Edward Hyde, 1st Earl of Clarendon: from Commoner to Chief Minister

By Cryssa Bazos

Few commoners experienced the meteoric rise in power and influence that Edward Hyde saw. In his career, he had been named Chancellor and advisor to King Charles II, elevated to the peerage as Earl of Clarendon and grandfather to not one but two reigning monarchs, Queen Mary II (1689 to 1694) and Queen Anne (1702 to 1707). He was at heart a historian and a prolific writer; his writings formed a foundation for our understanding of the English Civil War. His most notable history was the History of the Rebellion and Civil Wars in England. But with any unprecedented rise, one must be mindful of the sudden drop.

Edward Hyde, 1st Earl of Clarendon
by Adriaen Hanneman;
National Portrait Gallery; NPG 773

Edward Hyde was born in 1609 to a respectable middle-class family of politicians and lawyers from Wiltshire. He continued the family calling and studied law at Oxford, where upon the completion of his studies, he was admitted into the Middle Temple. In the years leading up to the civil war, he was elected to Parliament and spoke up for moderate reform. When the lines were finally drawn, his loyalty aligned him with King Charles I.

During the first Civil War, Hyde was named to the King’s Privy Counsel and given the position of Chancellor of the Exchequer. In 1645, with episodes of plague and an encroaching enemy threatening them, the King appointed Hyde as the Prince of Wales’ guardian (the future Charles II), to see his son and heir safely to the west. This was the beginning of a trusted and close advisory relationship between Hyde and Charles II. Together with Richard Fanshawe, the Prince’s secretary, the party fled to Cornwall, and Hyde continued on to Jersey with the Prince. Following the execution of Charles I, Hyde fled to the Continent with his wife and children.

Charles II (de Champaigne)
by Philippe de Champaigne; Licensed under
Public Domain, Wikimedia Commons

Hyde was a staunch Royalist and Anglican, firm in his opposition to the Crown’s enemies. When Charles II sought an alliance with the Presbyterian Scots to win back his throne, Hyde did not support the young King’s choice of bedfellows, nor did he accompany him to Scotland. His reservations proved to be astute. Charles had been little more than a royal prisoner, and by the time he had seized some measure of control over his campaign, it was too late to stop the Cromwellian tide. With the King’s defeat at Worcester, on September 3, 1651, and the Prince of Wales' subsequent narrow escape to the Continent, the Royalist cause was left in shambles.

Over the next eight years, Hyde became a trusted advisor to the King in exile. In much the same way that Cromwell’s spymaster, John Thurloe, groomed a network of spies and intelligence that spread beyond England, Hyde performed a similar service for Charles, though to a lesser extent. To be fair, Thurloe retained complete control of his operation, whereas Hyde had to manoeuvre around rival Royalist factions who resented a commoner’s proximity to the King and who were desperate to deliver the crown to Charles. Hyde was caught between the Queen mother’s people (Henrietta was a great meddler in her son’s affairs) and the faction led by Prince Rupert, with both rival groups actively trying to discredit him. This would become routine even during the Restoration.

In November 1653, responding to an increasingly dysfunctional Parliament back in England, Hyde encouraged the formation of the Sealed Knot, which became the official Royalist organization to restore Charles to the throne. Its founding members were John Belasyse, Richard Willis, William Compton, Henry Hastings, John Russell and Edward Villiers. Reports and instructions were passed through Hyde. The group’s mandate was very much a reflection of Hyde’s moderate policies and at odds with the more action orientated Royalist factions. In the end, the Protectorate proved unsustainable. Following the death of Oliver Cromwell and the disposition of his heir, Richard, the monarchy was restored.

A few months after the Restoration, the Hyde family were at the centre of a royal scandal. Hyde’s eldest daughter, Anne, had entered into a secret liaison with the King’s brother, James, the Duke of York, and had become pregnant. Anne Hyde claimed that James had promised her marriage, though he initially denied it. The couple secretly married on September 3, 1660, causing a major scandal when it was finally discovered. Hyde was horrified. Though Anne was his favourite daughter, a father’s affection did not blind Hyde to the loss of opportunity for England. James was as an asset to England and should have been an instrument to solidify foreign alliances. The scandal gave Hyde’s critics the opportunity to accuse him of orchestrating the affair.

Peter Lely [Public Domain] via Wikimedia Commons

Initially, Hyde profited from his daughter’s marriage. Within a year, he became the 1st Earl of Clarendon. Over the next few years, Anne would give birth to daughters Mary and Anne, who would one-day reign as Queens of England. But in the meanwhile, his enemies were looking for ways to remove him from Royal favour.

On July 10, 1663, Hyde was impeached of high treason in the House of Lords. The articles ranged from the political—profiting from policies to the disadvantage of the nation; to the absurd: promoting Charles’s marriage to a barren Queen; to the ridiculous: encouraging Popery (oddly enough, he has been incorrectly credited with the religiously intolerant Clarendon Code which did not favour Catholics). After four days of deliberation, the impeachment was dismissed.

Rather than this eliminating his political problems, it galvanized his detractors and made them more determined to oust him from his position. Concerted rumours of his impending retirement together with his attempt to curtail Charles’s merry court succeeded in eroding his position. In August 1667, the privy seals were taken from him, and the King’s favourite mistress, Barbara Villiers, jeered at him as he left.

Plans to once again impeach Hyde over the second Dutch War reached him in time and he fled to France before they could arrest him. After his departure, an Act of Banishment was passed against him in November 1667. Sadly, he was never allowed to return to see his children and died in France on December 9, 1674.

From commoner to Chancellor to Chief Minister and finally to banished exile, Edward Hyde worked relentlessly to represent the Crown until the rival factions succeeded in bringing him low. In the end, history would remember him as a scholar, historian and grandfather of Queens.

References:

Historical Inquiries Respecting the Character of Edward Hyde, Earl of Clarendon, Lord Chancellor of England, by George Agar Ellis

Diary of Samuel Pepys

Royalist Agents, Conspirators and Spies: Their Role in the British Civil Wars, 1640-1660, by Geoffrey Smith.

Royalist Conspiracy, by David Underdown

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Cryssa Bazos is a historical fiction writer and 17th Century enthusiast with a particular interest in the English Civil War. For more stories about that period, visit her blog.

The Complicated Love Life of John of Gaunt

by Sharon Bennett Connolly

John of Gaunt

The third surviving son of Edward III and Philippa of Hainault John of Gaunt was born in 1340 at the Abbey of St Bavon, in Ghent in modern-day Belgium. At the height of his career he was the most powerful man in the kingdom after the king. He was virtually regent for his father, Edward III, in his old age, thus getting the blame for military failures and government corruption. His reputation was further damaged when he blocked the reforms of the Good Parliament of 1376, which had tried to curb the corruption of Edward III’s and limit the influence of the king’s grasping mistress, Alice Perrers.

John of Gaunt’s wealth meant he could form the largest baronial retinue of knights and esquires in the country. He alone provided a quarter of the army raised for Richard II’s Scottish campaign in 1385. A stalwart supporter of his nephew, Richard II, he was the target for the rebels during the Peasants’ Revolt; his London residence, the Savoy Palace, was burned to the ground in 1381.

The wedding of john of Gaunt
and Blanche of Lancaster

He was a soldier and statesman whose career spanned 6 decades and several countries, including England, Belgium, France, Scotland and Castile. However, by far the most fascinating part of his life is his love life. John married three times; his wives being two great heiresses and a long-time mistress.

John of Gaunt’s first marriage, at the age of 19, was aimed to give him prestige, property and income and was arranged as part of his father’s plans to provide for the futures of several of his children. John and 14-year-old Blanche of Lancaster, youngest daughter of Henry of Grosmont, Duke of Lancaster, were married on 19th May 1359 in the Queen’s Chapel at Reading.

