Gloucester Cathedral & the Æthelflæd Connection

By Annie Whitehead

Approach Gloucester Cathedral and the first thing you'll see, long before the building itself, is the beautiful tower.

This place was not originally a cathedral, however, but was a Benedictine monastery, dedicated to St Peter. In 1072, William I appointed as its abbot a Norman named Serlo, and the Domesday survey of 1086 shows that Serlo did a remarkable job of increasing the abbey's fortunes, doubling the value of its pre-Conquest assets. Flushed with success, Serlo built a new abbey in the Romanesque style, and sustained growth in income enabled the building programme to continue over the centuries.

In the thirteenth century a large central tower, the Lady Chapel, and the refectory were added, and in the fourteenth century, funds arising from devotion to King Edward II allowed for further remodelling, while in the fifteenth, the Norman west end was knocked down and rebuilt. The sixteenth century heralded a change in fortunes for the abbey, in the form of Henry VIII and the dissolution of the monasteries.

The Lady Chapel

Gloucester abbey was dissolved in 1540 and the building was re-designated as a cathedral in September 1541.

The eleventh-century Norman crypt can be visited (by arranged tour only) as can the tower. But a visit to the main cathedral brings rewards aplenty and shows the building's royal connections.

A foundation charter, which may or may not be authentic, shows King Osric of the Hwicce (by this time a sub-kingdom of Mercia) as the founder of the abbey:

Æthelred, king of Mercia, [Penda's son] to Osric and Oswald, his noble ministri; grant of 300 hides (tributarii) at Gloucester, Gloucs., to Osric, and 300 hides (cassati) at Pershore, Worcs., to Oswald; Osric's part being used by him for the foundation of a minster at Gloucester. [1]

There is a rather impressive effigy of Osric in the cathedral:

The royal connections don't stop there, however. In the south ambulatory is a wooden effigy of Robert Curthose, [2] Duke of Normandy and the eldest son of William I. Eldest son of a king he may have been, but he was never King Robert, because he was imprisoned by his brother, Henry I, in 1106, having been captured after the battle of Tinchebray. He died at the age of eighty, in captivity at Cardiff Castle, but was buried in Gloucester. I have to say, though, that he looks rather relaxed here! (The crossed-legged effigy may denote the fact that he had been on Crusade.)

You'll recall that I mentioned money amassed from devotion to Edward II. I'm aware of the theory that Edward was not murdered, or even that he died at all at Berkeley Castle, but fled abroad. However, the official version of events is that he died at Berkeley, perhaps suffocated, in 1327 and that his body was brought to Gloucester where it lay in the nave to allow visitors to see it.

After a state funeral, attended by his widow and his son, the king's body was buried on the north side of the presbytery and in 1329 that son, Edward III, commissioned a tomb for his father, built by London stone masons working with alabaster and Purbeck marble.

There are recent connections to the monarchy, too. On display in the cathedral is the processional cross used in the coronation of Queen Elizabeth II in 1953:

As you might expect, the architecture of this building is almost an artwork in itself. The cathedral cloister famously has fan vaulting above all of its four walks. It dates from the fourteenth century and replaced the original Norman cloister.

The stained glass windows are a sight to behold. One of them is the second largest, in terms of area of glass, in any church in Britain. It dates from the fourteenth century and the quire had to be widened to accommodate it.

But this is no historical monument, to be merely preserved and revered. It is a 'working church' and during the entire length of my visit, the organist was rehearsing for Evensong. At around 4pm, the local school disgorged its pupils, many of whom headed straight over to the cathedral for choir practice. One of the guides I spoke to told me that Gloucester is able to boast not just a boys' choir, but a girls' choir too.

At the time of my visit, the whole of this area was gearing up for the celebrations to mark the 1100th anniversary of the death of Æthelflæd, Lady of the Mercians, on June 12th. While I was in the vicinity, I wanted to take the opportunity to visit the spot where she and her husband were buried.

At first, it might be easy to assume that she was buried in the cathedral. We know that she was buried in the church of St Peter, and that the cathedral was dedicated to St Peter. In fact, in order to visit and pay my respects, I had to take a short walk from the cathedral close to what remains of St Oswald's Priory.

