British Documents’ Influence on Cornerstone Texts for Other Countries

By Michael Paul Hurd

Unlike most other countries with formal, written constitutions, the United Kingdom’s “constitution” is not one single document; rather, it is the system of rules that shapes the political governance of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland. The system is the evolution of documents such as Magna Carta (1215), the Petition of Right (1628), the Habeas Corpus Act (1640; 1679), and the Bill of Rights (1689). Each of those documents were a counter to perceived illegal or unreasonable activities by the Crown. In separation, any of the aforementioned documents could have resulted in the dissolution of both the British Empire and the Monarchy; instead, the offending monarch generally modified their behavior to prevent a total collapse of British society. The result, with the interdependencies of the documents, is that the British system of government and its constitutional monarchy have been preserved.

Magna Carta - Public Domain Image

Magna Carta, written in Latin and signed by King John in 1215, was an effort to make peace between the Crown and rebel factions. It was unsuccessful and actually contributed to the outbreak of the First Barons’ War. Regardless, the precepts of the document countered the Crown presumption that the King was above the law. For the “people,” generally defined at the time to mean only those who owned land, Magna Carta attempted to provide religious rights, protection from illegal imprisonment, and limits on taxation.

King John's Tomb, Worcester Cathedral, Public Domain Image

In 1628, Parliament presented Charles I with the Petition of Right. In it, the Members complained that the Crown had violated the principles of Magna Carta through taxation without the consent of Parliament, imprisoning people without cause, and illegal quartering of troops among the populace, and the establishment of martial law during peacetime. Charles rejected the original proposal from the House of Commons, threatened to dissolve Parliament altogether, and deferred to the House of Lords, where he expected to have some protection. He was mistaken; the House of Lords passed the Commons proposal and demanded that the King ratify the petition. However, the Petition marked a new phase in the ongoing constitutional crisis that ultimately led to the English Civil War and Charles I losing his head.

Charles I - Public Domain Image

Moving ahead to 1640 under Charles I and again in 1679 under Charles II, the Habeas Corpus Acts reaffirmed Magna Carta’s assertion that no one could be imprisoned unlawfully or without due process of the law. This meant that the Crown could not simply command that someone be imprisoned arbitrarily. The 1679 version of the law is still in effect in the United Kingdom, but has been suspended in times of national emergency or in cases involving terrorism. The original Act was passed by the Long Parliament following the impeachment, detention and execution of Thomas Wentworth, First Earl of Strafford in 1641. It was amended under Charles II in 1679 and included language that, in criminal matters other than treason and felonies, prisoners had the right to challenge their detention. For his part, Wentworth was accused of high misdemeanors for his alleged tyranny as administrator of Ireland. Because he was supposedly acting at the will of the Crown, Charles I was very reluctant to sign the death warrant issued by Parliament.

The British Bill of Rights 1689 further limited the powers of the monarch. It was presented to William III and Mary II as they were invited to be joint sovereigns of England. In their coronation, the co-regents swore an oath to uphold the laws made by Parliament. The British Bill of Rights included twelve key points that guaranteed “certain ancient rights and liberties.” It also addressed the alleged wrongdoings of James II of England (James VII of Scotland and James II of Ireland) and declared his flight to France an abdication. Coupled with the Act of Settlement 1701, the two documents contributed to the establishment of the concept of a constitutional monarchy. It is also interesting to note that noted jurist, Sir William Blackstone, described the cornerstone documents as fundamental rights of Englishmen.

Regardless of their intent at the time they each were written, the cornerstone documents are the foundation of not only Her Majesty’s Government but also of other governments around the world, both inside and outside the Commonwealth. Even Alexander Hamilton, one of the United States’ “Founding Fathers,” believed that the British system was the best form of government because its precepts fostered national unity, permitted the people to participate in government through their representatives, and centralized power under a monarch. Hamilton was derided as a monarchist or royalist for these beliefs, but nothing could have been further from the truth. Hamilton was simply advocating for a strong, centralized, efficient government – with the British system being the best model of the day.

One shining example of using “the British model” is the United States Bill of Rights, a series of ten amendments to the original Constitution, ratified in 1789, that guaranteed certain individual liberties. However, the package was not uniquely American in its tone, tenor, and composition. In fact, some of it was modeled after the variety of British documents that make up the essence of the unwritten British Constitution. Not surprisingly, a definite similarity in language appears in the United States’ Bill of Rights when it is laid side-by-side with similar British documents. Had the cornerstone British documents been equitably imposed on the Thirteen Colonies by George III, there might never have been a War for American Independence.

Alexander Hamilton - Public Domain Image

It is enough to say that, despite the pervasive American perception that the American Constitution is unique, nothing could be further from the truth.  We Americans might like to think that our forefathers were profound thinkers and eloquent authors who devised the concepts for our government on their own, but they really were reliant on relatively ancient British documents, some of which were over 500 years old.

