important, so far as the kitchen is concerned, should be so rarely
represented in our nomenclature. But the reason is simple enough. To
sell in the gross, or wholesale, was a second and later step in
commercial practice. A ‘John Guter, Grossarius,’ appears in the London
City Rolls so early as 1310, but it had scarcely become a familiar name
of trade till the close of the fourteenth century.[375] In 1363 a
statute of Edward III. speaks concerning ‘Merchauntz nomez Grossers,’ so
termed because they ‘engrossent totes maners des marchandises
vendables,’ and then enhanced the price on each separate article. Before
this they had been known as the Pepperers, or Spicers Guild, such names
as ‘John le Espicer’ or ‘Nicholas le Espicer’ occurring not unfrequently
at this period. Spice, indeed, was the then general term for all manner
of drugs, aromatic and pungent, which were brought into England by
foreign and especially Venetian merchants from the East. These were
carried up and down the country again by the itinerant traders, so many
of whom I have already referred to in a previous chapter. An old song,
written against the mendicant friars, relates that, among other of their
vagaries—
Many a dyvers spyse
In bagges about they bear.
As I have just stated, however, the term ‘Grocer’ superseded that of
‘Spicer,’ and as such seems to have confined its dealings to the
modernly received limit at an early date. As we must have already seen,
each want had always hitherto been met by its own special dealer. With
us now the Cutler would supply all the ‘Knifesmith’ and ‘Spooner’ then
separately furnished; while our ‘Ironmongers’ or ‘Hosiers’ or
‘Upholdsters’ would each swallow up half-a-dozen of former occupations.
Thus it was here. Our ‘John le Saucers’ or ‘Ada la Saucers’ provided
salt pickle.[376] As with the ‘Frankelein,’ so with many another there—
Wo was his cook, but if his sauce were
Poinant and sharpe, and redy all his gear.
‘Peter le Salter’ or ‘Hugh Saltman’ furnished forth the chloride itself;
‘William le Mustarder’ or ‘Peter le Mustardman,’ or ‘Alice
Mustard-maker,’ the mustard; ‘Thomas le Pepperer,’[377] now spelt
‘Pepper,’ the pepper; ‘Ralph le Soper’ or ‘Adam le Savonier,’ the soap.
Each set before his customers’ eyes those peculiar articles of household
consumption their names severally represent. All these, having
flourished in the earlier age, established for themselves a better place
in our register than our rare ‘Grosers’ or ‘Grossers,’ who in this
respect only appeared in time to save themselves from oblivion, though
they have long ago revenged themselves on their humbler brethren by
swallowing up entire the occupations they followed. It is curious to
note that in later days, through the various accessions of luxury, the
result in well-nigh every case of foreign discovery, even ‘Grocer’ has
failed to comprehend all. In our country villages we all but invariably
find added ‘and licensed dealer in tea, coffee, tobacco, snuff, &c.’ In
our towns, however, this addendum has been dropped, and a ‘grocer’s
shop’ is the place we turn to, without thought of refusal, for these
modern introduced luxuries. What changes in our domestic resources are
here presented for our notice! In my previous chapter it was the
over-abundance of certain rural and primitive surnames which told the
story of the times in which they sprang. The contrary is here the case.
It is in the absence of particular names, some of which I have already
noticed, we have the best guide to the extraordinary changes that have
taken place in our household economy. Look at our tea-table. Already in
the two short centuries from its introduction this article has given its
name to a special meal, having thrown the once afternoon supper into a
nocturnal repast. Even Shakespeare could only say—
Now can I break my fast, dine, sup, and sleep.[378]
How strangely would it have affected our nomenclature had this and other
like novelties been brought in earlier. We should have had ‘William le
Coffyer’ giving us endless anxiety in the endeavour to separate it from
the actual ‘Godfrey le Coffrer.’ We should have had, too, such folk as
‘John le Riceman,’ ‘Walter le Snuffer,’ ‘Ralph le Tobacconer,’ shortened
into ‘Bacconer,’ and the still more awkward ‘le Potatoman,’ almost as
inconvenient as ‘Garlickmonger,’ though doubtless it would have been
quickly curtailed into ‘Taterman’ or ‘Taterer’ or ‘Tatman’ and ‘Tatter,’
and later on again into other forms too obscure to contemplate. The very
recounting of these changes, which are strictly on a par with other
names of a less hypothetical character, serve to impress us with the
difficulties we have to encounter in the task of deciphering many of our
surnames after the wear and tear they have undergone through lapsing
generations.
But I must not wander. The sale of vegetables and fruits left its mark
in our former ‘John le Fruemongers’ and ‘Ralph le Frueters,’ and ‘Hugh
le Fruters;’ ‘Richard le Graper’ testifying seemingly to a more specific
dealing. Our ‘Butchers’ of course have been busy enough from the day
that the Normans brought them in. The variety of spelling which is found
in olden records of this name is so great that I dare not attempt a
list, but I believe there still exist, _sans_ the article, such of the
old forms as ‘le Bouchier,’ ‘le Bowcher,’ and ‘le Bowsher,’ while
‘Botcher’ is at least not altered in sound from ‘le Bochere’ of the same
period—‘Labouchere,’ which preserves this article, is of more modern
introduction from the Gallic shore. But the Norman was not without his
rivals. Such names as ‘Walter le Fleshmongere,’ or ‘Eudo le
Flesshemongere,’ or ‘Richard le Flesmongere,’[379] prove that the Saxon
did not give up even this branch of daily occupation without a struggle,
and in the two isolated cases of ‘William Fleschour’ and ‘John
Fleshewer’ that I have lit upon we are reminded that Scotland, with its
still flourishing ‘flesher,’ is but the asylum where this truly Saxon
term found its latest retreat. Even yet in England with the country folk
the butchers’ shambles are the ‘flesh-market.’ That ‘Fleshmonger’ was
the colloquial term, we may prove from a list of tradesmen mentioned in
‘Cocke Lorelle’s Bote,’ a poem I have already quoted several times;
reference is there made to—
Woolemen, vynterers and flesshemongers,
Salters, jewelers, and haberdashers.
The ‘Pardoner,’ too, in the same poem, thus begins his roll—
Here is first Cocke Lorelle the Knyght,
And Symkyn Emery, mayntenaunce agaynz ryght;
With Slyngethryfte Fleshemonger.
But if not in the common mouth, yet in our rolls there were two other
names of this craft, which we must not pass over unrecorded. They were
those of ‘Carnifex’ and ‘Massacrer,’ both representing the
slaughter-house, I doubt not. The existence of the former would lead us
to suppose that the old Roman hangsman was settled in our midst, but it
was merely a mediæval Latinism for a butcher.[380] After the fashion of
the time nicknames were affixed upon everybody, and our ‘Butchers’ and
‘Slaughters’ did not escape. The Hundred Rolls alone register the names
of ‘Reginald Cullebol,’ ‘Henry Cullebulloc,’ ‘William Cullehare,’ and
‘William Culle-hog,’ or in more modern parlance ‘Kill-bull,’
‘Kill-bullock,’ Kill-hare,’ and ‘Kill-hog.’ The original and more
correct ‘poulter,’ he who dealt in ‘poults’ or poultry, as we now term
it, has bequeathed his name to our ‘Poulters’ and ‘Pulters.’ Such names
as ‘Adam le Puleter,’ or ‘Bernard le Poleter,’ or ‘William le Pulter,’
by the frequency with which we come across them, show how much did the
farmyard help to provide in these days for the supply of the
dining-table.
I have no peny,
Poletes to bugge (buy),
says Langland, showing that in his time they were commonly exhibited for
sale. Indeed, the fact that in the York Festival of 1415 the ‘bouchers’
and ‘pulterers’ walked in procession together clearly proves their
importance at the period in which the surname arose.