It is quite likely that John had already fathered one child, a daughter, Blanche, by Marie de St Hilaire before his marriage. Blanche was born sometime before 1360 and would go on to marry Sir Thomas Morieux before her death in 1388 or 1389.

Blanche of Lancaster was described as “jone et jolie” – young and pretty – by the chronicler Froisssart, and also “bothe fair and bright” and Nature’s “cheef patron of beautee” by Geoffrey Chaucer. She brought John of Gaunt the earldom of Lancaster following her father’s death from plague in 1361, and those of Leicester and Lincoln when her older sister, Matilda, died of the same disease in 1362, making him the largest landowner in the country, after the king.

The marriage proved very successful, with 7 children being born in just 8 years, 3 of whom survived infancy; daughters Philippa and Elizabeth and a son, Henry of Bolingbroke.

In 1369, when John of Gaunt was away in France, Blanche moved her young family to Bolingbroke Castle in Lincolnshire, to escape a fresh outbreak of the Black Death. With her parents and sister killed by the awful disease, it’s no surprise that she had a dread of it. Unfortunately, she could not escape it and bubonic plague claimed Blanche’s life in 1369, aged just 24.

She was buried in St Paul’s Cathedral in London. John of Gaunt arranged for a splendid alabaster tomb and annual commemorations for the rest of his life. John also commissioned Geoffrey Chaucer to write The Book of the Duchess, also known as The Deth of Blaunche; a poem that is said to depict Gaunt’s mourning for his wife, in the tale of a Knight grieving for his lost love. In it Chaucer describes Blanche as “whyt, smothe, streght and flat. Naming the heroine “White”, he goes on to say she is “rody, fresh and lyvely hewed”.

Before 1365 Blanche had taken into her household a lady called Katherine Swynford, wife of one of her husband’s Lincolnshire knights. John was godfather to the Swynfords’ daughter, Blanche. Katherine later became governess to Blanche’s two daughters, Philippa and Elizabeth and young Blanche Swynford was lodged in the same chambers as the Duchess’s daughters, and accorded the same luxuries as the princesses.

Katherine was the daughter of a Hainault knight, Sir Paon de Roet of Guyenne, who came to England in the retinue of Queen Philippa. She had grown up at court with her sister, Philippa, who would later marry Geoffrey Chaucer. Whilst serving in Blanche’s household, she had married one of John of Gaunt’s retainers, a Lincolnshire knight, Sir Hugh Swynford of Coleby and Kettlethorpe, at St Clement Danes Church on the Strand, London.

Following Blanche’s death Katherine stayed on in the Duke’s household, taking charge of the Duke’s daughters. However, it was only shortly after her husband’s death in 1371 that rumours began of a liaison between Katherine and the Duke; although it is possible the affair started before Sir Hugh’s death, this is far from certain.

John and Katherine would have four children – 3 sons and a daughter – in the years between 1371 and 1379. They were born in John’s castle in Champagne, in France, and were given the name of the castle as their surname; Beaufort.

Surrender of Santiago de Compostela
to John of Gaunt. Constance is
the lady on horseback (Froissart)

Meanwhile, John had not yet done with his dynastic ambitions and, despite his relationship with Katherine, married Constance of Castile in September 1371. Constance was the daughter of Peter I “the Cruel” and his ‘hand-fast’ wife, Maria de Padilla. Born in 1354 at Castro Kerez, Castile, she succeeded her father as ‘de jure’ Queen of Castile on 13th March 1369, but John was never able to wrest control of the kingdom from the rival claimant Henry of Tastamara, reigning as Henry III, and would eventually come to an agreement in 1388 where Henry married John and Constance’s daughter, Katherine.

Katherine was born in 1372/3 at Hertford Castle and was the couple’s only surviving child.

John and Constance’s relationship appears to be purely dynastic. There is some suggestion John formally renounced his relationship with Katherine and reconciled with Constance in June 1381, possibly as a way to recover some popularity during the Peasant’s Revolt, following the destruction of his palace on the Thame.

Katherine left court and settled at her late husband’s manor at Kettlethorpe, before moving to a rented townhouse in Lincoln. John of Gaunt visited her regularly throughout the 1380s, and Katherine was frequently at court. With 4 children by John of Gaunt but still only, officially, governess to his daughters, Katherine was made a Lady of the Garter in 1388.

Constance, however, died on 24th March, 1394, at Leicester Castle and was buried at Newark Abbey in Leicester.

John then went to Guienne to look after his interests as Duke of Aquitaine and remained in France from September 1394 until December 1395. When he returned to England, John wasted no time in reuniting with Katherine and they were married in Lincoln Cathedral in January 1396.

John then made an appeal to the Pope and his children by Katherine were legitimated on 1st September 1396, and then by Charter of Richard II on 9th February 1397. The Charter also excluded the Beaufort children from the succession.

John was a man of renown, of culture and refinement. An amateur poet and friend of Chaucer, who had married Katherine’s sister, Philippa, he was also a patron of Wycliffe and encouraged the translation of the Bible into English.

His complicated love life would cause problems for future generations, with his son by Blanche of Lancaster, Henry, forcing the abdication of Richard II and usurping the throne on 30th September 1399. His Beaufort descendants would be prominent players on both sides of the Wars of the Roses. While his son John, Earl of Somerset was the grandfather of Margaret Beaufort, mother of Henry VII, his daughter, Joan, was grandmother of the Yorkist kings Edward IV and Richard III.

Tombs of Katherine Swynford and her daughter,
Joan Beaufort, Lincoln Cathedral

Katherine would outlive John and died at Lincoln on 10th May 1403. She was buried, close to the High Altar, in the cathedral in which she had married her prince just 7 years earlier. Her daughter Joan, Countess of Westmoreland, was laid to rest beside her, following her death in 1440. Their tombs, however, are empty and they are buried beneath the floor of the cathedral.

Drawing of the tomb of John of Gaunt
and Blanche of Lancaster,
etching by Wenceslas Hollar, 1658

John himself died in February 1399, probably at Leicester Castle. He was buried in Old St Paul’s Cathedral, beside his first wife, Blanche of Lancaster. This has often been seen as his final act of love for his first wife, despite the problems John went through in order to finally be able to marry his mistress, Katherine Swynford.

Personally, I think the two ladies, Blanche and Katherine, were his true love at different parts of John’s life. And I hope he had some feelings for poor Constance, who frequently appears as only a means to his dynastic ambitions.

*
Pictures courtesy of Wikipedia, except the tomb of Katherine Swynford, copyright Sharon Bennett Connolly, 2015.
*

Sources:
Williamson, David Brewer’s British Royalty (Cassell, London 1996)
Juliet Gardiner & Neil Wenborn History Today Companion to British History Edited (Collins & Brown Ltd, London 1995)
Mike Ashley The Mammoth Book of British Kings & Queens (Robinson Publishing, London, 1998) Alison Weir Britain’s Royal Families, the Complete Genealogy (Random House, London, 1996)
Paul Johnson The Life and Times of Edward III (Weidenfeld & Nicholson, London, 1973)
Ian Mortimer The Perfect King, the Life of Edward III (Jonathan Cape, London, 2006)
WM Ormrod The Reign of Edward III (Tempus Publishing, Stroud, 2000)
Edited by Elizabeth Hallam Chronicles of the Age of Chivalry (Tiger Books, Twickenham, 1995).
Web: http://womenshistory.about.com/od/medrenqueens/a/Katherine-Swynford katherineswynfordsociety.org.uk.

