Spotlight on History Enthusiast Jon Marshall – actor, director, producer - History Roadshow

Jon Marshall has been interested in cinematography since his early years, having been a member of an 8 mm club in his home city of Sheffield, Yorkshire. His artistic expression in film and an insatiable love of history led to the creation of History Roadshow, providing video tours of English Heritage and National Trust properties showcased on YouTube.

Initially, chosen locations held personal memories of past visits, but public interest expanded his vision to include the myriad of sites throughout the United Kingdom. His membership with English Heritage and the National Trust gave him access to every location in the country, comprising a large catalog of famous and not so famous places of interest.

Recently, Jon decided to leave directing, embarking on an actor’s career to narrate the series personally. His work includes Conquest, Crown, and Charter. A trilogy of videos starting with the reign of William the Conqueror through that of King John and Magna Carta.

Jon’s latest endeavor includes another trilogy of videos, The Six Mothers in Law of Henry VIII.

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Huge UK Archaeology Excavations Project Unearths Prehistoric, Roman, Anglo-Saxon, and Medieval Sites!

Ancient Origins

One of the largest archaeology projects in the UK has revealed Anglo-Saxon settlements, a Roman military camp, remnants of a Medieval village, and a wealth of archaeological treasures. That’s quite a lot for what first appeared as flat Cambridgeshire countryside!

The Guardian reports that 200-plus archaeologists have been working away on “scores of sites on a 21-mile stretch of flat Cambridgeshire countryside, the route of the upgraded A14 and the Huntingdon bypass” over the winter and they will continue to do so through this summer.

Neolithic henge monument under excavation on the A14 Cambridge to Huntingdon scheme. ( Open Government Licence v3.0 )

According to Cambridge News , the team is exploring an area measuring about 1.35 square miles (350 hectares). Altogether, they are undertaking 40 excavations. The features they have found vary from the remnants of Roman pottery kilns to Anglo-Saxon settlements and a Medieval village. Prehistoric burial grounds and henge monuments , as well as a couple of post-medieval brick kilns fill out what was once a very active region.

As for artifacts, Cambridge News makes note of seven tons of pottery, 6.5 tons of animal bones, prehistoric flint tools, and more than 7000 small finds such as personal objects. Those personal pieces include a late 2nd to 4th century AD Roman pendant of Medusa which may have been a protective amulet and a rare carved Anglo-Saxon bone flute dated to between the 5th to 9th century AD.

An ornate Roman jet pendant depicting the head of Medusa was found by archaeologists. ( Highways England, courtesy of MOLA Headland ) One surprise find is a well-preserved Middle Iron Age timber ladder from 500 BC. It was placed in a deep pit where archaeologists believe the owner would collect water or stir liquid with a wooden paddle which was discovered nearby.

Steve Sherlock, head archaeologist for Highways England, reflected on the significance of the discoveries so far,

“There is not one key site but a whole expanse – the excavation has given us the whole of the English landscape over the past 6,000 years. The Anglo-Saxon village sites alone are all absolute bobby dazzlers. The larger monuments such as the henges and barrows show up in crop marks and geophysics, but you can only really see things like the post marks of timber buildings by getting down into the ground and digging. The workshops and animal enclosures give you an impression of the hard grind of everyday life, but when you get something like the bone flute you suddenly see into a world that also had art and music, dancing and entertainment.”

Anglo Saxon bone flute. ( Cambridge News )

The Guardian reports the layout of the sites shows that several were placed alongside a Roman road which is now under the A1. However, there are also sites that cluster around the ancient barrows and henges.

Emma Jeffery, senior archaeologist from Mola Headland Infrastructure, has been working on the Medieval village site and had this to say ,

“The medieval village was occupied between the 12th and early 14th centuries, and the most likely explanation for its abandonment was that they lost the use of their woods when they were enclosed as a royal forest. At a stroke they lost their grazing, foraging and bark for uses such as tanning leather, so the economic justification for the village was gone.”

An archaeologist excavates a skeleton in Cambridgeshire. ( Highways England/MOLA Headland Infrastructure )

 Cambridgeshire County Council’s senior archaeologist, Kasia Gdaniec, discussed how difficult, yet productive the work has been at the sites:

“The fast-paced archaeological excavations have been extremely challenging, especially during this relentlessly wet winter, but a very large, hardy team of British and international archaeologists successfully completed sites in advance of the road crews taking over to build the road structures. No previous excavation had taken place in these areas, where only a few cropmarked sites indicated the presence of former settlements, but we now know that extensive, thriving long-lived villages were built during the Bronze Age, Iron Age, Roman and Saxon periods.”

Excavating a Roman trade distribution centre on the A14 Cambridge to Huntingdon scheme. ( Open Government Licence v3.0 )

Cambridge News says people can witness the archaeological work in action on the A14 Cambridge to Huntingdon improvement scheme on Saturday, April 7, 2018 between 10am and 5pm. The event is free and includes meeting some of the archaeologists, seeing artifacts found during excavations, and touring one of the dig sites.

Top Image: A Roman chicken brooch unearthed during the excavations. Source: MOLA Headland

By Alicia McDermott

Sam's historical recipe corner: fish sausages

History Extra

“The struggle is not only on land and sea; it is in your larder, your kitchen, and your dining room...” So begins the Win-the-War Cookery Book, published in 1918 as part of Britain’s food economy campaign.

 Designed to encourage people to ration food and thus bolster the war effort, the book’s ingenious (not to say bizarre!) recipes – which range from cheese herrings to fried mush – really do make the most of every single ingredient.

 Ingredients
2 teacups-full of cooked fish (I used cod)
2 tbsp of cooked rice (I used about 5!)
 ½tsp dried herbs (I used dill)
Salt and pepper
1 small egg or 1tbsp of water or stock
Breadcrumbs, maize flour or oatmeal

 Method
Pound the skinned and boned fish until smooth, then add rice, herbs, seasoning and egg or stock. Add stock as required to moisten.

 Mix the ingredients thoroughly and form into small sausages. Roll in dried breadcrumbs, maize flour or oatmeal, and fry the coated sausages in hot oil.

 My verdict
Most fried foods tend to taste great, and so did these: not the healthiest dish but a lovely treat. I was expecting something a bit blander, but these were delicious – especially with a dollop of tartare sauce on the side. We ate the sausages for dinner and then again, cold, on a picnic at the beach – my son Dylan (below) loved them! The idea of fish sausages may seem a bit unappealing, but they are actually more like fish rissoles or croquettes.

 To get a good shape to the sausages, I wrapped them in cling film and put them in the fridge for an hour before frying them. Make sure you add enough stock to prevent them from becoming too dry.

 Difficulty: 3/10
 Time: 20 mins (add an hour for cooling them in the fridge before frying)

A brief history of baking

History Extra

We asked Professor John Walter from the University of Essex and Dr Sara Pennell from the University of Roehampton to take us through the history of baking.

Middle Ages

Baking is a luxury few are able to enjoy. But for those who can afford a wood-burning stove and to heat it, you would start with bread. The better the quality, the higher up the social order you are.
“Ovens were not a standard fixture in any household, so bread-baking never really entered the home in the medieval period,” says Dr Pennell.
“It was a niche, commercial activity. For example, you had bread-bakers in London.”
Prof Walter adds: “The rich ate fine, floured wheat bread. But if you were poor you cut your teeth on rye and black bread.
“Only the very wealthy had the cakes we tend to think of today. But they were much heavier – 10 to 20lbs.
“This was subsistence-focused baking, with an emphasis on bread and pies.
“If you were wealthy, your baked goods would be rich in exotic colour. But if you were poor, you were grateful if you could afford meat for your pie.”

15th century

Britain sees an explosion of expensive spices, such as saffron. Sweet dough, with lots of cream and butter, start to be enjoyed by those who could afford it.
The wigg - a small bun made with sweetened dough and herbs and spices – becomes popular.
But mince pies are made with minced beef or mutton, and biscuits “are the equivalent of Ryvita – pretty nasty stuff,” says Prof Walter.
Meanwhile, gingerbread is made with breadcrumbs.

