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Discovering Diverse Content Through
Random Scribd Documents
of a horse an omen of good[1179]. In Germany, divinations by means of the
horse lasted till the seventh century, for, when St Gall died,

Fig. 87. Capturing the White Horse. In this scene the

artist depicts an imaginary incident in connection with
the legend of the “White Horse of Kent.” The animal,
which is of a rather idealized strain, has broken the
cords of the captors, and remains “Invictus.”

unbroken horses were charged with the burden of his coffin, and to their
decision was entrusted the choice of a burial-place[1180]. In Denmark,
horse-sacrifices lingered until the early part of the eleventh century; a
specific instance is given by Keysler, on the authority of the historian
Dithmar, who was the Bishop of Mersburg, or Merseburg, and who died
A.D. 1028. Dithmar relates that the Danes were wont to celebrate the Feast
of the Epiphany by sacrificing ninety human victims, together with an equal
number of dogs and cocks, in order to appease the infernal deities[1181]. The
custom indicates a not infrequent kind of early compromise. Kemble states
that, although bulls are known to have been used for divination in England,
he knows of no allusion to augury by means of horses[1182]. A few faint
traces, however, suggestive of the horse cult, may be detected. There is, for
example, that curious story, told by Bede, how the priest Coifi rode on a
stallion when he went to destroy the images in the heathen temple at
Godmundingham (now Goodmanham) in Yorkshire[1183] (cf. p. 32 supra).
As Bede’s narrative runs its length, we learn that a high priest among the
pagan Saxons might lawfully ride only on a mare[1184], and one is inclined
to speculate whether any of the idols took the form of this animal. We know
that the stallion was the most honoured among horses[1185], and it is
expressly stated that, when Coifi borrowed the king’s stallion, he did so in
contempt of his former superstitions. The change of steed, at any rate,
coincided with an onslaught upon established custom, and we shall see later
that the priestly rule about riding mares only was abandoned. Another
vestige of the horse cult was the belief, common among Teutonic peoples,
that the last wisp of corn in the harvest field was inhabited by the sacred
horse. For this reason, a horse, representing the corn-god, was customarily
slaughtered, and eaten with special rites by the reapers at the harvest supper.
Professor Frazer describes some quaint harvest customs, prevalent in
Hertfordshire and Shropshire, which furnish examples of the corn-spirit,
appearing in the shape of a horse or mare. And, again, in his recent work,
Totemism and Exogamy, he records the Red Indian practice of sacrificing
costly horses to appease the “medicine” or corn-spirit[1186].
Underlying such observances as those which have been described, there
is an idea which gives a clue to a much-discussed problem. Folk of our
generation are continually asking why the flesh of such a clean-feeding
animal as the horse—a true vegetarian—should be despised as food. The
question is not indeed altogether of recent date, for it was propounded in
A.D. 1720 by Keysler, who reviews the subject at some length[1187]. He
contends that the stringent prohibition must not be credited to the influence
of the Mosaic Law; first, because no flesh, in itself, was deemed unclean for
the saints, and secondly, because other articles of the ceremonial law had
already at various times been abandoned with impunity[1188]. The rejection
of horseflesh for food, Keysler concludes, was due to the Christian teachers,
who found our pagan ancestors employing the animal in sacrifices and
auguries, and eating its flesh in the subsequent repasts; hence, as a mark of
disapprobation, this kind of food was forbidden to converts. The results, it
is urged by the old antiquary, have been deplorable, more especially,
because there is no law of Christ which prescribes this rule of conduct
(Christi certe lex nulla exstat, quae eum agendi modum praescribat)[1189].
These propositions, in the main, seem undeniable. We have seen that the
Palaeolithic cave-man ate horseflesh freely, and that the Britons of the
Round Barrow Period were probably addicted to a like custom. There is
little doubt, again, that throughout Roman Britain horseflesh was a common
article of food. This is attested by the frequency of the occurrence of broken
bones of the horse in the “Brit-Welsh” caves of the Iron Age[1190].
Corroboration of Keysler’s theory is afforded by historical facts. Pope
Gregory III. (ruled A.D. 731-741), in a letter to St Boniface, the Apostle of
Germany, forbade the eating of the flesh of wild horses as an unclean and
execrable act[1191]. Yet at a somewhat earlier date, Gregory II., when
consulted on the same perplexing subject, had sent a temporizing answer,
shielding himself behind the famous passage in the Epistle to the
Corinthians respecting meat offered to idols[1192]. So long as the new faith
held its converts insecurely, and wherever Christianity was merely nominal,
the frontier line of authority alternatively advanced and receded. Nearly half
a century after the death of Gregory III., at the Council of Celchyth (A.D.
787), the consumption of horseflesh was noted as a stain on the character of
the British Christians; their fellow-believers in the East were not guilty of
such a sin (quod nullus Christianorum in orientalibus facit)[1193]. Yet the
monks of St Gall not only ate horse-flesh, but returned thanks for it in the
metrical grace, written by the monk Ekkehard III. (died c. A.D. 1036): “Sit
feralis equi caro dulcis sub cruce Christi.” Elsewhere, too, the habit seemed
incurable. The Norwegians, apparently in paying devotional honour to
Odin, still ate the forbidden food during the eleventh and twelfth
centuries[1194]. The growth of superstition tended to strengthen the
Christian ban against horseflesh. This food was the reputed diet of giants
and witches[1195]; its preparation was associated with sacrifices; it was
eaten with hallowed salt. The sacrifices, in turn, were connected with
popular assemblies or folk-moots[1196]. Now witches and trolls were
supposed to live under mounds. Inside these mounds they held their dances,
and played on pipes made of horse bones[1197]. The hillocks were, as a rule,
actually barrows, the burial-places of bygone peoples, and the folk who had
once raised them probably not only ate horseflesh ceremonially, but
regarded it as welcome fare in times of dearth and scarcity. Successors of
the mound builders continued to partake of horseflesh, and coupled the act
with the worship of Odin. The ecclesiastical decrees were thus primarily
directed against the pagan practice, but, because of superstition, the ban
remained when its original necessity had passed away.
L’Abbé Valentin Dufour, who in the year 1868 translated and edited
Keysler’s valuable chapter on the eating of horseflesh, adds a few facts
which bring the story down to modern times. He tells us that the sale of
horseflesh was forbidden in Paris in A.D. 1739, no reason being assigned for
the prohibition. When, however, in A.D. 1784, a similar promulgation was
issued, the ostensible motive was to prevent disease—there were certain
maladies “que l’usage de pareilles chairs ne pouvait manquer
d’occasionner[1198].” Since considerable importance was also attached to
the assumed novelty of eating horseflesh, Dufour is at some pains to show
that slaughter-houses (boucheries, écorcheries) existed, and that the
forbidden flesh was vended, during the early part of the fifteenth
century[1199]. Statutes continued to be passed against the use of horseflesh
in France, until, in the early nineteenth century (1814, 1816, 1817), the
commodity was allowed to be sold by certain persons who had secured the
special privilege[1200]. Scarcity of food was doubtless a factor in bringing
about a relaxation. By some writers it is supposed that the revulsion of
feeling dates from the siege of Copenhagen (A.D. 1807), when the Danes ate
horseflesh from necessity, and that the habit gradually spread all over
Europe[1201]. This may be true in the general sense, but, archaeologically
considered, one may doubt whether the practice had ever been really quite
extinct.
The old pre-Christian veneration of the horse probably touches the
groundwork of much of the folk-lore about the animal. Professor A. de
Gubernatis, in his work on Zoological Mythology, deals fully with horse
legends as exemplified in the Vedic, Greek, and Latin literatures, and
particularly with the horse as the favourite animal of the solar hero[1202]. It
is common, in ancient art, to find symbols of sun-worship associated either
with the horse or the chariot, or with both. All that can be done in this place
is to supply the reference. One old story may, nevertheless, be noted: that
which tells how the Emperor Caligula spoke of raising his horse to the
consulship. The usual explanation attributes the remark to a passing caprice,
but another interpretation is conceivable. May it not be that Caligula
intended the observation as a compliment to British and Gallic opinions
concerning the sanctity of selected horses, opinions with which he must
have been well acquainted?
We retrace our steps a little. Evidence seems to show that when the early
Palaeolithic cave-men hunted the horse, they were accustomed to carry into
their shelters only the fleshy parts of the carcass, together with the head of
the animal, and—for ornamental purposes—the valuable tail. The long
bones, which were crushed to obtain the marrow, do not appear, as a rule, to
have been taken into the caves[1203]. Light may be cast on the anomalous
separation of flesh and bones by a study of ancient Egyptian custom as
described by Herodotus. This writer states that imprecations were heaped
on the head of the sacrificial victim, so that any impending evil might fall
thereon; the Egyptians, in consequence, would never eat the head of any
