Austen's England: Peaceful as all that? I don't think so

by M.M. Bennetts

Today, for your edification and delight, I am going to rant about a thing very dear to my heart but which causes me no end of frustration and, even, dare I admit it, shuddering rage.

It is this--this often firmly held conviction (in defiance of the facts) that the Regency England about which Jane Austen wrote was this idyllic, peaceful, sheep-may-safely-graze land, nothing more than a jammy backdrop for aristos to chase young women in flimsy muslin gowns, wholly untouched by the war which just across the Channel was ravaging every Continental land, destroying societies and lives from a spreading cancer of French military tyranny and conquest.

So, some of those facts.  In the myriad country towns during the period, the places where most of the population still dwelled, what might have made up the fabric of their daily existence?  Jane Austen's or anyone's, really?

Well, let's start with what they heard.  Daily.  Writing in 1806, the British satirist, George Cruikshank noted, "Every town was...a sort of garrison--in one place you might hear the 'tattoo' of some youth learning to beat the drum, at another place some march or national air being practiced upon the fife, and every morning five o'clock the bugle horn was sounded through the streets, to call the volunteers to a two hours' drill...and then you heard the pop, pop, pop, of the single musket, or the heavy sound of the volley, or distant thunder of the artillery..." 

So much for waking to the gentle bleating of spring lambs and baby blackbirds learning to sing as melodiously as their parents, then.  The place was a sea-to-sea military base with all the serenity of a WW2 siren call.

And what about the sceptred isle landscape, the rolling beauty of the hills and Downland, the endless fields, pieced, ploughed, sown and fallow?  The landscape beyond every village and town, all of covered by farms and estates?  This perfect setting for a breath-taking ride with one's Mr Wickham in a high-perch phaeton?  Right?

Well, it may surprise and amaze you to know that from well before 1802, the great fear in Britain was that of invasion by the French.  It was a national obsession and the preparations to repel such an invasion wherever it came from and whenever were all-consuming.  And it wasn't for another decade, until Napoleon and his Grand Armee were well and truly whooped in Russia, that the national fever of defensive building works started to calm down.

They weren't exactly paranoid about nothing either in their fears. There had been the unsuccessful attempt to invade the British Isles in 1797 by the French--a huge storm, gales, blizzard and all that had blown the estimated 40,000 troops off course and had saved the day...but you can't count on that sort of divine intervention every day, can you?

So, hoppity poppity into the new Napoleonic era of the new century.  The short Corsican tyrant is in prime position in France.  He loves nothing better than a good conquest with himself as the new ruler.  Britain is allegedly at peace with France during the period known as the Peace of Amiens, which, just like later dictators have done, Napoleon is using to get his military machine in gear and ready to roll.

What's happening on the ground?  Once the peace of Amiens was officially over, well, across those counties thought to be most at risk--the southern coastal counties--everyplace became immersed in the preparations for war and invasion.

By August 1803, it was being reported that in fifteen counties, from Devon in the west across to the Isle of Wight, including the Cinque Ports along the coast, and all the way up in Northumberland and Fife, that over 50% of the male population, those aged between seventeen and fifty-five, were in uniform, wearing regular, yeomanry or volunteer uniform.

That's a lot of fellows in uniform if you think about it.  The counties of Kent and Sussex had 49% and 45% of their men in uniform respectively.  That's half the male population.  Imagine.

Another snippet you might like...they weren't all wearing red coats which shone brightly in the sunshine as we see in the old portraits.  Yes, originally, the uniforms were meant to be red.

But for the uniforms of the men, the government didn't have the money for the well-dyed red wool--that was for officers who could afford their own.  The enlisted or volunteer uniform was provided by the government, so obviously they were getting all they could on the cheap.  And the dye used in those job lots was madder, which after a year in the sun and perpetual rain of this country fades to a kind of rusty, blotchy sienna brown...Good for camouflage in autumn, I dare say.  

By 1804 then, a consensus had been reached on coastal defenses and across the face of the south coast, an intense programme of building ensued for the next several years, so that by 1808, 73 Martello towers and two 11-gun circular forts had been built.  Another 29 towers had been constructed along the Wash--the coasts of Suffolk and Essex. (Eventually the number of Martello towers constructed reached 168, extending all along the coast all the way to Orkney.)

These were quite impressive defensive towers they were building too.  Not cheap.  The walls were of varying thickness, but generally from between six to thirteen feet thick, with the heaviest walls facing seaward.  The bricks were bedded in hot lime mortar (imagine the smell as they were constructed) calculated to withstand bombardment from the sea.  The roofs were flat, supported from underneath by a central column, and carried on top a 24-pounder cannon which would have been mounted on a sliding traverse carriage which enabled it to fire round 360 degrees...

Anyone for a Regency stroll by the seaside?  Bring those parasols...

Finally, food.  The years of the early 19th century had seen a number of harsh winters and bad late harvests--courtesy of a mini-Ice Age--which had left the English feeling vulnerable on this point, and the government took this quite seriously.  Bread riots or any food shortages can too easily cause panic.  Hence, with the threat of invasion and the assumption that the French would head for London first--probably via Kent--great plans were laid to stockpile foodstuffs for the capital, so that it might hold out under siege.

Thus plans were made to create emergency stores near the capital, including rice, flour and salted provisions as well as 250 tons of biscuit meal, all stockpiled in depots around and in the capital at locations such as Fulham, Brentford and Staines...

Also, there were huge stockpiling needs across the South Coast to feed those thousands of militia, gathered to repel and defend the land--in 1804, more than 18,000 regular troops were stationed in Sussex, with another 20,000 more stationed nearby to be deployed at short notice.  There were thousands more stationed in Kent, particularly ready to defend Dover, where it was assumed the 'big assault' would happen.

And, within these troop numbers and within their training too, it's important to note that within each year, these troops would march hundreds of miles across counties, going where they were sent, training, marching, recruiting...England in the early 19th century was a country at war.  Fully and wholly at war.

There was not a day not an hour of any day, which did not include some element of the Napoleonic conflict.  And they knew it.

The plethora of English World War Two dramas and films will give one the true picture of the state of things--just change the uniforms to 200 years back and add sideburns.  Then you'll have it.

War everywhere, bulwarks, vast defensive buildings like Martello tower, drums, artillery practice, the post office going through all foreign post (probably Austen's letters to and from her sister-in-law were opened and read), the food shortages, the militia on every street corner of every village and town, the recruiting officers in the public houses, the thousands of marching, marching, marching men...And the drums at Portsmouth beating out Hearts of Oak at dawn, or the fife thinly whistling a new recruits poor-boy's version of Rule Britannia...

This then, 200 years ago was "This royal throne of kings, this sceptred isle, This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars, This other Eden, demi-paradise, This fortress built by Nature for herself Against infection and the hand of war...This precious stone set in a silver sea...This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England."

This post from the #EHFA Archives was originally published on March 2, 2014.

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M.M. Bennetts, co-founder of English Historical Fiction Authors, passed away in August, 2014. She was a specialist in early 19th century British and European history and the Napoleonic wars and penned two novels, May 1812 and Of Honest Fame set during the period. A third novel, Or Fear of Peace, was to have been published in 2014.