We have already mentioned the fishmonger, or what was practically the
fishmonger, the fisherman, in our last chapter while surveying rural
occupations. Our rare ‘Pessoners’[381] as representative of the Norman,
and common ‘Fishers’ of the Saxon, lived in a day when under Roman
ecclesiastic influences fish was of infinitely more importance than it
is in this nineteenth century, when it is merely used as a go-between or
mediator to soothe down the differences betwixt soup and beef. Then the
year was dotted with days of abstinence, or strongly indented with
seasons like Lent. Among the higher circles it mattered but little. So
much had the culinary art excelled in respect of fish that such periods
as they came round only brought to the epicurean mind visions of
gastronomic skill that put the sterner and weightier joints utterly in
the background for the time being. Pasties of herrings, congers, or
lampreys were especially popular, and, judging from the lists of courses
contained in some of our records, that only one of our mediæval monarchs
should have succumbed to the latter is simply an historic marvel! Dishes
too were prepared from the whale, the porpoise, the grampus, and the
sea-wolf. ‘It is lamentable,’ says, facetiously, a writer in ‘Chambers’s
Book of Days,’ referring to these viands as Lent repasts, ‘to think how
much sin they thus occasioned among our forefathers, before they were
discovered to be _mammalian_.’
A curious name is found in the Hundred Rolls, that of ‘Symon
Haryngbredere.’ In what particular way he carried on his occupation I do
not know. ‘Richard le Harenger’ is more explicable. Our ‘Conders’ were
partners in the fishing excursions of the above. A full account of their
duties may be found in Cowel’s ‘Interpreter,’ published in 1658. The
conder stood upon the higher cliffs by the sea coast in the time of
herring fishing, and with a staff or branch of a tree made signs to the
boatmen which way the shoal was going. It seems there is a certain
discoloured aspect of the water as they pass along, which is more
apparent from an elevation than from the level of the sea.[382] In
mediæval times the plaice was a very favourite dish. The term it usually
went by was that of ‘but.’ Thus it is, I doubt not, we meet with such
entries, as ‘William le Butor’ or ‘Hugh Butmonger.’ From some fancied
resemblance to this fish, too, it would be that such humorous sobriquets
as ‘Walter le But’ or ‘John le But’ would arise.
But while good and solid food could thus be purchased on every hand, we
must not forget drink, for our forefathers were great tipplers. I have
already mentioned our ‘William le Viners’ or ‘Roger le Vinours,’ in most
cases, I doubt not, strictly cultivators of that plant on English soil.
None the less certain, however, is it that our many early ‘John le
Vineturs’ or ‘Alexander le Vineters’ were also, as merchants, employed
in the importation of the varied wines of the Continent into our land.
How abundant and how diverse they were an old poem shall tell us—
Ye shall have Spayneshe wyne and Gascoyne,
Rose colure, whyt, claret, rampyon,
Tyre, capryck, and malvesyne,
Sak, raspyce, alycaunt, rumney,
Greke, ipocrase, new made clary,
Such as ye never had.
The entry ‘Adam le Wyneter’ reminds us that in all probability it is to
our early wine-merchants also we owe our ‘Winters.’ ‘Walter le Brewers,’
or ‘Emma le Brewsteres,’ or ‘Lawrence Beerbrewers,’[383] abound on every
hand. We are reminded of the last by ‘Cocke Lorelle’—
Chymney-swepers, and costerde-mongers,
Lodemen and berebrewers.
The Norman equivalent for our ‘brewer’ was ‘bracer,’ and thus it is we
meet with such a name as ‘Stephen le Bracer’ or ‘Clarissa la
Braceresse.’ Latinized forms are found in ‘Reginald Braciator’ or
‘Letitia Braciatrix.’ Brewing was at first entirely in the hands of
women. We have here ‘brewster,’ ‘braceress,’ and ‘braciatrix,’ and such
phrases as ‘alewife’ and the obsolete ‘brewife’ (though it lingered on
till Shakespeare’s day) show the ale-making and ale-selling business to
have been mainly hers. ‘Malter’[384] and ‘Maltster’ or ‘Malster’ both
exist, but the latter has ever denoted the avocation.[385] ‘Tapper’ and
‘Tapster,’ too, are both occupants of our directories, but as a term of
industry the latter has ever held its own.[386] It is the same with
several other occupations which we have already noticed. It is so with
‘bread-baking,’ manifesting a woman’s work. As we have already seen, the
familiar expression in olden times was ‘bakester,’ now represented by
our ‘Baxters.’ It is so with weaving. Our nomenclature, as I have
previously shown, still preserves the ‘Webster’ and the ‘Kempster’ from
being forgotten. In the winter evening, as the logfire crackled on the
hearth, and while the good man was chopping wood, or tending his cattle,
or mending his outdoor gear, who but his wife should be drawing woof and
warp in the chimney nook? Whose work but hers should this be to clothe
with her own thrifty fingers the backs of them who belonged to her? But,
as with the others, her work in time became less a home occupation than
a public craft, and thus it got into the hands of the male creation.
While ‘Spinner’ still flourishes as a surname, the feminine ‘spinster’
never obtained a place in our nomenclature.[387] This is no doubt to be
attributed to that early position it took in regard to female
relationship, which it still holds. This would naturally prevent it from
losing its strictly feminine character.[388]
A vintner went commonly by the name of a wine tunner, tunner itself
being the ordinary term for one engaged in casking liquor. ‘Tun’ rather
than ‘barrel’ was in use. In the ‘Confessio Amantis’ it is said of
Jupiter that he—
Hath in his cellar, as men say,
Two townes full of lovedrink.
Thus have arisen such words as ‘tunnel’ or ‘tun-dish,’ the vessel with
broad rim and narrow neck, used for transferring the wine from cask to
bottle. That our nomenclature should possess tokens of all this was
inevitable. We find such names as ‘Edmund le Tonder’ (F.F.),[389]
‘William Tunder’ (F.F.), ‘William le Toneleur’ (H.), ‘William le Tonier’
(H.), ‘Richard le Tundur’ (T.), ‘Hugh le Tunder’ (A.), or ‘Ralph le
Toneler’ (A.) Till the close of the fifteenth century wine of
home-production was the common drink, for, though beer was not by any
means unknown to us, it was not till the Flemings brought us the hop
that it became a familiar beverage. We all know the old couplet—
Hops, Reformation, baize, and beer,
Came into England all in one year.
Previous to this various bitter ingredients had been admixtured,
chiefly, however, wormwood. ‘John de la Bruere’ or ‘William de Bruario’
are the local surnames met with in early records.
But we have been wandering. The Mayor of York in 1273 was ‘John le
Espicer, aut Apotecarius’[390] (so the record is put), and while the two
trades were distinct in character, there can be no doubt at the period
referred to there would be much in common between them. The one would
sell certain spices and drugs as ingredients for dishes, while the other
disposed of the same for medicinal uses. Our ‘Potticarys,’ of course,
represent the latter. The term itself, professionally speaking, is fast
becoming obsolete, having been forced into the background by our
‘chemists’ and ‘druggists.’ But in the fourteenth and fifteenth
centuries it was the one name for all such. In the ‘Pardoner’s Tale’ the
abbreviated form[391] is familiarly used—
And forth he goth, no longer would he tarry,
Into the town unto a Potecary,
And praied him that he him wolde sell
Some poison, that he might his ratouns (rats) quell.
Such men as ‘John le Chirurgien’ or ‘Thomas le Surigien’ are
occasionally found, but through the fact of the craft being all but
entirely in the hands of the barber, they are rare, and I do not see
that they have surnominally bequeathed us any descendants. Even so late
as the reign of Elizabeth this connection seems to have commonly
existed. In the orders and rules for an academy for her wards the
following passage occurs with respect to the teaching of medicine:—‘The
Phisition shall practize to reade Chirurgerie, because, thorough wante
of learning therein, we have verie few good Chirurgions, yf any at all,
by reason that Chirurgerie is not now to be learned in any other place
than in a Barbor’s shoppe. And in that shoppe most dawngerous,
especially in time of plague, when the ordinary trimming of men for
clenlynes must be done by those which have to do with infected
personnes.’[392] That ‘Thomas Blodlettere’ and ‘William Blodlettere’
should be conspicuous by their absence in modern rolls is not
surprising. Their former existence, however, reminds us how in the past
the fleshy arms of our forefathers were constantly exposed to this once
thought panacea for all physical ills. It has long ceased, however, to
be the resortment it was, and science, by taking it out of the tonsor’s
hands, has left it to the wiser discretion of a more cultivated and
strictly professional class. We have no traces of the dentist, as he too
was absorbed in the barbitonsorial craft. Some lines, quoted by Mr.