animal[1204]. Strict taboo, as imposed among common folk, is not
inconsistent with ceremonial eating by privileged individuals, and
numerous instances might be given in support of this antinomy of custom.
Merely as a speculation, it might be suggested that the head of the victim
was at one time a delicate morsel reserved for the chieftain. In the caves of
the Neolithic and Bronze Ages, the skull does not seem to be of common
occurrence, but in the early historic period, as shown by folklore, we catch
echoes of its legendary repute. Tacitus relates that the ancient German tribes
hung the heads of animals on trees as offerings to Odin. In Teutonic fairy
tales, the horse’s head works miracles, especially when played upon as an
instrument[1205]. It was thrown by witches into the Midsummer fire[1206]—
a notable collocation of details. Russian magic teaches that ambrosia comes
out of a horse’s head, and enables its possessor to do deeds of prowess. By
virtue of this ambrosia one hero discomfited ninety-nine hostile
monsters[1207]. In parts of Germany, horses’ heads were buried in stables; in
Holland, they were hung over pigstyes; in Mecklenburg, they were placed
under a sick man’s pillow[1208]. Again, in Lower Saxony, horses’ heads,
projecting outwards, were carved on the gables of buildings, ostensibly for
ornament, but in reality, it is probable, to prevent mischief to the horses
kept within. A similar practice was observed by the builders of the older
houses in Rhaetia[1209]. In modern Norway, the handles of bowls, and the
ends of the wooden lever by which the primitive mangles are worked, are
often formed of carved horse-heads. Numerous examples may be seen in
the Horniman Museum, London. Specimens are said to have been met with
in English houses also. Some authorities considered that the figures
represented a Celtic legacy, but Grimm claims that the custom of carving
these images, like that of horse-worship generally, belongs “equally to
Celts, Teutons, and Slavs[1210].” The domain might be much extended.
Even in our own day (1865), such carvings as those described have been
recorded from Jutland. They were once common, it is stated, in Sussex, and
Miss M. Braitmaier has figured a series of modern gable ornaments from
different parts of Germany[1211]. When someone asked the meaning of the
horses’ heads on the Jutish gables, the natives answered, “Oh, they are
Hengist and Horsa[1212].” (Note that the name Hengist = a stallion, and
Horsa = a mare.) Whether or not Hengist and Horsa were historical
personages may be left in abeyance, the fact remains that they were
sometimes represented by horses’ heads carried in front of the army as
tutelary deities.
In certain parts of England, notably in Kent, there still survives the
custom of a group of men going round at Christmas carrying a horse’s head,
crudely carved in wood, and known as the “hoodening horse.” Sometimes,
it would appear, a skull long buried in the soil, and afterwards dug up by
chance, formed the “wooser,” “wooset,” or “husset[1213].” Mr P. Maylam,
who has carefully collated the records of analogous customs from both
England and Germany, considers that the word “hoodening” is not, as
popularly supposed, derived either from the Norse word Odin or the Low
German form Woden. He prefers to connect it with those old performances
in which the hobby horse and characters representing Robin Hood and Maid
Marian were prominent. A writer in the Athenaeum ridicules this idea, and
prosaically refers the name to the hood or sack which concealed the
supposed body of the horse—really the body of the hoodener, or
performer[1214]. Yes, but why should the horse, hooded or otherwise, enter
into the ceremonies at all? It is easy to deride the early school, of which
Grimm is a representative, as old-fashioned and full of extravagances. But
we have to face a series of converging customs, which were not begotten of
a complex society like that of modern or even Mediaeval England. Only by
an appeal to some primitive form of the horse cult can an ultimate solution
be really obtained.
Standing in close relationship to the “hoodening horse” custom, is a
somewhat weird Welsh practice, which is now nearly extinct, but which
some enthusiasts have lately attempted to revive. A horse’s skull is dressed
up and carried about by a performer who is enveloped in a cloak. He makes
the jaws of the skull snap to the accompaniment of Welsh rhymes. Houses
are visited, and largesse is demanded. The performance, known colloquially
as Mari Lwyd, is traced by some to pre-Reformation usage. But doubtless,
it goes back, like the “hoodening horse,” of which, perhaps, it is a mere
variant, to pagan times[1215].
Virgil relates a curious tradition which bears on our subject. As the
Carthaginians were digging near a venerable wood, they dug up a horse’s
skull—a “courser’s head,” as the phrase runs in Dryden’s translation, and
this discovery was accounted such a prosperous omen that a temple was
raised to Juno on that spot[1216]. Professor Conington, garnering his
knowledge from several classical writers, gives us the additional
information that the head of an ox was first lighted upon, and that this was
thought to portend servitude, but after further excavation, the horse’s head
appeared—an earnest of plenty, combined with success in war[1217]. From
Vishnu mythology comes a contradictory item, for, in that system, the
mouth of hell is conceived as a huge horse head[1218].
Before quitting this department of folk-lore, we may scan the wider field
of skull superstitions in general. A fox’s head, nailed to a Scotch stable
door, was supposed to keep off the dreaded witch. I noticed an instance of
this custom at Rottingdean, near Brighton, in 1908, but cannot be sure that
any significance was attached to the fox’s head[1219]. Why, again, does the
gamekeeper suspend rows of weasels, stoats, cats, magpies, and jays on his
gibbet? Certainly he does this, in the first place, to prove his zealous
stewardship, and perhaps with some dimly conscious belief that similar
“evil-doers” will take warning. But from observation of other curious
practices, scarcely to be discussed here, one suspects that the origin was
ceremonial. We must also remember cases like that described by Mr
Baring-Gould, who once saw, hanging on a magnificent elm at Westmeston,
under Ditchling Beacon, in Sussex, the carcasses of two horses and three
calves. The reason offered for this custom was that the suspension of the
bodies was lucky for cattle. Keeping, however, to a consideration of heads,
we notice that Sir G. L. Gomme records a peculiar instance from
Hornchurch, in Essex, where the lessee of the tithes used to pay, as a
Christmas tribute, a boar’s head. This payment could not depend upon the
intrinsic value of the toll, nor could the destruction of a single boar be
counted meritorious in itself. The tribute was obviously symbolical.
Camden relates that a stag was formerly paid as part of the rent of Church
lands situated in Essex. He adds that, when he was a boy, namely, in the
third quarter of the sixteenth century, the priests of St Paul’s Cathedral were
accustomed to meet the stag as it was brought up the steps of the sacred
building. The animal’s head was then carried on a spear round the cathedral,
which echoed meanwhile to the sound of horns. Of this curious ceremony,
the young antiquary was an eye-witness[1220].
From a review of these facts, we may deduce that the head of a
slaughtered animal bore an imputed sanctity. This was essentially the case
when the animal had been offered in sacrifice, and it is to pagan and
prehistoric ritual that we must look for an interpretation of the facts. The
species of animal esteemed most sacred would vary with the time and the
place—here, the horse, there, the ox. Later days brought other competitors
for the position of honour. Only by keeping well in mind the widespread
belief in the efficacy of skulls, are we enabled to understand another series
of records, which we now proceed to summarize.
More than half a century ago, when the chancel of St Botolph’s church,
Boston, was being rebuilt, a quantity of horses’ bones and the jaw-bones of
sheep were found under the floor[1221]. Again, we have seen that, on the
site of the present St Paul’s Cathedral, a deposit of bones of oxen and other
animals was discovered indicating a pagan site[1222] (cf. p. 83 supra).
Secular buildings have also yielded horse remains. In 1895, when Colonel
Stanley Scott was taking up the ground floor of a house in North Devon, he
discovered, laid in order and well preserved, the skulls of eight horses and
ten bullocks[1223]. In Wharfedale, again, under the floor of a house,
probably from two to three hundred years old, the workmen took up the
skulls of seven horses and a cow[1224]. With these discoveries one naturally
associates the Dutch and German customs already mentioned (p. 440
supra). And, of course, the primitive idea must be connected with that
which underlies foundation sacrifices, although complication arises from
the unique merit attached to skulls. The foundation sacrifice is widely
prevalent, but the burial of skulls is a more specialized custom.
It will be noticed that, of the last two examples, one is recent, and the
other comparatively recent, therefore any folk-memory associated with the
deposition of the skulls was probably defective. According to popular belief
in Ireland, the skulls which are nowadays placed under buildings are
intended to “cause an echo.” Just as a public building has, or has not, a
horses skull buried beneath it, so will it be good or bad for the purpose of
hearing. A certain field which possessed a good echo was commonly
believed to have a horse interred in it; the tradition was sound, but it is not
known whether the horse was buried for that purpose[1225]. Why, it may be
pertinently asked, does a field need a good echo?
On broad grounds, it is sufficiently obvious that the sacrificial idea
preceded the economic, yet there must have been a period of overlapping.
For not only was some variation of the custom observed, as we shall see, by