16th and 17th centuries

Baking is transformed by globalisation, which heralds an explosion of treacle and currants. Plump cake and bready dough with lots of butter, cream and raisins become popular.
“Economic growth prompted an emerging middle class, and baking ‘trickled down’,” says Prof Walter.
“Amid growing wealth and social change, people could think about eating things other than bread, and imitate the upper-class diet.
“Baking became more accessible, and so more people baked cakes and biscuits.
“By the late 17th century sugar was cheap, and so you saw the emergence of mince pies as we know them, made with sugar and spices.
“And with the refinement of flour you see the development of gingerbread as we know it.”
Dr Pennell adds: “From the 16th century you had the onset of cookery literature, in which you start to see recipes for things we might recognise today as small, yeasted cakes and buns.
“They would be eaten as part of the dessert course, to help you digest the rich meal you had eaten beforehand.
“You also started to see the emergence of kitchen equipment, such as the ‘cake hoop’ – that is, a cake tin. The tin was lined with buttered paper.
“But cakes were made with ale and were very solid. The modern-day equivalent, in terms of the yeast-bread-based dough, would be a lardy cake.
“Seed cakes were also popular.”
Pastries too were considered fashionable in the late 17th century. “The English prided themselves on their pastry-making,” says Dr Pennell.
“It was considered a skill all good housewives should have.
“London cookery schools were teaching pastry-making. It was a fashionable skill.”

18th century

Cake making soars in popularity, but the industrial revolution from 1760 sees a return to more stodgy baked goods.
“This was when cake making really took off,” says Dr Pennell.
“The Art of Cookery, written by Hannah Glasse and published in 1747, contained a catalogue of cake recipes.
“Integral to this was the development of the semi-closed oven. The development of baking is as much to do with technology as it is taste.”
Fast-forward to the industrial revolution and Britain sees “a return to heavy baking, where the working class eats bread and jam,” says Prof Walter.
“But at Easter, Christmas and other seasonal occasions, a richer diet would be available to even the poorer members of society.
“Merchants and shopkeepers can afford ovens, and to bake.”

19th century

Convenience food grows in popularity, and the advent of baking powder sees cakes become lighter.
“As more working class women were employed in the 19th century, they had less time for elaborate food preparation,” says Prof Walter.
“We often think of the ‘fast food culture’ as being a recent thing, but women in Britain in the 19th century increasingly relied on convenience food such as pasties and pies.”
Meanwhile, the introduction of baking powder saw “the style of cakes change from dense, yeast-based bakes, into cakes made with flour, eggs, fat and a raising agent,” says Dr Pennell.

Anglo-Saxon Royal Palace Unearthed Near Famous Burial Site

Ancient Origins

A team of archeologists believe they have unearthed a lost Anglo-Saxon royal palace, located only 6 km (four miles) from the famous Sutton Hoo burial site.

According to BBC, the researchers have been working in the area of Rendlesham, which is located close to the Sutton Hoo burial site, known for its undisturbed ship burial, magnificent Anglo-Saxon helmet, and the hoard of ornate artifacts of outstanding historical and archaeological significance. It is one of the most famous discoveries ever made in Britain.

Replica of Anglo-Saxon mask discovered at Sutton Hoo (Bill Tyne / Flickr)

The project co-ordinator, Faye Minter, reported that her team discovered the remains of a 23m (75ft) by 9m (30ft) structure, which could have once been a royal hall or palace. She concluded that it was possible that there are other royal burials similar to Sutton Hoo, which was excavated for the first time in 1939 and dated back to the 7^th century. It consists of about 20 burial mounds and the excavations revealed many fascinating and impressive treasures. This time the researchers hope to find even more burials, which could have been placed along the River Deben. Ms Minter, of Suffolk County Council's archaeological unit, suggested that the discovered ''palace'' may be the place described by The Venerable Bede dated back to the 8^th century.

A burial mound at Sutton Hoo (public domain)

''We have discovered what we think is a large Anglo Saxon Hall, which could be the palace itself, if you could call it that,” said Faye Minter [via BBC]. “We're convinced we've found a royal settlement of very high status, and I suppose it would be a large hall rather than a palace as it would spring to mind to us."

As the researchers announced during the conference in Bury St Edmunds, the remains of the palace cover 120-acre (50 ha) site and were discovered due to the analysis of the aerial photography and geophysical surveys.

This LIDAR (Light Detection And Ranging) survey shows the core Anglo-Saxon areas at Rendlesham, including the main residence area. Credit: Suffolk Archaeological Service.

Until now about 4,000 items, including intricate metalwork, coins and weights, have been found at Rendlesham. However, only about 1,000 of them are Anglo-Saxon. According to Dr Helen Geake of the British Museum the discovery of the palace was an ''incredibly exciting'' moment. The researchers suppose that there may be a few more palaces or halls like this dotted in this area.  Those times the king would have toured his kingdom in order to show his power, magnificence, charisma and the reasons to follow him by his people. Therefore, it seems to be logical to have lots of palaces to base himself around the area which belonged to him.

The Great Buckle found at Sutton Hoo (public domain)

It is another surprising discovery related to Anglo-Saxons. In April 12, 2016, Natalia Klimczak from Ancient Origins reported the surprising discover of cemetery. She wrote:
''A group of more than 40 skeletons was found during the building of a new toilet for the parishioners of a church in Hildersham, Cambridgeshire, UK. The remains are about 900 years old.
According to the BBC, the burials are dated to the 11th or 12th century. Some of the graves lay 45 cm (18 in) below the path outside the Holy Trinity Church. They were dug into the chalk, with the bodies laid directly in the cavity. Most of the skeletons were of adults, but five of the individuals were children. The researchers examined 19 skeletons dated to the 9th or 10th century, predating the church by several hundred years, but they left 24 graves intact.
The graves are said to be Anglo-Saxon, although Cambridge University Archaeological Unit experts who examined the site dated the bones to the 11th or 12th century. Until the discovery was made, there was no proof for the existence of a cemetery in this area. The researchers believe that the graves belonged to villagers who lived outside the walls of what was probably an Anglo-Saxon church.
During the excavations , the bones were stored in the mortuary at the village undertaker's for the night. After the end of the works, the skeletons were buried in one new grave. A funeral took place just before Christmas 2015, and the toilet was completed soon after.''
Top image: Main: Sutton Hoo burial mound (public domain). Inset: Replica of Anglo-Saxon mask discovered at Sutton Hoo (Bill Tyne / Flickr)
By Natalia Klimzcak

Q&A: Where did the monks go after the dissolution of the monasteries?

History Extra

A 15th-century illumination shows monks praying. Some were starved to death when they refused to take Henry VIII’s Oath of Supremacy. (AKG)

Initially, the authorities sought to close smaller communities, meaning those who wished could move to a larger religious house. Once these, too, were marked for closure, those in religious orders had few options.

 

Most commonly they accepted the offer of a pension. This award was generally left to the discretion of the commissioners carrying out the closure rather than being a centrally set sum. The wealth of the monastery would be considered, with those in higher ‘management’ positions, such as an abbot, being offered an increased sum – partly, it has been argued, to entice them to go peacefully. Older members could also receive an increased amount as their chances of future employment were less than the younger members, who could potentially augment their pensions.

 

Some members of religious orders chose exile; others offered resistance to the changes. When the Carthusian monks refused to take the Oath of Supremacy, recognising Henry as head of the church, several were hanged, drawn and quartered, while others ‘disappeared’ in prison and were starved to death.

 

It is often forgotten that the suppression of the monasteries included the closure of female religious houses. Frequently, nuns received smaller pensions than the monks despite their reduced chances of finding future employment. 

 

Elizabeth Throckmorton was the abbess of the Poor Clares at Denny in Cambridgeshire. After the closure of the convent, she, like other nuns, returned to her family. At her nephew’s house at Coughton Court in Warwickshire, she and several others lived in an upper room, wore their habits and continued their conventual life.

 

It is, of course, an irony of the Reformation that Martin Luther, as an Augustinian, had been a member of a religious community.

 

Answered by James Kelly, fellow at Durham University’s Centre for Catholic Studies.

