lovinge subjects, to whom theise presents shall come, that the bearer,
Alice Stynton, the wief of John Stynton, of the towne of Leycester, pettye
chapman, dothe dwell and inhabyte in the parish of St. Nicholas, in the
said town, in a streete called the Sore Laine, neyre unto the West Brigge.
The which John Stynton hathe not bene in Leycester sythence one fortnytt
after St. James Daye last; but travelinge abrode in Northamptonshier
about his lawfull affaires in gaytheringe under the Greate Seale of
England, by lycence, for a poore house at Waltam Crosse.
And this bearer, his wief, with hym all the said tyme, untill her nowe
comyng hom to Leycester, which was aboute a weeke past. The which bearer
her dwellyng ys not neyre unto places suspected of the plage, but ys
cleyre and sound from the same, God be thancked, neyther ys there any att
this present sicke thereof in the said streete or parish, God be praised.
Do therefore request you to permytt and suffer her quietlye to travell to
her husband, and also to permytt and suffer her said husband and her
quietlye, upon ther honest behavire, to travell aboute ther lawfull
busynes withoute any your hyndrance, and you the constables to helpe them
to lodginges in ther said travell yf such nede shall require. In witnes
whereof, we the mayor and alderman of the saide towne of Leycester have
hereunto subscribed our names, and sette the seale of office of the said
mayor, this vjth daye of October 1593, A^o 35^o Eliz."
The records of Beverley supply some important notes respecting persons
leaving the place. We gather from George Oliver's history of Beverley,
that the plague raged with great violence in the year 1610, death and
desertion were greatly thinning the town; the corporation made an order,
directing that a fine of ten shillings be imposed on every individual
leaving the town, even to go to fairs and markets, without the mayor's
special permission. If the preceding measure was insufficient to detain
persons in Beverley, it was resolved to imprison or otherwise punish, at
the discretion of the justices, those offending.
The head of every family had to report periodically, during the time of
the plague, to the constable in his ward, the state of the health of his
household. If the disease attacked any member of his family, or those
under his charge, and he neglected, within a specified number of hours, to
report the matter, he was liable to a fine of forty shillings, to be
placed in the town's chest.
The town of Derby suffered greatly from a plague in 1592-3. It appears to
have been imported in some bales of cloth from the Levant to London, and
quickly spread into the provinces. In the parish register of St.
Alkmund's, Derby, under October, 1592, is this statement, "Hic incipit
pestis prestifera." It took twelve months to run its destructive course.
The register of All Saints', Derby, under October, 1593, says: "About this
time, the plague of pestilence, by the great mercy and goodness of
Almighty God, stay'd, past all expectac'on of man, for it rested upon
assondaye, at what tyme it was dispersed in every corner of this whole
p'she: ther was not two houses together free from ytt, and yet the Lord
bade his angell staye, as in Davide's tyme: His name be blessed for ytt."
The inhabitants of Derby suffered greatly from a plague in 1665. In the
Arboretum of the town is a memorial of the visitation, in the form of a
stone, bearing the following inscription:
"Headless Cross, or _MARKET STONE_.
This Stone FORMED PART OF AN ANCIENT CROSS AT THE UPPER END OF FRIAR GATE,
AND WAS USED BY THE INHABITANTS OF DERBY AS A MARKET STONE DURING THE
VISITATION OF THE PLAGUE, 1665. IT IS THUS DESCRIBED BY HUTTON IN HIS
HISTORY OF DERBY.
* * * * *
'1665. Derby was again visited by the plague at the same time in which
London fell under that severe calamity. The town was forsaken; the farmers
declined the Market-place; and grass grew upon that spot which had
furnished the supports of life. To prevent a famine, the inhabitants
erected at the top of Nuns-green, one or two hundred yards from the
buildings, now Friar-gate, what bore the name of _Headless-cross_,
consisting of about four quadrangular steps, covered in the centre with
one large stone; the whole near five feet high; I knew it in perfection.
Hither the market-people, having their mouths primed with tobacco as a
preservative, brought their provisions, stood at a distance from their
property, and at a greater from the townspeople, with whom they were to
traffic. The buyer was not suffered to touch any of the articles before
purchase; but when the agreement was finished, he took the goods, and
deposited the money in a vessel filled with vinegar, set for that
purpose.'"
