises and dedicated herself completely to the spiritual calling
which she felt her vision required. In order to do so she began to live a
chaste marriage with her husband and began to make pilgrimages around
Europe. On these journeys she visited Rome, Jerusalem and Santiago de
Compostela. She wrote of her experiences – or rather dictated them to
scribes – in The Book of Margery Kempe. In her book she recounted her
experiences on these spiritual journeys; the final section included a number
of prayers. During this time Margery recounts how she had a number of
conversations with Christ. As well as describing her journeys and spiritual
experiences, she also recorded the conflicts she had with Church authorities
– many of whom did not quite know what to make of this woman. Was she
mad? A heretic? Or saintly? Opinions were clearly divided. She was tried
on different occasions for allegedly reading scripture, for teaching and
preaching on scripture and faith, and for wearing white clothes which was
considered inappropriate as she was no longer a virgin. In each case she
succeeded in clearing herself of charges laid against her. Between 1413
and1420 she also visited important sites and Church leaders in England.
These included visits to Philip Repyngdon, Bishop of Lincoln; Henry
Chichele, Archbishop of Canterbury; and the anchorite (hermit) Julian of
Norwich. The last section of her book deals with a journey she made in the
1430s to Norway and to the Holy Roman Empire. Margery died in about
1438.
The controversial nature of Margery Kempe’s spiritual experience is a
reminder that medieval Christians expressed their faith in many and
complex ways. Some, like Kempe, were marked out by their personal
understanding of their relationship with God. For others the complexity was
more problematic. This was because many medieval Christians in England
combined a very real and energetic commitment to Christian beliefs, as
defined and articulated by the Catholic Church, with additional activities
which were often throwbacks to pre-Christian practices (but now shorn of
pagan religious ideology). This raises the question of how far these
practices undermined Catholic orthodoxy.
Superstitious practices are recorded from a number of sources. Some of
these show the persistence of folk superstitions over centuries, adapting
themselves to the religious ideas of their day. Charms are known from late
Anglo-Saxon sources and clearly were rooted in beliefs in magic and in
attempts to gain control over apparently uncontrollable aspects of life (such
as sickness, loss and death) through possession of certain items, or by
performing certain patterns of behaviour. What is interesting is that these
folk superstitions took on the form of official religious beliefs but used
them in inappropriate and unorthodox ways. In 2006 a slightly battered
thirteenth-century gold annular brooch was found at Godshill on the Isle of
Wight and reported under the ‘Portable Antiquities Scheme’. The ring was
inscribed with crosses and the letters ‘+A+G+L+A’. These letters represent
a Latinized version of a Hebrew phrase ‘Atha Gebri Leilan Adonai’,
meaning ‘Thou art mighty forever O Lord’. In itself this is completely
orthodox, as it represents an Old Testament Biblical concept which is
completely in line with Christian beliefs. What is revealing, though, is that
evidence from other sources suggests that this phrase was invoked as a
charm against fever.18 The owner of the ring was almost certainly
completely orthodox in his or her Christian faith but was expressing it in a
way which was bordering on magical. In other words he or she was diluting
Christian beliefs rather than acting in a deviant way.
 More obvious examples of blatant superstitions are found in the chickens
entombed in the hollow walls of medieval buildings, vividly reconstructed
in the Museum of London from finds dating to the Middle Ages in the city.
These practices had no veneer of Christian belief and are comparable with
records of people passing their children through holes in trees to cure
illness. But even here there is no evidence whatsoever that such people
invested such actions with any ideology, or belief system, at odds with their
membership of the Church. Rather they bolted these attempts at gaining
good luck on to Christian beliefs. Their priests would have been
understandably concerned but we would be wrong to see these actions as
challenges to Christianity. As with so much of England in the Middle Ages
the evidence is complicated and the medieval reality is likely to have been
more nuanced than the simplistic interpretations which are sometimes
imposed on it.
This is not to assume, however, that such practices were appropriate.
Within orthodox Catholicism there was a constant teaching mission
designed to keep behaviour within acceptable boundaries. But the
Catholicism of the Middle Ages had itself accrued a vast amount of semi-
superstitious and non-Biblical practices, beliefs and claims. And as the
Middle Ages progressed there were those within the Church in England
who became more critical and vocal in their condemnation of what they felt
was a falling away from New Testament faith. The question is: to what
extent were these people hoping to reform the Catholic Church and to what
extent were they rejecting it in order to replace it with a new concept of
‘Church’ altogether? In most cases it was almost certainly the former but
this did not apply to all critics of the Church, and of all the critics of the
Catholic Church none were more vocal than those who became known by
their opponents as Lollards.

Radical attacks of the Lollards

The term ‘Lollards’ covers a wide range of critics of the way the Church
was run in the late fourteenth and early fifteenth centuries. Those who are
often described under this umbrella term held mixed beliefs that were not
part of a unified system. Some hoped to reform the Church. Some thought
the institution of the Church was irrelevant to a person’s salvation. Some
condemned all religious images. Some called for new and purer images to
be produced to help people come closer to God. Most rejected the formal
attempts at holiness such as institutional fasting, and it is interesting to note
that the early fifteenth-century Lollard, Margery Baxter, was apprehended
in Norwich because she was caught cooking bacon on a Friday (the
traditional fast-and-fish day). But one thing all Lollards had in common was
their attack on the worldly power and wealth of the Church.
A central figure in this challenge to the Church was John Wyclif. Wyclif
had a number of key beliefs, the first of which was of predestination. This
idea – that those who would be saved had already been determined since
eternity – was not new. The New Testament writings of the Apostle Paul
had emphasized the complementary ideas that salvation came from a
personal faith in the Lord Jesus combined with living out this faith through
good works. He also wrote that from eternity God had foreknowledge of
those who would respond in faith and be saved. This idea had later featured
in the writings of St Augustine of Hippo in the early fifth century, who had
developed it considerably. What was radical about Wyclif’s interpretation of
this belief was his conclusion that no one on Earth could know whether or
not they were members of the elect and therefore both the Church hierarchy
and its membership contained both those who would be saved and those
who would not. A person’s position as priest, for example, did not
automatically make him a member of the elect. This could be a spiritually
levelling idea since it undermined the complex hierarchy of authority which
was a fundamental feature of the Catholic Church in the Middle Ages. Thus
it was a seismic shift in belief which threatened to bring down many of the
carefully constructed power structures of the medieval Church. No longer
was it necessary for salvation to rely on a priest with the power to hear
confession, absolve sins, give penance and excommunicate those who
disobeyed. In fact, it might not be necessary to have a priest at all. The most
radical Lollards suggested that the ‘priesthood of all believers’ (a New
Testament teaching which was downplayed by the medieval Church) meant
that any good Christian man – and maybe even woman – could preach and
administer the sacraments. The pope became an irrelevance, as did
pilgrimages and images. Instead, all Christians should seek understanding
of the nature of God and their faith through their own personal study of the
Bible.
 This was radical enough, but Wyclif went further. He rejected the
Catholic doctrine of transubstantiation, which held that the bread and wine
of the Mass became, at the moment of consecration, the body and blood of
Christ. Later Lollards went further and claimed – as most modern
Protestants do – that the Eucharist was a commemoration and symbolic.
Under this belief the power of the priest to administer a miraculous
experience was totally rejected. Along with the belief in making the Bible
available in English and the acceptability of married clergy, the later
Lollards were undermining the whole Catholic priestly system – although
most still accepted a role for a transformed priesthood. And the attack
continued. Lollards believed that social crimes such as adultery and
fornication should be tried in royal – not Church – courts. Criminal clerics
should face the same courts as anyone else, since the king had authority
over the Church. In addition, priests should not hold secular jobs. The
estates of bishops and the leading monasteries should be confiscated.
Many of these ideas were based on existing trends, since Papal taxation
was no longer allowed in England, there was royal control over appeals to
Rome and there were widespread criticisms of the worldliness of the clergy.
Some of it echoed the ideas which appeared in the revolutionary preaching
of John Ball during the 1381 Peasants’ Revolt. Even the call for an English
Bible was not as extreme as it came to appear, since the translation of the
Bible from Latin into contemporary languages was not forbidden.
However, the Lollards faced a number of serious problems. Firstly, they
failed to inspire sufficient support amongst the gentry and nobility. This
support was needed to protect the Lollards from Church reprisals. Secondly,
Lollard beliefs became associated with social and political revolution. This
was fatal and meant that the elite failed to take up the cause for reform. The
accusation was partly ‘spin’ developed by the enemies of the Lollards to
discredit them, but it was also partly based on the way in which Lollard
beliefs were taken up by more radical groups, or coincided with those
beliefs held by more radical elements. The fact that similar dissatisfaction
with the Church fed into both Wyclif’s circle of Oxford intellectuals and the
radical hedge-priests of the Peasants’ Revolt was not the result of
conspiracy, or a common organization – but it could easily appear so, or be
made to appear so.
 The final crisis for the Lollards came with the Oldcastle Revolt of 1414.
Under Henry IV, Sir John Oldcastle saw military service in Wales but, in
1413, his association with the ideas of Wyclif led to his condemnation for
heresy. Arrested and imprisoned, Oldcastle managed to escape from the
Tower of London and, as well as being involved in the failed eponymous
uprising in 1414, he was involved in Lollard conspiracies until 1417 when
he was finally captured and executed by hanging over a slow fire. Until this
time the passing of the statute De heretico comburendo (‘The Necessity of
Burning Heretics’) in 1401 had achieved little by way of crushing Lollardy.
But after the Oldcastle Revolt, Lollard beliefs and insurrectionary threats
were firmly linked – at least in the minds of the elite – and gentry support
melted away as the death penalty began to be applied to those lower-class
Lollards who persisted in their beliefs. When eventually the Catholic
Church in England faced a radical attack on its structures, wealth and
authority in the 1530s it was not the result of a bottom-up movement like
the Lollards. Instead, it resulted from a top-down, state-led, cultural
revolution.

The Catholic Church in crisis?

This exploration of the impact of the Lollards brings us to a key issue.
There is ongoing debate as to the state of the Catholic Church in England in
the late fifteenth and early sixteenth centuries. Critics at the time and since
were quick to point out its shortcomings, and some historians have
suggested that these were part of developments which would culminate in
the Reformation – in other words, that it was genuine dissatisfaction with
real problems which led to massive restructuring of the medieval Church in
the 1530s.
That there were problems in a number of monasteries in the later Middle
Ages cannot be denied. Clearly, in these the original high standards of
spiritual activity and strict discipline had slipped. At the Fourth Lateran
Council of 1215, the pope insisted that all religious orders should tighten up
their internal government and arrange regular visitations to correct any
examples of falling standards. It is clear this was a response to problems
which were ongoing. Following the bishop’s inspection of Keynsham
Abbey (Somerset) in 1348 it was ordered, amongst other disciplinary
matters, that: ‘Secular persons not to be present at meals. The porter of the
outer gate ordered to let no one in or out after the hour of compline [dusk] .
. . Canons keeping sporting dogs inside the monastery to be punished by
being deprived of meat for a month and of fish for a fortnight.’ In 1352,
despite these criticisms, it was found that women were being allowed to
enter the monastery, vows of silence were being ignored, the giving of food
to the poor had been neglected and gambling was taking place. These were
not isolated incidents. A century later, in 1455, the bishop was again
concerned at the indiscipline in the abbey and ordered that the abbot should
not allow ‘any of his canons to sell wine at public fairs or markets’.19 The
fact that representatives of the Benedictine monasteries opposed efforts to
reform the lifestyle of the order in 1421 indicates that they had got used to
meat eating, receiving money payments, living in individual rooms and
travelling outside their monasteries.
But is it taking these criticisms out of proportion to assume that monastic
life was in crisis? After all, in any community it is possible to identify areas
of indiscipline and room for improvement without condemning the entire
institution. Was monasticism really in terminal decline by 1500? The
answer seems to be that, while monasticism could have survived in England
(as it did in Catholic countries in Europe), its future was indeed under
threat. By 1500 there were about 26,500 clerics in parishes and about
10,000 monks, plus 2,100 nuns. They made up about 2 per cent of the total
population. This is high but the number was declining, while the wealth of
the religious houses was out of all proportion to their declining numbers
within a national community where a significant proportion of people no
longer felt attracted to the liturgy and discipline of the monastic life.
However, this would suggest that monasticism by 1500 faced a slow
decline, not a sudden collapse.
A similar dilemma exists concerning how we should interpret attacks on
the clergy. In December 1349, the Bishop of Bath and Wells was attacked at
Yeovil (Somerset) by certain ‘sons of perdition’ who, armed with ‘bows,
arrows, iron bars and other kinds of arms attacked the church’, injured
many of his attendants and kept the bishop a prisoner there until dark. The
bishop having moved to the nearby rectory, the siege was reinforced and
lasted until the next day, when loyal supporters rescued him. Other accounts
exist of village priests, accused of sexual misconduct, being castrated by
angry parishioners. Is this evidence of a collapse in support for the
traditional Catholic Church? Or does it simply indicate, in the former case,
anger against the ruling class at a time of crisis and, in the latter case, high
expectations of what a priest should be like and anger when trust in a vital
and loved institution was betrayed? It is not unreasonable to interpret the
evidence in this way, though this does not deny the strong pressures for
reform of the Church by 1500.
There is plenty of evidence that religious devotion was vibrant and very
real at the end of the Middle Ages. And it frequently expressed itself in
ways which were quite consistent with Catholic systems of belief and
practice. Rood screens – which divided the chancel from the nave – can be
read as cutting off the laity from the Mass, or as heightening the drama.
Many Books of Hours were written so that literate laity could pray as part
of their personal devotions during the Mass. This same devotion to the
Mass helps explain the large number of pilgrims coming to visit the Holy
Blood at Hailes Abbey (Gloucestershire) and the relic of the True Cross at
Bromholm Priory (Norfolk). Similarly large numbers visited the shrine of
Our Lady of Doncaster as late as the 1520s. Likewise, the shrine at
Walsingham continued to draw pilgrims, and in 1534 income from offerings
stood at £260. Overall, pilgrimage as an activity declined in the early
sixteenth century but it was still significant. In fact, many local shrines
grew in popularity as more famous national ones faced declining visitor
numbers. Devotion to the Mass meant that Corpus Christi plays survived
Henry VIII’s dissolution of the monasteries and were not banned until the
state-run Reformation of Edward VI. It is significant that it was the banner
of the Five Wounds of Christ which became the rallying flag of the
Pilgrimage of Grace in 1536–7. Other expressions of this traditional
Catholic devotion can be found in the popularity of the image of Mary
cradling the body of Jesus, known as ‘Our Lady of Pity’. If the medieval
English Church faced great challenges in 1500, none need have been fatal
to the continued development of a Catholic spirituality which had continued
unbroken since the late sixth century. That this was not to be the case was
the result of developments which could not have been foreseen as the
sixteenth century opened.
 Chapter 5
POPULATION, DIET AND HEALTH

One major problem in the Middle Ages was sewage disposal. Much of the
waste of London ended up in the Thames, but not everyone was
conveniently situated close to this open sewer. Others dumped their sewage
into slower-moving waterways. For example, in 1355 it was found that the
Fleet Prison ditch, which was designed to be 10 feet (3 metres) wide, was
so choked with the sewage of eleven latrines and twelve sewers that water
no longer flowed along it. Faced with the need to remove household toilet
waste, some turned to piping it into the unused cellars of unwary
neighbours. Two men were fined for this in 1347. More often householders
dug cesspools in their yards and constructed latrines over them. One such
enterprising Londoner was Roger the Raker. Unfortunately, over the years
this pit filled to capacity and rotted the floorboards. When Roger eventually
plunged through these floorboards and drowned in his own accumulated
excrement, it raised questions not only about the quality of London
carpentry but also about the way in which health and well-being in the
Middle Ages were affected by the sanitation of the time.1 But before this is
explored it is necessary to address the complex issue of the rise and fall of
the medieval population.

Population statistics: an overview of change

The total number of Norman immigrants and their followers probably made
up only about 5 per cent of the English population of about 2.5 million in
the late 1060s. With the Norman core of William’s supporters came others
who had connections with him in Normandy and for whom the conquest of
England offered opportunities both financial and social. These included
Flemings, Bretons and Frenchmen and later a small population of Jewish
and Italian bankers and merchants. But there was no major change to the
ethnic make-up of England, and there was genetic continuity for almost the
entire Middle Ages.
Evidence to support population estimates for the Middle Ages is limited
and means that there are wide variations in possible figures. Three major
pieces of evidence used are Domesday Book (1086), the Poll Tax returns
for 1377 and the registration of baptisms, marriages and burials which
began in 1538. These provide a basis for ‘guesstimates’ of population levels
at key points in the Middle Ages.2
These ‘guesstimates’, as we have seen, hover around 2.5 million for
1086. By 1300 the population probably stood at 5.5 million and may have
been as many as 6.5 million. By 1377, however, the population of England
had fallen to about 2.5 million (following disastrous harvests, livestock
diseases and the Black Death) and it would not exceed this figure until
after1520 (with a likely low point in1450 of somewhere in the region of 2
million). The figure for 1377 can be gauged from the number of tax payers
listed under the Poll Tax figures for that year, and the reasonable nature of
the first Poll Tax suggests that tax evasion was probably relatively low. The
pattern of declining population continued into the fifteenth century and it is
actually possible that the population in 1525 was even a little lower (at
about 2.3 million) than it had been in 1377. By 1541 a likely figure is 2.7
million and by 1551 about 3 million. The steady increase in population
levels as the sixteenth century progressed was probably due to a mixture of
reasons: higher rates of marriage for the size of the population, younger age
of marriage for women, and possibly a slight reduction in occurrences of
epidemics. What is so striking about this pattern is the realization that in
1300 the English population was comparable with 1750 but it took 450
years to reach this level again following the great fall in numbers in the 150
years after 1300. The fact that the mid-eighteenth-century population only
then entered a rapid trajectory of growth as a result of the Agricultural and
Industrial Revolutions suggests that, without these twin developments,
population had hit a ‘glass ceiling’ at about the 1300/1750 level. Prior to the
upward leap in population after 1750, it seems that the available agricultural
techniques – coupled with the limited movement of foodstuffs on pre-
industrial transport systems – were unable to support the kind of population
levels that have been sustained since 1750.
The distribution of the medieval population was in striking contrast with
the modern English population. In 1086 the greatest concentration of
population lay in eastern England (Norfolk, Suffolk, Kent and
Lincolnshire). By 1377 this had evened out a little as a result of a rising
population in the Midlands, but the north and west still remained more
thinly populated. This distribution of population in 1377 is, unsurprisingly,
similar to the distribution of wealth seen in the tax returns of the Lay
Subsidy in 1334.
Life expectancy in the Middle Ages followed a similar roller-coaster
pattern and there was certainly no inevitable upward trajectory. On the eve
of the Norman Conquest life expectancy was in the region of 35 years for a
man and 25 years for a woman. By the 1390s life expectancy amongst
Essex peasants has been calculated to have been 54 years (an average of
male and female expectancy), and monks at Westminster Abbey at this time
had a life expectancy of about 50 years. But by the 1490s this had declined
to 48 years for the same Essex peasants and 40 years for the Westminster
monks. The repeated cycles of infectious diseases after 1348 had taken their
toll.

Diet and health: fat friars and hungry peasants?

Life expectancy is clearly affected by many factors, among them diet and
nutrition. Gluttony was one of the Seven Deadly Sins, and episcopal
visitations condemned monks for gluttony and for eating food intended for
the poor. This criticism of monks increased from the late fourteenth century
and was a product of ‘a critical middle class willing to denounce the failings
of both secular and religious authorities’.3 But were these accusations of
gluttony justified? It seems they may have been. Accounts from
Westminster Abbey suggest that monks – even when fasting – consumed
above the modern nutritional recommended daily allowance (RDA). Late
fifteenth-century monks at St Swithun’s Priory, Winchester, consumed per
day: 1.5 lb (0.68 kg) of meat, five eggs, vegetable soup, bread and ale.
Research on skeletons of 376 men over the age of 45 from three London
monasteries – Merton Priory, Bermondsey Abbey and St Mary Graces –
found that monks (compared with secular evidence) were almost five times
as likely to develop obesity-related joint disease. These included a specific
form of degenerative arthritis characterized by excessive bone growth along
the sides of the vertebrae of the spine and other bones, known as diffuse
idiopathic skeletal hyperostosis (or DISH), and other types of
osteoarthritis.4 DISH occurs today in about 2–4 per cent of modern
populations but is as high as 10 per cent in the medieval monastic
cemeteries of London. Over 11 per cent of those buried at Eynsham Abbey
(Oxfordshire) suffered from DISH and similar evidence comes from other
monastic cemeteries. Large-scale studies of DISH on medieval skeletons
reveal that 87 per cent of sufferers were men, and that it was more likely to
be found among the better-fed and less physically active monks of the
Benedictine and Cluniac orders than among the vegetarian Carthusians and
physically active friars.5
On the other hand, among the majority rural population diet varied with
the success of the harvest. Poor weather in the early fourteenth century, for
example, led to starvation. Indeed it was not until 1437–40 that the last
great period of famine in the English Middle Ages occurred, due to the
impact of the weather. At Chester in 1437 there are records of peasants
making bread from peas and even from fern roots, so scare were supplies of
wheat and the price so high. Paradoxically, the previous 60 years had seen
improvements in access to food due to falling prices in basic foodstuffs
from 1375. This variability means that it is difficult to generalize about the
dietary experiences of ordinary people in the later Middle Ages. However,
we can glimpse something of their nutritional reality.
Osteo-archaeologists (bone specialists) can identify evidence for
problems in diet and nutrition in the form of Harris lines, or ‘growth arrest
lines’ on skeletons. These lines appear in bones due to temporary
retardation of bone growth. They appear as dense lines parallel to the
growth plates in the long bones such as the leg (i.e. they appear as
horizontal lines across the bone). They are caused by starvation or
malnutrition, and some types of sickness. By identifying these lines it is
possible to see how often an individual underwent severe stresses of this
sort and how severe this stress was. It is also possible to get some idea as to
how old the person was when the line was formed, by looking at where it
appears on the bone. Regular occurrences of Harris lines may be an
indication of seasonal stresses, which may imply that food was short at
certain times of the year or at certain periods in the life of an individual.
Studies comparing medieval and modern populations in Switzerland have
found that: ‘A high incidence of Harris lines was found in the medieval
population, perhaps reflecting difficult living and hygienic conditions, but
also the poor care and neglect of the child population’.6 However, in
England the evidence suggests that, while there were periods of real
shortage, this problem was not generally widespread or persistent. Based on
a study of over 16,000 Late Medieval skeletons this gives a picture of a
reasonably well-fed population with occasional crises.7
There is evidence to suggest that, despite the problems in trade
experienced by a number of industries in the early fifteenth century, many
in the population were in fact able to use an improvement in wages to
increase their consumption of ale and meat. No longer were they spending
the greater proportion of their available cash on basic foodstuffs. In this
respect standards of living seem to have been rising for a while after 1400,
until recovering population and rising inflation depressed it again by the
later fifteenth and early sixteenth centuries. Analysis of the food
consumption of harvest workers at Sedgeford (Norfolk) in 1424 shows that
the daily food intake was 1lb (0.45 kg) of meat and at least 6 pints (3.4
litres) of ale for every 2lb (0.9 kg) of bread consumed. The increase in meat
consumption is in marked contrast to evidence for food intake a century
earlier. Wheat-flour bread was replacing barley bread, and fresh beef was
replacing bacon. In this improved consumption standards of living were
coming into line with those which had previously been enjoyed only by
better-off townspeople, clergy and gentry.8
Evidence about health, as well as nutrition, comes from a small selection
of written sources but mostly from archaeological evidence. Bones reveal
signs of infection in cases of tuberculosis, leprosy and syphilis. However,
not all diseases show themselves in this way and those which impact on the
soft tissues only cannot be detected. At times, though, the information from
bones is quite specific. At Edix Hill, Barrington (Cambridgeshire), for
example, in a cemetery used from the fifth to the seventh century, two
skeletons show signs of leprosy in the bony growth found on the skull and
extremities of the limbs.
Other evidence from skeletons can be even more revealing. Work at the
cemetery of the deserted medieval village (DMV) of Wharram Percy
(Yorkshire) has provided a detailed insight into both the health and diet of
this farming community from the eleventh to the thirteenth centuries. Of the
687 skeletons examined, 15 per cent were babies. Their bones suggest that
they were breastfed for up to 18 months. Modern research on the effects of
breastfeeding show that this will have doubled these children’s chances of
survival in their first year. Even more revealing is the evidence for the long-
term relationship between nutrition and overall health. By the age of ten the
average height of children at Wharram Percy was 120cm (47.2 inches); less
than the modern average figure of 137cm (53.9 inches) for a ten-year-old.
Furthermore, the medieval children did not reach the height of a modern
ten-year-old until the age of 14. In this they were similar to nineteenth-
century factory children. However, despite a longer growing period the
medieval inhabitants still grew relatively tall. The average height achieved
at Wharram Percy was 169cm (66.5 inches) for men; national data for the
Late Medieval period gives an average of 171cm (67.3 inches), compared
with 175cm (68.8 inches) today. At Wharram Percy the average height for
women was 158cm (62.2 inches); the Late Medieval average was 159cm
(62.5 inches), compared with162cm (63.7 inches) today.
For those surviving into adulthood the chances of a relatively long life
were good, as about 40 per cent of adults lived to 50 years or more.
Regarding adult health, women suffered a high incidence of osteoporosis
(loss of bone density in old age), while the men suffered it in the same
proportion as modern men. An interesting statistic relating to women is that
it seems that the minimum interval between births was probably 2.5 years.
So, ignoring other factors, women would probably only have had eight
children at most in their lifetime.
Skeletons from nearby York, from the same period, are also very
revealing concerning social and health trends. At York there was a gender-
ratio of ten women to nine men in the later Middle Ages; in the countryside
the ratio was three men to every two women. It is possible that women were
more geographically mobile, leaving villages for markets, workshops and
service in grand houses. Skeletons also suggest that urban women did less
physically demanding work than rural women. In contrast, rural women had
osteoarthritis concentrated in their legs and back, suggesting gender-
specific jobs such as grinding corn. Overall, the evidence for anaemia and
infection was frequently found in skeletons from York, suggesting that
crowded conditions and contaminated water produced ‘a greater pathogen
load in the urban environment’. Similar evidence from the cemetery at St
Mary Spital, London, revealed high levels of rickets (averaging at about 24
per cent of the skeletons excavated) and suggests that these medieval
Londoners also experienced poorer health than their rural neighbours,
lacking sunlight and a balanced diet. Life could be more dangerous in an
urban setting in others ways too: evidence for violent injury, for example,
was higher in York than at Wharram Percy.9
Unlike the overweight monks discussed earlier, diet for the rural
population was carbohydrate based. Rye bread and porridge were
consumed, along with large quantities of ale. There was fairly easy access
to dairy products but not in the quantities consumed by the DISH-exhibiting
monks. On the other hand, cabbages, leeks and onions frequently occur in
medieval descriptions of peasant food. Meat featured more in the diets of
the better-off. Honey was the usual sweetener. Generally, dental caries (the
term for tooth decay or cavities) remained relatively low until the
seventeenth century, when it increased due to more dietary intake of refined
carbohydrates, especially sugar. The relative rarity of sugar meant that in
1334 it cost 7 pence a pound (0.45 kg), which was more than a day’s wages
for a skilled archer in the Hundred Years’ War. Even its increasing
availability over the next century did not prevent it from remaining an
expensive luxury. However, teeth still suffered – but from grits in cheap
bread and poor oral hygiene, which will have encouraged infection and
abscesses.
So, there does seem to be some validity in the stereotypes of portly
monks and thin peasants. Rural populations were more prone to fluctuations
in their nutritional consumption, as revealed by such things as Harris lines,
than were the well-fed members of monastic houses. On the other hand, the
evidence does not support the idea of a starving peasantry. However, it is
clear that until the middle of the fifteenth century such a fate was never far
away and that, in times of climatic deterioration or animal disease, it could
suddenly become an all-too-present reality.
Sanitation and concepts of cleanliness
Health, of course, is also affected by levels of cleanliness. The importance
of soap was recognized in the Middle Ages, and fifteenth-century ‘white
soap’ was made from a mixture of fern ash and unslaked lime which was
allowed to stand for two days. After this it was mixed with oil and tallow
(usually beef or mutton fat) and heated before finally being mixed with
bean flour and moulded into cakes.
In Britain references to soap begin to appear from about the year 1000.
The chronicler John of Wallingford (died 1214), recording traditions from
the early eleventh century, referred disparagingly to the fact that Danish
immigrants bathed every Saturday. He accused them of carrying out this
strange practice, alongside combing their hair daily and frequently changing
their woollen clothes, in order to seduce English women! In 1192 the
chronicler Richard of Devizes referred to the number of soap makers in
Bristol. In the late thirteenth century soap making was reported in Coventry,
while other early soap-making centres were in York and Hull. In the
fifteenth century a London sopehouse was located in Bishopsgate and
others were found on Cheapside. The Cheapside site left evidence in
Soper’s Lane, now Queen Street.10 The Proceedings, Minutes and
Enrolments of the Bristol Company of Soapmakers survive from the years
1562–1642 and record the names of over 180 people engaged in the trade in
the city. A type of black soft soap was called ‘Bristol soap’ and a harder
type, known as ‘Bristol grey soap’, was supplied to London by 1523 at the
price of one penny per pound.11
However, personal cleanliness has only limited impact without clean
water and sewage disposal, and before the later nineteenth century these
two factors were the greater influences on public health. Also, medieval
people had a different concept of the link between cleanliness and health.
For them, the actual smell itself was the threat – the smell spread disease.
Most had no idea that hand washing, bathing or cleaning food would
combat illness. Archaeological studies reveal the outcome of such limited
understanding of the link between dirt and disease: conditions such as
amoebic dysentery, tapeworms, boreworms and whipworms were
widespread.
In addition, society in the Middle Ages lacked coordinated systems of
delivering clean water and (as we have seen) removing sewage. In this
sense medieval towns and cities were inevitably dirty and unhealthy. This is
not to suggest that men and women were complacent about these matters. A
large amount of evidence suggests that, while the absence of a germ theory
meant that there was no real understanding of what caused disease, there
was a clear association between filth and bad health. At the very least, dirty
water tastes foul, and rubbish and sewage stink. For these reasons alone
authorities in towns made frequent efforts to clean up the environment. By
1285 the Great Conduit had been built to supply London with clean water
(its intact fountain house has been excavated under the modern road of
Cheapside). But this could not overcome the terrible conditions facing
Londoners. We saw at the start of this chapter that complaints exist in the
medieval records of cesspits leaking into the cellars of nearby properties,
and of citizens even piping their sewage into their neighbours’ cellars. The
fact that such complaints exist show that the authorities were not taking the
state of London for granted. The appropriately named Assize of Nuisances
was established in London to settle disputes between neighbours over
sewage and other actions which polluted the city. Even Edward III (1327–
77) was moved to complain to the authorities about the foul state of the
capital, which he suspected would lead to disaster:
When passing along the water of Thames, we have beheld dung and lay stools and other filth
accumulated in diverse places within the city, and have also perceived the fumes and other
abominable stenches arising therefrom, from the corruption of which great peril to persons
dwelling within the said city will, it is feared, ensue.12

Furthermore, industry and housing was not separated, so pollution impacted

on the lives of citizens. This would have been particularly the case with
industries such as butchers and fishmongers which produced health-
threatening waste byproducts. As one modern historian, Professor
Hutchinson, has put it:
It’s difficult for us today to understand the medieval city as a multitude of simultaneous
activities. People living, people bringing up families, being educated, worshipping and, most
important of all, making and trading. But all cheek by jowl. They don’t separate industry and
living.13

The shifting – after protests from the prior of St John of Jerusalem – of the
butchers’ quarter out of the city to Stratford, or Knightsbridge, would have
helped overcome at least this menace to health. But the fact that the
butchers’ waste was then dumped in the Thames will have threatened the
health of those who used it as their water supply. The waste of tanners and
dyers was added to this foul cocktail. And this is the key point in explaining
much of medieval ill health: sewage/waste and drinking water were often in
dangerously close proximity. This was either because the same river was
used as a water source and a disposal system, or because groundwater
supplies in springs and wells were easily contaminated by nearby latrines
and cesspits.
The London city authorities attempted to meet the challenges by
employing street cleaners and night-soil (sewage) collectors, and citizens
were fined for polluting communal water supplies. One peddler was killed
in a brawl when passers-by objected to an eel skin he had thrown into the
street, which could have led to a communal fine. But the task was beyond
the available resources and technology. Philip Ziegler, who has made a
detailed study of the Black Death, sums up the state of fourteenth-century
London:
By our standards, London would have been a very unpleasant, dirty, smelly place to live. The
streets were always narrow; now they were cramped. The houses grew together. The streets
would have a gutter on each side, and between these a muddy track that divided the houses. It
was a pretty squalid scene.14

The killer diseases of the Middle Ages

The contrast between our modern affection for surviving medieval towns
and the reality of medieval sanitation and cleanliness is well expressed in
the words of David Dimbleby, in the 2007 BBC series How We Built
Britain. Regarding the much-visited East Anglian town of Lavenham
(Suffolk) he commented:
To our modern eyes, Lavenham is a perfect picture-postcard town. Thousands of visitors go
each year to photograph the houses with their beam and plaster walls; a style of building that
still seems to appeal to us above all others. But there was nothing twee about the town in the
fourteenth century. The stench from the roadway would have been overpowering, as waste from
the dye vats mixed with offal from the butchers, dung from horses, and human excrement.15

The general state of sanitation in the Middle Ages (polluted drinking water
in towns, problems in urban waste disposal, close proximity of rat and
human populations, and absence of any germ theory) meant that, at any
time, epidemics could break out and spread. This helps explain the high rate
of infant mortality and the death rate of women in childbirth (due to
infections introduced during labour); it also helps explain the generally low
life expectancy – similar to those in less economically developed countries
of the twenty-first century. This situation meant that life in the Middle Ages
was lived in a context where killer diseases were endemic and accidents and
minor infections could easily escalate into life-threatening conditions.
However, the fact that the population more than doubled between 1066
and 1300 reminds us that, in the competition between endemic disease and
a high birth rate, the human population was capable of growing against
these medical odds. This would have been assisted by the fact that the vast
majority of people living in the countryside would have been less prone to
illness which thrived in cramped and unsanitary urban conditions. Had this
continued to be the overall medical experience of the Middle Ages then the
population would have continued to grow despite the appalling death rate
and would have been comparable with the booming populations in many
modern developing countries. The reality, however, was far more complex
and more terrible. The collapse of population after the 1350s, and its failure
to recover to the level of 1300 over the next 150 years, reminds us that the
medieval community did not only face an ongoing battle with endemic
illness but also faced the intrusion of new and deadlier diseases which it had
neither the medical knowledge nor the social organization to resist.
Of all the intrusive new killer diseases of the Middle Ages none
compares with the Black Death, which swept the British Isles after 1348.
First arriving in the port of Melcombe Regis (opposite Weymouth, Dorset)
shortly before 24 June (the Feast of St John the Baptist), the disease had
been moving westward across Europe for several years. This disease is
usually identified as bubonic plague (Yersinia pestis), although other
possibilities have been suggested, including anthrax, haemorrhagic fever
and even Ebola. However, current evidence from plague victims in southern
France supports the traditional identification. Contemporary chroniclers
were understandably confused, as it seemed to come in a number of forms.
The first exhibited characteristic swellings of the lymph glands in the groin
and armpits (the infamous buboes). The second was a pneumonic form
which infected the lungs and spread through coughing and sneezing. The
third was a form which gave rise to septicaemia. Since all had different
symptoms they appeared to be different diseases. The bubonic form may
have thrived in summer and given way to the pneumonic form over the
winter.
The spread of the disease seems linked to movements of infected rats.
Black rats (Rattus rattus) live in close relationship with people. Thatched
roofs and cob-and-timber-walled houses were easily infiltrated by rats;
waste in urban streets would have supported large rat populations.
Excavations in Southampton suggest that the rat population increased
noticeably from the thirteenth to the fourteenth century. As rats fell victim
to bubonic plague their rat fleas transferred to human hosts and the disease
jumped the species barrier. It is interesting that in the European legend of
the Pied Piper, the Piper (plague) first kills the rats before he carries off
(kills) the children. And this reminds us of another feature of variants of
bubonic plague – its (at times) disproportionate impact on the young and
healthy.
The exact circumstances by which this disease reached western Europe
is disputed, but the general consensus is that its medieval origins lay among
the rodent population of central Asia. Environmental factors caused a
movement of infected rodents out of this area, which then infected other
rodents (e.g. rats). As these rodents died the disease passed to humans. The
developing trade routes between the Middle East and China meant that a
disease which was soon ravaging the Far East eventually spread to the
Mediterranean and western Europe. The immediate link to the
Mediterranean may have been via a Mongol army besieging the Crimean
port of Caffa, which was occupied by the Genoese. Near-contemporary
chroniclers suggest this connection. From there the disease spread to Italy.
Environmental factors such as mild, wet weather may have encouraged the
survival of the disease in host populations.
By the summer of 1348 the disease was in Dorset, by August it had
reached Bristol, by September it was raging in London and the eastern ports
of Ireland, and by 1350 it had reached northern Scotland. Nowhere escaped.
The precise death toll is disputed but was very high: suggestions range from
35–50 per cent of the English population, and individual statistics bear this
out. The manors of Glastonbury Abbey lost 50 per cent of their tenants, 40
per cent of the English parish clergy died, as did 27 per cent of the nobility
(helped to avoid plague by less cramped conditions and fewer rats in close
proximity). In January 1349, Ralph of Shrewsbury, Bishop of Bath and
Wells, wrote a circular letter to his diocese in which he described how the
disease ‘has left many parish churches and other livings in our diocese
without a priest or a parson to care for the parishioners.’16 On the wall of the
church at Ashwell (Hertfordshire) are scratched these enigmatic words:
‘There was a plague, 1000, three times 100, five times 10 [1350], a pitiable,
fierce violent . . .; a wretched populace survives to witness and in the end a
mighty wind, Maurus, thunders in this year in the world, 1361.’17
The outbreak of 1348–50 was not all that was heard of bubonic plague.
That of 1361 was remembered as ‘the mortality of the children’, as it
seemed to target the young (probably those born since 1348 and without the
immunity gained from surviving the first outbreak). Later outbreaks
occurred in 1369 and in 1375. It would continue to return in cycles until its
last great outbreak in 1665.
It is easy to assess the impact of the Black Death solely in its economic
and class terms: the impact on wages, or the end of villeinage. This is very
important but we must never lose sight of the emotional impact. It must
have felt as if the world was coming to an end. Even to a community used
to high mortality rates the seismic effect of what happened in the middle of
the fourteenth century must have been impossible to comprehend. Because
we cannot measure this, we are forced to recognize that we cannot fully
grasp it – but this does not mean we should ignore it. People’s spiritual,
emotional, mental, economic and social worlds were changed as a result of
the cataclysm that had befallen them. As the poet John Gower noted in the
1390s:
The world is changed and overthrown,
That it is well-nigh upside down,
Compared with days of long ago.18

The bubonic plague was not, of course, the only killer disease of the Middle
Ages. In fact, a study of death rates at Christchurch, in Canterbury (Kent)
between 1395 and 1505 concluded that one year in every four was a ‘crisis’
year. From about 1450 these ‘crisis years’ happened less frequently but the
crises themselves were more acute and killed more people than the earlier –
more frequent – outbreaks of disease.19 Other evidence from Canterbury
suggests that its killer diseases included ‘sweating sickness’ (possibly
influenza), plague, tuberculosis and fever. Records from fifteenth-century
Westminster point to summer and autumn as the seasons most closely
associated with epidemics.
An occurrence of the epidemic known as the ‘sweating sickness’ in 1485
killed two mayors of London and six aldermen within one week. Thomas
Hille, who was mayor at the time of the outbreak, died on 23 September
and was succeeded by William Stokker, appointed the following day.
Within four days Stokker himself was dead, and on the 29 of September
John Warde was elected mayor for the remainder of the official year. There
was no mayoralty banquet, which is hardly surprising in the disastrous
circumstances.20 Other outbreaks of this disease are recorded in 1508, 1517
and 1528. Tentative evidence suggests that mortality rates in the fifteenth
century were highest in the population group aged 25–34 and this may have
suppressed fertility and population recovery in the 150 years after the
outbreak of the Black Death.
Tuberculosis (TB) may also have been a significant killer disease in the
fifteenth century. Its alternative name of ‘consumption’ sums up the effects
of untreated tuberculosis – the victim is (almost) literally consumed by loss
of weight and breathlessness. The disease has also gone under the name of
the ‘White Plague’. Tuberculosis bacteria most commonly affect the lungs
(termed pulmonary TB), with about 75 per cent of those affected
experiencing this. However, it can also affect the central nervous system,
the lymph system, the circulatory system, bones and joints. It is a common
and deadly disease. The bacteria is easily spread by coughing, sneezing,
kissing and spitting, and a reservoir of the disease no doubt existed then –
as potentially now – amongst cattle, in the form of bovine tuberculosis. This
form may also be spread by badgers, amongst which the disease is also
endemic. The dependence of the spread of the disease on environmental
factors and inadequacies in knowledge of treatment has led a recent
chronicler of the history of the disease to comment that ‘Tuberculosis has
been called the perfect expression of our imperfect civilization.’21 Evidence
from excavated skeletons is supporting the belief that the disease was
present in the medieval population. Molecular biologist Ronald A. Dixon of
the University of Bradford, has commented that ‘The historical record
suggests a much larger number [of cases] than the cemeteries indicate.’ This
is because only about 3–5 per cent of its victims develop lesions on their
skeletons. However, in an effort to test the archaeological evidence, he and
his colleague Charlotte Roberts have isolated fragments of DNA from eight
skeletons taken from a medieval graveyard in northern England. One of
these skeletons had lesions which suggested tuberculosis and from this
individual they identified a section of DNA unique to Mycobacterium
tuberculosis, the pathogen responsible for TB. There is now the likelihood
that future studies of genetic material will confirm more examples of TB in
medieval skeletons than were previously revealed by conventional bone
analysis.22
Leprosy too was a killer in medieval England. Spread by skin contact,
coughing and sneezing, it can take as long as five years before symptoms
appear. In later medieval England leprosy may have declined because those
who suffered from tuberculosis developed a cross-immunity. And to this list
of killer diseases should be added dysentery, typhus and malnutrition.
Occasionally, evidence emerges in contemporary accounts which may
point to other diseases that are difficult to identify without more detailed
descriptions. One of these occurs in Knighton’s Chronicle, 1337–1396:
In the summer, that is, in the year of grace 1340, there occurred a repugnant and widespread
sickness almost everywhere in England, and especially in Leicestershire, during which men
emitted a sound like dogs barking, and suffered almost unbearable pain while it lasted. And a
great many people were infected.

While it is impossible to be certain, the ‘barking’ voice may indicate an

outbreak of diphtheria, or a streptococcal throat infection. The same
chronicler also records under the summer of 1355 a disease with the
following characteristics:
. . . people went out of their minds, and behaved like madmen in field and township. Some thus
deranged fled into woods and dense places, as though they were wild beasts shunning the
presence of men, whilst others ran from the fields into the townships, and from the townships
into the fields, now here, now there, without regard for themselves, and it was extremely
difficult to catch them. And some wounded themselves with knives or tore with their teeth those
who tried to capture them. And many were taken and led into church, and left there bound until
they received some relief from God, and in some churches you might see ten or a dozen of
them, or more, or fewer, and it was a great sorrow to behold their suffering.

Knighton concludes that the sickness was possibly due to evil spirits, but
the symptoms suggest the crisis may have been an outbreak of ergotism.
This occurs when damp, cool weather leads to cereals (particularly rye)
being contaminated with a hallucinogenic fungus.23
There has long been an assumption that syphilis entered the European
population following the discovery of the Americas. However, definite
medieval examples have been discovered in York, Ipswich, Hull and
Carmarthen in Wales. One expert in the field believes that ‘venereal syphilis
is a late medieval, newly evolved form, probably derived from endemic
syphilis in Southwest Asia’, and that its late appearance in England was not
due to transfer of the disease from the Americas but rather that the disease
‘was late in adapting to populations living in colder northern European
climates and societies, and had to become more aggressive and venereal in
transmission.’24 The symptoms of syphilis (which can take up to 20 years to
show themselves) would have resembled leprosy, and it was probably
treated as if it were this disease.