This priory was originally dedicated to St Peter, but had its name changed to St Oswald's after Æthelflæd arranged to have the bones of St Oswald (King Oswald of Northumbria, slain in battle by the Mercian pagan king, Penda) translated* from Bardney Abbey in Lincolnshire. A short walk from the cathedral close, the remains of St Oswald's Priory is now a simple stretch of wall, jutting up incongruously on an island surrounded by roads full of traffic. Having reached this spot, it was an emotional moment for me, having written so much about her in fiction and non-fiction. I've often repeated my daughter's comment about me, that I regularly stand around in fields, getting emotional. This much is true. But here was something different again, as I stood as close as I'll ever get to the woman who has taken up so much of my writing life.

Æthelflæd is something of an anomaly; one of the very few women to lead an Anglo-Saxon kingdom, she was the daughter of Alfred the Great, and yet she was never a queen. The only time she is given this title is in the Irish and Welsh annals. Some of the English annals hardly mention her at all. And yet she was instrumental in the fight against the Danish 'Viking' invaders, building fortified towns in strategic areas which enabled the English to arrest the incursions and ultimately to force the invaders into submission. Shortly before her death, she was approached by the men of York who sought her protection and assistance against the Norse raiders too. A formidable woman indeed.

Back in the cathedral close, a short hop through an archway brings the visitor face to face with a completely different kind of history, for here is the shop where the author and artist Beatrix Potter imagined that her little mouse, the Tailor of Gloucester, had his premises.

From the magnificence of the stained glass windows, to the simplicity of the remains of St Oswald's priory, to the delight of finding the shop where the little mouse sewed, this was a joyous visit, made all the more special by being able to connect to closely with the woman whose place in history was celebrated in this, the 1100th year since her death, on June 12.

[1] Charter S 70 from the Gloucester archive, 671 for 679
[2] Curthose = from the Norman French courtheuse, meaning 'short stockings'.

All photographs by and copyright of the author.

* Translated - the movement of saints' relics

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Annie Whitehead is an author and historian, and a member of the Royal Historical Society. Her first two novels are set in tenth-century Mercia, chronicling the lives of Æthelflæd, Lady of the Mercians, who ruled a country in all but name, and Earl Alvar who served King Edgar and his son Æthelred the Unready who were both embroiled in murderous scandals. Her third novel, also set in Mercia, tells the story of seventh-century King Penda and his feud with the Northumbrian kings. Mercia: The Rise and Fall of a Kingdom will be published by Amberley in September 2018.

Find out more at www.anniewhiteheadauthor.co.uk

Mrs Gaskell's Tower Part II - Illegitimacy in History

By Annie Whitehead

A few weeks ago, I was at the enchanting village of Silverdale in Lancashire, situated on the northern tip of Morecambe Bay and nestled in an AONB (Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty). I envisaged another photo tour, as I've done before on these pages, but, whilst along with some stunning scenery and some rather large houses with Maseratis parked on the drives, there's plenty here of historical note, there is not much else to connect Mrs Gaskell with the place.

However, it was while staying here that she wrote her novel Ruth and this book is noted for its subject matter - that of illegitimacy. A discussion of this theme in literature would probably be enlightening, but is not for the pages of this blog. Instead I began to think about 'bastards' in history generally; how they fared, whether their illegitimacy hindered them and whether in fact we would know of them today had their parents been married.

Henry I's bastards were many in number and have not remained, to be a bit 1066 and All That, "memorable", but the fact that his only legitimate son drowned had a long-lasting impact on the country, resulting in the civil war between Henry's daughter, Matilda, and his nephew, Stephen, which ultimately saw the Plantagenets ruling until there was a bit of a skirmish in a field near Bosworth in 1485. And speaking of Plantagenets, it's still a matter of fevered speculation that Edward IV might have been a bastard - his mother Cecily seems almost to have confessed as much - but at the time it didn't seem to harm his career. No, what made folks a bit po-faced about him was his marriage to the 'commoner' Elizabeth Woodville. Still, she had the last laugh, as there was more of her blood in subsequent kings and queens than Edward's, if rumours about his mother are true (Elizabeth's daughter married Henry Tudor).

Chucking a bastard son or two into the mix is always bound to muddy the waters - there are those who argue vociferously that Richard I, he with the Lionheart, was homosexual. And yet, Phillip of Cognac was his illegitimate son and may not have been the only one.
While we're on the subject of homosexuality, James I seemed happy to flaunt his preference for men but managed to sire two sons, so perhaps that argument against Richard I's generally accepted proclivities doesn't hold much water.

