‘Richard III and Learned Men’ is the first part of a talk presented to the NSW branch of the Richard III Society at the general meeting on 21 April 2012.  For reasons of space it will be published in four parts.  An extensive bibliography is to follow with Part IV.

University Class in the 1350s

I particularly liked this picture of a university lecture in the 1350s because of the student having a nap in the front of the picture and others hat the back having a chat – nothing much has changed in the last 700 years.

Last year I drew the letter “E” for one of our branch’s Scrabble talks (you have to prepare a short talk on a Ricardian/late medieval subject beginning with that letter) and looked at ‘Richard III and Education’.  There were certain limitations, I had to have a topic starting with the letter “E” and my time was limited, and the word “education” brought for me the association with little kids learning their ABC.  Therefore I decided to extend it to talk about ‘Richard III and Learning’ in a wider context.

The strongest indication for Richard’s interest in learning we have is his religious activity.  In his day it was not possible to separate learning and religion; the centres of learning, the universities, were basically religious institutions.  During his life he showed a marked support for religious institutions and liked to surround himself with learned men.  Ross says that “there is no good reason to doubt that Richard was a genuinely pious and religious man” [Ross, p.128], but I believe that to see this purely in a religious context is too limited.  My contention is rather that Richard was interested in and actively supported learning, which for him went hand in hand with his faith.

In the following I want to demonstrate this in three areas:  Richard and his connection to a selection of learned men, his connection to the centres of learning and his actions as a law maker.

Richard III and Learned Men

Bust of a bishop on a corner of Magdalen College, Oxford (© Dorothea Preis)

Richard realised that learned men would provide competent counsellors and administrators, and took full taken advantage of this.  As Sutton and Visser-Fuchs say, “The list of … learned men in his employment is a long one”. [Sutton & Visser-Fuchs, Hours, p.80]  Ross remarks on his love to surround himself with graduate scholars and likens him to Henry V, rather than Edward IV.  He sees the praise for him of the Canterbury Convocation of 1484 as the result of his protection of the church and his patronage of learning.  [Ross, p.132] In addition, it can be said that “he may have himself possessed a little more learning that most men of his background”. [Sutton & Visser-Fuchs, ‘Cambridge’, p.119]

The fashion for learning was not new in Richard’s day, it is rather the continuation of a trend which started in the first half of the 15th century with men like William Bingham, and – even earlier – William Wykeham, bishop of Winchester.  Though neither of them had been particularly well educated themselves, they both were alarmed at the lack of educated clergy and teachers and set out to do something about it. [ODNB ‘Bingham’; ODNB ‘Wykeham’]

It has been said that Richard favoured graduates from Cambridge rather than from Oxford [e.g. Ross, p. 132], but the case is not as clear cut as it might seem.  While there was a certain amount of Cambridge graduates among the men near Richard, there were also quite a number of men from Oxford.  In addition, many of learned men in Richard’s service had connections with both universities as well as foreign ones.  [Sutton & Visser-Fuchs, ‘Cambridge’, p.118]

An early direct influence on Richard was probably George Neville, Archbishop of York, who was a well-educated patron of learning and a great benefactor of Oxford University, where he had studied at Balliol College.  He is also regarded as a supporter of the revival of Greek studies.  Several of his associates would later prosper through their association with Richard, for instance John Shirwood, Thomas Langton, Thomas Barowe (though I question his association with Neville) and  Edmund Chaderton. [Sutton, ‘Piety’, pp.87-88; ODNB ‘Neville’]

I would like to introduce six men, who were at their time known for their high degree of learning and also had a more or less close association to Richard.
Richard’s choice for the two bishops he appointed while king is telling:  Thomas Langton of Salisbury and John Shirwood of Durham, both had more or less direct associations with George Neville – and both were known for their learning.  [Sutton & Visser-Fuchs, Hours, p.80]

1. Thomas Langton (c.1430–1501)

Thomas Langton was the brother of a long standing associate of George Neville.  Edward IV seems to have been impressed by him and helped him in his early career.  He also used him in diplomatic missions, a pattern that continued under Richard III.  Richard must have liked him a lot, because he did not suggest him for a bishopric only once but twice:  when in May 1483 the then bishop of St David’s died, Richard as protector suggested Langton for the post; and in early 1485 he secured  his translation to Salisbury.  While he certainly was useful to Richard as a diplomat, it was specifically his learning, which earned him his elevation. [ODNB ‘Langton’; Sutton, ‘Piety’, p.88; Ross, p.133]