Hospitals, medicine and surgery

Medieval medical care was a complex mixture of Christian theology, Greek
and Roman medical concepts, astrology and traditional practices. In such a
profoundly Christian environment spiritual causes of disease were
frequently sought and an association often suggested between disease and
sin. Christian compassion also led to active care for the sick and the
establishment of early hospitals from the fourteenth century onwards,
staffed by those in religious orders. In the same way infirmaries were an
important feature of monasteries. These focused as much on spiritual health
as on physical recovery, and even though medical remedies would have
been limited in their effects the care, improved diet and increased
cleanliness would in many cases have assisted recovery.
St Mary Spital was one of the great hospitals of medieval London,
alongside St Bartholomew’s. Founded in 1197 as a refuge for women in
childbirth, it was greatly enlarged in the thirteenth century. A two-storey
infirmary was built and this was extended in the fourteenth century when
new stone buildings were constructed for the lay sisters. Later still,
tenements were built for wealthier residents. By the fifteenth century
doctors were working in the hospital. The cemetery increased in size at the
same time, suggesting that St Mary’s was operating more as a hospital than
as a shelter for travellers. By the time of its dissolution in 1538 it had 180
beds and was one of the largest hospitals in England. Excavations on the
site of the infirmary suggest a more likely figure of 90 beds but these might
have been shared. A large north–south channel seems to have been dug as
part of a water-supply system. While this was silting up by the fourteenth
century it may still have assisted drainage.25
But the key question was, how was illness to be treated? There was no
clear-cut answer. Increased interaction with the Middle East from the
twelfth century led to a resurgence of Greek ideas, which had survived in
the Islamic world. On one hand this encouraged a more critical –
observational – approach towards diagnosis and treatment. On the other, the
veneration given these ancient texts made their assertions unassailable even
when wrong. A classic example lies in the Greek ‘Theory of Humours’,
which asserted that human bodies were composed of blood, yellow and
black bile and phlegm, and that illness was frequently caused by an
imbalance between these humours. This flawed understanding led to
frequent recourse to phlebotomy (blood letting), which would dominate
medical practice for centuries. The colour of patients’ urine often dictated
diagnosis. Astrology too dominated many treatments. Finally, in a pre-
scientific environment, actual medicine was a mixture of tried-and-tested
herbal remedies and others ranging from the bizarre to the dangerous. In
this way helpful remedies such as feverfew to cure a headache, henbane
smoke and raspberry-leaf tea to soothe pain, and poultices on inflamed
wounds stood alongside fried mouse to cure whooping cough, quartz
crystals to stop bleeding and badger droppings to stop toothache. Treacle
appears as a much-sought-after remedy for reducing fever in the Paston
Letters, and other sources refer to mustard for use in poultices. At Merton
Abbey, London, archaeologists have discovered a dump of mustard seeds
which were presumably shipped in along the river Wandle and used in the
abbey’s infirmary.
Medical professionals were divided between physicians (who had
completed years of study of the Greek texts) and lower-status surgeons who
set bones and operated. Medicines and some medical advice would also
have been dispensed by apothecaries. Only the wealthiest could afford such
professionals and most would, instead, have relied on traditional folk
remedies and local herbalists. By the fifteenth century increased
understanding of anatomy assisted in wound treatment; literary evidence
suggests the existence of cataract operations and archaeology reveals
trepanation (drilling a hole in the scull). However, the absence of
anaesthetics and antiseptics will have meant that much surgery was defeated
by shock and infection. In this – as in many areas of sanitation, health and
medicine – what we might call ‘the long Middle Ages’ lasted, for most
ordinary people, into the nineteenth century. At the largest excavated
medieval cemetery outside London (at Barton-upon-Humber, Lincolnshire)
this reality was apparent in the fact that the skeletons revealed no
significant differences in health over 900 years, from c.950 to c.1850.26 In
this sense the Middle Ages lasted a very long time indeed.
 Chapter 6
WOMEN AND THE FAMILY

When, in 1469, Margery Paston, the daughter of a wealthy Norfolk family,

became secretly engaged to her family’s estate bailiff Richard Calle, she
found herself in the middle of a bitter dispute which pitted her against her
own mother and brother because she had challenged the conventions of her
gender and class. The family hoped to marry her into a noble family,
whereas Richard came from a family of shopkeepers. All the anger and
genuine sense of betrayal is revealed in the letter that her mother wrote to
her son, Margery’s brother.
On Friday the bishop sent for her and he spoke to her clearly and reminded her of her position
in society and who were her family and friends. And that she would have more friends if she
followed their advice. And if she did not, what rebuke and shame and loss she would suffer.
And she said again what she had promised [to Richard Calle] and she said boldly that if these
words did not make it final then she would make it quite clear before she left! These shameless
words shocked me and her grandmother . . . I ordered my servants that she should be banned
from my house . . . I beg you that you do not take this too badly. For I know well that it goes to
your heart and it is the same to me and to others. But remember, as I do, that all we have lost is
a worthless person. For if she had been good, this would never have happened. Even if he
[Calle] were to die at this very hour, I would not take her back.1

Despite all this, Margery succeeded in marrying Richard and her family
were forced to accept this. Furthermore, the family found that they needed
Richard’s bookkeeping and organizational skills and were losing money
without him. So, he was reinstated to his post – but was never truly
accepted by Margery’s relatives. Her story reveals the severe constraints
facing medieval women. This was due to a range of factors, not least of
which was the medieval understanding of what was the fundamental
character of ‘Woman’. This was an understanding which was affected by
the Norman Conquest but went much deeper than this event and its social
repercussions.
The position of women in society suffered a setback in 1066. While
female land ownership occurred to a significant extent in Anglo-Saxon
society, the Norman preoccupation with linking land to military obligations
reduced the role of women as landowners. Moreover, developments within
Canon (Church) law also reduced the status of women. Whether this would
have happened if the Conquest had not occurred is a matter of debate.
What is clear is that women had a complex image in the Middle Ages.
Eve was a woman; the Virgin Mary was a woman. On the one hand it was a
woman who was blamed for the Fall and the origin of the sinful nature of
humanity (along with Adam of course). On the other it was a woman whom
God had honoured by making the mother of Christ. And in medieval
Catholic theology Mary was a woman exalted far beyond the relatively
limited information provided by the New Testament. Yet it was this very
Church which greatly emphasized the particular responsibility of Woman in
the fall and whose male-dominated celibate clergy could sometimes be
highly misogynistic in the way they described and related to women.
The medieval legal definition of women, outlined in 1180, was that
‘every married woman is a sort of infant’. As a result even adult married
women had few rights since, in most circumstances, the existence of a male
(whether father or husband) meant that he was in control. Consequently,
when a woman married, her property automatically belonged to her
husband for as long as he lived. Furthermore, Canon Law permitted a man
to beat his wife if he considered her lazy or disobedient. This was not a
licence for unrestrained violence since manorial courts contain plenty of
evidence that if violence was thought excessive neighbours might intervene,
but this fact does not reduce the significance of this power over women.
Within marriage a woman’s infidelity was more likely to be severely judged
than that of a man. And the simple facts of biology meant that a woman –
via pregnancy – was easily identified as having engaged in sex outside of
marriage. In such a society the very fact of being female could at times be
considered a reproach, and words such as ‘womanish’, ‘effeminate’ and
‘feminine’ were used against men as terms of abuse. Edward II and his
favourites were attacked for their ‘effeminacy’ and this was one of the
contributory factors leading to his overthrow and murder at Berkley Castle
(Gloucestershire) in 1327.
Women were also frequently regarded as being less rational and
intelligent than men and more easily tempted into sexual sin. This latter
point owes a great deal to Church writers and probably reflects the
projecting of blame on to women for the sexual desire which these men felt,
having been forced to adopt celibacy. In such circumstances it was
invariably the woman who was blamed for tempting the man, rather than
the man being blamed for sexual desire. Despite these so-called
characteristics of women there were clearly women who prospered in this
male-dominated world and did not conform to the stereotype. The countess
Hawisa, wife of the Earl of Essex in 1180, was described by a monastic
chronicler as ‘almost a man to whom nothing masculine is lacking save
virility’. In exceptional cases such characteristics might even be reluctantly
admired, but they were not to be emulated by women as a general rule. It
comes as no surprise to discover that women could not normally hold
responsible roles within government or in law courts and they could not
attend university.
That women should be quiet and docile was a frequent – male –
preoccupation in literature. The Ancrene Riwle suggested that the Virgin
Mary was the model in this, since she said so little that her words are only
recorded four times in the New Testament. It is interesting how often
women are fined in manor court records having ‘scolded and quarrelled’
with another woman. The manor court rolls for Yeadon (Yorkshire) for
1449 record Joanna, wife of Richard Couper, fined for doing this to
Margaret the wife of Thomas Piper ‘in contravention of a penalty imposed
for this’ (suggesting it was not a one-off offence). Sibell, wife of John
Watson, was similarly fined for doing this to the same Margaret, but this
picture of village bickering is further complicated because Joanna was also
fined because she ‘equally has scolded and quarrelled with Sibell’ as well!
The court protested that these quarrelling women had disturbed the ‘good
order’ of the manor.2

Sex and marriage

There was much debate as to what caused the development of gender. A
common assumption was that a child was formed by a man’s seed mixing
with matter from the mother. If this occurred on the woman’s left side it
produced a girl; if on her right side it led to the birth of a boy. It was also
thought that any difference in the size of a woman’s breasts indicated the
gender of the child to be born. Other writers suggested that girls were
produced by defective semen. This, it was suggested, made women long for
sexual union with – more perfect – males. Whilst not all thinkers agreed
with this (Aquinas for example), the dominant opinion was that
reproduction was the result of an active male force acting on passive female
material.
In addition, there was an assumption that women’s reproductive organs
were an inverted version of a man’s. This was part of the idea that women
were, in some sense, defective males. Furthermore, the popularity of the
ancient Greek theory that human bodies were dominated by four ‘humours’
led to the idea that, whereas men were dominated by hot and dry humours,
women were dominated by cold and moist humours. The need to remove
excess quantities of the latter was understood to be the reason for menstrual
bleeding.
Finally, regarding conception, many medieval scholars believed that
conception only occurred when both partners were sexually aroused. This
idea caused acute problems for women made pregnant by rape, since it was
assumed that they were willing partners in an act which they found
pleasurable. Male theorizing overrode these abused women’s experiences of
reality. As with most matters concerned with medieval women and their
nature, it was men who articulated it and who stamped it with their
masculine authority. Linked to this idea was the view that it was the semen
of the man, not actual penetration, that caused sexual pleasure in a woman.
And the expectation was that all legitimate sexual activity should occur
within marriage.
Although it would accrue a wide range of rituals, the Church’s definition
of marriage was remarkably simple. It rested on consent and on the simple
exchange of words indicating agreement to be married. Though not a new
definition, this was formally ratified by the Fourth Lateran Council in 1215;
at the same time marriage was, for the first time, defined as a sacrament. If
the promise indicated a future intent this became marriage if the couple
later began a sexual relationship. Sex alone, though, did not make a
relationship a marriage, since Church law pointed to the valid – though
always chaste in Catholic theology – marriage of Joseph to the Virgin Mary.
However, the reality was that abduction and rape (or seduction) was used to
force some women into marriages and clearly played upon a family’s desire
to regularize what had been done without consent. If the woman became
pregnant, then consent to the sexual act was assumed to have occurred
anyway.
Evidence for the period around 1400 suggests that marriage usually took
place when couples were in their mid-twenties (men a little older than
women), which allowed a man time to secure an income. This evidence is
from the church court at York, and it seems that rural couples married a
little earlier, with a slightly bigger age difference between husband and
wife. Overall, it appears that common assumptions about an early age for
marriage actually conflict with the evidence for this economically prudent
approach dictating later marriage. Later marriage also meant a smaller
family size, which assisted in keeping together the small estate gathered
through parents’ lifetimes.
Parental consent was usually sought but was not essential. Most
marriages took place in church, but this was not stipulated in law and often
it was sufficient to state marriage vows in front of witnesses. The minimum
age for marriage under Church and Common Law was 12 for girls and 14
for boys. Nobles operated under a different set of rules, and much younger
betrothals were common amongst the elites. Sexual maturity for medieval
girls was probably achieved at about 14 years. The minimum age for
marriage contrasted with coming of age regarding property rights and
inheritance, which, though fixed at 15 for girls, was 21 for aristocratic men
(the position for those men lower down the social scale not being so clear).
Strict rules established the family boundaries within which marriage
could be contracted in order to avoid technical and actual incest.
Restrictions based on blood ties, or consanguinity, were added to by
restrictions concerning sexual proximity, or affinity (such as marrying the
sister of a woman with whom one had had sexual relations, or someone for
whom one acted as a godparent [spiritual affinity]). A growing trend, seen
by the fifteenth century, was for common rituals – such as a pre-contract or
engagement (which might be made before witnesses such as a priest) – to
mark out the significance of marriage, then a public formal contract made
within the home of the parents of one of the parties, followed by exchange
of vows at the church door (solemnization). This was sometimes followed
by a marriage meal and later by the blessing of the marriage bed and
sometimes viewing the married couple getting into bed! Sex, though,
frequently occurred between the pre-contract and the solemnization. This
was not regarded as fornication since the declared intention to marry
counted as a key stage in the process of getting married. By 1500, however,
this practice was increasingly being frowned on by Church authorities and
the emphasis was shifting towards marriage solemnization itself as the only
legitimate start for sexual relations. From the 1520s a women made
pregnant by her husband before solemnization was regarded as soiled by sin
and in need of penitence and purification.
Divorce was not an option for medieval people unless they could prove
that the marriage should not have occurred in the first place. In such cases it
was necessary to prove that the original ‘marriage’ had involved people
whose family ties were such that they broke Church rules on consanguinity,
affinity or spiritual affinity. This was often not a straightforward matter, as
even Henry VIII found when trying to divorce Katherine of Aragon
(claiming she had been a sexual partner with his brother and therefore his
brother’s wife, not just ‘his brother’s intended’). Such matters might be
complicated by politics, as in the above case where the pope was unwilling
to anger Katherine’s relative the Holy Roman Emperor. It was also
complicated by the hypocrisy of powerful people, as when Henry married
Anne Boleyn, with whose sister he had definitely had the same level of
sexual relationship which he claimed made it unlawful for Katherine to
have married him. Other complications existed where claims could be made
that a pre-contract between two individuals meant they were not technically
free to later marry someone else. This occurred following the death of
Edward IV in 1483, when Robert Stillington, the Bishop of Bath and Wells,
disclosed to the dead king’s brother, the Duke of Gloucester (later Richard
III) and the royal council the existence of a pre-contract between Edward
IV and a woman named Eleanor Butler. This pre-contract (if real) made
Edward’s later marriage to Elizabeth Woodville invalid and his children, by
her, illegitimate. As a result of this ‘evidence’ Parliament declared Richard
to be England’s legal king, since the two sons of Edward were in effect
bastards. But for ordinary people such manipulation of the law was out of
the question and marriage was for life. Impotence was also a ground for
separation but it had to be proven, and examples exist of authorities testing
the husband’s ability to get an erection by exposing him to other women.
Similarly, proving a woman to have been unchaste at marriage could also
cause a marriage to be annulled but was difficult to prove and open to
abuse.
Many Church writers described marriage as an acceptable state for those
not able to achieve the higher calling of chastity. For these writers marriage
was a concession to human weakness and clearly a second-class form of
life. However, not all writers expressed such a negative view. Thomas of
Cobham, in 1215, suggested a wife had the power to persuade her husband
to act morally, and Robert Mannyng reminded his readers that God had
ordained marriage in the Garden of Eden.
As the earlier evidence from the 1520s reminds us, sex outside marriage
– fornication –was considered very sinful. However, much evidence exists
regarding its frequency. Lords of the manor could even make a profit from
it, with fines imposed on village women for fornication and for bearing
illegitimate children. At Wakefield Manor in 1316, seven female villeins
were fined for ‘lechery’. In the manor court rolls for Walsham-le-Willows
(Suffolk) in 1340, Agnes Fitte was fined 2 shillings and 8 pence because
she ‘gave birth outside wedlock’. This was the fine known as childwyte. A
similar attempt to enforce sexual morality in a manor court can be found at
Downham (Cambridgeshire) in 1311, when ‘Twelve jurors present that
Alice, the daughter of Amicia committed adultery and is therefore in
mercy’.3 The phrase in mercy found in legal documents is a common
abbreviation of amercement and means that she was fined. That the jurors
accused Alice may be as much explained by the fact that they would be
fined it they did not do so as by their own sense of moral disapproval. In
1316 the community at Osset, near Wakefield, was fined 40 pence because
they concealed the existence of the sisters Eva, Alice and Annabel who had
apparently all been ‘deflowered’ and were accused of being lecherwytes,
that is, sexually promiscuous.4
The Catholic Church taught that within marriage the main purpose of sex
was to reproduce, although the liturgical calendar was full of feast days and
fast days (plus Sunday) on which marital intercourse was forbidden. In
addition, couples were also not supposed to have sex during the woman’s
menstrual period.
Marriage for aristocratic women was frequently a business deal. Love
between the partners was not seen as important. Instead, marriages were
made to create territorial alliances or to increase the wealth of the families
involved. The evidence of Magna Carta reminds us that the king had the
right to sell off widowed noble women to the highest bidder, and female
wards were particularly prone to being manipulated as financial assets.
Lower-class unfree women could similarly be forced to marry by their lord.
Agnes Seynpel in Cambridgeshire, in 1289, had to pay a fine of 12 shillings
to be allowed a few months to find a husband of her own choosing.
Women could inherit if there was no male heir, and as long as she
remained single a woman could hold property like a man. But this right was
lost on marriage. Remaining single was a virtual impossibility for a woman
who inherited substantial property. About 93 per cent of all daughters of the
most powerful landowning families between 1330 and 1479 were married
by the time they were 35 years old. And such women remained as wards of
their overlord, who had final say on whom they could marry. However,
Magna Carta insisted that no widow should be forced to remarry. The
Common Law decreed that any items which a woman owned on marriage
became the outright property of her husband. This was even more severe
than a husband’s guardianship of his wife’s landed property. As a result,
some fathers without sons disinherited their daughters in order to keep their
lands within their family.
Given both the importance of marriage (as a context for sexual activity
and the organization of inheritance) and the church’s exaltation of virginity,
it comes as no surprise to discover two very different views of sex in
medieval written sources. This duality has been explored by the historian
Ruth Mazo Karras.5 The first is a very negative view which is often found
in theological and medical books and which described sex as sinful and a
threat to the soul. The other view is earthier and found in evidence such as
chroniclers, manor records and the courtly love literature, and describes
sexually active priests, aristocratic mistresses and lower-class sex between
peasants. It still reflects medieval ideas about sex but suggests that many
people did not share the horror of it found in the writings of many celibate
clergy. So, the medieval attitude towards sex was complicated and the
practice was often very different from the theory. Karras has also shown
how many medieval people saw love and friendship differently from the
modern ideal, which sees sexual intimacy as principally concerned with
relationships. Medieval people, however, appear to have more commonly
considered sex as an act of lesser importance, something somebody did to
somebody else, and not part of a mutual relationship. This was strongly
linked to both the passive view of women’s role within sex and the
subservient view of women in general, which reduced the emphasis on
them as friends and partners with men. Karras even subtitled her book
‘Doing Unto Others’ to emphasize this point. It shows an interesting
contrast between the medieval and the modern outlook on sexual
relationships. But it has to be borne in mind that the twenty-first century sex
industry and pornography reveal that this attitude towards women as sexual
objects cannot be solely regarded as a medieval characteristic.
The complex medieval attitude towards sex is seen in the view of
virginity. As we have seen, for medieval Church writers and opinion
formers virginity was highly prized. Although for the first thousand years of
Church history it was possible to be a priest and be married, this became
increasingly frowned upon. For those who chose the ‘religious life’ in a
monastery, chastity was one of the essential characteristics of their calling
and discipline. From the 1070s onwards in England the campaign against
married parish priests intensified. All of this created a mindset in which
marriage and sexual activity was regarded as being for those who were not
able to meet the higher calling of celibacy.
Modern historians, such as Sarah Salih, who have studied the way in
which virginity was regarded in the Middle Ages, have revealed that for
medieval writers there was more to virginity than sexual inexperience, and
that virginity could almost be considered as a gendered identity; a role
which was performed rather than biologically determined. By exploring
versions of virginity as they appear in medieval saints’ lives, in the
regulated chastity of nuns, and as shown in the book of Margery Kempe,
she has demonstrated that it was an active role, much debated, considered
clearly vulnerable but also recoverable.6 This last point is particularly
interesting because it reminds us that in the mindset of the Middle Ages
repenting of sexual activity – particularly if accompanied by vows of
chastity from that point – was tantamount to becoming a virgin again. And
this explains the outlook of those married people who made the decision to
enter the ‘religious life’ after years of marriage and those who sought –
often successfully – to encourage prostitutes to repent and ‘retire’ into
specialist nunneries. The complex idea of virginity – both holy and yet
requiring great effort to maintain . . . elusive yet appealing . . . seductively
presented in some literature and yet removed from earthly desire –
embodies much of the complex attitude towards sex in the Middle Ages.7
The value placed on virginity is seen in the fact that in the design of
religious houses access to a female dormitory was as difficult as that to a
sacristy (where sacred vessels were stored) in a male religious house.8

Women’s role in society

Sexuality could define women in economic terms too. Ploughing, hedging
and ditching were seen as typically male occupations, whereas planting,
winnowing, weeding and looking after the chickens and cows was seen as
female. Where women did comparable jobs to men they seem to have been
paid the same rate, but women traditionally did less well-paid jobs.
However, women were clearly experienced workers and organizers, and in
many surviving wills husbands name their wives as their executors.
Single women had greater freedom if they were below the rank of major
landowner, and this was particularly so in the developing towns. In some
towns – such as Exeter, Lincoln, London, Torksey and Worcester – even
married women could trade freely as if they were single. This was
particularly so if a wife’s trade was different from the trade of her husband.
Such women could also take on apprentices and this is specified in
ordinances from London. Girl apprentices were not at all unusual in trades
such as the silk industry, but Agnes Hecche’s apprenticeship to her armour-
making father, in early-fifteenth-century York, is unusual to say the least.
Widows were particularly prominent in town trade and in some towns in the
later Middle Ages they constituted up to 20 per cent of those classed as
heads of households. Mostly they traded in food, drink and clothing. About
50 per cent of the women workers in late-fourteenth-century Exeter were
engaged in such trades. In many towns it was the textile trades in which
female labour was dominant, though they were usually as employees, not as
owners of the business. Others were employed in laundries. Nevertheless,
their economic activities in towns did not extend to government, from
which they were totally excluded. In London in 1422 it was decided that
women would not even be allowed to oversee the trading in oysters at
Queenhithe. In short, as in the countryside, women might find greater
economic opportunities after the Black Death but this was not allowed to
develop into political power. And, despite the evidence for some women
prospering within marriage and continuing to do so on being widowed, it
should also be remembered that many widows lived in terrible poverty.
Despite this, widowhood could sometimes give women an opportunity to
escape the marriage market, which especially dominated aristocratic life.
This was achieved by entering a religious house as a nun. This same
opportunity was sometimes taken up by older married women. Since nuns
were the best-educated women in the country this did allow some women
the right to exercise considerable power. A woman – often a widow, or an
unmarried woman – who was not attracted by the regulations of convent
life might become an anchoress, following a hermit lifestyle of prayer and
contemplation. However, for most medieval women the context for most of
their activities lay within the family.

Family life
Throughout the Middle Ages the prime time for child bearing was the early
to mid-twenties. A woman close to the time of giving birth was ideally
confined in a warm, dark room and attended by a midwife and female
helpers. Males were excluded. Newborn babies were baptized within two or
three days, for fear they die unbaptized and be thus excluded from
salvation. In an emergency a lay person could baptize a dying baby rather
than risk waiting for a priest. Children – certainly of elite parents for whom
we have more information – were often given three godparents, two of the
same gender and one of the opposite.
Contrary to many assumptions it seems that extended families of three
generations were relatively rare across much of the Middle Ages.
Fourteenth-century poll tax records indicate few families contained
members beyond parents and their children. The resulting picture is largely
of nuclear families. However, there are some complexities which the
available evidence does not allow us to disentangle. The poll tax groupings
of couples with the same surnames in the same small settlement probably
indicates separate households of married brothers, but it may represent a
system known as frérèche, in which two or more married couples lived
under the same roof. The married ‘units’ in such a situation were usually
organized around brothers. Suggestions have been made that this can be
demonstrated in a number of cases using court roll evidence from
Halesowen (Worcestershire) prior to the 1350s.9 Similar conclusions have
been drawn for Leicestershire in 1379 from poll tax returns, but not for
Essex, which appears more consistently ‘nuclear’.10 What these studies may
indicate is that there was no consistent family form across England, with
East Anglia characterized by nuclear families while other structures
(extended and frérèche) were found in the Midlands and West Midlands up
until the 1380s. This same pattern of nuclear families appears in towns in
the Middle Ages.
The development of such an apparently ‘modern’ family structure may
have been encouraged by living in regions which were less conservative
and were characterized by the active buying and selling of land, division of
peasant land units, greater geographical mobility and a more varied and
active economy – in which smaller family units could be economically
viable without having to inherit land. In areas associated with arable
agriculture, villeinage and the demands of lords, the need of assistance from
close family members (accompanied by the landlord’s desire to avoid
splitting peasant land units) may have encouraged extended family patterns.
If this is the case it may explain why the nuclear pattern seems to increase
from the later fourteenth century, as villeinage declined. By the sixteenth
century it was the dominant family structure across much of England (and
north-western Europe). This trend was accompanied by the placing of
adolescent children as servants in nearby households: a practice more
pronounced in towns than in the countryside, though it was also found
there. This was known as life-cycle service, since it was not a permanent
career choice but one lasting until the individuals married and set up their
own households. It gave access to training in craft skills and increased as
the wages of day labourers mounted in the late fourteenth century – live-in
servants offering a cheaper alternative to hired hands.
When it comes to relationships within such families, it is tempting to
assume that the high rate of infant mortality meant that people in the Middle
Ages had looser emotional attachments to their children than modern
parents. Indeed, in the 1960s the French historian Philippe Ariès argued that
‘childhood’ was invented after the Middle Ages and that medieval children
were considered as little adults.11 Ariès pointed out that most medieval
young people were apprenticed like adults, or worked in agriculture like
adults. In short, they entered into adult society at a very early age. As
evidence he cited art. In medieval art there are few recognizable children, or
babies. The physical build of those painted, their clothing, expressions, and
mannerisms all reflect adult norms. In the medieval world a young person
of seven years old was already considered an adult. In medieval church
writings this was the age of reason – the age when it was considered that a
child could begin to commit sin. As a result, Ariès argued, ‘there was no
place for childhood in the medieval world.’12
This view has not gone unchallenged. Following more recent
examinations of the evidence, historical sociologists have countered Ariès’
view by claiming that, in fact, it convincingly demonstrates the extent to
which the relationship between parents and children was a fundamental
element in medieval European society.13 The contemporary ‘accounts’ of
the so-called martyr William of Norwich seem to challenge the idea that
what little childhood there was ended early. Despite being 12 years old at
the time of his death, it is clear that (although he was already a tanner’s
apprentice and living away from home) he was clearly considered a child. It
was his apparent youth and innocence which made him such a useful figure
to anti-Semites seeking to blame Jews for ritually murdering him. In the
Life and Miracles of St William of Norwich, written by Thomas of
Monmouth between about 1150 and 1173, the handling of the death of
William only makes sense against a background of adult fears concerning
the vulnerability and innocence of children.14
With regard to relationships between parents and children, the medieval
ideal was for men to hold authority over their wives and children. In the
poem Piers Plowman, William Langland puts these instructions into the
mouth of ‘Reason’:
He warned Walter that his wife was much to be blamed for wearing a headdress worth five
guineas, while his ragged old hood would hardly fetch threepence. And he bade Mr Bett cut
himself some birch-rods, and beat his daughter Betty till she was willing to work.15

Women by the end of the Middle Ages

There is evidence that during the fifteenth century there occurred a
hardening of male attitudes towards women and what we would now call
gender roles, and that some economic and social freedoms, which had been
increasing before this, were reduced. For example, it seemed that men and
women were increasingly segregated in church.16 This shows itself in
churches where the provision of pews were primarily for the use of women;
men presumably standing as before. By 1500 there had also been an
increase in the number of separate maidens’ and young men’s guilds, which
may reflect the same trend in segregation of men and women.17 In the same
way, clues suggest that women no longer played female parts in the
Mystery Plays from the 1450s onwards. That men (in drag) came to play
these parts is clear from accounts such as those from Coventry in 1499
detailing payments ‘to pylatts wyffe [Pilate’s wife] for his wages’. The fact
that the plays with most female parts are associated with female crafts
suggests that, at an earlier time, these parts were once played by women. In
addition, many of the female characters which emerge by 1500 appear
based on negative stereotypes of women.18 This downplaying of female
roles, in addition to the propagation of anti-female humour, is striking.
This trend was accompanied by attempts to restrict women’s working
opportunities in order to protect the jobs of men in the economically
troubled years of the fifteenth century. In 1453 regulations in Coventry
barred women from working at the broad-looms of the city. A similar
ordinance was passed in Bristol in 1461. Other laws against women
weavers occur from Hull in 1490 and Norwich in 1511. Similar fear of the
‘ungoverned woman’ shows itself in stricter town ordinances concerning
prostitution in Nottingham in 1463, Leicester in 1467 and York in 1482.
The same trend made it increasingly difficult for women to keep alehouses
(a common occupation for centuries prior to the late fifteenth century).
Such women were now accused of being sexually lax, of receiving stolen
goods and of corrupting young men. This move to drive women out of the
marketplace is seen across northern Europe at this time and is by no means
confined to England. The new emphasis was on women as economically
dependent homemakers and men as financially independent breadwinners.
These economic changes were accompanied by increased regulation of
sexual behaviour, as attitudes towards sex changed during the later Middle
Ages. In short, there was far more regulation in the later Middle Ages than
in the earlier period.
This increased attempt to control women, both socially and
economically, coincided with an increased interest in the role of alleged
female sexuality in witchcraft. For most of the medieval period there was
virtually no punishment of men and women for witchcraft. The ‘Great
Witch Hunt’ is a feature of the end of the Middle Ages and the start of what
historians call the Early Modern period (in the sixteenth and seventeenth
centuries). At this time anxieties about economic problems and schisms in
the Church coincided with an increased fear of women’s sexuality. This
latter issue became one of the strangest factors in the development of the
concept of witchcraft, which occurred only at the very end of the Middle
Ages, and led to a widespread belief that witchcraft came from uncontrolled
sexual desire on the part of women. As such it was part of a trend which
blamed marginal members of the community, and those least able to defend
themselves, for problems in society. The story of the Great Witch Hunt lies
outside the scope of this book but its roots lay in the increasingly tough
later-medieval attitudes towards women, particularly unmarried ones or
widows. In this way, the focus on supposed female sexual promiscuity and
the fact that most of those accused of witchcraft were female, poor and old
came to be combined in a process of deadly scapegoating.
In many other ways, however, the late-fifteenth- and early-sixteenth-
century expectations of women remain consistent with those of earlier
centuries. The Sarum Missal taught that at marriage a wife should be
‘bonair [courteous] and buxom [obliging] in bed and at board.’ Other
conduct books taught the virtues of meekness, modesty, fertility and
subservience to her husband. That not all women accepted these
characteristics is clear from evidence across the Middle Ages, but there is
an increase in their prevalence from 1500. In 1531 the Venetian ambassador
noted that a crowd of up to 8,000 women had attempted to lynch Anne
Boleyn at a Thameside residence. His report suggested that the women
were not severely punished because they were female, and this clearly made
the attack feel less of a threat to those in authority (though probably not to
Anne). The action of these women is a curious mixture of ‘medieval
feminine characteristics’. On the one hand the women were conservative
and traditional. They were pro-Catholic and antagonistic to Anne’s
disruption of the relationship between Henry VIII and Katherine of Aragon.
Their light treatment by the authorities shows that they were still regarded,
condescendingly, as the weaker sex. On the other hand they were aggressive
and subversive and made the most of their social position to attempt actions
which would have seen a man hanged. In fact, the ambassador claims that
some of the ‘women’ were in fact men in female clothing!
The fact is that many women resisted the trend to control them more
closely. As literacy increased it was reflected in a growing number of
women who could read. Even the religiously conservative Thomas More
ensured his daughters received a full humanist education. Such attitudes
were most likely to be found amongst a small group of the elite families and
this had, to some extent, been true throughout the Middle Ages. Diane Watt
has recently argued that women in the period 1100 to 1500 contributed (as
patrons, readers, audiences and subjects) both to the production of texts and
their meanings, whether these were written by men or by women.19 But
women’s involvement in radical trends and challenges to social norms was
not restricted to female aristocrats and families of courtiers; it is also
evident in those women who appear amongst the early Protestant martyrs
under Henry VIII. When Anne Askew was burnt for heresy in 1546, she
was not unique in her female membership of the emerging Protestant
community. Clearly, she did not consider it her role to sit submissively
under an authority she believed wrong – in this case the Catholic
hierarchy.20 Her assertiveness reminds us that not all women accepted a role
of passivity.
 Chapter 7
LAW AND ORDER

Justice in late Anglo-Saxon England centred on the shire court, which met
twice yearly and was overseen by the ealdorman and bishop. Direct
responsibility for law and order fell to the sheriff, who supervised the work
of local – hundred – courts. These met every four weeks. In addition to
these, manor courts had delegated powers to deal with lesser offences. All
those over the age of 12 were required to attend these courts. It was on this
foundation that later medieval legal developments were built.
As the medieval period progressed the dispensing of justice became
increasingly more formalized, with clearly defined responsibilities for
dealing with different levels of crime. The royal courts and royal judges
appointed by the Crown had jurisdiction over all felonies. This arrangement
was known as the Common Law because it applied across the whole
country. Even the so-called palatinates of Chester and Durham (where
bishops ruled with powers normally associated with princes) and, after
1351, Lancaster were still subject to the Common Law. An early
explanation of what was understood to be covered by these laws was
written in the 1230s by Henry of Bratton (known as Bracton) in a work
entitled On the Laws and Customs of England. The laws passed by
Parliament and known as Statute Law continually added to this body of
laws and differentiated between levels of crime. The term felony was used
in Common Law to describe very serious crimes, whereas misdemeanours,
or in the Middle Ages trespasses, were considered to be less serious actions.
In the Middle Ages crimes considered as felonies included murder, rape,
robbery (taking the property of another by means of force or fear), theft of
goods worth more than 5 pence and arson. These crimes were punished by
hanging. A number of trespasses were also dealt with by royal judges and
these covered crimes such as assault and the fourteenth-century laws
relating to contracts, wages and prices. In the absence of a police force, law
enforcement from the twelfth century relied on juries of presentment, which
set up groups of jurors sworn to accuse anyone suspected of committing a
crime in their local area. This replaced a system which relied on private
prosecutions and by 1400 it was the source of almost all prosecutions.
A key feature of the administration of local justice was a system known
as Frankpledge. With its roots in Late Anglo-Saxon times it made all
freemen (except for clergy and knights) join a tithing of ten men, who were
responsible for the behaviour of each other. In the event of one of them
being accused of a crime, the other members of the tithing had the task of
bringing the accused to face justice, or compensating the injured party. In
practice the checking that everyone was a member of a tithing – called the
View of Frankpledge – was the task of the manorial Court Leet. Any man
not in a tithing was fined and the money went to the lord of the manor. In
this way the system acted as a bridging structure between the control of
petty local offences and more serious crimes. By making it a responsibility
of the manorial court the task was offloaded from central government onto
local lords, but the local lords could themselves profit from the
administration of the system. At Weston (Hertfordshire) in 1340 the
manorial court record listed the responsibilities involved in the Frankpledge
system: to account for all members; to ensure all aged 12 years and over
were members of a tithing; whether a hue and cry (hunt for a criminal) had
occurred since the last meeting of the court; whether blood had been shed
and, if so, by whom; whether any trespassing offences had been committed
(e.g. a dung heap placed on the street, ploughing on a neighbours land, etc);
naming those accused of theft; naming of receivers of stolen goods and
counterfeiters of coins; names of any woman who has been raped; whether
treasure has been unearthed; whether any use of false weights and measures
had occurred. And the list goes on.1
 Below the tier of the royal courts (administering the common law) and
the intermediate layer of the system of Frankpledge were the manorial
courts, which enforced the customary rules and obligations of local manors,
punishing offenders with fines. In these courts actions were brought not
only by the lord of the manor, since tenants could also bring complaints
against other tenants, as when in 1331 Thomas de Totehille successfully
brought a complaint against a neighbour for letting his dogs kill six of
Thomas’s pigs. Or when John Packard was fined because he had not paid a
fine of 13 shillings and 4 pence, owed on account of his wife Alice striking
Margery, wife of William Wodebite, which ‘drew blood’. Or when, at
Downham (Cambridgeshire) in 1311, William Bunting was forced to
compensate Peter Gill 2 shillings for ‘beating and ill treating him’.2
The final form of law in England was Canon Law. This was the law of
the Church: it applied across the whole of Western Europe and was
administered in Church courts. It mostly dealt with behaviour amongst the
clergy but also affected the laity since these courts had authority over the
payment of tithes, sexual misconduct, validity of marriages, wills, heresy
and witchcraft. There could be real tensions between this system and that of
the royal courts, since clergy who had committed serious offences were
tried in Church courts rather than in royal courts and were thus subject to
much less rigorous punishment. Claiming ‘benefit of clergy’ meant a person
claimed to be eligible for trial under a Church court, and this system was
subject to much abuse. The proof of whether a person really was a member
of the clergy was the ability to recite a Biblical passage in Latin. So, in
addition to the whole issue of whether the clergy should escape the more
rigorous justice of the royal courts for the same crimes as a lay person was
the fact that anyone who could read (or memorize) a Biblical passage could
claim they were a member of the clergy, whether they were or not. (For
more information on ‘benefit of clergy’ and the definition of who was a
cleric, see Chapter 4.) It was this issue of clergy exemption from royal
justice for serious crimes which lay at the heart of the dispute between
Henry II and Thomas Becket, Archbishop of Canterbury, in the twelfth
century. After 1489 ‘benefit of clergy’ could be claimed by a lay person
only on one occasion, but the fact that this could apply to crimes as serious
as murder meant that it remained very controversial. Punishments in Church
courts included public whippings (in the earlier centuries of the Middle
Ages) and, more usually, public penance such as standing in the
marketplace in undergarments holding a lighted candle. In Church courts
men and women had equal status, although, as with courts operating under
the Common Law, the unfree could not bring cases to these courts.
Access to these courts was denied to villeins, and women’s actions in
law were limited to the prosecution of the murder of her husband (but only
if he died in her arms), action which led to the loss of an unborn child and
rape. Magna Carta (1215), in Article 54, asserts: ‘No one shall be arrested
or imprisoned on the appeal of a woman for the death of any person except
her husband’. Also, the evidence suggests that it was very unlikely that
charges of rape would result in successful prosecution of the perpetrator.
This was particularly so if pregnancy ensued since it was assumed that
conception could only occur if sexual pleasure was mutual. The subservient
status of women could, conversely, operate in a woman’s favour if she was
charged as complicit in crimes committed by her husband, since it was
judged that if she acted on her husband’s instructions it was he who carried
the blame, since she was bound to obey him.
The two highest courts in England by 1250 were the court of common
pleas (normally sitting in Westminster although in the fourteenth century
occasionally in York) and the court of king’s bench (meant to travel with the
king, though by the second half of the fourteenth century also usually sitting
in Westminster). The court of common pleas dealt with disputes over
property and that of king’s bench dealt with felonies and with appeals from
lesser courts. To open a case in common pleas a person first had to pay for a
writ to be issued (which identified the complaint, named the defendant and
compelled them to answer the complaint before the court) and then pay for
an attorney to plead the case before the royal judges. This could be an
expensive business.
In addition to this system, royal judges were also sent out into the
regions on tours known as eyres. These tours were meant to happen every
seven years. After 1294 this was abandoned and replaced by local assize
judges and commissions of oyer and terminer. The assize judges moved
through circuits of adjacent counties and dealt with offences which had
occurred there since their last sitting. This was meant to happen at least
three times a year. Commissions of oyer and terminer, on the other hand,
were sent out to deal swiftly with local disorders and local abuses of power.
A similar system was the commission of Trailbaston, sent out to deal with
the organized criminal activities of armed gangs. While these illustrate the
problems of local lawlessness they themselves were often accused of
corruption and of being arbitrary in their actions. They failed to stop the
Folvilles and the Coterels (organized crime gangs, see pp. 156–7), for
example. During the late thirteenth century keepers of the peace were also
appointed with some policing duties and, by 1400, these had evolved into
local Justices of the Peace (a title first used in 1361), who sat in judgement
at least four times a year (in Quarter Sessions) and dealt with less serious
offences. They came to be a vital local arm of government: fixing wages
and prices, building and controlling the use of roads and bridges, and
supervising those local services thought by the Crown and Parliament to be
necessary for the welfare of the country. The Quarter Sessions were not
replaced by Crown Courts until 1972 and reveal the long-lived nature of
many medieval institutions. By a law of 1389 the early Justices of the Peace
received a subsistence allowance of 4 shillings a day. This appears to have
soon lapsed, since most JPs were drawn from the local elites and, as
wealthy landowners, could manage without this assistance.

Punishment and criminal burials

Despite the changing nature of the medieval justice system, one surprising
aspect is how little it relied on prisons. Prison as a major form of
punishment is largely a modern invention, dating from the later eighteenth
and early nineteenth century. It was not until 1576 that JPs were required to
build houses of correction in which rogues and vagabonds could be
detained. These were apprehended by village constables, who were unpaid
members of their local parish and were conscripted for service annually.
Prior to this, punishment relied far more heavily on execution, other forms
of physical violence, outlawry and fining. Medieval prisons were primarily
holding places for those awaiting trial, rather than the place of punishment
itself. In London in 1475 arrangements for bringing prisoners to trial
changed. Instead of so-called gaol delivery taking place once a year (as was
usually the case under the old system), it was now to be held at least five
times a year. This must have been a relief to the prisoners awaiting trial.
However, medieval prisons certainly existed. One of the more famous
was Clink Prison, set up in the twelfth century under the authority of the
bishop of Winchester in Southwark, on the south side of London Bridge. In
the area today known as Bankside the bishop built separate prisons for men
and women. The fact that a prison was sited here was a product both of the
bishop’s authority and the criminality of the area. This is because
Southwark was complex, both socially and legally. The borough contained
inns and public gardens and was fashionable as the residence of great men.
By the end of the thirteenth century a number of town houses of powerful
Churchmen and nobles were sited south of the Thames here – from this
position the river provided them with easy access to Westminster. Sir John
Fastolf, who gained fame in the French wars, was among the well-known
inhabitants of Southwark. He owned a considerable establishment there
during the fourteenth century. Even more impressive was the bishop of
Winchester’s house, just west of the bridgehead. Traditionally, this was an
area where lay and ecclesiastical franchises had grown up and claimed
independence from royal justice. As such, they offered privileged positions
to these landowners but also afforded shelter to fugitive criminals and
debtors. This led to increased criminality in the area. In a number of cases,
land leased from the Church in Southwark became used for stews
(brothels), since they were out of the stricter control of royal authority or
that of the City of London to the north of the Thames. This applied to land
owned by the bishop of Winchester and the prioress and nuns of St
Leonard’s Priory, Stratford at Bow. Hence the bitter jibe of Duke Humphrey
to his uncle Cardinal Beaufort – bishop of Winchester 1404–47 – in
Shakespeare’s Henry VI, part I: ‘Thou that givest whores indulgences to
sin’ (1.3.35).
One of the reasons why prison appeared low on the sentencing options
was the prevalence of capital punishment. And this reveals itself in the oft-
neglected area of medieval execution cemeteries. Even as men and women
in mid- to late Anglo-Saxon England were subscribing to burial in
cemeteries around churches, another form of burial rite is noticeable in the
archaeological record. These deviant burials occur away from community
cemeteries. This became particularly significant since, from about 850, the
community cemeteries were in ground that was regarded as being hallowed
by its proximity to a Christian place of worship. In this way both the living
and the dead formed one Christian community – those on earth and those in
heaven (with their mortal remains buried near a church and awaiting the
Last Judgement). In view of this the rejection of certain burials (and their
placing elsewhere) is all the more striking and must have been regarded as
so by the contemporaries of those categorized as deviant.
Both small and large execution cemeteries are known from the middle to
later Anglo-Saxon period and into the twelfth century. A number of very
characteristic deviant burials, in which bodies show signs of violence or
strange orientations very different from the norm, occur around Mound 5 at
Sutton Hoo (Suffolk) and were probably placed there when this (once-elite)
burial ground had become taboo due to its use in pagan times. Another very
striking example was discovered beheaded and buried at the world-famous
site of Stonehenge in Wiltshire. This was radiocarbon dated in 2001 to
between 600 and 690, although this date has since been revised and this
particular execution burial may have occurred as late as 890.3 Similarly,
archaeologists excavating a large Bronze Age round barrow at South Acre
(Norfolk) found it was reused in the Anglo-Saxon period, with over 100
secondary burials. Many of these were in shallow graves. Some graves
contained multiple burials and none showed signs of being ceremonially
placed in their graves. There were no children and most were young adults.
Eight appeared to have been decapitated, seven were buried facing into the
earth, while others appeared to have been bound. This was almost certainly
a cwealmstow – an execution place.4 Many of these places were sited at
boundaries of hundreds and shires and became locations of both execution
and burial of excommunicated criminals. It is likely that many of the
references to ‘heathen burials’ found on charter boundaries refer to these
execution cemeteries, rather than to burial grounds dating from before the
conversion to Christianity.5 Evidence from both archaeology and charters
suggests that by the tenth century this separation of criminals and social
outcasts from cemeteries used by the rest of the community had become
widespread in England. There are some clues which suggest that drowning
was sometimes used both as a method of execution and of disposal of the
body, and may be linked to the belief that water acted as a barrier to ghosts.
During the eleventh century the practice of burying criminals at
boundaries began to be replaced by the claiming of bodies of criminals for
burial by certain monastic orders. The order most commonly associated
with this was that of the Knights Hospitaller. Sometimes these burials took
place in parish churchyards, or in churchyards of the order, such as the
Pardon Churchyard in Clerkenwell, London. There are examples of
Hospitallers claiming the bodies of executed criminals in places as varied as
Ilchester (Somerset), Aylesbury (Buckinghamshire) and York.6
Throughout the Middle Ages the death penalty was used for a wide
range of offences including property crimes where items stolen were worth
more than 12 pence. This applied to all over the age of ten, which is when
children were regarded as having reached the age of criminal responsibility.
The most usual method of execution was hanging, although a woman found
guilty of murdering her husband could be burnt at the stake. This was
because this was regarded as petty treason.

