kynge of custome 11s. the year and to the clerk of the town a peny.” It
goes on to say that he is to make good white bread, and if the weight
is deficient, is to be at the King’s mercy.
“And also everych cart out of fraunchyse comyng in to town with samown,
shal to the kynge of custome thre pens.
“Also everych cart out of the fraunchyse shal to the kynge by custome
11 pens and an hafpeny what ffyshe he here to sale. And everych horse
berdene of fresh fysh that cometh in to the town to sale and be out of
franchyse shal to the kynge thre hafpens of custome and of shalt fysh a
hafpeny.”
The monopolies granted in Winchester to trades unions were
considerable. In 1580 no cobbler was allowed to make “shoes, boots,
buskins, skertoppes, slippers or pantaples;” he was not only to stick
to his last, but to confine himself to repairs. Any infringement of
this rule involved a penalty of 6s. 8d. a pair. Each trade was to carry
on its own business--no intruders allowed. In 1673 a man paid money to
be permitted to live in the city, and in 1728 a barber had to pay to
be allowed to carry on his business. In 1656 it was resolved that the
election of the mayor and aldermen should be by “bullets.” This sounds
alarming; but the order is that one hundred red and white bullets, in
equal proportions, shall be provided, and that the electors shall put
them in privately.
A copy of the letter Cromwell sent to the Mayor summoning the town to
surrender is preserved here. It runs thus:
“Sir,--I come not to this city but with a full resolution to save it
and the inhabitants thereof from ruine. I have commanded the Souldyers
upon payne of death that noe wrong bee done; wch I shall strictly
observe, only I expect you give me entrance into the City, without
necessitating mee to force my way, which yf doe then it will be in my
power to save you or it. I expect yor answeare with in halfe an houre,
and rest, your servant,
“OLIVER CROMWELL.”
It will be observed that by some oversight or waggish design the word
“not” has been omitted before “in my power.”
A modern, but not uninteresting object here is a large model of the
Cathedral, carved in wood with a jack-knife, by a shepherd’s boy,
while tending sheep on the Hampshire Downs. It was presented to Dean
Garnier in his 92nd year.
We were much pleased with the young lady in charge of this collection,
who does her best to answer all the difficult questions put to her.
She told us that her father was an antiquary, and half ruined himself
in publishing archæological works, but that she was not sorry for it.
How refreshing to hear such disinterested sentiments in these grasping
days! Her grandfather was a brewer, and she was glad she had none of
the money he made in such an objectionable trade.
Just below the Guildhall, on the east, stands a modern brick building,
with two towers, named the Abbey House--recalling memories of the
celebrated nunnery which stood here. It was founded by Alfred’s queen,
Ælwitha, who resided here as a widow. Edburga, his granddaughter, also
lived here and carried her humility so far as to wash the nuns clothes
secretly, much to the increase of their faith. The church of the Abbey
had a lofty tower.
[Sidenote: St. John’s Hospital.]
A little lower down we find two buildings facing each other on either
side of the street. The southernmost and more picturesque of the two
is the more modern, and only dates from 1833, previous to which a
draper’s shop occupied the site. Both belong to one foundation--due,
it is said, to St. Birinus--St. John’s Hospital. The northern
establishment (on the left) has a little old chapel, built in the days
of Henry III. As you enter by the gate you see in the east end of the
chapel wall, very high up, an ancient carving of a head surrounded
by a rim; but whether meant for a nimbus or a charger, and whether
representing Our Lord or St. John, I leave for others to decide.
We find in the Black Book that there were, during Henry VI.’s reign,
the following sculptures in alabaster in the hospital:--A head of John
the Baptist, two images of the same saint and two of Our Lady. Milner
writes: “In the dusthole near the apartments of the widows, amongst
other curious antiques, is seen the figure of John the Baptist’s head
in a dish, being the bust of the holy patron of the house, which
formerly stood over the principal doorway.”
The court of the hospital is laid out in beautiful swards and beds of
flowers and the houses seem to be pleasant residences. Before 1852 the
land belonged to the Mildmay family, and then the hospital had only
six poor cottages. Some arches are visible and stairs going down into
a kind of kitchen from which an arch, still visible, communicated with
another kitchen or refectory. If we pass through the chapel by the
west door we find two Decorated windows (Henry III.), and enter the
building containing this old chamber with a low arch and two large
hearths. The hall is over the refectory and is a room of magnificent
proportions, having its walls beautifully stuccoed with festoons of
flowers. This would appear to date from the time of Charles II., whose
picture, now in the Guildhall, was formerly here.