How naughty was the past? The hidden depths of the medieval church

History Extra

Sheela-na-gig. © Poliphilo (Own work) [CC0], via Wikimedia Commons

1) Monkeying around

In the north nave aisle of York Minster is the famous Pilgrimage Window (dated c1330). The window is named after the depiction of the crucifixion in its main lights, which is sited above male and female pilgrims flanking St Peter. St Peter is portrayed not only with his usual attribute of the key [of heaven] but also by the less familiar image of a church held within his hand – very fitting considering he was the patron saint of the cathedral.
Structured much like an illuminated manuscript page, the most intriguing element of the window’s composition is the amusing animal imagery in the lower margins. Among these scenes is a funeral procession of monkeys with a bell-ringer; cross-bearer; four pall-bearers carrying a bier to which another monkey clings and a monkey doctor examines his sick ape patient; while along the vertical borders are further squirrels and monkeys, some investigating urine flasks. There is also a fox preaching to a cock; a parody of a hunt with a stag chasing a hound; a fox stealing a goose pursued by a woman, while an archer and other animals complete the border scene. But, as Bernard of Clairvaux asked in 1125, “to what purpose are those unclean apes?” And how should they be ‘read’?
Animals in medieval art need to be seen within their wider context, instead of ascribing each single motif with a meaning. Not only in stained glass, but more commonly in manuscripts, borders were decorated with exotic animals, grotesque hybrids, animals mimicking humans, humans in animal form, and mythical creatures performing lewd and humorous antics. In fact, animals are used throughout medieval art as iconographical representations or portraying allegorical qualities.
Many, including lions, were used because of their proximity to people. This could be due to their bestial human nature. An example of this can be found within the presbytery of Exeter Cathedral where a 14th-century roof boss depicts a lion standing on his rear legs, twisting his head around to face a male figure, likely Samson from the biblical tale, who is forcing the jaws of the creature apart.
Lions were also employed as representations of Christ and as the evangelist, St Mark. A great example of Mark and his winged lion attribute can be found in the 12th-century ‘Worms Bible’, housed at the British Library.
One of the more curious marginal motifs was the use of monkeys. Monkeys were often represented doing human-like activities, including playing instruments and games, hunting, eating and drinking, but the overall purpose was to suggest the folly of man. In the Christian tradition apes were seen as thoughtless, compulsive imitators of human actions, parodies of humanity, displaying gluttony, vanity and foolishness – powerful reminders of the potential within all medieval men and women to engage in depraved acts and sin.
The inclusion of monkeys in the Pilgrimage Window, then, was therefore both a deliberate and conscious choice by the York stained-glass artist. It was believed that apes were so-called as they were said to ‘ape’ the behaviour of human beings – hence the scene is thought to be an apocryphal story or parody of the funeral of the Virgin enacted by monkeys. The monkeys are included to make a serious point and a connection to the broader iconography on the window. The monkey’s funeral ‘apes’ the humility and charity of St Peter overhead, as the devotee’s eye travels between ‘the world’ in the lower margins (that filled with man and sin) and the devotional space of the main lights above (the kingdom of Heaven).
The monkey physicians also mimic the medical profession, combining satire with a serious underlying moral – they echoed the widespread suspicion and disdain for ‘Doctours of Physik’ because it was felt that ultimately only Christ could cure the souls of man. The fox stories, too, have similar allegorical meanings, most commonly highlighting the consequences of lapses in devotion and often appearing in bestiaries and art as a symbol of the sly and sophisticated devil.

2) The Mooning Man

The 12th-century Parish Church of All Saints in Easton-on-the-Hill, just outside Stamford in Northamptonshire, features a wealth of architectural styles from Norman through to neo-Gothic. Yet, as you approach the south porch you may be shocked by the 15th-century stone gargoyle perched on the side of the tower: a ‘mooning’ man! Local legend has it that his proud posterior is pointing in the direction of the stonemason of Peterborough Cathedral, in protest at not being paid.
These types of carvings can be found adorning the exteriors of churches across the country in the form of gargoyles, grotesques and also as ornamental frieze fixtures. Before continuing, here is a short explanation of the differences between their functions: though the word ‘gargoyle’ is often misused as a generic term for grotesque carvings on churches, a true gargoyle is a decorative waterspout that preserves stonework by diverting the flow of rainwater away from the roof and walls of a church to the ground below. On the other hand, ‘grotesques’, while they are similarly stone carvings or sculptures, serve only an ornamental or artistic function, and do not include a spout.
Although it is not entirely clear when this bold ‘artwork’ first emerged, it appears to have coincided with the emergence of the Gothic style or, more specifically, the Perpendicular era (1375–1530), with the majority dating to the 14th century – these include several other examples of male contortionist gargoyles, such as those at Lyndon (Rutland), Colsterworth and Sleaford (Lincs), and at Glinton (Cambs).
Several other mooning grotesques can be found across the British Isles, again dating from the same period. The example at Easton features a rather brazen pose: bent over, bottom in the air, legs spread apart but with his head peering round from the right and the strategically placed hole inserted for the practical purpose of diverting rainwater, rather than to illustrate any anatomical features (of course!), and so his proud posterior officially serves its purpose. It is hardly surprising that mischievous masons could not resist the urge to use such orifices for this purpose and that, by the time of the Easton carving in the 15th century, they were certainly embracing the humour of the secular world without feeling affront.
Yet, explaining the general purpose of these impish figures is a rather tricky task. There is certainly ample evidence that people mooned each other during the Middle Ages as a sign of insult – for example, in ‘The Miller’s Tale’ from Geoffrey Chaucer’s late 14th-century Canterbury Tales, characters Alison and Nicholas trick Absolon into kissing her behind – though admittedly this gesture is not quite the same as mooning.
Many therefore believe the Easton carvings to be ultimately protective or apotropaic – to reflect the contrast between a world outside the church beset by the devil and sin as opposed to the sanctity contained within its walls. The idea is that they were placed to deflect the evil spirits by drawing their attention to these insulting characters. So, perhaps the mooner is proudly cocking a snook at the Devil, though he may equally be intended to shock, amuse, or act as a counter and balance to the religious.

_{© Lionel Wall www.greatenglishchurches.co.uk}

3) Kiss me quick!

Among the 14th-century misericords at Chichester Cathedral is an energetically captured carved scene of a musician with a citole (an instrument popular between the late 13th and 14th century, formerly known as a gittern, later remodelled as a violin) who is in the midst of stealing a kiss from a dancing woman or posture maker.
Misericords are the carved timber (usually oak) undersides or ledges of tip-up seats on which ecclesiastics could rest their bottoms in the choirs of English cathedrals and collegiate churches during the Divine Office (this particular seat at Chichester was reserved for the Prebend of Somerley). They first appeared in churches in the early 13th century, with the majority dating from the mid-13th to the late 15th centuries. From the Latin word meaning pity, the name literally translates to their function: a demonstration of mercy, as they were designed to support the sitter in an upright position.
The undersides depict an assortment of figural carvings that could be displayed or concealed depending on the position of the seat. This may explain why, although only seen by medieval clerics, the carvings seldom displayed sacred images of Christ, biblical scenes or the saints, but rather vernacular subjects – scenes from daily life, customs, humour and beliefs that included some crudity but also a great sense of fun, freedom and vigour. Subjects vary widely, but we again see many of the same ‘naughty’ yet allegorical representations occurring here as elsewhere in this article, such as temptations of lust, apes with urine flasks, the Green Man (usually a carving or sculpture of a man’s face surrounded by or made from foliage), birds and beasts, abstract foliate designs and medieval folk tales and legends.
What’s more, many scenes can be interpreted as sermons ‘come to life’, used to instruct common folk on principles of doctrine. While certain figural scenes may at first appear secular, they were actually reminders to their ecclesiastical viewer of his professional responsibility to educate the masses against temptations to sin. The profane and debauched images of the sexual lives of laypeople would prompt the medieval cleric to shun women, have self-control and fear the wrath of God.

_{© www.misericords.co.uk}

4) Full-frontal exposure

Although the 12th-century Church of St Mary and St David at Kilpeck, Herefordshire, comprises fairly typical architecture, it also hides some extraordinary carvings including writhing snakes and mysterious beasts. But, most extraordinary of all, is one of England’s best-preserved examples of a Sheela-na-gig.
Sheela-na-gigs are figurative stone carvings (occasionally appearing in wood-form on misericords) depicting a naked woman in a seated position with her legs wide, openly exposing her genitalia. The name likely derives from the Irish to mean ‘Sheela of the breasts’. Examples are most often found above doorways and windows on medieval churches and castles in northern Europe, predominantly Ireland and Britain, but also in a few locations elsewhere in Europe, such as the contortionist capital example at the monastery of San Pedro de Cervatos in Cantabria, Spain. Determining their date and place of origin has proved difficult, with many scholars disagreeing over the origins of the figures, as many are believed to have been reused from previous, older structures. However, they appear on churches across the 11th to 17th centuries and were likely first carved in France or Spain.
A fairly strange image to find on a church, you might suggest? Well, though Sheela-na-gigs may seem erotic in nature, it is doubtful these carvings were ever intended to arouse and were actually pagan symbols of fertility as well as warnings against lust and warders or protectors from evil – hence their positions over entranceways. Other opinions are that, given their crude form, Sheela-na-gigs were produced by local amateur carvers and therefore represent folk deities that were associated with life-giving powers, birth, death and the renewal of life. Even so, throughout the past, embarrassed or high-minded churchgoers and clerics often removed, covered or destroyed what they viewed as offensive carvings.