Crime levels and ‘moral panics’

The study of medieval law and order raises an important question: how
criminal were the Middle Ages? The answer is that levels of criminality
varied across the period but were surprisingly high. Murder rates for East
Anglia in the fourteenth century were comparable with those of modern-day
New York. In England generally the homicide rate was far higher than that
of urban USA today.7 Evidence from traditional rural peasant communities
– such as Russia before Collectivization in the late 1920s – reveals that a
great deal of violence occurred both in domestic disputes (particularly
involving male violence against women and children) and in disputes
between neighbours. No doubt those involved would have recognized the
scenario, from 1312, in which Robert of Starston (Norfolk) threatened
Thomas his brother with a knife; the dispute was over land. In retaliation,
Thomas killed Robert with a cart shaft. As Bruce Campbell has noted, such
acts of violence between tenants were related to the scarcity of land in
Norfolk at the time and ‘are generally passed over with less comment [in
medieval records] than those between tenants and landlords’, for the simple
reason that they did not threaten the social order. A peasant killing another
was a crime but not a challenge to the position of the local elites.8 Overall,
then, it is justifiable to say: ‘There was clearly a casual and easy resort to
violence, not just the minor fist fights and assaults with sticks, pitch-forks
and knives recorded in manorial court rolls but also murder . . .’9
However, certain specific events seemed to have triggered an upsurge in
the rate of crime, such as the return of Edward III’s army from the siege of
Calais in 1347 and the return of soldiers from more general campaigning in
France in 1361. Such was the scale of the problem that local Justices of the
Peace were empowered to force these returning soldiers to take up jobs in
an effort to prevent them from turning to crime. No doubt crime rates rose
at other times too, due to similar war-related circumstances, but we lack the
detailed records necessary to chart the effects. As an aside, the conduct of
these returning soldiers in England makes one realize the appalling impact
of English ‘military adventures’ on French communities during the
Hundred Years’ War. This can often be overlooked in favour of the heroic
clash of arms involved in a Crécy, or an Agincourt. In between times many
of the common soldiers would have been looting and raping and murdering
defenceless French civilians. War provoked increased crime in other ways
too. Increased taxation and forced sales of provisions for the army struck at
commercial activities and could cause middle-men and -women to pass on
the demand for cash as they, in turn, put pressure on their debtors further
down the social scale. This tendency is very noticeable following the
Scottish victory over the English in 1314 and the resumption of war with
France after 1337. The result of this pressure shows itself in poor peasants
selling tiny pieces of land in a desperate effort to pay their debts. In 1315–
21 many people begged and stole to survive and ‘crimes against property
mushroomed’.10 For much longer periods the unsettled conditions on the
northern border with Scotland allowed criminal activities – often under
cover of acts of war – to go unpunished.11
Crime rates might rise in the specific circumstances outlined above but,
as in modern societies, would more usually have been related to downturns
in the economy and other social and economic causes. The structure of the
medieval economy aggravated this tendency as some historians have
observed: ‘A market economy and a subsistence level of production – this
could be a most unfortunate combination, and those who lived with it lived
dangerously’.12 For many such people drifting into petty crime to avoid
destitution would have been a temptation at times of economic recession.
Evidence from court sources suggests that the period around 1300 saw an
upsurge in petty crime which accompanied just such a period of economic
distress. For example, a close relationship has been shown between women
stealing food and clothing and years of poor harvests.13 And if the items
stolen were worth more than 12 pence these criminals were hanged. The
unsettled years of the later fourteenth century were similarly accompanied
by increased crime, as well as by societal anxieties which are not unique to
the Middle Ages. In 1376 the House of Commons petitioned for stricter
penalties against vagrants. This was one of a number of such petitions
associated with falling grain prices and landlords laying off large numbers
of agricultural labourers. The interesting point is that it was the increase in
the numbers of mobile workers which alarmed the propertied classes, and
indeed it may well have been the case that among such groups of wandering
and begging workers there was an increased inclination towards crime.
There are echoes here of the later Elizabethan laws against vagrancy during
another economic downturn in the later sixteenth century.
The problem did not go away and further laws against vagrants were
passed in 1414 and 1446. The later Vagrancy Act of 1495 stated that
beggars should be arrested, put in the stocks for three days and afterwards
returned to their original place of residence. The idea was taken up by local
authorities in a number of cases. In 1500 city authorities in Gloucester
ordered the registration of all beggars and, in 1504, expelled most from the
city. In 1515 the authorities in York issued official badges to beggars who –
due to illness or injury – were considered legitimate, in order to
differentiate them from those considered work-shy and a social nuisance.
These latter, termed throughout the sixteenth century as sturdy beggars,
were the subject of a long-lived social panic but may indeed have been
associated with rising crime statistics. In 1531 a national law took up
practices already experimented with in places such as York; by this act all
beggars were to be classed as either worthy of licence or liable to
punishment. Justices of the Peace were ordered to put the new law into
effect. More and more towns adopted the badge scheme. In 1533 an
ordinance in London banned begging, put beggars to work (paid for by
charitable gifts to a central fund) and sent their children into household
service. As with so much of such legislation, in which experiments in social
policy in different towns were later taken up by national government, this
radical scheme became effective nationwide by a law of 1536. This decision
was accelerated by the problems caused by closing down monastic
almshouses and hospitals which had previously assisted many poor people.
The new law may have been thought necessary because of the closing of
Catholic institutions, but its implementation was slowed down by Catholic
practices. Alms giving was too strong a tradition within medieval
Christianity to ban it. In 1552 the government again attempted legislation to
enforce the law of 1536, but this time without attempting to ban voluntary
alms giving.
The extent of the ‘moral panic’ over beggars is seen in the attempt, in
1547, by the Vagrancy Act to temporarily enslave beggars as a way of
forcing them to work. This law was impossible to enforce, however, and
was repealed, but it reveals the depth of the concern gripping the minds of
lawmakers in the mid-sixteenth century. That there was a major social
problem lying behind this anxiety cannot be denied. In 1549 and 1550 both
Norwich and York introduced compulsory taxes to support the deserving
poor. And earlier, in 1546, a textile factory employing about 2,000
unemployed people was established in Oxford. While this illustrates a
concern with separating out the ‘deserving’ from the ‘undeserving’ (without
tackling the underlying causes of the increase in unemployment), at least
these responses attempted to provide some relief to the unemployed as
opposed to criminalizing them.
Given the heightened activities against groups of lower-class beggars, it
is a revealing contrast to examine the impotence of the law when facing
organized crime. Some of the most striking examples of crime of the
fourteenth century were caused by organized gangs of criminals, often
linked to members of the lower aristocracy. Such gangs of well-connected
thugs could terrorize a region. This was certainly the case in the early
fourteenth century with the Folville and the Coterel gangs.14
Medieval criminality flourished especially in times of political
turbulence. During the reign of Edward II and the early years of the reign of
Edward III a number of well-connected gangs terrorized large areas of
England with virtual impunity. The status of their leaders as members of the
local aristocracy gave them power and connections which allowed them to
escape royal justice and to further their careers of criminal brutality. In their
levels of criminality and in their apparent immunity to government action
they resembled the organized crime gangs that have at times plagued
modern states. None were more notorious that the Folvilles and the
Coterels. The Folvilles were a group of younger brothers from a
Leicestershire gentry family. For about a decade they terrorized their local
community from their base at Ashby Folville, which they called ‘The Castle
of the Four Winds’. They committed murder, rape, assault, robbery and
kidnapping. In 1326 the Folville brothers murdered a senior member of the
government tax-gathering service. In 1332 they kidnapped and ransomed a
royal judge, Sir Richard Willoughby. Through their intimidation of local
juries and assisted by the corruption of judges and sheriffs they escaped
punishment. In alliance with another criminal gang – the Coterel brothers –
their reign of crime extended into Nottinghamshire and Derbyshire. In the
absence of an effective policing system such violent and determined
medieval criminals were more common than might otherwise be imagined.
The tendency of such gangs to target certain vulnerable groups, such as
travellers on the open road, led to the Statute of Winchester in 1285
ordering that a verge should be cleared of brushwood for 200 feet on either
side of the highway, in order to avoid providing cover for thieves preying
on travellers. The road between London and Winchester was so regularly
menaced by gangs of robbers at the time of Winchester’s St Giles’ Fair each
September that the city authorities at Winchester organized patrols along
the road to deter these criminals.
These organized criminal gangs often escaped the application of the full
rigour of the law because of their powerful connections and a significant
level of corruption amongst the law enforcement agencies in the regions.
This stands in marked contrast with the amount of energy such agencies put
into punishing beggars. More common than such well-connected criminal
gangs were cases where peasant families cooperated in less serious crimes
such as sheep stealing.15 The crimes of theft, burglary and receiving stolen
goods appear frequently in manorial records as indicators of these local
webs of criminality. In this way, at Wakefield (Yorkshire) in 1316, Adam
Vapurnient of Wiveley and Agnes Spire were accused of ‘burgling the
house of Robert Alayn of Bretton and stealing woollen and linen clothes,
meat and other goods to the value of 5 marks. Margaret of the Wodhall of
Wiveley to be attached [arrested] for receiving them and the stolen goods.’
There was clearly a rash of such crimes in Wakefield since the record
relating to the opening of the manor court had earlier referred to ‘frequent
burglaries and the great number of thieves’ in the area. The same court then
went on to list some 8 acts of violence and 16 thefts under investigation.
Within the latter were the cases of Eva and William, who had received
stolen goods; John Maufesour for burglary; Thomas the forester for stealing
a dish and a carpet from the same house; Mauger the Turner for assisting
thieves; Henry Shepherd and his brother John who were hanged for stealing
horses and cattle; Marjory for burglary and stealing money, a tunic, a
surcoat and a silver buckle; Richard of the Ker who caught a nameless thief
burgling his own house but, as well as retrieving a stolen shirt, also
recovered (but kept for himself) a shirt the thief had taken from the house of
Robert the Leper; and at the same time Maud the daughter of Richard of the
Ker had stolen food from this same Robert the Leper’s house. Finally, there
was Elias the Saucer who stole 40 herrings which were worth 4 pence. In
addition, the above-mentioned Richard of the Ker was apparently keeping
‘Margaret daughter of Thomas in incest’, though what this meant is
unclear.16 All of this speaks of a high level of criminality in one community.
The continued economic problems of the mid-fifteenth century saw
increased anxiety on the part of lawmakers and law enforcers concerning
the criminality of the lower classes. Some of this has already been touched
on with regard to begging, but the concern ran deeper and wider than
anxieties over vagrancy. Local courts were increasingly concerned with
matters relating to unrest at alehouses, problems of gambling, and
accusations of prostitution and other forms of sexual immorality. Disorder
seemed to be on the increase, and the court records from 1450 onwards
reflect this ‘reality’, or this ‘anxiety’; it is difficult to tell which word best
describes what was occurring. What was definitely going on was a growing
willingness of courts to take on matters of morality which before 1400
would have been considered the responsibility of Church courts.
Prosecution of adultery and fornication and punishing of prostitutes
increasingly became matters of concern to local courts. Priests occur in
increasing numbers among those accused of sexual offences, including
charges of rape. When this is viewed alongside a number of examples of
parishioners castrating their local priest it seems clear that the moral mood
was changing within a significant section of the population. In this there
was a flowing together of two currents: anxieties over increasing disorder
on one hand, and on the other a trend towards personal spirituality that was
more focused on expectations of holy living.
How far these currents flowed across society is difficult to judge, but
they were clearly highly influential as the fifteenth century gave way to the
sixteenth, and would influence how many areas of society would develop in
the later Middle Ages and beyond. In 1492 this new mood was summed up
in new civic laws passed in Coventry. The intention was to radically reform
the moral structure and character of the town and threatened the disciplining
of urban officials found guilty of adultery and the punishment of barmaids
if they were considered to be acting as prostitutes. The reference to women
was telling. The new mood contained a high level of anxiety over illicit
sexual activity, which was increasingly being regarded as a crime, with lone
women accused of encouraging prostitution and petty criminality. The
Coventry ordinances attempted to put an end to economically (and hence
socially) independent single women by insisting that any single women
younger than 50 should go into service with a household until they were
married.

The abuses and limitations of the law

As with all systems, the system of law in the Middle Ages was open to
abuse. Royal justices were at times accused of corruption. Indeed, Sir
Thomas Willoughby, who was kidnapped by the Folville gang, was himself
accused of selling laws ‘as if they had been oxen or cattle’. As we saw
earlier, under Canon Law those lay people who were able to quote a
memorized Latin verse of the Bible could escape the punishments of the
royal courts by claiming the right to be tried by Church courts instead. In
addition, the cost of litigation meant that wealthy landowners could
financially cripple rivals by bringing land disputes to court even if the case
was dubious. Numerous examples exist of such cases and also of aggressive
litigants accompanying these actions with violence and intimidation as part
of a campaign against a rival. By the fifteenth century such disputes had
become so widespread that many landowners thought it prudent to send a
son to the Inns of Court, in London, where lawyers were trained. Having a
lawyer in the family was a useful weapon in a local landowner’s arsenal of
defence (and attack). The increasing scale of legal property disputes can be
seen in the fact that while some 900 writs were issued in the early
fourteenth century, about 2,500 were issued in the early sixteenth century.
The Paston family of East Anglia (famous for their surviving letters)
were locked in just such a bitter dispute with a rival – Lord Moleyns – over
the ownership of the manor of Gresham (Norfolk). Each side used violence
at different times to take control of the manor. John’s wife, Margaret, wrote
to him in 1449:
 Get some crossbows and wyndlacs [hooks to wind back the bow] to wind them with and
quarrels [crossbow bolts]. For this house has so few of them that none of our men can shoot out,
although we have never had so much need.
Partryche [one of Lord Moleyn’s men] and his friends are frightened that you will get in [to
the house they had taken from the Pastons]. They have made bars to bar the doors, and they
have made wykets [holes to fire through] on every corner of the house to shoot out through,
both with bows and hand-guns.
I ask that you will make sure that you buy me 1 lb of almonds and sugar and that you will
buy some frese [cloth] to make a gown for your child.

Crossbows, arrows, some almonds and sugar, plus some cloth for a spot of
home-tailoring . . . Just an everyday shopping list for Margaret Paston!
While this may have been a rather extreme example, it illustrates how
violent such disputes over land could become. And it could occur on a
much smaller scale too. In 1451 the Pastons were in dispute with
neighbours again. This time it was over a wall which neighbours claimed
encroached on their land. John Paston’s mother, Agnes, wrote to him:
‘Someone came from church and pushed down all that was built there and
trod on the wall and broke some – but I cannot discover who it was.’ Later,
in November 1451, she wrote to him again of a report that she had received:
‘Men from Paston [village] would not go on procession further than the
churchyard on St Mark’s day. For the route of the procession was blocked,
and that men hoped that in a short time the wall would be broken down
again.’17
Despite the problems of the Pastons, the legal system in the Middle Ages
was fairly effective at protecting property rights and titles but much less
effective in tackling crimes of violence against the person. It was almost
totally ineffective, for example, in punishing rape. Such ineffectiveness was
aggravated when the accused were well connected and able to intimidate
jurors and/or bribe judges. As with much crime prior to the twentieth
century with its modern forensic aids, detection was almost impossible and
most successful prosecutions relied on a criminal being caught in the act, or
being accused by someone who had (or claimed to have) knowledge of the
crime. Court records reveal the kinds of cases in which justice was most
easily applied: ‘Wakelin the son of Ranulf killed Matilda Day with a knife.
The village, and twelve jurors, testify that he was caught in the act with a
bloodstained knife, and so it cannot be denied. He is to be hanged.’18
However, at times careful investigation might lead to successful prosecution
if witnesses could be tracked down and persuaded to speak. In this way, in
1248, the gang of people responsible for robbing two foreign merchants at
Alton (Hampshire) were eventually tracked down and several hanged. A
similar process tracked down those responsible for attacking and robbing
Geoffrey Chaucer at New Cross, in 1390. But, of course, both these crimes
affected members of the elite, who were well placed to put pressure on the
authorities to pursue those responsible. In the event of such a crime being
discovered it was the duty of any citizen who became aware of it to raise
the hue and cry, and it was then the duty of all who heard to join in and
attempt to catch the offender. For raising the hue and cry unjustly against
another, a person could be fined, as was Agnes Brigge, who was fined 3
pence at Brandon (Suffolk) in 1385 for wrongly raising the hue and cry
against John Folsham.19
When a crime was brought to court the medieval system faced the
difficult question of how to prove guilt, or establish innocence. Early
answers to this quandary relied on processes which were designed to test
innocence by reference to God, or the neighbours of an accused. With
regard to God, the use of ordeal involved a defendant undergoing a severe
physical test. For example, the defendant was required to pick up a hot
object and the state of the wound was then checked after three days; healing
being taken to indicate innocence. An alternative was trial by combat, in
which defendant and accuser faced each other in battle and victory was
thought to go to the one of which God approved. Trial by ordeal was
abolished in 1215 and trial by battle declined quickly, but was not formally
abolished until 1819! On the other hand reliance on neighbours involved an
accused person finding enough people of sufficient standing who would be
willing to swear on oath concerning the good behaviour and character of the
accused. The flaws of this procedure are immediately apparent. Firstly, a
person’s previous actions are not necessarily a guarantee of their innocence
in a current accusation. Secondly, it raised the obvious problem of a
defendant’s innocence being established solely on the basis of their skills at
social networking.
The system of oath swearers developed into the more effective system of
trial by jury during the thirteenth century. In this system elements of the
previous system were combined with an attempt to create a more neutral
and effective approach, as local juries were supposedly selected from
reliable people who then swore to reach a verdict based on local knowledge
of events and reputations. Such a system could be very effective. Henry of
Bretteby killed his son when the two were out ploughing. But the jury of
local men knew the two well and were sure it was an accident because, as
the verdict records: ‘They know for a truth that Henry would rather have
killed himself than his only son’.20 This use of juries increasingly developed
into a system which examined the limited evidence in order to reach a
verdict. It was this system of evidence and of trial by jury which Magna
Carta refers to:
Article 38: In future no official shall place a man on trial upon his own unsupported statement,
without producing credible witnesses to the truth of it.
Article 39: No free man shall be seized or imprisoned, or stripped of his rights or possessions,
or outlawed or exiled, or deprived of his standing in any other way, nor will we proceed with
force against him, or send others to do so, except by the lawful judgement of his equals or by
the law of the land.21

However, in deciding guilt, or innocence, the very severity of the law was
itself a problem. It was common for juries to declare an item was worth less
than a shilling (12 pence) in order to avoid a crime incurring the death
penalty. More complex was the matter of pardons. By the mid-fourteenth
century it was common for violent criminals to be given a royal pardon in
return for military service in the French wars. Charters of pardon could also
be bought as a way of raising money for the Crown. This was corruption of
justice originating at the highest level. And it helps explain the behaviour,
referred to earlier, of some members of the English army in France and on
their return to England.

Attitudes towards law: the legend of Robin Hood

The legend of Robin Hood has so coloured our image both of ‘him’ and of
medieval outlaws that it is difficult now to think of criminality in the
Middle Ages without this romantic – and mythologized – image springing
to mind. When, in 2007, a British Chancellor of the Exchequer presented
his budget to Parliament, the Independent newspaper could rest assured that
its readers would fully understand the allusion in its comment: ‘Old-style
socialists liken themselves to Robin Hood by seeking to tax the rich to help
the poor. But when it comes to British business, the Chancellor has become
a latter-day Sheriff of Nottingham.’22 Regardless of whether its readers
agreed, or disagreed, with the political judgement, all will have understood
the basis of the characterization Robin Hood = good, Sherriff of
Nottingham = bad. Indeed, so positive is the modern image of Robin Hood
that when a modern Wiltshire-based Christian charity sought to engage
individuals and companies in Britain with its work among some of the
poorest communities of Eastern Europe, its mission statement declared it
was ‘. . . committed to relieving poverty through direct action’. And its
name? ‘Robin Hood Ministries’.23 Once again, we understand the reference
and the values of sharing out wealth to those in need which are inherent in
the name. What is more intriguing is that a fifteenth-century audience
would have understood the reference just as well. We know this because the
first poem celebrating the deeds of Robin Hood appeared in 1450 (Robin
Hood and the Monk) and a large number of records from the same date
reveal that dressing up as Robin Hood was one of the most popular options
among rural communities collecting money for their local church at
celebrations called May Games. But who and what was Robin Hood? And
what does the growth of his legend tell us about popular attitudes towards
law and order and definitions of crime in the Middle Ages?
Firstly, what are the historic origins of the Robin Hood legend? Perhaps
the most detailed analysis of the large amount of evidence relating to this
elusive outlaw has been carried out by Professor James Holt.24 In short,
what emerges from the analysis of a vast amount of complex evidence is
that probably the first (securely datable) reference to such a criminal – in
this case named Robert Hod – is from the York Assizes of 25 June 1225. In
this year the king’s judges ordered the seizing of the goods of ‘Robert Hod,
fugitive’. A year after this original record there occurs another reference to
this action but this time the outlaw is given the more colloquial name of
‘Hobbehod’. Whether this man was the original Robin Hood is impossible
to say. The record gives no more information about his crimes, nor his
modus operandi, nor the location of his activities. But what is clear is that
within about 50 years the same name was appearing as the adopted name of
a significant number of criminals. And in these cases they are adopting the
whole name as a surname, which suggests they considered it an appropriate
‘tag’ for themselves and their activities. They include:
1262. William Robehod, in Berkshire. Crime: membership of an outlaw
gang and robbery.
1272. John Rabunhod, in Hampshire. Crime: murder.
1272. Alexander Robehod, in Essex. Crime: theft.
1286. Gilbert Robehod, in Suffolk. Crime: unspecified.
1294. Robert Robehod, in Hampshire. Crime: sheep stealing.

These are by no means isolated examples25 – the name appears again and
again in similar circumstances. Clearly, Robin Hood had become a national
legend before the end of the thirteenth century. And the criminal nicknames
apparently refer to more than just Robin himself. In 1313, in Kent, the
search was on for a fugitive accused of murder, named ‘John of Shorne,
called Little John’, a character closely associated with Robin Hood in the
later legends. It is likely that the emerging legend owed its origins to the
actions of a number of these Robin Hoods: ‘. . . there was not just one
“original” Robin Hood, real or fictional, but many. Each one acknowledged
the legend by adopting the surname or by accepting it from others. Each
one contributed to it and thereby became difficult to distinguish from the
legend itself. Each one was real, committing real crimes, engaged in real
adventures . . .’26
During the fourteenth century tales associated with Robin Hood became
firmly embedded in popular culture. In William Langland’s poem Piers
Plowman (dating from about 1377) the character ‘Sloth’ confesses:
I do not know my paternoster perfectly as the priest sings it. But I know rhymes of Robin Hood
[written as Robyn hood] and Randolf, earl of Chester.27

We would like to know more about what specific activities had become
associated with the legendary outlaw by this period. However, while there is
little specific information regarding the ‘shape’ of the legend in the
fourteenth century, this is remedied in the fifteenth century when the
content of the legends becomes more apparent from the surviving sources.
In 1420 Andrew de Wyntoun wrote a rhyming chronicle in which under the
years 1283–5 he claimed:
Then Little John and Robin Hood
As forest outlaws were well renowned,
In Inglewood and Barnsdale
All this time they plied their trade28
In the 1440s another Scots writer referred to ‘the famous murderer, Robert
Hood, as well as Little John’ coming to prominence in 1266.28 Another of
the earliest examples of evidence is a piece of graffiti-poetry written on the
edge of a 1432 document listing those elected to Parliament from Wiltshire.
It pretended to list the surnames of those elected but instead carried the
contrived message:
Robyn,
hode,
Inne,
Grenewode,
Stode,
Godeman,
was,
hee.29

The question then arises: what are the common features of these early
legends? Certain themes run through a number of them: the virtue of life in
the Greenwood; quarrels amongst the outlaw band; Robin’s devotion to the
Virgin Mary; Robin rewarded by a post in royal service; disguise used to
defeat enemies; villains are the Sheriff of Nottingham, bishops, a greedy
abbot and a treacherous monk; Robin is a yeoman; he is based in south
Yorkshire and Nottinghamshire. What is missing is rather striking: no
battles with quarter-staffs, no Maid Marian, no mention of Richard the
Lionheart (only ‘Edward our comely king’ is referred to), little mention of
oppressive taxes, no reference to Robin as a dispossessed nobleman – and
there is little about robbing the rich and giving to the poor! The earliest
discernible Robin Hood is a complex character. He attacks rich monks, the
royal Forest Law and the local sheriff. But he is not a revolutionary. He
reveres the king and there is little evidence of a campaign for social justice.
There is no romance. As a ribald disturber of the peace, he is the spokesman
of the middling sort of yeomen against those who irritated them and
thwarted their ambitions, and he is the enemy of corrupt and powerful men.
So what does his popularity tell us about medieval attitudes towards
crime? The first thing is that the earlier supporters of Robin Hood’s fame
were not deluded into thinking crime was likely to right wrongs. It was not
that which appealed to them. The evidence suggests that it was a rough-and-
ready attraction towards outlaws who lived by their wits, and to crime
which seemed acceptable because it targeted popular figures of resentment
– such as local government officials and wealthy Churchmen. Mixed in
with this was a romantic notion of life ‘in the Greenwood’. In the same way
mythologized views of more modern criminals – such as Jesse James,
Bonnie and Clyde in the USA, the Great Train Robbers in the UK – offer
similar and surprisingly sympathetic views of criminals on the run. These
gloss over the violence of their crimes while seeking to reduce the
criminality of their actions by defining their victims as depersonalized
institutions (such as banks). If the popularity of Robin Hood tells us
anything about medieval attitudes towards crime it is probably that, in an
environment of fairly widespread petty criminality, people were prepared to
tolerate it in others when they themselves were not affected by it and when
victims did not evoke sympathy. This sounds very like the reality expressed
in the court record of Richard of the Ker apprehending a thief who was
stealing from him, but being quite prepared to help himself to the shirt of
Robert the Leper. In the absence of more detailed crime statistics, this is
probably as far as the analysis will take us. But it does seem to offer an
insight into a fairly common medieval outlook.
 Chapter 8
LANGUAGE, CULTURE AND ENTERTAINMENT

Before the Norman Conquest the native speech of the Anglo-Saxons was
high status enough for legal and government documents to use it alongside
the universal language of Western Christendom – Latin. The technical name
for this Anglo-Saxon language is Old English. It is found in sources as
varied as charters, government writs and translations of the Bible. The
particular dialect that had become dominant by the eleventh century was
that of central southern England – the Old English of Wessex.
For two centuries after 1066 the English language went into social
decline. Norman-French and Latin (the educated language of the Church)
replaced Old English for the elite and the upwardly mobile. William I gave
up his early attempts to learn English and England would not have a ruler
whose first language was English until Henry IV in 1399. This linguistic
social divide is fossilized in the modern English language. We eat beef,
mutton and pork (derived from Norman-French boef, moton, porc); but
those who care for them in the fields and barns labour with cows, sheep and
pigs/swine (derived from Old English cu, sceap and Middle English
pigge/Old English swin). The language of the worker and the language of
the one who enjoyed the product of their labour was not the same. It is a
post-1066 linguistic and social separation.
However, English remained the language of the majority of the
population even if the more upwardly mobile and economically active
needed to learn Norman-French as well. Norman-French itself began to
develop into a rather provincial form of French and this increased as
English rulers lost land in France in the early thirteenth century. This left
the French language of England increasingly isolated, although it took
another 150 years and the growing patriotism which accompanied the
upsurge of wars against France in the fourteenth century for English to
finally regain social acceptability in England. When Chaucer wrote Troilus
and Criseyde in about 1380 and later went on to write the Canterbury Tales
it was English that he used. And about this time a number of French books
began to be translated into English.
But even during the period 1066–1380, English did not vanish as a
literary language. It continued to be used in some areas of government:
royal charters, for example. Even during the late eleventh to mid-twelfth
centuries Old English texts (especially saints’ lives and grammar books)
continued to be copied and adapted. From the later twelfth and thirteenth
centuries there survive many examples of written material in English: song
lyrics, saints’ lives, devotional manuals, histories and poems. Early-
fourteenth-century romances, such as Havelok the Dane, illustrate the
influence of English among educated members of the urban merchant class.
During this period the English that was emerging was different from the
Wessex-based Old English of late Anglo-Saxon government and literature.
What was emerging was Middle English.
Middle English is the name given to the forms of the English language
spoken between the Norman invasion and the late fifteenth century. After
this period Chancery Standard, a form of London-based English, began to
become widespread. This later process was aided by the introduction of the
printing press into England by William Caxton in the 1470s. The language
of England spoken after this time, up to 1650, is known as Early Modern
English. In the north other changes occurred, as the Northumbrian dialect of
Middle English spoken in south-east Scotland developed into a dialect
known as Scots.
By the time Middle English emerged as a high-status language in the
literature of the late fourteenth century it had gained a great deal of
vocabulary from French. This was not surprising. Ranulph Higden, in his
Latin work of history, the Polychronicon of 1330, commented that educated
children were ‘compelled to abandon their own language and to construe
their lessons and their tasks in French’ and the ambitious learnt French ‘in
order to be more highly thought of.’ It is therefore no surprise that many of
the French words which entered regular English usage are from relatively
high on the social scale: abbey, beauty, fashion, government, music, nation,
parliament, prince. Others had a more immediate impact: colour, parish,
prayer, saint. By 1350, though, French was losing the battle with Middle
English.
The Middle English of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries was an
amalgamation of the dialects and vocabularies of the literary cultures of the
West Midlands, London and East Anglia. It was not the language of
southern and western England, whose dialects were already sounding
parochial and rural and would later feature in the way ‘rustics’ talk in
Shakespearean plays. If English was on the way up, it was not the direct
descendant of the kings of Wessex. But it was this new kind of English
which appeared in the works of Geoffrey Chaucer, William Langland,
Thomas Occleve, Thomas Malory and William Caxton. English had once
again become the respectable language of literature and culture. This
coincided with increasing literacy. The early fifteenth century witnessed the
first attempt by ordinary laypeople to write their own history, in the so-
called London Chronicles. The earliest of these chronicles represents the
first generation of historical writing to be undertaken in English since the
writing of the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle stopped in the mid-twelfth century.1
The exception to this progress in the use of English was the Bible. Bibles
in English had existed in Anglo-Saxon times and, as early as the late
seventh century, the Northumbrian monk Bede started to translate the Bible
into Old English. In a similar way, the West Saxon scholar Aldhelm (640–
709) translated the Book of Psalms and large parts of other books of the
Bible into Old English. Then in the eleventh century, Elfric translated most
of the Old Testament into Old English. In short, the English Bible was not
an invention of Wyclif in the late fourteenth century, as is often assumed.
There was, in fact, no prohibition on non-Latin Bibles, and Bibles in French
as well as selections of the Bible in English were used by some aristocrats
before the fourteenth century. But the problem was twofold. Firstly, the
earliest complete translation of the Bible in the late fourteenth century was
associated with the Lollards and so the whole enterprise became suspect.
Secondly, even as late as 1400 English had not yet achieved the status
which made it acceptable amongst the most educated of the elite. As a
result, in 1409 strict controls were placed on translating the Bible into
English. Possession of English Bibles had become associated with heresy
and the link would not be broken until the English Great Bible of 1539 was
ordered to be placed in every parish church.

Personal names
The decline of English after 1066 revealed itself in many ways. Anglo-
Saxon personal names were very varied, from complex two-element names
such as Ethelred, Wulfstan, Ethelthryth and Elfgifu to simpler forms such as
Cutha, Hwituc, Duduc and Tuma, which had themselves been created as pet
forms of more complex names. Into this situation the Norman Conquest
brought a raft of new names (often Germanic but influenced by French):
William, Henry, Geoffrey, Robert, Odo, Matilda, Rosamund.
Accompanying this was a trend to name from the Bible (which was a
fashion being seen across western Europe): Andrew, Matthew, Stephen. The
growing cult of the Virgin increased the giving of the name Mary from the
mid-twelfth century. A similar process, but focused on John the Baptist,
encouraged the use of the names John and Joan from the 1160s.
Anglo-Saxon and Danish names continued to be given into the twelfth
century but then went into a steep decline in favour of the new personal
names which had a higher social cachet since they were the names favoured
by the new elite. In Lincolnshire, around Louth, by the 1220s only 6 per
cent of tenants listed in a survey of 624 people had pre-Conquest names of
any kind, but 14 per cent were called William, 9.5 per cent were called
Robert and 6.5 per cent were named John. These three ‘new’ names alone
made up 30 per cent of the total name stock! The trend continued to
accelerate. By 1300 male names were dominated by John, Peter, Thomas
and William; female names by Elizabeth, Mary and Anne.2 Analysis of the
Poll Tax returns for Sheffield in 1379 shows that of the 715 men assessed
for tax, 33 per cent were named John and 19 per cent William; a total of 52
per cent of males carrying just these two names. The only Anglo-Saxon
name used was Edward and it was not found among the top eight names,
which were, in descending order: John, William, Thomas, Richard, Robert,
Adam, Henry and Roger.3 It is little wonder that manorial court records
from the thirteenth century have clerks wearily noting ‘another William . . .’
as they record those paying fines and taking part in the proceedings.
One spin-off from this implosion of names from the great variety which
had existed before 1066 was the rise of the hereditary surname. This was a
development accelerated by an increase in government taxation
bureaucracy and a rise in population, which meant it was becoming difficult
to differentiate people by given (Christian) name alone. The Anglo-Norman
aristocracy first experimented with surnames, or bynames. The fashion
rippled out to better-off Londoners by about 1150 and across society during
the thirteenth century. By the Lay Subsidy Roll taxation return of 1327
surnaming was well established, though not absolute. These early surnames,
though, were highly flexible and not yet necessarily hereditary. Such names
might vary across a person’s lifetime and change from one generation to
another, but the hereditary principle was growing – assisted by the
permanence encouraged by official record keeping. Consequently, by 1400
almost everyone had a hereditary surname.
Of all surnames the largest number were ‘local surnames’, named from
local places. Of these, some indicated foreign origins – such as Fleming and
Bremner (from Barbant) – but most were named from English towns,
villages and farmsteads such as Wiltshire, Ashley and Bristow (from
Bristol). Others were more local still and referred to intimate details of the
local landscape. Examples include: Uppehulle (up hill), atte Forde, atte
Crosse, West, atte Tonesend (town’s end) and atte Bakhouse (Bakehouse),
all found in one Somerset village (Keynsham) in the Lay Subsidy tax
returns for 1327 (the last one being as much an occupational as a locational
name). Many of these, as these examples show, were originally preceded by
a preposition such as de, at, by, in. Examples include Richard de Hadestoke,
a London alderman in 1240 and named from Hadstock (Essex), or William
Attebroc, recorded in 1199. These prepositions began to be dropped after
1400 though some, such as atte Wode and by Field, survived into modern
surnames such as Atwood and Byfield.
Another large group of names indicated a person’s relationship to
another. Many were patronymics of the type which would eventually give
us Jackson, Hodgson, Richardson. Others referred to different relationships,
such as the examples Hannebrothir and Ibbotdoghter recorded in 1324 in
the Manor of Wakefield, or Spenserdoghter and Jacksonwyf recorded in the
1379 Poll Tax for Lancashire. Few of these survived to become modern
surnames, the exceptions being those few containing the relationship word
magh (brother-in-law), such as Hitchmough and Hickmott.
Many surnames were occupational names: such as Webster, Weaver,
Fletcher, Smith. Some survive in modern surnames long after their
specialist medieval craft terms have been forgotten: Billeter (bell founder),
Chaucer (shoe maker) and Harbisher (maker of knight’s mail hauberks). A
small number of these might have been given in jest, such as in the cases of
Roger le Mounk, recorded in Norwich in 1318, who was actually a baker, or
the Londoner, William called le Clerk, who was in reality a butcher in 1336.
Others surnames were nicknames. William catface is found in at least
one manorial record! It has not survived as a modern surname and neither
did the names of William Two yer old, from the estate of Ronton Priory in
Staffordshire in 1311, or Margaret Tenwynter, in Suffolk in 1476 (what
these meant as adult surnames is unknown). But Vidler (wolf-face) has, and
so has Gulliver (glutton). There are many such modern surnames which
derive from the observations of medieval neighbours and workmates. Some
probably reveal characteristics well known to neighbours, such as Henry
Nevereafered (never afraid), recorded in 1334 at Keynsham (Somerset).
Then there was William Standupryght, recorded at Ricknall (County
Durham) in 1355, whose bad behaviour was causing his neighbours to leave
the manor. So, was his surname ironic, or a reference to a man who
aggressively defended his own interests? Or was he named this for another
reason entirely? The name is intriguing but we cannot now say why it was
conferred.
A relatively small number of modern surnames have their origins in pre-
1066 personal names. These names (about 560 in total) make up about 4.6
per cent of modern British surnames and derive from names which had
already become hereditary by the time they appear in fourteenth-century
taxation returns4 – when other, emerging, surnames were still in a state of
flux. Clearly, after 1066 some families (for reasons that are now
unrecoverable) persisted in giving Anglo-Saxon, or Anglo-Scandinavian,
personal names until these names became so associated with their family
that they developed into hereditary medieval surnames. Names such as
Whittock (recorded in the Lay Subsidy Roll for Somerset in 1327, in the
form Wyttok but ultimately derived from the Old English, Hwituc) are a
thread connecting the ‘medieval invention’ of surnames with the Anglo-
Saxon past. They were like fossils embedded in the shifting matrix of
changing medieval naming fashions, which had otherwise abandoned the
forms and conventions of pre-1066 name giving.

Education
Many people in the Middle Ages were illiterate, but amongst elite families
and the upwardly mobile there was greater emphasis on education.
However, in the earlier Middle Ages many within the elite (despite the very
early attempts of Alfred of Wessex in the ninth century to force the
governing classes to learn to read and write) would have relied on the clerks
in their households to provide the necessary literacy. Where there was
education among such families it would have been based on home tutoring.
From the later fourteenth century, grammar schools provided instruction in
Latin grammar for the upwardly mobile in towns. Parish priests at times
offered assistance to those lower down the social scale. This was sometimes
provided by priests in chantries. At Rothwell (Yorkshire, West Riding) a
priest ran a small school in 1408 and nunneries often provided elementary
education for both girls and boys. Some elementary education may have
been provided outside the oversight of the Church, but the evidence for this
is slight. During the fifteenth century evidence increases for the provision
of grammar schools in a number of towns. By the later fifteenth century
most middle- and upper-class males were literate, as were many women in
these classes. Even lower down the social scale there was a surprising
degree of literacy, if measured by the ability to read, rather than to write.
To be educated beyond the grammar school involved attendance at one
of the two universities of Oxford and Cambridge. Evidence for organization
of colleges at these two towns dates from 1214, in the case of Oxford, and
1225, in the case of Cambridge. In this earlier period the education was
controlled by the friars, although Benedictines were also active at Oxford.
From the 1450s the Cistercians and Augustinians also became involved in
running colleges.
Around 1380 there may have been as many as 2,000 students at Oxford
and Cambridge (most were at Oxford). By 1450 it had risen to about 3,000.
Many of these students would have been young men hoping to follow a
career in the Church; others would have been existing clergy working to
improve the level of their learning. Many of the former would have been in
their mid-teens. Lodging privately gave way, over time, to living
communally in halls. From the mid-fourteenth century these were replaced
by the emerging colleges, which provided lecturers and lodging for
students. The process began earlier at Cambridge than at Oxford. Early
colleges at Cambridge included Peterhouse (1284), Clare (1326), Pembroke
(1347), Gonville (1348, refounded 1351), Trinity Hall (1350) and Corpus
Christi (1352); early Oxford colleges included New College (1379), All
Souls (1438) and Magdalene (1448). A statute of 1406 ordered that any
family could send its children for education. This overturned earlier
customs which stopped villeins from doing this and their sons from being
ordained into the Church. By 1500 about 66 per cent of students at New
College were from upwardly mobile farming families.
At these universities the majority of students studied arts degrees. These
were comprised of the trivium of grammar, rhetoric and dialectic (resolving
disagreements through rational discussion) and the quadrivium of
arithmetic, music, astronomy and geometry. Only about 33 per cent of
fifteenth-century Oxford students completed the degree course to bachelor
graduation after up to six years. Others stayed much shorter times and
covered only part of the available course. For those wishing to study the
Common Law (see Chapter 7), alternative establishments existed in the Inns
of Court in London. From about 1250 collections of students receiving
instruction from lawyers grew up there in the same process which lay
behind the creation of the university halls and colleges. These colleges were
Inner Temple, New Temple, Gray’s Inn and Lincoln’s Inn. Nearby, another
tier of colleges grew up – the Inns of Chancery – at which many students
started to study before progressing to the Inns of Court.

The written word

This restricted access to education in the era before the printing press
exalted the status of the handwritten word. The most famous examples of
the Latin script of the Middle Ages are those found in the handwritten
documents produced in monastic scriptoria. These were often elaborately
ornamented, giving us the term illuminated writing. The whole process was
time consuming: from scraping and stretching the finest calfskin to make
the vellum, to ruling the guide lines, to writing and illustrating the text. The
ink used varied from the fading oak apple gall to the messy lampblack. Any
errors might be carefully incorporated into the design by a skilled scribe but
would be a major problem for a less accomplished writer. As one scribe
apologetically commented on a spoiled page: ‘Bad vellum, new ink’.
In the 1250s most manuscripts contained theological, liturgical and
academic material. However, this changed over the next 250 years. By the
fifteenth century the variety increased dramatically to include romances,
chronicles, medical texts, rolls of coats-of-arms and aristocratic family trees
(such as the Rous Roll and the Beauchamp Pageant), guild records from
towns, texts of plays and musical scores. Some, such as the Confessio
Amantis (The Lover’s Confession), combined themes of Christian
confession with Classical mythology and the exploration of courtly love.
This particular work is a 33,000-line Middle English poem by John Gower.
In it a lover complains first to Venus and later confesses to her priest,
Genius. The Confessio, probably completed by about 1390, is an important
addition to courtly love literature in English. This shift of emphasis in
subject matter is explained by a number of different factors such as
increasing literacy, rising living standards and intellectual expectations of
urban groups, the appearance of paper during the fourteenth century
(cheaper than vellum) and the development of printing after the middle of
the fifteenth century. All of this greatly expanded the number of lay
consumers of books. It is significant that when, in 1476, William Caxton
established the first printing press in England (at Westminster), the first
books he printed included Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales, Gower’s Confessio
Amantis and Malory’s Le Morte d’Arthur. This was a little light reading for
the new class of lay readers. There is something surprisingly modern in
Caxton’s choice of genre – gossip, ‘kiss and tell’ and high drama among the
rich and famous.
As noted above, the invention of printing had a great impact on medieval
libraries, as handwritten texts were replaced by printed ones. The arrival of
these early printed books, or incunabula, as they are termed, meant that
many handwritten manuscripts were discarded long before the Reformation.
This was accelerated by manuscripts passing out of the protective
ownership of the great monastic libraries. For example, the library of Christ
Church, Canterbury lost about half of its manuscripts to Oxford before the
Reformation. This was because as individual monks went to study in
Oxford they took manuscripts with them which they then treated as their
own personal property. These were often then sold or pawned in Oxford. By
the sixteenth century Oxford bookbinders often used leaves from old
manuscripts to strengthen the covers of printed books, which clearly
suggests that the market had been flooded with these handwritten
manuscripts.5
Later, during the Reformation, many monastic libraries were devastated.
The Act against Superstitious Books and Images (1550) ordered that service
books which did not comply with the latest liturgy should be destroyed.
This resulted in a huge loss of books. For example, only six books are
known to survive from the 350 held by Meaux Abbey in Yorkshire. The
only medieval libraries which survived intact were those belonging to the
cathedrals of Durham, Exeter, Hereford, Salisbury and Worcester. In these
cases monastic collections were protected because they were passed on to
secular communities. Some monks attempted to preserve collections by
taking books with them when monasteries were dissolved. At Monk Bretton
(in Yorkshire), the last prior had possession of 142 former monastic books
as late as 1558. John Bale, a collector of medieval manuscripts, wrote with
sorrow in 1549 how collections of manuscripts were taken ‘some to serue
(serve) theyr iakes (privies as toilet paper), some to scoure theyr
candelstyckes, and some to rubbe their bootes.’6 The seventeenth-century
writer John Aubrey wrote of how medieval manuscripts were treated in
Malmesbury (Wiltshire). Here the destruction was that of the library of
Malmesbury Abbey – a religious community whose roots went back to the
eighth century or earlier. But this was no barrier to those who used its
manuscripts as dustcovers for school books, stoppers for barrels of ale and
scourers for cleaning the barrels of guns. When one considers this treatment
of the accumulated libraries of the Middle Ages, the sheer shock and extent
of this cultural vandalism is difficult to express. The work of scriptoria over
the centuries went to toilet paper and cleaning kitchen utensils.
Of course this was not the fate of all such books. Matthew Parker,
Archbishop of Canterbury (died 1575), was one of many collectors who
protected great numbers of books. His collection included many priceless
Anglo-Saxon manuscripts, including the oldest version of the Anglo-Saxon
Chronicle and copies of translations of Latin texts made at the ninth-century
court of Alfred of Wessex. Sir Robert Cotton (died 1631) attempted to
create a national library, and his collection included manuscripts of such
astonishing value as the Lindisfarne Gospels, two original copies of Magna
Carta, Beowulf and versions of the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle. Some account
books and registers passed to the new owners of monastic land. Some were
taken abroad, such as the Psalter of Christina of Markyate (made at St
Albans Abbey in the 1130s), which now belongs to the church at
Hildesheim in Germany. These are today some of the intellectual treasures
of the English language. But they are only a tiny fraction of what had once
existed but were destroyed.
Despite the fact that access to written forms of expression was limited to
the literate minority, aspects of literate culture were sometimes seized on by
non-literate members of society in order to express their own individuality.
This is clearly seen in the use of wax seals, with which important written
documents in the Middle Ages were frequently completed. Most were made
and used in the thirteenth and early fourteenth centuries, with their use
declining in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. In the later period, as
literacy increased, the seal gave way to the signature. However, in the
earlier period even many nobles could not write and the seal offered a
combination of personal flourish and official statement. These often
consisted of two parts – a central symbol representing the person and a text
running round the edge. The word seal can be applied to both the wax
impression and the die, or matrix, used to make it. The most famous of
these are those associated with royalty and nobles. Royal seals, called Seals
of Majesty (showing the seated ruler) first appear in the eleventh century.
That of Edward the Confessor (1042–66) survives and shows the king
enthroned, holding sceptre and sword. These were used on the writs
(administrative commands) of later Anglo-Saxon England. William the
Conqueror’s seal, like that of Edward the Confessor, was a double-sided
one and showed him on horseback on one side and enthroned on the other.
Knights’ seals also usually showed them armed and on horseback. Some
showed them hunting. However, seals were not just associated with
government and the powerful.
A number of lower-class people signalled their individual identities with
the use of seals and these are interesting insights into both medieval
individualism and humour. Some, such as the scissors of Geoffrey Le
Barbur, found in Berkshire, showed their trade. Many were mass produced
and contained no name or personal identification. Instead, they were chosen
by the purchaser from a range of options. They might carry legends which
were supposed to be humorous, such as: ‘Bi the rood Wimen are wode’
(‘By the Cross, women are mad’).7 In these ways some rather quirky
aspects of medieval individuality survive.