Mediaeval church builders, but the practice was kept up until our own days.
Noticeably has this been the case in the Scottish Presbyterian Church[1226].
When the old Bristol Street meeting-house, in Edinburgh, was being
demolished a century ago, eight horse skulls were found concealed in the
sounding-board of the pulpit[1227]. Less than half a century back, the same
class of object was put under an organ in a parish church in the province of
Munster to increase the effect of the music[1228].
The modern theory of the acoustic purpose of the skulls fades as we
trace the custom to more remote times. A small chamber in the belfry of
Elsdon church, Northumberland, appeared to have been built specially to
contain three horse skulls, which had lain piled against each other for
hundreds of years[1229]. The masons of old time doubtless imagined that the
skulls would make the tones of the bells more resonant, but, “lulled in the
countless chambers of the brain” there must have been almost-forgotten
memories of these traditional talismans. These sacred and oracular heads,
there can be little question, were built into heathen temples before the dawn
of history, and the habit was passed on from one generation to
another[1230]. Does this theory seem far-fetched? Consider the conditions at
Elsdon. Here is a district teeming with earthworks and other British and
Roman remains. The population is scanty, the moorland wild and pathless;
there was, until recently, little inter-communication among the scattered
folk. Hereditary custom held firm sway. Such was the preference for burial
in Elsdon churchyard, that corpses were carried many miles over the moors
for interment. Yet pagan customs were rife. Well-worship was carried on
here until our own times, and not many decades have passed since cattle
were driven through the Midsummer bonfires to ward off disease. How
much stronger was superstition when the village church of Elsdon was first
built! There must have been dark, undisturbed depths of paganism in the
lives of the countryfolk. We really know little of the true beliefs of the
Mediaeval peasant, as recorded by himself. Even our information about the
faiths held by the official classes, though somewhat exiguous, reveals a
basis of gross superstition. The gap between the twentieth century and the
sixteenth is almost immeasurable as compared with that between the
sixteenth century and the Neolithic period.
Let us halt, to draw a comparison from Brittany. Who, in the absence of
direct evidence, would have imagined that, in our own generation, a people,
nominally Christian, could have been found to set out dishes of cream for
the dead on All Souls’ Eve, to employ grave-earth for the cure of fevers, to
pour out milk on tombs as a libation, to anoint menhirs with oil and honey,
to scatter the ashes of the festival fires over the fields to ensure a fat
harvest? Yet all these customs have been practised by the Bretons in recent
times. Well-worship, the blessing of oxen at Carnac, the ghastly reverence
paid to images personifying Death, and all such rites, we pass by, as being
everywhere somewhat persistent. The parallel which I wish to draw is
between the Mediaeval Englishman and the more modern Breton. Could we
turn back and thoroughly understand the pages of history, I am convinced
that even the seventeenth century peasant of the English Cornwall, for
example, would be found quite as superstitious as the nineteenth century
peasant of the French Cornwall. What is true of Cornwall, holds good for
the Highlands of Scotland, for Ireland and Wales, and, in a lesser degree, for
the whole of rural England.
To return: the acoustic idea had its birth so far back as Roman times at
least, though at that period it was associated with the use of sounding jars.
Probably horse skulls were still buried sacrificially, but the purpose was
being forgotten. The belief in the efficacy of horse skulls as reverberators
seems to have been derived from the employment of these jars, at a rather
later time when the sacramental idea concerning skulls was obsolete. About
the jars themselves there has been a vast controversy, which, even at the
risk of being discursive, we must briefly notice.
To take a Roman example first: along the seats of the Coliseum there
was a peculiar arrangement of horizontal pots, which Sir E. Beckett (Lord
Grimthorpe) believed were intended to augment the sound. As a result of
experiment, this authority found that the vessels acted much in the same
way as would a series of short, wide tubes, if presented to a hemispherical
bell when this was struck[1231]. Vitruvius mentions brazen vessels, perhaps
comparable to the gong or kettle-drum, as being in use in Roman theatres.
Some writers have thought that the purpose was to make the voices of the
actors more distinct, others consider that the vessels were accessories in the
imitation of thunder.
Coming to Mediaeval times, we find that the church of the Celestins at
Metz was furnished (A.D. 1439) with jars, expressly to improve the
chanting, but it is affirmed that experience showed them to be useless. Mr
Gordon M. Hills, in a valuable paper on this subject, says that the jars were
“a great disfigurement to the building, the marvel of all beholders, and the
jest of fools[1232].” There are other Continental records of acoustic jars
from Strasburg, Angers, Paris, and other places. L’Abbé Cochet discovered
numerous specimens in the churches of Upper Normandy, together with
“cornets” of baked earth in the church of St Blaise, at Arles. Illustrations of
some of these are given in Cochet’s paper in the Gentleman’s
Magazine[1233], and the statement is made that similar “cornets” are found
in the interior walls and vaults of many churches in Sweden, Denmark, and
Russia[1234]. Didron, after referring to specimens from the two first-named
countries, and to those discovered at Arles and Metz, decides against the
acoustic hypothesis: “Ce mode [d’acoustique] me semblait aussi puéril
qu’inefficace[1235].” And, seeing that the men of the Middle Ages made
bells and organs so commonly, why, he asks, are not the sounding
“poteries” of more frequent occurrence[1236]?
In England, notable finds of jars are on record, though the number of
churches concerned is but a trivial percentage of the whole. At St
Clement’s, Sandwich, the jars were built into the walls of the chancel,
overlooking the altar[1237]. At Barkway, Hertfordshire, they were likewise
embedded in the chancel wall, but on the floor level[1238]. They are also
found in the thickness of the wall, a few inches below the floor level, as at
Fountains Abbey, where they had been placed at the base of the old choir
screen. The Fountains vases lay on their sides, and both in and around them
there was an abundance of charcoal. The charcoal, it is conjectured, may
have had no more mysterious origin than a fire which occurred at the
Dissolution[1239]. Jars, supposed to be of Romano-British make, were
found on the top of the chancel wall at East Harling, Norfolk; in each case
the mouth of the jar faced the interior of the chancel. For a long time a
coating of lath and plaster had concealed these curiosities[1240], and one is
led to wonder whether other jars may not, even now, lie hidden elsewhere.
The gables of Newington church, Kent, yielded three jars. Other records
come from Fairwell (Staffs.), Denford (Northants.), St Peter’s Mancroft and
St Peter-per-Mountergate in Norwich, Upton, near Newark, and from
Youghal, in Ireland[1241]. But the greatest collection of all was uncovered at
the village church of Leeds, near Maidstone, in 1878. Altogether, about fifty
earthenware pots were revealed. They were found on the top of each wall of
the nave, below the wall plate. The walls and oaken roof belonged to the
fifteenth century. The best judges at first declared that the vessels were of
Romano-British manufacture, and dated a thousand years earlier than the
fabric. This would seem to indicate that a series of urns had been discovered
in the neighbourhood, and pressed into service by the Mediaeval masons.
Later expert opinion, however, declares that the jars, though possessing
some Celtic characteristics, are of Mediaeval date. The bodies of the jars
were cylindrical, and about 8 or 9 inches in diameter, while the mouths
narrowed to 3 or 4 inches. The height averaged 10-12 inches. The bottom of
each jar was convex and perforated. Mr Hills calls attention to some
perplexing general considerations. The jars are of any form and every form,
they are old and new, they are placed, as if at hazard, from the floor to the
roof. He therefore concludes that the intentions were several, although he
does not himself suggest any other purpose to supplement the acoustic
theory[1242]. In such a matter as this, difference of purpose, variety in
underlying belief, changeable custom according to locality, confused folk-
memory and tradition, need cause the antiquary no surprise. The prime
motive having vanished, the custom is bereft of its full meaning, and the
course of development runs along divergent rather than parallel lines. Two
other discoveries which seem to favour the acoustic theory may be given—
those at Ashburton, in Devon (1838), and Luppitt, also in Devon (1880).
The Ashburton jars (Fig. 88 A), though convex at the base, and exhibiting
chevron ornament, are assigned not to the Late-Celtic period, but to the
close of the fourteenth or the beginning of the fifteenth century. The jars
from Luppitt (Fig. 88 B) are comparable to those found at Leeds. They were
apparently made especially for insertion in a wall, as they are flattened a
little in one portion. They probably belong to the fifteenth century[1243].
This question of “acoustic jars” has been dilated upon because it seems
to involve an indirect derivative of the skull superstition, and one is induced
to outline the story, however roughly and tentatively. We start with a period
when the horse cult is rife, and when solemnity is the note of the priest and
soothsayer. At a later date, a horse, or among some peoples, an