5) Word vomit

Known as the greatest medieval graffiti church in England (and it is, at least, the most extensively studied), the 14th-century Church of St Mary’s at Ashwell in Hertfordshire contains an etching that is believed to be one of the only surviving depictions of Old St Paul’s Cathedral. It records the arrival of the Black Death and Peasants’ Revolt, but it is the Latin inscriptions scrawled across the pillars to which this entry refers.
Varying from popular sayings to pithy comments, one seems likely to have been written by a disgruntled architect: Cornua non sunt arto compugenta sputuo (‘The corners are not jointed correctly. I spit on them’) and seems to date to between 1350 and 1400. Another is a less-than-flattering view of the local archdeacon: Archi(di)aconus Asemnes (‘The Archdeacon is an ass’). Finally, no doubt in a spate of sobriety, a wise-old drunk etched: Ebrietas frangit quicquid sapienta tangit (‘Drunkenness breaks whatever wisdom touches’).
Modern visitors are often captivated by these ‘naughty’ writings on the wall because we expect the medieval era to be more conservative when compared to our own society – but do the things that make us chuckle ever really change…?
_{Cornua non sunt arto compugenta sputuo (‘The corners are not jointed correctly. I spit on them’). © Matthew Champion}

 

6) “Look out below – men at stool!”

The Church of St Mary in Redcliffe, Bristol boasts a remarkable collection of more than 1,100 ceiling bosses dating from 1330 to 1446 (when much of the vault had to be rebuilt after the spire collapsed) and features a variety of symbolic and mythological subjects including the famous ‘maze’ boss that is actually a model of the church’s transept roof.
Ceiling or roof bosses are carvings crafted in wood or stone specifically to cover the intersection between the stone ribs of vaulted ceilings or where the roof timbers join or meet at an angle. Again, this medieval art form depicts many of the contemporary craftsmen’s favourite subjects: biblical scenes, animals, leaves, flowers and heraldry, but with crude humour often casually sited alongside scenes of everyday life. Curiously, though, very few bosses actually carry a date.
The boss sited under Redcliffe’s tower is the most fascinating of all: it depicts a rather bizarre male exhibitionist with his posterior waving in the air, proudly defecating on all who walk beneath him.
Their purpose was to signal the especially holy parts of the church such as the position of important altars, shrines or chapels. Due to the fact that they are located among the less immediately visible parts of the church building, some scholars have argued that these unseen areas became dens of artistic iniquity for marginalised subjects –  they certainly offer a curious commentary on the mentality of medieval craftsmen! Accordingly, there is little doubt that the Redcliffe ‘man at stool’ was located closer to eye-level than some of the other bosses for shock value – to inspire reflection, the withholding of temptation and to illustrate that the repetition of such incongruous behaviour would lead to one’s own spiritual distortion. Reader, take note!

7) Drinking with the enemy

Situated above the chancel arch of the Church of St Thomas and St Edmund in Salisbury is a powerful mural that catches the eye of visitors immediately upon entry. Executed in 1475 as an offering of thanks for a safely returned pilgrim, this depiction is believed to be the largest Doom in England.
Doom or Last Judgment paintings were the most commonly painted subject of the medieval parish church and are thought to have once adorned the wall above the chancel arches of most churches across the entire country from the late 11th century. The reason for this was that they were sited at the symbolic point at which the nave of the laity, sphere of the parishioners and world of sin met the holy and consecrated sanctuary reserved for the priest. They present the final judgment of humanity, drawing on imagery from a range of scripture, particularly the Parable of the Sheep and Goats.
A most interesting feature of the Salisbury composition is down in the right-hand corner where a dishonest alewife with a jug in hand hugs a demon, leading to her serving short measures. As a result, her ‘naughty’ act has doomed her to hell for all eternity. It was believed at the time that alewives encompassed a multitude of sins: encouraging idleness and overindulgence, tempting with provocative clothing, and overt displays of wealth, greed and excess, not to mention corruption – ie over-charging customers and watering down the ale (sinful!). They occur on many doom paintings, often giving their tormentors seductive glances, as if looking forward to a diabolical party. They were also standard characters of the medieval mystery plays – again, figures of ridicule, the buxom wench.
An obvious yet literal interpretation of the scene is to emphasise that rank or position counts for nothing on the day of judgment, as all are judged equally according to our sins in the eyes of God. A scroll towards the bottom of the painting reads: Nulla est Redemptio or ‘There is no escape for the wicked’/ ‘There is no redemption’.
_{Amanda Miller @ Amanda’s Arcadia}

Dr Emma J Wells is associate lecturer and programme director in parish church studies at the University of York and an historic buildings consultant. She is the author of the forthcoming Pilgrim Routes of the British Isles (Robert Hale, out 11 October 2016).

The 10 worst Britons in history

History Extra

Illustrations by Jonty Clark

The result is a fascinating, if not strictly scientific, top 10, showing the most wicked, harmful and downright evil character of each century in the past thousand years. The rogue’s gallery includes some famous, and not so famous (or infamous) names: there’s a king, a prime minister and (somewhat surprisingly) a couple of churchmen. It’s a thought-provoking and perhaps controversial list. Read on to discover who were the worst Brits of all...

 

1000–1100

Eadric Streona

Nominated by Professor Sarah Foot of Sheffield University

_{Illustration by Jonty Clark}
Eadric Streona (died 1017) might have been Aethelred II’s chief counsellor and ealdorman of Mercia – but he has a reputation for deception, treachery and murder.
I nominate him because of the villainous part he played in England’s defeat by the Danish king, Cnut. He was implicated in the murder of Gunnhild and Pallig in 1002 and of Ealdorman Aelfhelm in 1006 – at which time the ealdorman’s two sons, Wulfheah and Ufegeat, were blinded. In 1009 when the English were ready to attack the Danes a Chronicler reported that the whole people “was hindered by Ealdorman Eadric, then as it always was”. In 1015 he was directly involved in the murder of two thegns (noblemen) – Sigeferth and Morcar – who, according to chronicles, he “enticed” into his chamber where they were “basely killed”.
In the same year, having been in command of King Aethelred’s army, he changed sides and joined Cnut. He subsequently switched sides a further couple of times, in 1016 joining first Edmund Ironside and then deserting him at the battle at Assandun (Ashingdon) to rejoin Cnut who pursued Edmund into Gloucestershire where the latter died in mysterious circumstances.
This cruel, unscrupulous individual grew rich out of the proceeds of royal taxation and was a traitor to the English cause. But having being initially rewarded by Cnut – when he’d become king of all England – Eadric was killed in 1017 having outlived his usefulness to the new regime. It was a fitting end.
Sarah Foot is the author of Monastic life in Anglo-Saxon England (Cambridge University Press, 2006).

1100–1200 

Thomas Becket

Nominated by Professor John Hudson of St Andrews University

_{Illustration by Jonty Clark}
There are a handful of characters in history about whom prejudice seems impossible to avoid. One such is Thomas Becket (c 1120–70), Archbishop of Canterbury. He divided England in a way that even many churchmen who shared some of his views thought unnecessary and self-indulgent. And he has remained a figure inspiring both devotion and detestation.
He was a founder of gesture politics, with the most acute of eye for what would now be called the photo-opportunity. He was also a master of the soundbite. When put on trial in front of a secular court, he refused to accept its jurisdiction, stating “such as I am, I am your father; I will not hear your judgement”. He pushed his way from the court chamber, bearing his cross before him. Complex issues were confronted by a mixture of inflexibility and grand display.
When he left England during his dispute with Henry II, he went to the kingdom of France, furthering the conflict between Henry and the French king, and at the very least opening himself to the accusation of being a traitor. Certainly he was viewed by some as hypocritical, as he changed dramatically from his ostentatious life-style before he was archbishop. As archbishop, he also looked to contemporary medical views for help in retaining some enjoyable habits, claiming to have to drink wine rather than water because it better suited his stomach.
He was also greedy. In 1164 he was brought to trial in part on charges of embezzlement during his time as royal chancellor, the position he held before he became archbishop of Canterbury. The truth of such charges must remain uncertain. However, the wealth of Thomas and his following by the late 1150s was immense and famous. How did he assemble such wealth? Presumably by profiting from his position in the royal administration.
Those who share my prejudice against Becket may consider his assassination in Canterbury Cathedral on 29 December 1170 a fittingly grisly end. However, it also ensured that, as a martyr, he became a saint with a cult that spread with tremendous speed.
John Hudson is author of The Oxford History of the Laws of England (Oxford University Press).