Hotten in his interesting book on ‘Signboards,’ remind us of this—
His pole with pewter basons hung,
Black, rotten teeth in order strung,
Rang’d cups that in the window stood,
Lined with red rags to look like blood,
Did well his threefold trade explain,
Who shaved, drew teeth, and breathed a vein.
Here, therefore, we see one more explanation of the plentifulness of our
‘Barbers,’ ‘Barbours,’ ‘Barbors,’ and more uncouth-seeming ‘Barbars.’
The old records give us an equal or even greater variety in such
registrations as ‘John le Barber,’ ‘Richard le Barbour,’ ‘Nicholas le
Barbur,’ ‘Thomas le Barbitonsor,’ or ‘Ralph Tonsor;’[393] while feminine
skill in operating upon the chins of our forefathers is commemorated in
such an entry as ‘Matilda la Barbaresse.’ It is just possible, however,
that she kept an apprentice, although such things are still to be seen,
I believe, as women-shavers. But the one chief sobriquet for the medical
craft, and the one which, excepting our ‘Barbers,’ has made the deepest
indenture upon our nomenclature, was that of ‘Leech’—_was_, I say, for
saving in our cow-leeches it is now, professionally speaking, obsolete.
In our many ‘Leeches,’ ‘Leaches,’ and ‘Leachmans,’ however, its
reputation is not likely soon to be forgotten. With the country folk it
was the one familiar term in use. Langland, while speaking of—
One frere Flaterie,
Physicien and surgien,
makes mention also of—
Conscience called a Leche
That could well shryve,
To go salve those that sike ben,
And through synne y-wounded.
‘Le Leche’ is the general spelling of earlier times, and it is that of
the lines just quoted.[394] The Hundred Rolls furnish us with a ‘Hugh le
Leche,’ while ‘Robert le Leche’ figures in the Parliamentary Writs.
Having just referred to the barber, we may here introduce an obsolete
surname somewhat connected with his craft, that of ‘le Loveloker.’ In
the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries the lovelock was as familiar as
the chignon is in the nineteenth, only that the former was worn alike by
men and women. They wore curls or plaits of hair, oftentimes adorned
with bows or ribbons, and hung in front of the ear and about the
temples. If false, the hair was fastened by means of adhesive plaster.
In the ‘Affectionate Shepherd’ it is thus alluded to—
Why should thy sweete love-locke hang dangling downe,
Kissing thy girdle-stud with falling pride?
Although thy skin be white, thy hair is browne;
Oh let not then thy haire thy beautie hide.
How long this custom existed, and how commonly the exquisites of the
period wore these pendants, we may judge by the fact of a ‘Walter le
Loveloker’ occurring in the Hundred Rolls of the fourteenth century.
Probably he added to this the craft of peruke-maker, and between the
two, I doubt not, throve and grew fat—for wigs too were an early
institution. The surname of occupation has been long obsolete, but the
simpler ‘Lovelock’ is firmly set in our registers.
In a day when the luxury of gas was unknown, and the hearth, burning
more generally with wood than coal, would throw but a chequered light
athwart the room, we ought not to be surprised to find the chandlery
business to be somewhat demonstrative, and so it is. In such a name as
‘Michel le Oyneter’ or ‘Hointer,’ we are reminded of the old melter of
grease, and of the equally old English term ‘to oint,’ for to ‘anoint.’
With him, therefore, we may associate such of his confrères as ‘William
le Candelmaker,’ ‘Roger le Chaundeler,’ ‘Richard le Chaundler,’ ‘William
le Candeler,’[395] or ‘Thomas le Candleman,’ names all in existence
formerly, some of which still abide with us. In ‘William le Cirgier’ we
are once more reminded of the earlier religious rites of our Church and
its many vigils, from a performance of which he who dealt in wax tapers,
or _cierges_, as they were then styled, would derive no doubt a steady
gain. In the ‘Romance of the Rose’ we are told—
The nine thousand maidens dere,
That beren in Heaven their cierges clere,
Of which men rede in church and sing,
Were take in secular clothing.
With these latter then it is we must associate such a name as ‘John
Wexmaker.’
While, however, we are dwelling upon such and similar wants in the
domestic consumption, we are naturally led to make inquiry concerning
the utensils in fashion at this period, and of those who provided them.
Of drinking vessels we have many, for, as we have previously hinted,
this was a decidedly drinking age. Chief of all was the ‘Mazerer.’ No
word could be in more familiar use in the day we are speaking of than
the ‘macer’ or ‘maslin,’ carved from the maple. It was the favourite
bowl of all classes of society. By the rich it was valued according as
it was made from the knotted grain, or chased and rimmed with gold and
silver and precious gems. We are told of Sire Thopas how that—
They fetched him first the swete win,
And made eke in a maselin,
And real spicerie.
There is scarce a record of any magnitude or importance which has not
its several surnames derived from the occupation of carving this cup,
and as the term itself was variously pronounced and spelt, so did the
name vary. For instances the Hundred Rolls give us ‘Adam le Mazerer;’
the Close Rolls, ‘William le Macerer;’ the Warranty Rolls, ‘William le
Mazeliner;’ and the London Records give us again a ‘John le Mazerer.’
Besides these we have ‘Mazelyn,’ ‘Maselyn,’ and ‘Mazarin,’ probably
sign-names, the latter familiarised to us in the celebrated Cardinal of
that name. Strange to say, ‘Maslin’ and ‘Masser,’ or ‘Macer,’ all rare,
are now the only relics we possess of this once well-known surname and
occupation. No instance I can furnish more clearly demonstrates the
uncertainty of descent in our personal nomenclature. Such a name as
‘Geoffrey le Hanaper’ or ‘William Hampermaker’ bequeaths us a strange
story of changed circumstance. The shorter appellation, common enough at
this time, still lives in our ‘Hampers.’ While the macer was invariably
of maple, the ‘hanap,’ or two-handed goblet, might be of wood or metal.
From the fact of a ‘hanaper,’ Latinized in our archives into
‘hanaperium,’ being the crate where these hanaps were kept, it acquired
a secondary sense of a repository for things of a more general
character. Thus has arisen the ‘Hanaper Office’[396] in Chancery, where
writs were treasured up in a basket; and thus also it is that we now
talk of a ‘hamper,’ a term so delightfully familiar to schoolboys about
Christmas time. Our common ‘Bowlers’ represent such olden personages as
‘Robert le Bollere’ or ‘Adam le Boloure,’ they who made the cheap wooden
‘bowl’ or ‘boll.’ The old spelling still survives botanically in such a
phrase as we find in the Authorized Version, where it speaks of the
‘flax being bolled,’ that is, the seed vessel was forming. It is always
so spelt with our mediæval writers. Thus Glutton, in the ‘Plowman’s
Vision,’ after sleeping away his last drunken bout, wakes, and—
The firste worde that he warpe
Was, ‘Were is the bolle?’
‘William le Cuppere’ and ‘Richard le Kuppere,’ while engaged in the same
occupation, are, speaking surnominally, absorbed, I doubt not, by our
‘Coopers’ and ‘Cowpers.’ ‘Copper’ may be but another antique form of the
same. Langland speaks of—
Coupes of clere gold
And coppes of silver.
I shall have occasion almost immediately to mention Chaucer, as speaking
of ‘turning cups,’ which would seem to infer that they too were often
made of wood.