St. John’s became the property of the Knights Templar, and on their
suppression John Devenish refounded it for lame soldiers, poor
pilgrims, and necessitous wayfarers. He had a charitable feeling
towards the footsore. After Henry VIII.’s confiscation it was used for
meetings of the Corporation. We learn from the Black Book that in the
38th Henry VIII. the supper was to be kept at St. John’s as amply as
heretofore. On the Sunday next following the Nativity of St. John the
Baptist, the Mayor was to find a capon and so was the alderman of the
High Street. In order to keep the “banket” up to the mark each of the
benchers was to pay 12d., and each of the “Twenty four” 8d., whether
they were present or not.
This establishment had been confiscated by Henry VIII., and the
buildings made over to the Corporation for the formation of a new
hall. Various references seem to show that this chamber was now being
slowly completed. In 21st year of Henry VIII. John Brown was to have a
certain tenement in the hold of St. John’s upon condition of his giving
twenty shillings towards building a new chimney there; and in 1560
the Mayor of Winchester who had been guilty of riding to Southampton
without a servant,[41] and of committing other enormities, was
ordered to glaze the west window of St. John’s Hall. This was not the
present hall, for it has no window looking west, and the chimney was
differently placed. To mend windows seems to have been here a common
and useful civic punishment.
I may here observe that the clerk who entered the civic transactions in
the Black Book added a new saint to the calendar for he generally calls
this hospital that of St. Jones.
The High Street here becomes very broad, apparently to accommodate a
Russian gun, but really because the Bridewell and a “dye house” stood
here till the beginning of this century, when it was removed to Hyde
Street. Even the ponderous cannon has not had a quiet time since it
came here, but has been on its travels. It was first placed where it
now stands, but a few years ago the Corporation conceived the idea of
moving it to a more commanding position on the summit of St. Giles’
hill. They accordingly carried it up, but immediately afterwards a
tumultous assembly, aided, it is said, by some officers, and not
dissimilar from that which saved the Butter Cross, dragged the gun down
again by might and placed it on the site it now occupies.[42]
Close to the bridge on the left-hand side where are Mr. Dance’s house
and grounds, stood anciently the Dominican friary, founded by De la
Roche, with its “Elysian garden.” Just here was also the Eastgate, a
high castellated building, which must have formed a handsome entrance
to the town in this direction. It was removed at the end of the last
century.
Beneath Bridge Street are the remains of a many-arched bridge said to
have been built by St. Swithun.
[Sidenote: Soke Bridge.]
[Illustration: _Soke Bridge._]
Passing over Soke Bridge, and proceeding straight on, we came, in a few
hundred yards, to a public-house built of wood and apparently sinking
under the weight of years, but which bore the name of “The Rising Sun.”
Through the open door I saw beams and passages of ancient irregularity,
and as the landlady, a bright looking woman, was standing just inside I
asked her whether she knew anything of the history of the house which
bore such proofs of antiquity.
“You _would_ say it was old,” she replied, “if you saw the vaults there
are downstairs.”
I answered that we were strangers, and should like to see them. She
speedily lighted a candle and led the way down into a chamber about
twenty feet square and eight high. A wide flight of broken stairs led
up to the street, while on the other side of the vault was an arch
with a square window on either side leading to a chamber beyond. There
had evidently been stone mullions and iron bars--the irons of the door
hinges remain.
This was the prison of the Soke belonging to the Bishop of Winchester,
and in ancient times the stocks stood just outside. I expressed the
interest I took in these remains of the past.
“Yes, sir,” replied our guide, who was not quite so visionary, “and it
is a nice place for keeping beer barrels--it is so cool.”
This part of the town was called the Soke, not, as I at first
supposed, because of its low position near the river, but from
the Saxon _soc_ or liberty, which instead of signifying that the
people here were unusually free, meant that the Bishop of Winchester
had license to do whatever he liked to them. Nearly opposite this
establishment are some new houses, and when their foundations were
being laid, a Roman urn was found, sixteen feet beneath the ground.
[Sidenote:Panoramic View.]