For further information, please visit the website and historical blog at https://mmbennetts.wordpress.com/

The Start

By Cryssa Bazos

Following the execution of his father by Parliament in 1649, Charles Stuart was a king without a throne. He scanned the dance floor for likely partners to help him reclaim his crown, but France, Spain and the Netherlands were taking turns examining the potted plants. There were no takers until Scotland stepped forward and motioned to the orchestra.

Jean Le Pautre [Public Domain] via
Wikimedia Commons

It was a slow and hesitating waltz, broken by alternate periods of negotiation and stubbornness on both sides. Scotland was looking for a Covenanted king, one who would uphold Presbyterianism across the three kingdoms (Scotland, England and Ireland). Reluctantly Charles agreed, and around Midsummer's in 1650, he landed in Scotland to take up one crown and fight for another.

This partnership did not start off with the surest foot. Almost immediately, the Scottish government treated Charles with all the courtesy of a royal hostage. The decision to invite him to Scotland had not been without controversy. Many of the more hardline Covenanters objected, mistrusting his commitment to the Covenant. To them, Scotland was the New Jerusalem, and they looked upon Charles with his Anglican father and Catholic mother with stern disapproval. They were relentless in their determination to make a good Presbyterian out of him.

Over the next three months, the Scottish Parliament debated which of his companions and servants were to be purged from the royal household and/or banned from the country. Some, like the Duke of Buckingham and Lord Wilmot, were given clearance to stay, but on September 27th, the Commission of the Kirk and the Committee of Estates in Perth ruled in favour of an expulsion from the country of twenty-three of the King’s companions and two others to be removed from court.

Sir James Balfour, Lord Lyon King of Arms, brought the list to Charles who requested that Balfour not act against nine individuals until he had time to petition Lord Chancellor Loudoun on their behalf.

Sir James Balfour, by unknown artist
[Public domain] via Wikimedia Commons

The Chancellor refused Charles's petition and the day fixed for the removal of the courtiers was October 3, 1650.

This was when Charles decided to escape from his gilded cage and head north to the Highlands where loyalties were more firmly for King than Kirk.

Charles gathered a few companions to accompany him. The Duke of Buckingham was against the plan and tried to dissuade him, but when Charles remained resolute, he readily agreed to keep his whereabouts secret.

This plot to escape is known as the Start.

On October 3rd, the same day as the expulsion of his loyal companions, Charles and his companions rode out of Perth under the pretext of a hawking trip. They travelled northeast and rested at Dundee, then with their host, Viscount Dudhope, they continued north to Auchterhouse. There they stopped and repeated the process, only this time welcoming the Earl of Buchan into their company.

Dudhope and Buchan urged Charles to continue north to the mountains where they were confident that they would find an army of 7,000 pro-Royalist Highlanders. They continued to Cortachy (still no Highlander army) until they could go no further. With dark beating them down, they took their rest in a hamlet in Clova.

Meanwhile, back in Perth, the Duke of Buckingham was concerned. It may have been that he feared for Charles, wandering the countryside with little to no protection. More likely, he was concerned about his own precarious position in Scotland should Charles's expedition fail. Regardless, after having promised his discretion, Buckingham spilled the details of the Start to Balfour: the King was not hawking--he was on his way to the Highlands.

Balfour went into immediate damage control. He sent out an urgent message to Colonel Robert Montgomery, a trustworthy (and moderate) soldier with a regiment of 700 horse at his disposal, to fetch the King back. Not wanting to give away to the Committee that he had lost the King, Balfour arranged to send along one of Charles's hawks, "that the game might be played out with spirit."

Montgomery wasted no time and sent riders ahead. Just before daybreak, two of Montgomery's men found Charles "laying in a nasty room, on an old bolster above a mat of sedge and rushes." By seven that morning, Montgomery arrived in Clova in time to escort Charles back to Perth, with the King's hawk in hand.

When Charles returned to Perth, he was sent to his bedchamber and forced to hear sermons. But the Start was not a complete waste. Instead of increasing Charles's restrictions, the Committee of Estates was shocked into granting him concessions. They realized that they could not afford to lose him to the Highlanders and lose their advantage. The result was that Charles was invited to attend the Committee of Estates sessions.

And what of Buckingham and his loose tongue? Charles forgave Buckinghman for betraying his plans to Balfour, but did he forget?

Nearly a year after the Start, when Cromwell defeated the Royalist army at Worcester, Charles barely escaped the field and headed north with a company of his lords, including Buckingham. By the time they reached Staffordshire, it became apparent to Charles that if he were to escape, he would have to part from his lords and travel incognito. Buckingham was not invited to accompany him, nor was he told where Charles was headed.

To be fair, Charles only took Lord Wilmot in his confidence, but I suspect that Buckingham’s earlier betrayal still rankled. When Charles finally reached France, after six weeks of dodging Cromwell’s men, his initial account soon took on the flavour of tall tales that Mark Twain would have cherished. If you’ve ever been asked the same question over and over again, you can appreciate why Charles threw in a bit of spice.

The Ambassador of Venice for Paris wrote this to the Doge in Venice about Charles’s adventures, dated November 19, 1651:

“I went yesterday evening to welcome the Grand Duke and the Princes back from the country. In the course of conversation the Grand Duke told me of the clever means adopted by the king of England to escape from Cromwell. In the army, when it was seen that all was lost, he took counsel with the duke of Buckingham, who was in the same plight as himself. The duke decided to disguise himself as a falconer, with the goshawks on his arm.”

The Start may have ended in disappointment for Charles, but it did shift the focus to him as a sitting monarch and not a royal hostage. As well, it served as a practice run before his next, and more desperate, escape when capture would have cost him his life.


References:

The Historical Works of Sir James Balfour

Cromwell's Scotch Campaigns: 1650-51, by William Scott Douglas

British History Online: 'Venice: November 1651', in Calendar of State Papers Relating To English Affairs in the Archives of Venice, Volume 28, 1647-1652, ed. Allen B Hinds (London, 1927), pp. 202-206 http://www.british-history

[This is an Editor's Choice archive post, originally published on EHFA 5th March 2016

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Cryssa Bazos is an award-winning historical fiction author and 17th-century enthusiast with a particular interest in the English Civil War. Her debut novel, Traitor's Knot, was the Medalist winner of the 2017 New Apple Award (historical fiction), a finalist for the 2018 EPIC eBook Awards (historical romance) and the RNA Joan Hessayon Award. Her second novel, Severed Knot, was longlisted for the Historical Novel Society 2018 New Novel Award and tells the story of a Scottish PoW transported down to Barbados as an indentured servant.

Connect with Cryssa through her Website, Facebook, and Twitter (@CryssaBazos). Traitor's Knot is available through Amazon, and Severed Knot is available through Amazon and other Online Retailers. 

The Duchess and the Necromancers

By Nancy Bilyeau

On Monday, November 19th, 1441, the people of London lined the streets to observe an act of public penance. That morning a woman, perhaps forty years of age, bare-headed, plainly dressed, was rowed in a barge to Temple Stairs off the Thames. She stepped off the barge and proceeded to walk all the way to St. Paul's Cathedral, carrying before her a wax taper of two pounds. Once she made it to St. Paul's, she offered the taper to the High Altar.