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Sharon Bennett Connolly has been fascinated by history for over 30 years. She has studied history academically and just for fun – even working as a tour guide at historical sites. She is now having great fun passing on that love of the past to her 10-year-old son. Having received a blog, History...The Interesting Bits as a present for Christmas 2014 she now enjoys sharing that love of history with her readers.

Anne Boleyn’s Jewelry

by Sandra Vasoli

Hever portrait of Anne

The image haunts us… the beautiful oval face; dark eyes gazing steadily toward the viewer; deep auburn hair parted smoothly and held by a French hood edged in pearls; black velvet gown lavishly trimmed with gold discs and pearls, the sleeves set off by russet marten fur. Her are hands visible, holding a single red rose – the long elegant fingers are unadorned. The only jewelry worn by the sitter is a golden chain made of circular links which is fastened behind her neck and neatly tucked into the bodice of her gown, paired with a pearl necklace: that pearl necklace! Perhaps the most famous string of pearls in the world: a double rope, large and lustrous, the longer length nestled in the wearer’s décolleté, the other a choker to which is fastened a pendant – a golden B. From the lower loop of the pendant hang three large pear-shaped pearls, attached by posts of gold.

The hypnotic portrait is Anne Boleyn: trend-setter and lover of beautiful clothing and jewelry; a woman whose flair and fashionable charisma attracted the lust and love of arguably the most powerful man in the world. At least that is what the world has come to believe, and if indeed the painting is a good likeness – what does it tell us about her style and image? What secrets did her wardrobe and jewelry casks hold? We study the portrait which today hangs in Hever Castle and pore over the other images which have been obviously taken from a source now lost to us, but all we know is what we see – the seductive and flattering dark gown set off by the chain of gold and the pearl and gold B. We are tantalized to imagine what else she might have owned and worn to create her special mystique - one which men found irresistible and women envied.

We can be sure, even though there remain no portraits to refer to, that Anne was the owner of jewels of all kinds. As her love affair with Henry VIII progressed, it is a certainty that the magnificent king took pleasure in seeing his beloved mistress model examples of his wealth and taste.

It is possible that Anne, unlike other royals and women of great wealth during her era, selected the pieces she wore with care and some restraint. We view paintings of other Renaissance women, loaded with gems and gold. Certainly, Anne’s daughter Elizabeth was never a model of moderation when it came to wearing and displaying her collection of jewels. In that regard it seems she took after her father, Henry, who was well known to love ostentation. Anne, on the other hand, perhaps understood the formula of enhancing her beauty and allure with just the right pieces, never more. Yet we know that she owned a fabulous assemblage of jewelry, as well as gold and silver plate and ornaments.

Henry employed several royal jewelers during the years in which he courted and was married to Anne. Morgan Phenwolf , a Welsh master, was paid a sum on 30 November, 1529 for four and three quarter ounces of ‘parys warke’, or Paris Work – a piece designed in the sought-after style of French treasures. On that same day, a payment was made to “John large jeweler for certeyne Jewellex…by the King’s grace”. Also noted with great frequency in contemporary records are the names of Cornelys Hayes, John Cryspin, John Langey, and other accomplished jewelers and goldsmiths. Henry regularly made large payments to these jewelers and goldsmiths for “such Jewelles as the king’s grace bought” of them. It is certain that these gentlemen were commissioned to create beautiful adornments for the Lady Anne.

The most fashionable pieces of the early to mid 16th century included such splendidly crafted items as pendants, especially those which depicted the wearer’s initials, studded in gems and pearls, and were highly sought after. Pendants were often worn on golden chains, but only the wealthiest of patrons could afford necklaces made entirely of sizable pearls from which to hang their ornaments. Anne’s were stunning in size, whiteness, and uniformity. (see photo of pendants http://www.langantiques.com/university/images/6/6f/Designs_for_Pendant_Jewels_by_Hans_Holbein_.jpg )

Hans Holbein was not only an important court painter of likenesses, he also created many designs for jewels to be worn, and elaborate trinkets or decor which would be made of gold or silver, such as a silver gilt basin which Anne commissioned from Holbein as a gift to Henry in 1533. (photos of Holbein design http://speedy.theanneboleynfiles.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/12/Table_Ornament_with_Jupiter_design_by_Hans_Holbein_the_Younger.jpg ) Master Holbein must have designed many custom pieces for the Lady Anne.

Often, jeweled ornaments were worn on chains which girdled the wearer’s hips. These included miniature illuminated books, trinkets made from gold or silver, or pomanders which held perfumes. It is possible that a pomander, or a similar item, was taken from Anne by Sir Thomas Wyatt as a love token by a hopeful suitor. The story includes Henry becoming quite jealous and angry when Wyatt’s flirtatious action was discovered.

As their romance progressed, Henry lavished Anne with more elaborate, more costly, and very conspicuous jewels. In preparation for their trip to Calais, France, in November of 1532, a suite of jewelry was prepared for Anne to take with her, wear, and demonstrate her importance as Henry’s intended wife. A demand was made of the ousted Queen Katharine of Aragon that she return her Crown Jewels to the king. The demand was met by Katharine with outrage; however, in the end Henry had his way, and the jewels were reclaimed, with many of them being melted down or the gemstones reset for Anne. Amongst these stones were 18 table-cut rubies, probably from Burma, as these were known the world over to be incomparable in deep blood-red colour and clarity.
In that same year, 1532, there are a slew of records indicating that Henry went on a buying spree to bedeck his Anne with stunning jewelry. In a short span there are no less than 36 recordings of purchases of gold and gemstones, mostly commissioned from Cornelis Hayes. There were several pendants designed by Holbein; one with the romantic cipher of an H and an A intertwined. (see Holbein pendants http://www.langantiques.com/university/images/b/b2/Designs_for_Jewelled_Initial_Letters_by_Hans_Holbein.jpg ). Anne owned many rings, and we know today that there was a diamond ring with that same H and A cipher, perhaps a part of a lovely diamond parure designed by Holbein and executed by Hayes. In the inventory of Henry VIII’s belongings there is a record of a small golden tablet, set with a diamond, emeralds and pearls, upon which had been imprinted the monogram H A. It must have been a long-forgotten relic of the great love Henry once bore for his second wife.

It seems that Anne Boleyn’s pearl drop necklace was a favorite of hers. In several paintings she is depicted wearing that particular design. The question of what happened to those pearls is a compelling one. Perhaps they were recommissioned and sold as material for other jewelry, for another noble lady. It’s even possible that Henry may have been so angry and distraught that he had them destroyed, wanting to blot out his most intimate reminders of Anne, as he evidently did. Or just perhaps they were kept by someone who cared for Anne and her daughter Elizabeth. It’s possible that the necklace was given to Elizabeth as a memento of her deceased mother. And just maybe those very same pearls were worn by Elizabeth as she sat for her portrait as a thirteen year old (see painting of Elizabeth http://www.internetstones.com/image-files/elizabeth-1-in-1546-before-ascending-the-throne.jpg ). It’s a lovely thought.

Even more imaginative, yet entirely possible, is that Elizabeth, in an unspoken tribute to her mother, had the pearls preserved to be ultimately set in what we know and see today as the Imperial State Crown. It is said that embedded in this crown are three pearls which at one time belonged to Elizabeth I. The current Queen Elizabeth II tells us of this in a short video she recorded regarding the magnificent Crown.


I like to believe that those iconic pearls, by which we instantly recognize Anne, remain - quietly and secretly - overseeing some of the most special moments of Britain’s monarchy, today and for years to come.