Another name once existing was that of ‘Doubler,’ a maker or seller of
the ‘doubler’ or ‘dobeler,’ or dish; a term derived from the French
‘doublier.’ The word is still in use in the North of England,[397] and
both ‘Doubler’ and ‘Doubleman’ are in our directories of to-day. The
name of ‘Scutelaire’ must be set here also, though when we think of our
modern coalscuttle we might imagine it somewhat of an interloper. A
change, however, has come over the stricter meaning of the word. A
‘scutel’ was formerly nothing more nor less than a wooden or metallic
dish or platter used on our early dressoirs for culinary purposes. It
seems ever to have had its place in the dining-hall, for in the
household expenses of Bishop Swinfield (Camden Soc.) we find the entry,
‘xv. scutellis, xvii. salsariis.’ The learned editor of this book,
commenting upon this passage, says, ‘“scutella” is a word of somewhat
extensive application to dishes or platters, saucers or salvers, and it
is retained in our present English “scuttle.”’ I doubt not with him that
while ‘scutum,’ a shield, is the root, the term is here intended to
refer to the large flat spoons or plates used for the sauce-dishes. It
is from his resemblance to these that some wide-mouthed country bumpkin
is set down in the Hundred Rolls as ‘Arnold Scutelmuth,’ while the
occupation of making them finds its memorial in the Rolls of Parliament
in such a sobriquet as ‘James le Scutelaire.’ Speaking, however, of the
dining table, we may here mention the cutler. Of such a name as ‘Henry
Knyfesmythe’ I have already had occasion to hint. The cutler enjoyed, or
perhaps I ought to say was the victim of, a very uncertain orthography
in mediæval times, and some of the forms found are extremely curious. I
may cite such personages as ‘Richard le Cutyler,’ ‘John le Cotiler,’
‘Peter le Cotyler,’ ‘Henry le Coteler,’ or ‘Solomon le Cotiller’ as
representative of those which were then most in vogue. All are now
content, it would seem, to be absorbed in the simple ‘Cutler.’ Strange
to say, I cannot find a single ancestor of our familiar ‘Spooner.’ A
mediæval rhymester, however, speaks of ‘sponers, turners, and hatters.’
With many of these names I have just mentioned the ironmonger would have
much to do. The uncertain form of the term used for this material gave
rise to three familiar words, those of ‘iron,’ ‘ise,’ or ‘ire.’ Trevisa
speaks of England as being plenteous in ‘veynes of metayls, of bras, of
yre, of leed, of tyn, of selver.’[398] Thus while ‘Henry le Ironmonger’
dealt, as no one of my readers will doubt, in vessels and utensils of
the material his name suggests, it is not to be supposed that ‘Geoffrey
le Iremonger’ or ‘William le Irremongere’ was but a cant nickname for
one of splenetic temperament; or that in ‘Isabel le Isemonger’ or ‘Agnes
la Ismongere’ we have traces of any disposition for those frozen creams
which in the hot summer time we of the nineteenth century are so glad to
seek on the confectioner’s counter. All alike were hardware
manufacturers. The present forms are ‘Iremonger,’ ‘Irmonger,’ and
‘Ironmonger.’
It may seem strange that wood should hold such a conspicuous position in
work of a culinary nature, but it is with good reason. We must remember
all our ornamental fictile vessels were unknown to our forefathers. It
was not till the close of the sixteenth century they came into any
settled use. It is to this circumstance we must doubtless refer the
extraordinary prevalence of our ‘Turners.’ Not the least important
articles of their workmanship would be the vessels they turned off from
the lathe. That Jack-of-all-trades, the Miller of Trumpington, could,
according to Chaucer, amongst his many other achievements, ‘turn
cuppes.’[399] When wood, however, was not used, the utensils were of the
roughest character—mugs, jars, and such like vessels, formed of the
common baked and glazed clay, and reserved for the ruder requirements of
the household. Our ‘Stephen le Crockers’ and ‘John le Crokers’ (P.
W.)—for both forms then as now are found—made simply the glazed crock,
or ‘crouke,’ as Chaucer has it, used for holding butter or milk or such
like store—vessels, in fact, reserved for the scullery or the pantry
rather than the parlour or hall. John de Trevisa, writing in 1387, says
in his description of Britain: ‘There is also white clay, and red for to
make of crokkes, and steenes (stone jars) and other vessels.’ The same
may be said of our ‘Jarmans.’ Most of our domestic utensils, therefore,
if not of wood or clay, were made of metal, and this generally of a
mixed kind. ‘Henry le Brasour’ or ‘Robert le Brazur,’ now ‘Brazier’ or
‘Brasher,’ worked in brass; ‘Thomas le Latoner,’ or ‘William le
Latoner,’ in latten or bronze;[400] while a mixture of lead and tin
fully employed the wits and hands of our ‘Pewters,’ ‘Pewtrers,’ and
‘Founders.’[401] We must not suppose therefore, that ‘John le Discher’
or ‘Robert le Disshere’ (with their once feminine partner, ‘Margaret la
Disheress’), and ‘Ranulf le Poter’ or ‘Adam le Potter’ or ‘Thomas
Potman,’[402] laboured after the modern style. The ‘disher’ all but
invariably worked in pewter,[403] and the ‘potter,’ if not in the same,
could only resort to common clay as an alternative. ‘Calisher’ is
probably the old ‘le Calicer’ or ‘Chalicer.’ The more modern spelling is
found in the London Records, in 1310, where mention is made of ‘Ralph de
Chichestre, Chalicer.’ The ‘chalice’ has now, however, allied itself so
entirely with the sacramental office of our Church that it is hard to
regard it in the light of an ordinary utensil. As a trade-sign a chalice
would be readily conspicuous, and to this we owe, no doubt, our
‘Challis’s’ and ‘Challices.’
While speaking, however, of drinking vessels, I must perforce allude to
the horner. I need not remind my reader how many are the descendants of
such a man as ‘Richard le Horner’ or ‘John le Horner,’ but it may not
equally have struck him how all-important would be his trade at such a
period as this. That his chief manufacture was that of the musical horn
I cannot doubt, so used as it was officially or ordinarily, at fair and
festival, at dance and revelry, in time of peace and in time of war. The
‘Promptorium Parvulorum’ describes it as ‘hornare, or horne-maker.’
Still this would not be all—far from it. Windows were commonly made of
this material, frames were constructed of it, the child’s horn-book
being but a memory of this; lanterns were formed of it, cups of all
sizes were fashioned from it, chessmen were manufactured out of it. In
the ‘Franklin’s Tale’ descriptive of Winter it is said—
Janus sits by the fire with double berd,
And drinketh of his bugle-horn the wine.
As a sign-name ‘at the horn’ would be a common expression, and certainly
we have had plenty of ‘Horns,’ if not the ‘horn of plenty,’ at all times
during the last six hundred years.
Turning for a moment to vessels of a more general character, our
‘Coopers’ or ‘Cowpers’[404] or ‘Coupers’ have ever flourished
extensively. Such forms as ‘Thomas le Cuper,’ ‘Warin le Couper,’ or
‘Richard le Cupare’ are found on every side; while even such entries as
‘Richard Cowpeman’ or ‘Roger Cowperese’ may be occasionally alighted
upon. The term ‘coop’ is not in itself in common use now—indeed, saving
in composition, as in _hencoop_, for instance, it is all but obsolete.
The Norman and more correct ‘cuve’ gave us such early names as ‘Ralph le
Cuver’ or ‘John le Cover,’ or ‘Adam le Covreur’ or ‘Robert le Coverur,’
the latter being one more example of a reduplicated termination.[405]
Our modern ‘Covers,’ however, preserve the earlier and more simple form.
Our ‘Cadmans,’ once written ‘Cademans,’ framed the cade or barrel, the
sign-name of which gave us the notorious Jack Cade of early
insurrectionary times. Shakespeare facetiously suggests a different
origin when he makes Dick the butcher to insinuate that it was for—
Stealing a cade of herring.
In either case the same word is used, and the derivation in no way
impeached. Our ‘Barrells’ are either sign-names also, or but corruptions
of such an old entry as ‘Stephen le Bariller.’ ‘Alexander le Hopere’ and
‘Andrew le Hopere,’ now ‘Hooper,’ explain themselves.[406] Doubtless
they would be busy enough at this time in strengthening these several
barrels, cuves, coops, and cades with pliant bands, whether of wood or
metal. Speaking, however, of wooden bands, reminds us of our ‘Leapers,’
‘Leapmans,’ and ‘Lipmans.’ A ‘leap’ was a basket of flexible, but
strong, materials, its occurrence in our old writers being so frequent
as to need no example.[407] The ‘maund’ was similar in character, but
made of more pliant bands, probably of rushes, for we find it in common
use by our early fishermen. Our ‘Maunders’ and ‘Manders’ are, I think,
to be set here, therefore, either as manufacturers or as wayside
beggars, who bore them as the receptacles of the doles they got. Another
supposition is that they were beggars who acquired the sobriquet because
they maundered out their petition for alms. I cannot but think the
former is the more likely derivation, our Maundy Thursday itself having
got its name from the practice of doling out the gifts for the poor from
the basket then so named.