The woman was Eleanor Cobham, mistress-turned-wife to Humphrey, Duke of Gloucester, only surviving uncle to the childless Henry VI and thus the heir to the throne. The duchess had been tried and condemned for heresy and witchcraft. This was the first of three days of ordered pilgrimages to churches, showing a "meke and a demure countenance." Afterward, she would be forced to separate from her husband and live in genteel prison for the rest of her life.

The Penance of Eleanor, painted in 1900

The downfall of Eleanor Cobham was a shocking event in the 15th century, and it's disturbing today. Certain elements of her life echo Katherine Swynford's, the longtime mistress of John of Gaunt who eventually became his third wife. A bold beauty marries a royal--it's a maneuver seen again, and much more famously, in the following century with Elizabeth Woodville and Anne Boleyn. But while rumors of witchcraft swirled around both of those queens, they are, historians now agree, not based in reality. While Eleanor Cobham most probably did traffic in what were called the black arts. And the most serious of such crimes was to seek to know--or perhaps even alter--the future, through the practice of necromancy.

Ever since the age of Homer, necromancers have flitted in the darkest shadows of society. They were believed to possess the secrets to unlocking the power of the underworld to divine the future. (See my earlier blog post, From Homer to The Hobbit: The History of the Necromancer.) No matter the results—or lack thereof—necromancers did a brisk business in the Greek and Roman world. It was only by following their secret and ornate rituals, they said, could the boundaries be dissolved between the living and the dead.

Page from the Munich Manual

After Rome fell, the early Christian popes struggled to extinguish the pagan practices of not only necromancy but witchcraft, astrology and alchemy. But these practices survived through the Middle Ages, in one form or another, and in the Renaissance, as scholars pored through ancient texts, experienced something of a rebirth. Some popes employed their own astrologers. The Munich Manual of Demonic Magic, a textbook in Latin, was compiled in the 15th century. Necromancy became, if anything, more far-reaching. After drawing a series of magic circles, saying conjurings, and making sacrifices, necromancers claim a demon would appear to assist: see the future, drive a man to love or hatred, discern where secret things were hidden, such as treasure.

During the 15th century, England was an orthodox kingdom of devout Catholics--and yet superstition ran amok. In 1456, 12 men petitioned Henry VI for permission to practice alchemy, among them two of the king's own physicians. Some courtiers owned astrological books. What was heresy and what was knowledge linked to the fashionable pursuit of ancient texts? It was not always possible to know what was forbidden--until you made a mistake.

The stage was set for Eleanor Cobham and her ambitious play for love, power and glory.

The daughter of Sir Reginald Cobham, Eleanor in her early twenties entered the service of the highborn and illustrious Jacqueline, Countess of Hanault. Jacqueline repudiated her husband, John of Brabant, and fled to England in search of champions, marrying the youngest brother of Henry V: Humphrey, duke of Gloucester.

At some point over the next five years, Eleanor herself became the mistress of the duke. After a failed war in Hainault, Humphrey abandoned his wife; the pope annulled the marriage because of legalities to do with her first husband. Later, when John of Brabant died, Humphrey could have remarried Jacqueline. But instead he married her lady in waiting, Eleanor.

His nickname of "Good Duke Humphrey" notwithstanding, Gloucester was a complex figure. Well educated, he supported learning more than most aristocrats and was a devoted patron of the arts. An enthusiastic soldier, devoted to his oldest brother, Henry V, he was a champion of the people. But Humphrey was also impulsive, vengeful, and unable to sustain a political policy. There is little doubt he was, in addition, a womanizer. After the death of his brother the king, he claimed the right to be regent for his infant nephew. His claims were supported in the dead king's will. But Cardinal Henry Beaufort and the rest of the Beauforts opposed Gloucester. The two branches of the Lancaster family fought for power for the rest of Humphrey's life.

Humphrey, youngest son of Henry IV

Eleanor did not make Humphrey more popular. She was criticized for her immoral history with Gloucester and for her ostentation. Historian Ralph Griffiths says, "One chronicler noted how she flaunted her pride and her position by riding through the streets of London, glitteringly dressed and suitably escorted by men of noble birth." She is thought to have shared her husband's sophisticated tastes in literature.

The unmarried Henry VI, passive and easily led, was fond of his aunt and uncle. He gave Eleanor beautiful presents. Historians believe a decision was made in the Beaufort camp to permanently weaken the duke of Gloucester, and the key to this was his wife.

A young Henry VI

In late June 1441, word spread through London that two men had been arrested for conspiring against the king--divining the king's future through the use of necromancy and concluding that he would soon suffer a serious illness. The accused were two clerks, Roger Bolingbroke, an Oxford priest, and Thomas Southwell, a canon. (Those who practiced necromancy were often low-level clericals, because they possessed the knowledge of Latin necessary to read forbidden books and learn the rites.) The men were sent to the Tower of London and possibly tortured. Bolingbroke told his interrogators that he had been prompted to look into the future of the king by the duchess of Gloucester.

Eleanor did not behave like someone innocent of all crime. She fled to Westminster, seeking sanctuary. Later, when she was set to appear before an ecclesiastical court, she tried to escape onto the Thames river, but was caught. The investigation went deeper. A witch was produced, Marjorie Jourdemayne, who said she procured love potions for the duchess to make Gloucester marry her. In her trial, Eleanor denied seeking to know the future of the king through necromancy, but she "did acknowledge recourse to the Black Art." It is believed she turned to the necromancers and witch to try to bear a child. Eventually, Eleanor abjured her heresies.

Eleanor's co-conspirators were condemned and executed--Margaret Jourdemayne was burned at Smithfield. One of the clerks was hanged, drawn, and quartered. Eleanor spent the rest of her life confined in various castles: Kenilworth, the Isle of Man, and in 1449, Beaumaris Castle, where she died in 1452. Her husband Humphrey, who, to the puzzlement of many, had done little publicly to free her—he "said little"—died five years before Eleanor. His wife's disgrace had finished him as an important man of the kingdom.

Did Eleanor turn to the dark arts to try to bring about the death of Henry VI so that her husband could become king and she become queen? Most historians doubt she went that far; more likely, she dabbled in the same forbidden practices that other court ladies did. But in the tense and treacherous political climate of the Lancastrian court, where rivalries were soon to explode into the War of the Roses, a mistake in judgment could cost one everything. As was learned by Eleanor Cobham.

This article is part of my series of necromancy. To read more, see From Homer to the Hobbit: The History of the Necromancer, Conversations with Angels: The Strange Life of Edward Kelley, and Henry VII and the Curse of Prophesy.

This is an Editor's Choice and was originally published January 29, 2013. 

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Nancy Bilyeau is a historical novelist and magazine editor based in New York. She wrote the Joanna Stafford trilogy, a trio of thrillers set in Henry VIII’s England, for Simon & Schuster. Her fourth novel is The Blue, an 18th century thriller revolving around the art & porcelain world. Her latest novel is Dreamland, set in Coney Island of 1911, is published by Endeavour Quill. A former staff editor at Rolling Stone, Entertainment Weekly, and InStyle, Nancy is currently the deputy editor at the Center on Media, Crime and Justice at John Jay College and contributes to Town & Country, CrimeReads, and Mystery Scene magazine.

For more information, visit www.nancybilyeau.com.