Fig. 88. Acoustic jars.

A. Skittle-shaped specimen from
Ashburton church, Devon. The jar is
grey, and highly burnt. a, b, are yellow
bands, on which are incised chevrons.
B. Small jar (6´´ × 4½´´) from Luppitt,
Devonshire. It has some of the
characteristics of Celtic pottery, but
probably belongs to the fifteenth
century.
Jour. Archaeol. Assoc. XXXVIII. p. 220.

ox, is slain and buried under the foundations of the pagan temple. By and
by, the skull, representing the most mysterious and sacred part of the
animal, is considered to be sufficient by itself. Instead of being uniformly
hidden under the building, it is built into the wall or placed in a specially
constructed recess. The depositories are not confined to one part of the
building. At a later date, a purely practical interpretation is assigned to the
skulls. Secular architects, or architects not versed in the mystic lore of their
heathen fathers, become prone to substitute an urn or a jar for the skull. The
early Christians, adapting, it may be, the old pagan site, and actuated either
by necessity or diplomacy, at times prudently permit the old rite and
custom. The two practices run side by side, but the motive is weak, and
ultimately becomes debatable. Then springs up the explanation that skulls
and jars alike are used to produce sonorous beauty, and on this our modern
theory is based. Nevertheless, these perversions of the original purpose
have not been everywhere co-eval; we have seen, for example, that the
architects of the Coliseum had reached the structural stage of the idea, and
evidently turned the principle to good account.
Folk-memory weakens according to the degree of civilization and in
response to outside influences. As, on the one hand, the imperfectly hollow
horse skull is supplanted by jars, vases, and urns; so, on the other, an ox-
skull becomes a mere ornament on the frieze of a Roman Doric building.
Again, certain builders, apparently misled by the earthenware vessels, and
connecting them with traditions or actual experiences of urn-burial, employ
a modification of such vessels as pure ornament. The story has several
parts. The mingling of the symbolic and the utilitarian idea is difficult to
unravel, hence there is room for much speculation, and need for some
suspension of final judgement.
 CHAPTER XI

“THE LABOUR’D OX”

“Two such I saw, what time the labour’d ox

In his loose traces from the furrow came,
And the swink’t hedger at his supper sate.”
Comus, ll. 291-3.