1200–1300

King John

Nominated by historian Marc Morris

_{Illustration by Jonty Clark}
Once described as a man of “superhuman wickedness”, King John of England (1167–1216) has had a pretty awful press. Perhaps his most damning critic was Matthew Paris, a monk at St Albans, who in the mid 13th century wrote: “Foul as it is, Hell itself is defiled by the fouler presence of King John”.
This kind of verdict was eagerly seized on by 19th-century historians to create the monster of legend, the Bad King John. However, the fact remains that John committed some wicked deeds and was a deeply unpleasant person. He was unpleasant in many ways – in the way he behaved towards people; he was untrusting; he would snigger at people while they talked; he couldn’t resist kicking a man when he was down. What’s more, he was a bully and a gloater. Stories about his cruelty are legion, and the deed which has most damned him in the eyes of the world is the murder, possibly by his own hands, of his nephew Arthur – a rival for the throne.
Granted, John was competent when it came to the small-scale tyrant stuff – he could lead an army, he was energetic and dynamic – but his charisma was all negative. He didn’t inspire loyalty, so people deserted him. That was partly why he lost his father’s continental lands – in effect, squandering the family inheritance.
He was clearly one of the worst kings in English history and his reign will always by defined by that one great evil deed – the murder of his nephew. One good thing to come out of his reign was Magna Carta, an attempt to limit his abuses and ensure they could not be repeated.
Marc Morris is author of The Bigod Earls of Norfolk in the Thirteenth Century (Boydell, 2005).

1300–1400 

Hugh Despenser (the Younger)

Nominated by Nigel Saul, professor of medieval history at Royal Holloway, London University

_{Illustration by Jonty Clark}
I nominate Edward II’s appalling favourite, the Younger Hugh Despenser (died 1326). Despenser was neither so well known nor so notorious as his predecessor in Edward’s favour, Piers Gaveston, but he was far worse. Gaveston was just a playboy. Despenser was pure evil.
Dominant at court in the last years of Edward’s reign, he set about eliminating his enemies and amassing a vast territorial empire in South Wales. His rapacity knew no bounds. He gobbled up the lands and possessions forfeited by those who opposed him and his king. He browbeat the weak and the vulnerable into signing away their estates. He tricked people into parting with their property.
Women were especially vulnerable to his ambitions. Alice Lacy, the Earl of Lancaster’s widow, was thrown into prison and forced to sign away her rights. The widow of Sir John Gifford of Brimpsfield was ejected from her estates. Lady Baret of Swansea was allegedly tortured so badly that she went out of her mind. Visiting merchants were robbed of their property. In a stained glass window in Tewkesbury Abbey, Despenser looks all arrogant and swagger.
But pride cometh before the fall. In the autumn of 1326 the tyrannical regime Despenser headed was toppled, and Edward deposed. At Hereford in November he was visited with the full penalties of the traitor. He was drawn, and then hanged from a gallows 50 feet high; his intestines were torn out and burned in front of him.
Nigel Saul is author of The Three Richards: Richard I, Richard II and Richard III (Hambledon & London, 2005).

1400–1500 

Thomas Arundel

Nominated by Miri Rubin, professor of history at Queen Mary, University of London

_{Illustration by Jonty Clark}
Thomas Arundel (1353–1414), administrator and archbishop of Canterbury, earns his place in this list of infamy not for a single infamous act, but for the long-term effect of his success in bringing together church and state, as never before, in the persecution of unorthodox religious opinion.
In this link between religious ideas and sedition lay the foundation for a system of persecution of religious ideas in England which would be used by rulers for centuries. Until Arundel, England had no part in the intensive inquisitorial and persecutory activities which had long been common practice on much of the Continent. The Concordat between Henry IV and Arundel gradually created such a system through ordinances and statutes.
At Oxford in 1407 he phrased ordinances – later extended as Constitutions for the realm – which limited the translation and reading of the Bible in English. The programme was completed shortly after his death, when secular officials, royal justices and sheriffs, were required by oath to enquire into heresy wherever their powers took them. As a result, he made life harder for a generation of people who wished to express and explore their religious ideas, to read the Bible in a language they understood, and discuss the “big questions”, while his clearing out of “venomous weeds” from Oxford meant that intellectual life there became bland for a very long time.
Above all, by enlisting royal officials, and encouraging neighbours to snoop, suspect and inform – he authorised a thoroughly unpleasant involvement of the state in people’s lives.
Miri Rubin is author of The Hollow Crown: A History of Britain in the Late Middle Ages (Penguin, 2005).

1500–1600

Sir Richard Rich, Lord Rich of Leighs

Nominated by David Loades, emeritus professor of history at the University of Wales

_{Illustration by Jonty Clark}
I’ve chosen Sir Richard Rich (1496/7–1567), who seems to have had no principles, political or religious, but simply joined whichever side seemed likeliest to further his career.
According to John Foxe (author of the Acts & Monuments of the English Martyrs, first published in 1563), he was personally responsible for the torture of Anne Askew – who’d broken off her marriage to an orthodox Catholic – in 1546 and was charged with heresy. He is reputed to have operated the machine himself despite the fact that women (and especially gentlewomen) were supposed to be exempt from torture.
He is alleged to have committed perjury to secure the conviction of Thomas More for treason. He promoted Protestantism under Edward VI, and then persecuted Protestants under Mary.
A lawyer by profession, Rich was a man who was constantly on the make, constantly on the lookout for the main chance. He became a powerful minister to Henry VIII and was Lord Chancellor during much of King Edward VI’s reign.
It is difficult to quite know what to make of him personally but nobody seems to have been very fond of him. Greedy he certainly was, and cruel – to judge from the Anne Askew affair. He was responsible for several burnings of heretics in Essex, and acted as a bigot because it was convenient to appear as such at that time.
In short, Rich was a slippery and unprincipled opportunist. For centuries after his death his name was a byword in the county of Essex for wickedness. Right up to the 20th century, it was said “better a poor man at ease than Lord Rich of Leighs”.
David Loades is the author of Intrigue and Treason: the Tudor Court 1547–1558 (Pearson, 2004).

1600–1700 

Titus Oates

Nominated by John Adamson, a fellow of Peterhouse, Cambridge University

_{Illustration by Jonty Clark}
The self-styled Dr Titus Oates (1649–1705) was in a league of his own, both in the depths of his vileness – a comprehensive blend of vanity, murderous con-trickery, and serpentine guile – and the scale of the evil for which he was responsible.
He was the principal promoter, in 1678, of the fantasy that there was a Jesuit conspiracy to assassinate Charles II (with silver bullets) as a prelude to a French-backed Catholic reconquest of the country.
Undoubtedly his most evil act was allowing 16 innocent laymen, and eight Catholic priests, to go to a hideous death (the penalty for treason being partial hanging, castration and disembowelment alive, and then the quartering of the corpse) as a result of his spurious accusations.
Oates’s entire career was built on the purveyance of various forms of malice and falsity. At the height of the Popish Plot mania, he laid an indictment against the Lord Chief Justice who, refusing to succumb to the popular hysteria, had acquitted four of the men implicated by Oates’s accusations. He would have willingly sent these four, and the Chief Justice, to the gallows for his own aggrandisement.
Anyone who is prepared to see innocent men go to their deaths – and particularly grisly deaths at that – on accusations that he knows to be false qualifies as cruel, bloodthirsty, and a bigot. What makes Oates’s knavery all the more invidious is that his motives appear to have been largely financial: he expected, and eventually obtained, a substantial reward from the Whig interests which profited from his accusations.
In 1678–79, Oates’s actions arguably brought the country close to the brink of another civil war. And while Oates did not create anti-Popery, his fantasies certainly sharply exacerbated a religious hatred that would endure in British society well into the 19th century. In short, he was a thoroughly odious individual.
John Adamson is author of The Noble Revolt: The Overthrow of Charles I
(Weidenfeld and Nicolson, 2007).