Tobacco has long been regarded as an efficacious preservative against
disease. There is a curious entry in Thomas Hearne's Diary, 1720-21,
bearing on this matter. He thus writes, under date of January 21st: "I
have been told that in the last great plague in London none that kept
tobacconists' shops had the plague. It is certain that smoaking was looked
upon as a most excellent preservative. In so much, that even children were
obliged to smoak. And I remember that I heard formerly Tom Rogers, who was
yeoman beadle, say that, when he was that year, when the plague raged, a
school-boy at Eaton, all the boys of that school were obliged to smoak in
the school every morning, and that he was never whipped so much in his
life as he was one morning for not smoaking."
Charles Knight, in his "Old England," gives an original drawing of the
Broad Stone, East Retford, Nottinghamshire. He says, on this stone, money,
previously immersed in vinegar, was placed in exchange for goods, during
the Great Plague.
[Illustration: THE BROAD STONE, EAST RETFORD.]
In front of Tothby House, near Alford, Lincolnshire, under a spreading
tree, is a large stone, which formerly stood on Miles Cross Hill, and,
when the town was plague-stricken, in the year 1630, on this stone, money
immersed in vinegar was deposited, in exchange for food brought from
Spilsby and other places. From July 22nd, 1630, to the end of February,
1631, 132 burials are recorded in the parish register, and this out of a
population of under 1000 persons, a proportion equal to that of London
during the Great Plague. In one homestead, within twelve days, were six
deaths. The Rev. Geo. S. Tyack, B.A., who has contributed a
carefully-prepared chapter to "Bygone Lincolnshire" on this theme, does
not state how the scourge was brought to Alford.
The dead were, as a rule, buried at night, without coffin and ceremony,
and frequently in a common grave outside the usual graveyards, like, for
example, those in the pest pit of London. "Bring out your dead! Bring out
your dead!" was the dismal cry which was heard in London during the Great
Plague. The people were dead and buried in a few hours, and it is believed
that many were interred alive. A well-known instance occurred at
Stratford-on-Avon. The plague raged at the town in 1564, and swept away
one-seventh of the inhabitants. The council chamber was closed, but the
councillors did not neglect their duties; they met in a garden to discuss
the best means of helping the sufferers. The visitation was not confined
only to the homes of the poor. The Manor House of Clopton was attacked,
and one of its fair inmates, a beautiful girl named Charlotte Clopton, was
sick, and to all appearance died. She was buried without delay in the
family vault, underneath Stratford Church. A week passed, and another was
borne to the same resting place. When the vault was opened, a terrible
sight was presented. Charlotte Clopton was seen leaning against the wall
in her grave clothes. She had been buried alive, and, on recovering from
the plague, had attempted to get out of the vault, when death had ended
her sufferings.
At Bradley, in the parish of Malpas, Cheshire, an entire family, named
Dawson, consisting of seven members and two servants, died of the plague,
in the year 1625. One of Dawson's sons had been in London, and returned
home sick, died, and infected the whole household. The deaths commenced
towards the end of July and ended September 15th. Respecting Richard
Dawson, the following particulars are given in the parish register, after
stating that he was the brother of the head of the house: "being sicke of
the plague, and perceyving he must die at yt time, arose out of his bed
and made his grave, and caused his nefew, John Dawson, to cast strawe into
the grave, w'ch was not farre from the house, and went and lay'd him down
in the say'd grave, and caused clothes to be layd uppon, and so dep'ted
out of this world; this he did, because he was a strong man, and heavier
than his said nefew and another wench were able to bury. He died about
xxivth of August. Thus much I was credibly tould he did." The next entry
in this distressing record bears date of August 29th, and is that of the
nephew just named, and, on September 15th, Rose Smyth, the servant,
doubtless the wench referred to, was buried, "and the last of yt
household."
