THE MEDIAEVAL VILLAGE
Local government--Changes in the condition of villeins and labourers--
Famine and pestilence--Effects of the Great Plague--Spirit of
independence--Picture of village life--Church house--Church ales--
Pilgrimages--Markets--Old English fair--Wars--Hastings--Hereward
the Wake--Great Civil War--Restoration--Beacons.
Let us try to imagine the ordinary life and appearance of a mediaeval
English village in the "piping times of peace." Of course, no two
villages are quite alike; each has many distinguishing features; but
a strong family likeness is observable. In the Middle Ages a village
was much more independent than it is now. Then there were no Acts of
Parliament to control its affairs, and it regulated its own conduct
much to its own satisfaction, without any outside interference. Of
course, sometimes things were managed badly; but the village knew
it had only itself to blame, and therefore could not grumble at the
Government, or the fickleness of members of Parliament, or the
unreasonable conduct of Local Government Boards. Was not the lord
of the manor quite capable of trying all criminals? and did not the
rector and the vestry settle everything to the satisfaction of everyone,
without any "foreigners" asking questions, or interfering?
The position of the villeins and _cottiers_ has changed considerably
since the days of William the Norman. The former were now free tenants,
who paid rent for their land to the lord of the manor, and were not
bound to work for him, while the latter worked for wages like our
modern agricultural labourer. There was thus in the twelfth century a
gradual approximation to modern conditions on many estates; the home
farm was worked by hired labourers who received wages; while the
villeins had bought themselves off from the obligation of doing
customary work by paying a quit-rent.
We should like to know something of the way in which our ancestors
farmed their land, and fortunately several bailiffs have left us
their account books very carefully kept, and one Walter de Henley
in 1250 wrote a book on the _Art of Husbandry_, which gives us much
information. The rent of land was about sixpence per acre. They
ploughed three times a year, in autumn, April, and at midsummer, and
used oxen for their plough-teams. Women helped their husbands in
ploughing and harvest work. An old writer describes the farmer's wife
"walking by him with a long goad, in a cutted cote cutted full high."
Pigs and poultry were numerous on a mediaeval farm, but sheep were the
source of the farmer's wealth. Large flocks of divers breeds roamed the
hills and vales of rural England, and their rich fleeces were sent to
Antwerp, Bruges, and Ghent for the manufacture of cloth by the Flemish
weavers. After the Black Death, a great plague which ravaged the
country in 1348, the labourers were fewer in number, and their wages
higher; hence the farmers paid increased attention to their sheep,
which yielded rich profits, and required few labourers to look after
them.
Prior to the advent of this grim visitor, the Great Plague, the
prosperity of our villages had greatly increased. The people were
better fed and better clothed than any of their neighbours on the
Continent. Moreover they were free men, and enjoyed their freedom.
There was much happiness in our English villages in those days, and
"Merry England" was not a misnomer. There were, however, two causes of
suffering which for a time produced untold wretchedness--two unwelcome
visitors who came very frequently and were much dreaded--famine and
pestilence. There is necessarily a sameness in the records of these
pestilences.
The chief famine years were 1315 and 1316, but there is hardly any
period of five years from the death of Edward I. to the coming of
Henry of Richmond without these ghastly records of the sufferings of
the people. Disease not only arrested the growth of the population,
but reduced it considerably. It was mostly of a typhoid nature. The
undrained soil, the shallow stagnant waters which lay upon the surface
of the ground, the narrow and unhealthy homes, the filthy and neglected
streets of the towns, the excessive use of salted provisions and
absence of vegetables, predisposed the people to typhoid diseases, and
left them little chance of recovery when stricken down with pestilence.
The Great Plague arrived in England in 1348 from the shores of Italy,
whither it had been wafted from the East. It was probably carried to
the port of Bristol by travelling merchants, whence it spread with
alarming rapidity over the whole land. Whole villages were depopulated,
and about one-third of the people of England perished. It is difficult
for us to imagine the sorrow and universal suffering which the plague
caused. Its effects were, however, beneficial to the villagers who
survived. Naturally labourers became very scarce and were much sought
after. Wages rose enormously. The tenants and rustics discovered that
they were people of importance. Manor lords found it too expensive to
farm their lands, and were eager to hand them over to their tenants,
many of whom became much richer and more independent than formerly. The
spirit of independence pervaded all classes. There came to our village
many wandering friars, followers of Wiklif, who preached discontent to
the labouring rustics, told them that the gentry had no right to lord
it over them, that they were as good as their masters, who ought not to
live in fine houses in luxury supported by their toil and the sweat of
their brows. And when oppressive taxes were levied, the rustics
revolted, and gained much for which they strove. The golden age of the
English labourer set in, when food was cheap, wages high, and labour
abundant. A fat pig could be bought for fourpence, and three pounds of
beef for a penny; and in spite of occasional visits of the plague, the
villager's lot was by no means unhappy.