But we have not even yet completed our list of surnames derivable from
manufactures of this class. Our ‘Coffers’ represent seemingly the same
word in a twofold capacity. We find occasional records where the
cofferer was undoubtedly an official servant, a treasurer, one who
carried the money of his lord in his journeys up and down.[408] More
often, however, he was a tradesman, a maker or dealer in coffers or
coffins, the two words being once used altogether indiscriminately.[409]
Many of my readers who are familiar with Greek will recognise the more
literal translation and meaning of the word in Wicklyffe’s rendering of
Mark vi. 43. ‘And they token the relyves of broken mete, twelve coffyns
full.’ Lacking any other name to represent the undertaker’s business, I
doubt not our early ‘William le Cofferers’ and ‘Godfrey le Coffrers’
were quite able and willing to furnish forth this portion of the funeral
outfit. These early surnames, then, must be set beside our already
explained ‘Arkwrights,’ while, as sign-names, our ‘Coffins’ and
‘Coffers’ (supposing the latter not to be a curter form of ‘Coffrer’)
will be as readily recognisable.
While, however, wood, clay, and the various cheaper metals were thus
brought into requisition to provide the utensils of the household and
the means of carriage, we must not forget that leather, too, had its
uses in these respects. It is this lets us into the secret of the
numerosity of our ‘Butlers.’ Important as undoubtedly was the ‘Boteler’
to the feudal residence, that fact alone would scarcely account for the
large number of ‘le Botillers’ or ‘le Botelers’ we find in every
considerable roll. The fact is, the name was both official and
occupative. Of this there can be no doubt. In the York Pageant of 1415
we find walking in procession together with the ‘Pouchmakers’ the
‘Botillers’ and the ‘Cap-makers,’ all obviously engaged in the leather
manufacture. The phrase ‘like finding a needle in a bottle of hay’ still
preserves the idea of a bottle as understood by our forefathers four
hundred years ago—that of a leathern case, whether for holding liquid or
solids.[410] The hay-bottle was doubtless the bag that hung at the
girth, from which, as is still the case, the driver baited his horse.
Bottles for liquids were commonly of leather. The ‘black-jack’ was
always such. It is of this an old ballad sings—
Then when this bottle doth grow old,
And will no longer good liquor hold,
Out of its side you may take a clout,
Will mend your shoes when they are worn out.
Thus we see that the ‘Botiller’ was, after all, in some cases but
identical with the old pouch-maker, represented in our old rolls by such
folk as ‘Henry Poucher’ or ‘Agnes Pouchmaker.’ Another and more Norman
term for this latter was that of ‘Burser’ or ‘Purser,’ though in later
days both forms have come to occupy a more official position. Such names
as ‘Alard le Burser’ or ‘Robert le Pursere’ are of frequent occurrence.
Nor, again, while speaking of leather, can we omit a reference to the
old ‘Henry Male-maker,’ who made up travelling bags. ‘Cocke Lorelle’
mentions—
Masones, male-makers, and merbelers,
Tylers, brycke-leyers, and harde-hewers.
The modern postal _mail_ has but extended its earlier use. We may
remember in the ‘Canterbury Tales’ so pleased were the company at the
end of the first story, that the host said—
Unbuckled is the male,
Let see now who shall tell another tale,
For trewely this game is wel begun.
We must not forget, however, that many of these baskets and boxes would
require cordage then as now. Piers Plowman mentions ‘Robyn the Ropere,’
and both name and occupation are still familiar amongst us. In the
Fabric Roll of York Minster is mentioned a ‘William Raper,’ 1446; and
again in 1457, under the head of ‘Custos canabi,’ one ‘Thomas Kylwake,
rapor.’ Both forms are equally common in our directories. As
representative of the more technical part of the industry we may cite
‘Thomas le Winder’ and ‘Richard le Windere,’ whose progeny still dwell
among us. ‘Adam le Corder’ or ‘Peter le Corder,’ or ‘George le Stringer’
or ‘Thomas Strengfellowe,’ carry us back to names of the commonest
import in the fourteenth century. The—
Lanterners, stryngers, and grynders
are set together by an old rhymer. But I have already said something
about them in connection with our ‘Bowyers’ and ‘Fletchers,’ so I will
pass on.
There are but few traces in our nomenclature of more delicate
workmanship. Much of our jewellery came from abroad. Most of that
fashioned in England was under the skilled eye of the Jew. Still ‘Robert
le Goldbeter’ or ‘Henry le Goldsmith’ is not an uncommon entry at this
time. The Norman equivalent was met by such a name as ‘Roger le Orfevre’
or ‘Peter le Orfeure,’ and these lingered on in a more or less full form
till the seventeenth century. Their memorial, too, still survives in our
‘Offers’ and ‘Offors.’[411] Ivory was much used, too, and our ‘Turners’
here also were doubtless very busy. A pretty little casket of this
material, called a ‘forcer,’ small and delicately carved, used in
general for storing away jewellery and other precious gems, was
decidedly popular among the richer ranks of the thirteenth and
fourteenth centuries. In an old poem, sometimes set down to Chaucer, it
is said—
Fortune by strength the forcer hath unshete,
Wherein was sperde all my worldly richesse.
Our present ‘Forcers’ and early ‘Nicholas le Forcers’ and ‘Henry le
Forcers’ represent this. Our use of ivory tablets is not yet obsolete,
though of late years the wondrous cheapness of paper and the issue of
pocketbooks and annuals have threatened to absorb their existence. Of
somewhat larger size were the ‘tables’ of this time. Chaucer, in
portraying the Limitour, speaks of him as followed by an attendant,
bearing—
A pair of tables all of ivory,
And a pointel, ypolished fetisly,
And wrote alway the names, as he stood,
Of alle folk that gave them any good.
It is in a yet larger sense of this same word our early translators
introduced the phrase ‘tables of stone,’ found in the Mosaic record—not,
however, that the smaller ‘tablet’ was unknown. Apart from such a
registration as ‘Bartholomew le Tabler,’ found in the London Rolls
(1320), we have mentioned as living in Cambridge in 1322 one ‘Richard le
Tableter.’[412] We can readily understand how useful would be his
occupation to the students, who were thus provided with a writing
material capable of erasure, at a time when paper was infinitely too
expensive to be simply scribbled upon.[413] The pointel, or pencil,
mentioned above, seems to have required also a separate manufacture, as
we find the surnames ‘Roger Poyntel’ and ‘John Poyntel’ occurring in
1315 and 1319, the latter the same date within a year as the ‘Tabler’
just referred to. These tablets, I need not say, were, whether the
framework were ivory, or box, or cyprus, overlaid with smeared wax, the
pointel being, as its name more literally implies, the stile with which
the characters were impressed. The pointel was a common ornament and
hung pendent from the neck.
Two surnames far from being uninteresting must be mentioned here. They
are those of ‘Walter Orlogyr’[414] and ‘Thomas Clokmaker,’ the one being
found in the ‘Guild of St. George, Norwich’ (1385), the other in the
‘Proceedings and Ordinances of the Privy Council.’[415] It is just
possible also that ‘Clerkwright,’ set down in the former record, may be
but a misspelling or misreading for ‘Clockwright.’ The two
first-mentioned names remind us that if not of clocks, as now
understood, yet the manufacture of dials did make a transient mark upon
our English nomenclature. I say transient, for I find no trace of either
being handed down even to the second generation by those who took these
sobriquets. The ‘horologe’ seems to have become a pretty familiar term
in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, for we find Wicklyffe
translating 2 Kings xx. 11, ‘Isaye the profete clepide ynwardly the
Lord, and browgte agen bacward by x degrees the schadewe bi lynes, bi
whiche it hadde gone down thanne in the orologie of Achaz.’ The
transition from clocks to bells is not a great one, as both have to do
with the marking of time. I will here therefore refer to the old
bellfounder, and then pass on. The ‘Promptorium Parvulorum’ gives us
‘Bellezeter’ as the then usual term for the trade, and from the
occurrence of such entries as ‘Robert le Belzetere’ or ‘William le
Belzetere’ we cannot doubt but that it was so. Of course a corruption of
so awkward a word was inevitable, and Stow, by informing us that
‘Billiter Lane’ was formerly nothing more nor less than ‘Belzetars
Lane,’ has prevented dispute from arising regarding the origin of our
‘Billiters.’[416] If, however, further proof were necessary, we could
bring forward ‘Esmon Belleyeter’ from the Privy Council Ordinances.[417]
Stripped of its uncouth orthography, we are here shown the process by
which the changed pronunciation gradually came into use.