A View of London in 1190

by Mark Patton

A visitor to the city of London today has little sense of the Medieval city, even though he or she walks along streets that would have been familiar to Geoffrey Chaucer. The street-names give some clues (Chaucer or his servants would have bought milk in Milk Street, bread in Bread Street and chicken or eggs in Poultry), and many of the churches occupy the same positions, but little of the Medieval fabric is visible because of the Great Fire of 1666 which destroyed almost everything. All that remains, at least above ground, is the Tower of London and some fragments of the wall that once surrounded the city, itself built on Roman foundations.

The Tower of London, late 15th Century image,
depicting the imprisonment  of Charles, Duc d'Orleans.
British Library, MS Royal 16, Fol. 73

We are fortunate, therefore, in having a written description of the city, dating to 1190, its author, William FitzStephen, a clerk who had been in service to Thomas Becket. FitzStephen was a witness to Becket's murder and afterwards wrote a biography of him, to which his account of London serves as a preface. It seems that FitzStephen, like his master, was a Londoner, so it is likely that his description of the city is informed by his personal memories of growing up there.

"Among the splendid cities of the world that have achieved celebrity," he tells us (I am quoting from the 1860 translation by H.T. Riley), "the city of London - seat of the English monarchy - is one whose renown is more widespread, whose money and merchandise go further afield, and which stands head and shoulders above the others."

Part of London's surviving wall.
Photo: Ollios (licensed under CCA).

Emphasising London's Christian identity, he refers to Saint Paul's Cathedral, to "thirteen conventual churchs and one hundred and twenty-six lesser, parish churches." He also mentions London's defences, its walls and seven gates, and its fortifications: not only the Tower of London, on the east side of the city, but also the now long-vanished Baynard's Castle and Montfichet's Tower in the west.

Perhaps more significant, however, are his descriptions of the life of the city. "There are, in the northern suburbs of London, springs of high quality, with water that is sweet, wholesome, clear, and whose runnels ripple among pebbles bright. Among which Holywell, Clerkenwell and Saint Clement's Well have a particular reputation; they receive throngs of visitors, and are especially frequented by students and young men of the city, who head out on summer evenings to take the air."

It is a popular myth that Medieval Londoners drank only beer, because the water was unwholesome: certainly they knew better than to draw their drinking water from the filthy Thames, but the water from these springs and wells was clearly drinkable. That said, breweries also drew water from those springs, and many had taverns attached, so the consumption of beer probably was an element of student life, then as now.

"The three principle churches of London - Saint Paul's ... Holy Trinity and Saint Martin's, possess schools by ancient right and privilege. But, thanks to the support of a number of those scholarly men who have won renown and distinction in the study of philosophy, there are other schools licensed there."

London seems not to have had a university, as Paris and Bologna did, but the reference to students suggests that some, at least, of these schools were preparing men for the priesthood. FitzStephen even mentions these students hurling "abuse and jibes" at one another "with Socratic wit," although we should not imagine that they were actually reading Plato (almost nobody in Western Europe in the 12th Century could read Greek): whatever they knew of classical philosophy came from the Latin of Boethius's Consolation of Philosophy - essential reading for all seminarians.

Cooks roasting chickens on a spit.
Bodleian MS 264, Fol.170v

"Nor should I forget to mention that there is, in London, on the river bank amidst the ships, the wine for sale, and the storerooms for wine, a public cookshop. On a daily basis there, depending on the season, can be found fried or boiled foods and dishes, fish large and small, meat - lower quality for the poor, finer cuts for the wealthy - game and fowl (large and small) ... Hence, as we read in Plato's Gorgias, cookery is a flattery and imitation of medicine, the fourth of the arts of civic life."

That's not quite what is said in Plato's Gorgias, but it's an understandable error from someone who has read only Boethius. Scholars of the Middle Ages were probably acutely aware of the knowledge they did not possess: nobody had actually read Plato, but every scholar hoped to meet someone who had, and any number may have pretended to have done so.

FitzStephen goes on to describe a weekly horse-market at Smithfield (beyond the northern city wall), horse races so energetic that "you start to believe that 'all things are in motion,' as Heraclitus put it, and lose faith in Zeno's theory that motion is impossible - so that no-one could ever reach the end of a racetrack!" His source, again, is Boethius, but I think there is more to this than intellectual boasting and self-promotion. FitzStephen is, above all, a lover of his native city, and here, I suspect, he is doing his utmost to put it on the map for scholars travelling between Oxford, Paris and Bologna. Perhaps he even hoped that one of the "schools" he mentions would develop into one of the great universities of Europe as an essentially similar institution at Saint Andrews in Scotland subsequently did.

He well understood, however, that London life was not only the life of the mind. He describes the passion plays that clerks staged annually at Clerkenwell (perhaps he had acted in one of these himself), the war-games held at Smithfield in preparation for the real warfare in which so many Londoners would be caught up, and winter days spent skating on the marshes to the north of the city.

Medieval skates, Museum of London.
Photo: Steven G. Johnson (licensed under CCA).

Smithfield in 1561, Agas Map.
The etymology is from "smooth field" -
it was flat ground on which horses could be raced, ball-games played
or soldiers mustered, and it served all of these purposes,
as well as that of a horse-market from the 11th to the 17th Century.
Image: Stephencdickson (licensed under CCA).

He even gives us what may be the earliest description of a football match, although no referee is mentioned:

"After lunch, all the youth of the city go out into the fields to take part in a ball game. The students of each school have their own ball; the workers from each city craft are also carrying their balls. Older citizens, fathers and wealthy citizens come on horseback to watch their juniors competing, and to relive their own lives vicariously: you can see their inner passions aroused as they watch the action and get caught up in the fun being had by the carefree adolescents."

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This post is an Editor's Choice from the EHFA Archives, originally posted September 1, 2015.

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Mark Patton blogs regularly on aspects of history and historical fiction at http://mark-patton.blogspot.co.uk. Mark's novels, Undreamed Shores, An Accidental King and Omphalos, are  available on Amazon.

Unlucky Usurpers and Proud Tyrants: The Leadership of Fifth Century Britain

by Chris Thorndycroft

Many books have been written on the chaotic period preceding and following the Roman withdrawal from Britain in 410 A.D., and it is perhaps because we know so little about it that there is so much to discuss.

A rough idea of how the four provinces of
Britain (created by the Diocletian Reform)
looked in the fifth century. Their
arrangement is still a matter of debate.

It was a time of invasions and rebellions. The Picts, once held in check by Hadrian’s Wall, swarmed down from the north. The Irish raided and settled in the west. Saxon and Gaulish pirates roved the Channel. To add to this, Britain was a hotbed of rebellion with the legions stationed there choosing their own candidates for the position of emperor leading to the abandonment of posts and lengthy wars on the continent.

Rome responded as best it could. Some sort of reshuffling of the military organization in the mid fourth century is evident in the creation of three new military posts mentioned in the Notitia Dignitatum (The List of Offices). The first is the Comes Britanniarum; commander of the mobile field army on the island. The other two are the Dux Britanniarum (commander of the northern frontier including Hadrian’s Wall) and the Comes littoris Saxonici (commander of the Saxon Shore).

This last one is of interest for it seems to coincide with the building of several shore forts along the south-east coast. These ‘Saxon Shore’ forts may have been so named for their function as a defense against Saxon raiders or they may have been operated by mercenary Saxon frontier troops (foederati).