At Braintree, in Essex, in 1665, the plague made great ravages. In that
year, 665 persons died of it, being fully one-third of the inhabitants of
the place. Business was at a standstill, the town was shunned, and the
inhabitants had to depend on charity. Long grass grew in the streets, and
the whole place was one of desolation. At this time, Dr. Kidder,
afterwards Bishop of Bath and Wells, was looking after the spiritual
welfare of the place. His life contains a painful picture of the
sufferings of the inhabitants. In his own house, a young gentleman was
attacked and died. "My neighbours," he writes, "durst not come near, and
the provisions which were procured for us were laid at a distance, upon a
green before my house. No tongue can express the dismal calamity which
that part of Essex lay under at that time. As for myself, I was in
perpetual danger. I conversed daily with those who came from the infected
houses, and it was unavoidable. The provisions sent into the neighbouring
infected town were left at the village where I was, and near my house.
Thither the Earl of Warwick sent his fat bullocks, which he did every week
give to the poor of Braintree. The servants were not willing to carry them
further. This occasioned frequent coming from that infected place to my
village, and, indeed, to my very door. My parish clerk had it when he put
on my surplice, and went from me to his house, and died. Another neighbour
had three children, and they all died in three nights immediately
succeeding each other, and I was forced to carry them to the churchyard
and bury them. We were alarmed perpetually with the news of the death of
our neighbours and acquaintances, and awakened to expect our turns. This
continued a great part of the summer. It pleased God to preserve me and
mine from this noisome pestilence. Praised be his name." The plague at
Colchester, in the same county, in 1665-6, made the death rate higher than
that of the neighbouring town or even of London. Its deadly operations
opened in August, 1665, and closed in December, 1666, and, in that period,
passed away 4,731 persons. Poverty prevailed, but help poured in from many
places. Weekly collections were made in the churches of London, and by
this means the sum of L1,311 10s. was obtained. The oath book of the
Corporation contains the form of oath administered to men known as
"Searchers of the Plague." It was the duty of the men to search out and
view the corpses of all who died, and, in cases of death from the plague,
to make known the fact to the constables of the parish, and the bearers
appointed to bury them. The searchers had to live together, and apart from
their families, and not go abroad, except in execution of their duty. They
were careful not to go near any one, and they carried in their hands white
wands, so that people might know them and so avoid them.
Collections in churches were very general for those suffering from the
plague. The following entry, reproduced from the parish register of the
small town of Cheadle, Staffordshire, may be quoted as a specimen of
similar records:
"1666. Collected on the first monthly fast, being second day of
August, towards the relief of the persons and places visited by the
plague 14s. 7d."
The plague penetrated into most unexpected places. Far away from London,
in the Peak of Derbyshire, is the delightfully-situated mountain village
of Eyam, a place swept over by health-giving breezes. It is a locality of
apparent security against infection. In September, 1665, a parcel of
tailor's patterns was sent from London to Eyam, and with it came the
disease. At that time the village had a population of 350 persons, and
when the plague "was exhausted with excessive slaughter," only
seventy-three were alive. From September 6th, 1665, to October 11th, 1666,
277 died, the death rate being much higher than that of London. The
history of this visitation is heart-rending, and has been told by several
writers, but by none more carefully than by William Wood, in his "History
of Eyam," published by Richard Keene, of Derby. Two names in this dark
story stand out in bright relief, one was the Rev. Thomas Stanley, the
ejected rector of the parish, in 1662, and the Rev. William Mompesson, a
successor, who was appointed in 1664. With their lives in their hands,
these two brave men remained at the post of duty, visited, advised, and
aided the sufferers unto death. Mrs. Mompesson administered daily to her
husband's suffering parishioners until death closed her useful life, on
the 24th August, 1666. This was a terrible blow to her devoted husband,
and a heavy loss to the villagers. "At one time," we are told, "Mrs.
Mompesson's heart failed her, when she thought of her two children in the
midst of the plague. She cast herself and her two children at the feet of
her husband, and begged that they might all depart from the death-stricken
place. In the most loving manner, however, he raised her from his feet,
and pointed out the awful responsibility which would attach to his
deserting his post. He then besought his wife to flee to some distant
spot, where she and her babes might be safe. She refused, however, to
leave him, but they mutually agreed to send the children to a relative in
Yorkshire."
About the middle of June, the more wealthy people fled to distant places
from the plague-stricken village, and others built huts on the
neighbouring hills, and in them took shelter. The entire population
appeared determined to flee. Mr. Mompesson pointed out the folly of such a
proceeding, observing that they would carry the disease to other places.
His earnest entreaties prevailed.