Sources
• Antique Jewelry University, http://www.langantiques.com/university/index.php/Main_Page
• Nicolas, Nicholas ed., The Privy Purse Expences of King Henry the Eighth, Pickering, London, 1827.
• Brewer, J.S, ed., Letters and Papers Foreign and Domestic, British History Online, London, 1920.
• Ives, Eric, The Life and Death of Anne Boleyn, Blackwell Publishing, 2004.

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Sandra Vasoli, author of Anne Boleyn’s Letter from the Tower, earned a Bachelor’s degree in English and biology from Villanova University before embarking on a thirty-five-year career in human resources for a large international company.

Having written essays, stories, and articles all her life, Vasoli was prompted by her overwhelming fascination with the Tudor dynasty to try her hand at writing both historical fiction and non-fiction. While researching what would eventually become her Je Anne Boleyn series, Vasoli was granted unprecedented access to the Papal Library. There she was able to read the original love letters from Henry VIII to Anne Boleyn—an event that contributed greatly to her research and writing.

Vasoli currently lives in Gwynedd Valley, Pennsylvania, with her husband and two greyhounds.

To enter a giveaway to win Anne Boleyn's Letter from the Tower by Sandra Vasoli, please leave a comment below with your contact information.

Medieval Menagerie

by E.M. Powell

Collections of exotic and curious animals have a long history, with Menageries known from ancient times. Yet most medieval people had never seen such animals in real life. They knew they existed, having heard of them from the Bible, or seeing them represented in carvings or pictures. The other source of knowledge about animals came from bestiaries. A Bestiary is a collection of descriptions of a wide variety of animals, birds and fish- real and imaginary. And because this was the medieval period, each description contained a hefty dollop of moralising explanation (of which more later).

Yet from the 12th century, people were looking increasingly to other lands. The Crusades, long-distance pilgrimages and international diplomacy, along with ever-expanding trade routes made for experiences that were out of the ordinary. And this applied to animals, too.

Elephant & Hare

Now those creatures that had previously been out of reach could be brought back to Europe from far-flung countries. Their rarity made them a luxury and a means to display huge amounts of wealth and the highest status. These displays of exotic animals were not something to be shared with the public in many cases, but to impress other rulers or aristocracy who came to visit.

Medieval royal menageries existed in France, Italy, the Netherlands, Germany, Poland- and England. William the Conqueror had a collection of exotic beasts. But it was his son, Henry I, who would house the collections at Woodstock Palace in Oxfordshire. What he held there may surprise you. In around 1110, Henry enclosed a park to keep lions, leopards, lynxes, camels and a porcupine.

Norman Lion on Cloak
(C) E.M. Powell

I did mention earlier that, for the medievals, each animal had to be put in a moral context as well as a physical one. Lions were on the A-list. They were used as symbol for God and of course a winged Lion is used to represent St. Mark, one of the four Evangelists. They were often shown in pictures as sleeping with open eyes, an image which implied vigilance and to symbolise Christ’s continued life after the crucifixion.

Norman Lion on Cloak
(C) E.M. Powell

Lions of course were also the ultimate status symbol. The lion was believed to rule the animal kingdom. The Aberdeen Bestiary (written and illuminated in England around 1200) states with great authority:
“The lion is the mightiest of the beasts; he will quail at the approach of none.”

So if you were a man who could keep a lion, captured and within your power, then it must surely have added to your powerful image. (Perhaps a bit like the modern equivalent of driving a very expensive, fast car.) To be said to have lion-like features was to signify bravery. In Arthurian romances, the lion is presented as being a suitable companion for a chivalric knight.

Leopards and female lions were often confused with each other in their pictorial representation. But as regards their moral context: lions, they are not. The Aberdeen Bestiary has this:
“The leopard is a spotted wild animal who is very swift.”

Leopard

So far, so good.  Then:

It is produced by the adultery between a lioness and a pard. Of the pard: the pard is a species which has a mottled skin, is extremely swift and thirsts for blood; for it kills at a single bound… Their mating produces a third species. As Pliny says in his Natural History: the lion mates with the pard, or the pard with the lioness, and from both degenerate.

Many of you will be asking, what’s a pard? My only answer can be Leo + pard. See? And it was all going on in those pens at Woodstock. Woodstock, where we also had lynxes in the pens.

Today, we know lynxes as members of the cat family. They are traditionally linked with keenness of sight. The expression lynx-eyed is recorded from the late 16th century. For a medieval knight with excellent eyesight, the lynx was an ideal animal to put on his coat of arms.

Lynx

But the lynx was known to the medievals for something else, too: the lynx stone. A lynx stone (or Ligurium/ Lyngurium) was used in an obscure type of medieval and early modern medicine: the therapeutic application of gemstones. Now, curing yourself by deft application of a diamond or two sounds like it might be quite nice.  Unfortunately, the lynx stone was a gem stone made of frozen lynx urine.

The Aberdeen Bestiary knows all about it:

Ligurium comes from the urine of the lynx. You can see through the middle of the stone as through glass. The beast hides its urine in the sand lest it should be found. The virtue of ligurium is that it takes away stomach-ache and staunches.

In case anyone has tummy trouble and are thinking of heading for the nearest lynx: please don’t. Although the lynx is represented over and over with its little gem of wee beneath its hairy self, the lynx stone *whispers* isn’t real.

Camel

Woodstock had camels, too. Because of the Crusades, these animals were becoming increasingly well-known. Many Crusaders appreciated them as a working animal.  This writer of a bestiary was still a bit sniffy about them however: “Camels can become unrestrained with lust.”

Porcupine

Even our last named resident at Woodstock, the porcupine, wasn’t let off the hook. Most of the accounts in bestiaries claim that porcupines simply spear fruit to bring home to their families. Others prefer a more robust use of porcupine quills. One is that the quills can be symbolically pointing towards one’s enemies. The other is that the porcupine is a symbol for sin, and just as when a sinner is challenged and presents denial, the porcupine rolls into a ball and presents even more sharp points.  It says a lot about the medieval mindset that even a poor old porcupine can be drafted in as a representation for sin. (I do hope hedgehogs were let off.)

But it was all change in 1210. For here, we find that the Royal Menagerie is setting up shop at none other than the Tower of London and the first lions are recorded here in that year.

The Tower of London
(C) E.M. Powell

In 1235, King Henry III received three lions from the Holy Roman Emperor, Frederick II. These three beasts were soon depicted on the King of England’s arms, but were referred to as leopards, not lions. They were most likely lions, as Norman lions were not usually depicted with manes.

It wasn’t only lions at the Tower. King Haakon of Norway sent Henry III a ‘white bear’ in 1252, and it is believed that this was a polar bear.  The bear was taken to the Thames to swim and to catch fish.

Even if it was a polar bear, many medieval people were still familiar with bears as animals, either as animals to be hunted or used in the hideous amusement of bearbaiting. One could not say that the new arrival in Lent 1255 was in any way familiar: a male African elephant, gifted to Henry III by King Louis IX of France.

Benedictine chronicler Matthew Paris hastened to the Tower to witness this astounding beast for himself, along with those who flocked to see the novel sight.” According to Matthew the elephant was:

ten years old and ten feet high, was greyish-black, and had no fur but a very hard, rough hide. It was ponderous and robust, and indeed was a prodigious and monstrous animal. It used its trunk to obtain food and drink, and had small eyes in the upper part of its head.

He then drew it, too.

Elephant, by Matthew Paris

The Aberdeen Bestiary also has its say on elephants: “The elephant strikes fear into bulls, yet fears the mouse.” And charmingly, if strangely: “The little elephant has this characteristic, that when some of its hair and bones have been burnt, nothing evil approaches, not even a dragon.” Phew.