These measures eventually proved futile for in 407 a soldier stationed in Britain was declared ‘Constantine III of the Western Roman Empire’ and took all his troops with him to prove his point in Gaul, effectively leaving Britain open to attack. He was defeated and executed and in 410, Rome officially washed its hands of the troublesome province when Emperor Honorius told its leaders to “look to their own defences”.

Coin of Constantine III, the Roman general who was declared Western Roman
Emperor and removed the last vestiges of Roman authority from Britain.

But who were these leaders? What sort of government was left in the wake of the Roman withdrawal? With no official bodies connected to the Empire and no promise of military intervention from the continent, surely the island reverted back to a climate of chaotic tribalism?

Perhaps or perhaps not.

Portchester Castle, the Saxon shore fort of Portus
Adurni which became the outer bailey wall of a
Norman castle. Credit: Rob Nunn.

A monk called Gildas wrote his scathing On the Ruin and Conquest of Britain sometime in the sixth century and described some sort of council ruling Britain in those days. He also mentions a ‘proud tyrant’ or ‘unlucky usurper’ who invited a group of Saxons to settle on the eastern shores of Britain in order to repel the Picts.

This mysterious tyrant of the Britons has become a figure of particular interest from the period, as much as Hengest and Horsa and even King Arthur. ‘Vortigern’ is the name often given to him but even that is a matter of debate with various spellings including ‘Gwrtheyrn’, ‘Wyrtgeorn’ and ‘Guothergirn’. We do not even know if this was a personal name or a title but Vortigern seems to have been a figure of considerable power in fifth century Britain.

Bede, who wrote his Ecclesiastical History of the English People in the eighth century, first provides the name as ‘Vertigernus’. It was also Bede who first named the leaders of the Saxons as ‘Hengist and Horsa’. As king of the British people, Vertigernus invites the Saxons to settle in Britain for pay. A condition of this was presumably engagement with the enemy who were “come from the north to give battle” and are later revealed to be the Picts.

This story is elaborated by the Bangor-born monk Nennius in his History of the British People, written sometime in the ninth century. A mixture of history and colourful local legend, this work is to be treated with caution but it does present a fascinating story.

Receiving Hengist and Horsa as friends, Vortigern (named here as Guorthirgirn) hands over the isle of Thanet in exchange for their service as foederati against the Picts. Hengist later sends for more of his countrymen who bring with them his beautiful daughter. A feast is held and Vortigern, plied with drink, falls so in love with Hengest’s daughter that he demands her in exchange for the whole of Kent. This is without the knowledge of Kent’s king; Guoyrancgonus.

So who was Vortigern really? Nennius’s ‘king of the British people’ is unlikely as Britain would have been in the throes of chaos after Rome’s withdrawal and the idea of a single king ruling the entire island is implausible. Gildas’s mentioning of a council is perhaps more probable and something aping the old Roman administrative system is easy to imagine with governors and tribunes devolving over time, back into chieftains and eventually kings.

It is possible that Vortigern is a title rather than a personal name as a literal translation from the Brittonic word appears as ‘overlord’ (‘wor’ = over and ‘tigerno’ = lord). But many scholars insist that this doesn’t prove anything as ‘tigerno’ appears in several personal names like ‘Catigern’ and ‘Kentigern’.

Vortigern’s family is outlined by Nennius who states that he had four sons; Vortimer, Catigern, Pascent and Faustus (son of his incestuous affair with his unnamed daughter). More information might be gleaned from the Pillar of Eliseg; a ninth century monument erected in Denbighshire, Wales by Cyngen ap Cadell, king of Powys.

The Latin text on the Pillar of Eliseg is now illegible due to weathering, but a transcription was made by the antiquarian Edward Llwyd in 1696. It claims that Guarthi(gern) (Vortigern) was married to Severa, the daughter of Magnus Maximus; the usurper who famously rebelled against Emperor Gratian. The pillar names the sons of this union as; Britu and Pascen(t), the latter of which is the ancestor of the kings of Powys.

If Vortigern really did marry Severa, daughter of Magnus Maximus, it would most likely have been before 388, which was when Maximus was defeated and executed (politically speaking, a marriage after this date would have been worthless). Severa could scarcely have been younger than seventy by 447 – the date traditionally associated with the arrival of Hengest and Horsa, making the Guarthi(gern) of the pillar a little old to be the Vortigern mentioned by Bede and Nennius.

Unless it referred to his father.

If Vortigern was indeed a title, it may have passed from father to son, making the Vortigern of later texts the son of the union between Guarthi(gern) and Severa.

So what then, was Vortigern’s real name? The History of the Britons gives his genealogy and his grandfather and great grandfather were called Guitaul (Vital) and Guitolion (Vitalin) respectively. This hints at a common family name that may have been something like ‘Vitalinus’ or ‘Vitalis’. Interestingly, Nennius goes on to say that during the reign of Vortigern, there was a battle between Ambrosius and Guitolinus (Vitalinus). Was this a separate person, or the given name for Britain’s ‘overlord’.

We don’t know what the battle was about or who won, but Ambrosius is a name well attested elsewhere. Gildas first mentions an Ambrosius Aurelianus who “perhaps alone of the Romans, had survived the shock of this notable storm. Certainly his parents, who had worn the purple, were slain by it.”

‘Wearing the purple’ could refer to the imperial colour, or perhaps the purple band worn by Roman military tribunes, so it seems that we are dealing with a noble of imperial stock or a high-ranking military commander. Gildas makes it clear that Ambrosius was some sort of military figure to which the Britons flocked (perhaps the last Comes Britanniarum). His wars with the Saxons ultimately culminated in the siege of Badon Hill (later sources like the History of the Britons credit Arthur as the victor of this battle, not Ambroisus).

As well as the aforementioned war between Ambrosius and Vitalinus, Nennius states that Vortigern eventually handed over all his lands and fortresses to Ambrosius, who granted a large share of them to Vortigern’s son Pascent. It certainly looks like Ambrosius won a significant victory over Vortigern in addition to his success against the Saxons.

The tale of the destruction and eventual death of Vortigern is dominated by the figure of Bishop Germanus of Auxerre. The Life of Saint Germanus, written in about 480 A.D. by Constantius of Lyons, states that Bishop Germanus and his companion, Bishop Lupus of Troyes, originally voyaged to Britain in about 429 A.D. to combat the Pelagian Heresy. There, through debate and preaching, they won many back to the Augustinian teachings.

As with the lives of many saints, miracles were also performed including the healing of a blind girl by the holding of Germanus’s reliquary to her eyes. Germanus even leads a British army against a confederation of Picts and Saxons and, by chanting the “Alleluia”, manages to rout the enemy without even having to strike a blow.

A later chapter reveals that Germanus returned to Britain (possibly around 447 A.D.) as Pelagianism was once again on the rise. A healing miracle is performed once again, this time for the crippled son of Elafius, described as a leading man in the country.

The Life of Saint Germanus makes no mention of Vortigern but Nennius further elaborates on Germanus’s second visit to Britain beginning with his confrontation of a tyrannical king called Benlli. After Benlli’s city is obliterated by “fire from heaven” Germanus raises a peasant called Catel Drunlue (Cadell Derynllug in the Welsh genealogies) to the position of king.