He wrote to the Earl of Devonshire for assistance, to enable the
inhabitants to remain in their own village. The Earl realised the
importance of confining the disease within a certain limit. He readily
made arrangements for a constant supply of food and clothing for the
sufferers. A boundary was fixed round the village, marked by stones, and
the residents solemnly agreed that not one should go beyond the radius
indicated. The provisions, etc., were left early in the morning at an
appointed place, and were fetched away by men selected for the work. If
money was paid, it was placed in water. The men of Eyam faithfully kept
their promise, so that the plague was not carried by them to any other
places.
The churchyard was closed and funeral rites were not read; graves were
made in fields and gardens near the cottages of the departed.
During the time the disease was at its height, the church was closed but
the faithful rector did not neglect to assemble his flock each succeeding
Sabbath in a quiet spot on the south side of the village, and to proclaim
to them words of comfort.
Shortly after the disease had stopped at Eyam, the rectory of Eaking was
presented to Mr. Mompesson. The inhabitants of his new parish had such a
terror of the plague that they dreaded his coming amongst them, and a hut
was built for him in Rufford Park, where he remained until their fears had
subsided.
This short study of a serious subject enables us to fully realise the
force of the supplication in the Litany: "From Plague and Pestilence, Good
Lord deliver us."
A King Curing an Abbot of Indigestion.
Many of the English monarchs have delighted in the pleasures of the chase.
Their hunting expeditions have often led them into out-of-the-way places
where they were unknown, and their adventures gave rise to good stories,
which have done much to enliven the dry pages of national history. Bluff
King Hal was a jovial huntsman, and was one day enjoying the pastime in
the glades of Windsor Forest, when he missed his way, and, to his
surprise, found himself near the Abbey at Reading. He keenly felt the
pangs of hunger, and resolved to try and get a meal at the table of the
Abbey hard by.
After disguising himself, he made his way to the house, under the pretence
of being one of the king's guards. He was invited to partake of a sirloin
of beef, and he did such justice to it as to surprise not a little the
worthy abbot. The latter pledged his guest's royal master, adding that if
his weak stomach could digest such a meal as his visitor had just eaten he
would gladly give a hundred pounds. He lamented that he could only take
for his dinner the wing of a chicken, or other equally small dainty. The
burly stranger pledged him in return, and, after expressing his gratitude,
departed without his identity being discovered.
After a few short weeks had passed, another stranger wended his way to the
Abbey of Reading, armed with a warrant from King Henry VIII. to take the
abbot a prisoner, and lodge him in the Tower. It was with a heavy heart
that the abbot journeyed to London. His prison fare was very plain, and
consisted of bread and water, and provided in small quantities, so that he
not only suffered in mind, but also from the want of food. He often
wondered what he had done to displease the king, but could not obtain any
information on the subject. A change at last came over the scene. A fine
sirloin of beef was placed on his table, and he was bidden to feast to his
heart's content. He did not need any pressing to do justice to the joint,
for he was almost famished, and dined more like a glutton than a man with
a weak stomach. The king watched with amusement, from a secret place, the
abbot enjoying his dinner, and, when he had nearly completed it, stepped
forth from his hiding place, and demanded one hundred pounds for curing
the poor abbot of his indigestion, and reminded him of their former
meeting at the Abbey of Reading. The patient gladly paid his physician the
stipulated fee, and, with a light purse and a merry heart, bent his steps
homeward.
The Services and Customs of Royal Oak Day.
Writing in his diary, on May 29th, 1665, John Evelyn says: "This was the
first anniversary appointed by Act of Parliament to be observed as a day
of General Thanksgiving for the miraculous restoration of his Majesty: our
vicar preaching on Psalm cxviii. 24, requiring us to be thankful and
rejoice, as indeed we had cause." A special form of prayer in
commemoration of the Restoration of Charles II. was included in the Book
of Common Prayer until 1859, when it was removed by Act of Parliament.
On this day, the Chaplain of the House of Commons used to preach before
the House, in St. Margaret's Church, Westminster. The service has been
discontinued since 1858. It attracted little attention, and the
congregation usually consisted of the Speaker, the Sergeant-at-arms, the
clerks and other officers, and about half a dozen members.
It was, in bygone times, in many parts of England, the practice, on this
day, to fasten boughs of oak to the pinnacles of church steeples.
