Another Shiny!

A serious post is coming soon folks - I promise (and I'm planning on one of my 'epic' bios - this time of Roger Mortimer!). But, while I do the research, drink coffee and munch on choccy biscuits, here's a short one to be going on with...



Thanks to my comrade in arms Alianore at Edward the Second Blogspot for the new blog award: another shiny to decorate the sidebar with YAY! By all accounts I have to list 5 of my obsessions. Ummmm....

1. Hugh le Despenser (to give him his proper full name)
2. People, places and events to do with Hugh le Despenser
3. Anything medieval in general - both in books and in the here and now (castles, abbeys etc) 4. Watching medieval re-enactments, especially jousting and molesting the knights lol!
5. Richard Armitage (although Jonathan Rhys Meyers is becoming a contender for the crown)! This is only because I think Richard Armitage would make a great Despenser in a film! JRM has my vote for Damory though ;-)

Actually I have plenty more than 5 and the next few would be to do with the outdoors and wildlife. Yep, I'm pretty obsessive when something interests me!

And now I have to name some other worthy recipients of this award - which is getting difficult as many of my would-be nominees have been mentioned already by other awardees (is that a word?). Anyway, here goes, and apologies if I'm doubling up (just think of yourself as doubly brilliant!):

Susan Higginbotham at Medieval Woman: Blogging with Historical Fiction Writer Susan Higginbotham

Su at Su Writes Stuff

Daniel Myers at Medieval Cookery

Ceirseach at Mony Wylsum Way

Melisende at Women of History

A Really, Really Short and Speculative Picture History of 1326

For this post I thought I'd do a Susan Higginbotham (apologies Susan!) and play about with some sign generators that I found at: http://www.signgenerator.org/thumbs.htm.

Not that I haven't been doing any research of course *whistles innocently* - well, er, OK then, time has been a bit short the past few days.



A Brief (Very Brief) Account of 1326!

Hugh and his father were rather unpopular in England due to their unparalleled success in the property market.



This led to a backlash from exiled barons and one disgruntled queen. However, from this pic it seems that Mortimer was having a few issues with short term memory.


A bit later (and after Mortimer remembered where he was going, what he was doing and who with), Hugh and Ed found themselves holed up in Caerphilly Castle whilst fleeing from the rebel forces. Wanting to show off his new Great Hall to Ed, Hugh ordered in a huge Chinese takeaway feast, complete with fortune cookies. Ed was the first to break his open and found this cryptic message inside:



"Load of tosh!" He laughed. "I reckon the Abbot of Neath is playing a little prank on us because he doesn't want to get out the best tea-set for when we visit".

Then Hugh snapped his cookie in half:


"About to go up in the world eh? That can't be bad. As long as it isn't at the end of a rope though hahahaha!"

Well, we all know the rest of the story. If only they had taken heed of those fortune cookies!

THE END

Hugh Despenser and the Strange Case of the Sorcerer’s Apprentice

There is a rather intriguing entry in the Papal Registers Relating to Great Britain and Ireland for the Kalends of September 1324:

To Hugh le Despensier, the younger. In answer to his complaint that he is threatened by magical and secret dealings, the pope recommends him to turn to God with his whole heart, and make a good confession and such satisfaction as shall be enjoined. No other remedies are necessary beyond the general indult which the pope grants him.

Further investigation reveals a rather interesting little story which not only shows how superstition and religion lived side-by-side, but also that Hugh was obviously enough of a believer in the powers of the dark arts to appeal to the Pope for help. The details behind this case can be found in the Parliamentary Writs, a text that's hard to find these days outside of the National Archives and British Library (in the UK). Luckily though, I found a transcribed version of the text in an online archive of the Camden Society.

As the story goes, some of the leading men of Coventry were at loggerheads with Henry Irreys, the prior of Coventry (1), who had been appointed by Edward II, Hugh Despenser the Elder and his son (yes, you know who I mean). In the winter of 1323, they decided to do something about the irksome man and visited a necromancer within the city – one John de Nottingham and his assistant (and lodger) whose name was Robert le Mareschall. The men of Coventry promised Nottingham £20 and Mareschall £15 if they would kill the prior, the king, the Despensers and others by the use of sorcery. They also provided the materials needed: seven pounds of wax and two ells of canvas so that seven images could be made in the likenesses of the intended victims (those named above plus the priory’s cellarer and steward and also for Richard Sowe, another of the prior’s underlings.