Langton accompanied Richard on his progress in August 1483, during which he made his famous remark:

He contents the people where he goes best that ever did prince; …  God hath sent him to us for the weal of us all.  [quoted in Potter, p.127]

2. John Shirwood (d.1493)

John Shirwood came from a family of keen Yorkists.  He was another associate of George Neville, and both he and Richard as duke of Gloucester worked for Neville’s release when he was imprisoned after Barnet.  Shirwood was famous for being one of the earliest English humanists. He had a rare knowledge of Greek and wrote in polished Latin. He had an extensive library containing more than three dozen, mainly printed, works.  He wrote his name in them, usually on the last page, together with the date and place where he had bought them, giving us an idea where he was when.  Richard was personally interested in the County Palatinate of Durham.  And as his books show, Shirwood, who had been in Rome off and on since 1477, spent virtually the whole time of Richard’s reign in Rome, which led some commentators to the conclusion that his absence might have been an added point in favour of his selection.  However, he was in England for Richard’s coronation, and must have impressed Richard on this occasion.  In addition to the bishopric, Richard also recommended him for a cardinal’s hat, so he must have thought quite highly of him.  [ODNB, ‘Shirwood’; Allen; Williams]

3. John Gunthorpe (d.1498)

Another renowned scholar and humanist with close relations to Richard was John Gunthorpe, dean of Wells.  While protector, Richard made him keeper of the privy seal on 10 May 1483, an office he retained throughout Richard’s reign.  Richard also used him on diplomatic missions as he was an eminent Latin and, like Shirwood, Greek scholar. [Ross, pp.133-134; ODNB ‘Gunthorpe’]

4. John Russell (c.1430–1494)

Richard’s choice for his chancellor fell on John Russell, bishop of Lincoln. Russell had studied civil and canon law at Oxford, while both Langton and Shirwood had degrees in theology.  On the one hand Russell was a career civil servant – he had been counsellor of Edward IV – making him a likely choice, but he was also an eminent scholar.  Thomas More was later to describe him as “one of the best learned men undoubtedly that England had in his time.” [quoted in Ross, pp.132-133]  He is known as one of the first to buy printed books on the continent and bringing them into England in 1466. [Armstrong, p.268-269; Masek, p.7]

5. John Doget (d.1501)

All four men chosen by Richard for public office confirm what Ross sees as “an increasing awareness of the importance of humanistic scholarship as a qualification for high office in the clerical establishment of government”.  [Ross, p.134]  However, even with his more private appointments, Richard showed that he valued learning in the men he surrounded himself with.  He selected John Doget as his private chaplain in 1483.  Doget was another noted scholar and author among other things on a documentary on Plato’s Phaedo. [Ross, p.134]

Richard was not alone in striving for a “better education of the clergy and the improvement of services in their localities” [Sutton & Visser-Fuchs, Hours, p.80], nor was he by any means the first.   After the challenge of Lollardy many people saw the need for better educated priests.  It is in this context that we have to see Henry VI’s interest in Eton College as well as university colleges.  It was Henry who had promoted William Waynflete. [Bennett, pp.84-85]

6. William Waynflete (c.1400–1486)

Statue of William Waynflete on the gate of Magdalen College, Oxford (© Dorothea Preis)

The first five men all benefited largely from Richard’s patronage.  However, he also had contact with one, whose career started long before Richard.

William Waynflete was an interesting character, whose “concern with the teaching of grammar … were to dominate his career” [Davis, p.3].  From a gentry background, Waynflete had been  a schoolmaster at Winchester College for 11 years, when he came to the attention of Henry VI, who “head hunted” him for the position of provost of his newly established Eton College.   His association with Henry helped his career tremendously and he became Bishop of Winchester in spring 1447, a position he fulfilled conscientiously. [Davis, pp.13-15]

He also served as Chancellor of England during the difficult time from 1456 to 1460.   As chancellor his main aim seems to have been to establish peaceful relations between both sides, but I think it is correct to say that “Political activities were not Waynflete’s principal concern” [ODNB ‘Waynflete’].