Germanus then goes to the court of Vortigern who has, much to everyone’s outrage, married his daughter and sired a son on her to whom Nennius gives the name ‘Faustus’. Germanus gives the boy razor, scissors and comb and tells him to present them to his true father. The boy gives these items to Vortigern who “arose in great anger, and fled from the presence of St. Germanus, execrated and condemned by the whole synod.”

Vortigern’s son, Vortimer, rises to the position left vacant by his father and wages war on Hengist and Horsa, driving them back to the isle of Thanet. Three more battles take place, the first upon the River Darent, the second at ‘Epsford’ (possibly Aylesford as the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle records the battle as taking place at ‘Agaelesthrep’) where both Horsa and Vortimer’s brother Catigern fall. The last battle was “near the stone on the shore of the Gallic sea, where the Saxons being defeated, fled to their ships.”

Vortimer then mysteriously dies and, in a forerunner to the Welsh tale of Bran the Blessed, commands that his body be buried upon the spot where the Saxons first landed so that they may never land there again. His commands are ignored of course, resulting in the eventual Saxon conquest of most of Britain.

Vortigern returns to power on the death of his son and is invited by Hengist, along with his nobles and military officers, to a feast where, in the original Night of the Long Knives, his men butcher them all. Vortigern alone is allowed to live whom Hengist hopes to ransom for his daughter’s return. More land is turned over to the Saxons including “the three provinces of East, South, and Middle Sex.”

On the run again from the fury of Germanus, Vortigern flees to “the kingdom of the Dimetae where, on the river Towy, he built a castle, which he named Cair Guothergirn” (literally ‘Castle Vortigern’). Fire once again falls from heaven and destroys this castle, killing Vortigern, Hengist’s daughter and all its other inhabitants.

With obscure mentions of leaders like Elafius, a king called Benlli, a council, and a ‘proud tyrant’ called Vortigern, it seems clear that Britain was in a transitional phase at this time and was anything but united. From later genealogies provided in medieval Welsh sources, we can see that the ex-Roman province fragmented into many small kingdoms, each ruled by separate dynasties who could trace their lineage back to the likes of Cadell, the peasant given King Benlli’s throne by Bishop Germanus.

Ambrosius and Vortigern, whoever they were, also figure in genealogies and place names, suggesting that, if some sort of council had tried to maintain control over the island in the wake of the Roman withdrawal, it most likely gave out to laws of blood succession. Personal interests most likely won out as Britain’s leaders began to hoard territory and carve out their own lands which they ruled as kings, much in the same way that their enemies, the Saxons, did in the east, eventually giving rise to what we now call Wales and England.

Sources

William Fairley, Notitia Dignitatum or Register of Dignitaries, in Translations and Reprints from Original Sources of European History, Vol. VI:4 (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, n.d.)

Williams, Hugh ed. and trans.: Gildas, The Ruin of Britain &c. (1899), Cymmrodorion Record Series, No. 3

Bede: Ecclesiastical History of the English People, trans. Leo Shirley-Price, (St Ives 1990)

Nennius: The Historia Brittonum, trans. John Allan Giles, in: Six Old English Chronicles, of which two are now first translated from the monkish Latin originals (George Bell and Sons, London 1891)

Constantius of Lyon: The Life of St. Germanus of Auxerre, eds. Thomas Noble and Thomas Head, translators, in: Soldiers of Christ: Saints' Lives from Late Antiquity and the Early Middle Ages, (Pennsylvania State University Press, 1994), pp. 75-106

www.vortigernstudies.org

[This is an Editor's Choice archive post, originally published on EHFA on 20th Jan, 2016]

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Chris Thorndycroft is the author of the Hengest and Horsa Trilogy which is set in 5th century Britain and involves Vortigern, Ambrosius Aurelianus and a whole host of other real figures of the period. He has also written the ghost story The Visitor at Anningley Hall (a prequel to M. R. James’s ‘The Mezzotint’). Visit his blog here; https://christhorndycroft.wordpress.com/

John Wesley and the Methodist Movement

by Gwen Tuinman

John Wesley

Had you been strolling a country road, in the early 1740s near Bristol or London, you may have observed John Wesley approaching on horseback. He’d have been oblivious to your presence with his face pressed close to his bible and reins laying slack across the horse’s neck. It may have been difficult to see in him, the man who’d withstand persecution by the Church of England, argue passionately for prison reform, or urge William Wilberforce to continue in his struggle to end slavery. But he did these things and more.

John Wesley, father of the Methodist Movement, spurred the faith of people – across England, Ireland, America and the Caribbean – by teaching that religion was meant for everyone regardless of social class and wealth. His teaching methods shadowed the same disciplined approach he applied to his own spiritual life. He strove not to create a new religion, but rather a new way of being Anglican, the church of which he was an ordained minister.

Samuel Wesley and Susanna Wesley

Born July 1703, John was the fifteenth child of Samuel and Susanna Wesley. Through their example, he became a devout man and an independent thinker. In September 1684, John’s father registered as a “Pauper Scholar” at Exeter College in Oxford, tutoring fellow students and serving their evening meal in order to finance tuition fees. Even as a Church of England clergyman, financial woes plagued Samuel Wesley. His loyalist politics, controversial poetry publications and delivery of verbose academia from the pulpit failed to interest parishioners.

The relationship between John’s parents was often stormy. His mother stood her ground in the face of marital disagreement, stating that “since I’m willing to let him quietly enjoy his opinions he ought not to deprive me of my liberty and conscience.” John’s father often sought refuge by traveling to London.

During one of Samuel’s absences, Susannah took dissatisfaction in the curate’s performance. She took the spiritual well being of her ten children in hand by conducting Sunday evening prayers that quickly expanded into sessions of worship. The rectory floor was soon filled with 200 worshipers, far exceeding the attendance of Sunday morning services. Samuel wrote to Susanna and requested that she give up her activities. She promised to desist, as an obedient wife, but warned Samuel that he would be responsible for these souls in need of saving. 

The rescue of the young John Wesley from the burning
parsonage at Epworth, Lincolnshire. 

John was only six years old when he awoke one February evening in 1709 to discover himself surrounded by flames. His family had been fully evacuated from the Epworth rectory, but it was only after taking a headcount that his parents realized he was missing. The fire’s heat prevented rescuers from reentering the house. John climbed onto a desk and shouted through a window. Onlookers formed a human ladder and boosted Samuel close to the window and John leapt into his arms. Seconds later, flaming timbers crashed into the room.

Susanna henceforth claimed that her son been saved for a higher purpose, “a brand plucked from the fire”. John Wesley would spend his life trying to determine and fulfill that purpose.

In 1715, at the age of ten, John Wesley left the rigours of his mother’s home schooling program for enrolment in Charterhouse School where he would spend the next six years. He was nominated for pauper scholar status by the Duke of Buckingham, lord chamberlain to King George and the patron credited with sustaining the Wesley family at Epworth. Following Queen Anne’s death that same year, Britannia’s enemies plotted for the return of a Catholic King. A failed rebellion in the Highlands led by the Earl of Mar, paved the way for the Whigs to label every Tory a traitor. The church became a place not for prayer and ministerial duties, but rather an opportunity for patronage and self-promotion. In his adult years, John Wesley would observe this system with disdain.