An easy-going reader, with no taste for agricultural inquiries, might

admire the above picturesque lines and then pass on, counting as a trifle
what is really a most important feature of early social history—the use of
the ox as a beast of draught. Let us pursue the question a little, for, although
the spectacle described was apparently commonplace to the poet, yet, to us,
a ploughing ox is undoubtedly a rarity. Some two or three teams in Sussex,
perchance a similar number in Dorset, and, it may be, an odd team in the
West Country, seem to complete the census of working oxen.
By means of personal investigations made in various counties, and by
the collection of scattered particulars given in certain periodicals, I have
endeavoured to determine at what dates the bullock was discarded as a
draught animal. It may be well to give an epitome of the results, premising
that what is now an exceptional occurrence was, at no remote period, the
general rule, just as it is still the rule in the agricultural districts of
Germany, Austria, and Southern France, not to speak of such distant lands
as Cape Colony and Ceylon.
Commencing with the “county of broad acres,” we find that Arthur
Young speaks of having seen many oxen in harness between York and
Beverley in the year 1768. Waggons were drawn by two oxen and two
horses; for tillage, oxen alone were deemed more serviceable[1244]. A little
later, in 1788, Marshall gives a somewhat different testimony. Oxen were
still preferred for drawing farm carriages and timber waggons along the
roads in the Vale of Pickering, but not a single ox was left at field
work[1245]. Near Whitby, however, bullocks were attached to the plough so
late as 1826[1246], and for hauling stones from the quarry, in 1858[1247]. A
single team was still engaged in quarry work in 1895[1248].
Coming to the neighbouring county of Lincoln, draught oxen were still
employed near Brigg in 1853[1249], and five years later the writer’s father
saw a plough-team in regular work at North (or Nun) Ormsby, near Louth.
The particulars from the Midlands touch more recent times. For Stratford-
on-Avon the last recorded year is 1895[1250]. A friend noticed a team at
work near Oxford, in 1881, and I have a record from Helmdon (Northants),
for 1902. At Hockliffe, near Luton, in Bedfordshire, oxen were constantly
employed by an eccentric farmer who died so recently as 1909. The feature
was, however, admittedly an anachronism: the farmer in question would not
use machinery, and was, in other respects, a follower of old-world customs.
The West Country supplies records for the year 1895; in the Vale of
Pewsey it is asserted that more ox-teams than horse-teams were seen at the
plough in that year, though the ox was not used for road-work. In 1909 I
could not find a single team; inquiries showed that the year 1897 or 1898
must have marked the change over, so that either there must have been an
abrupt reversal of custom, or, more probably, the statement with respect to
the year 1895 was incorrect. There, as in Dorset, red and white Herefords
represented the breed most in favour[1251]. An eye-witness reports a team
from East Ilsley (Berks.), for 1906. During the years 1887-8, I occasionally
saw oxen ploughing on the Cotswolds, and, a few years previously,
Devonshire farmers still chose bullocks for heavy land.
Labouring oxen were not uncommon in Hampshire and Dorsetshire
about twenty years ago. Two oxen were yoked to the plough, while, to
increase the speed, a horse was attached as leader. The case of Essex is
peculiar. One is bound to believe that bullock labour was formerly as
common in that county as elsewhere, nevertheless Arthur Young informs us
that the Essex farmers of the eighteenth century ridiculed Lord Clare’s
introduction of oxen to his estate at Braintree. It was only when the
experiment resulted in a great saving of money as compared with the
general expenditure on horse-labour that the example was reluctantly
copied. Young says that the importation of the oxen from Gloucestershire,
where Lord Clare had purchased them “with all their geers,” was “a stroke
of agriculture most unusual in Essex.” On one occasion, a waggon drawn
by horses became “sett” in the village. The horses were taken off, “and the
oxen clapt too (sic), who to the amazement to the beholders, drew it out in
triumph[1252].” One cannot help thinking that the popularity of horse-labour
around Braintree was a chronological inversion, applicable only to a limited
area. At whatever period introduced, working oxen remained in the Essex
districts of Romford and Ilford until the year 1830[1253], and probably later.
In the sister county of Kent, bullocks were worked near Tunbridge Wells
until the year 1886[1254].
It is to the county of Sussex, however, that we must look for the
lingering exploitation of ox-labour. During the summer of 1908,
remembering what I had witnessed about twenty years previously, I made
careful inquiries about the disuse of working-oxen by Sussex farmers. The
result proved that two teams at least were still under the yoke, one at
Housedean Farm, Falmer, and the other, which I did not actually see, at
Itford Farm, near Rodmell, a few miles North of Newhaven. The latter team
has now been disbanded. In February, 1910, Dr W. Heneage Legge, of
Ringmer, informed me that teams could still be seen daily near Brighton.
Later, in August of that year, I found a single team retained—for
sentimental reasons, probably—at Exceat New Barn, near West Dean. The
Falmer cattle are black, long-horned animals, apparently of Welsh breed.
The old Sussex red cattle are no longer employed. The oxen are not shod at
the present day, though it is but a few years since the custom was
abandoned. This is a point to which we shall return. At Pyecombe and
Pangdean, bullocks were last worked, and shod, about eight years since. “A
few years ago,” was the answer given at Saddlescombe, and again at
Sompting. At Steyning, the blacksmith had not shod oxen for twenty years,
nor had his brother craftsman of Ditchling treated bullocks for a decade or
more. Here the details may stop; it is perhaps well that they should be
given, as an aid to the future historian.
But what of the past? For it is practically certain that from the earliest
historical times onwards to the eighteenth century the ox was pre-eminently,
nay, almost entirely, the beast which was yoked to cart, plough, and harrow.
There were, it is true, some exceptions, to be noted in a moment. The old
illuminated manuscripts show pictures of oxen only, and the famous
embroidery known as the Bayeux “tapestry” furnishes similar evidence. The
animals there shown as attached to the plough, whether they represent oxen,
horses, or asses, are very different from the finely drawn horses exhibited
throughout the rest of the tapestry[1255]. Until the eighth century, as was
stated in Chapter X., the horse was often used for food, and it was likewise
kept for the saddle. Thus we may say that, while the hunter, the warrior, and
the pilgrim claimed the horse for riding, the husbandman in the field was
content to use the ox for draught.
The language of Domesday Book corroborates the testimony of the early
manuscripts. In general, the records of that remarkable survey indicate that
a painstaking assessment was taken of farming stock. The terms used in the
minute inventories are extremely suggestive. The amount of land which an
ox could till is called an “oxgang” or “bovata” (Lat. bos, bovis = an ox +
ata). A bovata, originally “one ox’s worth,” was half a “jugum,” “a pair’s
worth” (Lat. jugum = a yoke), and a quarter of a carucata (post-classical
Latin, car(r)uca = a four-wheeled carriage; cf. root quatuor, whence the
word was later applied to a plough, possibly because it was drawn by four
oxen, or, by extension, two yoke of oxen, four abreast)[1256]. Recollections
of early Mediaeval literature will emphasize the truth of our proposition. In
the “Vision of William, concerning Piers the Plowman” (c. A.D. 1377), it
was doubtless an ox-team which ploughed the “half-acre.” Again, in the
writings of Bartholomew Anglicus (cir. A.D. 1260), there is a description of
the duties of Bubulcus, the ox-herd. “He feedeth and nourisheth oxen, and
bringeth them to leas and home again; and bindeth their feet with a
langhaldes [M. E. langelen = to bind together; langel, lanzel = a rope or
hopple] and spanells [= fetters; cf. Germ. Spannseil = a tether] and nigheth
and cloggeth them while they be in pasture and leas, and yoketh and maketh
them draw at the plough: and pricketh the slow with a goad, and maketh
them draw even. And pleaseth them with whistling and with song, to make
them bear the yoke with the better will for liking of melody of the voice.”
The oxen not only “ear” (= plough) the ground, but thresh the corn by
treading: Bartholomew also speaks of their use in “treading the flour[1257].”
The trivial round of the ox-herd’s labours may be completed from an Old
English dialogue of the eleventh century, in which the garthman is made to
say: “I stand over [the oxen], waking against thieves: and then again in the
early morning I betake them, well filled and watered, to the
plowman[1258].” A like story is told in the anonymous “Seneschaucie,” or
“The Office of Seneschal” (temp. Edw. I.), wherein it is stated that ox-herds
must sleep with their oxen to guard them[1259]. If we pass by a few
centuries, we get, in a passage from Shakespeare, an allusion to the traffic
in draught oxen at the great fairs of England. Shallow inquires of Silence,
“How a good yoke of bullocks at Stamford fair[1260]?” And moving
forward again, we have Robert Burns singing thus:

“And owsen frae the furrow’d field

Return sae dowf [= slow, heavy] and wearie O[1261].”