His main motive was the promotion of education and for this purpose he founded St Mary Magdalen College in Oxford on 12 June 1458. [Gardiner]  His college is seen – after William Bingham’s Godshouse in Cambridge – as the second secondary school training-college. [Lloyd, p. 38] He gave valuable gifts of books to the library of his college.  The emphasis was on the college’s responsibility to teaching. [Gardiner].

Part 2 – Richard III as the Founder of Collegiate Churches

Part 3 – Richard III and the Universities of Oxford and Cambridge

Part 4 – Richard III as Law Maker (incl. bibliography)

Should you be desperate for a new recipe idea to try out over the long weekend, have a look at what the British Library has to offer!  Unicorn sounds pretty special, doesn’t it?

Have a look a at the Medieval and Earlier Manuscripts Blog of the British Library for more information (click here).

(P.S. In case you are wondering, note the date of this post…)

Barbara Gaskell Denvil was born in England, grew up amongst artists and authors and started writing at a young age. She published numerous short stories and articles, and worked as an editor, book critic and reader for publishers and television companies. About 10 years ago she began writing medieval novels (mystery, romance, murder-adventure) set principally in 15th century England.

Her first medieval novel Satin Cinnabar is a historical crime adventure set in London during the last months of 1485 in the aftermath of the Battle of Bosworth.  It is available for Amazon Kindle and all other ebook readers (Barnes & Noble, Kobo, Sony, ipad etc..)

Her new novel Sumerford’s Autumn is also set during the last years of the 15th century and will make major reference to the fate of both King Edward IV’s sons.  It will be published for Kindle later this month or early in April.

Barbara also writes fantasy, though this tends to be more dark and adult.  Her fantasy novel Fair Weather is set in medieval England around the early 1200s. There’s a fair chunk of historical content, but the basic plot is pure fantasy.  It is also available for Amazon Kindle and from Smashwords in other formats.

Barbara’s novels are gripping and engrossing stories, real page turners, involving believable characters to carry the story along, while maintaining a high level of historical accuracy.

After reading Satin Cinnabar, we asked Barbara to tell us more about the medieval world she describes so masterfully in the novel.  This is the second part of her article “Medieval Life”, part 1 and part 2 were on this site previously. Thank you, Barbara, for sharing this with us.

Don’t forget to visit Barbara’s blog.

———————————————————————————————————————————–

However, not everything was risk and danger, and justice was far more readily available than many people now assume.

There was no organised police force of course, but there were sheriffs, constables, judges, law courts, solicitors, lawyers, and a careful system of law and order. This was sometimes open to bribery and corruption (Richard III took pains to try and eliminate some of this corruption) but folk were not generally vulnerable to outright anarchy and destruction. It is sometimes thought, for instance, that while ‘usurping’ the throne by force, Richard III was backed by a marauding army and therefore simply intimidated everyone into supporting him. This is absurd. This sort of thing did not happen either in his case, or for anyone else by the 15th century. Sometimes in some rural backwater the local lord might achieve some fairly horrid results in this manner, but this sort of feudalism was no longer possible to maintain, and criminals were usually brought to justice.

As a deterrent, execution was brutal. Nobility was beheaded, and that could take several strokes of a blunt axe wielded by a slovenly or even drunken executioner. Nobility was, however, often pardoned before the final act, depending on the crime. The common man was hanged, and if his crime was sufficiently heinous, especially if it involved treachery to the crown, he could be hung, drawn and quartered. He could also be cut down from the noose before dead, and publicly castrated. This had been accepted practise in previous eras, but by the mid to late 1400s this practise was dying out. Heretics could be burned, but NOT witches. Witches were not classed as heretics until the 17th century, and during medieval times witchcraft had no association with devil worship. Witches were often herbalists and midwives, wise women and astrologers. As long as they did not attempt to kill anyone or predict the king’s death – a crime punishable by execution – astrology was generally practised and in fact was an acceptable part of diagnosis and medicine.

Public execution is often now depicted as a callous celebration and a good day out for the local citizens, but the public nature of the spectacle was originally designed as a deterrent, not a diversion. Good men dragged along their sons to show them what terrible consequences came from evil living. Women sobbed and hid their eyes. Men offered a last cup of beer to the unfortunate condemned. Those who had been wronged were able to see justice done, and relatives could say goodbye. Some no doubt enjoyed the drama, but this was not the general attitude.