Dining and table etiquette

Lords ate in public as part of their social status and relationship with
retainers and clients. Paying for great feasts – such as the Duke of
Buckingham’s Christmas Day dinner for 294 people in 1507 – was a clear
statement of power and influence. Kings and archbishops dined in state
every day, and access to them was blocked for all but the most powerful.
Lesser lords might be more accessible, but etiquette was still strictly
adhered to. Raised up on a dais in the Great Hall a lord and his family were
literally above those who were socially beneath them. The table nearest the
dais, on the lord’s right, was called the Rewarde, from the fact that it
received food from the dishes used on the lord’s own table. The table
opposite was called the Second Messe and the other tables were ranked as
they fell further away from the high table. Even the trenchers (the bread
used instead of plates) were ranked according to quality and freshness and
provided in a strict hierarchy amongst the tables. In a similar way the
different tables did not enjoy the same choice of dishes.
Children, it was thought, needed a lot of milk but no red meat and –
more surprisingly – no fruit. Different food would also be provided for
clerics in the lord’s household. Church ordinances decreed that no meat
should be eaten on Wednesdays, Fridays or Saturdays, or during Lent.
These became ‘fish days’. However, some communities would eat barnacle
goose as it was considered to be more fish than fowl. Each course served
consisted of mixed meat, fish, poultry and sweet dishes. These were served
to those on the lord’s table but on other tables people helped themselves; on
these tables cups might be held in common too. Between courses in a high-
status household soteltes would be served. These consisted of items
sculpted in hard sugar, such as swans or peacocks. At the end of a meal the
lord and guests were served with sweet wine, wafers and spices. Finally,
grace concluded the meal and a toast was drunk to close the proceedings.
 Serving the food was a large team of servants: sewer (head waiter),
pantler (head of the pantry), butler (drinks), ewerer (hand washing and
linen), chief cook, carver and lord’s cupbearer. Out of sight were waiters
who brought food no further than the entrance of the hall, scullions, spit
boys, pot boys and bottle washers. The laying of table was also complex.
The ewerer laid cloths on the tables along with wash basins; the pantler laid
out the lord’s trencher, rolls wrapped in a napkin, the salt cellar and knives
and spoons. It should be noted that forks did not appear in elite households
until the fifteenth century.
Eating the meal took place according to strict rules. Hands were washed,
the lord’s food and drink were tasted, and cooked meats were carved
according to exacting standards and formalized rules. Individual behaviour
was also the subject of elaborate books of etiquette. These became more
common from the thirteenth century but are particularly noticeable by the
fifteenth century. Examples include the Book of the Order of Chivalry,
translated from the French and published by Caxton in 1494, and The Book
of Good Manners, by Jacques Legrand, along with the Book of Nurture, by
John Russell, also published in the late fifteenth century. Sometimes the
very fact they had to instruct guests not to do certain things suggests that
these practices were all too common! Fingernails should be clean; drinking
from a shared cup should be avoided so that bits of food did not end up
floating in the drink; teeth should not be picked with a knife at table; hot
food should not be blown on to cool it; bread should not be crumbled into
the common dish; bones should not be gnawed; scratching the head should
be avoided, as should spitting and belching.8 All of which raises the
question of how genteel such feasts really were the further one got away
from the high table. Among the thirteenth-century table manners one book
tells diners to ‘refrain from falling upon the dish like a swine while eating,
snorting disgustingly and smacking the lips’.
The food eaten at a wealthy feast was from a wider choice than would be
acceptable to a modern table: starlings, gulls, herons, cormorants, swans,
cranes, peacocks, capons, chickens, dogfish, porpoises, seals, whale,
haddock, cod, salmon, sardines, lamprey eels, crayfish and oysters. Turnips,
parsnips, carrots, peas and fava beans were common vegetables and the use
of onions and garlic was common. Some of these are familiar, while others
(seagull for instance) would not be acceptable to modern tastes. Inventories
prepared for the 6,000 guests invited to the installation ceremonies of the
archbishop of York in 1467 indicate that the guests consumed 300 caskets
of ale, 100 caskets of wine, 1 large bottle of wine sweetened with sugar,
nutmeg and ginger, 104 oxen, 6 wild bulls, 1,000 sheep, 304 calves, 400
swans, 2,000 geese, 1,000 capons, 2,000 pigs, 104 peacocks, over 13,500
other birds, 500 stags, bucks and roes, 1,500 venison pies, 608 pike and
bream, 12 porpoises and seals, 13,000 dishes of jelly, cold baked tarts,
custards and spices, sugared delicacies and wafers.
Such foodstuffs would have been beyond the wildest dreams of the vast
majority of the population. Poorer peasants survived on broths thickened
with barley, or other grains and oatcakes cooked in the ashes of fires or on
heated stones. It was common to leave a stockpot on the fire embers during
the day into which greens or other foods were added, which was then
thickened before eating. However, as wages rose after 1350 larger amounts
of meat entered the lower-class diet.

Fashion
Fashion is an important way in which identity, values and status can be
displayed within society. Amongst the aristocracy this could reach
astonishing proportions, as when Thomas de Berkeley spent over 10 per
cent of his total income on clothes in 1345–6. While leather shoes have
been found in waterlogged archaeological deposits, very little else has
survived of the fabrics of the Middle Ages. As a result, we have to rely on
illustrations and insights into fashion from carvings. And what does survive
in these illustrations tells us what the elite minority were wearing – or were
expected to wear. We know much less about fashion lower down the social
scale. When we learn that shoes with their pointed toes stuffed with moss
were fashionable in the 1380s and again in the 1480s we can be sure that we
are touching on a matter which affected only a tiny proportion of the total
population.
So closely was fashion associated with status that the sumptuary laws of
the mid-fourteenth century attempted to prescribe exactly who could wear
what! There is no reason to think that it ever succeeded, but it gives a top-
down view of how things should be. Before the 1320s status was mostly
signalled by the amount and quality of clothes worn. After this period there
appears to have been an acceleration in fashionable concerns with style and
tailoring. This was greatly assisted by the innovation of buttons from
around 1350 onwards. These made it easier to wear closer-fitting garments
and greater differentiation appears between male and female fashion from
this point onwards. This change was assisted by an increased range of
imported dyes and fabrics for the elite who could afford the latest trends.
The same elaboration shows itself in the greater use of fur and embroidery
and the increased complexity of women’s headgear as the fifteenth century
progressed.
Lower down the social scale there is evidence for a greater impact of
fashion after the 1350s, albeit on a much-reduced scale compared with the
fashion leaders of society. This revealed itself in increased incidence of
linen undergarments, tailored tunics and dyed hoods, hose and cloaks. By
1400 shorter and closer-fitting styles had descended the social ladder from
the aristocracy, who had enjoyed these as the height of elite fashion in the
1350s. Cheap mass-produced jewellery also appears in greater quantities in
urban sites and reveals a developing mass-production industry designed to
meet increased lower-class consumer demand.

The origins of drama

The roots of modern drama lie in the more dramatic areas of Church liturgy
in the Middle Ages and in other expressions of Christian faith such as the
Mystery Plays. These plays were popular from the thirteenth to the
sixteenth century. Only four complete cycles of these plays survive from
York, Chester, Wakefield (also called the Towneley Cycle) and from an
unidentified East Midlands town (the Ludus Coventriae). We know that
such plays were also performed at the English towns of Bath, Beverley,
Bristol, Canterbury, Chester, Coventry, Ipswich, Leicester, Norwich,
Northampton, Newcastle-upon-Tyne, Wakefield and Worcester. Mystery
Plays are also recorded as taking place at Brome in Suffolk. They provided
popular medieval theatre with strong Christian themes. Experts are divided
as to the exact origins of these plays but there seem to have been two
‘currents’ flowing into them. The first was that of liturgical drama. These
were dramatic reenactments of Biblical events which were added to the
celebration of the Mass on major feast days. These started as brief
explanations, or tropes, and developed into dramatic dialogues. On Easter
Day, for example, there is evidence that some services included dramatic re-
enactments of Mary Magdalene discovering the empty tomb of Christ. At
the very least these set a precedent for more free-standing Christian drama
and influenced the content of later Mystery Plays. The second ‘current’ was
probably that of processions and folk plays associated with Plough Monday,
May Day, Midsummer Day and Christmas. They were characterized by
being performed in English, in public places, by amateurs.
The first Mystery Plays were based around the celebration of Corpus
Christi, a feast which was initiated in 1264 but which became particularly
popular from the early fourteenth century. Falling on the Thursday after
Trinity Sunday, this was an early summer event and focused on Christ’s
saving power revealed in the host (bread) of the Mass. The groups of plays
which were performed around this date made up a cycle which told the
story of God’s saving purposes from the Creation, through the life of Christ,
to the Last Judgement. The plays were coordinated and run by a religious
guild within the town, but the different parts were contributed to by craft
guilds. It was these which gave the plays their names, since these guilds all
had a specialist mestier (trade) which has given rise to the word mystery in
the name of these plays. Incidentally this latter word also came to mean
something ‘hidden’ because the trade secrets of such guilds were closely
guarded.
The earliest examples of these plays – those in the York cycle – date
from the 1370s. While there are similarities between component parts of the
cycles from different towns (such as some in the Wakefield and York
cycles), others reflect the particular characteristics of areas and composers.
Most in the York cycle are very urban, while rural issues such as sheep
stealing appear in the Wakefield cycle. This theme is used to both humorous
and dramatic effect and highlights the skills of the original composer of the
play. In some towns the plays were performed in one place. In most they
took place from wagons sited at different places in the town, and people
moved from wagon to wagon as the cycle of plays unfolded. Special effects
made the performances even more engaging. In Coventry 4 pence was paid
to the man keeping the fire burning in hell’s mouth.
The religious teaching that was communicated through the Mystery
Plays was often embedded in earthy humour and slapstick comedy. Noah’s
domestic conflicts with his fiery wife are a key feature of the Wakefield, or
Towneley, Cycle of plays. The fifteenth-century additions to an earlier
structure included raucous and violent comedy. Mrs Noah nags her
husband; he calls her a ramskyt (‘ram shit’) and hits her; she thumps him
back; later they complain about each other directly to the audience; they
fight again. This bickering and domestic disharmony was encouraged by
apocryphal stories of Noah and even in their own day were as controversial
as they were popular. The Wakefield plays also include shepherds who
moan about taxes, robbers, their wives and the weather. Chaucer, in The
Miller’s Tale, complained that such plays did more entertaining than
educating. But their popularity clearly lay in more than their comedy – it
surely lay in the attempt to make the Biblical accounts accessible and
immediate. The Flood and the birth of Christ become events which are set
in a world the audience would instantly recognize. When the shepherds, in
the Wakefield Cycle, give baby Jesus a pet bird, some cherries, a ball to
play with . . . there is no mockery intended. Instead, we see the gifts of poor
men to the Son of God who has come amongst them in deepest poverty
Himself. The message is simple: to such as us He has come! And when,
within the York Cycle’s portrayal of the crucifixion, the soldiers appear as
everyday workmen amorally carrying out their brutal task, the audience is
once more drawn into the drama. But this time the dramatic device is to
confront them with the common guilt of Mankind which took Christ to the
cross. This is drama with a profound meaning. It is more than
entertainment. Those Church leaders who condemned it had not seen
through its outer layers to its inner radicalism, which was profoundly
Christian.
In the sixteenth century extreme Protestant distrust of Catholic pageantry
led first to the censoring of these plays (removing such Catholic themes as
the Assumption and coronation of the Virgin Mary) and eventually to their
abandonment altogether. This trend was probably further accelerated by the
rising costs of the plays at a time when many towns faced both financial
difficulties and competition from travelling players offering secular plays.
The year 1576 is the last year for which there is any record of performances
of the Wakefield Cycle.9

The English at play: alcohol

The commonest drink for much of the Middle Ages was ale. Usually it was
made from barley, oats, or a combination of the two known as dredge;
wheat was occasionally mixed in but was expensive. The process involved
malting the grain to stimulate germination, then drying it to stop the
process. It was then threshed. The malted grain was then rough-milled and
hot water was added and kept hot for several hours, which allowed the
starch to convert to sugar and enter the water. This made a liquid called
wort, which was left to cool and yeast was added. After several days the
mixture would be ready, although herbs were often added (and sometimes
spices). The residue was used for a second mashing to produce small ale, or
small beer (a much weaker alcoholic drink). Hops were not involved in the
process until the early fifteenth century. Ale went off very quickly and there
was a swift movement from brewing to selling.
Many households – and certainly large aristocratic ones – brewed their
own ale. The finished products were measured in tuns and Winchester
gallons. A tun was the equivalent of 216 gallons of ale, or 252 gallons of
wine. A Winchester gallon was the same as a modern US gallon. This made
a Winchester gallon the equivalent of 0.8 of an Imperial gallon, later
established in 1824 (which itself is about 4.5 litres). As early as Magna
Carta, 1215, there was a concern over the reliability of measures for ale
(and wine and corn). The Assize of Bread and Ale of 1266 allowed local
assize courts the power to regulate the prices of these two essential
commodities. The Oxford assize of 1310, for example, decided that ale
should cost 1¼ pence a gallon and strong ale 1½ pence per gallon. To give
this some meaning, a labourer at the time earned about 1 penny a day and a
skilled craftsperson about 6 pence. Ale was sold in quantities of a gallon,
quart (2 pints/quarter gallon, or 1.13 litres), or a pottle (4 pints, or 2.27
litres). These were measured via jugs carrying seals to confirm their
accuracy. In 1364 the alewife Alice de Caustone was found guilty of having
1½ inches of pitch at the bottom of her quart measuring jug – instead of
holding 2 pints, the pot’s capacity was reduced by 25 per cent. Another
issue concerned the strength of ale and it was this which caused the
appointment of London’s first ale-conners in 1377.
As a safer drink than water, ale was seen as a staple foodstuff. Much of
the production was the work of women, although men were also involved
and it has been estimated that the Cistercian monks of Fountains Abbey
(Yorkshire) may have produced as much as 2,200 gallons (10,000 litres)
every two weeks; both for consumption within the abbey and for sale
outside it. In towns a great deal of the ale was sold via fast-food outlets
which also sold pies and other delicacies of questionable quality. At these
outlets ale was often sold in the 4-pint quantities called pottles. Other
sources, of course, were taverns and alehouses. Such alehouses ranged in
size from those accommodated in a home to larger establishments such as
the alehouse in Paternoster Row, London, which had 60 seats on two floors.
Those in a private house were usually run by women termed ale-wives. The
surname Brewster derives from this occupation and is the female version of
Brewer. Inns were much larger establishments, offering rooms for
travellers, often with large shared beds. Many were linked to monasteries.
Some have become associated with famous events, such as The Tabard at
Southwark, where Chaucer’s pilgrims gathered before setting out for
Canterbury. Taverns, on the other hand, were establishments somewhere
between private houses (operating as alehouses) and inns, and were often
associated with bawdy behaviour and crime.
Despite the lower alcoholic content of small ale the impact of consuming
large quantities of the full brew was as great then as now. The ale-wife
Elynour Rummyng, in John Skelton’s poem of 1517 (The Tunning of
Elynour Rummyng), recounts how she and her husband cavorted together
following a drinking session:
Than swetely together we ly
As two pygges in a sty.10

Many communal activities involved consumption of large quantities of

alcohol. These were often organized by the church, or the lord, such as
Church Ales, Whitsun Ales and Bride Ales. Money raised at these events
was often ploughed back into community projects.
In the Middle Ages a clear distinction was drawn between ale and beer.
In the Anglo-Saxon period the word ‘beer’ had been applied to the drink
which was later termed ale. However, after 1066 the word fell out of
general use and when it reappeared, in the early fifteenth century, it was
used to describe a significantly different beverage. The new term ‘beer’ was
applied to an alcoholic drink made from hops. This drink had a long history
of popularity on the continent, but its introduction into England was resisted
as a foreign intrusion. As late as 1512 the town authorities in Shrewsbury
banned the use of hops in brewing. An interesting illustration of the
fondness for the more traditional ale is revealed in the fact that Henry VIII
gave his courtiers beer – but reserved ale for himself.
However, there was no resisting the new drink. Beer was more
economical to produce since more could be made from the same amount of
malt. Furthermore it was safer. Beer mash required boiling and this killed
off bacteria. Andrew Boorde’s The Fyrste Boke of the Introduction of
Knowlegde (1540) reflected on health problems caused by bad ale in the
lines:
Ich am a Cornishman, ale I can brew
It will make one cacke, also to spew.10

This boiling of beer mash also added to the economy of scale in producing
beer, since this gave it a much greater shelf life than that of ale. If ale was
often a cottage industry, beer was big business. The shift from home
production to larger commercial enterprises in the second half of the
fifteenth century is seen in the fact that at Havering (Essex) between 1465
and 1505, the 21 ale brewers fell to 15, of which only one was a woman.
This growth in fewer – larger – breweries was a process accelerated by the
closure of monastic breweries in the 1530s.10

The English at play: board games

A number of board games were played in the Middle Ages in England and
have been the subject of specialist study.11 In the twelfth century the card
called nard was brought to England by crusaders returning from the Middle
East. This game was played on a flat board, divided in two with a pair of
dice determining moves. It is likely it was played in a similar way to
backgammon and it may have been one of the ancestors of this game, via
the game known as tables. An alternative possible ancestor for
backgammon is the Roman game tabula, or alea, which was probably
played in England before the introduction of nard.
Another popular board game was Nine Men’s Morris, in which players
have nine pieces, or ‘men’, each. These are moved about the board’s 24
intersections. Similar to draughts, the aim of the game is to leave the
opposing players with no pieces, or no legal moves open to them. Nine
Men’s Morris boards have been found carved into the cloister seats at
Canterbury, Gloucester, Norwich and Salisbury cathedrals and in
Westminster Abbey. These boards used holes, not lines, to represent the
nine spaces on the board. Another board is carved into the bottom of a
church pillar in Chester.
Chess had reached Spain by the eleventh century and was probably
being played in England soon after this date. There were a number of
differences between the medieval and modern games but in southern
Europe at least, by about 1475, the two games were virtually the same.

The English at play: sport

Football has its origins in the Middle Ages, both as an informal game and as
a village-wide game, such as that recorded as occurring at Wistow
(Yorkshire, East Riding) on the eve of Lent 1422. In many areas of the
country there was a strong association of mass games of football with this
time of the year. The ball may have been carried, as well as kicked, and
there appear to have been few rules. At Gloucester Cathedral an engraving
from the early fourteenth century shows two boys playing football and may
suggest that hands, as well as feet, were used. Another medieval image
suggests the ball was made from stitched leather, although it is often
assumed (on the basis of little evidence) that it was made from an inflated
pig’s bladder. The same image that shows this stitching also seems to show
a man with a broken arm, and this link between football and violence
appears in many records. In 1314 football was banned in London, with little
effect. In 1333 at Newton Aycliffe (County Durham), the manor court
summoned William Colson, John de Redworth and five others to explain
why they had not provided the names of those continuing to stage football
games despite a warning of a fine of 20 shillings for those who kept on
doing so. After heckling by Alicia de Redworth, the wife of John, the
names of 18 men were finally given.12 English football in the Middle Ages
was clearly associated with popular enthusiasm and with disorder – two
characteristics which still resonate with modern experiences.
After war broke out again with France in 1337, archery at local targets
(butts) was increasingly encouraged for men. So important was this that
attempts were made to ban football, and it is interesting that the illustrations
in the Luttrell Psalter in about 1340 show archery but no football.

The English at play: a nation of pet lovers?

Keeping small animals as pets was a common practice in the Middle Ages,
as has been revealed by recent work by Kathleen Walker-Meikle.13 The
animals involved included dogs, red squirrels, rabbits, cats and tame birds
such as larks and starlings. Some were very exotic indeed. Eleanor, the wife
of Edward I, owned a pair of parrots. Social status of owners could be
displayed through fancy accessories such as collars, embroidered cushions
and bells. Pets frequently appear in portraits and other works of art and
seem to have been particularly associated with women, though men could
be attached to more functional animals such as hunting dogs. However, this
was not a hard-and-fast rule. Robert, Bishop of Durham in the late
thirteenth century, owned two pet monkeys and was noted for the attention
he gave them, feeding them peeled almonds (according to the chronicler
Richard of Durham). A fourteenth-century priest, John Bromyard,
complained that many priests cared more for their pets than for the human
beings in their care. This may have simply been said because the idea of
men keeping pets was frowned on and provided an easy target for someone
looking to criticize worldly clerics. Nevertheless, the choice of pets as a
means of making this attack does suggest that a lot of priests were keeping
them. Whether pets were kept in peasant homes is difficult to say from the
scant evidence.
 Chapter 9
LIVING ON THE EDGE: ALIENS AND OUTCASTS

The changing status of the Jews, 1066–1290

In 1210, King John arrested all the wealthy Jews in England and demanded
a ransom for their release. This was a common way of extorting money
from a vulnerable community which relied on royal ‘protection’ for its
survival. However, this royal protection came at a very high price. The
Crown used the Jewish community as a source of large sums of cash. These
might be taken in loans or, as in the case of John, through direct force. John
had already used this method on more than one occasion, including forcing
the Jewish community to make a massive contribution towards the ransom
earlier paid to gain the release of Richard I.
The sum John demanded in 1210 was huge and came to 66,000 marks.
The mark was a unit of account and worth two-thirds of a pound (or 13
shillings and 4 pence). The amount demanded therefore came to £44,000. In
Bristol the Jewish community was imprisoned in the castle until the money
demanded was produced. The chronicler, Roger of Wendover, recorded the
story of one ‘Jew of Bristol’ who refused to pay his ransom. The sum
demanded from this unfortunate Jewish resident was 10,000 marks, or
£6,600. Faced with his refusal to give in to this royal blackmail, the king
ordered the royal torturers to work. Their brief was to pull out one of the
Jew’s molar teeth every day, until he paid the 10,000 marks. Each day, for
seven days, the Jewish merchant, named Abraham of Bristol in some
accounts, had one of his teeth pulled from his mouth using pliars and
without the benefit of any substance to subdue the pain. And still he held
out against his tormentors. On the eighth day, the torturers began
preparation to rip out the eighth tooth. As they set to their bloody task,
Abraham of Bristol finally gave way. After a week of excruciating pain he
could take no more. He agreed to pay the sum demanded. Utterly
vulnerable – as was the entire Jewish community – he could turn to no one
for assistance or protection. He was living ‘on the edge’ in an increasingly
hostile society.
William of Malmesbury records that the English Jewish community first
appeared in the reign of William the Conqueror when he transferred a
community from Rouen to England. In return for rights of residence and
royal protection, Jews paid huge taxes to the Crown. Within the economy
they were merchants, pawnbrokers and financiers. Among the goods they
traded were precious metals, furs and jewellery. Within the financial sector
their role included moneylending at interest: an occupation prohibited to
Christians by the Church.
Around 1093, Gilbert Crispin, the Abbot of Westminster, published a
record of his debate with a Jew, entitled Disputation of a Jew with a
Christian about the Christian Faith. In it he revealed a friendly and open
attitude towards the Jewish scholar: ‘he was well versed even in our law
and literature, and had a mind practised in the Scriptures and in disputes
against us. He often used to come to me as a friend both for business and to
see me, since in certain things I was very necessary to him, and as often as
we came together we would soon get talking in a friendly spirit about the
Scriptures and our faith.’
It was at this time that an attempt was made to introduce the legal
principle (already seen on the Continent) that all Jews were the ‘king’s
property’. During Henry I’s reign (1100–1135) a royal charter was granted
to Joseph, the Chief Rabbi of London, and his followers. Under this charter,
Jews were permitted to move about the country without paying tolls, they
could buy and sell goods and property, in legal cases they were to be tried
by their peers and oaths were to be sworn on the Torah rather than on the
Bible. Special weight was attributed to a Jew’s oath, which was valid
against that of twelve Christian Englishmen.
 However, despite this promising start this vulnerable community often
experienced periods of persecution. These attacks were often centred on
accusations of coin clipping and ritual murder of Christian children: the
Blood Libel. These periodic accusations led to violent attacks on Jewish
communities which usually ended with the payment of a huge fine to the
Crown. There were three particularly famous Blood Libel cases. The first in
Europe was the accusation that Jews had murdered a boy named William in
Norwich (1144), who was later described as ‘St’ William of Norwich. This
accusation was followed by that of ‘St’ Harold of Gloucester (1167) and
Little ‘St’ Hugh of Lincoln (1255). Each of these dead children became the
object of a cult of veneration at the cathedrals in these towns.
The first ‘Blood Libel’ occurred at a time of particular vulnerability, due
to heightened ethnic tension following the First Crusade and political
instability in England during the Civil War between Stephen and the
Empress Matilda. Stephen burned down the house of a Jew in Oxford (some
accounts add with the owner in it) because he refused to pay a contribution
to the king’s expenses, but otherwise attacks on Jews in England were,
according to the Jewish chroniclers, prevented by Stephen.
Despite this vulnerability the Jewish community prospered. Within five
years of the accession of Henry II, in 1154, Jews are recorded as resident in
Bristol, Bungay, Cambridge, Gloucester, Lincoln, London, Northampton,
Norwich, Oxford, Thetford, Winchester and York. However, they could
only bury in London. This was a restriction which lasted until 1177. The
financial importance of the Jewish community is seen in the fact that
Strongbow’s conquest of Ireland (1170) was financed by the Jewish
financier Josce of Gloucester. Generally Henry II put few obstacles in the
way of Jewish financial activities. However, in 1186, when raising money
to pay for the crusade against Saladin, Henry took a ‘tithe’ (amounting to
£70,000) from his English Christian subjects but a ‘quarter’ (valued at
£60,000) from the English Jewish community. This enormous imposition
assessed the Jewish community as being in possession of 25 per cent of the
total movable wealth of the kingdom. This may partly reflect the real wealth
of the community but more likely reveals the way in which the Jewish
community was vulnerable to crippling extortion.
Henry was probably encouraged to do this by the huge amount of money
which had gone to the Crown following the death of the Jewish financier
Aaron of Lincoln. This had occurred because regulations stipulated that
estates based on usury passed to the Crown on the death of the estate owner.
It was Aaron who had loaned money to help pay for the building of the
cathedrals at Lincoln and Peterborough and his estate (including £15,000 of
debts owed to him) and a large treasure all passed to the Crown on his
death. This amounted to 75 per cent of the usual annual government
revenue – a vast sum in the hands of one man. A special branch of the
Treasury was set up to deal with this large account and was called ‘Aaron’s
Exchequer’. The treasure was shipped to France to help pay for the war
Henry was waging against the king of France, but was lost at sea in
February 1187.
Following Henry II’s death, there were serious attacks on Jewish people
at Richard I’s coronation in 1189, which was followed by attacks at
Colchester, Lynn, Norwich, Stamford and Thetford. At Lincoln, Jews took
refuge in the castle. At Dunstable only accepting baptism saved the
community from being murdered. The most terrible attack occurred at York
on the nights of 16 March (the day of the Jewish feast of Shabbat ha-Gadol,
the Sabbath before Passover) and 17 March 1190. The Jews of York were
alarmed by massacres elsewhere in England and by a murderous attack on
the family of the late Benedict of York, killing his widow and children,
setting their house on fire and carrying away Benedict’s treasure. Benedict
had earlier died in Northampton of wounds caused by attacks on Jews at the
coronation of Richard I. Those who murdered his family and looted his
house in York were led by Richard Malebisse, who had borrowed money
from the Jews of York.
The leader of the Jewish community in York, Josce, asked the warden of
York Castle to protect them and the Jewish community were allowed into
Clifford’s Tower. However, the tower was besieged by a mob, demanding
that the Jews convert to Christianity and be baptized. Trapped in the castle,
the Jews were advised by their religious leader, Rabbi Yomtob of Joigney,
to kill themselves rather than convert. Josce began the mass suicide by
killing his wife, Anna and their two children and he was then killed by
Yomtob. The father of each family followed suit, killing his wife and
children and then Yomtob stabbed the men before killing himself. A small
number of Jews who did not kill themselves surrendered to the mob at
daybreak on 17 March. After leaving the castle, on a promise that they
would not be harmed, they were also killed. Malebisse and his murderous
mob then went to York Minster where they seized the financial records of
the Jewish community (deposited there for safe keeping) and burnt them.
The persecution did not end there. When Richard I was imprisoned on
his way back to England from the crusade, the Jewish community was
loaded with a disproportionate amount of the taxation to be raised. They
were forced to contribute 5,000 marks toward the king’s ransom – over
three times as much as the contribution of the City of London. On Richard’s
return the Ordinance of the Jewry (1194) ordered a tighter regulation of
Jewish financial transactions, which finally led to the establishment of the
Exchequer of the Jews. This made all the transactions of English Jews liable
to taxation by the king of England, who thus became a silent partner in all
the transactions of Jewish moneylending. The king also demanded two
bezants (gold coins of variable value) in the pound; that is, 10 per cent of all
sums recovered by the Jews through royal courts.
The increasing persecution was encouraged on 15 July 1205, when the
pope laid down the principle that Jews were doomed to perpetual servitude
because they had crucified Jesus. Earlier, in 1198, Pope Innocent III had
written to all Christian princes, including Richard I of England, calling
upon them to stop the charging of interest on money loaned by Jews to
Christians. The new English king, John, at first treated Jews with tolerance.
He confirmed the charter of Rabbi Josce and his sons and made it apply to
all the Jews of England. He ordered the authorities in London to prevent
attacks on Jews. He reappointed a Jew named Jacob as ‘archpriest’ of all
the English Jews (12 July 1199). However, this did not last. In 1210 John
demanded the sum of £100,000 from the religious houses of England, and
66,000 marks from the Jews. It was then that Abraham of Bristol refused to
pay his quota of 10,000 marks and had seven of his teeth extracted until he
finally agreed to pay.
This persecution, terrible as it was, was not continuous. The reigns of
Henry II (1154–89) and the period of the minority of Henry III (1216–27)
were peaceful times for the English Jewish community. However, when
Henry III came of age this policy of relative toleration was reversed. The
trend was already moving that way. The Third Lateran Council of 1179 had
declared that no Jew should employ a Christian and that, in any matter of
dispute, a Christian’s testimony would always be accepted against that of a
Jew. In 1215 Pope Innocent III went further, at the Fourth Lateran Council,
and passed a law forcing all Jews to wear a badge. In 1218 Stephen
Langton, Archbishop of Canterbury, brought it into operation in England.
This badge took the form of an oblong white patch of two by four finger-
lengths. The Synod of Oxford, 1222, barred Jews from employing Christian
women and from building any new synagogues, and ordered that they
would have to pay tithes despite not being members of the Church. In 1239
and 1244 Pope Gregory IX condemned the Jewish Talmud as blasphemous
and heretical and set the Church up as the deciding authority of what was
acceptable within Judaism. Jewish books which were deemed unacceptable
were seized and burned. This was an important step in the increasing
radicalization of anti-Jewish action, since it claimed that Jews had
abandoned the Old Testament faith (by the creation of the beliefs and
commentaries in the Talmud) and so were no longer eligible for the limited
toleration previously allowed them. It accompanied a twelfth-century shift
away from the traditional Church view that the Jews had rejected Christ out
of spiritual blindness, and replaced it with the interpretation (which was not
itself new) that they had wilfully rejected Jesus despite recognizing him as
the Messiah and had therefore become heretics against the faith of the Old
Testament and allies of the devil. This campaign against the Jews was
headed by the new Dominican order who, as the military campaigns of the
crusades declined in the thirteenth century, took up a kind of crusade
against those defined as ‘heretics’ living within Christian societies. In 1221
the Dominican friars were given land inside the Oxford Jewry as part of a
campaign to convert the Jews. The Franciscan friars played a similar role.
This accompanied new assertions of papal power which were also
supported by these preaching orders of friars.
Taking their cue from the papal actions, local communities made their
own contributions to ethnic cleansing. Petitions were sent to the king to
remove his Jews and they were expelled from Newcastle (1234), Wycombe
(1235), Southampton (1236), Berkhamsted (1242) and Newbury (1244).
Henry, in an attempt to raise money, sold the Jewish community to his
brother Richard of Cornwall, in 1255, for 5,000 marks, and lost all rights
over it for a year. In the following August a number of leading Jews, who
had gathered at Lincoln to celebrate a marriage, were seized on a charge of
having murdered a boy named Hugh. Ninety-one were sent to London. Of
these, 18 were executed for refusal to plead and the rest were kept in prison
till the expiry of Richard of Cornwall’s control over their property. Clearly,
the whole Jewish community was becoming increasingly vulnerable. In
January 1275 Jews were expelled from the lands of Queen Dowager
Eleanor. To this general atmosphere of increasing racial hatred Henry III
seems to have made a personal and active anti-Jewish contribution. His
sanctioning of an accusation of ritual murder against the Jewish community
(regarding Little ‘St’ Hugh of Lincoln) was the first time an official ‘green
light’ had been given to these racially motivated accusations. Similarly, it
was his son – Edward I – who, in 1276, was to revive an accusation of ritual
murder against London’s Jewish community; a charge which had been
ignored by the authorities when it was first made in 1272.
As political order broke down between Henry III and the supporters of
Simon de Montfort, actions against the Jews escalated. Between 1263 and
1265 the Jewries at Cambridge, Canterbury, Lincoln, London,
Northampton, Winchester and Worcester were all looted. In addition, Simon
de Montfort (who had already expelled the Jews from Leicester) annulled
all debts to the Jews. By this time the king and others were shifting most of
their transactions to Italian bankers who were extending their influence in
England.
Under Edward I the persecution of the Jews intensified. His ‘Statute of
the Jews’ (1275) made it illegal for Jews to lend money at interest;
something Italian bankers were allowed to do, having been exempted from
the general condemnation of usury, and were increasingly doing to their
great profit. This impoverished the whole Jewish community and this
economic marginalization was a prelude to total expulsion. In 1278 the
entire English Jewish community was imprisoned and 293 Jews were
executed at London, allegedly for coin clipping. The Synod of Exeter in
1287 added to previous discriminatory practices by banning Jews and
Christians from eating together, banning Jewish doctors from treating
Christian patients and forbidding Jews from leaving their houses during the
Easter festival. Christians who mixed with Jews would be excommunicated.
On 18 July 1290 Edward issued writs to the sheriffs of all the English
counties ordering them to enforce a decree that all Jews should leave
England before All Saints’ Day of that year (1 November). They were
allowed to carry their portable property but their houses passed to the king,
except in the case of a few favoured people who were allowed to sell theirs
before they left. Somewhere in the region of 4,000 Jews were expelled. It is
difficult to be precise on numbers, but in the 1280s about 1,100 paid a poll
tax placed on all Jewish males over the age of 12 years. After 1290 there
would not be a Jewish community in England again until the 1640s, when
some Spanish and Portuguese Jewish merchants (living as Christians but
secretly practising Judaism) lived in London. It was not until 1656 that they
could live openly as members of the Jewish faith.
There is very little archaeological evidence for England’s medieval
Jewish community, although there is a lot of evidence in tax records. Living
in some 26 towns and enjoying the same material culture as their Christian
neighbours, these Jewish communities are hard to spot in the archaeological
record. Medieval Jewish cemeteries have been excavated at London,
Winchester and York. The London example (at Cripplegate) had all the
graves emptied and desecrated after 1290. London’s city walls have been
found to contain six fragments of reused tombstones with Hebrew texts.
Similarly, fragments of Jewish gravestones were found in the foundations of
the Guildhall in Cambridge. Part of another one was reused in a medieval
cellar wall in Northampton. Buildings which were probably constructed by
Jewish merchants survive in ‘Jew’s House’, Lincoln, ‘Wensum Lodge’,
Norwich, and part of a building under the County Hotel in Canterbury. In
London the Jewish community lived in the area known as ‘the Jewry’. This
was not a ghetto and Jews and Christians lived alongside each other here,
close to the main trading and financial centre of the city. This area is
commemorated in the street name Old Jewry and the name of a church, St
Lawrence Jewry.
Given the rarity of archaeological evidence, the discovery of London’s
first Medieval mikveh (plural mikva’ot) – Jewish ritual bath – in 1986
during excavations in Gresham Street was particularly significant. A
subterranean structure, it was lined with ashlar blocks and pottery dated it to
the twelfth century. At first it was suggested it might be a strong room, but
no other evidence for such a structure exists from medieval London.
Interestingly, it was not in a synagogue but at the rear of a private house.
However, this is similar to a type of small mikveh identified in Germany. In
2001 a second was found at Milk Street. Pottery dated this one to the mid-
thirteenth century. Jewish ritual law dictates that the first 40 seah (c.750
litres, or 164.9 Imperial gallons) in a ritual bath must be spring water or
rainwater, collected in cisterns and channelled to the mikveh. This must
have been used in these two cases since neither was deep enough to reach
groundwater.1
The Milk Street mikveh was owned by Jewish financiers, the Crespins,
until 1290 and there were other Jewish occupiers of houses around the
Gresham Street site. It is not possible to tell whether these two mikva’ot
were built for private, or communal, use but they are fascinating and
poignant reminders of a vanished community – a community which played
such an important role within England between 1066 and 1290, including
providing the financial capital to pay for palaces, cathedrals and the
monastic building projects of the Cistercians in Yorkshire.

Prostitution: managing sin

Although fornication was condemned as a sin, prostitution was impossible
to eradicate. This left the question of how such sin should be managed.
Officially sanctioned brothels (or stews) existed in places such as Sandwich
in Kent, Southwark (across the Thames from the City of London) and Cock
Lane at Smithfield, in London. In Southwark, prostitutes were often called
‘Winchester geese’ since the brothels were sited on land owned by the
bishop of Winchester, who collected rents from them. Local ordinances
insisted that the stewholders were men and that women must stay with a
client all night in order to avoid the charge of ‘night-walking’. Technically
women were not allowed to lodge at the brothel. However, despite these
regulations, there existed illegal stews which were often run by women. In
1384, a London ordinance stated that any prostitute plying her trade away
from Cock Lane would be held in the pillory at Aldwych.
The location of red-light areas was signalled in a number of towns by
names such as Grope Lane (or even coarser and more explicit variants)
found in Bristol, London, Oxford, Southampton and York. Often in
locations close to markets and shops, they were tolerated – though officially
disapproved of – centres of the medieval sex trade in these cities. However,
during the fifteenth century urban authorities took an increasingly tough
stance regarding prostitution. Behaviour which had been largely ignored
before 1400 became the subject of official sanctions. The 1492 ordinances
at Coventry attempted to control the activities of barmaids and ale-wives
considered to be prostitutes. The 1500 Gloucester ordinances stated that
prostitutes and their clients would be put on public display in the
marketplace. This was part of a new moral mood which stemmed from
increasing anxiety about social order and a wish to create a more morally
stable and purified society, backed up by local courts. No longer was the
regulation of sexual morality considered the prerogative of the Church
courts.

Homosexuality
Homosexuality was considered a sin by the Church in the Middle Ages.
This was on the basis of both Old and New Testament condemnations of it
as a perversion of sexuality as ordained by God. The phrase ‘Sodomy’, as
an alternative term, takes its name from an account in Genesis, chapter 19,
of the men of the city of Sodom who attempted to have homosexual sex
with the angel-guests of Lot and who were punished for their sin. Following
this, the cities of Sodom and Gomorrah were destroyed.
However, in single-sex religious communities it is likely that
homosexuality occurred, even if excused as no more than brotherly, or
sisterly, affection. Indeed, the very creation of such single-sex communities,
linked with the suppressing of sexual desire, must have produced situations
which were at times highly sexually charged. For men this would have been
sharpened by the very negative image of women which was encouraged by
many celibate (and probably sexually frustrated) male writers in the Middle
Ages. Clearly, if close brotherly/sisterly affection passed beyond this, into
sexual acts, it would be impossible to square with the Church’s Biblical
teaching. But there is clear evidence that it did – covertly – occur. However,
in her review of sexual expression in the Middle Ages, Ruth Karras points
out that the accusation of homosexual behaviour was often simply a charge
against those considered to be ‘outsiders’. For example, some English
writers used it against the Normans and some Christian writers levelled the
same accusation against Muslims. This means it is impossible to assess the
frequency of its occurrence.
Although some writers have suggested that the Church tolerated it (and
have interpreted ambiguous accounts and documents in the light of this
interpretation), Karras rejects this suggestion and this does seem more in
line with the available evidence and the official view of the medieval
Church. She does identify a word used in some medieval literature –
adelphophilia – which the historian John Boswell has suggested refers to
homosexual marriage, but she rejects this interpretation and suggests that it,
in fact, referred to a kind of intimate brotherhood.2 Once again, this seems a
far more likely situation, given official medieval condemnation of
homosexual acts.

Lepers: judged by God or halfway to heaven?