The display of oak is in memory of the king's escape after the Battle of
Worcester, in 1651, and of his successfully hiding himself in an oak tree
at Boscobel. Tennyson, in his "Talking Oak," refers to the subject:
"Thy famous brother oak,
Wherein the younger Charles abode,
Till all the paths grew dim,
While far below the Roundheads rode,
And humm'd a surly hymn."
Richard Penderel greatly assisted Charles in his time of trouble, and he
selected the oak in which safety was found. When Charles "came to his
own," the claims of Penderel were not overlooked. He was attached to the
Court. When he died, he was buried with honours at St. Giles-in-the-Fields.
It was customary, for a long period, to decorate his grave in the
churchyard with oak branches.
Formerly, in Derbyshire, it was the practice to place over the doors of
houses, branches of young oak, and it is still the custom for boys to wear
sprigs of the same tree in their hats and buttonholes. If the lads neglect
to wear the oak-leaf they are stung with nettles by their more loyal
companions. At Looe, and other districts of East Cornwall, it was enforced
by spitting at or "cobbing" the offender. In bygone times, the boys of
Newcastle-on-Tyne had an insulting rhyme, which they used to repeat to
such folk as they met who did not wear oak-leaves:
"Royal oak
The Whigs to provoke."
On this day, many wore plane tree leaves, and would make a retort to the
foregoing rhyme:
"Plane tree leaves;
The Church folk are thieves."
Mr. John Nicholson, in his "Folk Lore of East Yorkshire" (Hull, 1890), has
an interesting note on this subject. "During the days of spring," says Mr.
Nicholson, "boys busily 'bird-nest' (seek nests), and lay up a store of
eggs for the 29th of May, Royal Oak Day, or Mobbing Day. These eggs are
expended by being thrown at other boys, but all boys who carry a sprig of
Royal Oak, not dog oak, either in their cap or coat, are free from
molestation. Not only wild birds' eggs, but the eggs of hens and ducks are
used to 'mob' (pelt) with, and the older and more unsavoury the eggs are,
the better are they liked--by the thrower. The children sing:
'The twenty-ninth of May,
Royal Oak Day,
If you don't give us a holiday
We'll all run away.'"
At Castleton, Derbyshire, an old custom still lingers of making a huge
garland of flowers on this day, and afterwards suspending it on the top of
the principal pinnacle of the church. The late Mr. Alfred Burton saw this
garland constructed in 1885, and had a drawing made of it for his volume
entitled "Rush-bearing." "The framework," says Mr. Burton, "is of wood,
thatched with straw. Interior diameter, a little over two feet, outside
(when covered with flowers), over three feet six inches. In shape it
somewhat resembles a bell, completely covered over with wild
flowers--hyacinths, water-buttercups, buttercups, daisies, forget-me-nots,
wallflowers, rhododendrons, tulips, and ornamental grasses, in rows, each
composed of the same flower, which have been gathered in the neighbourhood
the evening before. The top, called the 'queen,' is formed of garden
flowers, and fits into a socket at the top of the garland. It weighs over
a hundredweight, requires two men to lift it, and has occupied four men
from noon till five o'clock in the afternoon to make it."
[Illustration: CASTLETON GARLAND.]
At six in the evening, a procession is formed from a village inn, whose
turn it is to take the lead in the festivities. A band of music heads the
processionists, next comes the garland, which, we are told by Mr. Burton,
is "borne on the head and shoulders of a man riding a horse, and wearing
a red jacket. A stout handle inside, which rests on the saddle in front of
him, enables him to hold it upright. It completely envelopes him to the
waist, and is roomy enough to enable ale to be passed up to his mouth, of
which he takes good care to have a share. His horse is led for him, and he
is followed by another man on horseback, dressed as a woman, who acts the
fool. These are followed by the villagers, dancing, even old people who
can scarcely walk making a point of attempting to dance on this, the
greatest day in the year at Castleton. After parading the village, the
'queen' is taken off the garland and placed in the church, the garland
being hoisted with ropes to the top of the church tower, where it is
placed on one of the pinnacles, and left till it has withered away, when
the framework is taken down and kept for another year. The other pinnacles
have branches of oak."
In the churchwardens' accounts of Castleton, are entries as follows:
"1749. Pd. for an iron rod to hang singers' garland on 0 0 8.