We must say a word or two about former coinage, and weights and
measures, for all are more or less carefully memorialized in our
directories of to-day. The two chief names, however, by which the early
scale was represented, ‘le Aunserer’ and ‘le Balancer,’ are, I am sorry
to say, either wholly, or all but wholly, extinct. Such entries as ‘Rauf
le Balancer’[418] or ‘John Balauncer’ or ‘Thomas le Aunseremaker’ were
perfectly familiar with our forefathers. The ‘balance’ was of the
simplest character, a scale poised by the hand. The manufacture of such
is mentioned by the author of ‘Cocke Lorelle’s Bote,’ when he includes—
Arowe-heders, maltemen, and cornemongers,
_Balancers_, tynne-casters, and skryveners.
By its repeated occurrence in our present Authorized Version this word
is sure of preservation from obsoletism. The ‘auncel’ or ‘auncer’ was
strictly the vessel in which the provisions were weighed. Piers Plowman
says—
And the pound that she paied by
Peised a quatron moore
Than myn owene auncer.
In an appraisement of goods in 1356 mention is made, among other
chattels, of ‘one balance called an auncer.’[419] Thus our somewhat rare
‘Ansers’ are not such _geese_ as they look! Our modern notion of the
Mint is that of a place where with a certain amount of State secrecy our
money is coined and sent forth. Nothing of this kind existed formerly:
each considerable town had its own mint, and even barons and bishops,
subject to royal superintendence, could issue coin. Thus it is that we
meet with more or less frequency such a name as ‘Nicholas le Cuner,’
from the old ‘cune’ or ‘coin;’ or ‘John le Meneter,’ or ‘John
Monemakere,’ or ‘William le Moneur,’ or ‘William le Mynsmith,’
mint-smith, that is; and thus it is our present ‘Moniers’ or ‘Moneyers’
and ‘Minters’ have arisen. Our ‘Stampers’ remind us of the chief feature
of coinage, the die. The system being thus general, and subject to but
an uncertain and irregular supervision, abuse of alloy crept in, and it
was to remedy this, it is said, our ‘Testers’ and ‘Sayers,’ corrupted
from assayers, were appointed. ‘Sayer’ or ‘Sayers,’ however, I have
elsewhere derived differently, and in most cases I feel confident the
account there given is more approximate to the truth.
Literature and art in regard to the market are not without their relics.
So far as the outside of books was concerned, our former ‘John le
Bokbinders’ or ‘Dionisia le Bokebynders’ are sufficiently explicit.
These, judging from their date, we must suppose to have bound together
leathern documents and parchments of value, or books of manuscript.
Speaking of parchment, however, we are reminded of the importance of
this for testamentary and other legal purposes. Thus we find such names
as ‘Stephen le Parchemyner’ or ‘William le Parchemynere’ to be common at
this time. They afford but one more instance of an important and
familiar name failing of descent. In the York Pageant, mentioned
elsewhere, the ‘Parchemyners’[420] and ‘Bukbynders’ marched
together.[421]
The old sealmaker, an important tradesman in a day when men were much
better known by their crests than now, left its mark in the early
‘Seler.’ In the ‘Issues of the Exchequer’ we find a certain ‘Hugh le
Seler’ commissioned to make a new seal for the See of Durham. The modern
form is ‘Sealer.’ Professional writers and copiers were common. The
calling of scribe has given us our many ‘Scrivens’ and ‘Scriveners,’
descendants of the numerous ‘William le Scrivayns’ and ‘John le
Scrivryns’ of our mediæval rolls. Piers Plowman employs the word—
I wel noght scorne, quoth Scripture,
But if scryveynes lye.
Our ‘Writers’ are but the Saxon form of the same, while ‘le Cirograffer’
would seem to represent the Greek. A ‘William le Cirograffer’ occurs in
the Hundred Rolls. As a writer of indentures he is frequently mentioned.
An act passed in the first year of Edward IV. speaks of such officers as
‘clerk of our council, clerk or keeper of oure Hanaper, office of
cirograffer, and keeper of oure Wills.’[422] Employed in the skilled art
of text-letter we may next mention such men as ‘Godfrey le Lomynour’ or
‘Ralph Illuminator’ or ‘Thomas Liminer.’ A poem, already quoted more
than once, makes reference to—
Parchemente makers, skynners, and plowers,
Barbers, Boke-bynders, and lyminers.[423]
How beautiful were the decorations and devices upon which they spent
their care, some of the missals and other service books of this early
period show.[424] This, I need scarcely add, was a favourite monastic
pursuit. I do not know that ‘Limner’ still exists as a surname, unless
it be in our ‘Limmers.’ That it lingered on in its more correct form
till the beginning of the eighteenth century is certain, as the Tostock
register serves to show, for it is there recorded that ‘John Limner of
Chevington, and Eliz. Sibbes of this town, were married, August 22nd,
1700.’ (Sibbes’ ‘Works,’ vol. i. p. cxlii.)
Before closing this necessarily hurried résumé of mediæval trade, we
must say a word or two about early shipping. We have mentioned certain
articles, especially those of spicery and wines, which were then used,
as the result of foreign merchant enterprise. Much of all this came as
the growth and produce of the opposite Continent. Much again reached our
shore brought hither from Eastern lands in caravan and caravel by
Venetian traders. Our ‘Marchants,’ ‘Merchants,’ or ‘le Marchants,’ we
doubtless owe to this more extended commerce. Apart from these, however,
we are far from being without names of a more seafaring nature. It is a
strange circumstance that our now one general term of ‘sailor’ had in
the days we are considering but the barest existence surnominally or
colloquially. In the former respect I only find it twice, the instances
being those of ‘John le Saillur’ and ‘Nicholas le Saler,’ both to be
found in the Hundred Rolls. It may be said to be a word of entirely
modern growth. The expression then in familiar use was ‘Shipman,’[425]
and ‘Shipman’ is the surname best represented in our nomenclature. It is
by this name one of Chaucer’s company at the Tabard is pictured forth—
A Shipman ther was woned far by West,
He knew wel alle the havens as they were,
Fro’ Gotland to the Cape de Finisterre,
And every creke, in Bretagne, and in Spaine;
His barge ycliped was the ‘Magdelaine.’
This, intended doubtless to set forth the wide extent of his adventure,
would seem cramped enough for the seafarer of the nineteenth century.
The word itself lingered on for some length of time, being found both in
our Homilies and in the Authorized Version, but seems to have declined
towards the end of the seventeenth century. ‘Henry le Mariner’s’ name
still lives among us, sometimes being found in the abbreviated form of
‘Marner,’ and ‘Shipper’ or ‘Skipper’ is not as yet obsolete. The
strictly speaking feminine ‘Shipster’ comes in the quaint old poem of
‘Cocke Lorelle’s Bote,’ where mention is made among others of—
Gogle-eyed Tomson, shipster of Lyn.
‘Cogger,’ found in such an entry as ‘Hamond le Cogger’ or ‘Henry le
Cogger,’ carries us back to the old ‘cogge’ or fishing smack, a term
very familiar on the east coast, and one not yet altogether obsolete. It
seems to have been often used to carry the soldiery across the Channel
to France and the Low Country border, or even further.[426] Our
_cockswain_ was, I doubt not, he who attended to the tiller of the boat.