Leprosy, or Hansen’s Disease, seems to have reached Britain in the Late
Roman period. Without modern treatment, there can be progressive and
permanent damage to the nerves, skin, eyes and limbs. Its disfiguring
effects have always made leprosy a much feared disease. It is impossible
now to be sure of whether the recorded occurrences of the disease were
always leprosy, since other skin diseases, such as severe favus and similar
fungal diseases, severe psoriasis and some other diseases not caused by
microorganisms may have been classified as ‘leprosy’. The fear of
contracting the disease meant that lepers were supposed to carry a clapper
and a bell to warn others of their approach. The first recorded English use
of the word ‘leper’, in the form lepruse, is from the thirteenth-century
handbook for female hermits, the Ancrene Riwle (or Ancrene Wisse).
Inspired by Jesus’s compassion towards those suffering from the dreaded
skin diseases of the first century, the Middle Ages saw many charitable
donations by rulers, nobles and Church leaders to establish dedicated leper
hospitals, or leprosaria. By 1230 there were about 250 leper hospitals in
England.
Lepers were regarded as walking dead and before they entered such
leper hospitals went through a form of burial ritual. Church writings refer to
specific garments and utensils which were given to lepers for their sole use
and which were blessed before being passed to them. This was not unlike
what was done at the ordination of clerics, and highlights the strangely
ambiguous role of lepers in medieval society. In some accounts it was
suggested that lepers were experiencing a kind of purgatory in this life and,
therefore, there was something holy as well as terrible about their suffering.
Some accounts also refer to them as ‘Nazirites’, a Biblical term describing a
person set apart and consecrated to the Lord. These are referred to in the
Old Testament Law, in the Book of Numbers chapter 6, verses 1–21.
 Separated from the rest of the population, both in life and death, these
leper hospitals had their own separate cemeteries. This had not always been
the case, since excavation of Late Roman and Anglo-Saxon cemeteries has
revealed lepers buried in the community burial grounds.3 Indeed, one
seventh-century woman buried at Edix Hill, Barrington (Cambridgeshire)
was clearly a member of the elite. She was buried on a bed and
accompanied by items indicating she came from a wealthy family. The fact
that her face would have been marked by nodules and copious discharge
from her nose did not mean she was denied high-status burial in the
communal cemetery. However, this would not have been the case later in
the Middle Ages.
But leper hospitals, although usually sited outside town walls, were not
always as isolated as one might expect. That at Brough (Yorkshire), for
example, was a pilgrim hospice, a general hospital and a leper hospital. The
bodies of women and children appear in surprisingly large numbers in leper
hospitals. This contrasts with the usual picture from urban hospitals, where
younger men occur in greater numbers. This may be because a widespread
medieval belief blamed leprosy on sexual sin. So, at least some of the
women buried at leper hospitals might have been prostitutes, or other
women considered to have broken medieval sexual codes of conduct. This
idea is supported by the fact that as leprosy declined in the later Middle
Ages these same hospitals extended their care to others labelled as deviants
or outcasts, such as the mentally ill, epileptics and unmarried pregnant
women.4 Clearly, this belief contrasted with the association of lepers with
Nazirites.
The anxiety about leprosy grew during the thirteenth century as its
incidence increased. At the same time its disfiguring effects came to be
described in some sources as a physical uncleanliness which reflected a
spiritual state, and this sharpened attitudes towards lepers and strengthened
the association between leprosy and supposed sin. In this way the image of
the ‘holy leper’ faced increasing competition from the image of the
‘condemned leper’. The fact that lepers were one of three groups forced to
wear distinctive clothing (the others being Jews and prostitutes) supports
the view that the groups were, by this point, regarded as being in some way
comparable. The physical separation from the rest of society was another
common feature of all three groups, as was the accusation of sexual
deviancy. Again, this demonstrates the very strange ambiguity in attitudes
towards leprosy in the Middle Ages. On one hand it was a horrific
disfigurement which was considered to be a judgement on sin and which
put lepers firmly amongst those most ‘on the edge’ in medieval England.
And yet on the other hand, ‘the leper had been granted the special grace of
entering upon payment for his sins in this life, and could therefore look
forward to earlier redemption in the next.’5

Flemings and the Hanseatic League: economic rivals

In June 1381 during the Peasants’ Revolt, rebels allied with discontented
townspeople murdered members of London’s Flemish community. Thirty-
five Flemings were beheaded one after the other on a block set up outside
the church of St Martin-in-Vintry, inside which they had vainly sought
sanctuary. Why did this atrocity occur? Under Edward III, Flemish weavers
were allowed to settle in England to contribute to the English woollen trade.
Colonies were soon established in Norwich (Norfolk), York and Cranbrook
(Kent). It was a Fleming – Thomas Blanket – who founded the first
recorded factory in Bristol and gave his name to this form of warm cloth.
Other Flemings settled in London. In all these places their weaving skills
stimulated growth in the small English cloth-manufacturing industry.
However, resentment at the skills and economic prosperity of these
foreigners boiled over into violence when royal authority was weakened.
During 1381, the Flemings butchered at St Martin-in-Vintry were not alone
in facing the violence of racist attacks. Other Flemings were murdered at
Colchester (Essex), at Yarmouth (Norfolk), at St John’s, Clerkenwell
(where they had sought sanctuary) and in many places across London.
Racist resentment towards ‘outsiders’ who were accused of taking
English jobs was not restricted to the Flemings. The relationship with
German merchants from the Hanseatic League could also be very tense at
times, since they too were considered an economic threat. For English
merchants the opportunity to trade in the Baltic opened up large areas to the
sale of goods such as English cloth and allowed them access to attractive
commodities such as amber, beeswax and furs from Russia (referred to
exotically in some fourteenth-century accounts as ‘The land of darkness’).
After a successful English penetration of the Baltic trade in the late
fourteenth century, hostilities between English and German traders broke
out in the early fifteenth century. Treaties in 1409 and 1437 allowed
reciprocal arrangements again, whereby merchants from Lübeck, Hamburg
and the other Hanseatic ports could trade in English ports and English east-
coast merchants could do the same in the Baltic ports. However, relations
remained strained. In 1450 English ships attacked a large fleet of Dutch,
Flemish and Hanseatic ships returning from collecting salt from the French
Bay of Bourgneuf, on the coast of the Vendée. These ships were forced in to
the Isle of Wight, from where all but the Hanseatic ships were soon
released. The event aggravated an already-difficult relationship with these
north German trading cities. More general hostilities broke out in 1468–74,
which were not resolved. By 1500 English ships were excluded from the
valuable Baltic trade. This breakdown in trade with the Baltic and northern
Europe had a damaging effect on a number of eastern English ports.
Racially motivated violence was prone to periodic outbursts and targets
varied. On May Day 1517, unemployed London youths attacked foreigners
and smashed their premises along Fenchurch Street and in Leadenhall. At a
time of economic depression there was suspicion of foreigners who
appeared to have favourable relationships with the royal authorities and
who were apparently prospering in a number of different business areas.
Led by a broker named John Lincoln, a large group of apprentices and
others met in the churchyard of Old St Paul’s on 1 May, where their high
state of agitation was further inflamed by a preacher named Dr Beal.
Thomas More, who was at that time the under-sheriff of London, tried
unsuccessfully to disperse the increasingly violent crowd, and gangs
entered the eastern quarters of the city hunting for foreigners. This was
despite the guns at the Tower of London being fired to deter them. It was
not until the early hours of 2 May that armed troops finally restored order.
Fortunately no foreigners were killed but, for leading the riot, John Lincoln
was hanged, drawn and quartered and 13 others were executed. During the
trial, which took place at Westminster Hall, Queen Katherine herself
pleaded for mercy for the defendants and Henry VIII granted pardons to
400 of those involved in the riots. Within London the event became known
as ‘Evil May Day’. It was a vivid demonstration of the level of racial and
ethnic distrust which lay beneath the surface of life in the capital and the
way in which economic hardship could bring it to the surface in violent
expressions of hatred.
 The following conclusion on medieval developments regarding minority
groups, by Robert Moore, offers a disturbing view of the Middle Ages: ‘The
period 950–1250 witnessed a fundamental and irreversible change in
Europe. A persecuting society formed that may be seen as the origin and
forerunner of the atrocities of the religious wars, the executions of the
Reformation, even the Holocaust of the twentieth century.’6 This clearly is a
controversial viewpoint but, nevertheless, it is one which deserves our
attention. Moore argues that in Europe between the tenth and the thirteenth
centuries, the persecution of heresy, the establishment of the inquisition, the
persecution and mass murder of Jews and the segregation of lepers were not
unrelated developments. They were, he believes, part of a pattern of
persecution which now appeared for the first time to make Europe ‘a
persecuting society’. Even if some of these developments did not occur as
strongly in England as in other European countries (i.e. the persecution of
heresy), the pattern is still comparable. To it we could add the racist
violence perpetrated against the Flemings and the grouping of Jews and
lepers with prostitutes. Clearly, intolerance of ‘outsiders’ was a
recognizable feature of English society in the Middle Ages and one which
would influence behaviour well beyond this period.
The fact that the end of the medieval period coincided with the start of
the Great Witch Hunt (which would dominate much of the first two
centuries of the Early Modern period) may be relevant to this argument.7
Although the Great Witch Hunt was a product of its times – and a response
to particular religious, social and cultural features – it grew out of a society
in which persecution of ‘outsiders’ was already a significant cultural trend.
Consequently, it was both a legacy of the Middle Ages and part of a new
and emerging post-medieval Europe. Clearly the uncertainty inherent in
‘living on the edge’ in medieval England was one of the negative
contributions medieval society made to later history.
 Chapter 10
SIGNS AND MARVELS: THE MEDIEVAL COSMIC ORDER

Many aspects of life in the Middle Ages may puzzle the modern reader, but
some are stranger than others. What can possibly explain the following
event reported from Orford Castle, in Suffolk? This is an amazing tale and
was told by Ralph of Coggeshall in about 1205. Ralph reports an incident
that happened about 40 years earlier.
Men fishing in the sea caught in their nets a wild man. He was naked and was like a man in all
his members, covered with hair and with a long shaggy beard. He eagerly ate whatever was
brought to him, but if it was raw he pressed it between his hands until all the juice was expelled.
He would not talk, even when tortured and hung up by his feet. Brought into church, he showed
no signs of reverence or belief. He sought his bed at sunset and always remained there until
sunrise. He was allowed to go into the sea, strongly guarded with three lines of nets, but he
dived under the nets and came up again and again. Eventually he came back of his own free
will. But later on he escaped and was never seen again.

Parts of this story are really shocking. The guards at Orford castle were
curious: what language did the strange man speak? So they tortured him
just to satisfy their curiosity. It is disturbing to note how Ralph reports this
atrocity without any negative comment, in the same way that Walter Map
(as we shall shortly see) reported the sexual abuse of a supposed fairy-
woman.
‘As to whether this was a mortal man, or some fish pretending human
shape, or was an evil spirit hiding in the body of a drowned man’, Ralph
could not say. And neither can we. Whatever was going on at Orford, if
anything at all, is now lost to us. But what Ralph commented next is
particularly interesting. He then casually remarked: ‘. . . so many wonderful
things of this kind are told by many to whom they happened.’ So,
apparently, Ralph was getting news of events like this all the time. For him
it was just an everyday story of mermen and monsters.
Monks, like Ralph of Coggeshall, who wrote the great medieval
chronicles occupied a position midway between historians and journalists,
and their position on that line depended on their personal interest and
inclination. As well as recording events from the past up to their own time
(using whatever sources of information were available to them and often
simply copying existing histories), their other main objective was to record
the news and events of their own day. These events were frequently written
down as a fairly contemporary record. But before this causes anyone to
assume their reliability, it must be remembered that these medieval
chroniclers interpreted and judged, gossiped and condemned and were often
highly selective in both their choice of events to record and the
interpretation they placed on them. This was particularly the case if the
event in some way affected the religious house of which they were a
member. Surviving chronicles range from sober – if at times biased –
accounts of political and religious developments through to more
sensational records of signs and marvels. It is this latter type of document
which forms the basis of this chapter. We frequently do not know the
sources of the wilder tales but, nevertheless, they offer us a view into the
mindset, world view and cosmic view of the Middle Ages. They need to be
set alongside the evidence on town trade, church building and manor court
judgements if we really want to get the ‘full flavour’ of living in medieval
England.

Signs and marvels in the sky

As the location of heaven in the medieval world view, it is not surprising
that unusual events which occurred in the sky were held to be of particular
importance. Some of these, as recorded in medieval chronicles, are
inexplicable as natural phenomena. One of these would be that recorded in
the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle for the year 685: ‘In this year in Britain it rained
blood, and milk and butter were turned into blood’. Some are more easily
imagined as unusual arrangements of clouds, such as this account, again
from the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle for the year 773: ‘In this year a red cross
appeared in the sky after sunset. This same year the Mercians and the
Kentishmen fought at Otford; and strange adders were seen in Sussex.’
What is revealed in this description is the belief that such an event must
signify something – it was a sign. While the chronicler does not actually say
there was a link between the red cross and the battle, a connection is
implied. Occasionally a marvellous event is noted but no link made, such as
in the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle for 806: ‘On 4 June the sign of the holy cross
appeared in the moon one Wednesday at dawn’. However, more usually
such a sign would be seen as a portent of some kind. A clear combination of
natural events and supernatural signs comes from 793 in the Anglo-Saxon
Chronicle. It refers to the sacking of the monastery of Lindisfarne in a
Viking raid.
In this year terrible portents appeared over Northumbria, and miserably frightened the
inhabitants: these were exceptional flashes of lightning [‘exceptional high winds and flashes of
lightning’ in manuscript D], and fiery dragons were seen flying in the air. A great famine soon
followed these signs; and a little after that in the same year on 8 January the harrying of the
heathen miserably destroyed God’s church in Lindisfarne.

Strange sights in the sky are found in a great many chronicler’s accounts. In
The Chronicle of John of Worcester, under the year 1048, is a reference
which may refer to severe lightning: ‘A great earthquake occurred on
Sunday, 1 May at Worcester, Droitwich, Derby and many other places.
Sudden death for man and beast swept many regions of England, and fire in
the air, commonly called wildfire, burnt many townships and cornfields in
Derbyshire and several other regions.’ The same chronicler records a series
of events which may be references to a comet, under the year 1106.
On Friday, 16 February, in the first week of Lent, a strange star appeared in the evening, and
shone in the same shape and at the same time between the south and the west for twenty-five
days. It seemed small and dark, but the lustre which shone from it was extremely bright, and
darts of light, like huge beams, flashed into the same star from east and the north. Many said
that they saw several unusual stars at the same time. On the night of Maundy Thursday [22
March], two moons were seen, a little before dawn, one in the east and the other in the west,
and both were full, for this moon was fourteen days old.

What is unusual in this account is that John of Worcester was content to

leave it as a simple observation. A more usual approach would have been to
consider it a sign of some kind. A good example of this is the Anglo-Saxon
Chronicle for 1107: ‘Many declared that they saw various portents in the
moon during the year, and its light waxing and waning contrary to nature.’
A similar entry survives from 1122: ‘On the Tuesday after Palm Sunday, 22
March, there was a very violent wind; after which numerous portents
appeared far and wide in England, and many illusions were seen and heard.’
While the writer of these entries was not able to decode the ‘portents’,
Henry of Huntingdon, in The History of the English People, saw a clear
connection between bad government and signs in the sky. ‘In this year
[1117], due to the king’s pressing needs, England was squeezed by repeated
gelds [taxes] and various exactions. Then there were storms of thunder and
hail on 1 December, and in the same month the sky appeared red, as if on
fire.’ Similarly, Ralph of Coggeshall, in his English Chronicle, was
prepared to trace a political connection at the end of the twelfth century: ‘It
is said, the appearance of a comet, visible even in daylight, prefigured the
death of King Richard I.’ And for 1194: ‘Two strange circles in the sky
presaged storms and famine.’ The same approach is found in a number of
other chronicles, such as in the Chronicles of Edward I and Edward II: ‘In
1233 there appeared in the sky four suns, in addition to the true one, beyond
the boundaries of Herefordshire and Worcestershire. This was a sure portent
of the slaughter to follow in the Marches [in the Marshall Rebellion].’
At other times the accounts are simply impossible to decipher and we do
not know if we are reading an elaborated description of a natural event or a
tale which has grown hugely in the telling so that it bears little resemblance
to any real occurrence. These – less signs and more marvels – are accounts
of strange and striking events which embellish many medieval records and
which are often recorded alongside straightforward accounts of Church and
government. They clearly appealed to a sense of the supernatural, even
when the events described did not have any apparent spiritual meaning.
John of Worcester, for example, claims – in a very long and complex
account – that in 1130 a bright light in the sky moved in and out of a cloud
and that: ‘In shape and size it was like a small pyramid, broad at the bottom,
and narrow at the top.’ Furthermore, something like a plank seemed to
balance on the cloud. The description is hard to follow and even harder to
visualize. However, John was determined to defend the accuracy of his
account, claiming that: ‘This was seen by the clerks of St Guthlac in
Hereford castle. It was also seen by the watchmen in Brecon castle as well
as in Herefordshire by the shepherds watching their flocks that same night. I
have written down what I have heard. May Christ’s mercy save us!’ A
similarly puzzling event at Dunstable (Bedfordshire) is recorded by William
of Newburgh, in The History, under the year 1188. According to William,
observers one afternoon saw: ‘in the clear atmosphere the form of the
banner of the Lord, conspicuous by its milky whiteness, and joined to it the
figure of a man crucified, such as is painted in the church in remembrance
of the passion of the Lord, and for the devotion of the faithful.’ What is
particularly interesting in this account is the chronicler’s conclusion: ‘Let
everyone interpret this wonderful sight as he pleases . . . What the Divinity
may have intended to signify by it, I know not.’ Such reticence in
interpreting God’s will was not always so apparent.
This phenomenon may have been a cloud formation, and this certainly
seems the most likely explanation of an event recorded by Matthew Paris,
in his Major Chronicles, under the year 1254. As witnessed by a group of
monks from St Alban’s Abbey, staying at Redbourne (Hertfordshire), ‘there
appeared in the sky, wonderful to relate, the form of a large ship, well
shaped, and of remarkable design and colour’. A similar explanation seems
likely to explain the ‘battle formation of warriors’ which appeared in the
sky in Suffolk in 1285, according to John of Oxenedes, and the red and blue
banners which seemed to clash with each other according to Knighton’s
Chronicle, 1337–1396, for the summer of 1355. However, this may be
better explained as an example of the Aurora Borealis, but seen particularly
far south. When the same chronicler records night fires which appeared to
follow travellers in 1388, he was possibly describing static electricity, or St
Elmo’s fire.

Signs and marvels on (and in) the Earth

The sky was not the only place in which it was thought signs of divine
origin might be seen; the Earth too was a place of portents. Henry of
Huntingdon recounted events from 1144 in which churches were fortified
against King Stephen by Robert Marmion and by Earl Geoffrey de
Mandeville. As a result, ‘blood bubbled out of the walls of the church and
the adjacent cloister, clearly demonstrating the divine wrath and
prophesying the destruction of the wrongdoers.’ Henry went on to catalogue
the way in which this judgement of God was seen in the lives of those
involved in this outrage. Robert Marmion was killed; Earl Geoffrey died
excommunicated; his son was captured and exiled; the commander of the
earl’s knights fell from his horse and died with his brains pouring out; the
commander of the earl’s foot soldiers was becalmed at sea, placed in a boat
with his wife and some stolen money and sucked down by a whirlpool.
Henry of Huntingdon was not alone in interpreting such ‘signs’ as portents.
Thomas Walsingham, in The St Albans Chronicle, 1376–1394, also felt he
discerned a message in unusual events which occurred in 1385: ‘Four days
after this storm [thunder and lightning in 1385] an earthquake occurred
around nine o’clock in the evening, portending perhaps the pointless trouble
between the two kings of England and France, who had now assembled
enormous armies.’
However, as with the signs in the sky, some of those recorded on Earth
are marvels designed to astonish. William of Newburgh, for example, has a
story of two dogs which were discovered ‘On splitting a vast rock, with
wedges, in a certain quarry’. The animals were, he claims, actually inside
the rock. As if to support the reality of the claim he added that, while one of
these dogs died, the other was ‘for many days fondled by Henry, Bishop of
Winchester’ [Henry of Blois, bishop 1129–71]. In another quarry William
claimed that ‘there was found a beautiful double stone, that is, a stone
composed of two stones, joined with some very adhesive matter’. And
inside this stone was ‘a toad, having a small golden chain around its neck’.
On the bishop’s order the stone and toad were reburied. William himself
believed these were made by evil angels to puzzle mankind and to capture
their attention.
A related kind of marvel of secrets from within the Earth is recorded by
Matthew Paris. He claimed that in 1236, near Roche Abbey (Yorkshire),
‘bands of well-armed knights, riding on valuable horses, with standards and
shields, coats of mail and helmets, and decorated with other military
equipments’ appeared from out of the ground and vanished back into it
again. With this, though, we may be entering into a long tradition of other
worlds existing beneath the ground. This, no doubt, had featured in pre-
Christian beliefs and continued – adapted – into the Middle Ages.
Sometimes this shows itself in beliefs in fairy worlds. At other times it
appears in traditions of parallel universes existing under the ground.
Sometimes the hidden realms are hostile; sometimes friendly; at other times
neutral. While these accounts were recorded by literate Churchmen it seems
clear that, in many cases, the Christian concepts of heaven and hell, realms
of being and spiritual worlds were stretched by medieval folklore to accept
‘other worlds’ which had no relationship with Biblical concepts.
This idea of fairy realms appears strongly in the account, by Walter Map,
of a legendary Saxon named Edric ‘the Wild’. In a collection of wondrous
and engaging stories, called, appropriately, Courtiers’ Trifles, Walter
recounted how Edric was travelling by night through ‘wild country,
uncertain of his path’ when he chanced on a house within which were
dancing women, ‘most comely to look upon, and finely clad in fair habits of
linen only, and were greater and taller than our women.’ Edric is attracted to
one and tries to seize her – despite, according to Map, being aware of tales
of vengeance being done to men who disturb such groups of beings
described as ‘nightly squadrons of devils’. Despite being injured by the
other women, he succeeded in capturing this dancer. ‘He took her with him,
and for three days and nights used her as he would, yet could not wring a
word from her.’ It is remarkable how calmly Walter retells this tale of what
is clearly the kidnapping, rape and sex slavery of this unfortunate ‘fairy
woman’. This in itself tells us a lot about medieval male attitudes towards
women and sex. In the story, the fairy woman finally agrees to marry Edric
so long as he never mentions her fairy origins, or the women with whom
she was dancing. However, when some time later he returns and she is not
at home he forgets his promise and ‘. . . called her and bade her be
summoned, and because she was slow to come said, with an angry look:
“Was it your sisters that kept you so long?” The rest of his abuse was
addressed to the air, for when her sisters were named she vanished.’ Edric
then pined away and died. Incidentally, Edric was an Anglo-Saxon thegn
who held manors in Shropshire and Herefordshire in 1066 and lived until
about 1072. He revolted against Norman rule but eventually made peace
with William the Conqueror. Attacks from the woodland gave him his
nickname silvaticus (‘woodman, wildman’). He was mentioned by the
Norman historian Orderic Vitalis as living ‘wild in the woods’.
Walter Map does not explicitly refer to a fairy world under the ground,
but this was its usual location in such folklore. William of Newburgh
claimed that at Woolpits (Suffolk):
 two children, a boy and a girl, completely green in their persons, and clad in garments of a
strange colour, and unknown materials, emerged from these excavations [wolf pits]. While
wandering through the fields in astonishment, they were seized by the reapers, and conducted to
the village, and many persons coming to see so novel a sight, they were kept some days without
food.

The children refused to eat anything until offered raw beans, which they
eagerly ate. They ate this for many months until they got used to bread.
Slowly their colour changed, ‘through the natural effect of our food’ and
they learnt English. They were baptized but the boy soon died; however the
girl survived and was soon indistinguishable from a local girl. Later she
married at King’s Lynn and lived in the area. They claimed they came from
‘the land of St Martin’. This appearance was supposed to have happened in
the reign of Stephen. Ralph of Coggeshall, who places the appearance in the
reign of Henry II, also told this tale. He claimed he gained his information
from Sir Richard de Calne, in whose household the children lived. William
himself wrote that he did not believe the story but that ‘I have been
compelled to believe, and wonder over a matter, which I was unable to
comprehend, or unravel, by any powers of intellect’. What compelled him
was the supposedly large number of witnesses of this event. What is
particularly interesting in this story is that the two children were supposed
to have come out of pits dug to catch wolves. This connection with ‘the
wild’ and with a way into the earth puts the story firmly into the category of
fairy folklore.
William of Newburgh collected more than one such story, and another
was set in Yorkshire. A peasant returning home one night heard singing
which seemed to come from inside a hill. Investigating an open doorway
into the hill, he found a room inside where men and women were feasting.
Offered a drink, he poured out the contents but left with the cup. He was
pursued but escaped with a cup ‘of unknown material, unusual colour, and
strange form’. It was, claims William later, ‘offered as a great present to
Henry the elder, king of England [Henry I], and then handed over to the
queen’s brother, David, king of Scotland, and deposited for many years
among the treasures of his kingdom.’
A similar and traditional association of a fairy hill and an other-wordly
drink is found in the collection of stories Recreation for An Emperor,
written by Gervase of Tilbury. The location of his fairy hill appears to have
been in the Forest of Dean (Gloucestershire). There:
In a leafy glade of this forest was a hillock, which rose to a man’s height . . . if anyone strayed a
long way from his companions and climbed it alone, and then, though alone, said ‘I’m thirsty’,
as if he were speaking to someone else, at once to his surprise, there would be a cupbearer
standing at his side, in rich attire, with a merry face, and holding in his outstretched hand a large
horn, adorned with gold and jewels.

According to Gervase the drink was delicious – but strange – and refreshed
the weary. Once more the motif emerges of theft of a fairy drinking vessel.
In this case a knight steals the horn. However, his overlord condemned the
thief, confiscated the horn and presented it to Henry I. Why this particular
king is singled out by both William of Newburgh and Gervase of Tilbury is
difficult to say.
Gervase of Tilbury also collected a story of a swineherd who pursued a
pig into a cave at Peak Castle, near Castleton (Derbyshire) and:
came out from the darkness into a light place, and found that he had emerged into wide open
fields; advancing into the countryside, which was cultivated all round, he found harvesters
gathering in crops, and in the midst of the hanging ears of corn he recognised the sow, which
had dropped its litter of several piglets.

The story was told to Gervase by Robert, Prior of Kenilworth

[Warwickshire], who was a native of the Castleton area. He was prior 1160–
86. In the story the swineherd was received in a friendly manner and
allowed to go home with his pigs. On returning home he found it was still
winter, although it had been summer in ‘the other world’.
The idea of a person vanishing into another world and then returning is
also found in the Chronicles of the reigns of Edward I and II, although in
this case there is no hint of what this ‘other place’ was like:
In the summer of 1315 a boy of fourteen was taken, completely naked, in the parish of St
Botolph outside Bishopgate in London. No one knew what had become of him. A day later he
was returned to the place from which he had vanished, to tell of many marvels.

Other supernatural beings occur in medieval accounts and show the

persistence of pre-Christian beliefs in fairy folk, goblins and other similar
creatures. Gervase of Tilbury records a belief in creatures that he names as
‘portunes’, which appear in peasants’ houses at night:
 warming themselves at the fire and eating little frogs which they bring out of their pockets and
roast on the coals. They have an aged appearance, and a wrinkled face; they are very small in
stature, measuring less than half a thumb, and they wear tiny rags sewn together.

Gervase believed these creatures were not dangerous, but this was not the
case with creatures he named as ‘grants’:
It is like a yearling colt, prancing on its hind legs, with sparkling eyes. This kind of demon very
often appears in the streets in the heat of the day or at about sunset, and whenever it is seen, it
gives warning of an imminent fire in that city or neighbourhood.

Gervase clearly had a great interest in such traditions, as he also gives an

account of an event he believed occurred in Inglewood forest, near Penrith
(Cumbria). While hunting there, a knight was caught in a violent
thunderstorm and suddenly caught sight of a ‘huge dog running with fire
darting from its jaws’. This creature, Gervase explains:
entered the house of a priest on the outskirts of the same town, passing through the doors
though they were shut against it, and it set fire to the house together with the unlawfully
begotten family.

In this one account the chronicler brings together two medieval intellectual
strands. The first is a widespread belief in other-world beings. The second is
an assumption that misfortune indicates punishment for sin. In this case the
offence is in the form of a married priest, who has resisted the Church
pressure (which was increasing from the twelfth century onwards) for
celibacy.

Signs and marvels in the water

The idea that natural events reflected problems in society was a common
medieval belief. This could show itself in a number of ways, and pools
‘bubbling blood’ was a striking one. There are a number of examples; the
most famous ones are linked with Finchampstead, in Berkshire. The first
time this claim appears is in the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle for the year 1098.
In the summer of this year, in Berkshire at Finchampstead, a pool bubbled up blood, as many
faithful witnesses reported who were said to have seen it. Before Michaelmas the sky appeared
almost the whole night as if it were on fire. This was a very disastrous year because of
excessive taxation, and on account of the heavy rains which did not leave off throughout the
whole year.
This event made a deep impression on medieval writers. Henry of
Huntingdon, in an entry written by 1154, recorded the same phenomenon.
‘1098. In summer blood was seen to bubble up from a certain pool at
Finchampstead in Berkshire. After this the heaven appeared to burn nearly
all night.’ In Henry’s record this follows a description of William II fighting
rebellions and demanding heavy taxes.
Bad king . . . high taxes . . . pools bubbling blood. Henry does not make
the link explicitly but the connection is clear: William II was a bad king
because his rule caused rebellions and led to high taxes, and the natural
world protested (the blood-red spring). If anybody had missed the
connection, Henry recorded another outpouring of the spring in 1100: ‘A
little earlier [Henry has just described the death of William II in the New
Forest] blood was seen to bubble up from the ground in Berkshire.’ So, the
spring which had protested at William II’s bad government now sent out
another signal when he was murdered. Clearly, royal murder upset the
natural world even when the king was bad.
The same connection between bad government and springs flowing with
blood was made by William of Malmesbury, in The History of the English
Kings, written in about 1126.
In the thirteenth year of William’s reign [1100], which was the year of his death, there were
many sinister occurrences; among others, this was the most terrifying, that the Devil visibly
appeared to men in woods and byways, and spoke to passers by. Besides which, in the village of
Hampstead in Berkshire for fifteen days on end a spring ran blood so abundantly that a nearby
pool was stained with it. The king heard of these things and laughed, caring nothing either for
his own dreams about himself, or for what other people saw.

For William of Malmesbury it was important to show how the king reacted.
It revealed what a bad king he was and this made it clear that the bloody
spring was making a point about his bad rule and his bad attitude.
But this was not the end of the Finchampstead spring. In 1103 it was
active again and once more the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle linked it to
problems in the land:
In this year too, at Finchampstead in Berkshire, blood was seen coming from the ground. It was
a very disastrous year here in this country by reason of numerous taxes and also as a result of
murrain [cattle disease] and the ruin of the harvest . . .
Again, Henry of Huntingdon – writing about 50 years after this event – was
sure that the event was once more linked to bad politics. ‘Blood was seen to
bubble up from the ground at Finchampstead. In the course of the next year
the king and his brother were at odds over several matters.’
It is clear that pools ‘bubbling with blood’ were a major event at
Finchampstead – so much so that the reports of it were picked up by so
many medieval chroniclers. The connection with some kind of national
disaster was made by every one of them (high taxes, rebellions, death of the
king, cattle diseases, poor harvests). A pool bubbling blood just had to be a
sign of trouble in the land. It had to be some kind of pointer to just how bad
a state the country was in. It was as if the natural world had to respond to
problems in the human world; to act like a mirror. This is hardly surprising
since red-coloured water suggests that the earth is bleeding.
In addition, to the Biblically aware medieval writers the springs flowing
with blood-coloured water would have reminded them of the first plague of
Egypt, when the river Nile turned to blood (Exodus, chapter 7, verses 14–
24). Pools bubbling with ‘blood’ would suggest God’s judgement on human
sins. In the same way, the Book of Revelation (chapter 16, verse 4),1 talks of
one of God’s judgements just before the end of the world as being ‘. . . on
the rivers and springs of water, and they became blood.’
The coincidence of political unrest, an unpopular ruler, poor harvests and
‘blood-red’ springs will have meant only one thing to medieval writers. It
was a sign of the anger of God. So, what was going on in Finchampstead?
There is probably a very simple explanation for what was happening. There
are 4,000 known species of red algae in the world and, though they are
often present in tropical marine waters, they can also be found in fresh
water. Their colour is due to a red pigment reflecting red light and
absorbing blue light. The most likely explanation for the events at
Finchampstead is red algae bloom in the water. The fact that two records
clearly describe it as a summer event support this likelihood. Increased
summer temperatures, along with excess nutrients, encourages the growth
of algae. In the same way, modern summer heat has led to related blue-
green algae in lakes, poisoning dogs who drank from it. The presence of red
(and possibly semi-toxic) water will have been a very striking occurrence;
especially at a time of political, or social, unrest. Sadly, the spring in
question was destroyed by road widening in the early twentieth century.
 The Westminster Chronicle, 1381–1394, records another way in which
strange water phenomena were thought to be portents of great events:
On 1 February [1388] near Abingdon the bed of the river Thames was empty of water for the
length of a bowshot; and remained so for an hour, conveying a striking omen of events that
were to follow [The crisis at the Westminster Parliament between Richard II and earls accused
of plotting against him].

John of Worcester records a similarly strange event which happened in

1110:
Amazing things occurred all over England. At Shrewsbury there was a large earthquake. At
Nottingham, from dawn right up to the third hour, a mile of the Trent dried up so that men
walked along its channel dryshod. A comet appeared on 8 June and was visible for three weeks.

The clue here probably lies in the earthquake. It is not at all unusual for
earthquakes to disturb springs and rivers. Unlike the Westminster
chronicler, John of Worcester does not speculate as to the possible meaning
of the event, although his tone suggests he felt something significant was
happening.
As with other medieval records of wondrous events, some chroniclers
also record accounts of marvellous creatures whose activities are not
interpreted as portents but who form part of the medieval fascination with
strange animals. In this fascination real creatures mix with mythological
beasts but both are treated with the same level of seriousness. It is this
absence of observational criticism which most clearly differentiates the
medieval from the modern study of nature. However, it has to be
remembered that popular modern interest still focuses on such things as the
Loch Ness Monster, Big Foot and the Abominable Snowman. In this
respect there is little difference between some modern and medieval
outlooks. And some cases – such as the Big Cat sightings in England – may
occupy the mysterious twilight zone of possibly being based on real
animals.
Gervase of Tilbury reports without comment on the existence of sirens
off the British coast.
They have a female head, long, shining hair, a woman’s breasts, and all the limbs of the female
form down to the navel; the rest of their body tails off as a fish. With the immense sweetness of
their singing these creatures so penetrate the hearts of passing sailors that they succumb utterly
 to the sensuous enticement of their ears; they become forgetful of their duty, and very often
suffer shipwreck through carelessness.

In this report, Gervase was giving a British location for something he would
have known about from his reading of classical sources. However, classical
sirens, such as those described by the Roman poet Ovid (born 43 BC), were
half bird/half woman. By about AD 700 descriptions of mermaid forms first
appear. However, a beautiful woman with a fish’s tail had earlier appeared
in the Latin writings of Horace (born 65 BC). By the mid-twelfth century
the idea of the fish-woman was well established, though the bird-woman
still sometimes appeared in some accounts. The location of sirens in
English waters may simply have occurred due to a desire to link classical
creatures with a familiar location. On the other hand, it may have been
stimulated by the presence of seals on sandbanks. Nothing so simple,
though, would seem to explain the Merman of Orford Castle described at
the start of this chapter, and this fascinating claim must stand as an example
of one of the strangest reports of marvels from the Middle Ages.
Another curious claim – given the ease of testing it as being false – is
found in the mid-thirteenth-century Bestiary MS Bodley 764, which
contains a strange tale about a bird which sounds like a confused
combination of a kingfisher and a dipper. But the most amazing things
about this bird, according to this writer, are that ‘If, after they have died,
they are kept in a dry place, they never putrefy.’ As if this was not strange
enough: ‘what is even more extraordinary, if they are hung by the beak in a
dry place, they renew their plumage each year, as if some part of the living
spirit was dormant in the remains.’ This astonishing claim refers to birds in
Ireland, but the description of the birds and their natural habits would
clearly have applied to kingfishers in England too. Perhaps the fact that the
Irish birds were in another land seemed to justify them having particularly
strange characteristics.
More easily understood is the medieval tradition regarding barnacle
geese. When is a bird a fish? This was a serious question, according to
Gervase of Tilbury. He wrote about an odd tradition near Faversham Abbey
in Kent:
Small trees grow on the sea-shore, about the size of willows. From them nodes sprout but when
they have grown for the time allotted in creation, they take on the shape of little birds.
 Now this might seem odd enough, but:
At the end of the number of days required by nature, these birds hang down by their beaks and
come to life with a light fluttering of their wings; then they drop into the sea. Sometimes they
are caught by the locals, but sometimes they go free on the ocean-waves, escaping human
grasp. These birds grow to the size of small geese.

The intriguing thing is that this is not the first time this claim was made.
This legend was first recorded by an Arab writer in the tenth century AD.
Similar descriptions are found in other medieval writings. But the reason
why medieval monks were so interested was because:
In the season of Lent they are roasted and eaten, their manner of birth being taken into
consideration for this rather than the fact that they taste of meat. The people call this bird the
barnacle-goose.

This was not an isolated record of this impact of the supposed origin of
barnacle geese on medieval fasting habits. The Bestiary MS Bodley 764
claimed that: ‘In some parts of Ireland, bishops and men of religion eat
them during times of fasting without committing a sin, because they are
neither flesh, nor born of flesh.’ Ranulf Higden, in The Universal Chronicle
(written in about 1320), also knew about this belief:
The barnacle geese grew from trees, and hung by their beaks like the shellfish that clings to
timber. When they were covered with feathers, they either fell into the water, or else flew away.
They were eaten on fasting-days because . . .

At which point Ranulf reveals that he’s not convinced, because ‘they were
supposed not to be born from animals, but none the less these birds were
flesh’.
The reasons for this tale of an animal-wonder are fairly obvious.
Barnacle geese flock on the sea shore when on migration. Now, large
barnacles look a bit like eggs, plus the egg cases of fish such as ray, dogfish
and skate are often found on the sea shore. Those produced by dogfish have
tendrils used to attach the egg case to seaweed. They actually look like
seaweed. This clearly encouraged the idea that these eggs were in some way
connected to the flocking geese. The attraction of this belief, for some,
clearly lay in the fact that it made it acceptable to eat roast goose in Lent.
How far this was followed is impossible to know, and it may be that it only
occurred in isolated incidents.
The walking dead
There was a very strong medieval fear of revenants, or the walking dead.
The popularity of these stories may reflect the strength of Church teaching
on making a good death through being confessed and absolved, receiving
the Last Rites and being in a good relationship with the Church. What had
its roots in common folklore tales of ghosts soon became an educational
tool to encourage the correct attitude towards preparation for death.
Interestingly, while clerical writers explained the walking dead as being re-
animated by demons, more popular accounts stressed that they were those
who had experienced a bad death coming back to life to harm the living.
The 30 days after death were seen as particularly important in assisting the
dead through purgatory by prayers and the saying of Masses. Prayers over
new graves, for a period after death, both assisted the dead and protected
the living as the buried body experienced decomposition.
One of the most striking accounts of revenants is found in the Life and
Miracles of St Modwenna, written by Geoffrey of Burton. It involved two
villeins living in Stapenhill (Derbyshire, now Staffordshire) under the
jurisdiction of the Abbot of Burton. These villeins, seeking to escape their
servile status, ran away to a nearby village called Drakelow – as Geoffrey
put it, in a defence of the social status quo, ‘wrongfully leaving their lords,
the monks’. The next day – on their first day of illicit freedom – the two
men dropped dead and their bodies were returned to Stapenhill for burial.
However, this was not the end, as:
they appeared at evening, while the sun was still up, at Drakelow, carrying on their shoulders
the wooden coffins in which they had been buried. The whole following night they walked
through the paths and fields of the village, now in the shape of men carrying wooden coffins on
their shoulders, now in the likeness of bears or dogs or other animals. They spoke to the other
peasants, banging on the walls of their houses and shouting.

This horrific visitation took place every evening and night for some time,
until a terrible disease broke out in the village of Drakelow and killed all its
inhabitants except three. The manorial lord of the village, who earlier had
been willing to accept the runaway villains, was Count Roger the Poitevin.
In desperation he paid compensation to the abbey, via the reeve of the
village, one of the three survivors. The local bishop then gave permission to
exhume the bodies of these walking dead from their graves.
 They found them intact, but the linen cloths over their faces were stained with blood. They cut
off the men’s heads and placed them in the graves between their legs, tore out the hearts from
their corpses, and covered the bodies with earth again. They brought the hearts to the place
called Dodecrossefora/Dodefreseford and there burned them from morning until evening. When
they had at last been burned up, they cracked with a great sound and everyone there saw an evil
spirit in the form of a crow fly from the flames. Soon after this was done both the disease and
the phantoms ceased.

Two sick villagers recovered and gave thanks to St Modwenna, and

thereafter Drakelow became a deserted medieval village. This account is a
concise piece of theological and social engineering. It combines warnings
about dying with unconfessed sins with defence of the Church’s rights to
demand villein service from its tenants (who should accept their lot). It also
warns neighbouring lords not to poach labourers from Church-run manors.
Furthermore, it was accounted to the credit of St Modwenna, the saint that
Geoffrey particularly venerated.
There are many such stories. Walter Map retells one in which:
. . . in the time of Roger, bishop of Worcester [bishop 1164–79], a man, reported to have died
unChristianly, for a month or more wandered about in his shroud both at night and also in open
day, till the whole population of the neighbourhood laid siege to him in an orchard, and there he
remained exposed to view, it is said, for three days. I know further that this Roger ordered a
cross to be laid upon the grave of the wretch, and the man himself to be let go. When, followed
by the people, he came to the grave, he started back, apparently at the sight of the cross, and ran
in another direction. Whereupon they wisely removed the cross: he sank into the grave, the
earth closed over him, the cross was laid upon it and he remained quiet.

This is a classic of the revenant genre of stories. The episode opens with a
‘bad death’ and is resolved when the bishop excommunicates the walking
corpse.
Walter’s book contained a number of these warning tales. One, set in
Northumberland, is similar to the Stapenhill/Drakelow story in its relatively
crude defence of Church manorial rights and worldly power. In this next
story, a knight is shocked by the appearance of his dead father. The walking
dead asked for a priest to be called. The priest duly arrived and:
. . . falling at his feet the ghost said: ‘I am that wretch who long ago you excommunicated
unnamed, with many others, for unrighteous withholding of tithes; but the common prayers of
the Church and the alms of the faithful have by God’s grace so helped me that I am permitted to
ask for absolution.’ So being absolved he went, with a great train of people following, to his
grave and sank into it, and it closed over him of its own accord.
At other times such stories betray their links to older traditions of fairies
and other worlds. Such a story is that recounted by Walter Map, which is
without the social and theological content of Geoffrey of Burton’s account
of the dead villeins, or Walter’s own account of the dead father of the
knight:
What are we to say of those cases of ‘fantasy’ which endure and propagate themselves in a
good succession, as this of Alnoth . . . in which a knight is said to have buried his wife, who
was really dead, and to have recovered her by snatching her out of a dance and after that to have
got sons and grandsons by her, and that the line lasts to this day, and those who come of it have
grown to a great number and are in consequence called ‘sons of the dead mother’.

William of Newburgh combines the two themes – the walking dead and
Church authority – in an event said to have occurred in Buckinghamshire.
In this account a dead man ‘entered the bed where his wife was reposing, he
not only terrified her on awaking, but nearly crushed her by the
insupportable weight of his body’. This horrible event, for which William
offered no explanation, continued every night for several days and then the
dead man took to haunting others and appearing in the daytime too. At last
the bishop of Lincoln became involved and wrote a letter of absolution –
since he thought that the ‘usual’ response of digging up and burning the
dead person’s body was improper. The letter was to be placed on the dead
man’s body. When the grave was opened:
the corpse was found as it had been placed there, and the charter of absolution having been
deposited upon its breast, and the tomb once more closed, he was thenceforth never more seen
to wander.

Cross-species monsters
From the twelfth century onwards bestiaries became very popular, with
their illustrated accounts of strange and exotic animals. Many of these were
purely mythological fantasies, while others are clearly based on garbled
travellers’ tales of unusual animals, such as giraffes and rhinos. Mixed in
with this was an intellectual trend which was relatively new in the twelfth
century. This change in learned thinking reveals itself in some very unusual
tales of marvels regarding crossbreeding, both animal and human.
Gerald of Wales recorded claims of human–animal crossbreeds in Wales
and in Ireland and had a particular interest in horror stories connected with
sex. Furthermore, he wrote ‘there was a beautiful woman’, but things were
not as they appeared because she ‘turned into a hairy creature, rough and
shaggy while in the embrace of a man.’ The message is a mixture of belief
in werewolves (half wolf, half human) and fear of women. Gervase of
Tilbury, who wrote in about 1200, also claimed: ‘I have known at least two
werewolves, one of whom devoured infants.’ Though he doesn’t actually
claim these werewolves were cross-breeds, his story is part of the same fear
of mixed animals and people. Exactly who these ‘werewolves’ were is
unknown. They might have been psychopathic child killers for whom the
only suitable description was ‘werewolf’. Unfortunately, Gervase does not
give us any more clues.
We now know that Gerald’s and Gervase’s ideas were part of a changing
view of animals. We can see it in the writings of a number of chroniclers
from the twelfth century onwards. Before this time, animals and people
were thought of as being totally different. Cross-breeding between animals
and people was not thought possible. However, it was thought possible that
animals might in rather strange ways influence human reproduction, though
not through actually cross-breeding. The Bestiary MS Bodley 764, written
in about 1250 but based on manuscripts dating from the late Roman period
and earlier, suggested that:
many people think that pregnant women should not look at ugly beasts such as apes and
monkeys, in case they bring children into the world who resemble these caricatures. For
women’s nature is such that they produce offspring according to the image they see or have in
mind at the moment of ecstasy as they conceive.

However, from the time of Gerald of Wales onwards, writers began to think
that maybe it was possible that humans and animals might breed and
produce cross-breeds. This made fears about bestiality even more terrifying.
It was no longer seen only as a sin affecting the sinful person. The fear grew
that it might also create monsters. Gerald believed that in Ireland there
already existed monsters which were half human and half animal. In fact,
Gerald had an interest in cross-species monsters even when no human being
was involved.
‘In our own days,’ he wrote in 1188 about the English/Welsh border country, ‘there was born a
deer-cow. A stag mated with a cow. From this union there was born a deer-cow. All its
forequarters as far back as the groin were bovine; but its rump, tail, legs and hoofs were like
 those of a deer, and it had a deer’s colouring and shaggy hair. It stayed with the herds, for it was
more of a domestic animal than a wild one.’

Gerald also had another similar story. ‘Again in our time a bitch near here
had a litter by a monkey and produced puppies which were ape-like in front
but more like a dog behind.’ But in case anyone asked to see these amazing
monkey-dogs, Gerald had an answer as to where the evidence had gone:
‘When the warden of the soldiers’ quarters [in the castle] saw them, he was
amazed at these prodigies of nature. Their deformed and hybrid bodies
revolted this country bumpkin.’ And so the ‘evidence’ vanished because:
‘He killed the whole lot of them out of hand with a stick. His master was
very annoyed when he learned what had happened and the man was
punished.’ Gerald was not alone in his beliefs. Medieval bestiaries claimed
there were five types of monkey, or ape. One, called the cynocephalus, had
the face of a dog and a long tail. It is possible that Gerald had heard of this
and then, when he later heard local stories of deformed puppies, he
concluded they were these monstrous animals.

Strange and unusual people

In a world in which disabilities were not subject to modern sensitivities and
belief in equal opportunities, Matthew Paris recorded the occurrence on the
Isle of Wight, in 1249, of a boy with greatly restricted height. ‘He was not a
dwarf, for his limbs were of just proportions; he was hardly three feet tall
but had ceased to grow’. What is disturbing is how he was treated because
he ‘deviated’ from the accepted norm. ‘The queen ordered him to be taken
around with her as a freak of nature to arouse the astonishment of
onlookers.’ An even more negative assessment of difference was meted out
to a child born in Hereford. Matthew asserts that: ‘Within half a year his
teeth were fully grown and he was as tall as a youth of seventeen.’ We may
reject the exaggerated height but we are clearly here dealing with an
unusually accelerated development, which is not unknown in certain rare
cases. What is most revealing is Matthew’s verdict on the cause of this
unusual growth. He reports the belief, without qualification, that the child
was ‘begotten it was said by a demon’ and, as a result, the ‘mother was
taken ill after the birth, pined away, and died miserably. Both of these were
freaks of nature, the latter exceeding man’s natural size, the former not
attaining it.’
Matthew also combines condemnation of lesbianism with the idea that a
hidden sin cannot remain hidden, in a report that:
A woman of gentle origins, free and unmarried, made another woman pregnant. Their names
were Hawisia and Lucia and they had two sons. The third pregnancy horrified the mother who
confessed.

This, of course, went against all medieval ideas concerning pregnancy,

which held that the male was solely responsible and the woman entirely
passive in the act of conception. Clearly Matthew was prepared to accept
that, in exceptional circumstances, this process might be overturned in order
to reveal sin. In reality, the event might have resulted from an elicit
heterosexual relationship which, on discovery through pregnancy, was for
some reason blamed on a lesbian relationship as a way of shielding the
father. This, though, is speculation.
Strange as the above account is, some stories of medieval marvels are so
astonishing that they defy any possible modern rational explanation. They
simply stand as testimony to a nonscientific mindset and a fascination with
the bizarre. How else are we to explain the following report from Friar
Roger Bacon? He claimed: ‘A woman in Norwich, stout and of good
stature, did not eat or excrete for twenty years. A fact proven in front of the
bishop.’ It would be interesting to see the nature of the ‘proof’.
But perhaps the last word should go to the Chronicle of Adam Usk,
1377–1421. In a type of reporting which might be found in some modern
tabloid newspapers, he claimed that:
During this parliament [1399], two valets of the king who were dining in London found, in five
eggs which were served up to them, the exact likeness of men’s faces in every detail, the white
having congealed and separated from the faces above the forehead in place of hair before
passing down the jowls to the chin; one of which I saw.