But whatever the fate of a little elephant, its big brother at the Tower did not survive for long. It is recorded that he died on 14 February 1257, just two short years later. One cannot imagine that his ‘grooms’ (despite being extremely well-paid) had much of an idea of how to properly care for him. His life in his cramped surroundings must have been bewildering and wretched. It can’t have been much better for the polar bear, led to swim in the crowded and noisy Thames, or for any of the other creatures who lived there.

Royal Beasts- Polar Bear
Jonathan Cardy- Public Domain

Regrettably, none of the Menagerie’s animals lived for very long, although the Menagerie itself continued to grow over the centuries. In the 1830s, it finally left the Tower for its new home at Regent’s Park. In 2011, Historic Royal Palaces commissioned artist Kendra Haste to recreate some of the animals in sculpture. The installation, Royal Beasts, will be in place until 2021. The beasts are back.

References:

The Aberdeen Bestiary: https://www.abdn.ac.uk/bestiary/ (Note: you can view the whole Bestiary online & I highly recommend it.)

Cassidy, Richard & Clasby, Michael: http://www.finerollshenry3.org.uk/redist/pdf/fm-06-2012.pdf 
Curl, James S, & Wilson, Susan, The Oxford Dictionary of Architecture. Oxford University Press (3^rd ed) online 2015

Historic Royal Palaces: Experience the Tower of London (2013)

http://www.hrp.org.uk/TowerofLondon/Stories/Palacehighlights/RoyalBeasts/Menageriehistory

James Stevens  and Susan Wilson

Resl, Brigitte, ed., A Cultural History of Animals in the Medieval Age. Berg (2007)
Walton, Steven . http://www.academia.edu/574602/Theophrastus_on_lyngurium_Medieval_and_early_modern_lore_from_the_classical_lapidary_tradition

All images are in the Public Domain

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

E.M. Powell’s medieval thrillers The Fifth Knight and The Blood of the Fifth Knight have been #1 Amazon bestsellers. Born and raised in the Republic of Ireland into the family of Michael Collins (the legendary revolutionary and founder of the Irish Free State), she lives in northwest England with her husband, daughter and a Facebook-friendly dog. She blogs for EHFA, reviews for the Historical Novel Society and contributes to The Big Thrill.

Book #3 in the series, The Lord of Ireland, based on the Lord John's disastrous 1185 campaign, will be published by Thomas & Mercer in 2016. Find out more at www.empowell.com.


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Aelfgifu of Northampton & Emma of Normandy: Strong Women in a Man’s World

by Kelly Evans

History would have us believe that very few women had a part to play in England’s story. Typically women took a back seat, relying on their fathers or brothers to make decisions on their behalf. And while this may be true (it was, after all, a patriarchal society heavily led by the male-dominated church), there have been more and more examples of women’s involvement in traditionally male-led areas of life coming to light. Recent evidence suggests that up to 50% of Viking attackers were women (McLeod, Shane 2011. Warriors and Women: The Sex Ratio of Norse Migrants to Eastern England up to 900 CE. Early Medieval Europe, 19(3)).

In my novel The Northern Queen, I focus on two powerful women who did as much to further their respective causes, and that of England, than most men. The novel’s main character, and to whom the title refers, is Aelfgifu of Northampton. Born around 990 CE to a wealthy and respected northern family, her father’s loyalty to the Danish invaders led to Aelfgifu marrying the son of the Viking leader. From the (very) little we know it was as much a love match as an astute political union.

A panel from the Bayeux Tapestry, showing the mysterious Aelfgifu.
Aelfgifu of Northampton is one of the five potential ‘Aelfgifus’ whom this panel depicts.

At the time of their marriage, Canute’s father Sweyn Forkbeard (grandson of Harald Bluetooth, whose initials comprise the Bluetooth symbol we see everyday) had decided to conquer England, partly as revenge for the death of his sister at the St Brice’s Day massacre in November 1002 (ordered by King Aethelred). Canute fought alongside his father, who eventually won, but died five weeks later.

King Aethelred the Unready,
Emma’s first husband.
Emma was Aethelred’s second wife.

Aethelred, who had fled to his wife Emma’s (our second powerful woman – more later) homeland of Normandy was invited back by the council or ‘Witan’ to rule. Canute fled to Denmark with Aelfgifu to raise money and men and a year later returned to conquer the country, defeating both Aethelred, who died, and his eldest son. But as a ruler of a mainly Christian nation (there were still small pockets of paganism left, mainly in the Danelaw) Canute’s council declared that the king must marry a Christian wife and abandon Aelfgifu, whom he had joined in a traditional pagan hand-fasting ceremony. The woman the Witan selected was Emma of Normandy, Aethelred’s widow.

Born in 985 CE in Normandy, she was sent to England when only a young girl as part of a bargain made between her brother, the Duke of Normandy, and Aethelred the Unready, the King of England. (Side note: the ‘unready’ part of his name doesn’t mean he was unprepared, it’s an Anglo-Saxon play on words meaning that he was ill-advised by his councillors: Aethelraed = well-counselled; Unraed = ill-counselled). Her marriage to a man 20 years her senior sealed a pact that would prevent Danish invaders using the ports of Normandy to prepare their attacks on England.

Emma receiving a book about her life
that she had commissioned
(Encomium Emmae Reginae).
Her sons look on.

Of course, like many political accords of the time, someone reneged and, being close to hand, much of the blame fell on Emma. She was advised to quickly provide Aethelred with sons in order to strengthen her position at court and this she did. But Aethelred had a first wife who gave him at least ten children and the odds of Emma’s boys rising to the throne were slim.

King Canute, Aelfgifu’s only
husband and Emma’s second.

Canute, despite agreeing to the marriage, did not abandon Aelfgifu. Instead he defied the council and gave her responsibility for ruling the north of England on his behalf. He even made her his regent of Norway from 1030 to 1035.

When Canute died in 1035, both Emma and Aelfgifu pushed for their children to be crowned. Emma had had her coronation oath changed to specifically exclude Aelfgifu’s sons by Canute from the throne. This meant nothing to Aelfgifu. Her first son with Canute, Sweyn, had died in 1035. But her second, Harold Harefoot, was ready, and already in England. Emma’s son Harthacanute was not; he had moved to Denmark to protect his father’s homeland from invaders.

Harold Harefoot

While Aelfgifu sent gifts of money and land to powerful men to gain their support for her son Harold’s claim to the throne, Emma sent letters begging Harthacanute to return and take the country. Harthacanute refused, choosing instead to remain in Denmark and leaving Harold the undisputed ruler of England. Harold was still relatively young when he came to the throne, a 20 year old with little military experience, and Aelfgifu effectively ran the country until Harold was able to assume full responsibility.

But Emma did not sit idly by. She invited her sons by her first husband (Aethelred) back from Normandy where they had resided since their father’s death years ago. Sadly the ploy failed, ending in the death of her son Alfred under circumstances still debated today. Emma even tried to discredit Harold Harefoot: in the book she had commissioned about her life, Encomium Emmae Reginae, she accuses Harold of being illegitimate, not in fact the son of “a certain concubine” of Canute (as she referred to Aelfgifu) but “was secretly taken from a servant who was in childbed and put in the chamber of the concubine, who was indisposed.”

The Northern Queen tells the story of these women: their lives, their families and their passion.

Edith of Wessex

My next novel, The Confessor’s Wife, continues the Anglo-Saxon tale with Edith of Wessex, wife of Edward the Confessor and member of the great Godwin family.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Kelly Evans was born in Canada of Scottish extraction but spent much of her life in London, England. She obtained degrees in History and English in Canada and continued her studies in London, focusing on Medieval Europe, landscape archaeology, and the Icelandic Sagas.