Among Commonwealth Countries, the roots of Canada’s constitution also date back to the 13th Century and includes aspects of Magna Carta and the first Parliament of 1275. However, Canada’s constitution contains specific provisions for the entrenchment of statutes from its cornerstone documents, where the American constitution does not specifically mention any of them. Canada’s constitution, like that of the United States, includes Magna Carta (1215), the English Bill of Rights (1689) – plus the Act of Settlement (1701), the Proclamation of 1763, and the Colonial Laws Validity Act (1865). One key difference, however, between Canada’s constitution and the United States Constitution is that Canada’s document, ratified in 1982, is written in modern, unambiguous language. It evolved over time as Canada separated itself from the protection of the Crown and became an independent country.

Australia, on the other hand, does not include a detailed description of individual rights in its constitution, preferring instead to suggest that the rights are included by implication and did not need to be specified, as it was felt in the Constitutional Convention of 1898 that, as British subjects, rights were already guaranteed by Parliament. Australia has repeatedly been chided for this lack of inclusion. However, the Australian constitution does expressly guarantee the right to trial by jury, the right to just compensation, and freedom of religion.

United States Bill of Rights - Public Domain Image

A relatively new arrival in the constitutional discussion is South Africa. Its newest constitution was implemented in 1997 with the end of apartheid under President Nelson Mandela. However, the constitution of South Africa not only codifies numerous individual rights, but defines the rights in a way that is unambiguous and relevant to the 20th Century. In its twenty-seven points, it even guarantees the rights of workers to unionize. Reading through Chapter 2 of the Constitution of South Africa, its parallels with some aspects of the British Bill of Rights, the Habeas Corpus Acts and even Magna Carta quickly become obvious.

Most unique of the major Commonwealth affiliates is New Zealand. It is perhaps the closest to the British model, with its “unwritten constitution” being an amalgamation of both written and unwritten sources. It recognizes the sovereignty of the current British monarch, with power delegated to ministers of the Crown.

The following table summarizes the implementation of British cornerstone documents in the governments of the United States, Canada, Australia, and South Africa. Because of the way New Zealand implemented its constitutional law, there is no written document that embodies separate listings of rights as applied to individuals. It should be assumed that the British cornerstone documents and New Zealand’s implementation are one in the same.

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Michael Paul Hurd retired from full-time employment in 2018 and began writing his first historical fiction novel in August of that year. His “Lineage Series” of novels projects the touchpoints of his family onto events in history on both sides of the Atlantic. Married to his wife, Sandy (daughter of a British emigrant to the United States), for nearly 40 years, he spent over a decade working in the United Kingdom, from 1983-1994. There he took an interest in British history, studying under Dr. Sid Brown of Leeds University. Fourteen novels are planned for Hurd’s “Lineage Series,” several of which will involve topics relevant to British history as they evolve out of the vignettes of the first book in the series. The Hurds have two sons (one deceased) and are doting grandparents to their three grandchildren.

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An Ancient Legality that Named a House

By Sarah Rayne

The legal profession has always been a novelists’ treasure house, and lawyers themselves are a gift to writers of fiction. Old documents, particularly ones held by the family solicitor, such as a Will, can provide motives the reader hasn't yet suspected, and extra detail for the author to draw on.

Charles Dickens drew on his time as a solicitor’s clerk and court reporter to weave satirical portrayals of the English legal system, with characters caught like hapless insects in the dusty spider-strands of the law.

 

When, in Oliver Twist, Mr Bumble advised a court that, ‘The law is an ass’, Dickens may have been borrowing from a 17th century play called Revenge for Honour, which is attributed to both George Chapman and Henry Glapthorne, depending on which source you check. Not much seems known about Henry Glapthorne, but apparently Master Chapman signed an agreement for a loan which never materialised. According to the reports, he spent years petitioning Chancery to release him from payment, but at one stage was arrested for debt. (A fate which hovers over many writers to this day). Under those circumstances (supposing the facts to be accurate), it’s hardly surprising that Master Chapman did what a great many other writers have done: he wrote out his frustrations in the plot.

English law is peppered with all kinds of curious legalities – many of which had names that have almost vanished from the dictionaries. There are tithes and torts and peppercorn rents. There’s assumpsit (medieval breach of contract), and gavelkind (a Saxon form of limited land ownership). There’s something called aberemurder (spontaneous and gratuitous murder) and there’s witenagemote, which was an assembly of local elders in medieval England.

And there are one or two ancient laws, whose fragments still crop up…

Some years ago, when writing a novel, I searched for an appropriate house name for the brooding old orphanage/workhouse that played such an integral part in the plot. Names of places matter just as much as names of characters. You can’t call a Victorian asylum Rosemount Manor, or a gaol housing condemned prisoners Summerville Court.