Which suggests that there is a capacity to be entertained by the bizarre

which is timeless.
 Chapter 11
THE CYCLE OF THE YEAR

The Church in the Middle Ages structured the year to create different time
periods in which the core beliefs of the Christian faith were celebrated.
Today many Christian denominations continue to do this, and Christian
liturgical calendars of Western Christians (as opposed to Eastern Orthodox
Christians) – such as Lutheran, Anglican and other Protestant churches – to
some extent follow the cycle of the Roman, or Latin, Rite of the Catholic
Church. This cycle pre-dates the Reformation and developed through the
Middle Ages. The so-called ‘liturgical seasons’ of the year in Western
Christianity are: Advent, Christmas, Ordinary Time (Time after Epiphany),
Lent, Easter and Ordinary Time (Time after Pentecost, or after Trinity). The
phrase ‘ordinary time’ sounds strange and needs a little explanation. The
word ‘ordinary’ comes from the same root as ‘ordinal’, and in the liturgical
calendar means ‘the counted weeks’. These are weeks which do not belong
to an identified season; as such they act as a kind of bridge between major
festivals. The greatest concentration of medieval ritual events occurred
between Christmas and midsummer, and this has led some commentators to
talk of a ‘ritual half of the year’ and a ‘secular half of the year’. However,
this is misleading because the whole of the year was affected by ritual and
communal activities; this division of the year is really one of emphasis and
not of striking contrast.1
 This cycle of the year guided people in the Middle Ages through the
calendar. It gave a purpose and a meaning to the passage of the seasons as
they revealed truths about the Christian faith. The celebrations, feasts, fasts,
vigils and processions gave structure, colour and texture to people’s lives.
They added to the sense of being part of a comprehensive world view and,
in a period where many could not read or write, they served to educate
people in central aspects of the Catholic Christian faith. Over time these
developed, and occasionally there were new rituals added to the cycle, or
new ways in which established celebrations were expressed. Other, more
secular, festivities were also woven into this yearly calendar and played a
part in marking the passage of time. A great deal of the study of this
seasonal structure, its origins, development and the impact on it of the
sixteenth-century Reformation has been carried out by Ronald Hutton,2 and
this overview of the medieval year, though also assisted by the work of
other historians, is greatly indebted to the evidence he has presented.
In this overview only those festivities carried out in the Middle Ages will
be discussed and there will be no attempt to account for their development
since the mid-1550s, since that lies outside the scope of this book. In
exploring this theme the structure of the Western Christian liturgical year
will be followed, although some of the events discussed were secular in
origin and will be identified as such.

Advent: preparing for the birth of Christ

Advent Sunday is the fourth Sunday before Christmas. As such it starts the
liturgical year as it looks forward to the birth (Nativity) of Christ. Between
Advent Sunday and Christmas Day was a four-week period of fasting. Of
these fast days the holiest was Christmas Eve, when all meat, cheese and
eggs were forbidden. The kinds of fast experienced at Advent, in Lent and
at many other times of the Christian year were not times of abstaining from
all food. Instead, they were times of reduced diet in which richer food was
not eaten and in which fish replaced meat.

Christmas: The birth of Christ and the Twelve Days of Christmas

By the Middle Ages the celebration of Christ’s birth on 25 December had
become part of a twelve-day celebration – the Twelve Days of Christmas.
The block of time between 26 December and 6 January was regarded as one
interlinked sequence of festivities in which there were three fast days in the
middle, surrounded by celebrations. The Sarum Rite (a form of service
compiled at Salisbury Cathedral, Wiltshire) indicates that Christmas Day
should start with a Mass. This was followed by reciting the genealogy of
Christ, which was accompanied by lighting of candles and tapers in the
darkened church. The largest of these was the candle burning on the rood
loft, the wooden screen dividing the chancel from the nave and surmounted
by statues of Jesus, St John and the Virgin Mary. The rest of Christmas Day
was a celebration which ended the Advent Fast. As such it began the
Christmas Season, rather than featuring as its climax. Many lords provided
feasts for their tenants as well as for their immediate household.
In addition to celebrations on 25 December there were other important
festivities associated with this period of the year. On 26 December, St
Stephen the first Christian martyr was remembered. 27 December became
the day of St John the Evangelist. 28 December was Holy Innocents’ Day,
which recalled the children of Bethlehem murdered by Herod’s soldiers.
This day linked back to Christmas Day and forward to 6 January, Epiphany.
1 January, already significant as New Year’s Day, became the feast of
Christ’s Circumcision. Older traditions concerning New Year’s Day
continued to cause concern to Church leaders. In northern England it was
influenced by activities whose roots went back to pagan Viking times and to
which has become attached the Scandinavian word Yule. This word was not
known in England before the eleventh century, though it may have had an
earlier form to describe midwinter events which were pagan in origin.
Sometime before 1008 Archbishop Wulfstan condemned superstitious
activities associated with this period, and in the late twelfth century the
bishop of Exeter identified a specific act of penance for those involved in
‘heathen rites’ on this day. Fourteenth- and fifteenth-century comments
have also survived which condemn attempts to tell the fortune of the year
on this day. At Torksey (Lincolnshire), an amnesty for disputes was called
Yule-girth: at York this ran for 12 days from St Thomas’ Day on 21
December and apparently attracted many undesirable characters to the city
to make the most of this permissive period. The fact that 1 January was
tainted with activities linked to pre-Christian festivals may explain why, in
1155, New Year’s Day was shifted to 25 March, which was the Christian
feast of the Annunciation. This way of calculating the start and end of the
year lasted until 1752. Despite this, New Year’s Eve and New Year’s Day
continued to be a time of community events.
The Twelve Days were times of community celebration. Villeins did not
have to work on the demesne land of the lord of the manor during this
period. Lords provided a feast, though on a number of manors it was more a
bring-and-share lunch, since villeins were expected to bring foodstuffs as
gifts for their manorial lord! The feasts given by royal, episcopal and
aristocratic households could be enormous. Party games were also enjoyed
and the record of the keeping of Christmas by the bishop of Salisbury in
1406 refers to ‘games’ and ‘disguisings’. During the fifteenth century
manor accounts also record money paid to travelling entertainers. While we
do not know the content of these plays, it is likely that many focused on the
theme of the Nativity itself. These festivities were accompanied by singing
carols. A large number of these survive from the decades either side of
1500, although the first are recorded from 1300. They are songs which
accompanied a dance and which often had lyrics concerned with the
Nativity, or a saint, although some had secular themes. Card and board
games, it can be surmised, also played a part in these times.
Late Medieval records also refer to decorating churches with evergreen
plants such as holly and ivy. Houses seem to have been decorated in the
same way. There are hints that holly decorated the inside and ivy the
porches. There are no medieval references to mistletoe being used in these
decorations, and no sense whatsoever that anything remotely pagan was
associated with this foliage. The record of laying mistletoe on the altar at
York Minster dates from no earlier than the seventeenth century and, while
this clearly goes back to a pre-Christian past, it had long been stripped of
any pagan belief system and was assimilated into the Christian
world/cosmic view of life continuing within a period of darkness and death.
Despite many claims to the contrary there are few medieval records of
any other midwinter celebrations, apart from a suggestion that, in about the
1520s, the Abbots Bromley Horn Dance (in Staffordshire) was already in
operation. Here it seems that a Christmas-time celebration involved some
use of a hobby horse and probably the reindeer horns later used by dancers.
The horns themselves have been dated to the eleventh century. There is,
however, no evidence for anything else like it elsewhere in England.3 Other
hobby horses are known from the northern Midlands in the early sixteenth
century and were part of events designed to raise money for the parish.
The tone of an aristocratic Christmas is provided in the late fourteenth-
century poem Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, which describes the
seasonal festivities at the legendary court of King Arthur:
The king lay at Camelot at Christmas-tide
with many a lovely lord, lieges most noble . . .
and jousted full joyously these gentle lords;
then to the court they came at carols to play.
For there the feast was unfailing fifteen days.4

The importance of New Year festivities is also apparent in this poem, along
with seasonal games and the giving of gifts. Indeed it was New Year which
appears to have been the main focus for gift giving:
then nobles ran anon with New Year gifts. . .
Competed for those presents in playful debate;
ladies laughed loudly, though they lost the game.4

Another form of seasonal entertainment which appears in the English

records from the thirteenth century is momerie, or mumming. In 1347 it is
recorded at the court of Edward III and involved the wearing of elaborate
masks. What started as a kind of disguised fancy dress event could – sadly –
become a cloak for crime. In 1405 the city authorities in London banned
mumming on the streets and similar restrictions were put into force in
Bristol and Chester in the fifteenth century. What is very interesting is that
there is absolutely no evidence at all from the Middle Ages of the kinds of
plays about combat and resurrection later associated with mummers, and it
seems clear that this was not an ancient custom which can be traced back to
this time.
A more constructive activity was that of hogglers, who first appear in
local records in the 1450s and who seem to have toured the parish raising
money for parish projects and at times paying for candles lit in the local
church. This collecting of money was perhaps linked to the New Year’s Day
tradition of gift giving, and lower down the social scale this – like hoggling
– probably involved pressure exerted on reluctant givers in some instances.
In London in 1419 a prohibition was passed against threats being used by
members of the households of city officials to get New Year’s Day gifts
from local traders!
Holy Innocents’ Day appears in England to have been associated with
processions and events involving young people – often choirboys – from
the 1220s. In 1222 at Salisbury it was described as the ‘Feast of Boys’. The
event seems to have involved the election of one choirboy as the ‘Boy
Bishop’ and in 1225 there is evidence from London of a small bishop’s
mitre being purchased for use. By the early fourteenth century the idea
seems to have spread from the cathedrals down to local parishes. From
1263 the clergy at St Paul’s in London revised the procedures so that they
chose which boy had the honour. (This attempt to control the event and
keep it more orderly lay behind a rule introduced at Salisbury, in 1443,
banning the carrying of staves.) At Winchester and York the Boy Bishop
had the honour of saying Mass. Some nunneries in the thirteenth century
allowed girls to lead the services on Holy Innocents’ Day. At Bristol, in the
1480s, the city’s mayor and corporation attended services at St Nicholas’
church, led by the Boy Bishop. This linking of the Boy Bishops with St
Nicholas was not unique and begins a long tradition of associating this saint
with children at Christmas time.
Linked with the idea of Boy Bishops was the idea of a ‘Lord of Misrule’.
This was another role-reversal custom and involved a member of a
household being chosen by lot to be ‘lord for the day’. The position was
sometimes called ‘Bean King’, as a bean cooked into a cake was the way by
which the person was selected, depending on who got the bean. Bean Kings
are recorded at the English royal court in 1315 and 1335. During the
fifteenth century ‘midwinter kings’ appear at Oxford and Norwich. A ‘Lord
of Misrule’ and an ‘Abbot of Unreason’ were set up in the royal court in
1489, and a Lord of Misrule continued to be a feature of royal Christmas-
tide celebrations until 1553 and the start of the reign of Mary Tudor. The
idea was not confined to the royal court, as the examples of the Oxford
colleges and the city of Norwich demonstrate, and such ‘Lords’ were found
in many well-off households. The day after Twelfth Night was called
Distaff Day and signalled a return to normal behaviour and the usual social
order.
From the 1320s descriptions increase of a communal gathering, sharing
drink from a wassail cup and wishing each other well. The word ‘wassail’
was derived from the Old English for ‘good health to you’. Earlier
thirteenth-century accounts refer to the dipping of cakes or bread in a
common bowl, which appears to be a variant of this tradition.

Epiphany: the revealing of Christ

6 January was the Feast of Epiphany. The theme celebrated was the
revealing of the nature of Jesus through events in His life as recorded in the
New Testament. The earliest of these was the visit of the Magi and the later
baptism of Jesus by John the Baptist in the river Jordan. Other revealings
also came to be celebrated on this day, including the miracle of turning
water into wine at the wedding at Cana and the Feeding of the Five
Thousand. The one which came to be particularly associated with this date
was the visit of the Magi to the young Jesus. Although not numbered or
named in Matthew’s gospel they soon became so associated with their gifts
of gold, frankincense and myrrh that it was assumed they had been three in
number and were kings.
Twelfth Night was sometimes associated with the raising of gilded Stars
of Bethlehem in some churches to celebrate the Wise Men. In wealthier
households, in the late fifteenth and early sixteenth centuries, there are
records again of feasting and of gift giving during this time.

Plough Monday: the breaking of the soil of winter

Between Christmas and Lent ploughing started. January, February and
March saw villagers engaged in this wet and exhausting work. And yet the
survival of the community rested on the success of the crop which lay at the
end of this process. As a result the start of ploughing attracted a great deal
of concern and villagers marked it in many different ways. By 1450 the
practice had been long established of setting aside the first Sunday after
Epiphany as ‘Plough Sunday’ and the first Monday after Twelfth Night as
‘Plough Monday’. Plough races might be held and there are critical
mentions of villagers hauling their plough around a fire, in order
(presumably) to ‘purify’ it and prepare it for the work ahead. Candles,
called ‘plough lights’, were set up in churches and are mentioned in the
church accounts of a number of parishes in East Anglia and the eastern
Midlands of England. In some parishes the ploughs were kept in the
churches prior to the start of ploughing, and in the period 1547–53 the
practice was condemned as ‘conjuring of ploughs’. From the mid-fifteenth
century there are mentions in church records of ploughs dragged around
villages, of collections of money to pay for the plough lights and of village
feasts.

Candlemas
On 2 February the Feast of the Purification of the Blessed Virgin Mary
recalled and celebrated the presentation of the baby Jesus in the Temple
(recorded in Luke 2: 22–35). Simeon’s response to the baby Jesus included
these words:
For my eyes have seen your salvation, which you have prepared in the sight of all people, a
light for revelation to the Gentiles and for glory to your people Israel.5

This gave the event its particular focus on light and on candlelit
processions, and from this came its traditional name in England of
Candlemas. Parishioners brought candles to church to be blessed.
Afterwards in some parishes these were paraded around the church; in
others they were burnt before statues of the Virgin Mary; in others they
were taken home to be lit in times of crisis. In a number of towns the
services and processions were followed by feasting. It is clear though that
the candles were starting to be venerated themselves, in a process which
characterizes a large number of Catholic festivals and celebrations in the
Middle Ages: starting as symbols, objects came to be invested with
attributions of holiness themselves. It was this and the strong focus on the
Virgin Mary which made the event the target of Protestant reformers in the
1540s and early 1550s.

St Valentine’s Day: 14 February

In the 1440s the English poet John Lydgate refers to an English custom at
the royal court of sending romantic gifts to the person they loved of the
opposite sex. The same event is mentioned in the Paston Letters from the
1470s. In some cases the person selected was chosen by lot within the
household. Whether this custom was only practised by the wealthy, or
whether it was supported by ordinary people, is impossible to tell from the
surviving evidence. The actual feast day of St Valentine was abolished
under Edward VI but the romantic fun continued, now disconnected from
any religious context.

Lent
The 40 days prior to Easter were marked by a time of fasting, referred to as
Lent. This time both recalled Jesus’s time in the wilderness prior to the start
of His earthly ministry, and also prepared believers for the celebration of
Easter, which marked the climax of His time on earth. All of the feasts, fasts
and celebrations related to Easter are ‘movable feasts’ because Easter itself
moves, being celebrated on the first Sunday after the first full moon after
the Spring equinox. As a result Easter-related events can occur as early as 4
February and as late as 24 June.
Lent was preceded by Shrove-tide. This covered ‘Collop Monday’ and
‘Shrove Tuesday’. The names preserve the dual characteristics of this time
– preparing for Lent (shrove coming from the word for confession) and
feasting before the start of the time of fasting (collop being a piece of
cooked meat). The period was a time of active celebration and feasting.
Pancakes are not actually recorded until about 1586 but may have been
present a lot earlier. Other – more active and rowdy – entertainments also
marked Shrove Tuesday: cockfighting, football and boisterous collection of
money. In 1314 the playing of football was banned in London on this day,
and in 1409 the money collections were similarly outlawed. A traditional
entertainment was ‘cock threshing’. This involved hurling missiles at a cock
to kill it, or burying one up to its neck in the ground and striking at it
blindfolded until the head came off. The brutal nature of this activity offers
a shocking glimpse into life in the Middle Ages – which may be set against
the illuminated manuscripts and magnificent Church architecture of the
time. The same society which produced these was quite capable of the most
shocking cruelty towards animals, and this is a feature of many societies
prior to the modern period. The football games could be equally violent.
The game appeared to have had no rules (apart from getting control of the
ball at all costs), no limits on numbers of players, and a reputation for
damage and injury.
And after this – the fast. During Lent the following were prohibited:
butter, cheese, eggs, meat, milk, marriage and sexual intercourse. In some
areas the fast was encouraged to be absolute during daylight hours, with
acceptable foodstuffs being consumed in the evening. Fish would have been
consumed in very large quantities as it was on all usual fast days,
principally Fridays. However, some people were prepared to eat barnacle
geese since it was popularly believed that these were hatched from
barnacles and were therefore more fish than fowl (see Chapter 10). The
period of fasting started on the morning of ‘Ash Wednesday’ with a service
characterized by confession and the marking of ash crosses on the foreheads
of those attending. At the same time the altar, the lectern and images of
Christ, the Virgin Mary and saints were covered in white cloths decorated
with red crosses.

Easter
The climax of the period of Lent was the great Christian celebration of the
death and Resurrection of Christ. The week before Easter was known as
Holy Week and started with Palm Sunday. This Sunday celebrates Christ’s
triumphant entry into Jerusalem in the week before His death and
Resurrection. The celebrations on this Sunday varied but the central theme
was the reading of New Testament accounts of Christ’s entry into Jerusalem
and the blessing of branches and processions – headed by the consecrated
host – from the church into the churchyard and back again. In some
churches people dressed as Old Testament prophets read Bible passages in
the churchyard, and flowers and cakes were thrown to those processing as
they re-entered the church. At the end of the service small crosses were
made from the branches and taken home. As with so many medieval
customs the slide from symbol to superstition meant that these ‘Palm
Crosses’ were regarded by many as being good-luck charms and as a
consequence would later be banned under Edward VI.
During Holy Week the Church events moved day by day towards Easter
and at each point prepared people for the events at the end of this special
week. In a service on Wednesday the cloth covering the altar was either torn
or removed. In the evening occurred the first of the Services of Shadows
(the Tenebrae), a very powerful and moving service which recalled the
desertion of Jesus by His disciples and his abandonment by the world as He
alone carried the sins of the world in His crucified body. Candles were set
up in church and, one by one, snuffed out until only the candle representing
Christ stood burning in the dark.
 On Maundy Thursday English rulers had, since John in 1210, followed
the tradition of washing the feet of selected (and presumably well-cleaned)
poor people and presenting them with gifts. This was in memory of Jesus
washing the feet of his disciples on the evening before His crucifixion.
From 1361 (in the reign of Edward III) the monarch washed the feet of the
number of poor people corresponding to his age. The same procedure was
followed at a number of cathedrals and abbeys. In the Middle Ages the day
was called Sharp Thursday and this was probably derived from the cutting
of hair in preparation for Easter. In churches altars and their cloths were
washed and parishioners attended confession. Bells were not rung on this
day. In the evening, in a number of churches, the Tenebrae was followed
once more.
On Good Friday altars were again washed. Some people emphasized
their sense of repentance by subjecting themselves to scourging by their
priest. On the same day monarchs since Edward II blessed rings which it
was then thought would have healing power against epilepsy. This survived
the reign of Edward VI and eventually stopped only during the reign of
Elizabeth I. During the Good Friday service a crucifix was laid on the steps
leading up to the altar and clergy and laity crawled to it to kiss it in a
ceremony known as ‘Creeping to the Cross’. After the service the cross and
a piece of the host consecrated on Maundy Thursday were wrapped in cloth
and laid in a specially made tomb on the northern side of the chancel. This
was the ‘Easter Sepulchre’. It was covered with a richly embroidered cloth
and often surrounded with candles. In many churches these candles were
paid for by the Corpus Christi guilds of the parish (see ‘Corpus Christi’,
below). In some churches members of the parish kept watch beside the
tomb, and bread and ale was provided from local collections. That night the
final Tenebrae was sung.
On Holy Saturday all candles in the church were put out according to the
Sarum Rite and then relit from a new fire started by the priest. This
relighting included the Paschal Candle, which was the largest candle used in
any church service or event. By 1500 the next great step in the Easter
celebration was the opening of the Easter Sepulchre early on Easter
morning, while it was still dark. The cross was carried around the church
and the bells – which had not been rung since the Wednesday of Holy Week
– pealed out. Afterwards, the cross was laid on the altar and Creeping to the
Cross took place once more. The empty sepulchre had candles lit before it
and this continued until the Friday following Easter. Statues which had been
covered for the whole of Lent were again uncovered. This was followed by
gifts being given to the local church. Easter Day was a popular day for
baptisms, as it was so central to Christian faith and to the hope of Eternal
Life. Feasting followed the Easter Mass and the giving of painted eggs
often occurred at this time as symbols of new life. This is documented as
early as 1290 in the royal court of Edward I.
The Mass at Easter was the centre point of the year, as far as the
involvement of laity in the Eucharist was concerned, because this was
normally the only time that they partook of the host. Following its
consecration at the high point of the Mass it was distributed to all the
parishioners present on Easter morning. So holy was the host that
parishioners often held a linen cloth under their chin – the houselling towel
– to prevent any crumbs of the host from falling to the ground. Usually, on
other Sundays throughout the year, as a substitute for the host, those present
at Mass shared a piece of the holy loaf. This was a loaf of bread presented
to the priest at the start of the service; later blessed and distributed amongst
the congregation as a sign of their unity. (Though often the size of the
pieces received reflected the social hierarchy of the local community!) The
wine of the Mass was only ever consumed by the priest, and the shift to
receiving the Eucharist in ‘both kinds’ was one of the major changes
brought about by the Protestant Reformation of the sixteenth century.
Easter Monday was often accompanied by local feasts called ‘church
ales’ in which money was collected for parish funds, especially the support
of the poor. This was sometimes associated with the return of the wassail
cup – last used following Christmas – and Lords of Misrule in some areas.
This continued during Hocktide or the Hokkedays, which fell on the second
Monday and Tuesday after Easter. First recorded in London in 1406, this
was traditionally claimed to recall either the massacre of the Danes in
England under Ethelred II, in 1002, or the death of the last Danish king to
rule England, Harthacnut, in 1042. There is, however, no evidence
connecting the Hocktide activities with these ancient events and the origin
of the activity is obscure. Traditionally the events consisted of the men of
the parish, on the Monday, capturing and tying up the women and
demanding a kiss for their release. On the Tuesday the women returned the
favour by capturing the men and demanding payment before freeing them.
The cash collected went to parish funds and very large sums of money were
raised. Hocktide activities were made illegal under Edward VI as they were
associated with disorder.

St George’s Day
23 April was the feast day of St George, a celebration which first appeared
in England in 1222. A large number of town guilds were set up to celebrate
the fame of this very popular saint through ‘ridings’ on his feast day. This
took the form of a procession with a model dragon and people dressed as St
George. It was nationally supported and had come to have a patriotic
character as well as a religious one. Despite this St George would not
survive the Reformation dismissal of cults of saints.

May Day and May Games

Activities linked to the first day of May are recorded as early as the middle
of the thirteenth century. The events centred on the cutting of flowers and
green branches, often flowering hawthorn, with which houses were
decorated to mark the coming of summer. This was the famous ‘bringing in
the May’. By 1350 maypoles (with their attendant dancing) were central
features of the day. From the fifteenth century there is evidence of young
women making and selling May garlands.
One of the most striking of later medieval events were the May Games.
These were often held on the two days after Whitsunday but could occur on
a number of occasions during the month of May. These were often
associated with ‘church ales’ called ‘Whitsun Ales’, where church wardens
would arrange a communal meal to raise money for parish funds. These
May Games became very popular during the fifteenth century. They often
involved dancing and the crowning of a mock king and queen to oversee the
events. Brief references to these mock coronations date from as early as
1240. In a number of parishes after the 1450s this position was taken by
Robin Hood. This very popular outlaw was usually accompanied by the
young men of the village and toured the local area raising money for parish
funds. From the earliest records of these May Games he is associated with
another character named Little John, and from later (after about 1500) with
Friar Tuck and Maid Marian. It seems that the ‘Queen of May’ and ‘the
friar’ were earlier and separate characters associated together with early
Morris Dancing. The original friar may not even have been the same
character as the later Friar Tuck. As early as about 1283 a French play by
Adam de la Halle linked a Robin with a shepherdess named Marion and the
two became part of the French version of the May Games. The two first
appeared in England in a poem, written by the English poet John Gower
between 1376–9. They seem to be part of a quite different tradition from
that of Robin Hood, and their role developed alongside his legends in the
fifteenth century until Robin Hood and the Robin of the May Games
became one character. This clearly seems to have occurred by 1500. In this
way Marian became the Queen and Robin Hood the King of the May
Games.6
Morris Dancing was also associated with these May-time revels. A great
deal of fanciful speculation has centred on the origins of Morris Dancing
but Ronald Hutton has reviewed the evidence, alongside the rival
interpretations, to convincingly demonstrate that in England it began life as
a mid-fifteenth-century energetic dance which was popular in royal and
aristocratic circles and, though royal interest declined in the 1520s, it had
by then become popular amongst commoners.7

Rogationtide
This event took place on the Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday before
Ascension Day and involved asking God’s blessing on the growing crops as
parishioners processed around the parish preceded by a cross. The name is
derived from the Latin word for ‘asking’ and the processions were also
known as Cross Days. Places where prayers were said on these processions
gave rise to local minor names and field names such as ‘Amen Corner’, still
found in English country areas today. Sadly, these processions could
sometimes lead to violence as processions from rival parishes met in the
fields and lanes. At Durham three processions made a circuit of the priory
precinct accompanied by portable shrines and the banner of St Cuthbert.
This was one day within a cycle of processions which occurred at Durham
between St Mark’s Day (on 25 April) and Corpus Christi.

Ascension Day
Celebrated on the sixth Thursday after Easter, this event recalled the
Ascension of Jesus into heaven. Church bells were rung and the Easter
Paschal Candle was lit for the last time. When it was taken out of the
church it was symbolic of Christ now being in heaven. In some areas there
were processions around the parish led by crosses and, if a church
possessed any, carrying relics of a saint.

Whitsunday, or Pentecost
The Christian celebration of Pentecost (on the seventh Sunday after Easter)
recalls the pouring of God’s Holy Spirit upon the assembled disciples in
Jerusalem following Ascension Day. In England Pentecost was also known
as Whitsunday, probably after the white baptismal robes worn by those
baptized on this day. Whitsunday was often the occasion of more parades
and, where a church was a daughter church of a larger one or under the
control of a monastery, visits to these might take place with gifts, known as
‘Pentecostals’. Church ales and May Games often followed for the next two
days. At Chester and Norwich there were parades and pageants and plays
more usually associated with Corpus Christi Day.

Trinity Sunday
Pope Alexander II (1061–73) refused a request for a special feast to honour
the Holy Trinity on the grounds that such a feast was not a tradition within
the Catholic Church and that every day the Church honoured the Holy
Trinity. However, he did not forbid continuing the celebration in churches
where it already existed. Later, Pope John XXII (1316–34) revised this
decision. He ordered that there should be a special feast day dedicated to
the Holy Trinity, for the entire Church, and that it should take place on the
first Sunday after Pentecost. A new form of service for this day had earlier
been written by the Franciscan John Peckham (died in 1292), who was later
archbishop of Canterbury. The Sundays until Advent then became counted
either from Pentecost, or from Trinity Sunday. In time, Trinity Sunday
marked the end of a three-week period (starting on Rogation Sunday) when
weddings were forbidden. At All Saints’ church, South Lynn (Norfolk) the
Holy Trinity Guild of the parish paid for the candles which burnt before the
image of the Holy Trinity there, and such guilds (which, along with Corpus
Christi guilds and those dedicated to the Virgin Mary, were very popular)
would have placed particular emphasis on supporting devotions on Trinity
Sunday.

Corpus Christi
This medieval celebration took place on the second Thursday after
Pentecost and was a late addition to the yearly cycle of Church events, as it
did not appear until 1317. It was formally started to draw greater attention
to the Catholic understanding of the Mass. This held that Christ was
actually present in the bread and wine of the Eucharist; the term used to
describe this is ‘the Real Presence’. It was encouraged by the developing
theology of Transubstantiation – an idea that had been growing for
centuries within the Catholic Church, although it was not until 1215 and the
Fourth Lateran Council that the word ‘transubstantiation’ was used in a
profession of faith, when describing the change that was believed to take
place in the Eucharist.
In 1318 the celebration of Corpus Christi is first recorded at Gloucester
and at Wells. The theme of the day was a statement of the unity of the
whole community and centred on the celebration of Christ’s sacrifice and
presence in the Catholic Mass. This increased its popularity right across the
social spectrum: from the Church hierarchy (for whom it became a central
feature of Church authority, since priests were believed to be the only ones
capable of channelling this presence of Christ), through secular authorities
(for whom it provided a focal point for community unity), to ordinary men
and women (because they believed it provided a way by which they could
come into the very presence of God, in the Mass). There is a great deal of
evidence which points to the fact that Catholic beliefs about the Mass were
well understood and were loyally followed by most of the community. It
was, in the words of John Bossy, the ‘social miracle’ which brought
together all communities – even those which in other ways were
economically and socially divided.8 As Corpus Christi became a target for
Lollard criticism (see Chapter 4), after 1390, its importance as a way of
stating traditional and orthodox belief increased in the fifteenth century.
Despite this focus on community unity, Corpus Christi Day could be
interpreted in a revolutionary sense in certain circumstances. It was surely
no coincidence that the Peasants’ Revolt broke out on 13 June – Corpus
Christi Day – 1381. At a time when many people felt that high taxes and
corrupt government threatened community life, the day became a platform
for protest. It was also an opportunity to declare a new social order, in
which the end of villeinage, the removal of worldly priests and the sharing
out of Church lands would create a new community of the ‘true commons’.9
At St Albans those in revolt particularly resented the abbot’s insistence on
locals being forced to pay to use his mill. An early abbot had confiscated
the millstones of tenants and had set them into the floor of the parlour of the
monastery as a sign of his power over them. In 1381 the rebels dug up these
millstones, broke them up and gave pieces to each present to take home.
This was a deliberate re-enactment of the theme of Corpus Christi and that
of the ‘holy loaf’ (see ‘Easter’, above). It reminds us how deep Christian
belief and devotion to Corpus Christi ran in the hearts, minds and popular
culture of England in the Middle Ages, and that it did not always take the
form that those in authority wished it to! The chronicler, Thomas
Walsingham, who described the events at St Albans on that Corpus Christi
day, knew exactly what was going on – and did not approve.
The occasion itself was marked by processions of the host through the
streets, and by 1400 it had become the third most popular focus of attention
by religious guilds, after the Virgin Mary and The Trinity. These guilds
existed to channel activities towards a particular form of Christian devotion:
meeting for Mass on the day that was particularly special to them, paying
for candles and services, and asking God’s blessing on the groups
responsible. They often held a feast on these days, and both men and
women could be members, although women were rarely officers.10 These
religious guilds grew to increasing prominence in the second half of the
fourteenth century. In many towns the Corpus Christi processions were very
elaborate and included shrines to house the host and a canopy to protect the
shrine from rain. Crosses and candles were carried and town dignitaries
followed the priests. As the host passed, those on the street were expected
to remove their hats and stand bare-headed in reverence. Churches were
decorated with flowers, bells were rung and parish accounts refer to the
purchase of wine for those taking part in the procession.
After the procession, dramatic presentations often took place. These
dramas had as their focus key Biblical themes relating to Creation, the Fall,
God’s Salvation for believers in Christ and the Last Judgement. In larger
towns huge pageants on carts were pulled through the streets – these
appeared at York from 1376, and by 1415 the actors on their carts were part
of an elaborate display. The same development occurred across England,
and from this arose the Mystery Plays (see Chapter 8). The name derives
from the guilds or ‘mysteries’ (i.e. skilled craftsmen who guarded the
secrets of their trade) who paid for and organized different aspects of these
plays. The Mystery Plays were made up of a cycle of different plays which
had the same themes as earlier tableaux. They are known in Coventry from
the 1440s, York by 1460 and Chester, where a developed cycle of plays was
in operation by the 1520s. In the last case the cycle of plays was moved to
Whitsun. The guilds spent huge amounts of money on costumes and
scenery and usually took a theme appropriate to their trade, such as
fishmongers presenting scenes on the Sea of Galilee, or shipwrights
constructing Noah’s ark. It has been suggested that the reason why some
towns produced these elaborate events while others did not was because
they had particular reasons for needing large-scale community projects
designed to encourage unity, perhaps because of particular stresses or
conflicts between groups.11 Whether this was true or not is unclear, but
certainly many major towns did not produce such cycles of plays, or even
the less demanding pageants.

Summer events
Some seasonal events and customs had no place within the calendar of the
Christian Church, not even as pre-Christian events which had been
incorporated into Christian activities or adapted to Christian teaching. The
most obvious of these took place at midsummer, at a time when there were
relatively few Church feasts and celebrations. Many of these community
activities involved fire. In the fourteenth century, at Winchcombe
(Gloucestershire), a flaming wheel was rolled down a steep slope of the
Cotswolds. Something similar happened at Buckfastleigh (Devon), only
there it was thought lucky if the wheel could be guided into a stream to
extinguish it. Both these took place on Midsummer’s Eve (23 June) which
was also the evening before the feast of St John the Baptist. At Whitby
(Yorkshire) fire celebrations occurred on the eves of the Nativity of St John
the Baptist (23 June), Saints Peter and Paul (28 June) and the Translation of
St Thomas Becket (of his body from its first burial place) (6 July). Other
fire ceremonies involved carrying lighted torches around cornfields; these
events were associated with village feasts. Examples of such fire
ceremonies date from the thirteenth century, and the fires were sometimes
referred to as ‘St John’s Fire’. Bonfire parties also occurred in many
villages, and in some towns there were processions, such as those which
took place in London from 1378. In London, Chester, Coventry and many
other towns these processions developed into major pageants, with burning
torches, musicians, hobby horses and models of fabulous animals.

First fruits, harvest and the turning of the year

1 August was generally regarded as the start to the harvest and was called
Lammas Day (from the Old English word hlafmaesse, meaning ‘loaf-
mass’). In a number of areas it was the custom to cut the first sheaf, bake
the flour into bread and dedicate it to God. In this way the ‘first fruits’ of
the harvest were consecrated and God’s blessing was sought for the whole
harvest. Lammas was also an important day for fairs and rent payments.
Early September saw the harvest gathered in. On some manors the
custom grew up of the lord of the manor providing food and drink for the
reapers during harvest. At others a Harvest Supper was held, with food and
drink provided by the lord. Shortly after harvest was Michaelmas, on 29
September, which was the feast of St Michael the Archangel. Like Lammas,
it was a day on which a number of the organizational aspects of rural life
were brought together: courts were held, rent was paid and a Michaelmas
goose was traditionally consumed.
This time of the year was also the traditional time for dedication feasts,
or wakes, in honour of the saint after whom the local church was named.
There was no fixed date for these church services and communal meals.
Parishes often invited neighbouring parishes to join them, and the mutual
partying could go on for days – with harvest safely in and winter
approaching many people clearly felt the need for an extended period of
festivity.
Some of the feast days of saintly patrons could attract rather unusual
activities. At Bury St Edmunds (Suffolk) a white bull, garlanded with
flowers, was led to the abbey accompanied by barren wives who stroked its
flanks and – once the abbey was reached – prayed that they might conceive.
The oblique link between this symbol of sexual potency and a saint who
was a ‘glorious king, virgin and martyr’ (to quote his titles publicized at
Bury) is only a thin veneer over a blatantly superstitious activity. While this
example is fairly extreme, it helps explain why Protestant reformers were
very antagonistic to the cult of saints and some of the highly questionable –
and at times non-Christian – activities which had become associated with
some of them during the Middle Ages.12 At St Paul’s cathedral, London, on
the feast day of St Paul a fallow buck was delivered from the Essex hunting
chase of one of its manors and carried through the cathedral to the high
altar. From there it was sent for cooking, except for the head and antlers
which were paraded back through the cathedral before the cross, to the west
door. Here a hunting horn was sounded and other horns replied from around
the city.13

Autumn and the coming of winter

In November the dark days of autumn turning to winter were alleviated by
the twin festivals of All Saints’ Day, or All Hallows’ Day, on 1 November,
and All Souls’ Day on 2 November. On All Saints’ Day prayers were said
to speed the souls of the dead through purgatory (a Catholic belief in the
refining of souls prior to the Final Judgement to heaven, or to hell).
Following this, the church bells were rung to comfort these souls. In some
parishes the bells rang until midnight. Sometimes these ceremonies were
transferred to the following night – the evening of All Souls’ Day.
The final November event was that of Martinmas, on 11 November, the
feast of St Martin. This took place at the time of the slaughtering of surplus
farm animals for whom there was insufficient of the valuable hay supplies
to feed them over the winter. As a result this date became closely associated
with community feasts as the last fresh meat of the year was eaten; the
remainder being salted or smoked to preserve it.
In some parishes St Catherine’s Day (the saint associated with the
‘Catherine Wheel’), on 25 November, was marked with feasts. Some
celebrated St Clement’s Day, on 23 November, in the same way. More
parishes elected Boy Bishops (otherwise associated with the Twelve Days
of Christmas) on St Nicholas’s Day on 6 December and allowed these to
perform the role of priest. However, for most English Christians in the
Middle Ages, Martinmas was the last major celebration until the cycle of
the year started again with the First Sunday in Advent.
The impact of the Reformation on the cycle of the year
The Reformation had a tremendous impact on the cycle of seasonal events.
The new Protestant Prayer Book under Edward VI (1547–53) put an end to
the traditional services held on Christmas Morning and at Epiphany. Not
only the traditional services were banished; in many churches the rood lofts
themselves were physically demolished at this time. However, the fact that
so many of the celebrations at this time were based on events recorded in
the Bible meant that the Twelve Days of Christmas survived from the
Middle Ages into the Early Modern period more intact than many other
medieval celebrations. In this way the celebrations of Christmas, St
Stephen, St John the Evangelist, Holy Innocents, Christ’s Circumcision and
Epiphany survived. Decorating with holly and ivy, however, appears to
have gone out of fashion at about the time of these changes; probably
because it was disapproved of as unbiblical. In 1541 Henry VIII banned the
tradition of Boy Bishops on Holy Innocents’ Day.
With the coming of the reign of Mary Tudor in 1553 the Lords of
Misrule vanished from the royal court, though there seems to have been no
theological reason for this. It was probably simply that they were too
closely associated with the previous regime’s Christmas celebrations.
In 1538, under Henry VIII, all ‘holy candles’ were banned and in one
action this put an end to plough lights and Candlemas. In 1547, under
Edward VI, the guilds which set up and paid for these candles were banned.
Some revived under Mary Tudor but then slowly declined thereafter; the
momentum of continuous custom had been disrupted. In 1539 Candlemas
came under scrutiny in regulations which did not abolish it but which
banned any superstitious actions thought to invest objects with holiness, or
with what was condemned as magical powers. In 1548 it was banned
outright. The same ban stopped religious celebration of St Valentine.
In 1538 Henry VIII ordered that it was acceptable to eat dairy products
during Lent. He did this with his new authority as Head of the Church in
England. However, Lent continued as a fast from meat and survived the
reign of Edward VI and so out of the period covered by this book. Other
features of Lent suffered more negative attention. In 1548 the blessing of
ashes on Ash Wednesday was banned, as was the veiling of images (since
images themselves were banned).
 Henry VIII allowed Palm Sunday celebrations, so long as they did not
involve any hint of superstitious belief about the crosses themselves, but
both processions and making crosses were banned in 1547. In 1548 the
blessing of branches was banned, as was Creeping to the Cross and ash
crosses on Ash Wednesday. Similarly banned was the Service of Shadows
on the Wednesday of Holy Week. In the same year Easter Sepulchres were
attacked by Archbishop Cranmer and swiftly stopped. Revived under Mary,
these finally ceased under Elizabeth I. The same occurred with the Easter
Paschal Candle. Linked to disorderly conduct, the Hockday celebrations
vanished during the reign of Edward VI, along with other disorderly events
such as hoggling. The same thinking probably lay behind the condemnation
of Whitsun Ales, which, though not banned, rapidly went into decline from
the late 1540s.
It was not disorder but opposition to what were considered Catholic
practices which caused the decline of the tremendously popular St George’s
Day celebrations. The banning of statues of saints and the dissolving of
guilds dedicated to them in the first year of the reign of Edward VI saw the
collapse of St George’s Day. In 1552 it was omitted from the calendar of
religious events, as St George had no Biblical backing. No official banning
took place of Rogationtide marches and Whitsunday processions, but they
declined during the reign of Edward VI through disapproval of carrying
saints’ images and of crosses set up around parish boundaries, which some
reformers considered attracted superstitious attention. Under Elizabeth I the
Rogationtide processions reappeared as a way of establishing local
boundaries, but with a minimum of ceremonies.
In 1547 the suppression of religious guilds removed the main means by
which Corpus Christi plays were performed and organized. When the new
Prayer Book of 1549 removed all reference to Corpus Christi, as a Catholic
doctrine, it put an end to the processions, pageants and plays dedicated to its
celebration. This celebration had long been disapproved of by those critical
of Catholic doctrine, and from the 1390s it had been a target for Lollard
criticism.14 The Midsummer Processions too declined in the late 1540s. The
possibly magical perception of the fires and the fear of public disorder
meant that, though never formally abolished, a sense of official disapproval
signalled their end.
 It seems to have been a reaction to over-extended holidays which caused
Henry VIII to stop the traditional wakes and instead, in 1532, directed all
churches to hold their dedication day on the first Sunday in October. Prior
to this, the feasting and partying could go on for days. However, it was a
straightforward collision between Reformed Protestant beliefs and medieval
Catholicism which led to the ending of the ceremonies associated with All
Saints and All Souls. There was an attempt to abolish ringing bells for the
dead in 1546 and, although never actually formally abolished, this was
heavily criticized by royal inspectors and quickly ceased.
The end of the medieval ritual year – or the ‘fall of Merry England’ to
quote Ronald Hutton15 – was brought about by many factors. The two most
significant were changing religious ideas and changing economic structures,
which broke existing social relationships and encouraged employers to try
to force a new discipline on their workers. As such it was not only a
‘Reformation of religion’ but also a ‘Reformation of manners’ which
happened after 1530. Together they broke the cycle of the year which had
turned for almost a millennium.
 Chapter 12
THE SHAPE OF ENGLISH SOCIETY BY 1553

It was under Henry VIII and his son, Edward VI, that the greatest assaults
took place on the Catholic Church which had been such a focal point of
national and local community life throughout the Middle Ages. This
accompanied a complex process of reorganization within the English
Church – already some of the more questionable arrangements of the
Church structure of the Middle Ages were being addressed. In 1200 there
had been about 9,500 parishes in England, and by 1535 this had been
rationalized to somewhere in the region of 8,800. But this was as nothing
when compared with the changes that were coming.
In 1531 Thomas Cromwell launched an attack on papal authority in
England. The fine of £100,000 levied on the clergy in return for a pardon
for accepting foreign jurisdiction both contributed to depleted royal
finances and tapped into popular resentment against worldly clergy. In 1532
(temporarily) and 1534 (permanently) the pope’s right to tax the English
clergy was removed. At the same time Convocation (the ruling body of the
English Church) was forced to accept royal authority over its decisions. In
1543 the Act of Supremacy finally recognized Henry as ‘supreme head’ of
the Church in England. But it can be argued that ‘The Act of Supremacy
represents not an attack on Catholicism as such, but a consolidation of royal
authority, in effect, a nationalisation of the Church in England . . .’1 This
process started in 1531, continued in 1536 with the suppression of the lesser
religious houses and in 1538 with an all-out assault on the larger religious
houses, until, by 1540, all the religious houses in England and Wales had
been dissolved. The Crown gained over £1 million from this campaign. The
dissolution of the monasteries put an end to institutions which had
dominated much of the life of the Middle Ages. It is clear though that, by
the early sixteenth century, monasticism as an idea was in decline.
Recruitment had been reduced to a trickle and bequests of land had all but
stopped. The wealth of many monasteries meant that a large number could
have continued for many years even in this condition, but it is important to
realize that Henry’s dissolution struck at an already ailing institution. Even
so, the dissolution removed important features of the medieval world, since
many monasteries had become the focal points of pilgrimages and the
veneration of relics and of saints. It is not surprising, then, that within a
decade these two areas of devotion had also come under sustained attack.
Furthermore, the distribution of monastic land meant that a large number of
local landowners had a vested interest in ensuring that there would be no
return to the world of the great religious houses, even if the destruction had
not already made such a development impossible to imagine.
Nevertheless, there remained a deep-seated commitment to the Catholic
faith in Lincolnshire and in much of the north and the south-west of
England. The Middle Ages would not vanish overnight. Indeed, in the later
years of Henry’s reign the ‘Middle Ages’ were fighting back at the very
centre of government. In the same year as the Pilgrimage of Grace failed in
its attempt to defend the traditional Catholic faith, the passing of The Ten
Articles by Convocation established the basic beliefs of the English Church.
However, apart from listing only three sacraments (baptism, penance and
the Eucharist) and describing the Eucharist in terms whose ambiguity could
give comfort to both Catholics and Protestants, the articles were very
conservative. Henry had certainly not launched a ‘Protestant Reformation’.
But more radical measures were to follow. In 1538 laws were passed
banning the burning of candles before images of saints, burning candles in
commemoration of the dead, statues and images which were objects of
veneration. Aspects of medieval practice which had survived for centuries
were ended in a matter of months. After 1539 not a single will recorded in
the diocese of Salisbury left money for ‘lights’ (the burning of candles),
whereas in the previous eight years about 50 per cent of all wills had
included such requests.2 In addition, an English Bible was to be placed in
every parish church.
But the world of the Middle Ages was not yet gone. Resistance by more
conservative elements – allied to the king’s own conservative outlook in
religious matters – led, in 1539, to the passing of The Act of Six Articles.
These reasserted Catholic beliefs in such key areas as transubstantiation and
clerical celibacy. In 1543 the publication of The King’s Book asserted the
continuation of prayers for the dead and, by implication, the idea of
purgatory. In addition, the Mass remained in Latin, although Cranmer had
succeeded in publishing his English Litany in 1544, which would later be
the forerunner of the Book of Common Prayer. The mindset of ‘the Middle
Ages’ and that of ‘the Early Modern World’ were wrestling for control of
the character of England.
Henry VIII’s break with Rome had allowed significant inroads of
Protestantism and Lollardy into London and the south-east, where it already
had some support. Not that Henry had intended any of this – he died in all
his essential beliefs a Catholic who no longer accepted the authority of the
pope. It was the Protestant policies of Edward VI’s government which
really ended the Catholic ritual year of the Middle Ages and changed the
texture of life for most English people. As Diarmaid MacCulloch has
argued: ‘The Edwardian adventure was a religious revolution, demolishing
the traditional Church in order to rebuild another’.3 Arguably it was in these
later changes that the feel, the colour and the rhythm of the Middle Ages
was truly dislocated and replaced by a new experience. During the young
king’s short reign (1547–53) the widespread removal and destruction of
religious images occurred, the Act of Six Articles was repealed, chantries
were dissolved (their continuation was in question anyway because of their
cost), clerical celibacy was no longer required and all religious orders were
banned. The revolutionary intent of the new government was apparent in
the fact that the ordinance requiring the removal of religious images came
only a few weeks into the new regime and went well beyond earlier
decrees. This time not only statues but two-dimensional images, such as
stained glass, were included in the prohibition. All over the country statues,
ancient rood screens, ‘Jesse Trees’ and stained-glass windows were
smashed or removed. Much of the internal fabric of churches, which had
grown up over the previous millennium, vanished in a reign which only
lasted six and a half years.
While the Catholic belief in transubstantiation was not officially
rejected, both the bread and wine were now to be received in the Eucharist,
instead of bread only, as in previous Catholic practice. In addition, the 1549
Act of Uniformity insisted on the use of the new English Book of Common
Prayer in churches. In 1552 a second edition of the Prayer Book was
issued. The radical nature of these changes was clearly recognized at the
time. Those who approved of the changes described Edward VI as a young
Josiah, a reference to the eight-year-old king of Judah in the Old Testament
who had purged his nation of idolatry. Edward himself was just nine years
old when he became king and, having been brought up to support the
Protestant reformed religion, his actions stemmed as much from his
personal sincerity as from his regency council. And, although this end to the
community traditions of the Middle Ages was in many ways a government-
driven revolution, it nevertheless was in alliance with a significant minority
of the population, particularly in London and the south-east. Once in place
(and given the brevity of the counter-reformation reign of Edward’s half-
sister Mary and the moderate Protestant policies of Elizabeth), the changes
soon became part of national culture. The evidence for this reveals itself in
curious ways. Despite earlier developments, the great majority of wills in
London during the last years of Henry VIII’s reign were still worded in the
terminology of the Catholic faith. But in the short reign of Edward VI the
proportion expressing themselves in the vocabulary of the new reformed
religion rose to 44 per cent.4 A way of looking at and understanding death –
and life – had changed. If there is an ‘end to the Middle Ages’, then the
period 1547 to 1553 is as reasonable a time to choose for it as any.
This ‘end’ revealed itself in building as well as in destruction. After the
relative stagnation in church architectural styles in the fifteenth century, the
early sixteenth saw a return to increased elaboration and decoration. But
this did not last. Renaissance ideas, with their focus on classical forms,
diverted fashions and funds from church building into the mansions of the
elite. At the same time, the Reformation swept away monasteries and the
national framework of huge church building projects (with their coordinated
community of craftspeople) which had made the great medieval churches
possible. By 1550 medieval styles seemed compromisingly Catholic. When
medieval style became acceptable again, after 1600, it was no longer
innovative and would soon be challenged by classical forms.5