Prisons were appalling places and the conditions for the inmates were atrocious. However, torture was not used. It was entirely illegal in England until Tudor times. The Tower of London, now so closely associated with dungeons, torture and death, was simply a royal palace before the reign of Henry VII. It was used as luxury apartments, as a meeting chamber for the Royal Council, celebrations and feasting, as well as occasionally housing the rare important prisoner. The so called ‘princes in the Tower’ were not imprisoned. They were originally housed in the vast refurbished Royal Apartments while awaiting Edward V’s coronation, and even after this was cancelled, they were removed to other comfortable apartments. Those staying here had servants, access to the gardens and battlements, and could please themselves in many ways, sometimes even those who were denied the freedom to leave. There was even a zoo. Indeed, the Tower was busily occupied with a huge and bustling household. No damp silent stone, no dark secrets, no unlit and unused stairways, torture chambers or haunted corridors.

Unfortunately the Tudor dynasty brought many changes. Under some circumstances the rack was subsequently used, and although special permission was supposed to be given for the use of torture, other methods of persuasion were no kinder.  Confessions during the reigns of Henry VII, Henry VIII and the other Tudor monarchs were frequently obtained under torture and it is high time some of these confessions were seen as the useless and miserable lies they clearly were.

During Henry VII’s monarchy the rising middle classes and the growing independence of women also took a backward step. A great deal of this was due to Henry Tudor’s extremely severe methods of high taxation and his suspicious attitude towards his powerful nobles, whether allies or enemies. Some deterioration of lifestyle was also due to foreign wars and politics which influenced trade, and some was due to the start of worsening weather conditions. Britain and Europe’s warm period was coming to an end and the Earth was cooling. Within a few short years the Little Ice Age was starting to form. Poverty and beggary soared, and prostitution increased due to this growing destitution.

This was in direct contrast to the gradual improvement in living conditions during the reigns of the Plantagenets, in spite of occasional famines and prolonged storms. At that time the country was slowly becoming prosperous and a burgeoning middle class was expanding. Of course, what your actual business was would determine your way of life. Some jobs involved such noxious practises, (and this in a world where strong natural smells were an accepted part of life) they were banned from carrying out their trades within proximity of other dwellings. Other trades remained a struggle with long hours and little pay, but inflation was virtually non existent, and the cost of living remained generally stable.

And the butcher, the baker and the candlestick maker? No trade unions back then of course but the appropriate Guild would protect you, oversee your practises, watch over your apprentices, put on plays at Christmas and generally promote your business.

So before the trials of the Tudor dawn, life was improving for most. It was a small world, a cosy world, friendly, chattering and smelly. The population was so very much smaller than today and it was normal for people to be closely acquainted with all their neighbours. This – and the difficulty in getting hold of accurate news – created another of most people’s favourite pastimes – gossip and rumour.

The friendly neighbourliness could mean protection, someone to watch the children when you had to work, someone to bring you chicken broth when you were sick, someone to share their oats and parsnips when you lost your job, and even someone to adopt the baby if you suddenly died young. But this also carried its disadvantages – for those same friendly neighbours knew virtually everything you did, commented on it, criticised it, and gossiped far and wide about it.

So – the good, the bad, and the ugly!

And the rest is another story ————–

Barbara Gaskell Denvil was born in England, grew up amongst artists and authors and started writing at a young age. She published numerous short stories and articles, and worked as an editor, book critic and reader for publishers and television companies. About 10 years ago she began writing medieval novels (mystery, romance, murder-adventure) set principally in 15th century England.

Her first medieval novel Satin Cinnabar is a historical crime adventure set in London during the last months of 1485 in the aftermath of the Battle of Bosworth.  It is available for Amazon Kindle and all other ebook readers (Barnes & Noble, Kobo, Sony, ipad etc..)

Her new novel Sumerford’s Autumn is also set during the last years of the 15th century and will make major reference to the fate of both King Edward IV’s sons.  It will be published for Kindle later this month or early in April.

Barbara also writes fantasy, though this tends to be more dark and adult.  Her fantasy novel Fair Weather is set in medieval England around the early 1200s. There’s a fair chunk of historical content, but the basic plot is pure fantasy.  It is also available for Amazon Kindle and from Smashwords in other formats.

Barbara’s novels are gripping and engrossing stories, real page turners, involving believable characters to carry the story along, while maintaining a high level of historical accuracy.