Here is a picture of village life in those days. The village church
stood in the centre of the hamlet, with a carefully made fence around
it, in order that no swine or foul beast might desecrate the graves.
Surrounded by the churchyard, with its yew tree and lich-gate, the
church was very similar to the old building wherein the villagers still
worship. All the houses had thatched roofs, and chief among the other
dwellings stood the lord's hall. Near the church was a curious building
called the church house, which has almost entirely passed away, except
in the records of old churchwardens' accounts. It was a large building,
in which could be stored wool, lime, timber, sand, etc., and was often
let to pedlars, or wandering merchants, to deposit their goods during
the fair.
In this building there was a long low room with a large fireplace and
hearth, around which a dozen or more could sit in comfort, except when
the wind blew the smoke down the wide, open chimney; but our ancestors
were accustomed to smoky chimneys, and did not mind them. In the centre
of the room was a large oak table. This was the scene of some very
festive gatherings. Aubrey thus describes the church house:--
"In every parish was a church house, to which belonged spits, crocks,
and other utensils for dressing provisions. Here the housekeepers met.
The young people were there too, and had dancing, bowling, shooting at
butts, etc., the ancients [_i.e._ old folks] sitting gravely by, and
looking on."
The churchwardens bought, and received presents of, a large quantity of
malt, which they brewed into beer and sold to the company. Hence these
feasts were called "church ales," and were held on the feast of the
dedication of the church, the proceeds being devoted to the maintenance
of the poor. Sometimes they were held at Whitsuntide also, sometimes
four times a year, and sometimes as often as money was wanted or a
feast desired. An arbour of boughs was erected in the churchyard on
these occasions called Robin Hood's Bower, where the maidens collected
money for the "ales," and "all went merry as a marriage bell"--rather
too merry sometimes, for the ale was strong and the villagers liked it,
and the ballad-singer was so merry, and the company so hearty--and was
it not all for a good cause, the support of the poor? The character of
these festivals deteriorated so much, until at last "church ales" were
prohibited altogether, on account of the excess to which they gave
rise.
[Illustration: AN ANCIENT VILLAGE]
There was a large amount of gaiety in the old villages in those days.
Men were not in so great a hurry to grow rich as they are now. The
Church authorised many holidays in the course of the year; and what
with May Day festivities, Plough Mondays, Hocktide and Shrovetide
sports, harvest suppers, fairs, and "ales," the villagers had plenty of
amusement, and their lives certainly could not be described as dull.
Sometimes the village would be enlivened by the presence of a company
of pilgrims on their way to the shrine of St. Thomas at Canterbury, or
to Holywell, blessed by St. Winifred, in order to be cured of some
disease. Although these pilgrims were deemed to be engaged on a
religious duty, they certainly were not generally very serious or sad.
Chaucer describes a very joyous pilgrimage in his _Canterbury Tales_,
how the company met at the Tabard Inn, in Southwark, including the
knight and the abbot, the prioress and the shipman, the squire and the
merchant, the ploughman and sompnour (or summoner, "of whose visage
children were sore afeard"), and rode forth gaily in the spring
sunshine--
"The holy blissful martyr for to seek,
That them hath holpen when that they were sick."
Pilgrim crosses are numerous all over England, where the pilgrims
halted for their devotions by the way, and sometimes we find churches
planted on the roadside far from human habitations, with no
parishioners near them; and some people wonder why they were so built.
These were pilgrim churches, built for the convenience of the
travellers as they wended their way to Canterbury. The villages through
which they passed must have been much enlivened by the presence of
these not very austere companies.