Richard Sowe was the test case. On the Monday after St. Nicholas (6th December), Nottingham and Mareschall met in a house just outside of the city and started the process, beginning with secret incantations. This ritual was repeated at intervals until the 4th May when Nottingham gave Mareschall a sharpened feather and told him to stick it into the forehead of the image of Sowe. The next morning, the men visited Sowe and found him raving, shouting out ‘harrow’ but otherwise being completely insensible. A few days later, in another ritual, Nottingham took the feather from the image’s head and plunged it into its heart instead. When they once again visited Sowe the next morning they found he was dead. Nottingham’s powers had been proved and now it was the turn of the main victims to suffer the same fate.

At this point, however, Mareschall, for whatever reason, decided to turn informant, and all those accused of murder and attempted murder by necromancy were arrested (2). At the subsequent trial, however, only John de Nottingham was found guilty – and executed. The others were acquitted. Instead, it seems that the proceedings during the trial brought to light the prior's ’s alleged misdeeds – those of simony, perjury and sortilege (divination by casting lots). In turn, Henry turned to the Pope to plead his case and, after an investigation by the abbot of Barlinges, it seems that he was found innocent – for he was soon continuing in the duties of his office.


Although the events may have occurred as they are told, it is also possible (and far more likely) that it was some kind of frame-up – either by Mareschall or the prior (my favourite suspect). By indicting the men of Coventry with whom he was in dispute, perhaps he hoped to get them out of the way permanently – even if he had to sacrifice one of his own men (Sowe). Mareschall was most likely a hired stooge, or else was swayed by the lure of money. But whatever the truth, this local storm in a teacup had effects that reached to Despenser – and thus to the Pope. Despenser certainly seemed to believe that people were trying to kill him by magic, but what of Edward II? There is no record of him asking the Holy Father for divine help: maybe he was less superstitious – or maybe he already had enough faith that God would protect him. It would be interesting to know, though, whether after receiving the Pope’s reply, Hugh did turn to God with his whole heart – for a while at least.


(1) This name may actually be in error and it may be Henry de Leycester instead as he is recorded as being prior from 1294-1342. His successor was William Irreys, see https://www.british-history.ac.uk/report.aspx?compid=32257

(2) A list of the men’s names is given in the Parliamentary Writs: Richard le Latoner, Geffrei Frebern, Robert le Palmere, Adam de Wolreston, Henri de Hynton, Hugh de Tuwe, Johan de Siflet, William de Gloucestre, Johan de Stonleye, Richard le Taillour hosier, Johan le Wallere que sert Alice la Honte, Henri Pake, Robert de Stoue, Robert de Lichefeld, Robert le Mercer que ad espusee la fille Adam de Lyndeseye, Piers Baroun, Phelipp le Hosier, Wautier Chubboc, Rogier le Brai, Johan Frebern, Reynauld de Alesleye gurdeler, William le Wallere, Richard Grauntpe, Johan le filz Hugh de Merington, apprentiz de court, William Russell, Richard de la Grene, et Johan le Redeclerk, hosier de Coventre. And of course, John de Nottingham!


Sources:
British History Online < https://www.british-history.ac.uk>

Calendar of Entries in the Papal Registers Relating to Great Britain and Ireland, Papal Letters Vol. II, A.D. 1305-1341, edited by W.H. Bliss

Contemporary Narrative of the Proceedings Against Dame Alice Kyteler, Prosecuted for Sorcery in 1324, by Richard de Ledrede, Bishop of Ossory, edited by Thomas Wright, Council of the Camden Society, No. xxiv, 1842-3 accessed at: < http://www.archive.org/stream/acontemporarynar00camduoft/acontemporarynar00camduoft_djvu.txt>

The Prisons of Edward II’s London – Part Three – Central and East

And now, for the final post on London prisons:


The Tower

The Tower of London is probably one of the best known landmarks of the city – and it wasn’t any less iconic in the time of Edward II. Prison, royal palace, fortress, treasure house – the Tower has such a vast importance that it could easily take up a post on its own. Therefore, I shall just concentrate on its use as London’s premier Medieval prison – the place of confinement reserved for those of high status or high importance.