We still speak also of a _cock-boat_, written in the ‘Promptorium
Parvulorum’ as ‘cog bote,’ and doubtless it was originally some smaller
craft that waited upon and attended the other. Thus it is highly
probable that ‘le Cockere’ may in some instances have been but
equivalent to ‘le Cogger.’[427] ‘Richard le Botsweyn,’ ‘Edward
Botswine,’ ‘Peter Boatman,’ ‘Jacob Boatman,’ or the more local ‘Gerard
de la Barge,’ are all still familiar enough in an occupative sense, but
surnominally have been long extinct, with the exception of the
last.[428]
Coming to port, whether it were York, or Kingston, or Chester, or
London, we find ‘Adam le Waterman,’ or ‘Richard Waterbearer,’ or
‘William le Water-leder’ busy enough by the waterside.[429] The latter
term, however, was far the commonest in the thirteenth and fourteenth
centuries. I have already mentioned the sense of ‘lead’ at this time,
that of carrying. Piers Plowman, to quote but one more instance, says in
one place—
With Lumbardes letters
I ladde gold to Rome,
And took it by tale there.
In the York Pageant of 1415 we find two separate detachments of these
water-leaders in procession, one in conjunction with the bakers, the
other with the cooks. It would be doubtless these two classes of
shopkeepers their duties of carrying stores, especially flour, to and
from the different vessels would bring them in contact with most. Our
‘Leaders,’ ‘Leeders,’ ‘Leders,’ and ‘Loders’ are either the more general
carrier or an abbreviated form of the above.[430] ‘Gager,’ though rarely
met with now, is a descendant of ‘William le Gageour,’ or ‘Alexander le
Gauger,’ or ‘Henry le Gaugeour,’ of many a mediæval record. His office
was to attend to the King’s revenue at our seaports, and though not
strictly so confined, yet his duties were all but entirely concerned in
the measurement of liquids, such as oil, wine, honey.[431] The tun, the
pipe, the tierce, the puncheon, casks and barrels of a specified
size—these came under his immediate supervision, and the royal fee was
accordingly. Such a name as ‘Josceus le Peisur,’ now found as ‘Poyser’
or ‘Henry le Waiur,’ that is, ‘Weigher,’[432] met with now also in the
form of ‘Weightman,’ represented the passage of more solid merchandise.
The old form of ‘poise’ was ‘peise.’ Piers Plowman makes Covetousness to
confess—
I lerned among Lumbardes
And Jewes a lesson,
To weye pens with a peis,
And pare the heaviest.
Richard in ‘Richard the III.’ finely says—
I’ll strive, with troubled thoughts, to take a nap,
Lest leaden slumber peise me down to-morrow.
(Act v. scene 3.)
With the above, therefore, we must associate our ‘Tollers,’ once
registered as ‘Bartholomew le Tollere’ or ‘Ralph le Toller,’ together
with our ‘Tolemans’ and ‘Tolmans,’ they who took the King’s levy at fair
and market—by the roadside and the wharf.[433] Piers Plowman, in a list
of other decent folk, includes—
Taillours and tynkers,
And tollers in markettes,
Masons and mynours,
And many other crafts.
Cocke Lorelle is not so complimentary. He says—
Then come two false towlers in nexte,
He set them by pykers (thieves) of the beste.[434]
In concluding this chapter, and our survey of trade generally, it will
be necessary to the completion thereof that we should say a word or two
about the money trading of four hundred years ago or more. Banks,
bank-notes, bills of exchange, drafts to order—all these are as familiar
to the tongues of the nineteenth century as if the great car of commerce
had ever gone along on such greased and comfortable wheels. But I need
not say it is not so. Very little money in the present day is
practically coin. Our banks have it all. It was different with our
ancestors. As a rule it was stored up in some secret cupboard or chest.
Hence it is, as I have shown, the trade of ‘le Coffer’ and the office of
‘le Cofferer’ are so much thrust before our notice in surveying mediæval
records. Still, trading in money was largely carried on, so far, at any
rate, as loans were concerned. The Jew, true to his national precedents,
was then, I need not say, the pawnbroker of Europe, and as his disciple,
the Lumbard soon bid fair to outstrip his master. Under the Plantagenet
dynasty both found a prosperous field for their peculiar business in
England, and, as I have elsewhere said, Lombard Street[435] to this day
is a memorial of the settlement of the latter. In such uncertain and
changeful times as these, kings, and in their train courtiers and
nobles, soon learnt the art, not difficult in initiation, of pawning
jewels and lands for coin. The Malvern Dreamer speaks familiarly of
this—
I have lent lordes
And ladies my chaffare,
And been their brocour after,
And bought it myselve;
Eschaunges and chevysaunces
With such cheffare I dele.
This species of commerce is early marked by such names as ‘Henry le
Chaunger’ or ‘Adam le Chevestier,’[436] while still better-known terms
are brought to our notice by entries like ‘John le Banckere,’ ‘Roger le
Bencher,’ ‘Thomas le Brokur,’ or ‘Simon le Brokour.’ Holinshed, in the
form of ‘brogger,’ has the latter to denote one who negotiated for coin.
As ‘Broggers,’ too, we met them in the York Pageant. There, probably,
they would transact much of the business carried on between ourselves
and the Dutch in the shipping off of fleeces, or the introduction of the
cloth again from the Flemish manufacturers.[437] The pawnbroker of
modern days, dealing in petty articles of ware, was evidently an unknown
personage at the date we are considering. The first distinctive notice
of him I can light upon is in the ‘Statutes of the Realm’ of the Stuart
period. It will be there found that (chapter xxi.) James I., speaking of
the change from the old broker into the more modern pawnbroker, refers
to the former as one who went ‘betweene Merchant Englishe and Merchant
Strangers, and Tradesmen in the contrivinge, makinge and concluding
Bargaines and Contractes to be made betweene them concerning their wares
and merchandises,’ and then adds that he ‘never of any ancient tyme used
to buy and sell garments, household stuffe, or to take pawnes and bills
of sale of garments and apparele, and all things that come to hand for
money, laide out and lent upon usury, or to keepe open shoppes, and to
make open shewes, and open trade, as now of late yeeres hathe and is
used by a number of citizens, etc.’
------------------
APPENDIX TO CHAPTERS IV. AND V.
It will perchance help to familiarize the reader with the manner in
which the occupative names contained in the two preceding chapters
arose, if I transcribe several lists of tradesmen which have come across
my notice while engaged in the work of collecting surnames for my index.
The first is found in most of the Yorkshire County Histories, and is a
record of the order of the Pageant for the City of York in 1415. The
second is the order of the Procession of the Craftsmen and Companies of
Norwich from the Common Hall in 1533. This list will be found in
Blomefield’s ‘Norfolk,’ vol. ii. p. 148. The third is the order of the
Chester Play, inaugurated 1339, and discontinued 1574. This list will be
found in Ormerod’s ‘Cheshire,’ vol. i. p. 300. These records possess an
intrinsic value, apart from other matters, as proving to the reader the
leading position which these several cities held as centres of industry
in the thirteenth, fourteenth, fifteenth, and sixteenth centuries. The
last list I would furnish is that met with in the quaint poem entitled
‘Cocke Lorelle’s Bote,’ published about the beginning of the reign of
Henry VIII., and purporting to give a list of the tradesmen and
manufacturers of the metropolis at that time. I have quoted merely the
portion that concerns my purpose, and it is taken from the edition
published by the Percy Society. Though not perfect, that edition is
undoubtedly the best.
I.
_The Order for the Pageants of the Play of_ Corpus Christi, _in the time
of the Mayoralty of_ William Alne, _in the third Year of the Reign
of King_ Henry V. Anno 1415, _compiled by_ Roger Burton, _Town
Clerk_.
Tanners.
Plasterers.
Carde-makers.
Fullers.
Coupers.
Armourers.
Gaunters.
Shipwrights.
Fyshmongers.
Pessyners.
Mariners.
Pchemyners.
Bukbynders.
Hosyers.
Spicers.
Peuterers.
Founders.
Tylers.
Chaundelers.
Goldsmithes.
Orfeures.
Gold-beters.
Mone-makers.
Masons.
Marashals.
Girdellers.
Naylers.
Sawters.
Sporiers.
Lorymers.
Barbers.
Vyntners.
Smythes.
Fevers.
Pennagers.
Plummers.
