The reason that robins became so popular at Christmas was because Victorian postmen were nicknamed robins because they wore bright red uniforms. The link between the postmen, the bird and the cards they delivered was almost a ready made one.
There is also a Victorian story of a robin warming the baby Jesus by fanning the fire with its wings and the resulting burn is marked by the robin’s red breast.
I’m not quite so sure how this particular Victorian card fits into the festive message – it seems that three robins have over indulged the sherry or punch and that two of them have expired – one of them actually floating in the punch. After all, what says Christmas like two robins with their toes turned up – besides, of course the small boy being attacked by two geese and a Christmas pudding (see previous post). I don’t hold out much hope for the third robin given the cat lurking in the back ground. But in any event the sender, having provided a troubling image of massed robin extermination, wishes the recipient the usual seasonal greetings…
Jane Austen describes rout cake while Charlotte Bronte mentions spice cake in her letters. Leaving the former aside, it seems that spice cake was something of a treat to be taken as part of alms given at Christmas as part of her duties as a clergyman’s daughter and wife.
Mrs Beeton’s book of Household Management was first published in 1861 and was an immediate best seller. Her recipe for spice looks remarkably like Yorkshire Parkin without the addition of oatmeal and without quite so much ginger. Spice cakes were not a new invention, they are listed in The English House Wife of 1615.
8 oz plain flour,
3 oz butter (or rather alarmingly good beef dripping)
2 oz brown sugar
1/2 a gill of golden syrup (a gill is equivalent to a 1/4 pint)
1 oz self raising flour
a pinch of salt
1 teaspoon of mixed spice (cinnamon, ginger and nutmeg)
1 egg
milk.
Essentially the fats, golden syrup and sugar are melted and then added to the flour, spice and salt which is stirred well. The egg is added to the mixture and sufficient milk added to make a soft batter which is then beaten well and poured into a buttered cake-tin. It says it takes an hour to bake but Mrs Beeton doesn’t provide oven temperatures – a moderate oven is as good as it gets.
In Cumbria and Westmorland you might be more likely to receive a slice of pepper cake which contained pepper as well as ginger and treacle. More like a tea loaf, it also contains dried fruit. Like the spice cake it was part of a tradition of festive or celebratory cakes. The increasing amounts of spice used in celebratory cooking from the sixteenth century onwards tells a story of the triangular trade and slavery. In Cumbria the addition of rum to Christmas cakes reflects the import of rum into Whitehaven from the West Indies. And I will admit to being very partial to a slice of Cumberland rum Nicky. Certainly the arrival of cheap sugar made the iced Christmas fruit cake we are familiar with today much more affordable. The Victorians called it Twelfth Cake because that was when they tucked in to it. The consumption of cake on the 25th December is still a relatively new one.
And just when I thought that history had been covered in every possible way I discover Alysa Levine’s Cake: A Slice of History which outlines the evolution of our cake eating habits. You can also take a tour of the country in a book entitled Around Britain by Cake by Caroline Taggart. As it happens I already have the latter in my possession but I have the feeling that Levine’s book is about to make its way into my life.
I would also have to say that the Victorians had some strange ideas about Christmas cards. I’m not sure if anything quite says Christmas like the image of a small boy being attacked by a giant Christmas pudding and two angry geese.. as a warning against indigestion of all things. I was actually looking for a card featuring cake! The image originates from Pinterest via Reddit.
Apparently if you go searching for holly in hedgerows at this time of the year, at least in Yorkshire, then you’re scroggling it. I’ve never heard the expression before but in Haworth it’s a definite thing.
Mind you, it turns out that in some parts of Yorkshire you might call holly ollins and its turns out that the modern word – holly- is an abbreviation of the older hollen or holen. In some places, again Yorkshire, the plant is also called hulm.
My rather wonderful Complete Language of Flowers states that holly brings luck, which is not entirely surprising as its also supposed to repel lightening, the evil eye and is protection against witchcraft. No wonder it grows in so many old gardens. And apparently if you attach a sprig to the bedpost it will bring sweet dreams. If of course, you’re into weather forecasting, an abundance of berries is supposed to herald a particularly harsh winter.