[Illustration: Towers and Spires of Winchester.]
Continuing our walk we made our way up the hill, now terraced and
tastefully planted. Less than ten years ago it was covered with little
garden allotments belonging to the citizens. On reaching the upper
ground--a sort of down--a magnificent view opened over the whole of
Winchester. We walked over to the south-east corner, and took up our
position on a seat close to the iron fence. From there we could take
a general survey. In a hollow about two miles to the east we saw the
trees about Chilcombe; on the summit of the down due east was a clump
of trees on St. Catherine’s hill; a square tower more to the north
on the lower ground was that of St. Cross; from this approaching
Winchester, first comes the college, then the old walls of Wolvesey,
then the Cathedral, the best and most compact view of it. Nearly over
the College on the top of the hill is the clump of firs on the site of
Cromwell’s battery, looking lower than our position, but really being
higher, and over the Cathedral is the long red brick front of Charles
II.’s palace. Truly, we have here Winchester in a nutshell.
In a description of the prospect from this point, written a hundred and
fifty years since, mention is made of the beautiful gardens, and in
prints dated 1723 and 1736 we find that two-thirds of the space within
the walls of Winchester were laid out for horticulture and adorned with
large trees.
[Sidenote: The Fair.]
Passing over to the northern side of the down we came to a burial
ground. The grave-digger told us that in the southern and older part of
it, he was often obstructed by the foundations of the old chapel--that
dedicated to St. Giles,[43] a hermit saint whose shrine is always
outside mediæval cities. Hard by, an old farm-house still exists called
Palm Hall, a corruption of Pavilionis Aula--the tent used by the judges
at the famous fair which was held here annually at the end of August.
This fair extended round this point and southwards even down the slope
and was the greatest but one in England. We find, in the Close Rolls,
King John giving directions that wax, pepper, and cinnamon, should
be here bought for him; and Henry III. (15) commands the sheriffs of
Gloucestershire and Worcestershire to allow wares to be brought to this
fair, and at another time orders that the barons (freemen?) should
proceed to Winton with their merchandise, and not fear the hostility
of the Earl of Salisbury.[44] Guards were placed as well as toll
collectors upon the roads for seven leagues round, within which circuit
and at Southampton no business was allowed. The right of holding the
fair was granted by Rufus to Bishop Walkelin for three days in the year
to assist him in building the Cathedral, and the time was gradually
extended, till in Henry II.’s reign it lasted sixteen days. The Bishop
had the jurisdiction, and the tolls went to the priory of St. Swithun,
Hyde Abbey, and other places.
Now let us enter the fair. There is a palisading all round it and
only two gates. It looks something between an industrial exhibition
and a cattle show. Each kind of ware has a separate locality. Here is
the “Draperie” and the “Pottery”--there is the “Spicery.” Here is the
street of the “Flemings,” “Limoges,” and “Genoese,” and other nations.
Even the Bishop has a stall. There are birds, apes, ferrets, and
bears. Here are the dynamiters--dreadful name--very harmless people,
vendors of brass pots. Moving among all these we picture to ourselves
a number of foreign merchants in rich costumes, Jews in strange hats,
the Bishop’s officials in gay liveries, and a crowd of hard-featured,
bare-footed peasants.
At sunset the Marshal rides through the fair and orders all stalls to
be closed. No one is to have any fire at night except a lamp or mortar.
The justiciaries seem to have had some good privileges. They might
enter at what day or hour they pleased into the city, and taste one by
one all the casks of wine for sale there. They might also send their
servants to take loaves from all the bakers and bring them to the
pavilion. There they were weighed, and if short, woe betide the baker!
his bread was forfeited, and he himself fined or put in the pillory.
The tolls seemed heavy on fancy articles. A load of hay or corn was
only ½d., and a cask of wine or a cart-load of fish or leather 4d.,
but an ape or falcon or bear was also 4d.
The fair continued down till about twenty years since. The neighbouring
Magdalen or “Morn” fair lasted four years longer. Dean Kitchin writes:
“As the city grew stronger and the fair weaker, it slid down St. Giles’
hill and entered the town where its noisy ghost still holds revel once
a year.”
[Sidenote: Execution.]