In short, through all the centuries down to the middle of the eighteenth, it
might have been affirmed, in the words which Richard Carew used of his
own county of Cornwall: “For meate, draught, and plowing, Oxen; for
carriage and riding, horses[1262].”
But there must have been exceptions, perhaps even a little more
numerous than the foregoing paragraph would seem to imply. Fitzstephen,
who, about the year A.D. 1174, wrote a short account of the city of London,
describes a market at which one could buy all kinds of commodities, and he
remarks, incidentally, “Stant ibi aptae aratris, trahis, et bigis equae” (There
stand the mares, fit for the plough, the sledge, and the cart)[1263]. Letters
written in A.D. 1222 to Ralph de Nevil, Bishop of Winchester, contain
repeated requests for “mares to draw the carts” which were to convey marl
to the fields[1264]. The employment of mares for draught is directly at
variance with their early heathen allocation to the priestly body, one
instance of which was given on p. 436 supra. This old usage does not, of
course, imply that all mares were reserved for the priests: moreover,
traditions respecting such animals were doubtless fading away. But to return
to our subject: the evidence adduced is sufficient to prove that horses were
partly employed in agriculture during the Norman and Plantagenet periods.
Moreover, Walter de Henley, writing not later than A.D. 1250, advised the
farmers of his day to plough with two oxen and two horses, “if the ground
is not so stony that the oxen cannot help themselves with their feet” (si la
tere ne seyt si perouse ke buefs ne se pussent eyder des pes)[1265]. As
already noted, this plan was followed in Yorkshire, Hampshire, and
Dorsetshire until modern times. When all exceptions are allowed for,
however, the broad fact remains, that the bullock was the main beast of
draught during the earlier periods of English history. Even in the Yorkist
and Lancastrian periods, horses, we are assured, were hardly ever used for
field-work[1266]. They carried corn to the mill or the market on their
backs[1267], and they served the packman on his journeys through the
country. In the fields the ox was master.
Concerning the number of oxen which were grouped to form a team,
usage has varied. The Domesday terms bearing on the subject have caused
much controversy. Canon Isaac Taylor argued that eight oxen made up the
team[1268]. This view is supported by Dr J. H. Round, and, to some extent,
by Professor Vinogradoff and Professor Seebohm. The last-named authority
believes that eight oxen, yoked four abreast, made up the full manorial
plough-team at the time of Domesday, as well as in the twelfth and
thirteenth centuries. He admits, however, that the villains had apparently
smaller ploughs, with about four oxen to the team (Fig. 89). He also cites
records to show that, occasionally, the plough-team consisted of ten or
twelve oxen. Mr W. de Gray Birch contends that the number was four, and
that four bullocks were the equivalent of two horses[1269].

Fig. 89. Ploughing in the eleventh century. From MS.

Anglo-Saxon Calendar, early eleventh century. (Strutt.)
It will be observed that the team consists of four
animals. Other illuminated manuscripts also tend to
support Mr de Gray Birch’s theory.

Fortunately, there are precise statements extant respecting the Mediaeval

practice. In the Cartulary of Rievaulx Abbey (founded A.D. 1132) eight is
given as the number of the full team or “draught”: “I[i]dem etiam monachi
habebunt in eadem pastura quatuor carrucatas boum, unamquamque de viii
bobus[1270].” A team of eight was also known on the high road, as we learn
from the rhyming Life of St Cuthbert (c. A.D. 1450). We find the following
description of the conveyance of a huge beam to Durham Abbey:

“It was of eight oxen draght (= draught),

It was in a wayne wraght[1271]” (= worked, put).
This quota was, however, often exceeded. A great bell, cast in London, was
brought to Durham on a truck:

“Oxen twenty and twa

War drawand this bell full thra[1272]” (= vigorously).

By a curious coincidence, twenty-two was the strength of the ox-teams

which formerly drew timber along the proverbially wretched roads of
Sussex[1273]. Mr R. E. Prothero tells us that

Fig. 90. Sussex oxen: showing the wide space required

when turning the headland, with a team of six.

“Thou art not for the fashion of these times.”

(As You Like It, Act II. Sc. 3.)

in the eighteenth century from eight to ten went to a plough. A trace of these
large teams may be seen, he asserts, in the old crooked ridges visible on
grass lands. The enormous length of the team, together with the use of
unwieldy ploughs, necessitated the allowance of a vast width of head-row
on which to turn (Fig. 90), hence there was a marked deflection or curvature
of the furrow[1274]. The furrow, in fact, took the form of a flat reversed
S[1275]. The Lincolnshire tradition says that only the tops of the ridges were
cultivated, and that the oxen were attached to each end of a long pole,
which stretched across the “land.” Thus yoked the animals walked along the
grass in the furrow. How the ridges and furrows were originally formed we
are not told. Rham says that the old-fashioned plough was drawn by six
oxen, and that barely half an acre was turned in a summer’s

Fig. 91. Ploughing on the Sussex Downs: a team of

four.

day[1276]. Youatt recommended two pair of oxen to a plough; he considered

the ancient method of using four pair unnecessary[1277]. The modern
Sussex team commonly, but not always (Fig. 91), consists of six or eight
oxen. Eight was also the usual number in Northumberland. Something, of
course, depended upon the mode of harnessing the animals. A case is
recorded, in which a country clergyman, departing from the common
practice of attaching bullocks to the plough by means of a yoke, adopted
Arthur Young’s advice and used collars, with the result that five oxen,
harnessed according to the latter mode, would do the work of eight in yokes
(i.e. paired), with equal ease[1278]. The yoke which was used in Sussex until
quite recent years was a curved wooden beam about 5 feet long, 4 inches
thick, and 6 inches deep. Near the extremities were light oval hoops made
of ash, about 1½ inches in thickness. These hoops passed round the necks of
the oxen, and then went through the thickness of the
 Fig. 92. Ox-yoke (Sussex). Reliquary, XI.p. 222.
Dimensions: length 5 ft; thickness 4´´; depth 6´´. The
loops (ox-bows), which are of ash, are about 1½ inches
thick.

Fig. 93. Ox-yoke (c. A.D. 1800), Gayton-le-Wold,

Lincolnshire. Now in the Museum of the Louth Antiq.
and Nat. Soc. The material is ash. Length 51½´´; breadth
6´´; depth 4½´´. Ropes, or chains, passing through the
vertical holes, appear to have served as ox-bows.

yoke[1279]. One of these yokes lay outside the blacksmith’s shop at

Rodmell, when I visited the village in 1910. Through the kindness of Dr W.
Heneage Legge, I am enabled to give an illustration of a Sussex ox-yoke
(Fig. 92). A Lincolnshire specimen, over a century old, now in the Museum
at Louth, is shown for the sake of comparison (Fig. 93). In Fitzherbert’s
time (A.D. 1534) the hoops were known as ox-bows. It would appear, from a
casual remark made by Rham, that the yoke was sometimes fixed across the
horns[1280]. We may note, by parenthesis, that the team sometimes carried
bells; one of these was discovered under the ruins of the tower of Ringmer
church (Sussex). The tower fell at some period between the fifteenth and
seventeenth centuries, and it is supposed that oxen had been employed to
remove the fallen stones[1281].
 Fig. 94. Old Sussex plough and rake, in use about 150
years ago, at Rodmell, near Lewes. Now in the Castle
grounds at Lewes.