The first commercial Christmas card, printed in 1843, did not feature holly but it swiftly became a popular image for festive greetings cards and Edith Holden’s diary dating from 1906, which became famous when it was published in 1977, the plant and its glossy red berries.
So – if you’re off scroggling – sweet dreams and keep warm!
After the Romans departed from Britain’s shores the towns and roads that they established began to decay. Even so, the roads continued to be used as did earlier prehistoric trackways. A road running between Buxton and Wirksworth, known as The Street, was still being used in the eighteenth century and lets not forget that King Alfred used Watling Street to mark the boundary between his own realm and Danelaw. The addition of the name ‘Gate’ to any road was originally the Norse ‘gata’ meaning road while street, meaning a paved road, originated from Latin but which was adopted by Anglo-Saxon road users.
It wasn’t until 1285 that the Statute of Winchester required individual manors to maintain highways that passed across them. It also required tracks and bridleways to be maintained. At Norbury, Sir Henry FitzHerbert was required to obtain a licence in 1305 to divert the old road which rather inconveniently passed through the courtyard of his house.
More people began to travel as markets were established and monastic houses founded. The Earl’s Way, heading east, from Leek was established by the Norman earls of Chester using some preexisting tracks. In addition to the earl using the route to travel to various parts of his estates in meant that his tax gatherers could also access the area more easily. Other routes from Leek to Macclesfield permitted monks to send wool towards Chester for export.
Long distance packhorse routes including Portway and Doctor’s Gate near Glossop carried goods from Manchester to Nottingham. It is thought that some of the way originated during the Bronze Age. Pack horse routes, often in the form of hollow ways, caused by the erosion of countless feet, carried salt, wool, lead and any other merchandise that required transport. Hartington which had its own market from 1203 onwards was at the hub of a number of pack horse routes including a route passing Minninglow in the direction of Wirksworth.
One of the paths running eastwards is called Gallowlow Lane. The low refers to a Bronze Age bowl barrow, long since robbed out. Its name is suggestive of a place of execution but there’s no extant evidence for a gallows there other than the name and its position in a prominent place in the landscape. More cheerily there’s also a Jaggers Gate heading from Buxton in the direction of Macclesfield. A jagger was another name for a carrier or packhorse man while a jag was the load that a mule carried. In Derbyshire the term began as a name for the packhorse trains that carried lead ore. Meanwhile, Doctor’s Gate was named after Dr John Talbot who is recorded as improving a section of the old road during the late fifteenth century. Black Harry Gate is an eighteenth century addition to the names of Derbyshire’s roads. He was a highwayman – which possibly explains why there are so many references to gallows and gibbets scattered across the area. Daniel Defoe would call the region a ‘howling wilderness’ when he visited, so it’s safe to assume that it wasn’t necessarily always particularly law abiding.
There are also coffin roads that enabled isolated communities to carry the coffins of their loved ones to the nearest church. The best known one runs from Edale to Castleton. Hollins Cross marked the point where funeral parties might stop for a rest and to offer prayers. The Peak District has nowhere near as many of this kind of path as Yorkshire and Cumbria.
Dodd, A.E. and Dodd, E.M. Peakland Roads and Trackways
Wickham, from Cottingley near Bradford in Yorkshire (these days more usually associated with the Cottingley fairies) began his career as a barrister having studied for his degree at Geneva. In 1793 he was appointed as a stipendary magistrate and it was at that point that he began to work on clandestine operations at the behest of Lord Grenville under the power given to magistrates as a consequence of the Aliens Act.
It was thanks to Wickham that the London Corresponding Society, whose members agitated for democratic reform, demanding annual parliaments and universal suffrage for all men found themselves subject to arrest and treason trials. Wickham actually uncovered nothing treasonous and failed to entrap any of its organisers into ill judged sedition. Even so it was bruted abroad that members of the society planned to assassinate the king.