Conjecture also surrounds the legitimacy of Charles II's most famous 'bastard', James, Duke of Monmouth. Charles was not above acknowledging his offspring and handsomely endowing his children and mistresses with lands and titles. But, like Henry I, he had no legitimate male heir, he was getting old, and trouble was brewing. The problem hinged upon the details of Charles' relationship with Monmouth's mother, Lucy Walter, and the existence, or not, of a piece of paper that would prove the couple was officially married - a marriage certificate kept in a secret Black Box, the existence of which was denied by Charles. Whether or not he believed himself to be illegitimate, (he claimed he wasn't), it didn't stop Monmouth making a bid for the throne upon the death of Charles II. Religion being another 'slight' problem, many people preferred the 'bastard protestant' Monmouth to any legitimate but Catholic offspring of Charles' legal heir, his brother James II.

So, the history of the English monarchy is fairly well sprinkled with bastards, some of whom - like Henry VII's 'natural' son - gained no more notoriety than to be awarded the constable-ship of Beaumaris on the island of Anglesey and some of whom attempted, unsuccessfully, to change the line of succession in their favour.

Of course, a few weeks ago in October, we 'celebrated' the anniversary of one of the most famous battles in English history, and we can say without doubt that illegitimacy was no hindrance to William the Conqueror, or William the Bastard, to give him his proper name. A couple of days ago it was Christmas Day, a significant date for William, for that was when he was crowned in Westminster.

Say what you like about William (and I frequently do), a nice little footnote is that unlike most of his successors, he seems to have remained completely faithful to his wife. Was he a loving husband, or was he simply anxious that no child of his should be taunted by the tilt-yard bullies?

Annie Whitehead is an historian and author of To Be a Queen. She also writes articles for various magazines.
Find her at her blog: Casting Light upon the Shadow
and find details of her novel HERE









illustrations: Mrs Gaskell's tower - author's own photograph
all others licensed under Public Domain via 'commons':
https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Henry1.jpg#/media/File:Henry1.jpg
Richard I - author Adam Bishop
Monmouth - portrait by Messing
https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Bayeuxtapestrywilliamliftshishelm.jpg#/media/File:Bayeuxtapestrywilliamliftshishelm.jpg

The Archbishop Who Defied Two Kings: Anselm of Canterbury

By Rosanne E. Lortz


We have all heard the story of Thomas Becket, the archbishop who refused to surrender to the will of King Henry II and ended up lying murdered on the floor of the church at Canterbury. What many people do not know, however, is that Thomas Becket was not the first Archbishop of Canterbury to defy a king in order to protect the power of the Church against the encroachments of the monarchy. He was simply following in the grand tradition of his illustrious predecessor, Anselm of Canterbury.

When William the Conqueror died in 1087, his son William Rufus inherited the throne of England. The office of Archbishop of Canterbury fell vacant. For four years, the king refused to allow the office to be filled, declaring that he would be his own archbishop. The flock of England was thus left with no shepherd to tend her while a wolf wore the crown.

Eventually, King William Rufus was prevailed upon to fill the office in Canterbury. He selected Anselm of Bec for this privilege, an aging abbot famous for his ontological proof of the existence of God. William knew that he had chosen one of the most scholarly men of the age, but he was perhaps unaware that he had also chosen one of the most tenacious.

Anselm was no sooner selected to fill the see of Canterbury than he denied the king’s right to make that selection. William Rufus, so Anselm said, had no right or power to appoint clergy. The dispute over lay investiture that was surfacing in courts and cathedrals all across Europe had come at last to England. This issue would dominate the struggle between Anselm and William Rufus and prove a proper prelude to the clash between Thomas Becket and Henry II.

William Rufus believed that it was his God-given prerogative to fill any vacant church office in his realm. In his mind, bishops, as well as barons, were his vassals. When an eleventh-century bishop received his see, he also received a large portion of English land and thus acquired feudal obligations to the English king. Like William Rufus’s more secular vassals, the bishops owed him fealty and knight service. Therefore, the king wanted to have a say on who his servants would be.