Of the various kinds of plough which have been in use for ox-labour, a
treatise might be written. What surprises the student most, is the persistent
crudeness of these implements down to a very late period. In the grounds of
Lewes Castle there is to be seen a specimen of the old Sussex plough (Fig.
94). This dilapidated relic, which belongs to the authorities of the County
Museum hard by, is probably a century and a half old, and originally came
from Northease Farm, near Rodmell. The plough is 12 feet long, and its two
wheels are each about 2 feet in diameter. The hubs and spokes are of wood,
and are clumsily fixed to a narrow iron tire, which is circular in cross-
section. This feature may be observed to-day in some of the ploughs of the
neighbourhood, and the method of attachment of the spokes is nearly as
primitive in the modern implements. The mouldboard of this cumbrous old
plough is a semi-conical iron-plate, and the coulter—a cutting instrument,
according to theory—is a heavy bar of wood with one edge a little
narrowed. One may be sure that the Mediaeval plough was of still ruder
design. The Saxon and Roman ploughs (Fig. 95), drawn by oxen, are of an
extremely simple pattern.
 Fig. 95.
A. Bronze, representing Roman ploughman, said to have
been found at Piercebridge, Durham. Lord
Londesborough’s collection. (Wright.)
B. Saxon ploughman. From the Psalter of Eadwine, temp.
Stephen. (Strutt.) In both cases the oxen represented
evidently belong to a shorthorn breed.

Opinions have always differed as to the age when a bullock’s services

are most valuable. A Sussex steward informed me that the age for
commencing work was 4 years, and that the ox would continue to be of use
for seven or eight years afterwards. Another account gave the starting age as
2½ years, and the working period from three to five years. Youatt cautiously
remarks that the working life varies with the breed[1282]. The Yorkshire
plan was to “break in” the animal at the age of 2 or 3 years, and work it till
it was rising 6 years; but Marshall, while agreeing with the “harness age”
just given, contends that the beast might be worked until it was from 15 to
20 years old, when it would be in its prime[1283]. He adduces this instance:
“An ox which I worked several years in Surrey, might at 17 or 18 years old,
have challenged, for strength, agility, and sagacity, the best bred cart-horse
in the kingdom.”
It will prevent confusion if we pause to note that the terms “ox” and
“bullock” are properly applied to castrated males of the species after the age
of 4 years; up to that age the animals are known as “steers[1284],” or
“stirks.” The distinction, however, need not be made in the present survey.
When the ox was no longer of service in the field, it was fattened, and,
wherever the food was of a generous kind, the beef, we are assured, was not
especially tough. “Besides,” as an old Sussex peasant once remarked to the
writer, “we a’nt all on us got bad teeth, zur.” A more decided opinion was
that of a Newhaven butcher, who averred that he always used to consider
the beef of ploughing oxen a special dainty for the consumption of himself
and friends[1285]. And in general, the countryfolk of old acted on the advice
of the Hebrew proverb: “If the ox fall, whet your knife.” Worn-out oxen
were doubtless a great boon. In Mediaeval England, fresh beef was
consumed chiefly by the nobles and the wealthy corporations, and by them
only during a few months of the year. Many bullocks were, indeed, killed
and salted in November, when provender had become scarce, but these
represented grass-fed cattle. It is estimated that only a very small proportion
of the whole herd was fattened for the table[1286]. Sir Anthony, or as he was
termed Maister Fitzherbert, who has already been cited, describes the
position of the husbandman very ingenuously: “And if any sorance (=
injury, sore, disease) come to an oxe, [and he] waxe old, broysed (=
bruised) or blinde, for ii. s. he may be fedde, and thanne he is mannes
meate, and as good or better then euer he was. And the horse, whan he
dyethe, is but caryin[1287].” Horseflesh, in Fitzherbert’s day, had long been
discarded as human food. (See supra, pp. 437-8.)
Among the reasons which led to the selection of the ox, rather than the
horse, for dragging the plough or hauling sledges laden with farm produce,
was the comparative cheapness of the keep of the former animal. During
summer, the ox was mainly fed on grass, which was supplied by the
common pasture. Winter found the poor beast living on a scanty diet of
straw, with occasional meals of chaff. Therefore the yeoman who had only a
few acres of land, with access to a waste or common, or the squire who
possessed sufficient pasture to supplement his arable fields, discovered that
bullocks formed the more economical team[1288]. Rogers estimates that the
cost of keeping a horse between October 18th and May 3rd, during which
term it could not graze, was nearly four times that of an ox[1289]. Again,
beast for beast, the bullock was deemed to have proportionately a greater
capacity for draught, that is, the strength of an ox was utilized to better
advantage when the animal was put in traces, though for carrying burdens
the horse was superior. The assumption seems always to have been that two
oxen could, in the mean, drag as much as a good cart-horse. Though slow,
the ox was surefooted, and on the old, undrained fallows it was invaluable,
because its hoofs spread out as it tramped along. Not indeed that all breeds
of this creature are invariably sluggish. The trotting bullocks of India are
familiar to most folk, and Youatt relates that a British ox ran four miles on
Lewes racecourse in sixteen minutes[1290]. Walter de Henley actually
asserts that the ox is as quick at its work as the horse, but the context shows
that this statement must be interpreted in a peculiar manner—he is
comparing oxen with horses which are “pulled” by sullen, prejudiced
workpeople. “Besides,” so runs the comment, “a plough of oxen will go as
far in a year as a plough of horses, because the malice of ploughmen (la
malyce des charuers) will not allow the plough [of horses] to go beyond
their pace, no more [distance] than the plough of oxen (aler hors del pas
nent ke la charue des buefs)[1291].”
Generalizations respecting such a subject as ox-labour must obviously,
however, be accepted under reserve. The problem is not really simple.
Arthur Young prepared elaborate tables to show the relative values of ox-
labour and horse-labour, as applied to different soils under varying
conditions[1292]. The balance of opinion, as expressed by Young’s
calculations, is in favour of the ox[1293], but there are some important
conclusions in a contrary sense. Fitzherbert anticipated Young’s verdict,
though his assigned reason seems to indicate that he was parrying a difficult
question. “For in some places an oxen-ploughe is better than a horse-
plough, and in somme places a horse-plough is better[1294].” Oxen are
preferable, he tells us, where there exist pastures into which the animals can
be put on their return from work. Horses are better when the team has to be
“teddered” on leas and balks (= unploughed, grassy strips), though, in
practice, strange to say, they were not usually so tethered. A more cogent
plea for the bullock is appended to this somewhat weak reason: “And oxen
wyl plowe in tough cley, and upon hylly grounde, where-as horses wyll
stande st[i]ll[1295].” This explanation carries weight, for it is on a steep hill
slope that the superiority of the ox-team was always best seen. After the
teachings of Jethro Tull, Lord Coke, and James Smith of Deanston, had
borne fruit, and farmers had begun to drain their land, the horse came into
serious competition with the ox. Even then, however, a cause which had, all
along, operated against the horse, continued for some time to exercise a
partial influence. This cause lay in the fact that too little attention had been
paid to horse-breeding, but so soon as this art began to be practised, and
powerful draught horses were, in consequence, developed, the change of
system began in earnest. An illuminating piece of evidence was afforded
when the transition was taking place in Italy. The husbandmen in the
neighbourhood of Rome, copying French and English customs, abandoned
ox-labour, but they had not learnt how to rear horses strong enough for
heavy field-work, and much cruelty resulted from the change[1296].
Another reason for the preference given to cattle requires careful
examination. Mr W. J. Corbett, relying apparently on Walter de Henley and
Fitzherbert, states that the ox did not require shoeing[1297], and that thus
expense was saved. It may be doubted whether this cause was ever
generally active. The custom of shoeing oxen seems to be very ancient.
There is no obvious reason for disbelieving that the iron object found by
General Pitt-Rivers at Rushmore, in Cranborne Chase, was, as the
discoverer supposed, a Romano-British ox-shoe (Fig. 96 C). It was of
crescentic shape, widened at one extremity, slightly concave on the upper
side, and measured 3⅖ × 1⅛ inches[1298]. There is the possibility, of course,
that it was part of a horseshoe, but that alternative is not so likely. The
question of the existence of horseshoes in Roman times has been dealt with
in the preceding chapter. It must be noted, on the one hand, that other
objects of about the same age as the Rushmore example, found in
association with Roman remains in ash-pits at Dorchester and Silchester,
and in the Cam valley, have been considered
 Fig. 96. A. Ox-shoe or “cue,” made at Ditchling,
Sussex, c. A.D. 1898. B. Nail for fixing shoe.
(Author’s collection.) C. Ox-shoe discovered by
Pitt-Rivers at Rushmore, in Cranborne Chase. D.
Ox-shoes in position.