In 1794 Wickham was made ‘superintendent of aliens’ – a snappy job title if ever there was one- and then sent off to Switzerland where he eventually became the English ambassador. It was his task to liaise with enemies of the revolution, set up a spy network of his own and encourage the French to revolt against the new regime. Ultimately the French persuaded the Swiss to expel him. He returned to England in 1801, after some not entirely pleasant adventures.
While not all of his ventures were a rip roaring success – the uprising in the Vendée (1793-1796) was something of a disaster it was thanks to Wickham that the English began to approach the collection, analysis and dissemination of information in a more wholistic fashion rather than the fragmentary approach to spy work that was evident in previous years.
Wickham returned his attention to the London Corresponding Society and in 1798, Father James Coingly was executed for treasonable correspondence with the French. Edward Despard (who was Irish despite the surname) was executed in 1802. Both men were active in the Irish republican movement. Somewhat ironically Coingly had been in Paris at the start of the French Revolution and narrowly avoided being hanged from a lamppost as a royalist sympathiser because of his clerical garb. The story recounted at his trial did nothing to sway the sympathies of the judge or jury.
Not that all went well for Wickham. In 1800 he was accused of misuse of public funds during his time in Europe and it has been suggested that Jane Austen’s choice of the name Wickham in Pride and Prejudice was as a direct consequence of William Wickham’s portrayal in the press at that time.
In 1802 Wickham was appointed Chief Secretary for Ireland but reigned two years later following the execution of Robert Emmet for treason (who’d have thought there were so many treason cases during the ‘Regency Period’?) While Wickham believed in the importance of surveillance and the use of informers he also believed that such spying should only be carried out in the interests of national security.
Durey, Michael (2009). William Wickham, Master Spy: The Secret War Against the French Revolution. Pickering & Chatto.
By the time of Edward the Confessor the shire reeve was responsible for collecting royal taxes and collecting rents from royal lands across a hundred hides of land. With the passage of time, the reeve, a royal official, found himself taking pledges, or oaths, and keeping the peace for the hundred, or wapentake. They were also responsible, at least since the days of Cnut, for apprehending criminals and trying them in some locations. And just to confuse matters the term sheriff was also used from Cnut. Not all sheriffs, prior to the Conquest, possessed the same powers. It depended upon the aldermen and the earls of a region from whom the shire reeve, or sheriff, derived some of his power, not to mention the relationship that existed between the king, his earl and the shire reeve or sheriff. The latter might find himself working for both the king and the earl and their wishes were not always aligned. If a monarch was weak, then it was the local lord who wielded the power and to whom the sheriff/reeve would defer. Of more interest is that the post of sheriff is the oldest secular office in Crown employment.
And just as an aside, In 1066 it was Godric, Sheriff of Berkshire who led the shire levies for the county and who was killed at Hastings and it was Ansgar, Sheriff of London and Middlesex, who negotiated with Duke William (Morris, p27). Ansgar’s father had been London’s Port Reeve – essentially meaning sheriff of the town.
After the conquest the role of sheriff became much more clear cut. Roughly equating to Norman viscount (Morris, pp 41-42) the office evolved from the necessity of the Conqueor to continue the smooth administration of his new realm. William retained the services of the sheriffs and shire reeves who served Edward and Harold unless they had fought against him during the conquest. Ansgar, once one of the most powerful men in England, was dismissed from his post and imprisoned. His ancestry was Danish which made him dangerous and he appears to have spent the rest of his life in custody while his lands were given by William the Conqueror to his own men. Geoffrey de Mandeville became sheriff in his place.
Most sheriffs at the start of their documented existence in Anglo-Saxon England were men of moderate means but now they were often the most important man in the region they administrated. The only matters that they had no say on within their area of office was in Church law. Church land lay outside the jurisdiction of common law. The sheriff became the head of the judicial authority within a shire as well taking oaths such as the giving of the frank pledge, collecting royal taxes and enforcing the king’s will. By the time that Philip Marc became the hated High Sheriff of Nottinghamshire and Derbyshire during the reign of King John, shrievalties were much sought after, often semi-inherited positions even though the post came with no pay. Their power, which came from farming taxes, meant that they were able to keep a hefty portion for themselves.