1700–1800

Duke of Cumberland

Nominated by Professor Rab Houston, chair of modern history at St Andrews University

_{Illustration by Jonty Clark}
The Duke of Cumberland (Prince William Augustus, 1721–65) showed his wickedness in many ways, not least in his contempt for opponents and for his own men who failed to live up to his strict standards.
He showed a particular disdain for the defeated Jacobites after the battle of Culloden in 1746, who he regarded as cowardly, dishonourable and undeserving of mercy. Thus fleeing soldiers were pursued and slaughtered while the wounded could expect no help except to be shot, bayoneted or clubbed to death.
At a time when the etiquette of warfare was considered very important, Cumberland was able to dispense with it by labelling the Highlanders as inhuman savages. He even condemned officers who had shown mercy to the Jacobite soldiers after the battle, when his orders were to give no quarter. The Highlanders hated him, renaming a weed Stinking Billy in mockery of the English renaming of a flower Sweet William in his honour.
In effect, he used the full power of the fiscal-military British state to commit genocide on the mainland of Britain. He was the equal of Cromwell in Ireland, terrorising a whole people into submission.
The English welcomed the Duke’s victory but opinion turned against him equally quickly. He acquired the title of Butcher because, when told that he was to be made an honorary freeman of a London company for his services against the Jacobites, some wag said it would have to be the Butchers. The Duke’s successes were recognised by his being voted an income of £40,000 per annum in addition to his revenue as a prince of the royal house. It was, in effect, blood money earned by war crimes.
While much of Cumberland’s reputation rests on the immediate events surrounding Culloden, he was also a strong advocate and savage pursuer of the suppression of Highland culture. He left behind him the largest army of occupation ever seen in Britain in order to pacify the Highlands while permanent fortifications were built.
He contributed to a policy of cultural imperialism by disarming the Highlands, abolishing the wearing of Highland dress, suppressing certain surnames linked with the rebellion and seeking to extirpate Catholicism from the land. He even suggested transporting whole clans like the Camerons and MacPhersons to the colonies – a sort of ethnic cleansing.
By helping to destroy the social nexus of the clan that was at the heart of Highland society, he helped sever the bond between chiefs and clanspeople that had been the basis of Highland society for centuries.
Lastly, by institutionalising the prejudice that the Highlanders were uncivilised, Cumberland also contributed to the racist views responsible for their later misfortunes.
Rab Houston is the editor of The New Penguin History of Scotland: From the Earliest Times to the Present Day (Penguin, 2005).

1800–1900

Jack the Ripper

Nominated by Professor Clive Emsley of the Open University

_{Illustration by Jonty Clark}
No-one can touch the serial killer Jack the Ripper for sheer wickedness during 19th-century Britain. Firstly, because he preyed on the most pathetic and vulnerable women in London’s East End. Secondly, for the sheer horror of his brutal crimes.
During his murder spree in the autumn of 1888, Jack the Ripper definitely killed five prostitutes – and possibly a couple of other women too – in the most appalling and extreme circumstances. His victims were disembowelled, their intestines draped over their shoulders and their breasts cut off. This man was manifestly a savage brute and while he may have had mental problems – he must have had, to do what he did – they can’t excuse his terrible actions.
The murders had huge repercussions at the time – and have influenced our view of serial killers ever since. For months after the murders women across the land, be it in Norwich or Newcastle, were terrified to go out at night. And while the press might have coined the name by which this most notorious serial killer is known, this does not detract from the savagery of his crimes. Of course, we assume it was “Jack”, and it probably was, but it just might have been “Jill”.
The Ripper has become a villain – for all time – and his shadow extends to the present day. And the way in which the world responds to modern serial killers such as the Yorkshire Ripper is influenced by the way we responded to the most notorious serial killer of all, Jack the Ripper.
All sorts of people have been accused of being Jack the Ripper: the painter Walter Sickert; rogue royals; Freemasons, you name it – but it seems unlikely we’ll ever know his true identity. However, this has just served to add to the mystique surrounding this most wicked of men.
Clive Emsley is the author of Hard Men: Violence in England since 1750 (Hambledon, 2005).

1900–2000

Oswald Mosley

Nominated by Professor Joanna Bourke of the School of History, Classics, and Archaeology, Birkbeck College, London

_{Illustration by Jonty Clark}
Oswald Mosley (1896–1980) was the founder of the British Union of Fascists (BUF) in 1932. He remains an inspiration for far-right groups in Britain and thus continues to have a pernicious impact on our society. His authoritarian politics relied on anti-Semitism and anti-immigration, and the party’s willingness to use violence was most notoriously exhibited at the Fascist rally at Olympia in 1934.
His most evil act was inciting anti-Semitic feeling and in 1934, the BUF launched an anti-Semitic campaign in the East End of London, home to one-third of British Jews. He attacked the “big Jews” for threatening the economy and the “little Jews” for “swamping” British cultural identity. While he never succeeded in turning Britain Fascist, 70 per cent of respondents under 30 chose Fascism, when asked to choose between it and Communism, in a Gallup Poll in 1937.
He was handsome and charming, and his early career – in the Conservative and then Labour Party – showed him to be a man of ideas and energy. In the early 1920s, his opposition to the “Old Men” who supervised the carnage of the First World War won him many supporters. However he was vain, megalomaniac, and had delusions of grandeur, although Attlee observed that his theatrical displays were routinely derided (at one meeting, when Mosley strode on stage with his arm uplifted, a voice called out, “Yes, Oswald dear, you may go to the lavatory”).

It would be difficult to find a more unpopular politician than Mosley in 1945: he was widely regarded as a traitor and a symbol of Fascism. On his death in 1980 his son Nicholas concluded that his father was a man whose “right hand dealt with grandiose ideas and glory” while his left hand “let the rat out of the sewer”.
Joanna Bourke is the author of An Intimate History of Killing: Face-to-Face Killing in Twentieth Century Warfare (Granta, 2000).

What was life like for a medieval housewife?

History Extra

Woodcut of a woman stoking a furnace or baking bread, 1497. (Photo by SSPL/Getty Images)

Here, writing for History Extra, Toni Mount, author of The Medieval Housewife and Other Women of the Middle Ages, reveals what life was like for a typical housewife in the Middle Ages.
“A woman’s work is never done!” as my mother used to say in the 1960s, when she cared for our family of five and assorted pets, while working as a school dinner lady. Yet this claim was expressed centuries earlier when the Tudor writer and poet Thomas Tusser wrote in his A Hundreth Good Pointes of Husbandrie in 1557:
Some respite to husbands the weather may send,
But housewives’ affairs have never an end.
We can only imagine the drudgery of struggling to do the washing, cooking and cleaning when every task had to be done from scratch – before the linen could be washed, the housewife had to make the lye (the medieval equivalent of detergent) to soak it in, and before dinner could be cooked, the fire had to be lit. The medieval housewife also had to churn butter, brew ale and tend livestock, as well as spin and weave cloth to make clothes for the family.
These tasks had been carried out by housewives for centuries, but how do we know this, and what evidence do we have? Archaeologists have unearthed quern stones for milling grain at home, and found household utensils to give us a few clues. But many medieval women couldn’t read or write, so they never kept diaries or journals telling us about their everyday lives – they would probably have been too busy to find the time for writing, even if they were able.
In the late 14th century, a grey-haired Frenchman, Guy de Montigny, known as ‘the Goodman of Paris’, wrote a detailed instruction book for his young bride [believed to have been around the age of 15] describing her future duties as a housewife. The couple was of the merchant class and, obviously, the girl must have been literate, as she could read his book.
We may shudder at the idea, but an elderly man marrying a teenager was thought to be beneficial to both parties: he got a new lease of life, and she enjoyed the fruits of his successful career and wisdom. Also, a young woman’s first marriage was normally arranged for her – her husband chosen by the family. However, in certain circumstances a widow might be able to choose her second husband. Guy de Montigny admits this, declaring that, if his wife is well trained in her duties, when she marries again after his death she will be a credit to his teaching. This is how he expects her to care for him:
Wherefore love your husband’s person carefully, and I pray you keep him in clean linen, for ‘tis your business... he is upheld by the hope that he hath of the care which his wife will take of him on his return [home]... to be unshod before a good fire, to have his feet washed and fresh shoes and hose, to be given good food and drink, to be well served and well looked after, well bedded in white sheets and nightcaps, well covered with good furs, and assuaged with other joys and desports, privities, loves and secrets whereof I am silent. And the next day fresh shirts and garments. Certes, such services make a man love and desire to return home and to see his goodwife, and to be distant with others. 