It is often assumed that anyone who was imprisoned in the Middle Ages was either thrown into a dungeon or kept in chains and filthy rags. Well, of course, for the majority that was the truth – or pretty close to it. However, the highborn could expect a far gentler confinement (but still nothing like the luxury they were used to!). Depending on the seriousness of their crime, they could either find themselves locked in a cell (and yes, sometimes in chains) or else confined to a room with a few small items of comfort and even a servant (especially in the case of women prisoners). But at least the conditions were a bit more sanitary and less crowded than London’s other prisons!

Although William Wallace was executed on Tower Hill after being confined at the Tower in 1305, the building’s bloody reputation didn’t really take off until later (especially during the Tudor period). Many of the men (and women and children – the families of prisoners or traitors were also often held here) were usually those that the King did not know what to do with – ones that maybe he didn’t want to execute but, on the other hand, didn’t want running around free either.

There were several notable prisoners during Edward’s time: Llywelyn Bren and his family were held here after his rebellion in Glamorgan. He’d been promised a pardon for his surrender so could not be executed and yet it would have been folly to have allowed him to return to Wales to potentially make more trouble in the future. Of course, Hugh Despenser the younger solved Edward’s problem for him by removing Bren to Cardiff without royal consent and executing him there.

Another prisoner of note was Roger Mortimer of Wigmore, confined after his surrender to Edward’s troops in 1322. He had been a dangerous opponent to Edward and Despenser and was one of the leaders of the Contrariants during the Despenser War. His treasonable behaviour should have earned him an execution – but Edward decided instead to keep him captive – a decision I’m sure, he was later to regret. In August 1323, with the collusion of Gerard d’Alspaye, the sub-lieutenant of the Tower, he drugged the lieutenant and the guards and effected a daring escape. The rest, as they say, is history.

The Tun

The information regarding this prison comes from John Stow’s Survey of London, published in 1598. Despite searching, I’ve not been able to find any contemporary records of his version of events. However, this does not mean that his account should be discarded as he may have had access to documents that I’ve not seen – or else have since been lost.

According to him, the Tun was built by the then mayor of London Henry le Galeys (or Waleys) to hold ‘night-walkers and other suspicious persons.’ It was allegedly called the Tun because it was a round building that looked a bit like a tun standing on end.
However, it seems that it wasn’t just people doing naughty things after curfew who ended up in there, but also priests suspected of ‘incontinencie’. This practice was complained about to Edward I in 1297, who then wrote the citizens of London a letter to the following effect (according to Stow):

Edward by the grace of God, &c. Whereas Richard Grauesend Bishop of London, hath shewed vnto vs, that by the great Charter of England, the Church hath a priuiledge, that no Clarke should be imprisoned by a lay man without our commandement, and breach of peace, which notwithstanding some Citizens of London vpon meere spite doe enter in their watches into Clarkes chambers, and like fellons carrie them to the Tunne, which Henrie le Walleys sometime Maior built for night walkers, wherefore we will that this our commaundement be proclaymed in a full hoystings, and that no watch hereafter enter into any Clarkes Chamber, vnder the forfeyt of 20. pound. Dated at Carlile the 18. of March, the 25. of our raigne.

Two years later, a group of men broke into the Tun and freed some of the prisoners. For this they were also imprisoned and fined a whopping sum of 20,000 marks!

Later in the 15th century it was converted into a cistern called ‘The Conduit’.

The Poultry Compter

Compters (or Counters) were small prisons run by city sheriffs (in this case, the Sheriff of London). Most of the time they only took in small-time offenders – such as debtors, drunks and vagrants, although they could also be used to hold more serious felons if Newgate was full.

The Poultry Compter was established in the 14th Century (although I don’t know when, so it is possible that it could be a little later than Edward’s reign). It was situated in an area known as ‘Poultry’ (hence the name) in Cheapside – a place known for its… well, poultry.

I can’t find any other records regarding this place in Medieval times but later on it became notorious for its foul condition. One contemporary description given by Ned Ward in 1698 gives you a pretty good idea what a noisome place this was:

"the mixture of scents that arose from mundungus*, tobacco, foul feet, dirty shirts, stinking breaths, and uncleanly carcases, poisoned our nostrils far worse than a Southwark ditch, a tanner's yard, or a tallow-chandler's melting-room.”

By 1817 its continued descent into decay had got so bad that it was pulled down and replaced by Whitecross Street prison.

* No, not the character from the Harry Potter book but a type of stinking tobacco in use at the time.

A New 'Job' and More Tombstones...