And why you might wonder have I deviated to sheriffs? Well, mainly because several members of the Fairfax family were sheriffs of York during the latter Middle Ages and the Tudor period. By the end of the Tudor period, sheriffs retained their role ensuring law and order but it was the newly appointed Lords Lieutenants who dealt with military matters from 1547 onwards. Even then it was only in 1908 that the latter became more important, administratively, than sheriffs. Sheriffs, who also had the responsibility of returning a county’s two members of Parliament, often served in that office as well as being sheriff.
Morris, William A. The Medieval Sheriff to 1300. (1968)
Charles I set off for Scotland on 10 August 1641. At the beginning of the summer he had signed the death warrant of his friend the Earl of Strafford and Ship Money Tax had been declared illegal. How much respite the king enjoyed from the turbulence of his three kingdoms when he arrived in Edinburgh on 14 August is another matter entirely. He was still there when an Irish rebellion broke out in October.
Which brings me to November. On the 8th of November, ten days before the king left his Scottish capital, the English Parliament demanded that in future Charles should only appoint advisers and ministers approved by them. On the 23 the Commons narrowly voted in favour of the Grand Remonstrance which criticised the king’s temporal and religious policies. Even so, when he arrived back in London on 25 it was with much ceremony and popular acclaim.
Ferdinando Fairfax second Baron Fairfax of Cameron and the father of Sir Thomas Fairfax who was Member of Parliament for Yorkshire was part of the committee that presented the Grand Remonstrance. This was a list of 200 grievances against the king including his perceived abused of power as well as things like illegal taxation.
Richard of Haldingham, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons
Apparently there are more than 500 images on the Hereford Mappa Mundi. Scott Westrem’s book published in 2001 provides a transcription explaining the legends on the map as well as a guide to all the primary sources where the information can be discovered.
To the medieval mind the east was the oldest part of the world. It was, after all, where the Garden of Eden could be found. In the medieval mind, humanity moved westwards – placing Britain, at that period on the edge of the map and making it the newest part of civilisation. As well as Noah’s ark sitting in the mountains of Armenia. The map also depicts the city of Nineveh and Mesopotamia. We learn that Babylon was founded by a giant named Nimrod.
There are also a plethora of strange and mythical people and animals. Apparently those who live near the source of the Ganges live only on the scent of apples and if they smell something unpleasant that die – immediately. It was also believed that there were a people in India who had only one leg but who were none the less very fast (now I know where C.S. Lewis got some of his ideas). Manticores were also believed to be indigenous to India – not a pleasant creature it had a human face, a lion’s body and a scorpion’s tale.
Study the map more closely and you can find giants, people who drink from the skulls of their enemies, griffins, minotaurs, lynx that can see through solid walls, a marsok which is an animal that can change shape, pelicans that suck the blood of their parents, fauns, dragons, phoenixes, mandrakes, salamanders, basilisks and people who have no heads but have faces in their torsos. There’s an elephant with a tower on its back as well as a unicorn and a rhinoceros. There is, just in case you wanted to know, also a tiger which was believed to be very vain.
Everyone who looked at the map was invited, if they could read, to hear its message. Presumably the author of the script was thinking of the illustration of Sodom and Gomorrah, not to mention the Judgement at the top of the map. No surprise that the snake is sitting nearby the Garden of Eden.
The question is what do the 43 or so animals and birds that populate the rest of the known world have to say – aside from stealing clear of the more deadly ones? They all have some moral or spiritual significance whatever their origins. The bestiaries that were so popular during the medieval period underline this point from the pelican who sacrifices itself for its young and a reminder of Christ’s sacrifice would have been widely recognised, appearing as it does in imagery throughout the Middle Ages. Wondering about the lynx that can see through solid walls? That’s not what it’s on the map for. It was also thought to urinate black healing stones, except rather than share the benefit the lynx always buries what it produces, so that its no help to anyone.