_{Women cutting pig's trotters. From Tacuinum Sanitatis, a medieval handbook of health (14th century). Miniature. Fol. 78 r. (Photo by: Prisma/UIG via Getty Images)}
According to William Langland, who wrote Piers Plowman in the 14th century, there are three things that can drive a man from his home, possibly into another woman’s arms – a leaking roof, a smoking fire and, worst of all, “a shrewish wife who will not be chastised; her mate flees for fear of her tongue...”
On the subject of how a housewife ought to behave, an anonymous verse, known as How the Good Wif taughte hir Doughtir, has down-to-earth instructions for young women, to help them to capture better husbands by behaving suitably:
When you sit in the church, your prayers you shall offer.
Make you no chattering to friend or relation.
Laugh you to scorn neither old folk nor young,
But be of fair bearing and of good tongue...
Go you not into town as if you were a flighty person
From one house to another in search of vain amusement;
And go not to market your burrel [cheap, home-spun cloth] to sell,
And then to the tavern to destroy your reputation...
Go not to wrestlings, nor to shooting at cock,
As if you were a strumpet or a wanton woman.
Stay at home daughter, and love your work much,
And so you shall, my dear child, soon grow rich.
For a rough guide to what life was like for a housewife of the lower class, we can refer to an intriguing 15th-century poem, based on a much earlier text, called the Ballad of a Tyrannical Husband, which gives us some idea of how a poor woman’s work was certainly never done:
The goodman [husband] and his lad to the plough are gone,
The goodwife had much to do, and servant had she none,
Many small children to look after beside herself alone,
She did more than she could inside her own house.
Home came the goodman early in the day
To see that everything was according to his wishes.
“Dame,” he said, “is our dinner ready?” “Sir,” she said, “nay.
How would you have me do more than I can?”
Then he began to chide and said, “Damn thee!
I wish you would go all day to plough with me,
To walk in the clods that are wet and boggy,
Then you would know what a ploughman be.”
Then the goodwife swore, and thus she say,
“I have more to do than ever I may.
If you were to follow me for a day,
You would be weary of your part, I bet my head on it.”
“Weary! In the devil’s name!” said the goodman,
“What have you to do, but sit here at home?
You go to your neighbour’s house, one after the other,
And sit there chattering with Jack and with John.”

_{Woodcut showing a man being de-loused; three lice can be seen around the bowl. Illustration from Hortus Sanitatis (Garden of Health), printed by Johann Pruss in Strasbourg in 1497. (Photo by SSPL/Getty Images)}
The goodwife then tells him how she had hardly any sleep last night because of the baby, yet she was first up in the morning to milk the cows and take them out to pasture while he was still asleep. Then she spends the day making butter and cheese and tending the children. She has to feed the chickens, ducks and geese, and take them onto the green. She bakes and brews and prepares flax for weaving. She teases, cards and spins wool.
Her husband then complains that she brews and bakes more often than necessary – once a fortnight would be enough. She laughs. She goes on to explain how she makes the linen and woollen cloth for the family’s clothes so they don’t have the huge expense of buying cloth from the market. She prepares food for the animals:
“…And food for ourselves before it is noon,
Yet I don’t get a fair word when I have done
So I look to our welfare both outdoors and inside
So that nothing great or small is lacking…”
However, this ballad was written to entertain the audience. It has even been suggested that it may have been composed by a woman for a female audience, but this isn’t certain. Then we come to the fun part: the goodman insists that, if his wife believes she labours long and hard, the next day they will swap places and she can try her hand at ploughing, to see what real work entails:
“Therefore, dame, make you ready, I warn you now,
Tomorrow with my lad, you shall go to the plough
And I shall be the housewife and keep our house and home
And take my ease, as you do, by God and Saint John!”
The wife agrees to the challenge, listing all the jobs he will have to do. Just to be sure the family won’t go hungry the next day, the wife gets up extra early to milk the cow and churn the butter, putting the meat to marinade for dinner. All the husband will have to do is care for the children “and let them not weep”, see the geese don’t wander off, and make sure the malt (for making ale), being heated in the oven, doesn’t burn. Can he manage that? “Teach me no more housewifery, I know enough,” he tells her.

_{c1100: two women carry jars on their heads as they walk away from a pen crowded with sheep. (Photo by Hulton Archive/Getty Images)}
At this point, the balladeer takes a breather, calling for a well-earned drink: “Then you shall hear the best bit,” he (or maybe she) says. We can imagine what this will be. Will the husband make a mess of everything in his wife’s absence? Will she have proved her point about how hard women have to work in the home?
Sadly, our imagination is all we have, because the rest of the ballad is missing: we never get to hear the “best bit”, as promised. Perhaps there never was any more to the ballad, the singer having achieved his/her aim of showing a housewife’s worth.
It seems, then, that Thomas Tusser got it right: “Housewives’ affairs have never an end.” My mother would have agreed with him.

Toni Mount’s The Medieval Housewife and Other Women of the Middle Ages (2014) is available from Amberley Publishing. To find out more, click here.

10 facts about Stonehenge

History Extra

Built in several stages, Stonehenge began about 5,000 years ago as a simple earthwork enclosure where prehistoric people buried their cremated dead. The stone circle was erected in the centre of the monument in the late Neolithic period, around 2500 BC
• Two types of stone are used at Stonehenge: the larger sarsens, and the smaller bluestones. There are 83 stones in total
• There were originally only two entrances to the enclosure, English Heritage explains – a wide one to the north east, and a smaller one on the southern side. Today there are many more gaps – this is mainly the result of later tracks that once crossed the monument
• A circle of 56 pits, known as the Aubrey Holes (named after John Aubrey, who identified them in 1666), sits inside the enclosure. Its purpose remains unknown, but some believe the pits once held stones or posts
• The stone settings at Stonehenge were built at a time of “great change in prehistory,” says English Heritage, “just as new styles of ‘Beaker’ pottery and the knowledge of metalworking, together with a transition to the burial of individuals with grave goods, were arriving from Europe. From about 2400 BC, well furnished Beaker graves such as that of the Amesbury Arche are found nearby”
• Roman pottery, stone, metal items and coins have been found during various excavations at Stonehenge. An English Heritage report in 2010 said that considerably fewer medieval artefacts have been discovered, which suggests the site was used more sporadically during the period
• Stonehenge has a long relationship with astronomers, the report explains. In 1720, Dr Halley used magnetic deviation and the position of the rising sun to estimate the age of Stonehenge. He concluded the date was 460 BC. And, in 1771, John Smith mused that the estimated total of 30 sarsen stones multiplied by 12 astrological signs equalled 360 days of the year, while the inner circle represented the lunar month
• The first mention of Stonehenge – or ‘Stanenges’ – appears in the archaeological study of Henry of Huntingdon in about AD 1130, and that of Geoffrey of Monmouth six years later. In 1200 and 1250 it appeared as ‘Stanhenge’ and ‘Stonhenge’; as ‘Stonheng’ in 1297, and ‘the stone hengles’ in 1470. It became known as ‘Stonehenge’ in 1610, says English Heritage
• In the 1880s, after carrying out some of the first scientifically recorded excavations at the site, Charles Darwin concluded that earthworms were largely to blame for the Stonehenge stones sinking through the soil

• By the beginning of the 20th century there had been more than 10 recorded excavations, and the site was considered to be in a “sorry state”, says English Heritage – several sarsens were leaning. Consequently the Society of Antiquaries lobbied the site’s owner, Sir Edmond Antrobus, and offered to assist with conservation
To read more about Stonehenge, click here.