On the brow of St. Giles’ hill, Waltheof, Earl of Northumberland, was
beheaded by order of the Conqueror. He had conspired with some other
Saxons against the Norman invaders, and was betrayed by his wife--a
niece of William’s.
At dawn he was conducted through the city from the Castle, “arrayed in
all the badges of his earl’s rank.” After distributing memorial gifts
to a few of his friends who accompanied him, he was engaged in prayer
so long that the executioners became tired and told him to hasten. He
then begged to be allowed to say the Lord’s prayer, but, being overcome
and halting in the middle of it, the headsman would wait no longer
and the axe fell. It was said that after his head was off it finished
the sentence, “Deliver us from evil.” This probably was thought by
those who were surprised to see the lips move, as they often do, after
decapitation.[45]
FOOTNOTES:
[33] This was the first place where the curfew was established.
[34] Add. MSS. 6,768, British Museum.
[35] Of the eleven streets mentioned in the Winton Domesday book,
only two--“Mensterstret” and “Colobrockstret” retain their names.
[36] Archbishop Trench. The name may have been more or less in use
before.
[37] Harl. MSS. 66.
[38] Though one destroyed in Henry II.’s reign seems to have been
near the Westgate. One existed in Henry III.’s reign.
[39] Pat. Rolls, 5 Henry V., p. 2.
[40] The Corporation of Winchester used to send this accommodating
Marquess presents of sack and sugar-loaves.
[41] There was great anxiety that the Mayor should keep up his
dignity. He was not to be seen without his gown unless he was going
into the country, and his wife was to wear a scarlet gown. In 1584 it
was decreed that “no citizen that hath been bayliff of the city shall
wear in the street hose or stockings of white, green, yellow, redde,
blewe, weggett or oringe color.”
[42] Among the Tanner MSS. 76 in the Bodleian there is a curious
account (about 1600) of the devil appearing to four women who were
in Winchester gaol. He came to the windows like a fire and shook
the gratings, and on another occasion was like “a great black thing
with great eyes.” The women screamed, and the keeper ran in but saw
nothing. He observed however, that one of the candles he held in his
hands blew out, and the other burnt blue, and that the devil had left
an “unsavoury” odour in the room.
[43] This chapel was burnt down in 1231. Perhaps both it and St.
Catherine’s were originally of wood. A curious old dagger and spear
head were found where the new house on the hill was built.
[44] Pat. Rolls, 4 Henry III.
[45] A horrible execution took place in Winchester in 1259. Walter de
Scoteneye was torn to pieces by horses for the murder of W. de Clare.
THIRD DAY.
The City Walls--Danemead--Eastgate--Northgate--Westgate--Southgate--
Kingsgate--The College--Wykeham--Wolvesey--Raleigh.
From the Roman occupation, and perhaps from an earlier date, Winchester
has been a fortified town. Long after that time, people were slow in
laying to heart the saying in Plutarch that a city which contains men
who can fight has no need of walls.
The modern defences seem to have been chiefly raised in the time of
John and Henry III.,[46] just before Winchester ceased to be the
royal city of England. In the first year of John an inexpensive way
was discovered of obtaining land to make the fosse. Andrew Clerk, of
Winchester, gladly gave ground for the purpose, on condition that he
should have confiscated lands “which had belonged to Aaron the Jew,
in Shortenestret, and a messuage near it in which Bona the Jewess
lived.”[47] In the patents during Henry’s reign “murage,” that is,
money for wall-building, is often mentioned.[48]
We now pass down the High Street in the same direction that we took
yesterday, and, after reaching the site of the Eastgate, cross the
bridge, as we cannot walk close to the river on the western side. We
pass down Water Lane, where a Roman urn was discovered a short time
since; and, crossing the river by the mill, come to Durngate Terrace,
marking the site of a postern in the walls. This gate was made for foot
passengers in 1259. It was ordered to be entirely closed during the
plague in 1603, whence we conclude this was a squalid part of the town.
[Sidenote: Danemead.]