I've been saying that I've been really busy for quite a while now without actually saying exactly what I was up to. Well, to begin with I was trying to set up some online businesses - one of which would sell medievally-inspired goods. Well, it will still be happening, but just not as soon as I'd originally planned. That is because another writing project has come my way - I will be documenting the life and travels of the Arctic explorer Mark Wood. I also seem to have become his unofficial PA - I'm net yet sure how that happened! So I now have to wear two heads - a Medieval one and an expedition business one. Believe me - they are quite exclusive of each other! But it's all great fun - and extremely fascinating to boot.

And now... well, it had to happen. Alianore and Susan have already fallen to the lure of the Tombstone Generator. I tried to resist for as long as I could but in the end the temptation just beat me. So here we go:

The Prisons of Edward II’s London, Part Two – South of the River, Outside of the City

The King’s Bench Prison
This prison took its name from the King’s Bench Court in which cases of misdemeanors (as opposed to more serious felonies) were heard. Originally, the King’s Bench prison was as nomadic as the King’s Bench Court – as it went from borough to borough hearing cases. The prison would then be anywhere in the vicinity that could be made reasonably secure. From 1215 onwards, thanks to the Magna Carta, it had to remain in one place and so it was situated south of the river in Angel Place (off Borough High Street) in Southwark. It consisted of two houses and tended to house mainly debtors, although other types of criminal were also sent here.

It suffered from being burnt in the riots of 1381 and 1450 and was demolished in 1761. However a replacement prison had already been built in 1758 on a site nearby. By 1842, its name had been changed to the Queen’s Prison but this marked the steady decline of the place. Thirty years later it was closed and demolished – this time for good.

The Clink
Getting ‘thrown in the clink’ is slang for going to jail – but the term originally came from this prison south of the City of London. Like many of London’s prisons, it was built in the 12th century (1151 to be precise). It was situated next to Winchester Palace, the residence of the Bishop of Winchester (Southwark was the largest town in the Bishop of Winchester’s diocese and he owned much of the land there (1)). As such its original use was to hold those who disturbed the peace of the town. As this was a place notorious for its stews, prostitutes, inns and gambling dens, disturbing the peace was presumably a common occurrence.

Later, during Tudor times it was used to house non-conformists of both Catholic and Protestant faiths, who were often heavily manacled hand and foot. It has been postulated that the name ‘Clink’ actually came from the sound of the chains clanking as the prisoners moved around. This is quite possible as I have found no references to it being so-called in Edward’s time (it seems that the earliest recorded incidence is in 1530).

The prison fell out of general use just after the English Civil War and was destroyed by fire during the Gordon Riots of 1780. Today a museum detailing life in the prison stands on the site



The Marshalsea
The name of the Marshalsea prison has become famous mainly thanks to Charles Dickens who described it in great detail in his book Little Dorritt (his father had also been imprisoned there as a debtor). As such, in the 19th century it was famous as a debtors’ prison, but it had been in existence for many centuries before that.

Dickens’ Marshalsea was actually the second building of that name. The original was located a hundred yards or so away at what is now 161 Borough High Street in Southwark. There is no record that I know of concerning when it was built, but I did find an entry in the close rolls for 1303 ordering the release of a prisoner from the Marshalsea (2), so it was certainly in existence then.

The name comes from the court of the Marshalsea (for details of how the royal Marshalsea worked, look at this post) ruled over by the Earl Marshal. As well as being in charge of all of the horses and transport that the court needed, he was also responsible for maintaining discipline among the servants of the king and other persons attached to the royal household. Therefore it is most likely that the initial purpose of the Marshalsea prison was to hold those servants who had been accused of any crime either before trial or before sentencing. However, I am sure that the prison must have held other prisoners unconnected with the king’s household too.

In later years the Marshalsea became known largely as a debtors’ prison (yes, there seems to have been a lot of debtors in ‘later years’). Due to it’s dilapidated state, the old prison was closed in 1811 and a new prison bearing the same name was built 130 yards to the south. The new Marshalsea though, was to have a short life: it was closed in 1842 and mostly demolished (only a boundary wall now remains).



(1) The Bishop of Winchester’s land included the area of the stews and brothels and one of his duties was their licensing and regulation, from which, it must be assumed, he made a good bit of money. This why another term for the prostitutes of Southwark was ‘the Bishop of Winchester’s geese’.

(2) CCR, Vol5, 1302-1307, p57: “To Roger le Brabazon. Order to cause to be released Edmund le Taillur of Basingstok, imprisoned in the Marshalsea for the death of Richard de London”