Kelly moved back to Canada eight years ago, shortly after which her first short stories were published. The Northern Queen is her first novel. Her work can be found on kellyaevans.com or via Nordland Publishing
Twitter: @chaucerbabe
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Saint Kilian: Too Close to Power?

Baptism of the Duke Gozbert by St. Kilian, 1905 glass painting
by Matthew Schiestl (1869-1939), in the
parish church of Our Lady of the Rosary in Gerolzhofen
(by Wolfgang Keller, public domain via Wikimedia Commons)

by Kim Rendfeld

Saint Kilian played by the rules.

When the seventh-century traveling bishop decided he and his followers should evangelize the Thuringians, he sought approval from the pope. Then he focused his efforts on converting Duke Gozbert, the pagan ruler in Würzburg. A shrewd choice. The Irish-born missionary would have stood out with his accent (assuming he learned the local language), his clothes, and his tonsure. He needed protection to preach and teach.

And he was playing by the rules when he told Gozbert to set aside his wife, Geilana, who was also the widow of the duke’s brother. By Church law, Gozbert and Geilana were spiritual brother and sister; therefore, the marriage was invalid.

But Killian waited two years before telling Gozbert. One legend says Kilian tarried to make sure Gozbert’s faith was strong enough for an arduous test. The duke called Kilian’s request the most difficult sacrifice the missionary had asked of him.

Was concern for Gozbert’s soul—and those of other Thuringians who married against Church rules—Kilian’s only motive? Or was there something more?

The answer might lie with Geilana, whom we know only through legend. An early medieval duchess could have tremendous influence on her husband and on affairs of the duchy. Aristocratic wives did more than bear children. They managed the household and controlled the treasury and access to their husbands. If Geilana remained a pagan, she could hinder Kilian’s missionary work by persuading her husband not to donate land or money to the Church or not let people see him.

A common tactic to remove a female political adversary was to call her an adulteress. (Double standard here: a Christian man’s infidelity was a matter between him and his confessor.) Had Kilian made such an accusation, he risked Geilana being able to disprove it through a trial by ordeal, in which the defendant or her champion is hurt and if the wound heals, she’s innocent.

He also risked Gozbert’s wrath. The duke apparently was satisfied with his marriage. If he weren’t, he would have tried to end it, even after accepting Christianity. Gozbert’s reluctance could have several causes. He might have loved his wife, but the primary reason for medieval marriages, especially among aristocrats, was politics. To divorce Geilana would offend her family. Gozbert might have even married her to preserve the alliance he had with his in-laws. And he might have come to depend on her as a partner.

Rather than question Geilana’s virtue, Kilian relied on another common tactic, one she could not dismiss: consanguinity by blood or by marriage.

Kilian probably knew there would be consequences if Gozbert ended his marriage but thought he was doing the right thing. Early medieval Christians believed they would be the only ones to see paradise. For a missionary, there was a personal stake: God would judge him for every soul he failed to lead to the True Faith. The fate of many souls outweighed politics.

Gozbert conceded to Kilian’s wishes but would do so only after he returned from war. Perhaps, he did not wish to fight more than one battle at a time.

Relic of Saint Kilian, Kolonat, and Totnan,
2012 temporary in St. Burkard church in Würzburg
(by Steffen 962 (CC0), dedicated the public domain,
via Wikimedia Commons)

Geilana was not going to stand for it. Perhaps, she wanted to avoid a feud, or she was desperate to hold onto her status and power as a duchess. Regardless of her reason, she used another common tactic to get rid of an enemy: assassination. On July 8, 689, she ordered Kilian and his companions slain and the bodies and their possessions buried. When Gozbert returned, she claimed the missionaries had left town.

The legends vary, but they all have Geilana and her accomplices going insane and dying miserably. I will leave it to the reader to decide whether Geilana faced divine retribution, but the story would have been true to its medieval audience. In it was a warning: Respect and obey God’s servants.

Sources

The Roman Breviary: Reformed by Order of the Holy Oecumenical Council of Trent

Papers of the Manchester Literary Club

Foxe's Book of Martyrs

"St. Kilian" by Friedrich Lauchert, The Catholic Encyclopedia, Vol. 8

Kim Rendfeld explores religion, warfare, justice, and love in her novels set in eighth century Francia. The Cross and the Dragon (2012, Fireship Press) is a story of a noblewoman contending with a jilted suitor and the premonition she will lose her husband in battle. The Ashes of Heaven’s Pillar (2014, Fireship Press) is a tale of a mother who will go to great lengths to protect her children after she has lost everything else.

To read the first chapters of  Kim's published novels or learn more about her, visit kimrendfeld.com or her blog Outtakes of a Historical Novelist at kimrendfeld.wordpress.com. You can also like her on Facebook at facebook.com/authorkimrendfeld, follow her on Twitter at @kimrendfeld, or contact her at kim [at] kimrendfeld [dot] com.

Kim's book are available at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and other retailers.

Of Dowries, Dowers and Dowagers

by Helena P. Schrader


Arguably, nothing is more indicative or determinative of women’s status in a society than their ability to hold and control property.  In ancient Athens, women could not control property worth more than a bushel of wheat — and from the moment of birth they were denied the same food as their brothers, denied physical exercise, denied access to light and fresh air (by being imprisoned in the dark, back rooms of their houses), denied education, and then married at 12 or 13 to men three to four times their age, so they could die before the age of thirty from bearing on average 6 children, most of whom their husband discarded (particularly if they were female) because he couldn’t be bothered paying the cost of rearing them. In Sparta, in contrast, women controlled the estates of their husbands—and they were fed the same food as their brothers from birth onwards, engaged in physical exercise, received a public education, were married in the late teens to men roughly their same age, and generally lived long healthy lives. Today in the developing world, legal changes designed to guarantee women the right to own land has repeatedly proven one of the most effective ways to improve the status and economic condition of women.

For readers and writers of English historical fiction it is therefore advisable to understand two related but very different types of property associated with women in English common law: the dowry and the dower.


First, however, allow me to digress for a moment to discuss the position of heiresses. Please note that in England here were heiress (feminine), i.e. it was possible for women to inherit property and titles. This is not the case everywhere in the world even today. Second, heiresses were not dispossessed at marriage. Their husbands were expected to share in the control of their estates and the heiresses no longer controlled them exclusively, but they did not legally lose control or ownership. Women might, of course, “bow to their husbands' wishes” for the sake of domestic harmony or be otherwise coerced or cajoled into granting their husbandsr more control than was legally required, but stronger women knew how to keep their husbands in their place. Geoffrey d’Anjou never titled himself “King of England.” Eleanor of Aquitaine took the Aquitaine back when she divorced Louis VII.  Joan, Countess of Kent, did not bestow the honor of Kent on any of her three husbands; she retained it and passed it to her sons. Heiresses, furthermore, were not found only in the aristocracy; peasant and merchant daughters also had the right to inherit their estates, provided they had no brothers. Indignation over the fact that boys inherited first should not blind us to the more important fact that because girls could inherit, some girls held very powerful positions indeed.

A dowry was not an inheritance. It was, however, property that a maiden took with her into her marriage.  Anyone who has read Jane Austin’s books knows that young ladies generally had a greater or lesser “dowry” settled upon them and the size of that dowry greatly affected their value on the marriage market. A dowry, however, was never a girl’s property. It was property that her father/brother/guardian owned but agreed to transfer to a girl’s husband at her marriage. In the Middle Ages, dowries were usually land. Royal brides brought entire lordships into their marriage (e.g. the Vexin), but the lesser lords might bestow a manor or two on their daughters and the daughters of gentry might bring a mill or the like to their husbands. Even peasant girls might call a pasture or orchard their dowery. With time dowries were increasingly monetary, either a lump sum paid at the time of the marriage to the bridegroom or a fixed annual income paid by the bride’s guardian (or his estate) to the husband. The key thing to remember about dowries, however, is that they were not the property of the bride. They passed from her guardian to her husband.