The ordinary lives of the farmers were diversified by the visits
to the weekly markets held in the neighbouring town, where they took
their fat capons, eggs, butter, and cheese. Here is a curious relic
of olden times, an ancient market proclamation, which breathes the
spirit of former days, and which was read a few years ago at
Broughton-in-Furness, by the steward of the lord of the manor, from
the steps of the old market cross. These are the words:--
"O yes, O yes, O yes![10] The lord of the manor of Broughton and of
this fair and market strictly chargeth and commandeth on Her Majesty's
behalf, that all manners of persons repairing to this fair and market
do keep Her Majesty's peace, upon pain of five pounds to be forfeited
to Her Majesty, and their bodies to be imprisoned during the lord's
pleasure. Also that no manner of person within this fair and market do
bear any bill, battle-axe, or other prohibited weapons, but such as be
appointed by the lord's officers to keep this fair or market, upon pain
of forfeiture of all such weapons and further imprisonment. Also, that
no manner of person do pick any quarrel, matter, or cause for any old
grudge or malice to make any perturbation or trouble, upon pain of five
pounds, to be forfeited to the lord, and their bodies to be imprisoned.
Also, that none buy or sell in corners, back sides, or hidden places,
but in open fair or market, upon pain of forfeiture of all such goods
and merchandise so bought and sold, and their bodies to imprisonment.
Also, that no manner of persons shall sell any goods with unlawful mete
or measures, yards or weights, but such as be lawful and keep the true
assize, upon pain of forfeiture of all such goods and further
imprisonment. Lastly, if any manner of persons do here find themselves
grieved, or have any injuries or wrong committed or done against them,
let them repair to the lord or his officers, and there they shall be
heard according to right, equity, and justice. God save the Queen and
the lord of the manor!"
And besides the weekly markets there were the great annual fairs, which
lasted many days, and were frequented by all classes of the population.
These fairs were absolutely necessary for the trade of the country in
the days when few people travelled far from their own homesteads, and
even the towns with their small number of inhabitants did not afford a
sufficient market for the farmer's and trader's stock.
The greatest of all English fairs was held in the little village of
Stourbridge, near Cambridge, now almost absorbed by the University
town. Hither flocked merchants and traders from all parts of Europe.
Flemish merchants brought their fine linen and cloths from the great
commercial cities of Belgium. Genoese and Venetian traders came with
their stores of Eastern goods. Spaniards and Frenchmen brought their
wines, and the merchants of the Hanse towns of Germany sold furs and
flax, ornaments and spices, while in return for all these treasures our
English farmers brought the rich fleeces of their sheep, their corn,
horses, and cattle. The booths were planted in a cornfield, and the
circuit of the fair, which was like a well-governed city, was over
three miles. The shops were built in streets or rows, some named after
the various nations that congregated there, and others after the kind
of goods offered for sale. There were Garlick Row, Bookseller's Row,
Cook Row; there were a cheese fair, a hop fair, a wool fair, and every
trade was represented, together with taverns, eating-houses, and in
later years playhouses of various descriptions. In the eighteenth
century one hundred thousand pounds' worth of woollen manufactures was
sold in a week in one row alone. A thousand pack-horses were used to
convey the goods of the Lancashire merchants to this famous fair. Now
railways have supplanted the pack-horses; fairs have had their day; the
trade of the country can now be carried on without them; and their
relics with their shows and shooting-galleries and steam roundabouts
have become a nuisance.
The peaceful life of the villagers was sometimes disturbed by the
sounds and sights of conflict. The exciting tales of war are connected
with the history of many an English village, and many "little
Wilhelmines" and labouring "grandsires" have discovered "something
large and round," traces of these ancient conflicts and "famous
victories."
"For often when they go to plough
The ploughshare turns them out,
'And many thousand men,' quoth he,
'Were slain in that great victory.'"
Many a lance and sword, and gilt spur, beautifully enamelled, which
once decked the heel of a noble knight, have been found in our fields,
and remind us of those battles which were fought so long ago.
"The knights are dust,
Their good swords rust,
Their souls are with the saints, we trust."
Sometimes the spectres of armed knights and warriors are supposed to
haunt these scenes of ancient slaughter, and popular superstition has
handed down the memory of the battles which were fought so long ago. It
tells us of the mythical records of the fights of King Arthur and his
Knights of the Round Table by the banks of the River Douglas, which ran
with blood for three days, so terrible was the slaughter. It tells us
how stubbornly the Britons resisted the Roman armies, so that on one
occasion not one Briton was left to tell the tale of their defeat.
When we visit the site of some battle with the history book in our hand,
it is possible to imagine the lonely hillside peopled again with the
dense ranks of English archers, or hear the clanging of the armour as
the men-at-arms charged for "St. George and merry England"; and the air
will be full again of the battle-cries, of the groans of the wounded and
the shouts of the victors.