Anselm contended that a bishop, by the very nature of his office, could not be a vassal to the king without compromising his position as vassal to Christ. The material possessions that went along with the office changed nothing. Scripture prescribed that the Church should choose her ministers, and no prescription of William Rufus could annul this mandate from God.

In this stance Anselm was supported by the Church throughout Europe. Twenty-five years earlier, Gregory VII, the Bishop of Rome, had stated the Church’s official position on this issue: “We decree that no one of the clergy shall receive the investiture of a bishopric or abbey or church from the hand of an emperor or king or of any lay person, male or female.” Any clergyman or lay lord who presumed to violate this mandate was subject to excommunication for his presumption.

When soon-to-be-Emperor Henry IV ignored the Church’s decision and appointed a bishop for Milan, Gregory VII censured him for this action. The Emperor responded by declaring Gregory a false pope. With lighter measures having failed, Gregory threatened the German Emperor with excommunication. This was no idle threat. Excommunication could result in a de facto deposition since God-fearing subjects would be reticent to serve an apostate emperor. Henry IV would not be warned. Haughtily, he announced these words to the representative of the Church: “I am to be judged by God alone and am not to be deposed for any crime unless—may it never happen—I should deviate from the faith.” Gregory met scorn with scorn. He excommunicated the Emperor from the pale of the Church and absolved all of his subjects from their allegiance to him.

With his country in revolt, the Emperor was forced to back down and abase himself before the pope. In that famous scene outside the castle of Canossa in northern Italy, the Holy Roman Emperor Henry IV prostrated himself before Gregory and besought forgiveness for his rash actions. When forgiveness had been received and his country once again set in order, the Emperor showed his gratitude to Gregory by sending an army against Rome. He forcibly removed Gregory his seat in St. Peter’s and installed a new pope. Gregory died a few months later, weary in soul and sad in heart. Thus had the controversy over lay investiture begun in Germany and Italy.

In England, Anselm was more fortunate than Gregory had been. His resistance to William Rufus’s policies led to a voluntary exile, but through it all he managed to keep his position as archbishop and continue his theological writings. He developed a theory of Christ’s substitutionary atonement to be published in the book Cur Deus Homo (Why God Became Man).

When Henry I (the grandfather of Thomas Becket’s Henry) succeeded his brother William Rufus to the throne, he invited Anselm back to England, needing the archbishop’s support against his older brother Robert Curthose. But if Henry I had known what was best for his interests, the invitation would never have been issued. Robert Bartlett writes:

During his exile Anselm absorbed the more radical demands of the reformers, including their objection to the practice of ecclesiastics doing homage to lay people, even kings. Hence it was that when Rufus’s successor, Henry I, invited the archbishop to return to England in 1100, there was, instead of the anticipated settlement and reconciliation, a dispute in which much deeper issues of principle were raised.

Anselm no longer simply objected to the king appointing bishops; he also objected to the king receiving homage from any member of the Church.

After several years of harsh conflict and a second exile for Anselm, a compromise was finally reached. The king was not allowed to choose ecclesiastics or invest them with their spiritual authority. He could, however, receive homage from them for the lands that were attached to their benefice. Neither archbishop nor king was entirely pleased with the arrangement. It was a makeshift settlement that would last only half a century.

Anselm had peace for two years after his settlement with Henry I, tending to his duties as archbishop and continuing the written outpourings of one of the best minds in Europe. He died in 1109, and interestingly enough, it was Archbishop Thomas Becket who, fifty-four years later, requested that Anselm be canonized as a saint. Perhaps he knew how much he owed to the man who had come before him.

Anselm, in many ways, showed just as much courage and stubbornness as Thomas Becket would, defying the sons of William the Conqueror and standing up for the rights of the Church against two kings of England. But because his last breath was not spilled out in blood on the flagstones of Canterbury, his stand is less memorable. History loves a martyr. A seventy-six year old bishop who died in his bed is a little more prosaic.
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Rosanne E. Lortz is the author of two books: I Serve: A Novel of the Black Prince, a historical adventure/romance set during the Hundred Years' War, and Road from the West: Book I of the Chronicles of Tancred, the beginning of a trilogy which takes place during the First Crusade.

You can learn more about Rosanne's books at her Official Author Website where she also blogs about writing, mothering, and things historical.

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BIBLIOGRAPHY


Bartlett, Robert. England under the Norman and Angevin Kings 1075-1225. New York: Oxford University Press, 2000.