Dowers on the other hand were women’s property. In the early Middle Ages, dowers were inalienable land bestowed on a wife at the time of her marriage. A woman owned and controlled her dower property, and she retained complete control of this property not only after her husband’s death, but even if her husband were to fall foul of the king, be attained for treason, and forfeit his own land and titles.

In the early Middle Ages, dowers were usually negotiated in advance of a marriage. Generally the father of the bride and the father of the groom would negotiate both the size and nature of the dowry and the dower at the same time. In short, the father of the bride would agree to transfer certain properties or a combination of properties and money to the groom at the marriage, and in exchange the father of the groom would designate properties as the new bride’s dower. These could, obviously, be identical. I.e. the father of the bride might agree to transfer certain properties to the bridegroom on the condition that they were designated his daughter’s dower, i.e. they were effectively transferred not to the control of the groom but to the bride after her marriage. Formally, however, the groom bestowed the “dower” on his wife at the church door immediately after marriage, and its size was variable.


In the absence of a formal agreement, however, English law came to recognize the right of every widow to one third of her late husband’s property. In this case, it fell to the husband’s lord (for barons, the crown) to determine exactly which pieces of property made up the dower portion after her husband’s death. Theoretically, the husband’s overlord was supposed to make this determination within forty days, but reality sometimes looked different. English judicial history is full of cases where tenacious widows litigated for decades to get their rights, an indication that justice was not always served rapidly, but also that women felt sufficiently protected by the law to take their case to court. The exception here was in the case of the widows of executed traitors. Whereas the older custom of designating the dower at the church door protected the widows of traitors, the idea that the dower was simply one third of a man’s estate at death meant that it was de-facto forfeited to the crown with the rest of a traitor’s lands, and his widow was left empty-handed.


This change in the nature of dowers may explain the increasing popularity of “jointures.” Jointures were not strictly women’s property as they were (as the name suggests) bestowed jointly on a couple at marriage. Nevertheless, the effect of jointures was to protect women financially. Property that was part of a jointure was controlled jointly so long as both partners lived, but became the sole property of the surviving partner at the death of the other. For men, that was nothing new, but for women it meant that in addition to the third of her husband’s estate that made up her dower portion, she had control of all her “jointure” lands. Furthermore, land held via “jointures” could not seized by the crown if either partner were convicted of treason; it remained the property of the survivor (usually the widow).

It was not uncommon in the High Middle Ages for women to successively marry two, three or even four husbands. After each marriage, the widow retained her dower and any jointures settled on her at the time of the marriage. Women who were politically well-connected, already wealthy and/or knew how to negotiate could therefore accumulate vast estates. “Dowagers” controlling these estates were not only wealthy and independent, they were influential and powerful -- at least within their family circles. They often controlled the income, marriages and dowries of their off-spring. One can imagine, they were not always popular but undoubtedly formidable!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Helena P. Schrader is the author of numerous works of history and historical fiction.  She holds a PhD in History from the University of Hamburg.  The three-part biographical novel of Balian d’Ibelin, who defended Jerusalem against Saladin in 1187, is now on sale. Knight of Jerusalem was awarded a B.R.A.G. medallion and was a finalist for the 2014 Chaucer Awards for Historical Fiction.  St. Louis' Knight was the winner of the 2014 Chaucer Award for Historical Fiction set in the High Middle Ages. Defender of Jerusalem is newly released.  Read more at: http://defenderofjerusalem.com, 
http://helenapschrader.com or follow Helena’s blogs: Schrader’s Historical Fiction and Defending the Crusader Kingdoms.

The Bromwich Castle Hall Gardens

by Richard Denning

Right underneath the flight path of planes taking off from the nearby Birmingham International Airport, mere yards from a modern housing estate and a few miles from the centre of the modern city of Birmingham is a tranquil reminder of a time when the surrounding area was just country side. Today we visited Castle Bromwich Hall Gardens.

The rear of Castle Bromwich Hall.

The house was built in 1599 by Sir Edward Devereux and extended by Sir John Bridgeman I about 100 years later. The Gardens were then developed by several generations of the Bridgeman Family  reaching a peak of excellence around 1760. The Gardens fell into decline during the twentieth century until they were rescued by the Castle Bromwich Hall Gardens Trust in 1985.



These 10 acre walled gardens are a rare example of formal English garden design of the style popular before  Capability  Brown brought in landscape gardens and formal gardens went out of fashion . They are being restored as near as possible to the period 1680 to 1762 when the Bridgeman family moved to Weston Park.

The Kitchen Gardens

The Green House and Summer House have been restored:

The Parterre style of Garden (  French term I believe)
was reconstructed from engravings from the 17th century:

There are lots of these little well laid out gardens

All in all well worth the visit if you like Gardens and historical ones at that. There is a small tea room there. Adults are £4 entry.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Richard Denning is a historical fiction author whose main period of interest is the Early Anglo-Saxon Era. His Northern Crown series explores the late 6th and early 7th centuries through the eyes of a young Saxon lord.

Explore the darkest years of the dark ages with Cerdic.

www.richarddenning.co.uk                                                                                      Amazon

Call for Submissions

The M.M. Bennetts Award for Historical Fiction Association invites authors of qualifying novels published in 2015 to submit. Website

A 19th century Check-out Inventory: Lord Chatham and Abington Hall

by Jacqueline Reiter

I moved house rather less than two weeks ago, never a stress-free experience. One of the most stressful aspects of moving is the compiling of the “check-out inventory”. Essentially, the landlord hires a company to go through the house, peer with a magnifying glass at the floors and walls and note where damage has occurred and needs to be “made good”.

Abington Hall around the turn of the 19th century

We have hopefully escaped with our deposit intact, but the same cannot be said for John Pitt, 2nd Earl of Chatham's renting of Abington Hall in Cambridgeshire. Chatham, the elder brother of William Pitt the Younger, had sold all his inherited estates and therefore tended to rent his country retreats. On 15 March 1816 he signed a lease with the banker John Mortlock, undertaking to rent Abington Hall and 40 acres of parkland. The rent was £300 a year for a period of ten years in the first instance (with a 12-month break clause after the first five years).[1]

After his wife died in May 1821, Chatham went out to Gibraltar to take up his appointment as Governor there. He did not return until July 1825, but sublet Abington to William Wellesley-Pole, Lord Maryborough (another famous man's elder brother: his younger sibling was the Duke of Wellington). Maryborough moved into Abington Hall in the autumn of 1821 and, as Chatham had done before him, used it as a hunting retreat.[2]

Abington Hall today (now the headquarters of TWI)

Perhaps Mortlock should have thought twice before renting his house to Chatham. Quite apart from his notoriously straitened finances (I did not manage to discover whether his £300 rent was “well and truly paid or caused to be paid unto the said John Mortlock his Heirs or Assigns” as per the terms of his contract), Chatham had not been the best tenant in the past. According to Earl St Vincent, who moved into Admiralty House in London in 1801, seven years after Chatham had moved out following a six-year stint as First Lord of the Admiralty:

I have every comfort and rooms sufficient for my purpose, insomuch as I mean not to go into the Admiralty House until it has gone through a complete scouring and painting, very much wanted, for the servants of Lord and Lady Chatham were very sluttish...[3]

In the case of Abington Hall, Lord and Lady Chatham suffered a fair few private problems during their tenancy, and it's possible Lady Chatham was frequently unable to exert much control over her servants due to ill-health. It's also possible that Maryborough trashed the joint, and possible, too, that the property stood empty for some time prior to the end of Chatham's ten-year contract. But looking over the two “Surveys of Dilapidations” compiled for Abington Hall in January 1824 and May 1826, Chatham seems not to have lost his habit of taking poor care of his rented houses.