Hall of Christ Church, Oxford

By 1720, John was studying at Christ Church College, Oxford, where he partook in tennis, billiards, dances, plays and the company of several young women. Upon being elected a fellow at Lincoln College in 1726, he reevaluated his immersion in such social circles. Driven by a need to discover God’s purpose in sparing him from the fire, he directed every waking moment toward the methodical pursuit of faith, free from the commission of sin.

In that same year, his brother Charles joined him at Oxford. Together they discussed ways of living, praying and thinking in order to develop strict practices for a more holy life. Charles formed a group of students whose focus was to pray and study scripture. Fellow students mocked them by dubbing them the Holy Club. After a stint of working at his father’s parish, John returned to at Oxford and took over the running of the club. He operated it in near monastic style, with members fasting and taking communion each week. The Wesley brothers involved the group in aiding the unfortunate through prison visits, giving alms to the poor, organizing education for young children and a loans system of that enabled local tradesmen to purchase necessary tools. 

King George II and the Moravian Church

John became an ordained priest of the Church of England in 1728. Seven years later, he and Charles set sail for Savannah, Georgia, in America, with plans of converting natives to Christianity.

On the crossing to America their ship, The Simmonds, encountered a violent storm during which John made an important self-discovery. He lacked faith. Below deck, a group of Moravians continued their quiet worship. When John enquired after the source of their calmness, they answered that they were unafraid of death because salvation through grace was for anyone who would chose to follow Christ. 

John Wesley preaching to Native American Indians

Nearly two years later, John returned to England, defeated by the failure of his mission and a botched relationship with Sophia Hopkey, the magistrate’s niece. He became overwrought at his deficient faith. Why had he not experienced a transformation, as the Moravians had? “I went to America to convert the Indians, but oh, who shall convert me?”

John traveled to Germany along with friend and Moravian, Peter Böhler, on a quest to understanding Moravian beliefs. Böhler observed that John was ruled not by his head, but his heart, owing to his focus on strict practices. He recommended that John preach faith until he had faith. During a Moravian bible study, John experienced the spread of a warming sensation through his heart and he was filled with faith. He felt compelled to share salvation through grace with others. While he preached that man determined his fate, the church protected its Calvinist view by turning him away from their pulpits.

He reunited with George Whitfield, a Holy Club friend, who invited him to preach in the open air. The idea repelled John. The Church of England frowned upon the conduct of services outside of church walls. In 1739, John arrived in Bristol to attend Whitfield’s sermon in a field. He moved to preach at his own open air meeting two days later with tremendous results. 

John Wesley preaching outside a church

The outdoor meeting sites were not the rolling grassy meadow of a romantic novel, but rather dangerous locations like mines and brickfields where people battled for their very survival. In the absence of social welfare, schooling, and healthcare, people were considered a resource to be used up and tossed aside. Children toiled underground. The average life expectancy was 30 years old.

Audiences flocked to hear this never before heard message – God’s love was inclusive and they had only to believe in him to access heaven. Religion had never been extended to their class. Pew rents and lack of appropriate raiment prohibited their church attendance.

John Wesley’s ability to organize and educate proved vital in perpetuating the revival’s momentum. He understood that without teachings to grow in their faith, peoples’ enthusiasm would wane. He also insisted that pride in one’s social standing be cast aside. Each man should serve his neighbour, thus addressing the physical needs of the expanding Methodist flock.

To that end, he sectioned his followers into societies. Inside the societies were classes which were further divided into bands. If people had confidence in the leaders of the small groups, they could grow in faith. Lives would be changed.

The Circuit Rider

In 1732, John wrote to his mother, Susanna, asking for the guidelines she employed in educating himself and his siblings. Her approach to educating children had been methodical, with set hours and strict curriculum. Every week, she’d designated an hour for one-to-one time with each of her ten surviving children. Similarly, John visited each society according to a schedule, but as the number of societies grew, the task proved impossible. In 1743, he drafted General Rules for the operation of each society. Circuit preachers were appointed to visit the societies located across England and Ireland, classes of approximately a dozen people studied with a teacher each week, and annual conferences were held for the purpose of coordinating doctrine.

The New Room

The New Room, constructed in Broadmead, Bristol (1739), was the first building officially licensed for Methodist worship. The site functioned as a residence for John and a place for his preachers to come for instruction, inspiration and support.

Life was not easy for Methodist preachers as many people questioned their motivations. Even John Wesley had suffered physical attacks. He was beset by paid mobs, a prizefighter and once, by a bull purposefully released into a meeting. Although John and Charles were ordained Anglican ministers, many thought they were intent on attacking the Church of England. A challenge against the church equaled a challenge to the state and king. Some people feared the Wesleys were Catholic sympathizers intent upon rallying supporters to overthrow the king. Still others protested open air preaching, claiming that soul saving should be conducted inside a church.

John Wesley continued to open air preach, drawing crowds upwards of 10 000. He’d begin at daybreak and deliver three sermons a day always taking care that his worship times didn’t interfere with local church services.

By the end of his career, he had ridden over 250,000 miles on horseback, preached 40,000 sermons of which he published 5000 in pamphlets. At the time of his death, he’d 79,000 followers in England and 40,000 in America.

Remember John Wesley

This article is an Editor's Choice and was originally published January 27, 2017. 

Media Attributions:

John Wesley, oil painting by William Hamilton (1788) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

Samuel Wesley (1662-1735) and Susanna Wesley (1669-1742) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

The rescue of the young John Wesley from the burning parsonage at Epworth, Lincolnshire. Mezzotint by S.W. Reynolds after H.P Parker [Public doman] via Wikimedia Commons

Chromolithograph of the Hall of Christ Church, Oxford, from the book Old England: A Pictorial Museum of Regal, Ecclesiastical, Baronial, Municipal, and Popular Antiquities (published by Charles Knight and Co., London, 1845, [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons] 

King George II and a group associated with the Moravian Church, attributed to Johann Valentin Haidt oil on canvas, circa 1752-1754, [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons] 

John Wesley preaching to native American Indians. Engraving, [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons] 

John Wesley preaching outside a church, [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons]

Illustration from The Circuit Rider: A Tale of the Heroic Age by Edward Eggleston depicting a Methodist circuit rider on horseback. 1906, [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons] 

The New Room: oldest Methodist chapel in the world, (Visual Hunt: Photo credit: Dogfael via Visualhunt / CC BY-NC-SA)]

Remember John Wesley, Wroot. Photo by E Asterion, [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons] 

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Gwen Tuinman is a novelist, born and raised in rural southern Ontario, Canada. She currently lives near Toronto with her husband and two chickens. Gwen's storytelling is influenced by an interest in bygone days. She is nearing completion of her current novel, set in a dying paper mill town, and preparing to begin a second, involving characters pitted against the rugged Canadian forests of the 1800's. Her short fiction has been included in The Renaissance Anthology, and has been featured in an exhibit at The Robert McLaughlin Gallery. Research and reflections relative to her works in progress can be found at gwentuinman.com.

Connect with Gwen on Facebook, Twitter (@GwenTuinman), Instagram, and Pinterest. 