Then I came across mortmain.

In medieval times, kings often had the amiable – if unthinking – habit of bestowing large swathes of land on religious houses. This was excellent for the abbeys and monasteries and churches of course – it resulted in them becoming extremely wealthy. Land yields profits, and in those days there would be all kinds of revenue to be scooped up: tenant farmers, who must pay rent to their overlord – fishing rights on stretches of river, grazing rights on open land. Market days and fairs, for which pedlars could set up stalls – and for which tolls were payable.

But if the abbeys and the monasteries were raking it in, the king was not. The problem was that religious houses do not succumb to mere mortality – they are never under age, neither do they marry, commit felony, or become attainted for treason. They do not, in short, fall victim to any of the fates that generate taxes. Thus, on the death of an abbot, the land simply passed to the next abbot – meaning that it was held in perpetuity, and that the medieval equivalent of modern death duties could not be enforced. This was known as mortmain – from Old French mortemain, and from the medieval Latin manus mortua. Mortmain was the possession of property in dead hands.

As tensions between the church and the Crown increased, ways to close this mortmain loophole were sought.

The first attempt seems to have been made by King John, in 1215, with Magna Carta – that ‘Great Charter of the Liberties’ that came into being at the famous meeting at Runnymede.

Magna Carta was never straightforward. John was not popular with the barons; he had squabbled rather disastrously with the French, and he was resented by the Church, who did not like being told what to do by an Angevin king, and, moreover, a king whom they had excommunicated in 1209. Magna Carta went into several editions, was the subject of many objections, and was tweaked until it squeaked. It almost makes the junketings of Juncker, Barnier and May seem like a parish council tiff.

But one of Magna Carta’s provisions was an attempt to prohibit the form of land ownership known as mortmain. It was unfortunate that John died in 1216 before he could get this fully established, because his son, Henry III, was not over-enthusiastic about enforcing it. Henry liked the Church. He liked its authority, and he liked knowing it was on his side. He was not going to get into tussles with it over the ownership of land and the sneaky side-stepping of taxes.

It was Henry’s son, Edward I, he of the lion-like appearance and warlike demeanour, who took up the cudgels and brought the prohibition of perpetual ownership centre stage. There were two Statutes – in 1279 and 1290 – and the 1279 one has no truck with ambiguity. It prohibits, “any person whatsoever, religious or other, to buy or sell, or under colour of any gift, term or other title, to receive from anyone any lands or tenements in such a way that such lands and tenements should come into mortmain”.

That, thought Edward and his advisors, would put the nuisance firmly in its place. More to the point, it would ensure that the kingdom’s revenues were preserved – and in time, increased.

A sceptic might wonder if a side-aim of this was to check the growing wealth and power of the church, and a cynic might call to mind how vastly expensive wars are, and how helpful taxation is in funding them. And Edward Plantagenet certainly fought a great many wars.

But even with the Statute of Mortmain firmly in existence, the problem persisted. Over the years, wise men and fools – kings and princes and chancellors – expended time and energy trying to break the legal grip of the church. Lawyers pondered and wrangled in leisurely and expensive fashion. It was an irritant and a constant cause of vexation. Not for nothing, does Shakespeare give a character in Henry VI the devout plea, ‘First thing we do, let’s kill all the lawyers’.

It was not until more than two centuries later that matters were resolved. Henry VIII swept aside the old order, gave way to the new, and confiscated Church lands wholesale. Amidst the carnage that was the Reformation, the law of Dead Man’s Hand became more or less obsolete. It was, in fact, finally abolished in 1960.

But whatever mortmain’s complexities, it provided a splendid name for my fictional house in A Dark Dividing.
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Sarah Rayne’s first novel was published in 1982, and since then she has written more than 25 books. As well as being published in America and Australia, her novels have been translated into German, Dutch, Russian, and Turkish.The daughter of an Irish comedy actor, Sarah began writing in her teens, with plays for the Lower Third to perform in her convent school.Much of her inspiration comes from the histories and atmospheres of old buildings, which is strongly apparent in many of her settings – Charect House in Property of a Lady, Twygrist Mill in Spider Light, and the Irish cottage,Tromloy, in Death Notes.  Music also influences a number of her plots: the music hall songs in Ghost Song, the eerie death lament ‘Thaisa’s Song’ in The Bell Tower, and the lost music in Chord of Evil that hides a devastating secret from WWII.
Connect with her at http://www.sarahrayne.co.uk/
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Find out more about Death Notes here: http://www.sarahrayne.co.uk/project/death-notes

Medieval Women & Magna Carta

by Lauren Johnson

On 15 June 1215, Magna Carta was sealed at Runnymede. Bad King John – slayer of teenage nephews, executer of hostages and military embarrassment – was forced to recognize that even a king was beneath the law. Of course, he only recognized that fact temporarily, and within ten weeks the treaty of peace (or ‘charter of liberties’ as we now remember it) was metaphorically torn up and civil war broke out between John and his barons.