After reading Satin Cinnabar, we asked Barbara to tell us more about the medieval world she describes so masterfully in the novel.  This is the second part of her article “Medieval Life”, part 1 was on this site yesterday and part 3 will follow tomorrow. Thank you, Barbara, for sharing this with us.

Don’t forget to visit Barbara’s blog.

———————————————————————————————————————————–

From smells to noise – and here the past was more friendly.

No screech of traffic, no thunder of passing trains, no whine of planes overhead, or the vibrating attack of pneumatic drills, bulldozers or cranes.

Medieval noise was cosy people sized stuff. Church bells, the scuffle of birds and rats, the beat of the wherryman’s oars through the river waters, wind in the trees, the calls from the market stalls, Horses’ hooves, gossip, rumour, an occasional hue and cry, and the hourly reassurance of the Watch.

Friendly bustle then, as long as you lifted your skirts and avoided the gutters, the pigs and the dogs.

Best avoid the rivers too, unless you knew what you were doing and owned a boat. Banks were not always solid barriers back then, so rivers overflowed and flooded more easily and there were far fewer bridges to aid escape. Over the Thames, for instance, where now nearly two dozen bridges span the waters, there used to be just one. I am often amazed at how many people believe that Tower Bridge is an ancient crossing. In fact it is Victorian. The only bridge in the 15th century was a stone masterpiece, its construction probably completed during the first years of the 13th century. Those nineteen pillars and twenty arches rose from the river bed and supported a solid walkway lined with houses, shops and businesses, many four or five storeys high and jutting out over the water. There was the chapel of Thomas Beckett, a portcullis, and at the southern end the sight of traitors’ heads tarred to preserve them from scavengers and stuck on poles above the gate to deter others.

Indeed, this bridge could become appallingly over crowded, and many people used the boats instead for crossing the river from London to Southwark.

The southern end of this bridge constituted one of the 8 entrances into the city of London, for it, and many other English cities, were protected by great stone walls (sometimes dating back to Roman times) and their gateways were locked each night. Travellers neither entered nor left during the night hours, and who entered at other times could be monitored at least to some extent.

The lack of light must have been one of the principal handicaps of everyday life. Anyone who knows the English climate knows that days of blazing sunshine are not that common, and besides even when the sun shone it did not always enter indoors. Streets were invariably extremely narrow and buildings could be several storeys tall, therefore enclosing most houses in shadow. Windows tended to be very small and the glass, when it could be afforded at all, was thick. The average household used polished horn instead of expensive glass, but this was only translucent rather than actually transparent. Poorer families made do with oiled parchment, or nothing at all. Of course no one expected the brilliance of electric light which we now demand, so no doubt medieval eyes adjusted, but the shadowed gloom must have been difficult to live with. Spectacles existed, came from Venice, were costly, and comprised simple magnification, so there was little escape from peering over your work with your nose to your tools.

Candles were either beeswax – expensive again – or mutton tallow – which stank, smoked and guttered easily. An average household might eat their supper by candlelight, (dinner was taken at midday or earlier) but opening hours, curfews and working routines were frequently (though not always) governed by the seasonal allotment of daylight. It’s getting dark? Well, if you can’t afford candles, then go to bed. Open fires were, however, the normal method of heating and cooking, and these offered more light than any candle, just as long as you could collect, or afford, the firewood.

Nowadays we tend to think of candlelight as perfumed romanticism. That was certainly not the experience of the medieval housewife trying to do her needlework after a long day at the brewery.

It is often supposed that every ordinary citizen in the medieval era was virtually ruled by the doctrines of the church. Indeed, orthodox religion was taken far more seriously then than it often is today and regular church attendance was normal – daily devotion for some, daily prayers for most. Christian orthodoxy controlled many aspects of ordinary life – no meat eaten on Fridays and many other days of religious significance for instance – but even here the people found some interesting escapes. Pleading ill health exonerated you from such severe dieting, and quite a few creatures which we would certainly classify as meat, were conveniently classified as fish back then. Beaver, for instance, duck and water birds.

