Foundation (History of England Vol 1) (56 page)

‘Ya. You should have told what moved me to say so to him.’

‘I could not tell that which I had not heard.’

‘You should have examined the matter.’

‘Sir it did not belong to me to examine the matter, since I knew full well that I should not be a judge of the matter for it belongs only to a judge to study
illam Sacre Scripture clausam
where Holy Job says “
Causam quam nesciebam diligentissime investigabam
”.’ So men were inclined, and able, to break into Latin when addressing one another.

Latin was also used for the ruder moments. Of two men in close alliance it was written that
singuli caccant uno ano
or ‘they shit out of the same arse’. There is much talk of ‘worship’, meaning personal honour, and ‘disworship’. Those in authority suggest that they will ‘prove a good lord’ or otherwise to their supplicants. It was a world of gossip, with many ‘flyting words’ passing around London. It was also a world of plots and machinations, of convenient alliances and accidental events, of endless litigation and pleas for patronage.

Domestic aspects of the Paston correspondence suggest that
the nature of human life is not greatly changed. Margaret Paston wrote to her husband while pregnant that ‘I pray that you will send me dates and cinnamon as hastily as you may . . . From your groaning wife.’ In a previous letter she wrote, ‘I pray you be not strange [slow] of writing letters to me between this time and when you come home; if I could, I would have one from you every day.’ ‘Forgive me,’ one man writes, ‘I write to make you laugh.’

Letters often begin with ‘I greet you well’. They generally end with a religious salutation, ‘the Blessed Trinity have you in his holy governance’ or ‘may God keep you and deliver you’.

One of the pleasures of the Paston correspondence, however, lies in the extent to which the life of the day is revealed. The actions of recorded history may be stirring or dispiriting, according to taste, but the busy concourse of human existence can be heard beneath the events recorded by the annalists and the chroniclers. The real life and spirit of the time are held in the innumerable remarks and encounters among the people going about their business in market and in town, in hamlet and in field. Those who pursue the process of living are those who create the history and traditions of the country in a million unacknowledged ways; they form the language of expression, and they preserve the stability of the land.

So in a period of war and domestic turmoil the general economy of the country was growing at a rapid pace. The diminution of population at the time of the Black Death in 1348 meant that there was more land, and more work, for fewer people; this in itself was the context for the relatively new experience of prosperity. It was a commonplace of observation that the English agricultural worker was better fed and housed than the French peasant. A Venetian diplomat remarked in 1497 that England was an underpopulated country but that ‘the riches of England are greater than those of any other country in Europe, as I have been told by the oldest and most experienced merchants, and also as I myself can vouch from what I have seen. This is owing in the first place to the great fertility of the soil which is such that, with the exception of wine, they import nothing from abroad for their subsistence . . .
everyone who makes a tour in this island will soon become aware of this great wealth.’

The parish churches of the period are one of the most visible signs of affluence still to be observed in the English landscape, parish rivalling parish with the extent of its patronage; the screen-work and roof carvings are of the finest quality. It was the great age of the church tower, from Fulham in London to Mawgan-in-Pyder at St Mawgan in Cornwall. The majority of the stone bridges of the country were improved in the fifteenth century; London Bridge itself was rebuilt and widened. In the first half of that century a vogue for building libraries in the cathedrals, and in the colleges of the two universities, can be identified; fine examples can be found at Merton College and at New College in Oxford as well as in the cathedrals of York, Lincoln, Wells, Canterbury and All Saints, Bristol. The divinity school at Oxford began to rise in 1424 and was roofed in 1466.

Schools, almshouses and hospitals were constructed throughout the realm. It was the age of the large and unfortified country residences, where increasingly brick rather than stone was considered the suitable medium. The wall around the town of Hull, constructed in the second half of the fourteenth century, was the first public edifice built entirely of brick. The public institutions of town and city were improved or built anew; between 1411 and 1440, for example, the present Guildhall of London was erected. The Guildhall at York was built in the 1450s. We have already mentioned Henry’s meticulous concern for the building of Eton College and King’s College, Cambridge; the foundation stone of the extraordinary King’s College Chapel was laid by the king in the summer of 1446. Architecture was in the fullest possible sense the expression of the country, as it clothed itself in vestments of stone. It acts as a balance to the historical accounts which almost of necessity chronicle the violence and insecurity of the age. Most of what is now regarded as ‘medieval’ dates from the fifteenth century, and we can say with confidence that it remains physically close to us. The churches and libraries, the guildhalls and bridges, are still in use.