horseshoes[1299]. (Cf. details given on p. 424 supra.) Against this may be

set a few scraps of evidence which support the correctness of Pitt-Rivers’s
determination—assuming that the two opinions clash—an assumption
which must not be made unless one has the opportunity of comparing the
various objects. First, we learn from ancient writers like Pliny that the
ancients shod, or at least bandaged, the hoofs of injured camels with woven
or plaited hemp[1300]. They were also often shod with strong ox-
leather[1301]. (Cf. Information about horseshoes, p. 423 supra.) Roman
mules, and therefore, presumably, horses and oxen, were shod with iron
when they had to cross miry places, or when pomp and display required
some ornamentation of the team. The shoes were, indeed, ill-fastened, and
were often lost in the stiff clay[1302]. If, in view of facts like these, we feel
disposed to allow that the Rushmore plate was really an ox-shoe, then there
follows a strong presumption that the custom of shoeing bullocks was never
altogether given up. That “vis inertia” of social habit, which so impressed
Palgrave[1303], and the continuity which arose from that condition, are
nowhere more noticeable than in the history of agriculture.
We turn to re-examine the Mediaeval authors already mentioned. On
their writings, partly, one supposes, Thorold Rogers based his statement that
“Oxen were shod, though the shoe is [was] far cheaper than that of the
horse[1304].” Unless, however, Rogers is basing his assertion on writers
other than De Henley and Fitzherbert, whom he frequently quotes, it is
obvious that he has misread his authorities. De Henley, in explaining his
preference for ox-teams, says that “if the horse must be shod” it will cost
“each week more or less a penny in shoeing[1305].” We may fairly infer,
then, that De Henley does not sanction the shoeing of bullocks, and is a
little doubtful about horses. Fitzherbert’s objection, again, to horse-labour is
that the animal must be “well shodde on all foure feete[1306].” This
assertion, standing by itself, might be taken to imply that cattle were shod
on two feet only—the fore ones. All dispute, however, is removed by
Fitzherbert himself, a little later; speaking of oxen, he definitely tells us,
“And they haue no shoes, as horses haue[1307].” Neither can I find any
allusion to the shoeing of oxen in “Grosseteste’s Rules” (c. A.D. 1240), nor
in the “Seneschaucie,” which was probably written about half a century
later.
In spite of this negative evidence, one may be bold enough to suppose
that such a careful writer as Thorold Rogers did not go seriously astray in
this matter, and that he had somewhere met with references to the custom in
Mediaeval works. There exists, in fact, some corroborative testimony,
because it is asserted by one who speaks from personal investigation, that in
a fifteenth century will, made in the city of York, a certain man is described
as an “ox-shoer[1308].” This takes us back beyond Fitzherbert’s days. Two
centuries later than the York evidence, in the years 1666 and 1667, there are
clear records of payments for shoeing oxen in the Northern counties[1309].
Thus there is a fair case to be put for the prevalence of the custom locally
for the last four or five centuries. Evidently not all oxen were shod. Without
doubt, too, the practice differed according to the county or district.
Recalling, then, the conservatism of agricultural methods, there is a
possibility that the custom has never been altogether in abeyance since the
Roman period. The evidence against the former shoeing of cattle might be
advanced equally to show that horses were not shod, at least, universally.
De Henley’s “if” indicates that the custom was not without its exceptions,
just as some modern equestrians like Mr W. S. Blunt are exceptional in their
opposition to the shoeing. Nor is Mr Blunt’s doctrine without ancient
precedent and parallel among modern primitive folk. The Jews of Palestine,
in the time of Isaiah, did not shoe their horses, believing that this breach of
custom—if it were indeed a breach—would ensure hoofs “like flint[1310].”
This was a great advantage in warfare, comparable, in the opinion of the
prophet, to the strong man’s possession of sharp arrows and chariot wheels
swift as the whirlwind. As to present practice, the Arabs, the Tartars, the
Gauchos of the Pampas, allow their horses to go barefooted.
Whatever decision we may reach respecting the Mediaeval custom, more
recent records, till within the last few years, afford sufficient testimony of
the shoeing of cattle which worked on the farm. The animals were also shod
when taken long distances to fairs[1311]. The Sussex tradition is sound on
this point, for old drovers still talk of the former usage. Within the last
decade the custom of shoeing has been abandoned, at the time when “the
labour’d ox” is itself about to disappear. A Sussex farmer told me (1908)
that shoeing is unnecessary, save for bullocks working on the “hard road”:
if the creature’s feet become tender, it should simply be allowed to rest for a
day or two. A second authority puts the matter tersely: “Once begin to shoe,
and you have to keep on doing it.” The operation needed some skill. A rope
(“girt” or girth) was placed around the neck of the animal, while another
cord embraced one fore and one hind leg. Then, by passing the ropes over a
beam—evidently by the aid of a pulley block—the beast was thrown on its
back. To prevent struggling, a man sat on the bullock’s head and neck. Not
unfrequently the long horns would be snapped off by the impact, in such a
way that the horn cores and skull were injured. If this were followed by
excessive bleeding, the ox had to be slaughtered. Each foot was supplied
with two shoes, or, as the Sussex folk term them, “kews,” or “cues”: “You
can’t call them shoes, zur; they are like a q,” and the shape of this letter
doubtless originated the nickname. The word “cue,” as proved by the
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