Prince Albert: The death that rocked the monarchy

History Extra

Queen Victoria with Princesses Alice and Louise and a portrait of her late husband, Albert, in 1863. (Credit: Getty Images)

When Prince Albert breathed his last at 10.50pm on the night of Saturday 14 December 1861 at Windsor, a telegraph message was sent within the hour to the lord mayor that the great bell of St Paul’s Cathedral should toll out the news across London. Everyone knew that this sound signified one of two things: the death of a monarch or a moment of extreme national crisis such as war.
People living in the vicinity of the cathedral who had already gone to their beds that night were woken by the doleful sound; many of them dressed and began gathering outside St Paul’s to share the news with shock and incredulity. Only the previous morning the latest bulletin from Windsor had informed them that the prince, who had been unwell for the last two weeks, had rallied during the night of the 13th. The whole nation had settled down for the evening reassured, hopeful that the worst was now over.
Most of the Sunday morning papers for the 15th had already gone to press and did not carry the news, although in London one or two special broadsheets were rushed out and sold at a premium. For most ordinary British people the news of Prince Albert’s death came with the mournful sound of bells, as the message was relayed from village to village and city to city across the country’s churches.
Many still did not realise the significance until, when it came to the prayers for the royal family during morning service, the prince’s name was omitted. But it was still hard to believe. The official bulletins from Windsor had suggested only a ‘low fever’ – which in Victorian parlance could be anything from a chill to something more sinister like typhoid fever. The royal doctors had been extremely circumspect in saying what exactly was wrong, not just to the public but also Albert’s highly strung wife, and very few had any inkling of how ill he was. How could this have happened, people asked themselves; how could a vigorous man of only 42 have died without warning?
The impact of Prince Albert’s death, coming as unexpectedly as it did, was dramatic and unprecedented. The last time the nation had mourned the loss of a member of the royal family in similar circumstances had been back in 1817 when Princess Charlotte, daughter of the Prince Regent – and heir to the throne failing the birth of any legitimate male heirs – had died shortly after giving birth to a still-born baby boy. Public grief at this tragedy had been enormous, and it was no less with the death of Albert.
His might not have been a young and beautiful death like Charlotte’s but its impact, both publicly and politically, was enormous. It was seen as nothing less than a national calamity, for Britain had in effect lost its king. And worse, Albert’s death had come at a time of political crisis, with the British government embroiled in a tense diplomatic standoff with the Northern states during the American Civil War. This had prompted Prince Albert’s final act of public business on 1 December. Already very sick, he had amended a belligerent despatch from Lord Palmerston following the North’s seizure of two Confederate agents from a British West Indies mail packet, the Trent. The agents were on their way to Europe to raise support for the South.

_{The royal family in c1860/61. By championing the virtues of family life, Victoria and Albert had rescued the monarchy’s ailing reputation. (Credit: Mary Evans Picture Library)}
At worst, the boarding of the Trent was a breach of British neutrality. Yet, Albert had warned that to force the issue without finding a diplomatic way out would mean war – at a time when Britain had barely recovered from the disastrous campaign in the Crimea.
His intercession had helped defuse a tense political situation, a fact that prompted Prime Minister Palmerston to observe that such had become the prince’s value to the British government that it would have been “Better for England to have had a ten years’ war with America than to have lost Prince Albert”. Yet Britain had indeed lost Albert, and the prince’s death plunged the queen into grief so profound that it would dramatically alter the shape of the British monarchy, not just for the rest of Victoria’s reign but in the way in which it has come down to us today.
The public response in the days immediately afterwards bears many parallels with the outpouring of grief that followed the death of Princess Diana more than a century later. And, in a sombre precursor of princes William and Harry following Diana’s coffin in 1997, the loss was made equally poignant by the presence at Albert’s all-male funeral at Windsor of two of his young sons, Bertie (20) and Arthur (11).

The whole country was swathed in black: shops were shuttered, blinds drawn, flags at half mast, theatre performances and concerts cancelled. The middle classes put themselves and their children into black, and trade at the funeral warehouses boomed as never before. Even the poorest rural cottager donned some form of black, if only an armband. That Christmas, 1861, was one of the gloomiest ever seen in England.
It would take time, however, for the far more significant, political impact of the prince’s death to unravel. During their 21 years of marriage Victoria and Albert had done much to rescue the ailing monarchy from the lingering dissolute reputation of the Hanoverians and reinvigorate it as a democratic and moral example for the new age. The royal family had become popular again and accessible to ordinary people, thanks to the example it set of the simple domestic virtues of monogamy, bourgeois decency and family life. It was an image that Albert had assiduously promoted, right from the first popular magazine illustrations of the royal family enjoying Christmas at Windsor, German-style, with decorated fir trees.

Once the initial shock of Albert’s death had receded, the far more pressing question in everyone’s minds, particularly those in government, was its impact on Victoria. ‘How will the queen bear it?’ they all asked themselves; how would she cope with all her onerous duties without him? No one had any doubt about the extent of Victoria’s total dependency on her late husband, not just emotionally but also in dealing daily with the mountain of official business.
Albert had been all in all to Victoria: husband, friend, confidant, wise counsel, unofficial secretary and government minister. There was not a single aspect of her life on which she had not deferred to his advice and greater wisdom. Indeed, so reliant was she on his opinion in everything that she would even consult him on what bonnet to wear.

_{The queen and prince consort in 1854. (Credit: Getty Images)}
With time – and with his wife continually sidelined by pregnancy – Albert had become all-powerful, performing the functions of king but without the title, driving himself relentlessly through a schedule of official duties that even he admitted felt like being on a treadmill. But it is only after he died that the nation acknowledged the debt it owed him. The laments were many and profound in the acres of obituaries that filled the British press. Many of them were tinged with a profound sense of guilt that Albert had never been sufficiently valued during his lifetime for his many and notable contributions to British culture as an outstanding patron of the arts, education, science and business.
Victoria’s descent into a crippling state of unrelenting grief rapidly created problems. It soon became clear that her retreat from public view and her intense sorrow would endure well beyond the usual two years of conventional mourning. Without Albert she felt rudderless. To lose him, as she herself said, was “like tearing the flesh from my bones”. The isolation of her position as queen was profound. “There is no one to call me Victoria now,” she wept, in response to the grinding loss of intimacy, affection and physical love that she now felt.
Albert had been Victoria’s one great, abiding obsession in life. With no strong man to support her, with a feckless heir, Bertie, who had caused her nothing but anxiety, and a family of nine children to parent alone, she retreated into a state of pathological grief which nobody could penetrate and few understood. Worse, she imposed the most rigorous observance of mourning on her family and her entourage and became increasingly intractable in response to every attempt to coax her out of her self-imposed purdah. Her observance of the rituals of mourning became so fetishistic and so protracted that there was a danger of her sinking so totally into her grief that she – and the monarchy – would never recover.
The only thing that interested Victoria now was her single-handed mission to memorialise her husband in perpetuity. She did so with aplomb, turning her grieving into performance art as she instigated a range of artistic and cultural monuments commemorating Albert that would transform the British landscape and set their visual stamp not just on the second half of her reign but on our perception today of the Victorian era.

_{Victoria in mourning in c1862. Her retreat from public life following Albert's death prompted a surge of anti-monarchical sentiment across Britain. (Credit: Getty Images)}
As far as Victoria was concerned, her happy life had ended the day Albert died. But by the mid-1860s her ministers – and even her own children – were becoming frantic at her continued retreat from pubic view and her dogged refusal to take part in any form of public ceremonial. Anti-monarchical feeling was growing, with regular complaints that Victoria did nothing to justify her income from the Civil List. All Albert’s hard work over 20 years in educating his wife in her performance of duty was now being dangerously undermined.
By the end of the 1860s discontent escalated into outright republican challenges and calls for Victoria’s abdication. Then, just when all seemed lost, the monarchy was rescued from disaster. The near fatal illness of the Prince of Wales in December 1871 – on the tenth anniversary of his father’s death – and his miraculous recovery prompted the first piece of state ceremonial in over a decade when Queen Victoria attended a thanksgiving service at St Paul’s Cathedral. Three days later a crude ‘assassination’ attempt against her rallied public sympathy for Victoria to unprecedented levels.
By this time the queen had begun to recover, thanks to the support of her trusted Highland servant John Brown and, in 1874, the return of her adored Disraeli as prime minister. It was by now clear that the queen would never leave off her black, but as she was coaxed back into public view, she did so as a respected figure of enduring dignity and fortitude, ageing into her familiar image of matriarchal widow, empress and ‘Grandmama of Europe’. It was only now that people started calling themselves ‘Victorians’, as the widowed queen set her stamp irrevocably on the great and final days of empire at the head of a ceremonial and constitutional monarchy that survives to this day.

Queen Victoria’s Letters: A Monarch Unveiled airs on BBC Four on Thursday 23 July 2015 at 9pm. In it, AN Wilson reveals that Queen Victoria may have led a more exciting life after the death of Prince Albert than we may have first thought.