One of the two Magna Cartas in the British Library:
Cotton MS Augustus ii.106

We all know this story. Eight hundred years of myth-making and, latterly, myth-busting have examined the document and what it meant. Most recently, a brilliant exhibition at the British Libraryin London explored the making, breaking and transformation of this totemic text. The exhibition is almost exhaustively rich, but my abiding feeling on leaving was ‘what about all the women?'

Because frequently forgotten in our narrative of Magna Carta is the half of the population who were not at Runnymede. We don’t know of any queens, abbesses, female barons or labourers being in attendance – there were certainly no female serfs pleading their cause, since the men and women bonded to their master were explicitly excluded from Magna Carta. But in 1215, in an England of roughly 3.5 million subjects, at least 1.75 million of them were female.[1] And many of them had equivalent influence and authority – were treated with similar respect – to their male counterparts.

This absence of women from our narrative of Magna Carta is particularly surprising since women appear right near the top of the charter – in a 63-clause document, the rights of widows are mentioned seventh and eighth on the list.

(7) At her husband's death, a widow may have her marriage portion and inheritance at once and without trouble. She shall pay nothing for [them]... She may remain in her husband's house for forty days after his death...

(8) No widow shall be compelled to marry, so long as she wishes to remain without a husband...

Widows were the most powerful female figures in contemporary life, pursuing their inheritances through law courts and administering their estates independently. They were also among those who had suffered most as a result of the extortion of John’s family, with some being repeatedly forced into unwelcome marriages or paying enormous sums of money to escape them. John’s father Henry II had a list compiled of all the wards and widows in the king’s gift, recording royal rights over land – and conveniently calculating which widows might make the richest gifts to royal friends. Despite earlier promises that widows would be free to marry as they wanted (as long as they didn’t choose to marry the king’s enemies), throughout the twelfth century wealthy widows were forced into unwanted unions. John’s brother King Richard the Lionheart (the famed flower of chivalry) forcibly remarried the widow Hawise of Aumale (d.1213/4) twice. When she refused the first match he made for her, he seized her chattels and threatened to sell them until she gave in. The only way out of this system was for a widow to pay a fine to remain single. In 1212, Hawise did exactly that, paying a staggering 5,000 marks for the privilege of the single state. She was one of 149 widows who paid to remain single or marry whom they chose in John’s reign alone.

John's mother, Eleanor of Aquitaine, with the tombs 
of her son Richard and daughter-in-law Berengaria. 
Casts of the originals, at London's V&A Museum.

The inclusion of these clauses protecting widows’ rights in Magna Carta suggest that this simply cannot have been a document created without any female influence. Men – even medieval men – were still sons, fathers, brothers and husbands. Even if their interests were self-serving, they would still be concerned about the king’s treatment of their female kin.

It has been claimed that Robert Fitzwalter, self-appointed ‘Marshall of the Army of God’ and leader of the rebels, was finally roused to action against the king because of an attempted – and unwanted – seduction of Fitzwalter’s daughter Maud. One version of events has John locking Maud in the Tower of London and killing her with a poisoned egg. Fitzwalter’s wrath at John certainly seems to have exceeded that of his baronial allies. In 1212, he was implicated in a plot to have the king assassinated.

The Tower of London

In fact, when John learnt of the assassination plot against him, it was a woman who warned him: John’s illegitimate daughter Joan sent him a message at Nottingham Castle. In her capacity as wife of the great Prince Llewelyn ap Iorweth, Joan also acted as mediator between John and the rebellious Welsh lords – an intercessory role that was consistently expected of high-ranking women, but is frequently overlooked in reports of medieval warfare and politics.

Robert Fitzwalter’s ally among the rebels – and widower of the possibly-poisoned Maud – was Geoffrey de Mandeville, who in 1214 had had a similar fate imposed on him as Hawise of Aumale. He was forced into marriage. His bride was Isabella of Gloucester, not only an heiress to extensive estates in her own right but also John’s ex-wife. For the privilege of marrying Isabella, Geoffrey was forced to hand over an eye-watering 20,000 marks – in modern terms, millions – in a maliciously short period of time. When he briefly failed to keep up payments, John seized Isabella’s lands until the account was balanced. Hardly surprising that Isabella joined Geoffrey in rebellion against her royal ex.

But not all of John’s female subjects had poor relations with him. Nicola de la Haye, castellan of Lincoln Castle, remained loyal to John through thick and thin. When John rebelled against his brother King Richard in 1191, Nicola held Lincoln Castle for him against royal forces – she endured forty days of siege. In the civil wars that followed John’s renunciation of Magna Carta, she again proved her worth and despite being in her fifties or sixties once more defended her castle from the enemies of John’s cause (by then, his nine-year-old son had inherited the throne). As a reward for her consistent loyalty, John named Nicola Sheriff of Lincoln.