Nor was the power of the church always as unquestioningly accepted as is now supposed. Since few working folk had the luxury of a private garden, they frequently kept their bulky tools and stored their firewood in the local churchyard. The church complained regularly and laws were brought in – to no avail as usual. What is more, greedy priests and monks abusing their vows and authority, or those whose behaviour was considered flagrantly immoral – not entirely uncommon – could be dragged off by the local people and locked in the stocks, thrown in the river, or generally humiliated. A boring preacher would sometimes be ignored while his congregation chattered amongst themselves, or wandered off entirely. Some churches including St. Paul’s Cathedral in London were often frequented by vendors selling from trays around their necks, beggars slumped against the walls, lawyers touting for trade, and passing shoppers sheltering from inclement weather. The priest trying to conduct a service simply had to ignore the general noise while hoping someone was listening to him. Although the message of the Lord was treated with enormous respect, the Lord’s messengers were only respected when they deserved it. The Bible, being available exclusively in Latin, was not understood by all and although blasphemy was punishable, adultery and fornication outside marriage were considered terrible sins with purgatory or even hellfire the promised penalty for the wicked, in fact the general population cheerfully blasphemed, fornicated and behaved just as wickedly as usual, hoping to escape hellfire by repenting their sins on Sundays and finally on their deathbeds.

They danced on Sundays, they played football through the graveyards and they complained bitterly about any attempts to limit their amusements. And after all, the medieval church did not embrace the puritan strictures of much later times. The Bishop of Winchester, for instance, benefited considerably from the rents of numerous taverns and brothels within his jurisdiction of Southwark.

Travel was slow and exceedingly difficult especially in bad weather. Roads were often unpassable, usually unpaved, thick with ruts and holes, and frequently left in bad repair. Rivers flooded, bridges were few and far between, road signs (stone markers) were mossy and grown over and without any maps it was hard to find the correct route. Maps in those days – if you were lucky enough to find one at all – were simply lists of the townships you should try to reach one after the other, thereby assuring a generally accurate direction leading to where you hoped eventually to arrive. Many travelled in consort or hired guards with a knowledge of the local countryside. Robbers and gangs were a constant danger along isolated roadways, and finding a place to stay overnight and stable your horse was not always that easy either. Inns and hostelries certainly existed, but there was no map telling where to find one, and when you did find one, it was apt to be overcrowded. You expected to share one large bed with several other travellers (of the same sex) whether they snored or no.

Therefore news of what had happened in one part of the country could take a very long time to reach the rest of the population, and the accuracy of that news once it arrived was certainly not guaranteed. Salacious rumour was rife, confusion even more so. With no newspapers in existence, the pulpit was one way of receiving important announcements, but there was no method of knowing whether you heard the actual truth, or simply what someone wanted you to believe. Propaganda had most certainly already been invented. This has made it increasingly difficult to discover what really occurred in the past, for even when rare documentation exists, it cannot always be entirely trusted.

Barbara Gaskell Denvil was born in England, grew up amongst artists and authors and started writing at a young age. She published numerous short stories and articles, and worked as an editor, book critic and reader for publishers and television companies. About 10 years ago she began writing medieval novels (mystery, romance, murder-adventure) set principally in 15th century England.

Her first medieval novel Satin Cinnabar is a historical crime adventure set in London during the last months of 1485 in the aftermath of the Battle of Bosworth.  It is available for Amazon Kindle and all other ebook readers (Barnes & Noble, Kobo, Sony, ipad etc..)

Her new novel Sumerford’s Autumn is also set during the last years of the 15th century and will make major reference to the fate of both King Edward IV’s sons.  It will be published for Kindle later this month or early in April.

Barbara also writes fantasy, though this tends to be more dark and adult.  Her fantasy novel Fair Weather is set in medieval England around the early 1200s. There’s a fair chunk of historical content, but the basic plot is pure fantasy.  It is also available for Amazon Kindle and from Smashwords in other formats.

Barbara’s novels are gripping and engrossing stories, real page turners, involving believable characters to carry the story along, while maintaining a high level of historical accuracy.

After reading Satin Cinnabar, we asked Barbara to tell us more about the medieval world she describes so masterfully in the novel.  This is the first part of her article “Medieval Life”, parts 2 and 3 will follow in the coming days.  Thank you, Barbara, for sharing this with us.

Don’t forget to visit Barbara’s blog.

———————————————————————————————————————————–

Baker’s apprentice? Cloistered priest? Wherryman or corvisor? Maidservant, brewster or laundry maid? Kennel boy or under-groom? Chandler or rakyer? Tanner, cooper or dyer’s assistant?