Visit the scene of the battle of Hastings. Here on the high ground,
flanked by a wood, stood the brave English, under the leadership of
Harold, with his banner, woven with gold and jewels, shining
conspicuously in the morning sunlight. Here they stood in the form of
a wedge; there they turned the Normans, and put them to flight. Then
the Normans rallied, pretended to fly, decoyed the brave English from
their position, and by stratagem succeeded in defeating them at last.
Or go to the Madingley Windmill, near Cambridge, and see the fifteen
miles of rich drained cornfields which intervene between "Ely's stately
fane" and the spot on which you are standing. Here read Kingsley's
well-known story of _Hereward; or, The Last of the English_, and instead
of the rich cornfields you will see that black abyss of mud and bottomless
slime into which sank the flower of Norman chivalry as they tried to
cross that treacherous bog to conquer the gallant Hereward and to
plunder the monastery of Ely, the last stronghold of the English. On
they came, thousands upon thousands, rushing along the floating bridge
which they had formed, until at last it gave way beneath the weight, and
the black slime swallowed up the miserable wretches.
Or let us take our stand on the Round Tower, near the summit of the Edge
Hill, and see the site of the first battle between the troops of Charles
I. and the soldiers of the Parliament. The whole of that green lane was
lined with troops. In a cottage which stood at our feet the king
breakfasted before the battle; from that mound he surveyed the forces of
the enemy. Just as the bells in yonder church had ceased to ring for
service on Sunday afternoon the cannon began to roar, and the fight
commenced. There Prince Rupert charged with headlong fury, carrying all
before him. And so we can follow the fortunes of the fight until the
brave Cavaliers retired to rest--
"And thousands had sunk on the ground overpowered
The weary to sleep, and the wounded to die."
The memory of many a fight is recorded in the names of the fields,
places, and hills on which the battle raged. Lichfield (_i.e._ the
field of the dead), Battlefield, Battle, Battleflats, Standard Hill,
Slaughterford, and many others, all tell the tale of war and slaughter.
In some parts of the country, especially in Oxfordshire, there are fine
avenues of trees, which appear to lead to a large house; but when you
have walked to the end of the trees there is nothing to be seen. These
avenues tell the tale of war, of the destruction of the manor-house of
some old Royalist who fought for his king when the "Roundheads" and
Cromwell's "Ironsides" were more than a match for the gallant Cavaliers.
His house was destroyed, he and his sons killed, unless they were
fortunate enough to escape to France and wait the merry time "when the
king should enjoy his own again." How many of our uplands and gentle
vales have been stained with blood, and seen the terrible horrors of
war, of which we in these favoured days know nothing from our own
experience! We read about the sad battles and sieges which have taken
place in other countries, but can hardly imagine the time when hostile
soldiers were riding through our village lanes, and the noise of the
cannon was booming in the distance, as on that famous Sunday morning in
October, 1642, when Richard Baxter was disturbed in his preaching at
Alcester by that strange sound, and knew that the terrible conflict had
begun between the king and Parliament. Our English villages suffered
very much. All farming was stopped, manor-houses destroyed, some of the
best blood in England spilt, and many a home made desolate. Indeed, in
some parts of the country the people had literally no bread to eat, and
no clothing to cover their nakedness; and Cromwell ordered collections
to be made in London for the relief of the distressed people in
Lancashire. Then the old clergyman was driven from his flock, and some
commissioner appointed who wrote in the register-books of the parish the
names of the children who were born, but did not record their baptism as
the clergyman did. And then some black-gowned Puritan, with his hair cut
short, came and took possession of the living, and preached very long
sermons about Cromwell "girding his sword upon his thigh," and about
blinded Papists, and about Mahershalal-hash-baz, who made haste to
divide the spoil.