When writing The Arrow of Sherwood, I was influenced by these real-life medieval women with authority and influence. In fact, the links between real-life Plantagenet figures and characters in the Robin Hood myth have often been asserted: the unfortunate Maud Fitzwalter has sometimes been cited as the original Maid Marion (with a minor name change); Nicola de la Haye’s co-sheriff in Lincoln was the once-Sheriff of Nottingham and despised royal tax-collector, Philip Mark.

My own Sheriff and Marian are inventions connected with the local Peverill family, but in giving Marian a front-row seat at the Siege of Nottingham in 1194, and in creating the powerful Abbess of Newstead – as much a political player as any of her local lords – I was following contemporary example.

The frustrations and necessary subterfuges of Marian and the Abbess were also influenced by the real medieval world. Because even wealthy, influential women did not benefit as much from Magna Carta as we might hope. The most famous clauses of the charter, which are still on the statute book in the UK today, concern the right of every ‘free man’ to justice:

(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… except by the lawful judgement of his equals or by the law of the land.

The lawful judgement of equals did not mean much for women, since they had almost no permitted role in contemporary lawmaking. They were not part of the frankpledge system of self-government, they did not act on juries of any sort and they could not be royal justices. Even the ability of women to appeal to law as plaintiffs was limited by Magna Carta – according to clause 54, no one could now be ‘arrested or imprisoned through the appeal (accusation) of a woman for the death of anyone other than her husband’.

So what did Magna Carta mean for women? Perhaps exactly what it meant for most people in the country. The unfree got nothing, the free but poor had their rights limited, and some of the wealthy benefited. But we should not let this document overshadow the reality of the medieval women that we know did have agency and authority, nor assume that it means that women were completely absent from the thoughts of those who wrote the charter in the first place.

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Lauren Johnson

Lauren Johnson is the author of The Arrow of Sherwood (Pen & Sword Fiction). An origin story of Robin Hood, it roots the myth in the brutal, complex reality of the twelfth century. She is currently writing a history of the year 1509 (when Henry VIII came to the throne), to be published by Head of Zeus in 2016.

Lauren will be discussing the Magna Carta as part of the Devizes Arts Festival on 17 June 2015.

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[The text of Magna Carta I have used is the recent translation by David Carpenter in Magna Carta: with a new commentary (Penguin Classics, 2015).

Images are either my own, or from The British Library Collection and have been made available for the public domain.]

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[1] Figures based on David Carpenter, Magna Carta: with a new commentary (Penguin Classics, 2015).

Medmenham Abbey: A Determined Heiress, Medieval monks and Georgian libertines

By Nancy Bilyeau

In my blog series on England's monastic ruins, I've written about abbeys both beautiful and sacred, with ivy-covered crumbling walls and skeletal spires. "In lone magnificence a ruin stands" is a line contained in The Ruins of Netley Abbey, by 18th century poet George Keate. The monasteries have been places of sacrifice and study, of drama and struggle, of sad abandonment.

But the story of Medmenham Abbey is nothing like that. In fact, it's safe to say, this abbey is in a category all its own.



Painting of Medmenham Abbey, as seen from the Thames

History does not record a single event of interest that took place within the abbey walls while Cistercian monks actually inhabited Medmenham between 1207 and 1536. It's what happened to a woman around the time of its founding and to a man two hundred years afters its dissolution that spark interest--and, in the case of what happened in the 18th century, an infamy that reverberates today.

THE FOUNDING: The person responsible for the abbey's existence was Isabel de Bolebec, a woman of strength who was determined to have a say in her own life. This was no small feat in the early 13th century, especially for an heiress.

The de Bolebecs were a family that possessed extensive land at the time of the Domesday Book in 1086, mostly in Buckinghamshire. Isabel was the daughter and co-heiress of Hugh de Bolebec--builder of a stone castle with a moat--and is believed to have been born shortly before his death in 1165. Her first husband was Henry de Nonant, Lord of Totnes; they had no children together.

The mound is all that remains of
Bolebec Castle, destroyed by Oliver Cromwell

At some point Isabel granted lands to the abbey of Woburn, an existing house of Cistercian monks, and they decided to expand, using those lands. Medmenham Manor had belonged to her father, and she decided to bestow the land between the manor and the Thames to the Cistericians. She was clearly a pious woman who believed in religious patronage--she is best known for being a major benefactress of the Dominican order in England. In 1204 a colony of Cistercians began to live in the newly constructed abbey on the Thames.