Population, land and economic change

The sixteenth century saw other major changes in English society. Of these,
one of the most significant was an increase in population. In 1520 the
population stood at about 2.5 million, by 1541 it had risen to 2.7 million
and by 1551 it reached about 3 million – and the upward trend continued.
This created social and economic stresses. Firstly, prices and rents soared as
there was increased demand for land and accommodation. As a result
investors began to buy land not as an end in itself but for profit, which
created a speculation boom in land prices. While this benefited a small
number of investors and property speculators, it also resulted in a large
number of tenants, or copyholders, being forced out of the market as they
could not afford the increased rents. Many migrated into towns in search of
work. In addition, food prices increased yet further as speculators attempted
to sell foodstuffs in the dearest markets in order to offset the rising cost of
purchasing land. This in turn depressed the living standards of the poorest
members of society.
In order to maximize profits from land which was now more expensive
to buy or rent, a number of larger landowners attempted to increase their
profits by enclosing land for sheep farming. The attraction of this lay in the
reduction of the cost of wages paid for the running of sheep farms (which
required relatively few workers) compared with arable farming, which was
more labour intensive. This development hit poorer members of rural
communities as it frequently involved the enclosure of common land, or the
amalgamation of smaller farms into larger, more efficient and therefore
more profitable land units.
This increased drive to maximize profit from land was manifested in
many ways. One of the most unusual was in a virtual declaration of war on
animals which were not part of the rural economy (and especially those
accused of consuming crops). Henry VIII’s first Vermin Act of 1532 put a
price on the head of birds and animals which damaged agriculture and
‘ordeyned to dystroye Choughes, Crowes and Rookes’. But it did not end
there. The list of animals to be exterminated included foxes, kingfishers,
bullfinches, golden eagles, woodpeckers, owls, pine martens, badgers,
otters, choughs and hedgehogs. Hedgehogs were thought to suck milk from
cows – though quite what the economic consequences were considered to
be is a puzzle. Choughs were thought to carry embers which might set fire
to houses. These accusations are clearly bizarre, but the hard-headed
economics which drove these exterminatory drives waged war on the fauna
of the medieval landscape. Churchwardens were charged with keeping a
record of kills and for paying bounties for severed heads or tails. Elizabeth
I’s Vermin Act of 1566, passed for ‘the preservation of Grayne’, laid down
the rewards of a penny for three crows’ heads or twelve starlings’ heads,
rising to a shilling each for foxes and badgers. Even ospreys (fourpence),
kingfishers (a penny) and otters (twopence) were considered a threat to
‘Grayne’, though in what sense is hard to imagine. These accounts tell a
terrible story of destruction: for example, 498 hedgehogs killed in one year
in the Cheshire parish of Bunbury, at 2d a head, and 380 red kites killed in a
13-year period at Tenterden in Kent, for a penny a time.6
The problems of increasing population were slightly softened (though
not permanently) by a warmer fluctuation in the climate. Although the
‘Little Ice Age’ lasted from about 1450 to 1850, the period in the middle of
the sixteenth century – according to tree-ring analysis – was one of the
warmest before 1900. This needs to be set against contemporary records,
which can give an unbalanced picture through focusing on unusual climatic
events such as the Thames freezing over three times, severe rainfall in
1526–7 and 1535, and severe drought in 1536. Incidentally, the Thames
freezing was not in itself unusual since, before the later dredging and
embanking of the river, it was much shallower than today and therefore
more prone to a dramatic response both to very cold weather and to summer
droughts.
Accompanying these developments, the sixteenth-century changes in
economic relationships ended many features of medieval social networks.
This was the latest chapter in a process which had started in the thirteenth
century. In the century after 1200 English landlords were aggressively
expanding their control. They demanded more work on their demesne land,
increased control over villeins, reduced wages and increased rent. In the
150 years after 1350 much of this trend was reversed. Demesne land was
rented out for cash payments, villeinage vanished, wages went up and rents
went down. All of this altered the traditional relationships in rural
communities. However, after 1500, rising population altered this pattern yet
again, with some wealthier farmers – the yeoman class – increasing their
wealth at the expense of a growing population of the landless and
dispossessed. A new rural gentry class was emerging. This was subdivided
hierarchically, even as it held itself distinct from those below it on the social
scale. In addition, lords were no longer actively engaged in agricultural
production and tenant farmers were now the ‘locomotive of change’ in the
developing countryside. Clothiers and yeoman farmers had stepped into the
positions left vacant by the retreating influence of feudal lords.
The increasing tendency of landowners to enclose their land was both a
symptom and a cause of this break with the past. It went hand in hand with
a lessening of communal cooperation and an increase in a more private and
exclusive use of land. This was especially striking when the land involved
had once been ‘common land’, used by the whole local community. The
newly hedged fields were mostly designed to control sheep and livestock
and these in turn reduced the demand for agricultural workers and drove
many from the land. In addition, the hedges were also barriers aimed at
excluding the poor and their animals from the pastures in question. As one
recent study put it, they were ‘organic barbed wire’, which even at the time
was regarded as being as divisive socially as it was agriculturally. Not for
nothing would revolutionaries of the next century be called Levellers. We
interpret this term as coming from their demands for social equality but the
name itself was inspired by ‘hedge-levelling’, a common way in which
popular unrest and resentment expressed itself. Hedges then were symbols
of an emerging and privatized Early Modern World and the end of the more
communal world of the Middle Ages.7
However, if this drive for agricultural efficiency in a money economy
sounds like modern capitalism, we must pause before we make an
assumption too far. If something like the cash-driven economy of the
modern world was emerging around 1500, it still had a long way to go
before it dominated life. As late as 1525 as many as 60 per cent of
households were effectively self-employed; a proportion similar to the
situation in 1300.8 It would be a long time before a wage-earning majority
created a social and economic situation comparable to modern capitalist
economies and societies. The social structure of England in the sixteenth
century, although changing, was still largely medieval.
 The drive for increased profit by successful landowners was
accompanied, in the late 1530s, by the dissolution of the monasteries, which
led to major changes in wealth distribution and church patronage. This
actually had less impact on agriculture than might be supposed, since many
monastic estates were already leased to local gentry, who now bought them
and converted their tenancies into outright ownership. Nevertheless, the
sixteenth century saw a steady growth in the number of local gentry, from a
baseline of about 4,500 in 1524. Appearing in the sixteenth-century records
under such imprecise terms as ‘gentleman’ and ‘esquire’, their exact
numbers can be difficult to calculate with any precision, but it is clear that
they were growing as a class. What is evident is that these new social
groupings emerged in a time of increasing economic turbulence.
By the time Henry VIII came to the throne, in 1509, inflation was eating
away at the economic stability which had begun to emerge in the final
decades of the fifteenth century. One reason for this was recovering
population growth, which pushed up food prices; another was a flooding of
the European silver market due to the discovery of new supplies in the
Tyrol, Saxony and Bohemia in the 1460s and 1490s. But a more serious
cause lay in government policy. Warlike foreign policy drained national
resources through heavy taxation. It was a drive to increase the liquid assets
at the disposal of the Crown which led to the dissolution of the abbeys and
the sale of their property in the 1530s. This was accompanied by ten
debasements of the currency between 1542 and 1551, each of which
reduced the silver content of the English coinage further and lowered its
value. So thin was the silver wash on pennies that, when used, it quickly
wore off the highest points of Henry VIII’s portrait, earning him the
nickname of ‘Old Copper-nose’. By 1550 the spending power of the
average English worker had fallen by about 33 per cent compared with
1500. The result – when combined with rising population – was increasing
levels of underemployment, unemployment and vagrancy.
It is clear, from the issues just explored, that many apparent certainties of
the later Middle Ages faced serious challenges by the middle years of the
sixteenth century. A notable casualty was the cloth trade. In 1550 cloth
exports reached their peak. In this market London led the way, but other
ports also benefited from this boom in the cloth trade. However, there was a
corresponding decline in the export of raw wool, which had once been one
of the main export trades of the later Middle Ages. After 1550, even
finished cloth would face a slow decline, in the face of competition from
the continent and as a result of exchange-rate fluctuations after 1544.
But the picture was not solely one of decline. Merchant Venturers, such
as those of Bristol, were leading the search for a north-west passage to Asia.
While they failed in this, their journeys to the north-east coast of North
America led to an expansion in the fishing industries based in Bristol,
which processed the fish products of Newfoundland. While Tudor
exploration of the new world was limited and small scale compared with
that of the Spanish, it was a tentative sign of things to come – though few
can have guessed its importance at the time. However, it is significant that,
as the Middle Ages drew to a close, this contact was beginning – pointing
as it did to future developments of immense importance that would have a
profound impact on the economy of England and of Europe as a whole.

The ‘new world’

Other tentative evidence exists from the sixteenth century of increased
international connections. Travellers, who became known in England as
Egyptians or Gypsies (but who called themselves Roma) were, it is claimed,
first recorded in Scotland in 1505. However, an entry in the Book of the
Lord High Treasurer in 1492, in the reign of the Scots king James IV,
referring to someone titled ‘King of Rowmais’ may actually be the earliest
record. This title sounds like the kind often used by leaders of early
travelling groups of Roma. Other titles in sixteenth-century British sources
include ‘Earl of Little Egypt’ and ‘Earl of Greece’. In England this
community of travellers was first recorded in about 1515. The first
discriminatory law against them, expelling Gypsies from England, dates
from 1530, by which it was forbidden to transport Gypsies into England.
The punishment for doing so was the considerable fine of £40 for a ship’s
owner or captain. The Gypsies themselves, if identified, were to be hanged
by a law of 1554. They were regarded as aliens and became the objects of
mistrust: it was the start of a long history of persecution which would
extend into modern times. Gypsies became another group living on the edge
of society, and their persecution adds to the argument that discrimination
against minorities was, sadly, well established by the sixteenth century.
 At the same time, other newcomers to England seem to have been the
first recorded Africans in the country since the Roman Empire. In 1501
Katherine of Aragon landed at Deptford with a multicultural retinue
including Moors, as well as Muslims and Jews. In 1507 a black African
trumpeter named John Blanc was paid by Henry VII for playing at royal
events. In a painting of the Westminster Tournament of 1511 he became the
first black Londoner ever to be portrayed. Documents from the High Court
of Admiralty reveal that in 1547 a black slave named Jacques Francis, from
Guinea, in West Africa, was employed by an Italian salvage operator as a
diver recovering items from a ship which had sunk in the Solent. In 1555 a
group of West Africans, who were cooperating in opening up African
markets to Tudor traders, were brought to England. But it was in 1562 that
John Hawkins began a more terrible connection with Africa, which pointed
to greater atrocities to come. In that year he transported African slaves for
the first time in English ships. It was another indication of the Early
Modern period which was emerging from the end of the Middle Ages.
The complex mixture of social tension for some and increased wealth for
others means it is hard to generalize regarding the life experiences and
mental outlook of English men and women at the end of the Middle Ages.
For some it was a time of lessening independence and falling living
standards, accompanied by the loosening of the spiritual anchors which had
provided stability throughout the Middle Ages. For others, a ‘new world’
was opening up of increased wealth at home, new global markets and a new
dynamic and individual religious experience. For many people in 1553, the
jury would have been out on whether these changes were going to be a
positive or a negative experience overall. But that things were changing
could not be denied.
Accompanying the other great currents of religious, economic and social
change which were sweeping England in the first half of the sixteenth
century was one of increasing intellectual awareness driven by the greater
availability of books – a ‘revolution in the mind’. This was due to the
arrival of printing in the second half of the fifteenth century. In the 1530s it
was printing presses which took the debates of Thomas More and William
Tyndale to a wider audience: one disseminating, the other countering
Reformation ideas. More people could engage with the arguments because
of the new technology. And, of course, it was the availability of printing
which made it possible to place the English-language Great Bible in every
parish church in 1539.
While regional identities remained strong, the newly invented printing
press and the associated increase in literacy meant that more of a ‘national
culture’ was beginning to emerge. This particularly benefited the spread of
the English language into the northern and western areas of the British Isles.
Not a single book was printed in Cornish, or Irish or Scots Gaelic in this
period (there was in fact no printer in Ireland before 1551). The first book
in Welsh was printed in only 1546. As a result, the prolific printing houses
of London and Edinburgh meant that it was the southern – London –
version of English which was the dominant form of the language in
England, and Lowland Scots (a form of English) which was becoming the
dominant language of Scotland. Soon even this Scots form of English
(sometimes called Inglis) would give way to the London-based form
amongst educated Scots. Bibles in Scotland, as in England, were printed in
the southern (London) form of English. Indeed, it would not be until 1983
that a Scots translation of the Bible appeared. In the face of this advance of
English, Welsh, Cornish and Gaelic began an uphill struggle to survive. The
linguistic landscape of the Middle Ages – and with it the cultural and social
fabric – was being transformed.
From a modern perspective it is easy to see the fourteenth and fifteenth
centuries as disastrous, and therefore the end of the Middle Ages in the
sixteenth century as something of an anticlimax. It is as if the dynamism of
the medieval period had slowly collapsed in disorder and eventual
dissolution. Yet by 1500 England – like Europe as a whole – had survived
and was recovering from its demographic upheavals. Large building
projects continued (although those connected with the Church would lose
impetus after the 1530s) and voyages of exploration had begun, even if the
early English ones were modest compared with those of the Spanish and
Portuguese. The strength and resilience of medieval civilization is revealed
in the fact that England and Europe by the 1550s, for all the trauma and
turmoil that would follow in the next century, were not in terminal decline
but instead stood at the start of a process of world domination. Whatever
our modern verdict on this may be, it says a great deal about the
achievements of the Middle Ages that it was possible.
_____ ______ ______ _______ ______ _____ _ _ _______ | |
|_____] |_____/ |_____| |_____/ | | | |______ |_____ __|__ |_____] |
\_ | | | \_ __|__ |_____| ______|
Liberated by LibRARiuS 2015.7.8
'Only the educated are free' - Epictetus
 NOTES

Introduction
1 Bailey, Mark, The English Manor, c.1200–1500, Manchester University Press, 2002, p.216.
2 Ibid., pp.220–1.

Chapter 1
1 Wood, Michael, Domesday: A Search for the Roots of England, BBC Publications, 1986,
pp.149–50.
2 Hodges, Richard, The Anglo-Saxon Achievement, Duckworth, 1989, p.150.
3 Coin News, Jan. 2003, p.43.
4 Leahy, K., ‘Detecting the Vikings in Lincolnshire’, Current Archaeology, no.190, vol.XVI,
no.10, Feb. 2004, pp.462–8.
5 Mays, Simon, ‘Wharram Percy: The Skeletons’, Current Archaeology, no.193, Aug./Sept. 2004,
pp.45–9.
6 Richards, J., Viking Age England, Batsford, 1991.
7 Smith, L. (ed.), The Making of Britain: The Dark Ages, Macmillan, 1984.
8 Barnes, M., ‘The Scandinavian languages in the British Isles: The Runic Evidence’, in: Adams,
J. & Holman, K. (eds), Scandinavia and Europe, 800–1350: Contact, Conflict and Coexistence,
Brepols, 2004.
9 Redmond, Angela, Viking Burial in the North of England, BAR British Series, 429, 2007, p.28.
10 Hadley, D.M., The Vikings in England: Settlement, Society and Culture, Manchester University
Press, 2006, p.70.
11 Ibid., p.128.
12 Ibid., p.130.
13 Carver, Martin, ‘Why that? Why there? Why then? The politics of early medieval
monumentality’, in: Hamerow, H. & MacGregor, A., Image and Power in the Archaeology of
Early Medieval Britain, Oxford University Press, 2001.
14 Turner, S., ‘Converting the British Landscape’, British Archaeology, no.84, Sept.–Oct. 2005.
15 Blair, John, The Church in Anglo-Saxon Society, Oxford University Press, 2005, p.228.
16 Ibid., p.498.
17 McNeill, Tom, Faith, Pride and Works: Medieval Church Building, Tempus, 2006, p.25.
18 Ibid., pp.30–3.
19 Ibid., pp.37–9.
20 Jesch, Judith, ‘Scandinavians and “Cultural Paganism” in Late Anglo-Saxon England’, in:
Cavill, P. (ed.), The Christian Tradition in Anglo-Saxon England, D.S. Brewer, 2004.
21 Fowler, P., ‘Farming in early Medieval England: some fields for thought’, in: Hines, J. (ed.), The
Anglo-Saxons From The Migration Period to the Eighth Century. An Ethnographic Perspective,
Boydell Press, 1997.
22 Hooke, D., The Landscape of Anglo-Saxon England, Leicester University Press, 1998.
23 Fyfe, Ralph; Rippon, Stephen & Brown, Tony, ‘Pollen, farming and history in Greater Exmoor’,
Current Archaeology, no.192, vol.XVI, no.12, June 2004, pp.564–7.
24 Hey, G., Yarnton: Saxon and Medieval Settlement and Landscape, Thames Valley Landscapes
Monograph, 2004.
25 Fellows-Jensen, G., ‘Scandinavian Settlement in the British Isles and Normandy: What the
Place-Names Reveal’, in: Adams, J. & Holman, K. (eds), Scandinavia and Europe, 800–1350:
Contact, Conflict and Coexistence, Brepols, 2004.
26 Hadley, D., The Northern Danelaw. Its Social Structure, c.800–1100, Leicester University Press,
2000.
27 Selkirk, Andrew, ‘The Saxons’, Current Archaeology, no.200, Nov. 2005, pp.416–23.
28 Miles, David, The Tribes of Britain, Phoenix, 2006, p.251.
29 Oosthuizen, Susan, Landscapes Decoded: The Origins and Development of Cambridge’s
Medieval Fields, University of Herts Press, 2006.
30 Pestell, T. & Ulmschneider, K. (eds), Markets in Early Medieval Europe: Trading and
‘Productive’ Sites, 650–850, Windgather Press, 2003.
31 Scull, C., ‘Urban centres in pre-Viking England?’ in: Hines, J. (ed.), The Anglo-Saxons From
The Migration Period to the Eighth Century. An Ethnographic Perspective, Boydell Press, 1997.
32 Wickham, C., Framing the Early Middle Ages. Europe and the Mediterranean, 400–800, Oxford
University Press, 2005.
33 Blair, op. cit., p.290.
34 Ibid., p.282.
35 Hinton, D., Gold and Gilt, Pots and Pins. Possessions and People in Medieval Britain, Oxford
University Press, 2005, p.170.
36 Kopke, N. & Baten, J., ‘The Biological Standard of Living in Europe During the Last Two
Millennia’, European Review of Economic History, vol.9, no.1, Cambridge University Press,
2005.
37 Payne, Sebastian, ‘Ancestral Myth’, British Archaeology, Sept. 2005, p.51.
38 Fell, Christine, Women in Anglo-Saxon England, British Museum Publications, 1984, p.57.
39 Laing, Lloyd & Jennifer, Anglo-Saxon England, Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1979, pp.167–179;
Early English Art and Architecture, Sutton, 1996, pp.169–91.
40 Laing, 1996, op. cit., p.203.

Chapter 2
1 Rigby, S.H., English Society in the Later Middle Ages: Class, Status and Gender, Macmillan,
1995, p.28.
2 Meager, David, ‘Slavery in Europe from the End of the Roman Empire’, Cross†Way, Winter
2007, no.103.
 3 Dyer, Christopher, The Origins of the Medieval Economy, c.850–c.1100, Yale University Press,
2002, pp.92–4.
4 Rigby, op. cit., p.22.
5 Jones, E.D., ‘The Medieval Leyrwite: A Historical Note on Female Fornication’, The English
Historical Review, vol.107, no.425 (Oct. 1992), pp.945–53.
6 Dyer, Christopher, Standards of Living in the Later Middle Ages, Social Change in England
c.1200–1520, Cambridge University Press, 1989, pp.110–40.
7 Rigby, op. cit., pp.105–7.
8 Ibid., p.24.
9 Wood, Michael, Domesday: A Search for the Roots of England, BBC Publications, 1986,
pp.191–2.
10 Miller, E. & Hatcher, J., Medieval England: rural society and economic change 1086–1348,
Longman, 1985 edn, pp.28–9.
11 Jones, Richard & Page, Mark, Medieval Villages in an English Landscape: Beginnings and
Ends, Windgather Press, 2006, p.137, Fig.50.
12 Bathe, Graham & Greenaway, Dick, ‘A Lye Pit in Savernake’, Wiltshire Archaeological and
Natural History Magazine, vol.100, 2007, pp.207–10.
13 Knight, David & Vyner, Blaise, ‘Quarry harvest,’ British Archaeology, May–June 2007, no.94,
pp.16–19.
14 Dix, J., Bull, J. & Lenham J., ‘Saxon Fish Weirs in the Blackwater Estuary, Essex’,
www.arch.soton.ac.uk/Research/justin/saxon%20fisheries.html, 1999.
15 Parfitt, Keith & Corke, Barry, ‘Excavating Dover’s Medieval Seafarers’, British Archaeology,
May–June 2007, no.94, pp.32–7.
16 Jones, Richard & Page, Mark, op. cit, pp.192–3.
17 Ibid., p.183.
18 Ibid., p.204.
19 Rigby, op. cit., p.115.
20 Dobson, R.B., The Peasants revolt of 1381, Pitman, 1970, pp.373–5.
21 More, Thomas, Utopia, translated by Turner, Paul, Penguin Books, 1965, p.46.

Chapter 3
1 Dyer, Christopher, Making a Living in the Middle Ages: The People of Britain 850–1520, Yale
University Press, 2002, pp.192–3.
2 Ibid., p.194.
3 www.bristol.ac.uk/researchreview/2002/1112697846.
4 Dyer, op. cit., p.207.
5 Ibid., p.212.
6 Calendar of Fine Rolls, vol.V, 1337–1347, HMSO 1915.
7 Rigby, S.H., English Society in the Later Middle Ages: Class, Status and Gender,
Macmillan,1995, p.151.
8 ‘Cambridge historic city centre revealed’, Current Archaeology 208, vol.XVIII, no.4, Mar./Apr.
2007, pp.22–31.
9 Rigby, op cit, p.148.
10 Shaw, Mike; Chapman, Andy & Soden, Iain, ‘Northampton’, Current Archaeology, no.155,
vol.XIII, no.11, Dec. 1997, pp.408–15.
11 Longcroft, Adam, ‘The avant-garde architects of late medieval Norfolk’, Current Archaeology,
211, vol.XVIII, no.7, Sept. 2007, pp.40–3.
Chapter 4
1 The Holy Bible, New International Version, Hodder and Stoughton, 1979.
2 Moorman, J.H., Church Life in England in the Thirteenth Century, Cambridge University Press,
1945, pp.4–5, 52–6, 67, 410–13.
3 Lawrence, C.H, Medieval Monasticism, Longman, 1989, p.254.
4 Mittuch, Sally, ‘The Norwich Book of the Dead’, British Archaeology, no.92, Jan./Feb. 2007,
pp.46–9.
5 McNeill, Tom, Faith, Pride and Works: Medieval Church Building, Tempus, 2006, p.14.
6 Ibid., p. 227.
7 Calendar of Patent Rolls, Henry V, 1413–1416, HMSO 1910.
8 Williams, Howard, Death and Memory in Early Medieval Britain, Cambridge University Press,
2006, p.103.
9 Boddington, Andy, Raunds Furnells: The Anglo-Saxon Church and Churchyard, English
Heritage Archaeological Report 7, 1996.
10 Carver, Martin, ‘Burial as Poetry: The Context of Treasure in Anglo-Saxon Graves’, in: Tyler, E.
(ed.), Treasure in the Medieval West, York Medieval Press, 2000, p.37.
11 Goldberg, P.J.P., Medieval England: A Social History, 1250–1550, Hodder Headline, 2004,
p.281.
12 Gilchrist, Roberta & Sloane, Barney, Requiem: The Medieval Monastic Cemetery in Britain,
Museum of London Archaeology Service, 2005, pp.214–30.
13 Ariès, Philippe, The Hour of Our Death, translated by Helen Weaver, Alfred A. Knopf, 1981;
Binski, Paul, Medieval Death: Ritual and Representation, Cornell University Press,1996.
14 Calendar of Close Rolls, Edward III, 1330–1333, HMSO 1898.
15 Calendar of Patent Rolls, Edward III, 1370–1374, HMSO 1914.
16 Bellerby, Rachel, ‘Society and Solitude: The Reaction against Monasticism’, Medieval History,
Issue 11, July 2004, pp.26–31.
17 Watson-Brown, Martha, ‘Marks of Faith: Pilgrims at the Shrine of Saint Richard of Chichester’,
Medieval History, Issue 12, Aug. 2004, pp.48–55.
18 Council for British Archaeology Wessex News, Apr. 2007, p.24.
19 Weaver, F.W., ‘Keynsham Abbey, Part 2’, Somerset Archaeological and Natural History Society,
vol.53, 1907, pp.15–63.

Chapter 5
1 Ziegler, Philip, The Black Death, Penguin Books,1982, pp.158–9.
2 Goldberg, P.J.P., Medieval England, A Social History, 1250–1550, Hodder Headline, 2004,
pp.71–5.
3 Patrick, P., ‘In search of Friar Tuck’, Current Archaeology, 198, July/Aug. 2005, pp.306–7.
4 Gilchrist, Roberta & Sloane, Barney, Requiem: The Medieval Monastic Cemetery in Britain,
Museum of London Archaeology Service, 2005, p.307.
5 Ibid., p.212.
6 Ameen, S., Staub, L., Ulrich, S., Vock, P., Ballmer, F. & Anderson, S.E., ‘Harris lines of the tibia
across centuries: a comparison of two populations, medieval and contemporary in Central
Europe’, Skeletal Radiology, vol.34, no.5, May 2005.
7 Roberts, Charlotte & Cox, Margaret, Health and Disease in Britain: from prehistory to the
present day, Alan Sutton, 2003, pp.244–6.
8 Dyer, Christopher, Making a Living in the Middle Ages, The People of Britain 850–1520, Yale
University Press, 2002, p.357.
 9 Mays, Simon, ‘Wharram Percy: the Skeletons’, Current Archaeology, 193, Aug./Sept. 2004,
pp.45–9.
10 Wilson, R.L., Soap Through The Ages (4th edn), London: Unilever Ltd, 1955.
11 Somerville, J., Christopher Thomas – Soapmaker of Bristol, Redcliffe Press, 1991. This
information on soap is from: Hunt, John A., PhD, FRPharmS, ‘A short history of soap’, The
Pharmaceutical Journal, vol.263, no.7076, Dec. 18/25 1999, pp.985–9.
12 http://www.channel4.com/history/microsites/H/history/im/london2.html.
13 Ibid.
14 Ibid.
15 Dimbleby, David, BBC History Magazine, vol.8, no.6, June 2007, p.69.
16 Ziegler, Philip, The Black Death, Penguin Books, 1982, p.128.
17 www.stmarysashwell.org.uk/church/graffiti/decode.htm.
18 Quoted in Fryde, E.B., Later Medieval England, Alan Sutton, 1996, p.2.
19 Hatcher, John, ‘Mortality in the fifteenth century: some new evidence’, Economic History
Review, 39, 1986, pp.19–38.
20 http://www.british-history.ac.uk/report.asp?compid=33639, ‘Introduction’, Calendar of letter-
books of the city of London: L: Edward IV-Henry VII (1912), pp.I–XLIV.
21 Dormandy, Thomas, The White Death: A History of Tuberculosis, Hambledon Press, 1999.
22 Travis, John, reporting in Science News, June 3, 1995, vol.147, no.22, p.346, on
www.sciencenews.org.
23 Knighton, Henry, Knighton’s Chronicle, 1337–1396, edited and translated by G. Martin,
Clarendon Press, 1995.
24 Brothwell, Don, ‘Studies on Skeletal and Dental Variation: a View Across Two Centuries’, in:
Cox, Margaret & Mays, Simon (eds), Human Osteology in Archaeology and Forensic Science,
Greenwich Medical Media Ltd, 2000, p.5.
25 ‘London’s Monasteries’, Current Archaeology, no.162, vol.XIV, no.6, Apr./May 1999, pp.204–
14.
26 Waldron, Tony, St Peter’s, Barton-upon-Humber, Lincolnshire. A Parish Church & its
Community: Vol 2, the Human Remains, Oxbow, 2007.

Chapter 6
1 Whittock, Martyn (ed.), The Pastons in Medieval Britain, Heinemann, 1993, p.25.
2 Bailey, Mark, The English Manor, c.1200–1500, Manchester University Press, 2002, p.213.
3 Ibid., pp.202, 211.
4 Ibid., p.233.
5 Karras, Ruth Mazo, Sexuality in Medieval Europe: Doing Unto Others, University of
Minnesota, New York: Routledge, 2005.
6 Salih, Sarah, Versions of Virginity in Late Medieval England, Boydell & Brewer, 2001.
7 Bernau, Anke; Salih, Sarah & Evans, Ruth (eds), Medieval Virginities, Toronto University Press,
2003.
8 Gilchrist, Roberta, Gender and Material Culture: the Archaeology of Religious Women,
Routledge, 1994.
9 Razi, Zvi, ‘The Myth of the Immutable English Family’, Past and Present, 140, 1993, pp.3–44.
10 Goldberg, P.J.P., Medieval England, A Social History, 1250–1550, Hodder Headline, 2004,
pp.17–18.
11 Ariès, Philippe, Centuries of Childhood: a Social History of Family Life, Alfred A. Knopf, 1962.
12 Ibid., p.33.
13 Classen, Albrecht (ed.), Childhood in the Middle Ages and the Renaissance: The Results of a
Paradigm Shift in the History of Mentality, Walter de Gruyter, 2005.
14 Peters Auslander, Diane, ‘Victims or Martyrs: Children, Anti-Judaism and the Stress of Change
in Medieval England’, in: Classen, Albrecht (ed.), Childhood in the Middle Ages and the
Renaissance: The Results of a Paradigm Shift in the History of Mentality, Walter de Gruyter,
2005, p.108.
15 William Langland, Piers the Ploughman, translated by Goodridge, J.F., Penguin Books, 1966,
p.62.
16 Aston, Margaret, ‘Segregation in Church’, in: Sheils, W.J. & Wood, D. (eds), ‘Women in the
Church’, Studies in Church History, 27, 1990, pp.237–94.
17 Goldberg, op. cit., p.57.
18 Ibid., p.284.
19 Watt, Diane, Medieval Women’s Writing: Works by and for Women in England, 1100–1500,
Polity, 2007.
20 Childs, Jessie, ‘The Monstrous Regiment’, BBC History Magazine, vol.8, no.1, Jan. 2007,
pp.33–5.

Chapter 7
1 Bailey, Mark, The English Manor, c.1200–1500, Manchester University Press, 2002, pp.223–6.
2 Ibid., pp.203, 211.
3 Hamilton, Derek; Pitts, Mike & Reynolds, Andrew, ‘A revised date for the early medieval
execution at Stonehenge’, Wiltshire Archaeological and Natural History Magazine, vol.100,
2007, p.202.
4 Williams, Howard, Death and Memory in Early Medieval Britain, Cambridge University Press,
2006, pp.89–90.
5 Ibid., p.186. The reinterpretation of ‘heathen burials’ was made by Andrew Reynolds,
‘Beheadings, burials and boundaries: the landscape of execution in Anglo-Saxon Wiltshire’,
Wiltshire Archaeological and Natural History Society lecture, March 2008.
6 Gilchrist, Roberta & Sloane, Barney, Requiem: The Medieval Monastic Cemetery in Britain,
Museum of London Archaeology Service, 2005, pp.73–4.
7 Hanawalt, Barbara, Crime and Conflict in English Communities, 1300–1348, London &
Cambridge, Massachusetts, 1979, pp.261–73.
8 Campbell, Bruce M.S., ‘The Land’, in: Horrox, Rosemary & Ormrod, W. Mark (eds), A Social
History of England, 1200–1500, Cambridge University Press, 2006, p.227.
9 Dyer, Christopher, Everyday Life in Medieval England, Hambledon, 2000, p.9.
10 Campbell, op. cit., p.228.
11 Prestwich, Michael, ‘The enterprise of war’, in: Horrox, Rosemary & Ormrod, W. Mark (eds), A
Social History of England, 1200–1500, Cambridge University Press, 2006, p.89. Note also:
warfare gave increased status to the members of the professional armies of the fifteenth century
and the term ‘esquire’ became interchangeable with ‘man-at-arms’; the term ‘yeoman’ with
‘archer’: Bell, Adrian; Chapman, Adam; Curry, Anne; King, Andy & Simpkin, David, ‘What
did you do in the Hundred Years’ War, Daddy?’ The Historian, no.96, Winter 2007–2008, p.8.
12 Harvey, B.F., ‘Introduction: the ‘crisis’ of the early fourteenth century’, in: Campbell, B.M.S.,
Before the Black Death: studies in the ‘crisis’ of the early fourteenth century, Manchester, 1991,
p.15.
13 Hanawalt, Barbara, ‘The female felon in fourteenth century England’, in: Stuard, S.M., (ed.),
Women in Medieval Society, University of Pennsylvania Press, 1993.
14 Bellamy, J.G., ‘The Coterel Gang: An Anatomy of a Band of Fourteenth-Century Criminals’,
The English Historical Review, vol.79, no.313 (Oct. 1964), pp.698–717.
15 Hanawalt, Barbara, ‘The Peasant Family and Crime in Fourteenth-Century England’, The
Journal of British Studies, vol.13, no.2 (May 1974), pp.1–18.
16 Bailey, op. cit., pp.231–5.
17 Whittock, Martyn (ed.), The Pastons in Medieval Britain, Heinemann, 1995, pp.14–15.
18 Post, John, ‘The King’s Peace’, in: Smith, Lesley (ed.), The Making of Britain: The Middle
Ages, Channel Four/Macmillan, 1985, pp.153–4.
19 Bailey, op. cit., p.228.
20 Carpenter, David, ‘Working the Land’, in: Smith, Lesley (ed.), The Making of Britain: The
Middle Ages, Channel Four/Macmillan, 1985, p.99.
21 www.bl.uk/treasures/magnacarta/translation/mc_trans.html.
22 Reported in The Week, 31 Mar. 2007, Issue 607, p.46.
23 www.robinhoodministries.org.
24 Holt, James, Robin Hood, Thames and Hudson, 1989.
25 Ibid., pp.187–8.
26 Ibid., p.190.
27 Ibid., p.16.
28 Ibid., p.40. This reference also applies to the Andrew de Wyntoun rhyme in the previous lines.
29 Ibid., p.69.

Chapter 8
1 McLaren, Mary-Rose, The London Chronicles of the Fifteenth Century. A Revolution in English
Writing. With an annotated edition of Bradford, West Yorkshire Archives MS 32D86/42, Boydell
& Brewer, 2002.
2 Miles, David, The Tribes of Britain, Phoenix, 2006, p.238.
3 Orme, Nicholas, Medieval Children, Yale University Press, 2001. Niles, Philip, ‘Baptism and
the Naming of Children in Late Medieval England’, Medieval Prosography, 3, 1982, pp.95–107.
4 Reaney, P.H., A Dictionary of English Surnames, revised 3rd edn, with corrections and additions
by R.M. Wilson, Oxford University Press, 1997, p.xxiii.
5 Harrison, Julian, ‘Whatever happened to our medieval manuscripts?’, Medieval History, vol.2,
no.4, Issue 16, Dec. 2004, pp.40–7.
6 Ibid., p.43.
7 Cherry, John, ‘Images of power: medieval seals’, Medieval History, Issue 8, Apr. 2004, pp.34–
41.
8 Black, Maggie, Medieval Cookery: Recipes and History, English Heritage, 2003;‘Knowing Your
Place. Table etiquette in medieval society’, Medieval History, Issue 12, Aug. 2004, pp.56–9.
9 Blackbourne, Matthew, ‘Mystery Plays’, Medieval History, Issue 11, July 2004, pp.22–5.
10 Northall, Philip, ‘Worts and Ale: Ale, Inns, Taverns and Alehouses in Merrie England’,
Medieval History, Issue 14, Oct. 2004, pp.48–55. This reference also applies to the lines from
the John Skelton poem of 1517 (The Tunning of Elynour Rummyng) and from Andrew Boorde’s
The Fyrste Boke of the Introduction of Knowlegde, in the previous paragraphs.
11 Jackson, Sophie, ‘The Ancient History of Backgammon’, Medieval History, Issue 11, July 2004,
pp.40–9. See also Bell, R.C., Board and Table Games from Many Civilisations, Dover
Publications, New York, 1979.
12 Bailey, Mark, The English Manor, c.1200–1500, Manchester University Press, 2002, p.1.
13 Holland, William, ‘The Medieval Menagerie’, BBC History Magazine, vol.8, no.1, Jan. 2007,
pp.30–1.

Chapter 9
1 ‘The Milk Street Mikveh’, Current Archaeology, 190, vol.XVI, no.10, Feb. 2004, pp.456–61.
2 Karras, Ruth Mazo, Sexuality in Medieval Europe: Doing Unto Others, University of
Minnesota, New York: Routledge, 2005.
3 Manchester, K., ‘Medieval Leprosy: The Disease and its Management’, in: Deegan, M. &
Scragg, D.G. (eds), Medicine in Early Medieval England, Manchester Centre for Anglo-Saxon
Studies, 1987, pp.27–32.
4 Gilchrist, Roberta & Sloane, Barney, Requiem: The Medieval Monastic Cemetery in Britain,
Museum of London Archaeology Service, 2005, pp.205–7.
5 Moore, R.I., The Formation of a Persecuting Society. Authority and Deviance in Western
Europe, 950–1250, Blackwell Publishing, 2006 (2nd revised edn).
6 Ibid.
7 Cohn, Norman, The Great Witch-Hunt, Chatto-Heinemann, 1975. Provides a detailed analysis of
both the origins and the course of the Great Witch Hunts.

Chapter 10
1 The Holy Bible, New International Version, op cit.

Primary sources
The quotations in this chapter taken from medieval chronicles are from these following excellent
modern translations. In each case the name of the chronicler and his principal work is followed by
details of the modern edition.

Adam Usk. The Chronicle of Adam Usk, 1377–1421

The Chronicle of Adam Usk, 1377–1421. Edited and translated by C. Given-Wilson, Clarendon Press,
1997.

Anglo-Saxon Chronicle
The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle. Translated by G. Garmonsway, Everyman’s University Library, 1972.

Bestiary MS Bodley 764

Bestiary MS Bodley 764, translated by R. Barber, The Boydell Press, 1999.

Geoffrey of Burton. Life and Miracles of St Modwenna

Geoffrey of Burton. Life and Miracles of St Modwenna. Translated and edited by Robert Bartlett,
Clarendon Press, 2002.

Gerald of Wales. The Journey Through Wales and The Description of

Wales
Gerald of Wales. The Journey Through Wales/The Description of Wales, Translated and introduced
by Lewis Thorpe, Penguin Books, 1978.

Gervase of Tilbury. Recreation for An Emperor

Gervase of Tilbury, Otia Imperialia, Recreation for an Emperor, edited and translated by S. Banks &
J. Binns, Clarendon Press, 2002.

Henry of Huntingdon. The History of the English People

Henry, Archdeacon of Huntingdon. Historia Anglorum. The History of the English People. Edited
and translated by Diana Greenway, Clarendon Press, 1996.

Henry Knighton. Chronicle (sometimes called Chronica de Eventibus

Anglia)
Knighton’s Chronicle, 1337–1396, Edited and translated by G. Martin, Clarendon Press, 1995.

John of Worcester. The Chronicle of John of Worcester

The Chronicle of John of Worcester. Volume II, The Annals from 450 to 1066, edited by R. Darlington
& P. McGurk, translated by J. Bray & P. McGurk, Clarendon Press, Oxford, 1995. And Volume III,
The Annals from 1067 to 1140 with The Gloucester Interpolations and The Continuation to 1141,
edited and translated by P. McGurk, Clarendon Press, 1998.

Matthew Paris. Chronica majora (the ‘Major Chronicles’)

The Illustrated Chronicles of Matthew Paris, Observations of Thirteenth Century Life, translated,
edited and introduced by Richard Vaughan, Allan Sutton, 1993. This anthology covers the period
1247–50. And Matthew Paris’s English History From the Year 1235 to 1273, translated by Rev. J.
Giles, London, 1852, volume I (years 1235–44). Published in three volumes.

Ralph of Coggeshall. Chronicon Anglicanum (‘English Chronicle’)

The translation of the Orford Merman is from: www.castles-abbeys.co.uk/Orford-Castle.html, and at
http://norfolkcoast.co.uk/myths/ml_orfordmerman.htm.

Ranulf Higden. The Universal Chronicle

The Universal Chronicle of Ranulf Higden, by John Taylor, Clarendon Press, 1966.

Thomas Walsingham. The St Albans Chronicle, 1376–1394

The St Albans Chronicle, The Chronica maiora of Thomas Walsingham, I, 1376–1394, edited and
translated by J. Taylor, W. Childs & L. Watkiss, Clarendon Press, 2003.

Walter Map. Courtiers’ Trifles

Walter Map, De Nugis Curialium, Courtiers’ Trifles, edited and translated by M. James, revised by C.
Brooke & R. Mynors, Clarendon Press, 1983.
Westminster Chronicle, 1381–1394
The Westminster Chronicle, 1381–1394. Edited and translated by L. Hector and B. Harvey,
Clarendon Press, 1982.

William of Malmesbury. The History of the English Kings

William of Malmesbury, Gesta Regum Anglorum, The History of the English Kings, volume I. Edited
and translated by R. Mynors, completed by R. Thomson & M. Winterbottom, Clarendon Press, 1998.

William of Newburgh. The History

The History of William of Newburgh, translated from the Latin by Joseph Stevenson (1856 edn),
based on Herne’s text of 1719. Facsimile reprint by Llanerch Publishers, 1996.

Secondary Sources
The following secondary sources also provide excerpts from medieval chronicles and thought-
provoking commentaries.
• Prestwich, Michael, ‘The “Wonderful Life” of the Thirteenth Century’, in: Thirteenth Century
England VII, Proceedings of the Durham Conference, 1997, Woodbridge, 1999. This very useful
essay explores a number of signs and marvels, including ones quoted by John of Oxenedes, Ralph
of Coggeshall and Friar Roger Bacon, and those found in the Chronicles of Edward I and Edward
II.
• Salisbury, J., The Beast Within. Animals in the Middle Ages, Routledge, 1994.
• Wilson, D., Signs and Portents, Monstrous births from the Middle Ages to the Enlightenment,
Routledge, 1993.