Cold Remedies Before the Modern Era: The Posset

by Lauren Gilbert

Being February, the subject of health, particularly the way to cope with colds and flu, is of great interest. In western medicine, we visit the doctor, or have a chat with a pharmacist. What did they do before modern medicine became available? Home remedies such as willow bark tea or a fever drink, a plaister for a sore throat (a warm wrap for the throat, accompanied by a mixture of honey, juice of houseleek and a little alum blended and taken on a liquorice stick) were possibilities. There was even a specific Recipe to cure a Cold in THE COMPLEAT HOUSEWIFE (containing Venice treacle [also known as theriac, a concoction going back to the Middle Ages of fermented herbs, animal parts, opium and honey], powdered snake root, powdered saffron, hartshorn, and syrup of cloves).

One popular remedy for colds and fevers was the posset.

Silver posset pot, London, England, 1698 

Possets were a fairly simple and nourishing concoction that would have been suitable for adults or children, and would have been easy to drink or eat. As other home remedies evolved (or disappeared), the posset seems to have been a staple, popular for centuries, which isn’t surprising as they were also eaten for pleasure.

Possets go back well before the Georgian or Victorian eras. The name itself goes back to the 15th century. Lady Macbeth slipped her drug into the guards’ possets in Shakespeare’s play Macbeth (Act II, Scene 2). King Charles I was supposedly given a posset by his physician in 1620. A similar word possenet or postnet refers to a small pot or sauce pan, which would have been a practical utensil for making a posset. In 1554, the Spanish ambassador gave Queen Mary I and her husband Philip of Spain a posset set that contained vessels for mixing and serving the possets and for the ingredients needed as a betrothal gift. Such sets could be made of silver, porcelain or pottery and were very popular, and are highly valuable today. (Queen Mary’s set was made of crystal, gold and gems.)

Posset pot with cover, tin-glazed earthen ware

The basic ingredients for a posset include milk or cream, eggs and some kind of alcoholic beverage. At its simplest, it appears that a posset would have been a creamy and nourishing beverage, soothing to a sore throat. There are a number of recipes for possets.

In ELINOR FETTIPLACE’S RECEIPT BOOK, her recipe (which may have come from her mother and go back years before 1647 when she left her book to her niece) contains cream brought to the boil, with egg yolks, nutmeg, sugar and breadcrumbs blended in together. Left to stand before the fire, it would thicken and curdle, at which sack (a fortified wine from Spain or the Canary Islands) and ale were blended it. This may have been more of a custard than a beverage, depending on the quantity of breadcrumbs used (and the taste of the cook).

In A SIP THROUGH TIME A Collection of Old Brewing Recipes, several recipes from 1669 appear. They range from a plain ordinary posset containing no spices, to more elaborate recipes including cinnamon, nutmeg, and ambergris (an excretion from whales found on the beach), and no thickener. These recipes would have resulted in a creamy beverage. There were also recipes with added thickeners including breadcrumbs (as used in Mrs. Fettiplace’s recipe) or French barley. The added thickeners would result in a heavier, more custard-like consistency. The alcohol used in these recipes was primarily Sack wine, varied with muscadine, which were blended with Rhenish or white wine sometimes. Ale did not appear in these recipes.

Eliza Smith included a couple of recipes for posset in her THE COMPLEAT HOUSEWIFE (16th edition, published in 1758), neither of which contained added thickeners. (The quantity of eggs alone would have been sufficient to form a custard consistency.) Both seem to have been designed to be eaten at the table.

Elizabeth Raffald’s THE EXPERIENCED ENGLISH HOUSEKEEPER of 1769 included instructions to temper the wine with hot cream or milk to prevent the posset from curdling. Mrs. Raffald included six recipes using Sack or Lisbon wine, brandy, or ale. She also featured a lemon posset that includes the juice of a lemon, Mountain wine, and orange flower water or French brandy. Although the sack, brandy and wine possets were dishes to be served with toast or tea wafers and eaten, the lemon, almond, and ale possets appear to be more of a beverage or soup consistency.

Posset cup, silver decorated with repouse work, 1764-1765,

Mistress Margaret Dods’ COOK AND HOUSEWIFE’S MANUAL from the mid-1820’s included a sack posset with cream thickened with grated sweet biscuits (cookie crumbs) which was sweetened and spiced with cinnamon and nutmeg; a variation used milk and eggs (instead of the cream and crumbs). Her instructions include warming the wine before adding it. She recommended “pour it quickly from one vessel to another till perfectly smooth....”(1) (Based on these instructions, a consistency similar to modern eggnog or a bit thicker might be expected). There was also an ale posset thickened with breadcrumbs and sweetened but not spiced. This one is ready to be served when the head (curd) rises, so a spoon would have been helpful. 

Instructions with these recipes, especially the earlier versions, allow a cook a great deal of leeway in preparation. For the wealthy, the exotic spices, sugar and wine would have been easily procured. For those of lower income, ale and honey could have been substituted. It can be made with or without eggs. A variation of the posset would have been available to many households to provide a measure of warmth and comfort to a family member suffering from a fever or a cold. A posset would also be a welcome and soothing treat, especially if particular tired or distressed.

Lemon posset with almond bread 

Possets are still enjoyed today as a dessert. A simple internet search will generate numerous recipes for possets for the modern cook. (Lemon posset seems to be particularly popular these days.) With a consistency somewhere between a pudding and a custard, the posset can be found on menus and tables. Even though we would not consider them a medicament, their soothing sweetness is still enjoyed after all these centuries.

(1) Dods, Mistress Margaret. COOK AND HOUSEWIFE’S MANUAL. Page 463.

Image credits

Silver posset pot, London, England, 1698, Science Museum, London, Wellcome Images (CC BY 4.0) http://wellcomeimages.org

Posset pot with cover, tin-glazed earthen ware (British, Bristol, early 18th Century) Metropolitan Museum of Art / CC0

Posset cup, silver decorated with repouse work, 1764-1765, Wellcome Library, London. (CC BY 4.0)

Lemon posset with almond bread by jules, CC BY

Sources include:

Dods, Mistress Margaret. COOK AND HOUSEWIFE’S MANUAL. First published 1829 by Oliver & Boyd, Edinburgh. This edition was published in 1988 by Rosters Ltd., London.

Raffald, Elizabeth. THE EXPERIENCED ENGLISH HOUSEKEEPER. First published 1769. This edition was published in 1997 by Southover Press, Lewes.

Renfrow, Cindy. A SIP THROUGH TIME A Collection of Old Brewing Recipes. 4th printing April 2008.

Smith, Eliza. THE COMPLEAT HOUSEWIFE. The Sixteenth Edition, with Additions. First published in 1758. This edition published 1994 by Studio Editions Ltd., London.

Spurling, Hilary. ELINOR FETTIPLACE’S RECIPT BOOK. Published 1986 by Penguin Books Ltd., Harmondsworth.

Britishfoodhistory.com “Possets” posted April 28, 2012.

Theguardian.com “Historic recipes: Sack posset, a rich pudding to cure all ills” by Regula Ysewijn, posted April 7, 2016.

Pepysdiary.com “Posset”. (Copied from Wikimedia 12 February 2020).

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Lauren Gilbert lives in Florida with her husband. Her first book, HEYERWOOD: A Novel was published in 2011. She has articles in CASTLES, CUSTOMS AND KINGS volumes 1 and 2. She has just released her second novel, A RATIONAL ATTACHMENT, and is working on a non-fiction book. Visit her website or her Facebook author page for more information.