The house was roomy but not especially large, consisting of three storeys: a basement with cellars and a kitchen; the entrance hallway and the grand rooms – a library or study, drawing room, dining room, and breakfast parlour on the ground floor; a first floor with the main bedrooms and the servants' quarters. 

One of Abington's formal rooms

The 1824 dilapidation survey counted nearly 40 rooms, including the kitchen, servants' quarters, scullery, pantry, and “meat larder”.[4] Mostly this survey focused on the physical works that needed to be done to the house, which were extensive. Many rooms suffered from damp, suggesting that Maryborough had moved out some time before. Most of the doors needed their mechanisms oiling and the sashes nearly all needed “easing”. Alarmingly, a number of windows were broken, or even just missing. The housekeeper seems to have made off with all the keys, although only the door to one of the wine cellars was left locked.

Plasterwork throughout needed repairing; the staircase walls needed repapering; the ice house casing “appears decayed, and probably the Ice House itself which must be examined & reinstated accordingly”. The roof needed to be relined with lead; the brickwork (which had been whitewashed by Chatham[5]) needed repointing. 

Abington Hall's whitewashed exterior

Many rooms had cracked marble hearths (no idea what happened... maybe poor quality marble?). The floor in the pillared entrance hallway was “settling” and the “enrichment” of the cornices needed reinstating. 

Some original plasterwork at Abington Hall

All the privies needed their cesspools emptying and a number of the outhouses – the dairy, coachhouse, harness room, and beerhouse, for example – needed new paving and interior flooring.

Two years later, in May 1826, Mr Elliot Smith was hired by Thomas Mortlock to compile a “Statement of Delapidations [sic] in the Furniture &c at Abingdon [sic] Hall … late in the possession of Lord Chatham”.[6] The survey went through each room in the house and offices, noting the condition of the furnishings. The findings were interesting. The chairs seem to have taken the brunt of Chatham's tenancy: ten mahogany chairs needed recovering and nailing together again in the study, along with three more in the dining room, “some painted warm[ing] chairs” in the breakfast parlour, and several more in the bedrooms and servants' quarters. Many fire screens needed recovering, and a number of “rolling sunblinds” had been pulled off their mechanisms.

Some of this damage was due to bad maintenance: the cotton curtains in the “nursery” were described as “quite worn out from neglect” (unsurprisingly, as the Chathams had no children), and a leather sofa in the butler's bedroom was “quite destroyed by moth or Rats”. The bedhangings in the servants' quarters, and their blankets, all had to be replaced wholesale, “having gone much to decay”. The entire “patent cooking apparatus” in the kitchen was ruined and had to be replaced. Chatham's “sluttish” servants from the Admiralty had clearly followed him to Abington.

Not only were the servants “sluttish” – they were also thieving. “Gone” appears as a comment in nearly every room. Fire screens and bellows appear to have been irrestible. A “Wedgwood ink stand” was taken from the study. Five chairs were missing from the nursery, along with the coal scoop and tinderbox. Every bedroom was missing its blue and white basins, ewers and even “chamber [pot]”. A picture of Boston Harbour was taken from the butler's room. Carpeting was taken from several attic bedrooms, along with “1 ½ yards of 4/4 figured floor cloth” in the attic passage. One of the servants was clearly a bird fancier: “six stands and a breeding bird cage” disappeared from the “Dark Room next to Roof of House”. 

The dining room

Anything that looked like it might be brass also disappeared: hooks in the maidservants' room; candlesticks and hearth equipment, teapots, bellows, and bottles of all sizes in the kitchen. Two “japanned spittoons” went missing from the “China Closet”, which seems an odd thing to steal (perhaps Chatham didn't like the pattern and threw them out?). In the basement, ironing boards went missing from the scullery and laundry room, along with an assortment of odd items: a copper hand bowl; a coal scoop; seven tin saucepans; a warming pot; a dripping pan stand and pair of tongs; and two shelves.

Outside the story wasn't much better. “Dig, clean and cultivate the whole of the Garden Ground which is in a bad state & entirely without Cupping, also prune & train the present Trees and plant new ones when wanted,” the survey noted, adding: “There has [sic] been 5 men doing this near a month”.

Part of Abington's walled garden, near the house

In his favour, Chatham had had some work done to the house, particularly to the stables – he was a keen rider – and this was deducted from the final bill. Smith and his assistant Thomas Cockett calculated, overall, that Lord Chatham owed £109 15s 6d for everything that had been done to (and removed from) the house during his ten-year tenancy.

It doesn't seem like much, but given the yearly rent was £300 it was a sizeable enough sum. I wonder whether the Mortlocks would have agreed to rent to Chatham again!

Below is a list of the main rooms and outbuildings listed by the two Dilapidations Surveys. Now the headquarters of The Welding Institute (TWI), Abington's ground floor retains many of its original features, but the bedrooms and attic quarters have been converted into open-plan offices and changed beyond recognition.

Ground Floor:

Housekeeper's room and store room

Library/Study

Drawing room

Dining Room

Breakfast Parlour

“Billiard Room”

Hall and Principal Staircase

Attic rooms (bedrooms):

Recessed room (and dressing room)

Checked Bedroom

Nursery

Butler's room

Men and maidservants' rooms

Housekeeper's bedroom

“Miss Mortlock's Room”

Striped Bedroom

Chintz Bedroom and dressing room

Green Recessed Bedroom

“Mr Mortlock's Bedroom”

“Mr William Mortlock's Bedroom”

South Angle bedroom

North Angle bedroom

Three further bedrooms

Basement:

Coal Cellar and two wine vaults and a beer cellar

Larder and Meat Larder

Scullery

Kitchen

Pantry

Housemaid's room

Vault

Laundry and Mangle Room

Servants' Hall

China Closet

Butler's Pantry

“Shoe House”

Outhouses:

Dairy

Bakehouse

Coachhouse, chaise-house and stables, with separate harness room, “nag stable”, and straw house

Brewhouse

Cowhouse, pigsties and henouses (complete with “turkies” and “fowls” [sic])

Dog kennels

Keeper's House

References

Many thanks to Lee Pretlove and Hazel Jackson of TWI for showing me around Abington Hall in July 2014.

[1] The lease is in the Mortlock Papers at Cambridgeshire Record Office (many thanks to the staff for unearthing it for me): ref 509/T158

[2] Lord Maryborough to Lord Chatham, 6 September 1822, National Archives Chatham MSS PRO 30/8/368 f 17

[3] Letters of Lord St Vincent I (Naval Records Society Vol LV), 376: St Vincent to his sister, 16 Feb 1801

[4] “Survey of Dilapidations committed on the Mansion House, Offices, Buildings & Premises at Abington, Cambridge, on lease from Jno. Mortlock Esq. deceased to Jno. Earl of Chatham, Surveyed January 1824”: Cambridgeshire Record Office 296/B29

[5] David Brown, “Heritage Assessment of effects on the historic landscape associated with Abington Hall”, July 2010, paragraph 2.12

[6] Cambridgeshire Record Office, 296/B60 ff 46-56

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Jacqueline Reiter has a Phd in 18th century political history. She is currently working on the first ever biography of John Pitt, 2nd Earl of Chatham, due to be released by Pen & Sword Books in September 2016. When she finds time she blogs about her historical discoveries at http://alwayswantedtobeareiter.wordpress.com/, and can be found on Twitter as https://twitter.com/latelordchatham.