King John, who controlled
heiresses and widows' lives

In 1206, Isabel's husband died, and she took the not-unusal step of petitioning King John for the right to not be married again or, if she did, to choose the man herself. She was about 40 years of age. Nearly all marriages of heiresses were arranged, with their fortunes as rich prizes for the king to bestow on men who he wished to favor. Some of these marriages were unhappy, even traumatic. Henry I is known to have charged rich widows for the privilege of remaining single. Sometimes the women had to pay the king in order for him to release back to them their own inheritances!

Isabel paid King John three hundred marks and three palfreys (horses) for the right to marry the man of her choice. He was Robert de Vere, a man her own age from a family as old and prestigious as the de Bolebec's. They had a son right away, naming him Hugh, and in 1214 her husband inherited from his brother the earldom of Oxford. The de Vere's managed to hold onto the the title of Earl of Oxford until 1703, all of them  descended from Isabel. Many of her descendants also carried her family's title--either Baron, Viscount or Lord Bolebec.

Isabel's descendant: The controversial Elizabethan nobleman
Edward de Vere, 17th Earl of  Oxford and Viscount Bolebec

On June 15, 1215, when King John signed the Magna Carta, Isobel's husband, the Earl of Oxford, was one of 25 barons elected to guarantee its observance. Clauses seven and eight protected widows, by forbidding forced marriages at the command of the king and exempting them from having to pay for their own inheritances and dower. Those reforms must have had special meaning for the Earl of Oxford.  He died six years later; Isabel purchased the wardship of their son and the two of them went on a pilgrimage "beyond the seas."

Isabel died in 1245, around 80 years of age. When the Dominican friars of Oxford needed a larger priory in the 1230's, she and the bishop of Carlisle bought land south of Oxford and contributed most of the funds. She is buried in that church.


THE DISSOLUTION: When Henry VIII broke with Rome and began to dissolve the monasteries, the smaller ones were broken up first. Medmenham Abbey definitely fell under that category. In July 1536, the abbot and only one monk lived there--when they were evicted and pensioned off, the abbot received a pension of 10 marks. The Valor Ecclesiasticus put the abbey, the small village lying a quarter-mile away and the parish church at an estimated combined value of 20 pounds, 6 shillings.

An even graver tragedy struck at nearby Medmenham Manor. It had come into the possession of the Pole family, cousins to Henry VIII due to the bloodline of its matriarch, Margaret Plantagenet, daughter of the Duke of Clarence. In a fit of paranoia that those who possessed royal blood could try to overthrow him, the king lashed out at the Poles in the late 1530s. Margaret's son Henry Pole, Lord Montagu, who owned the manor, was beheaded for treason on Tower Hill, and his manor was claimed by the crown.

As for the abbey itself, Henry VIII granted the stone buildings and land to Thomas and Robert More; it passed to the Duffield family  in the late 16th century. Two centuries later, Francis Duffield leased the abbey to one Sir Francis Dashwood. It was then that everything changed.

THE INFAMY: Sir Francis Dashwood was born in London in 1708, the only child of a baronet who made a fortune in trade with Turkey. Sir Francis inherited his estates, title and money at the age of 15. He went on the Grand Tour of Europe in high style. Gossip circulated that along with a passion for art and literature, the young baronet formed a fondness for brothels.

By the age of 18, Dashwood was a prominent member of the Dilletanti Society, devoted to celebrating the values of ancient Rome and Greece. He spent a great deal of money turning his father's country estate, West Wycombe Park, into an Italianate villa that eventually became known as one of the most beautiful houses in England.

West Wycombe Park today

 He was obsessed with private societies, and in 1752 he formed what he dubbed the Brotherhood of St. Francis of Wycombe with likeminded friends such as the Earl of Sandwich. He soon decided a discreet location was needed, and Dashwood poured money into Medmenham Abbey, which was near West Wycombe Park. The abbey was easy to reach by boat from London.

The 13th century ruin was renovated to resemble a Gothic structure with this theme written in stained glass at the entrance: Do What Thou Will. Dashwood and his friends came up with a new name for themselves: the Monks of Medmenham. It was later that their most famous name sprang up: the Hellfire Club. Among its rumored members: the Earl of Bute, Frederick Prince of Wales, the Duke of Queensbury and even, as a visitor, Benjamin Frankin.

Sir Francis Dashwood, painted by Hogarth

What transpired inside the onetime abbey of Cistercians? Did the "monks" merely read poems and get drunk? Or were these gatherings blasphemous and pornographic, with Georgian aristocrats performing anti-Christian rituals and entertaining prostitutes dressed as nuns? Another theory was that the debauchery was a guise for political discussions, since many were members of the government opposition. Although a well-known hater of the Catholic Church, Sir Francis was dogged by suspicion of being a secret Jacobite.