But in the glorious year 1660 everyone began to throw up his cap and
welcome right royally the king from over the water; and the long-faced
Puritan disappeared, and the writing in the register-books changed into
that of a scholarly hand; and many of our churches were enriched by
thankofferings of plate and other gifts, because the good people of
England rejoiced exceedingly that their loved Church and her services
were restored to them; and "the king at last enjoyed his own again." The
memory of the adventures of King Charles II., when he was endeavouring
to escape from England after the last crushing defeat of the royal
troops at Worcester, called by Cromwell "the crowning mercy," still
lingers in many of the country villages through which the unfortunate
monarch passed. The king and a few faithful followers avoided the towns,
passed the ford of the Salwarp at Hemford Mill, and proceeded by Chester
Lane to Broadwaters and Kinfare Heath. Presently they reached Brewood
Forest, where there stood two old hunting-lodges, built by the Giffards
in troublous times as hiding-places for proscribed Papists. They were
called White Ladies and Boscobel, and were inhabited by staunch
Royalists named Penderel; so the king knew he would be safe there. He
was disguised as a forester with leathern jerkin and trunk hose, his
long hair cropped, and his hands blackened. All day he lay concealed in
a coppice, and in the evening, under the name of Will Jackson, he supped
with the Penderels, and then tried to cross the Severn, but all the
fords and bridges were guarded. The next day he and Colonel Carlos
remained concealed in a large oak near Boscobel, and the memory of Royal
Oak day is still preserved. He had other narrow escapes, and was saved
by Mistress Jane Lane, the beautiful daughter of Colonel Lane. A pass
had been obtained for her and her groom to go to Abbot's Leigh, near
Bristol. The plan was arranged that the king should act as groom; so
Charles mounted his horse, and Mistress Lane sat behind him on a
pillion, and together they rode through Warwickshire to Bristol. The
king was nearly captured at Long Marston, for some troopers of Cromwell
suspected the party, and came to examine the house where they rested.
The cook, however, set Charles to wind up the jack, and because he was
awkward struck him with the basting-ladle just as the soldiers entered
the kitchen. Their suspicions were thus removed; and in this old house
the remains of the jack are still preserved. The poor king was
disappointed of his ship; the skipper unfortunately told his wife that
he was going to take the king to France, and she was angry, and locked
him up in his room, so that he could not fulfil his engagement. At last
Lord Wilmot procured a ship for the fugitive king, who set sail joyfully
from Shoreham, near Brighton, and reached Paris in safety. There must
have been great excitement in the villages of England when the troopers
were scouring the country in all directions, and the unfortunate king
was known to be wandering about disguised as a servant.
If there are any hills or high ground in your neighbourhood commanding
an extensive view of the country, it is probable that in olden days a
beacon was placed there, so that the country might be aroused in case of
an invasion, and frequently we find that the tower of a church was used
as a beacon, and occasionally the iron brazier remains, as at Little
Budworth, Cheshire. When the Spaniards determined to invade England in
the reign of "Good Queen Bess," and sent the Invincible Armada,
consisting of an enormous number of ships and men and guns, bonfires
were placed on every hill; and when a gallant merchant vessel brought
the news that the Spaniards were coming, the bonfires were lighted, and
everyone prepared to resist their attack. Macaulay has told us in very
stirring verse of how the news spread, as each fire was lighted,
"From Eddystone to Berwick bounds, from Lynn to Milford Bay";
how Beachy Head caught the signal from St. Michael's Mount, and sent it
swiftly over the country from tower to hill-top,
"Till Skiddaw saw the fire that burned on Gaunt's embattled pile,
And the red glare of Skiddaw roused the burghers of Carlisle."
Again, within the memory of the old inhabitants of your village, the
hill beacons were brought into use when Napoleon I. threatened to invade
England; and on January 31, 1803, by some mistake, the fire on Hume
Castle, in Berwickshire, was lighted; other beacons responded, and ere
morning dawned thousands were marching ankle-deep through the dense mud
of the winter roads to their appointed stations. The mistake was not
without its uses, as Napoleon saw that England was ready, and did not
venture to attack our shores. A similar accident took place in the reign
of Henry VIII. There was a conspiracy against the king by the Roman
Catholics, who did not like their monasteries being destroyed, called
"The Pilgrimage of Grace." Beacons were erected on the heights of
Pendel, in Lancashire, and on the various hills of Yorkshire and
Derbyshire; but the beacon on Pendel was fired before the conspirators
were quite ready for action, and their plot came to nothing.
Once again in the history of our country were these beacon fires
lighted; but it was not to announce the approach of an enemy, but to
reflect the gladness of the nation which for so many years had enjoyed
the reign of so good a ruler as Queen Victoria, who has now passed away
from us, and whom the whole nation mourns. And as we witnessed the
sudden blaze of the beacons we thought, perhaps, of other occasions when
they were used, and were thankful that rejoicings and thanksgivings were
the cause, and not invasions or conspiracies.
[10] This is a corruption of the old Norman-French word _oyez_,
"hear ye."