Thence as we proceeded up the City Road we found the modern walls
largely studded with pieces of old cut stone. The foundations of the
city walls ran close to the houses on our right, and a gentleman we
met told us that during some excavations he had seen a part of them
uncovered six feet in thickness. On the left we soon came to Trinity
Church, a handsome new structure, and on the right, beside Newman’s
the grocer’s, there is a gate leading to some sheds in the famous
meadow called Danemead. Farther on we found a turning on the right,
and walking up it a few yards came to the Steam Laundry, which stands
on the western edge of this field. Sceptics maintain that Dane is a
corruption of Dene, and signifies low-lying ground, but we cannot
afford to give up the old story. Tradition says that here Athelstan sat
on the city wall to see the combat between Guy, Earl of Warwick, and
the gigantic Dane, Colbrand: Rudborne luxuriates in the conflict, and
records all the mighty cuts and blows and their results with as much
detail as if he were a Homer or a reporter at a modern prize fight.
But there seems about the whole affair much hollowness and “sounding
brass.” Guy cuts off Colbrand’s head, and the Danes, seeing their
champion dead, run away, and are pursued. We wonder whether Rudborne
had been reading about David and Goliath. He was a monk of Winchester
in the fifteenth century, and as he says that Colbrand’s axe was laid
up before the high altar, and could in his day be seen in the vestry of
the Cathedral, so we may assume there was here some celebrated Dane of
the name of Colbrand.
Further up the City Road the deep fosse before the walls can be traced
in the slope of “Hyde Abbey Bowling Green,” and in the garden of a
ladies school called Fossedyke House. In the centre of the cross roads
here formed by Jewry Street, Hyde Street, and the City Road, stood the
Northgate. This structure was at length considered, as Temple Bar has
been in our times, to be a hindrance to traffic. Some people went so
far as to say that their lives had been endangered by carriages when
crossing its narrow bridge. Purchasers of hay and straw said that the
arches of the North and South gates were so low that they could not
obtain a full load for their money. Antiquaries have never been able to
offer much resistance to commercial interests, and so in 1771 an order
was made for the removal of the time-honoured obstacles.
[Sidenote: Towers of the Wall.]
The foundations of the walls now cross the road and run on our left,
a fragment of them behind Westbury Villa can still be seen from the
street; and if we look upwards we shall observe among the branches of
the trees a round tower, which a patriotic citizen, Mr. Budden, has
built to mark the foundations of one of the towers of the wall.[49] We
now pass down Sussex Street, and turning to the left and then right,
enter Tower Street. At the end of the last century the picturesque
ruins of the wall, among shrubs and ash trees, ran here on the right
to the Westgate. Passing through the gate, already described, we make
for the barracks, where the Castle formed part of the city wall; and,
crossing the railway, walk in front of the pretty gardens and houses
of St. James’ Terrace, and just before recrossing the line see the
entrance to the new cemetery on our right.
Then we proceed down St. James’ Lane (called sometimes Barnes Lane), at
the end of which in Southgate Street, just beyond St. Thomas’ Church,
stood, till 1771, the Southgate with its bridge. The city wall then
ran down between St. Swithun Street and Canon Street. Some portions
of it three feet thick can still be seen about four yards behind the
cottages, half way down the northern side of the latter street. There
was formerly a postern for the friary somewhere here.
[Illustration: King’s Gate.]
The Kingsgate is an interesting relic. There is a little chapel (to St.
Swithun) over it, as there was over the Northgate and Eastgate. In the
porter’s lodge, at the entrance to the close, the city wall can be seen
over six feet thick.
[Sidenote: Excommunication.]
The Kingsgate was the scene of some remarkable events in the middle of
the thirteenth century. Henry III. wished to appoint the uncle of the
Queen to the bishopric of Winchester, but the monks sturdily refused.
For five years the conflict lasted--the chapter suffered stripes,
imprisonment, and starvation while insisting that William de Raley and
no other should be the bishop. But when this prelate came to Winchester
at Christmas he found the city gates closed against him. He made a
circuit of the walls barefoot, and at last stopped at Kingsgate, the
nearest point to the Cathedral, and there “preaching” pronounced a
general interdict and excommunication upon all the Cathedral and Church
authorities, the Mayor, bailiffs, and clerks, and others, who opposed
his entrance. He then withdrew to France, but was soon afterwards
received to his diocese in peace. Fifteen years after this occurrence
there was a rebellion in Winchester against the clerical and other
governing bodies, and in the tumult the Kingsgate was partly burnt, and
some of the servants of the monastery were murdered.
At this time the chapel over the gate was destroyed, but the whole was
soon afterwards restored. The chapel in which service is now performed
was rebuilt at a later date.