London gossiped about little else but the secret society until the scandal overwhelmed the Medmenham community. Although Dashwood employed many people in the area, he must not have been popular after he and the Earl of Sandwich released a monkey into the parish church during services, and watched the worshippers flee, screaming. Dashwood took the Hellfire Club underground--literally. He moved the gatherings out of the abbey and into a series of tunnels he'd had carved out of the chalk and flint of West Wycombe Hill. The reports of the members' misdeeds grew even more shocking there. Amazingly, Dashwood, who inherited the title 15th Baron Le Dispenser, served in Parliament and rose to Chancellor of the Exchequer although, as was agreed upon by all: "Of financial knowledge he did not possess the rudiments."

Dashwood's "Hellfire Club" caves are today a tourist attraction

The Duffield family took back the abbey and sold it to the Chief Justice of Chester. It is unknown what the new owner did to Dashwood's Gothic creation. In 1898 the abbey was "restored" by a Mr. Hudson, and in the early part of the 20th century was owned by an army colonel. It is now the site of a prosperous waterfront property in private hands. Nothing of the abbey remains.

The Hellfire Club permeated the culture, popping up in new forms all over England and Ireland, and references can be found in novels, films, and songs. Often there is a whiff of blasphemy, of dark doings taking place in an abbey ruin. It didn't help that Alistair Crowley, the notorious occultist, adapted the Hellfire Club's "Do What Thou Wilt" to be a personal motto.

Diana Rigg in an Avengers episode
revolving around a 1960s Hellfire Club

But it is Sir Francis Dashwood's undeniable taste that brings the story from hell back to a bit of heaven. West Wycombe Park, his estate, is owned by the National Trust, although the present head of the Dashwood family lives in part of it with his family. The interiors are used by many film and TV companies today, including Downton Abbey's. When fans look upon the aristocratic rooms inhabited by the show's characters, they are catching a glimpse of the man who shocked Georgian society to the core.



Aunt Rosamund's London drawing room is actually the interior of West Wycombe Park

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Nancy Bilyeau is the author of an award-winning trilogy of historical novels set in Tudor England. The Crown, the first novel, was an Oprah pick for January 2012 and reached No. 1 on amazon. The Chalice won the Best Historical Mystery Award of 2013 from the RT Reviews. The Tapestry will be published in March 2015. For more information, go to www.nancybilyeau.com

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In my series, I've written about other monastic ruins with fascinating histories.

Such as....

Rufford Abbey: Errant monks and the life of Arbella Stuart. Read here.

The Haunting Power of Whitby Abbey. Read here.

Tintern Abbey, a Treasure of Wales. Read here.

Searching for London's Blackfriars. Read here: 

Rochester Castle: The Rise and Fall of a Fortress

by Lauren Gilbert

Steel engraving, hand tinted c 1860

 

On a visit to Faversham (see a previous post HERE, I took the opportunity to wander around the charming town and went into a small antique shop.  I found a small print of Rochester Castle, and could not resist.  Although I did not have the opportunity to visit Rochester Castle, my little picture piqued an interest in this fascinating structure. The ruins that stand today are the remains of a mighty fortress with an incredible history, including three sieges.

Rochester Castle Keep with Cathedral

There appears to have been a defensive structure on this site since the first century.  On the River Medway, this is a strategic defensive location.  The Romans under Aulus Plautius built a fort here to guard a bridge and river crossing.  The Venerable Bede wrote of “the fortress of the Kentish men”. After besieging the city of Rochester in 884, the Danes built a fortress outside it.

After the Norman Conquest in 1066, the first Norman castle was quickly built on a hill near the site where the current fortress remains stand. Odo, Bishop of Bayeux, held the site and probably rebuilt existing fortifications with a wooden motte and bailey design to discourage any Saxon resistance and to guard the river crossing.  In 1087, after William the Conqueror’s death, there was conflict over who would control Normandy--Robert, Duke of Normandy or William Rufus, King of England?  Odo and many of the barons supported Robert, and Rochester Castle became a headquarters for Robert’s supporters.   After a siege, the castle fell to William II (William Rufus) in 1088 and Odo was banished.

Gundulf, the Bishop of Rochester, was also a builder.  He had been involved in the work on William the Conqueror’s keep, the White Tower, in London.  Gundulf built a stone castle near the Norman cathedral in Rochester in about 1090.  He used existing Roman walls, repairing damage and making them higher.  These walls and new walls specially constructed enclosed a large bailey with a ditch outside.

In approximately 1126, Henry I granted the Archbishop of Canterbury custody of Rochester Castle and the office of Constable.  Sometime after that, William de Corbeil, Archbishop of Canterbury was given custody and rebuilt the castle.  The keep was built 125 feet high, with a square ground plan and four corner towers.  The keep is the tallest in England.  The walls of the keep measured 12 feet thick, and a drawbridge separated the keep from the fore building (a square tower) for additional protection.  Between 1130-1139, fireplaces were added.  The Great Hall and a chapel were on the second floor, with the State Apartments on the fourth floor.