Chapter 11
1 Phythian-Adams, Charles, Local History and Folklore, Bedford Square Press, 1975, pp.23–4.
2 Hutton, Ronald, The Rise and Fall of Merry England, The Ritual Year 1400–1700, Oxford
University Press, 1994 and The Stations of the Sun, Oxford University Press, 1996.
3 Hutton, 1996, op cit, pp.90–1.
4 Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, translated by Tolkien, J.R.R., George Allen & Unwin
Limited, 1975, p.26.
5 Luke 2: 30–32, The Holy Bible, New International Version, op cit.
6 Holt, Professor James, Robin Hood, Thames and Hudson, 1989, p.160.
7 Hutton, 1996, op. cit., pp.262–8.
8 Bossy, John, Christianity in the West, 1400–1700, Oxford University Press, 1985, pp.57–75.
9 Aston, M., ‘Corpus Christi and Corpus Regni: heresy and the Peasants’ Revolt’, Past and
Present, 143 (1994), pp.3–47.
10 Duffy, Eamon, ‘Religious belief’, in: Horrox, Rosemary & Ormrod, W. Mark (eds), A Social
History of England, 1200–1500, Cambridge University Press, 2006, p.306.
11 James, Mervyn, ‘Ritual, Drama and Social Body in the Medieval English Town’, in: Society,
Politics and Culture, Cambridge University Press, 1986, pp.17–41.
12 Hazlitt, W.C., Tenures of Land and Customs of Manors, 1874, p.54, referred to in Phythian-
Adams, Charles, ‘Ritual reconstructions of society’, in: Horrox, Rosemary & Ormrod, W. Mark
(eds), A Social History of England, 1200–1500, Cambridge University Press, 2006, p.369.
13 Phythian-Adams, 2006, op. cit., pp.376–7.
14 Duffy, op. cit., p.332.
15 Hutton, 1994, op. cit.

Chapter 12
1 Goldberg, P.J.P., Medieval England, A Social History, 1250–1550, Hodder Headline, 2004,
p.239.
2 Ibid, p.240.
3 MacCulloch, Diarmaid, Tudor Church Militant: Edward VI and the Protestant Reformation,
Allen Lane, 1999.
4 Brigden, Susan, London and the Reformation, Oxford, 1989.
5 McNeill, Tom, Faith, Pride and Works: Medieval Church Building, Tempus, 2006, pp.236, 242.
6 Lovegrove, Roger, Silent Fields. The long decline of a nation’s wildlife, Oxford University
Press, 2007.
7 Blomley, Nicholas, ‘Making Private Property: Enclosure, Common Right and the Work of
Hedges’, Rural History: Economy, Society, Culture, vol.18, no.1, Cambridge University Press,
2007.
8 Dyer, Christopher, Making a Living in the Middle Ages, The People of Britain 850–1520, Yale
University Press, 2002, p.364.
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 INDEX

Aaron of Lincoln 198

abbots and abbesses 24, 77, 89
Abbots Bromley 243
Abingdon 61, 227
Act of Six Articles (1539) 268, 269
Act of Supremacy (1543) 267
Act of Uniformity (1549) 269
adultery 25, 99, 159
Advent 239, 240–1
Aelfric 1–2, 172
Africans 276–7
alcohol 189–92
Aldhelm 172
ale 28, 109, 111, 189–90, 191
alehouses 141, 158, 190
Alexander II, Pope 255–6
Alfred of Wessex 2, 176, 180
All Saints’ Day 261, 264
All Souls’ Day 261, 264
alms giving 155
almshouses 91, 155
Alton 161
Amesbury 90
anaemia 111
anchorites 92, 95, 137
Ancrene Riwle 128, 207
Andrew de Wyntoun 166
Anglo-Saxon Chronicle 172, 180, 181, 215, 216, 224–5, 226
Anglo-Saxon society xi, 1–26
animals
 cruelty towards 248–9
exterminatory drives 271–2
mythological/fantastical creatures 228, 229, 234–6, 260
pets 193–4
sacrifices 9
Anselm, Archbishop of Canterbury 29
apothecaries 124
apprentices 61, 63, 64, 65, 136
female 136
Aquinas, Thomas 128
archdeaconries 77
archdioceses 78
archery 193
armour-making 136
art and architecture 25–6
Carolingian 11, 76
children in art 139
Church architecture xiv, 11, 81–4, 270
Decorated Style 83
Early English style 39
Gothic style 39
High Gothic style 83
Jellinge Style 25–6
late Anglo-Saxon 25–6
Perpendicular Style 83
Ringerike Style 26
Romanesque Style 11, 26, 76
Scandinavian 7, 9, 12, 25–6
Urnes Style 26
vernacular architecture 6
Winchester Style 25, 26
Arthur, King 94
Ascension Day 255
Ash Wednesday 249, 263
Ashby Folville 157
Ashwell 118
Askew, Anne 143
assize judges 148
astrology 123
Aubrey, John 180
Augustine, St 97–8
Augustinians 33, 78, 88, 90, 92, 93, 177
Aurora Borealis 218
Aylesbury 152

Bacon, Roger 238

bailiffs 34, 61
bakers 34, 65
Baldock 57
Bald’s Leechbook 22–3
Bale, John 180
Ball, John 49, 50, 51, 81, 99
Baltic trade 73–4, 210
banking 67, 105, 202
see also moneylending
baptism 78, 82, 137, 251, 268
barley 24, 46, 184, 189
barnacle geese 182, 229–31, 249
barons 27
Barrington 109, 208
Barton-upon-Humber 124
Bath 186
Baxter, Margery 97
Bean Kings 245
Becket, Thomas, Archbishop of Canterbury 93, 147
Bede, Venerable 172
Bedford 17
beekeepers 33
beer 191
beggars 48, 155, 156, 157
see also vagrancy
bell founding 68
Benedict of York 199
Benedictines 33, 88, 89, 101, 107, 177
benefices 80
benefit of clergy 79, 147, 160
Beowulf 180
Berkeley Castle 127
Berkhamsted 201
Berkshire 35
Berwick 58
bestiaries 229, 230, 234–5, 236
Beverley 58, 62, 71, 74, 91, 186
Bible 98, 99, 169, 172, 268, 278
Great Bible 172, 268, 277
translations 99, 169, 172, 278
bishops 10, 75, 76, 77, 78, 79, 80, 150
bishops’ sees 76
Black Death 31, 46, 47, 52, 83, 84, 87, 105, 116–19, 137
death toll 118
impact of 118–19
spread of 116–19
symptoms 116–17
Blackwater Estuary 40
Blanc, John 276
Blanket, Thomas 209
blast furnaces 38
blood letting 123
Blood Libel 197, 202
‘blood-red’ springs 224–7
board games 192, 243
Boleyn, Anne 131, 142
bonfire parties 260
Book of Common Prayer 262, 264, 268, 269
book culture 178–81
see also printing
Books of Hours xiv, 102
Boorde, Andrew 191
borders of England 2
boreworms 113
borh 19
boroughs 58
charters 59
freedoms 59, 60–1
see also towns
Boston 42, 57, 60, 73, 74
Bosworth, battle of (1485) xi
Bourn valley 15–16
Boy Bishops 245, 262
Bradford on Avon 25, 77
brass making 68
bread 28, 65, 108, 109, 111, 260
breastfeeding 110
brewing 34, 35, 189–90, 191–2
brick making 69
bridges 71, 149
Bristol 21, 39, 59, 64, 74, 112, 118, 141, 186, 205, 209, 244, 245, 275
churches 84
economic decline 74
guilds 66
Jewish community 195–6, 198
Merchant Adventurers 66–7
population 59
town government 62, 63
Brixworth 11, 77
Brome 186
Bromholm Priory 102
Bromyard, John 194
brothels 150, 205
Brough 208
Buckfastleigh 259
Bunbury 272
Bungay 198
burgage tenure 60
burgesses 61
burghal plots 69
burhs 17, 60
burial practices
Christian 10, 81, 85–8
deviant burials 150–1
Scandinavian 6
Viking 9
see also cemeteries
burning at the stake 152
Bury 32, 61–2
Bury St Edmonds 86, 260–1
butchers 34, 70, 114
Butler, Eleanor 132

Calle, Richard 125, 126

Calne, Sir Richard de 221
Cambridge 56, 70, 177, 198, 202, 203
Cambridgeshire 32
Candlemas 247, 262–3
Canon Law 10, 77, 126, 127, 146–7, 160
canons 78, 80
Canterbury 11, 39, 76, 77, 78, 93, 119, 186, 192, 202, 204
capital punishment 145, 150–1, 152, 163
capitalism 274
carders 64
Carmarthen 122
Carmelites 90
carpenters 33, 34, 66
Carthusians 88, 89, 107
Catholic Church see Church, English
Caxton, William 86, 171, 179, 183
cemeteries 4, 10, 11, 86, 124, 150, 151
execution cemeteries 150, 151–2
Jewish 203
leper cemeteries 207–8
monastic 107
ceorls 20, 52
Cerne Abbas 1
cesspools 104, 113, 114
champart payments 30
chantries 66, 82, 84, 85, 176, 269
chapels of ease 81
charms 23, 95, 96
charnel houses 88
chastity 132, 135
Chaucer, Geoffrey 162, 170, 171, 179, 188, 190
Cheddar 17
chess 192
Chester 62, 108, 144, 186, 192, 244, 255, 259, 260
chevage payments 30, 51
Chichele, Henry, Archbishop of Canterbury 95
Chichester 39, 76, 93
childbearing 110, 115, 137
Childehampton 30
children
childhood 139–40
custody of 25
diet and nutrition 182
life-cycle service 139
parent–child relationships 140
childwyte 132
Christchurch 119, 179
Christianity 7, 12, 75
see also Church
Christmas 186, 239, 241–6, 262
chronicles 50, 214–20, 223, 227, 238
see also individual chroniclers
church ales 82, 191, 252, 253, 255, 263
church architecture xiv, 11, 81–4, 270
Church, English 7–12, 75–103
communities 7–8, 78
Convocation 267, 268
crisis in 100–3
critics of 81, 97, 98–9, 100, 266–7
land ownership 10, 77, 80–1, 89
liturgical year 239–59, 261–2
organizational reform 77, 266–70
sacraments 78–9, 129, 268
social impact 10
Ten Articles 268
and urban development 17
see also clergy; monasteries; monastic crisis and reform; pilgrimage; religious orders
churches
building 3, 11, 15, 39, 83
cathedrals 11
chantries 66, 82, 84, 85, 176, 269
chapels of ease 81
estate-churches 8
field churches 11
male–female segregation 140
minsters 8, 11, 17, 18, 72
monastic 8
mother churches 81
parish churches 55, 81, 91
rebuilding programme 76, 83
 upkeep 82
village 8, 11
churchwardens 82, 253, 272
Cinque Ports 40, 41
Cirencester 61
Cistercians 33, 88, 89, 177
clergy 79–80
attacks on 101–2
benefit of clergy 79, 147, 160
burial 87
celibacy 7, 9–10, 79, 80, 127, 134, 135, 224, 268, 269
criminal clerics 99, 146–7
married 7, 8, 10, 77, 80, 98, 135, 224
minor and major orders 79, 80
monastic 7
numbers of 80
ordained clergy 79–80
secular 7–8
‘technical clerics’ 79
see also canons; friars; monks; priests
climate change 36, 37, 46, 272
Clink Prison 149
clock manufacturing 69
cloth trade 25, 52, 53, 54, 58, 64, 68, 73, 209, 275
see also wool trade
clothiers 64, 273
clothing 48, 184–6
Cluniacs 88, 107
Cnut, King 3, 4, 7, 9, 19, 25
coal mining 34, 38–9
bell pits 38, 39
pillar and stall mines 39
cock threshing 248–9
Codicote 34
coffins 87–8
cogs 71
coin clipping 203
coin hoards 17, 21
coinage xi–xii, 3, 52
gold 67
minting 18
Scandinavian 9
silver 3, 275
Cok, Hugh 34–5
Colchester 74, 199, 209
colleges 91, 177, 178
Collins Creek 40
Collop Monday 248
combers 33
comets 216, 217, 228
commission of Trailbaston 148
commissions of oyer and terminer 148
common land 42, 273
Common Law 28–9, 134, 144–5, 147, 178
conduct books 142, 183
constables 149
coopers 34
copyholders 271
Corfe Castle 39
Cornwall 35, 43, 46, 67
coroners’ accounts xiv
Corpus Christi 50, 65, 256–9, 264
Corpus Christi plays 102, 186–7, 264
Coterels 156, 157
Cotswolds 53, 83
cottages 44
Cotton, Sir Robert 180–1
Court Leet 145
courtly love literature 134, 178–9
courts
Church courts 79, 146–7, 160
court of common pleas 148
court of king’s bench 148
hundred courts 19, 77, 144
manorial courts 20, 28–9, 127, 132–3, 144, 145, 146
royal 28, 29, 99, 146, 147, 160
shire courts 77, 144
courtyard farms 44
Coventry 51, 59, 65, 74, 112, 140–1, 159, 205, 260
Mystery Plays 140–1, 186, 187, 259
craft specialization 18
crafts 33–4
see also guilds; and individual crafts
Cranbrook 209
Cranmer, Thomas, Archbishop of Canterbury 263, 268
Creeping to the Cross 251, 263
crew yards 44
crime see law and order
criminal gangs 148, 156–7
Crispin, Gilbert, Abbot of Westminster 196–7
crofts 43, 44, 46
Cromwell, Thomas 266
cross-breeding 234–6
Crusades 92, 197, 198, 201
cult of saints 253, 261, 267
currency
 debasements 275
see also coinage
cycle of the year 239–65

Danegelds 3
Danelaw xii, 4, 6, 14, 20, 32, 72
deacons 10
deer parks 49
Deerhurst 11, 77
demesne land 28, 29, 52, 273
dental health 111
Derbyshire 157
deserted medieval villages (DMV) 44, 46, 47, 53, 232
deserving poor 156
Devon 43, 46, 67
diet 107–12, 182–3
Anglo-Saxon 23–4
Carbohydrate-based 111
children 182
daily food intake 107, 109
elite households 182–3, 184
fasting 40, 241, 248, 249, 263
fish 40, 182, 241, 249
lower-class diet 108, 109, 111–12, 184
malnutrition, effects of 108
meat consumption 107, 109, 111, 182, 184, 241
monastic 107
protein-rich 23
diffuse idiopathic skeletal hyperostosis (DISH) 107
dining and table etiquette 182–4
Dioscorides 23
disabilities, people with 237
diseases 47, 107, 115–22
diphtheria 121
epidemics 106, 115
hygiene and 113
obesity-related 107
sin–disease association 122, 208
see also individual diseases
Distaff Day 245
divorce 131–2
Domesday Book 11, 20, 29, 33, 105
Dominicans 90, 91, 201
Doncaster 102
Dorchester-on-Thames 76
Dorset 39
Dover 40–1
Downham 132, 146
Drakelow 231, 232
drama 186–8
liturgical 65–6, 140–1, 186–8, 258–9
processions and folk plays 186
drapers 33, 64
Dublin 21
Dunstable 61, 199, 217–18
Durham 30, 39, 94, 144, 180, 255
dyers 34, 73, 114
dysentery 113, 121

Eadgifu ‘the Fair’ 24

ealdormen 19, 144
earls 19
Earl’s Barton 77
Early Modern period 141–2, 268, 273, 277
earthquakes 216, 219, 227, 228
East Anglia xii, xiv, 2, 16, 32, 35, 43, 46, 51, 53, 171, 247
Easter 186, 239, 248, 249–53
Easter Sepulchres 251, 263
economic recessions 73, 154, 155, 158, 271
Edinburgh 278
Edmund of East Anglia (king and martyr) 9
Edmund Ironside 19
Edric ‘the Wild’ 220–1
education 176–8
elementary 176
grammar schools 176
home tutoring 176
universities 90, 177–8
women 143
Edward the Confessor 76, 181
Edward the Elder 72
Edward I, King 58, 202, 203, 251
Edward II, King 58, 127, 156
Edward III, King 113–14, 153, 156, 209, 244
Edward IV, King xii, 131, 132
Edward VI, King 102, 248, 250, 251, 253, 262, 264, 266, 269–70
eel catchers 33
Eleanor of Castile 193, 202
Eleanor of Provence 90
Elfgifu 24
Elizabeth I, Queen 251, 263, 264, 270, 272
Ely 3, 32
embalming 88
emporia 16, 18
enclosures 43, 53, 271, 273
‘end to the Middle Ages’ 270
entertainment see board games; drama; mumming; musicians; sport
entry fines 30
epilepsy 251
Epiphany 246, 262
ergotism 121
Eric ‘Bloodaxe’ 2
Essex 45, 50, 73, 83, 106, 138
estates
boundaries 14
break-up of multiple estates 15
Church estates 33, 77, 99, 274
demesne land 28, 29, 52, 273
female ownership 24
Ethelred II (‘the Unready’) 4, 6, 7, 19, 252
Ethelweard 4
ethnic cleansing 4, 12
ethnic identity 4–6, 7, 12, 105
Eucharist 78, 79, 82, 98, 252, 256, 268, 269
excommunication 81, 203
Exeter 59, 62, 63, 71, 73, 74, 136, 180
Exmoor 13
Eynsham Abbey 107
eyres 148

fairs 60, 86, 157

fairy folklore 22–3, 220–4, 233–4
faldagium 30
family life 137–40
extended family patterns 138
nuclear families 34, 137–8
parent–child relationships 140
famines 46, 52, 108, 112
farm (sale of town rights) 61
farming
Anglo-Saxon 13, 15
arable 13, 15, 16, 23, 24, 35–6, 42, 53, 271
average acreage 34
commercial exploitation 35–6, 271, 273, 274
Danish farmers 5
enclosures 43, 53, 271, 273
farming year 246–7, 260–1
livestock diseases 46, 52, 105
open-field farming 13, 15, 16, 42, 43
pastoral 16
recessions 46, 52, 73, 105, 154
sheep 37, 53, 271, 273
fashion 184–6
Fastolf, Sir John 150
Faversham 57, 229
feasts 182, 241, 242, 251, 252, 260, 261
felonies 144, 145, 148
Feltwell 43
feudal system xii, 20
Finchampstead 224–5, 226, 227
fire ceremonies 259–60, 264
fish weirs 40
fisheries 49
fishing 33, 40–1, 53, 275
fishmongers 65, 70
Flemings 68, 105, 209–10, 211
Folvilles 156–7, 160
food prices 28, 46, 65, 108, 111, 271, 274
football 192–3, 248, 249
Forest of Dean 222
Forest Laws 38
foresters 33
forests 37–8
see also woodlands
fornication 99, 127, 131, 132, 133, 159, 204
Fountains Abbey 88, 190
Fourth Lateran Council (1215) 100, 129, 200–1, 256
France, war against 47, 49, 73, 153, 154, 163, 170, 193, 198
Franciscans 90, 91, 201
Frankpledge 28, 145–6
freemen 20, 28, 32–3, 42, 43, 51
frérèche 138
friars 80, 89–91, 107, 177
see also individual orders
fullers 34, 64

gebur 20, 52
Geoffrey of Burton 231–2
Geoffrey de Mandeville 218, 219
Gerald of Wales 235, 236
Gervase of Tilbury 222, 223–4, 228, 229–30, 235
Gest of Robyn Hode 81
Gippeswic 16
glass making 34, 37
Glastonbury 3, 33, 94
Glastonbury Abbey 118
Gloucester 155, 192, 193, 197, 198, 205, 256
godparents 137
Godshill 95
goldsmiths 65–6, 68, 69, 70
Good Friday 250–1
Gower, John 119, 178–9, 254
 Confessio Amantis 178–9
grain prices 52, 53, 154
grammar schools 176
graves and grave memorials 85, 86, 87, 88
graveyards 81
see also cemeteries
Great Bromley xiv
Great Chalfield 45
Great Rebuilding 74
Great Witch Hunt 141–2, 212
Great Yarmouth 41, 58, 69, 209
Gregory IX, Pope 201
Gresham 160
Grimsby 59, 74
Grimston 14
guilds 48, 50, 60, 62, 63–6, 187, 251, 256
apprentices 63, 64, 65
cartels 65
indentures 63
journeymen 63, 65
maidens’ and young mens’ guilds 140
masters 63, 64
mysteries 63, 65, 187
religious role 65, 253, 256, 258, 262–3, 263–4
social functions 66
town privileges 60
see also Mystery Plays
Gypsies 276

Hailes Abbey 94, 102

Halesowen 31, 138
Halle, Adam de la 254
halls 44
hamlets 43
Hampshire 35
Hamwic 16
hanging 145, 152, 154
Hanseatic League 68, 74, 210
Harrogate Hoard 17
Harthacnut 252
harvest 260
Hastings 40
Havelok the Dane 170
Havering 191
Hawisa, Countess 128
Hawkins, John 277
haywards 34
Hecche, Agnes 136
Hedge-priests 48, 49, 50, 99
height, average 23, 110
Hemington Quarry 40
Henley-on-Thames 57
Henry I, King 197, 222–3
Henry II, King 147, 198, 200
Henry III, King 90, 200, 201–2
Henry IV, King 55, 169
Henry V, King 55
Henry VII, King xii, 276
Henry VIII, King 102, 131, 142, 191, 211, 262, 263, 264, 266, 267, 268–9, 271, 274, 275
Henry of Blois, Bishop of Winchester 219
Henry of Bratton 145
Henry of Bretteby 163
Henry of Huntingdon 216–17, 218–19, 225, 226
herbal remedies and charms 23, 123
Hereford 17, 57, 80, 180, 237
Hereford Gospels 26
heresy 143, 146, 211
heriot 28, 30, 31
hermits 90, 91–2, 95, 137
Higden, Ranulph 171, 230
Hille, Thomas 119
hobby horses 243, 260
hocking 82
Hocktide 252–3, 263
hoggling 244
Holy Innocents’ Day 241, 244–5, 262
Holy Land 92, 93
holy loaf 252
Holy Roman Empire 11
Holy Week 249–50, 263
homicide xiv, 145, 147, 152
homosexuality 205–6, 237
honey 111
Horn Dance 243
hospitals 80, 89, 122–3
leper hospitals 207, 208
monastic infirmaries 89, 122, 123
House of Lords 89
houselling towel 252
houses of correction 149
housing, peasant 43–4
hue and cry 146, 162
Huish Episcopi 83
hulks 71
Hull 62, 69, 73, 112, 122, 141
human sacrifice 9
humanism 143
humours, theory of 88, 123, 129
hunting 37–8
Huntingdonshire 32
Hythe 40

Ilchester 84, 152

illegitimacy 80, 132
illuminated writing 178
impotence 132
incunabula 179
indentures 63
industries 5, 38–42, 69
rural-based 34, 38
scale and efficiency 39
see also individual industries
infant mortality 115, 139
influenza 119
Ingatestone 31
Inglewood Forest 224
inheritance xiv–xv
coming of age and 130
women 24, 25, 130, 133
Innocent III, Pope 200
inns 190
Inns of Chancery 178
Inns of Court 160, 178
Ipswich 16, 17, 122, 186
Ireland 18, 21, 118, 198, 229, 230, 235, 236, 278
iron working 34, 38
cast iron 38
wrought iron 38
ironmongers 34
Isle of Man 6, 9, 14, 18
Isle of Purbeck 39
Isle of Wight 95, 237

James IV of Scotland 276

Jerome, St 92
jewellery 186, 196
Jews 78, 105, 140, 195–204, 209, 212
Blood Libel 197, 202
expulsion of 67, 78, 203
mikveh (ritual bath) 204
persecution of 140, 195–203, 211
John XXII, Pope 256
John, King 40, 61, 195, 200
John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster 50
John of Oxenedes 218
John of Wallingford 112
John of Worcester 216, 217, 227–8
Josce of Gloucester 198
journeymen 63, 65
Julian of Norwich 95
juries of presentment 145
Justices of the Peace 48, 149, 153, 155

Katherine of Aragon 131, 142, 211, 276

keepers of the peace 148
Kempe, Margery 94–5, 135
Kent 32, 35, 43, 46, 50, 106
Keynsham 174, 175
Keynsham Abbey 100–1
Killingholme 66
King’s College, Cambridge 91
King’s Lynn 60, 94, 199, 221
Knighton’s Chronicle 121
Knights Hospitaller 88, 152
Knights Templar 33, 57, 88

labour service
paid 32, 34, 52
unpaid 20, 29, 30, 31, 42, 60
labour shortages 47, 51, 52
Lacnunga 23
Lammas Day 260
Lancaster 144
land grants, royal 24
land price boom 271
land rents 30, 31, 33, 43, 49, 52, 271, 273
landscape management 15–16, 43
Lanfranc, Archbishop of Canterbury 77
Langland, William 171
Piers Plowman 48, 80, 140, 166
Langton, Stephen, Archbishop of Canterbury 201
language 5, 6, 169–72, 277–8
Chancery Standard 171
Cornish 278
Early Modern English 171
French borrowings 171
Gaelic 278
Irish 278
Latin 169, 268
Middle English 6, 51, 170–1
Norman-French xi, 169–70
Old English 169, 170, 172
 Scandinavian 6
Scots 171, 278
Welsh 278
Last Judgement 88, 151, 261
Latin script 178
latrines 104, 114
laundries 136
Lavenham 83, 115
law and order xiv, 144–68
criminality, levels of 152–9
death penalty 145, 150–1, 152, 163
fines 19, 28, 38, 132, 146, 150
Forest Law transgressions 38
justice system 144–9
legal abuses 159–60
pardons 163
prisons 149–50
punishments 145, 147, 149–50, 150–1, 152, 163
tithings 28, 145
trial by combat 162
trial by jury 162–3
trial by ordeal 162
women’s access to justice 147–8
see also Canon Law; Common Law; courts; Statute Law
lawyers 160, 178
lay brothers 89
Lay Subsidy Rolls 106, 174, 176
leather working 69
Leckhamstead 36
Legrand, Jacques 183
Leicester 64, 74, 141, 186, 202
Leicestershire 39, 47, 121, 138
Lent 230, 231, 239, 241, 248–9, 263
leprosy 109, 120–1, 207–9, 211, 212
lesbianism 237
Levellers 273
leyrwite 30
libraries 179–81
life expectancy 22, 106–7, 110, 115–16
life-cycle service 139
Lillingstone Dayrell 44
Lincoln 18, 39, 56, 58, 59, 62, 74, 136, 197, 198, 199, 202, 203
Lincoln, John 210, 211
Lincolnshire 4, 106, 173, 267
Lindisfarne 215
Lindisfarne Gospels 180
literacy 79, 143, 171–2, 176, 179, 181, 277
Little Ice Age 36, 272
living standards 23, 47, 53, 109
Lollards 97–100, 172, 257, 264, 268
London 39, 51, 54–6, 57, 59, 64, 65, 118, 136, 244, 245, 260, 261
‘aliens’ 68, 69
banking 67
Flemish community 209
growth 55–6
guilds 50, 65
hospitals 122–3
Jewish community 198, 200, 202, 203, 204
mayors 55, 119
Norman buildings 55
population 18, 55, 59, 73
pre-eminence of 18–19
prisons 149–50
prostitution 205
racist violence 209, 210–11
Roman 16
sanitation 104–5, 113–15
trade and industries 18, 63, 68–9, 112, 114, 275
water supplies 70–1, 113, 114
London Chronicles 172
London Grocers’ Company 67
longhouses 44
lords of the manor 28, 29, 30, 31, 33, 45, 51, 260
Lords of Misrule 245, 252, 262
Louth 173
Ludenwic 16
Luttrell Psalter 193
Lydgate, John 248
lye pits 37

Magna Carta 133, 134, 147, 163, 180, 189

Maidstone 50
Malebisse, Richard 199
Malmesbury Abbey 180
malnutrition 121
see also starvation
Malory, Thomas 171, 179
Mannyng, Robert 132
manor houses
hall-centred plan 44, 45
moated 45
manorialization xii, 15–16, 20, 42
manors 27–8, 43
custom of the manor 30–1
lords of the manor 28, 29, 30, 31, 33, 45, 51, 260
manuscripts 178, 179, 180–1
Map, Walter 214, 220–1, 233, 234
marble 39–40
markets 60
Marmion, Robert 218, 219
marriage 24, 34, 106, 129–30, 146
age at 130
annulment 132
aristocratic 133–4
Church teaching 129, 133
consanguinity and affinity restrictions 130, 131
divorce 131–2
economic rights 24, 25
of free and unfree 51
minimum age for 130
parental consent 130
pre-contract 130, 131, 132
and property holding 24
solemnization 82, 131
Marshall Rebellion (1233–4) 217
Martinmas 261, 262
Mary I, Queen (Mary Tudor) 262, 263, 270
masons 33
Mass 66, 78, 82, 84, 102, 231, 241, 245, 252, 256, 257, 268
see also Eucharist
Matilda, Empress 197
Maundy Thursday 250
May Day and May Games 186, 253–4, 255
mayors 61, 62, 63, 119
maypoles 253
Meaux Abbey 180
medicine 22–3, 122–4
folk remedies 22–3, 123
Greek theories 123, 124
medical texts 22–3, 123
sin–disease association 122, 208
see also diseases; hospitals
Medieval Warm Period 36, 37
Melcombe Regis 46, 116
mendicant orders 89–91
see also friars
menstruation 129, 133
mercers 54
Merchant Adventurers 66–7, 275
merchants see guilds; trade
merchets 30
Mercia 2, 16, 72
Merman, sighting of 213–14, 229
Merton Abbey 123
metalwork 5, 34, 38
Michaelmas 260
Mickleover 31
Midlands xii, 32, 42, 43, 46, 106, 171, 247
Midsummer Processions 186, 264
Midsummer’s Eve 259
Mildenhall 31
mills 30, 33, 45
mining 34, 38
minsters 8, 11, 17, 18, 72
misogyny 127, 141, 206
mistletoe 243
Moleyns, Lord 160
monarchical succession 19
monasteries 7, 55
building 55, 56
dissolution of 8, 102, 267, 274, 275
income 78
infirmaries 89, 122, 123
land holdings 267
monastic breweries 190, 192
monastic libraries 179–80
scriptoria 178, 180
Viking attacks on 8, 9
monastic crisis and reform 9, 10, 100–1
moneylending 196, 199, 200, 202, 204
Monk Bretton 180
monks 7, 80, 88, 101, 106, 107
chroniclers 214
gluttony, accusations of 107 see also monasteries
monogamy 24
moral panics 155, 156
More, Thomas 53, 143, 211, 277
Utopia 53
morgengifu 24
Morris dancing 254
mumming 244
musicians 62, 242–3, 276
Mystery Plays 65–6, 140–1, 186–8, 258–9

nard 192
national culture and identity 6, 12, 277–8
New Buckenham 74
New Forest 37, 38
new world exploration 275
New Year 241–2, 244
Newbury 201
Newcastle 39, 62, 186, 201
Newton Aycliffe 193
Nine Men’s Morris 192
nobility
Anglo-Saxon 19
dining and table etiquette 182–4
fashion 184–5
marriage 133–4
titles 5
Norfolk 51, 106, 153
Norman Conquest xi, 2, 29, 105, 106
impact on the English Church 75, 76, 77
impact on English towns 55, 56
impact on women’s role and status 126
North Elmham 76
Northampton 17, 52, 60, 72, 186, 198, 202, 203
Northleach 83
Northumberland 46
Northumbria 2, 16, 19
Norwich 18, 56, 59, 61, 62, 68, 74, 76, 82–3, 141, 156, 186, 192, 197, 198, 199, 203, 209, 238, 245,
255
Nottingham 55, 141, 227–8
Nottinghamshire 157
nuns 7, 80, 88, 101, 135, 137

Occleve, Thomas 171

Offa, King of Mercia 17
Old English 169
Old St Paul’s, London 83
Oldcastle, Sir John 99–100
Oldcastle Revolt (1414) 99–100
optics 69
ordeal, trial by 162
Orderic Vitalis 221
Ordinance of Labourers (1349) 48
Ordinary Time 239
Orford Castle 213–14, 229
Osbournby 14
Osset 133
osteoarthritis 111
osteoporosis 110
outlawry 49, 149
Oxford 17, 18, 56, 57, 156, 177, 179, 197, 198, 201, 205, 245
Oxfordshire 32, 35

packhorses 71
paganism 8–9, 12
cultural 12
Palm Sunday 249–50, 263
pannage 42
pardons
papal 88
royal 163
Paris, Matthew 218, 219–20, 237
parishes 8, 14, 78, 80, 266
Parker, Matthew, Archbishop of Canterbury 180
Paschal Candle 251, 255, 263
Paston family 160–1
Paston, John 32
Paston, Margaret 160–1
Paston, Margery 125–6
Paston Letters xiv, 123, 248
Paul, St 97
Peak Castle 223
peasants
Anglo-Saxon 20
betterment 31, 32, 34–5
free 20, 28, 32–3, 42, 43, 51
landless labourers 34
semi-free 20, 29
unfree 1–2, 29, 32, 33, 52
see also villeinage
Peasants’ Revolt (1381) xiv, 48–52, 61–2, 68, 99, 209, 257
peat digging 41
Peckham, John 256
persecution
of foreigners and minorities 210–12, 276
of Jews 140, 195–203, 211
personal adornment 21
personal names 5, 172–6
hereditary surnames xiii, 173–4
occupational names 33–4, 175, 190
pre-Conquest names 172, 173, 175–6
Peterborough 198
Peterborough Abbey 32
petty treason 152
physicians 124
pigmen 33
pilgrimage 92–4, 102
Pilgrimage of Grace (1536–7) 103, 267–8
Pinbury 29
pinders 28
place names 5, 14
plague 46, 73, 116, 117, 119
see also Black Death
Plough Monday 186, 246
ploughmen 1–2
population
distribution 35, 106
fluctuations 21–2, 36, 45, 46, 73, 74, 105–6, 116, 270–1, 274
gender ratio 110
London 18, 55, 59, 73
urban 16, 18–19, 59, 73, 74
post-hole-built buildings 15
pot-ash 37
pottery xi, 5, 17, 18, 34, 36
Premonstratensians 78, 88
priests 10, 79–80, 84, 98, 99, 102, 159, 176, 194, 224, 257
printing xiii, 69, 171, 179, 277, 278
priors and prioresses 89
prisons 149–50
processions 65, 78, 86, 186, 254–5, 258, 260, 264
property crimes 145, 152, 154, 157–8
property disputes 160
prostitution 70, 141, 158, 159, 204–5, 208, 209, 212
Protestant Reformation xiii, 91, 100, 102, 179–80, 247, 252, 261, 266–9, 277
effect on liturgical year 262–5
reorganization of the English Church 266–70
Psalter of Christina of Markyate 181
public penances 147
Purbeck marble 39, 40
purgatory, doctrine of 84, 87, 231, 261, 268
putting out production process 64

quarrying 33, 34, 38, 39–40

Quarter Sessions 149

rabbit warrens 49, 53

Ralph of Coggeshall 213–14, 217, 221
Ralph of Shrewsbury, Bishop of Bath and Wells 118
rape 24–5, 129, 145, 146, 147–8, 159, 161
rats 117
Raunds Furnells 85–6
Reading 61
Redbourne 218
reeds 41
reeves 28
regional identities 6, 12, 277
relics 102, 267
religion
paganism 8–9
Viking 8–9
see also Christianity; Church, English
religious orders 88–92
banning of 269
 income 89, 101
mendicant orders 89–90
military 88
minor orders 10
see also monasteries
Repyngdon, Philip, Bishop of Lincoln 95
revenants (walking dead) 231–4
Richard I, King 61, 195, 198, 199–200, 217
Richard II, King 50–1, 54, 55, 61, 227
Richard III, King xii, 132
Richard of Chichester, St 93
Richard of Cornwall 202
Richard of Devizes 112
Richard of Durham 194
Richard of the Ker 158, 168
rickets 111
Ricknall 175
Rievaulx 88
road systems 71, 149
Robert, Bishop of Durham 194
Robert, Prior of Kenilworth 223
Robin Hood 164–8, 253–4
Rockingham Forest 37
Rogationtide 78, 254–5, 264
Roger of Wendover 196
Roma 276
Romney 40
Romney Marsh 45
rood screens 82, 84, 102, 269
Rothwell 176
Rous, John 53
Russell, John 183
Rye (East Sussex) 40
rye (grain) 24, 111

sacraments of the Church 78–9, 129, 268

saddlers 65
St Albans 61, 257, 258
St Albans Abbey 181, 257
St Brice’s Day massacre (1002) 4, 12, 252
St Catherine’s Day 262
St Clement’s Day 262
St Elmo’s fire 218
St George’s Day 253, 263, 264
St Mary Spital, London xiii, 111, 122–3
St Neots 18
St Swithun’s Priory, Winchester 107
St Valentine’s Day 248, 263
Salisbury 73, 74, 242, 244, 245, 268
Salisbury Cathedral 39, 83, 180, 192
salt making 33, 34
Sandwich 40, 205
sanitation 104–5, 112–15
Santiago de Compostela 93, 94
Sarum Missal 142
Scarborough 91
Scotland 2, 14, 118, 154, 171, 222, 276, 278
sculpture 25, 40
seals 32, 181–2
Sedgeford 109
Selsey 76
servants 52, 139, 183
sewage disposal 104–5, 113
sexual morality 127, 129–30, 131, 132–3, 158–9, 204–7
sexuality
complex attitudes towards 134–6
virginity, value placed on 134, 135, 136
women’s 127, 129, 134–6, 141, 142
Sharp Tuesday 250
shearmen 64
sheep farming 37, 53, 271, 273
see also wool trade
sheep stealing 157
Sheffield 173
shepherds 33
Sherborne 11, 89
sheriffs 28, 62, 81, 144, 203
shipping 40, 41, 71
Shrewsbury 191, 227
Shrove Tuesday 248
Shrove-tide 248
signs and marvels 213–38
silk industry 136
silver market 21, 274
Simon de Montfort 202
Sir Gawain and the Green Knight 243–4
sirens 228–9
Skelton, John 190
Skerne 9
slaves 19, 20–1, 29–30, 276, 277
smiths 33, 34
soap making 37, 112
social classes 19–21, 27, 273, 274
Anglo-Saxon society 19–21
social unrest 47–53
see also Peasants’ Revolt (1381)
sodomy 206
sokemen 5, 20, 32–3
soldiers 153
Somerset 51, 73, 83
Somerset Levels 40, 41
South Acre 151
South Lynn 256
Southampton 16, 56, 60, 66–7, 117, 201, 205
spice trade 67, 68
spinners 64, 73
spirituality xiv, 92, 94–5, 102, 103, 159
sport 192–3
stained glass 269
Stamford 17, 18, 58, 59, 60, 68, 74, 199
Stanley 89
Stapenhill 231, 232
starvation 46, 52, 108, 112
Statue of Winchester (1285) 157
Statute of Labourers (1351) 48, 51
Statute Law 145
Statute of Westminster (1102) 29
Stephen, King 197, 218, 221
Stillington, Robert, Bishop of Bath and Wells 131–2
Stokker, William 119
stone 3, 11, 15, 25, 69
Stonehenge 151
Stoneleigh 51
Stow-on-the-Wold 59
Strongbow (Richard de Clare) 198
sub-tenants 27
Suffolk 73, 83, 106
sugar 111
suit of mill 30
sumptuary laws 48, 185
the supernatural see signs and marvels; witchcraft
superstition 22, 95–6, 250, 261
surgery 124
Sussex 46
Sutton Hoo xii, 151
Sutton-on-Hull 81
sweating sickness 119
Swein Forkbeard 7
Synod of Exeter (1287) 203
Synod of Oxford (1222) 201
syphilis 109, 122

tailors 34
tallages 30
tanning 70, 72, 114
tapeworms 113
Taunton 74
taverns 190
taxation 2–3, 5
Lay Subsidy Rolls 106, 174, 176
on moneylending 200
papal 99, 266–7
poll taxes 49, 50, 105, 137, 138, 173, 203
slave tax 21
tenants-in-chief 27
Tenebrae (Services of Shadows) 250, 251, 263
Tenterden 272
textile trade 34, 54, 136
Thames River 104, 114, 272
thatching 41
Thaxted 58
thegns 15, 19, 20
Thetford 18, 76, 198, 199
Third Lateran Council (1179) 200
Thomas of Cobham 132
Thomas de Berkeley 185
Thomas of Monmouth 140
tilers 33
timber industry 37, 42
time frame of the Middle Ages xi–xiii, 270
tithe barns 78
tithes 78, 146
tithings 28, 145
tofts 43, 45, 46
tonsure 79, 80
Torksey 136, 242
town planning 69–71
boundaries 70
burghal plots 69
trades, grouping of 70
water supplies 70–1
zoning 69–70
town walls 71
towns
borough charters and freedoms 59, 60–1
burgage tenure 60
Church administration 17, 58, 61
early Medieval 16–19
growth and decline 55–74
in-migration 59
monastic 17–18
populations 16, 18–19, 59, 73, 74
 post-Conquest establishment 57
‘productive sites’ 16
rents and tolls 60, 61
royal boroughs 17, 58, 61
self-government 61, 62–3
trading actvities 56–8, 60–1
Viking 18
townships 43
trade
international 3–4, 37, 66–9, 73–4, 210
Merchant Adventurers 66–7, 275
transport costs 71
urban 16, 17, 18, 21, 37, 56–8, 71
transport 71
transubstantiation 98, 256, 268, 269
trenchers 182
trepanation 124
trespasses 145
trial by combat 162
Trinity Sunday 255–6
tuberculosis 109, 119–20
turbaries 41
turners 34
Twelve Days of Christmas 241–6, 262
Tyler, Wat 50, 68
Tyndale, William 277
typhus 121

unemployment 275
universities 90, 177–8

vagrancy 154–6, 275

vellum 178, 179
Vikings 2, 3, 5, 8
attacks xii, 4, 7, 8–9, 11–12, 13–14, 17, 215
settlement 4–5, 8, 14
villages
Anglo-Saxon 14–15
desertion and shrinkage 15, 47
nucleated xii, 3, 10, 13, 15, 42, 43
structure 42–5
villeinage 20, 28, 29, 30–3, 42, 52, 53, 80, 138, 177, 232, 242, 273
access to courts 28–9, 147
protests against 31, 32, 47–8, 49, 51–2
rights and protection 30–1
unpaid labour service 20, 29, 30, 31, 42, 60
vills 43
vineyard keepers 33
Virgin Mary cult 92, 93, 103, 126, 128, 173, 247

wages 47, 48, 51, 52, 53, 64, 73, 109, 111, 139, 149, 189, 273
Waghen 81
waits chains 62
Wakefield 157, 158, 186, 187, 188
Wakefield Cycle 186, 187, 188
wakes 260, 264
Wales 67, 99, 235, 267
Walsham-le-Willows 132
Walsingham 93, 102
Walsingham, Thomas 49, 219, 258
Walter, Hugh, Archbishop of Canterbury 39
Walworth, William 50, 68
Wantage law code 6–7
Warde, John 119
Ware 57
warfare 153–4, 274
see also France, war against
Warminster 8
Warwick 56
Warwickshire 53
Wash 41
wassail 245–6, 252
water supplies 70–1, 113, 114
watermills 45
waterways 71
wealth 2–3, 21
weapon-making 18, 21
Weardale 38
weavers 34, 64, 73, 141, 209
wells 70
Wells (Somerset) 39, 62, 256
werewolves 235
Wessex 2, 16, 72, 169, 170, 171
Westminster 76, 119, 148, 179
Westminster Abbey 39, 106, 107, 192
Weston 146
wetlands 40, 41–2
land reclamation 45–6
Wharram Percy xiii, 4, 42–3, 85, 109–10
wheat 24, 46, 47
whipworms 113
Whitby 14, 259
Whitoc, Richard 89
Whitsun Ales 191, 253, 263
Whitsunday (Pentecost) 255, 264
Whittington, Richard 54–5
Whittlebury 44
Whittlewood Forest 37, 45, 47
Whittok, John and Agnes 89
Whittok, William 67, 84
Whittoke, William 67
Wick Dive 44
wics 18
William I, King 38, 169, 181, 196, 221
William II, King 225–6
William of Malmesbury 196, 225–6
William of Newburgh 218, 219, 221–2, 223, 234
William of Norwich 139–40, 197
Willoughby, Sir Richard 157
Willoughby, Sir Thomas 159–60
wills 24, 25, 31, 136, 146, 268, 270
Wiltshire 35, 73
Winchcombe 259
Winchelsea 40
Winchester 11, 18, 39, 60, 64, 74, 76, 77, 157, 198, 202, 203, 245
windmills 45
wine making 36–7
Wistow 192
witchcraft 141–2, 146, 212
women 125–43
conception and pregnancy theories 128–9, 147–8, 235, 237
criminality 154
economic activities 25, 52, 111, 136–7, 141, 190
education 143
fashion 185
health and nutrition 110–11
justice, access to 147–8
Late Anglo-Saxon 24–5
legal definition 127
male regulation of 127, 133–4, 140, 141, 143, 159
marriage 127, 128–36
misogyny 127, 141, 206
property rights and inheritance 24, 25, 126, 127, 130, 133–4
prostitution 70, 141, 158, 159, 204–5, 208, 209, 212
quarrelsome 128
religious life 7, 10, 24, 80, 88, 89, 101, 135, 137
role and status 24–5, 126–7, 136–7
sexuality 127, 129, 134–6, 141, 142
violence against 24–5, 127, 129, 145, 146, 147–8, 159, 161
widows 24, 134, 136, 137
witchcraft 141–2, 146, 212
wood ash 37
woodlands 16, 37, 38, 42, 49
Woodstock law code 7
Woodville, Elizabeth 132
woodwards 34
woodworkers 70
wool trade 37, 45, 52, 53, 64, 67–8, 69, 275
see also cloth trade
Woolpits 221
Worcester 31, 136, 180, 186, 202
worsted 68
writs 148, 160, 203
written records xiii–xiv
Wulfstan, Archbishop of York 9, 242
Wulfstan, Bishop of Worcester 21
Wychwood Forest 37
Wyclif, John 50, 97, 98, 99, 172
Wycombe 201

Yarnton 13
Yeadon xiii, 128
yeomen 53, 273
Yeovil 101
York 2, 4, 5, 16, 18, 39, 58, 59, 62, 63, 64, 71, 90, 110, 111, 122, 130, 136, 141, 152, 155, 156, 205,
209, 242, 245
archdiocese 78
economic decline 74
industries 112
Jewish community 198, 199, 203
Mystery Plays 66, 186, 187, 188, 258–9
population 59, 74
town government 62
Viking 6
York Minster 85, 243