History, at least beyond the strictures of the schoolroom, holds a growing fascination for so many of us these days. Those gloriously ample arms, clothed in the luscious velvets of the past, reach out to embrace us and draw us back into the fascination of times long gone. There, in those cobbled alleyways wait mysteries and puzzles, horrors far more spine chilling than the simple enticing lurch of a modern roller coaster, and a whole catalogue of kings, queens, courtesans and wicked courtiers. Heroes and villains all – and what we find even more intriguing is that sometimes we cannot tell the difference nor be quite sure who was the hero – who the villain.

Indeed, many modern works of historical fiction are loosely based biographies, and these are invariably concerned with those great characters we have already heard about – the rich and famous – the royal and noble – the tyrants and the victims. But what of the rest? What of those teeming slums? The ordinary folk? The children, the housewives, the working men?

We authors of historical fiction usually feel obliged to research our chosen era to some extent and often in considerable detail, though some horrendous mistakes pop up even in the popular best sellers (after all, Shakespeare got away with it, but there are few of us who would dare compare ourselves to him!) but thankfully we are gradually moving away from the real myths and blunders of recent ignorance. Few of us now believe in the chastity belt, the Droite du Roi (in spite of Gibson’s Braveheart), the wholesale burning of witches in medieval England, or the knight in shining armour. (Sadly some of us still believe in the sins of the dastardly King Richard III – but that’s another story!)

So we have discarded the more obvious myths concerning medieval life, but many of us have no clear method of touching the everyday truths. Caught up in the deeds of kings, we do not understand the business of the ordinary man. Documentation is scarce, but thankfully enough survives and imagination does not need to stretch too far!

For a start the English weather, as always, played a part in medieval affairs. Storms wrecked Henry VII’s first attempt at an invasion whereas the Battle of Bosworth was fought on a glorious morning of bright August sunshine where the Tudor leaders used the direction of the sun to blind their adversaries’ aim. For hundreds of years the weather had been rather warmer than we are now accustomed to, encouraging the gutters and piles of manure to steam in the afternoon heat. But by the late 15th century the temperatures were cooling, and over the next two hundred years the winters turned fierce and the Little Ice Age was ushered in.

In the so called Middle Ages, human as well as animal manure was still used on the crops, though sometimes this was reasonably aged into a nice smelly slush. But the cities did not escape from these aromatic pleasures since human waste had only two methods of disposal. Firstly by the simple means of the chamber pot emptied from the door or window each morning, and secondly by the more subtle means of the medieval sewerage system. But nothing was that simple. The gutters usually consisted of a shallow central gulley running through the street; not the type of gutter which we recognise now – there were, after all, no pavements. Other refuse also collected in these gutters: chicken heads, sheep stomachs and all the bloody waste from the butchers’ stalls, rotten vegetables, and anything else discarded from the average household. Rain invariably washed out the gulleys, sluicing them down to the low ground where everything piled up for later disposal. There were, however, laws against the worst of these abuses, but they were frequently overlooked. There were also the rakers (or raykers) who were employed to rake up this noxious matter, and remove it – usually directly into the local river, stream or nearby lake. And the river, stream or lake was, of course, the only available water supply for most citizens. There were water carriers who would deliver to your door, and conduits and pumps – but even most of that came from whatever river was closest. No wonder folk drank beer instead.

The actual sewerage system consisted of septic tanks dug into the ground in convenient places. A large household contained at least one privy, being a hole (often in the middle of a wooden seat) and these emptied directly into the septic tank way below. Castle privies usually emptied into the moat by means of a pipe leading straight from one to the other. Many houses, often a whole street, would share the same septic tank, and also share the cost when this needed emptying out. Invariably the job was delayed by lack of funds or the disinclination to pay, but it was illegal to permit an overflowing septic tank. Which doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.

Poorer households did not usually own a privy. A chamber pot, or sometimes just the casual use of the street outside, was normal. There were also public privies in some places in the larger cities, invariably emptying directly into the river. Passers by could watch the results falling from the hut to the water. These public privies were only occasionally cleaned or repaired, the cubicles were often without doors, and some customers were known to tumble – along with their waste.

Urine was actually a useful commodity. Used in bleaching, tanning, glue making, medicine and general laundry duties, there were those who travelled the streets early each morning to collect the contents of chamber pots. You could sometimes sell your urine. What a useful trade.