In 1141, Canterbury supported Empress Matilda for the throne of England.  The castle was taken.  Robert, Earl of Gloucester (Henry I’s natural son) was held there by William de Ipre, Earl of Kent. After the smoke cleared and Henry II was on the throne, sometime between 1154-1189, the Archbishop of Canterbury Thomas Becket asked that the rights of the castle be returned to the Church.  Henry II, of course, refused, being more interested in curbing the power of the Church.  Henry II and subsequently Richard I both strengthened the castle.

Rochester Castle did not return to church control until 1201, when King John turned the rights over to Archbishop of Canterbury Hubert. King John made some improvements to Rochester Castle in 1206.  Then, in 1215, came the First Barons War. Certain barons, supported by Steven Langton, Archbishop of Canterbury, rebelled against John for increasing taxes and his failure to implement changes required by the Magna Carta. Under the terms of the Magna Carta, Rochester Castle was turned over to the control of Steven Langton in May of 1215.  Langton and John got into an argument, and Langton escaped the country.  

Subsequently, rebels supported by French knights took control of the castle.  Langton disapproved of the violence espoused by the rebels.  John besieged Rochester Castle (the second siege). It took seven weeks for the rebels to surrender, which happened only when they ran out of food, despite significant damage to the curtain wall and the south tower, and the King’s army taking the bailey.  After some rebuilding, John took back control of the castle and put William de Albini in charge.  In 1216, King Louis VIII of France invaded England.  John fled and subsequently died in October. After the Battle of Lincoln in 1217, the Treaty of Kingston-Upon-Thames was signed September 12, 1217.  The English people and the barons did not want French rule, and John’s son Henry was made King Henry III at the age of nine.

During Henry III’s reign, Rochester Castle was rebuilt, with additions including a chapel and gateway.   Control of the castle changed several times as appointees fell out of favour.  In 1264, Henry had the fortifications increased, and the castle was fully stocked with men and provisions. The barons were afraid that Henry III was following King John’s path, because of Henry’s increase of taxes and the barons’ dissatisfaction with Henry’s methods of government.  Simon de Montfort, who was married to Henry’s sister Eleanor, wanted to reassert the provisions of the Magna Carta, and became the leader of the rebels.  The situation deteriorated, with Henry and his son Edward captured and Henry forced to agree to the Provisions of Oxford which established rule by a council of twenty-four barons.  This led to civil war (the Second Barons War) and, in April of 1264, the third siege of Rochester Castle occurred.

Simon de Montfort’s rebels entered the city of Rochester and attacked the castle, which the constable held for King Henry III.  The castle’s defenders held out against the rebels, ultimately retiring to the keep.  Although the castle was badly damaged, the defenders held out and the siege was ultimately lifted when Henry and his army came to relieve the defenders.  This siege lasted approximately nine days. Simon de Montfort’s government became unpopular, and his allies began to defect.  The war ended with the Battle of Evesham in August of 1264, where Simon de Montfort was slain and his body mutilated. 

Under Edward III, between 1367-1383, Rochester Castle was repaired and refortified to defend against possible raids from France.  The last significant military action there occurred in 1381 during the Peasants’ Revolt when it was sacked.  After that, the castle was not used.  Materials were stripped and used elsewhere, and in 1613, James I granted the castle to Sir Anthony Weldon.  At one time, it was owned by Robert Child, Esq. (the grandfather of Sarah, Lady Jersey, patroness of Almack’s).  In 1870, it was owned by Lord Jersey, who leased the grounds to the City of Rochester, which were used as public gardens.  Today, the ruins are an English Heritage property, and repairs to preserve them are in process.

Sources include:

Phillips, Charles. The Illustrated Encyclopedia of Royal Britain.  New York: Metro Books, 2010, 2011.

British Castle website.  http://91.186.0.3/~planetar/britishcastle/index.php?pageID=RochesterCastle_History

Fortified England website.  http://www.fortifiedengland.com/Home/Categories/ViewItem/tabid/61/Default.aspx?IID+3364

HistoryExtra.com http://www.historyextra.com/visit/rochester-castle

Medway Council website.  http://www.medway.gov.uk/leisureandculture/libraries/archivesandlocalstudies/medwaytimeline/medievalmedway1066-1485/rochestercaste.aspx

Restore Rochester Castle website. Chronology.  http://www.restorerochestercastle.co.uk/page11.php

Picture from Wikimedia Commons:  http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/b/be/Rochester_Castle_courtyard%2C_2010.jpg/320px-Rochester_Castle_courtyard%2C_2010.jpg 

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Lauren Gilbert is the author of Heyerwood: A Novel.  She is a contributor to Castles, Customs, and Kings: True Tales by English Historical Fiction Authors, which was just released!  Castles, Customs, and Kings can be purchased at Amazon.com and other retailers.  She lives in Florida with her husband. Please visit Lauren's website.