And let’s not forget the bonnacon which had the head of a bull but which is able to escape its pursuers with what can only be described as deadly expulsions from its rear end. I have no idea how Pliny managed to turn a bison into a creature that could literally leave scorched earth behind it. It had no moral message to impart. It was a medieval joke…something to make the viewers of the Mappa Mundi laugh, presumably just before they realised that they needed to mend their ways or face eternal damnation.
Westrem, Scott. The Hereford Map: A Transcription and Translation of the Legends with Commentary (Terrarum Orbis, 1)
It’s thought that long established parishes are based on pre-Conquest manors. Some of them may even have had their boundaries established as early as the Iron Age. After the Conquest the manor became the basis of the feudal system, so that by the twelfth century the parish system extended across England. Over time larger manor and parishes were broken down to smaller units while others merged together. Even so, until the Reformation the parish was the basic administrative unit not only for the local lord but also for the Church.
In 1086 the Domesday book recorded manors but by 1188 it was parishes that formed the basis of Henry II’s Saladin Tithe which required the payment of a tax of 10% on all movable property and income – the only exception to this was that men in holy orders were not required to pay a tax on their books, vestments and horses. Rather than the local sheriff doing the job of assessing the amount t to be tax it fell to the local priest or bishop. If you decided to join the crusade to win back Jerusalem you were not required to pay the tithe. Oh yes and if you failed to pay you could be imprisoned or excommunicated which came with the threat of eternal damnation. Ultimately Henry II never went on crusade, it was his son Richard who joined the Third Crusade.
Aside from taxing folk, the manor/parish was also the smallest area for justice to be applied, often by the lord of the manor, at the manor court. By the sixteenth century the parish was an essential component in the relief of poverty not to mention the maintenance of roads.
Unfortunately rather than using maps in medieval England charters relied upon descriptions to detail tenure and grants. This means that Thomas Elham’s map of Thanet in his Historia Monasterii S Augustini Cantuariensis dating to about 1414 is sometimes described as the oldest surviving parish map. He used the map to illustrate the foundation myth of Minster in Thanet, a stretch of land given as wergild to Domne Eafe after the murder of her brothers by their cousin King Ecgberht of Kent. An article by D.W. Rollason explores the accuracy of the parish boundary with Elham’s map which also contains illustrations of the churches on Thanet at the time.
Of course once the sixteenth century arrived estate owners became much more proactive in the commissioning of estate maps. One reason is that the parish system which had been in place for so many years was disrupted by the Dissolution of the Monasteries and by various enclosure acts. Estate maps were created for their ease of use in legal and administrative use. Wealthy landowners were better able to overview their estates than they might have done through a chartulary which included charters and terriers, although a notable exception is the Boarstall Cartulary map dating to the fifteenth century which is the earliest known map depicting a village. Like Elmham’s map, the Boarstall Cartulary map also enshrines the semi-mythical origins of the landowner on its vellum.
And of course a map enable the landowner to enjoy sight of his, or occasionally her, domains at a glance.
Throughout the history of Christian England, from Anglo Saxon times onwards parishes were required to pay tithes to the church – one tenth of a parish’s produce was paid to the vicar, curate or abbey who owned the rights to the church. After the dissolution these tithes were sometimes paid to private landlords. Unsurprisingly people increasingly resented paying these tithes. In 1836 an act was passed allowing parishioners to pay cash rather than goods and an accurate series of maps were drawn up to identify all the land in a parish so that tithes could be calculated accurately. And, it was the landowners who were required to pay for the survey of their land. These maps are now in the National Archives at Kew.
Today parish maps are often created by local communities to identify the things that are valued and to celebrate what makes the community from its wildlife and history to its people and buildings. They are about a sense of place rather than created for legal or administrative reasons. Somewhat ironically they often share more in common with medieval maps than modern cartography in that there is often no scale, bird’s eye illustrations of rivers, roads and bridges and used and houses are often pictorial rather than represented by symbols.