A variety of animals roamed most city streets and these presumably added their own special smells. Dogs, both domesticated and feral, cats the same, wandered freely. But goats also broke free of their tethers and explored the local alleys, whilst chickens were particularly common. Keeping pigs and allowing them free run in the township was also illegal – but still occurred quite regularly. Small children (sometimes left to wander in poorer areas where neighbours were accustomed to keep a general watch) were often bitten by pigs, sometimes fatally. The swine of yesteryear were not friendly creatures.

But the stink of everyday life was not always as bad as it might seem. Today’s general belief that nobody washed in those days is quite inaccurate. Most people made a considerable effort to keep clean. There were large communal wash houses and these were much appreciated. They included a certain amount of cheerful prostitution, but they were principally used for the obvious purpose. People liked to keep clean and although a concept of modern hygiene was naturally nonexistent, cleanliness of both body and clothes was important to most. Many households made use of half barrels as baths, though naturally plumbing was not included. Cleanliness was therefore far easier for the rich, but was also practised whenever possible by the poor.

Picture of a medieval village © Florida Center for Instructional Technology, http://etc.usf.edu/clipart

Elizabeth George, Believing the Lie, Hodder & Stoughton, 2012, pbk ISBN 978 1 444 7 05980

H. Rider Haggard, Montezuma’s Daughter, first published 1896, various later editions as well as ebook formats are available.

Checking the new Elizabeth George Inspector Lynley novel for pro-Richard III comments, I was rather disappointed. These comments have not appeared recently, probably since Inspector Lynley’s wife Helen was murdered and hasn’t been there to tease him about his obsession or to wonder why he likes going to a place near Leicester in August. However I did find this which shows a Shakespearean look:

Valerie is looking at her husband, Bernard. “She glanced at him then. Such a little man, actually, he was shorter than she by nearly five inches. Small, a little delicate, mischievous looking, cocky, grinning … My God, she thought, all he needed was a hunchback, a doublet, and tights. She’d been as easily seduced as the Lady Anne.”

There may be more in this very enjoyable book. I couldn’t put it down for all the twist.

The other day, I was channel surfing and came to Lifestyle channel, Country House Rescue. One episode featured a place in Norfolk that I knew. Checking it on a map of Norfolk I saw it was near Bungay, and thought “that’s where Thomas Wingfield lived”. Funny how names from books first read in childhood are never forgotten! When I was 10 one of the teachers at my school was talking about Cortez and Mexico etc, and told us that if we wanted to know a little more we would enjoy Rider Haggard’s book Montezuma’s Daughter, something my father obligingly bought for me. It must have been one of the first “grown-up” books I read, but Thomas Wingfield became a permanent hero! Checking my copy again I loved this paragraph, where Thomas says:

Long ago the heiress of the Wingfields married a De La Pole, a family famous in our history, the last of whom, Edmund, Earl of Suffolk, lost his head for treason when I was young and the castle passed to the De La Poles with her.

Not really Ricardian, but not surprising because Haggard lived in Norfolk/Suffolk and would have been aware of the history of the county. But I was happy to know that my hero Thomas was related to Richard’s sister Elizabeth.

Henry Tudor’s Christmas Wish List

On the twelfth day of Christmas my mummy sent to me
Twelve Woodvilles scheming,
Eleven lords rebelling,
Ten acts of treason,
Nine rumours brewing,
Eight tame historians,
Seven pots of French gold,
Six spies of Morton,
Five malmsey butts,
Four Papal pardons,
Three suns of York,
Two little princes,
And a crown in a hawthorn bush.

Henry Tudor’s Christmas Wish List

On the eleventh day of Christmas my mummy sent to me
Eleven lords rebelling,
Ten acts of treason,
Nine rumours brewing,
Eight tame historians,
Seven pots of French gold,
Six spies of Morton,
Five malmsey butts,
Four Papal pardons,
Three suns of York,
Two little princes,
And a crown in a hawthorn bush.

Henry Tudor’s Christmas Wish List

On the tenth day of Christmas my mummy sent to me
Ten acts of treason,
Nine rumours brewing,
Eight tame historians,
Seven pots of French gold,
Six spies of Morton,
Five malmsey butts,
Four Papal pardons,
Three suns of York,
Two little princes,
And a crown in a hawthorn bush.