Patten-makers.
Pouch-makers.
Botillers.
Cap-makers.
Vestment-makers.
Skynners.
Cuttellers.
Blade-smythes.
Shethers.
Scalers.
Buckle-mekers.
Horners.
Bakers.
Waterleders.
Cordwaners.
Bowers.
Fletchers.
Tapisers.
Couchers.
Littesters.
Cukes.
Waterleders.
Sauce-makers.
Milners.
Tiel-makers.
Ropers.
Cevers.
Turners.
Hayresters.
Bollers.
Sherman.
Pynners.
Lateners.
Payntors.
Bouchers.
Pulterers.
Satellers.
Sellers.
Glasiers.
Carpenters.
Joyners.
Cartwrights.
Carvers.
Sawyers.
Wyndrawers.
Broggers.
Wool-pakkers.
Wadmen.
Escriveners.
Lumners.
Questors.
Dubbors.
Taillyoures.
Potters.
Drapers.
Lynwevers.
Wevers of Wolle.
Hostilers.
Mercers.
Porters, 8 torches.
Coblers, 4 torches.
Cordwaners, 14 torches.
Carpenters, 6 torches.
Chaloners, 4 torches.
Fullers, 4 torches.
Cottellers, 2 torches.
Wevers, torches.
Girdellers, torches.
Taillyoures, torches.
It is ordained that the _Porters_ and _Coblers_ should go first; then,
of the Right, the _Wevers_ and _Cordwaners_; on the Left, the _Fullors_,
_Cutlers_, _Girdellers_, _Chaloners_, _Carpenters_, and _Taillyoures_;
then the better sort of Citizens; and after the Twenty-four, the Twelve,
the Mayor, and four Torches of Mr. _Thomas Buckton_.
II.
_The Order of the Procession of the Occupations, Crafts, or Companies
(Norwich) to be made on Corpus Christi Day, from the Common Hall._
(1533 A.D.)
1. The Company of Masons, Tilers, Limeburners, and Smiths.
2. The Carpenters, Gravours, Joiners, Sawers, Seivemakers, Wheelwrights,
Fletchers, Bowers, and Turners.
3. The Reders, Thaxters, Rede-sellers, Cleymen, and Carriers.
4. The Butchers, Glovers, and Parchment-makers.
5. The Tanners.
6. The Cordwaners, Coblers, Curriers, and Collarmakers.
7. The Shermen, Fullers, Woolen and Linnen Weavers, and Wool-chapmen.
8. The Coverlet-weavers, Darnick-weavers, and Girdlers.
9. The Combers, Tinmen.
10. The Vintners, Bakers, Brewers, Inn-keepers, Tiplers, Coopers, and
Cooks.
11. The Fishmongers, Freshwater-fishers, and Keelmen.
12. The Waxchandlers, Barbers, and Surgeons.
13. The Cappers, Hatters, Bagmakers, Paintmakers, Wier-drawers and
Armourers.
14. The Pewterers, Brasiers, Plombers, Bellfounders, Glaziers, Steynors.
15. The Tailors, Broiderers, Hosiers, and Skinners.
16. The Goldsmiths, Diers, Calanderers, and Sadlers.
17. The Worsted-weavers and Irlonderes.
18. The Grocers and Raffmen.
19. The Mercers, Drapers, Scriveners, and Hardwaremen.
20. The Parish Clerks and Sextons, with their bannerwayts, and
minstrals.
Blomefield’s ‘Norfolk,’ vol. ii. p. 148.
III.
The Chester Play was inaugurated 1339. The following trades, guilds, and
companies took part in it:—
FIRST LIST.
1. The Barkers and Tanners.
2. Drapers and Hosiers.
3. Drawers of Dee and Water Leaders.
4. Barbers, Waxchandlers, Leeches.
5. Cappers, Wyerdrawers, Pynners.
6. Wrightes, Slaters, Tylers, Daubers, Thatchers.
7. Paynters, Brotherers (i.e. embroiderers), Glasiers.
8. Vintners and Marchants.
9. Mercers, Spicers.
SECOND LIST.
1. Gouldsmithes, Masons.
2. Smiths, Forbers, Pewterers.
3. Butchers.
4. Glovers, Parchment-makers.
5. Corvesters and Shoemakers.
6. Bakers, Mylners.
7. Boyeres, Flechers, Stringeres, Cowpers, Turners.
8. Irnemongers, Ropers.
9. Cookes, Tapsters, Hostlers, Inkeapers.
THIRD LIST.
1. Skinners, Cardemakers, Hatters, Poynters, Girdlers.
2. Sadlers, Fusters.
3. Taylors.
4. Fishmongers.
5. Sheremen.
6. Hewsters and Bellfounders.
7. Weavers and Walkers.
The last procession occurred in 1574.
Ormerod’s ‘Cheshire,’ vol. i. p. 300.
IV.
_Extract from ‘Cocke Lorelle’s Bote._’
The fyrst was goldesmythes and grote clyppers:
Multyplyers and clothe thyckers:
Called fullers everychone:
There is taylers, taverners, and drapers:
Potycaryes, ale-brewers, and bakers:
Mercers, fletchers, and sporyers:
Boke-prynters, peynters, bowers:
Myllers, carters, and botylemakers:
Waxechaundelers, clothers, and grocers:
Wollemen, vynteners, and flesshemongers:
Salters, jowelers, and habardashers:
Drovers, cokes, and pulters:
Yermongers, pybakers, and waferers:
Fruyters, chesemongers, and mynstrelles:
Talowe chaundelers, hostelers, and glovers:
Owchers, skynners, and cutlers:
Bladesmythes, fosters, and sadelers:
Coryers, cordwayners, and cobelers:
Gyrdelers, forborers, and webbers:
Quyltemakers, shermen, and armorers:
Borlers, tapestry-worke-makers, and dyers:
Brouderers, strayners, and carpyte-makers:
Sponers, torners, and hatters:
Lyne-webbers, setters, with lyne-drapers:
Roke-makers, copersmythes, and lorymers:
Brydel-bytters, blackesmythes, and ferrars:
Bokell-smythes, horseleches, and goldbeters:
Fyners, plommers, and peuters:
Bedmakers, fedbedmakers, and wyre-drawers:
Founders, laten workers, and broche-makers:
Pavyers, bell-makers, and brasyers:
Pynners, nedelers, and glasyers:
Bokeler-makers, dyers, and lether-sellers:
Whyte-tanners, galyors, and shethers:
Masones, male-makers, and merbelers:
Tylers, bryck-leyers, harde-hewers:
Parys-plasterers, daubers, and lymeborners:
Carpenters, coupers, and joyners:
Pype-makers, wode-mongers, and orgyn-makers:
Coferers, carde-makers, and carvers:
Shyppe-wrightes, whele-wrights, and sowers:
Harpe-makers, leches, and upholsters:
Porters, fesycyens, and corsers:
Parchemente-makers, skynners, and plowers:
Barbers, bokebynders, and lymners:
Repers, faners, and horners:
Pouche-makers, below-farmes, cagesellers:
Lanterners, stryngers, grynders:
Arowe-heders, maltemen, and corne-mongers:
Balancers, tynne-casters, and skryveners:
Stacyoners, vestyment-swoers, and ymagers:
Sylke-women, pursers, and garnysshers:
Table-makers, sylkedyers, and shepsters:
Goldesheares, keverchef, launds, and rebone makers:
Tankarde-berers, bougemen, and spereplaners:
Spynsters, carders, and cappeknytters:
Sargeauntes, katche-pollys, and somners:
Carryers, carters, and horsekepers:
Courte-holders, bayles, and honters:
Constables, hede-borowes, and katers:
Butlers, sterchers, and mustarde-makers:
Hardewaremen, mole-sekers, and ratte-takers:
Bewardes, brycke-borners, and canel-rakers:
Potters, brome-sellers, pedelers:
Shepherds, coweherdes, and swyne-kepers:
Broche-makers, glas-blowers, candelstycke-casts:
Hedgers, dykers, and mowers:
Gonners, maryners, and shypmasters:
Chymney-swepers and costerde-mongers:
Lodemen and bere-brewers:
Fysshers of the sea and muskel-takers.
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