Periods of great economic activity succeeded periods of slump,
so that the familiar cycle of overconfidence and anxiety was always in motion; yet what we now call the gross domestic product of the country materially increased. When a ship coming from Dieppe landed at Winchelsea harbour in 1490, it contained satin and pipes of wine, razors and damask, needles and mantles of leopards’ skins, five gross of playing cards and eight gross of plaques stamped with the image of the Lamb of God. A trade in monkeys from Venice, described as ‘apes and japes and marmosets tailed’, flourished. An inventory of the household goods of Sir John Fastolf reveals that he purchased cloth from Zeeland (now part of the Netherlands), silver cups from Paris, coats of mail from Milan, treacle pots from Genoa, cloth from Arras and girdles from Germany. An old rhyme tells the story:

In fact by the end of the fifteenth century, beer itself was coming out of England. It had once been imported from Prussia, but English merchants were soon carrying beer from London to Flanders.

Economic activity quickened in a variety of different spheres. A small native industry of glass-painting emerged, and carpet manufactories were established at Romsey in Hampshire. Great merchants now rivalled their competitors in Genoa or in Venice. William Cannynges of Bristol possessed, in 1461, ten ships and employed 800 sailors as well as 100 craftsmen. The ships of the merchants were in fact employed as a volunteer force working with the royal navy to patrol the seas and to defend the shores. The cities and towns that engaged in maritime trade, such as Bristol and Southampton, naturally flourished. John Cabot sailed out of Bristol for the New World in 1497, looking for new markets and new trade. The mercantile interest was successful in another sense; the more affluent merchants of the towns were now attending the parliament house, and pressing their demands for the exclusive management of what was not necessarily fair trade.

Iron from the Weald in Kent and the Forest of Dean in Gloucestershire was much in demand; other wooded areas, where timber was available to create the charcoal for smelting the ore,
were fully exploited. In the Forest of Dean alone there were seventy-two forges. All Saints Church in the village of Newland, on the western edge of the forest, has a brass engraving of a miner. His leather breeches are tied below his knee, and he sports a wooden mine-hod over his shoulder in which to carry the iron ore; he holds a mattock or small pickaxe in his right hand, and between his teeth he carries a candle-holder or ‘Nellie’. He would, of course, work and dress as a small farmer when he was not mining. The silver mines of Cornwall and Devon, Dorset and Somerset, were expanded. It was said at the time that ‘the kingdom is of greater value under the land than it is above’. Productivity increased in the shipyards, the gunsmitheries and the bell foundries.

The reign of wool reached new heights during the rule of Henry VI and of his successor. The annual export of raw wool had declined a little from its peak in the fourteenth century but this was offset by a proportionate increase in the export of woollen cloth. Together they accounted for approximately 80 per cent of the country’s exports. English cloths were taken to the shores of the Black Sea, and were traded at the fair of Novgorod as well as the Rialto in Venice; they went to Denmark and to Prussia. The merchant adventurers, in control of the cloth trade, were exporting approximately 60,000 rolls of cloth each year by the end of the century.

It was a business that engaged a significant part of the nation; the wool was given to village women to comb and to spin before being sent to the weaver; to this day, an unmarried woman is known as a spinster. Once the wool had been woven into cloth it was given to the fuller for dyeing and then passed on to the shearman for finishing. The dominance of wool is the reason why the Lord Chancellor of England, until 2005, always sat upon a woolsack in the House of Lords. The towns that were involved in the cloth trade – notably Colchester – became larger and stronger. The fulling mills of the West Riding and the west of England turned ever faster. Broadcloth came from the Cotswolds and the Stroud Valley. As York and Coventry decayed, so villages like Lavenham in Suffolk with its famous ‘wool church’ thrived.

Wool raw and finished was indeed the motor of the fifteenthcentury English economy, and as a result more and more land was
preserved for the breeding of sheep. This in turn led to the enclosing of land for that purpose. Villages were moved or even destroyed to make way for the sheep-runs; the cultivation of grain gave way to rearing. The shepherds lived in wheeled huts that followed the flocks. In the late fifteenth century one Warwickshire antiquary, John Rous, complained in his
Historia Regum Angliae
of ‘the modern destruction of villages which brings dearth to the commonwealth. The root of this evil is greed . . . As Christ wept over Jerusalem so do we weep over the destruction of our own times.’ In his own county there are more than a hundred deserted villages, the vast majority of them cleared in the fifteenth century. The rights of freeholders and copyholders were in principle protected, but those who had dwelled on the land by custom could be evicted with impunity. Much of the population moved a few miles, perhaps, and continued working the land. A few were not so fortunate. That rootless phenomenon known then as ‘the sturdy beggar’ is first mentioned in the 1470s.

All things move in restless combination. There is a law of contrast at work in human history, whereby one development provokes a counter-development. Many people suffered from the pace of economic change, but others benefited from it. The successful small farmer was now paying rent for his land as a tenant, rather than performing labour duties; the small freeholder, known as the yeoman, is also more in evidence. The class of villein or serf gave way to the labourer working for a wage. The feudal economy had to a large extent been succeeded by a money economy.

Yet the prosperity of England was by no means evenly shared, and it is important to bear in mind the unimaginable extremes of poverty beside the perceived affluence of certain county towns and regions. The fact that the contrasts of life were more violent, and the insecurity of existence more palpable, rendered the people more passionate and more excitable. Theirs was a life more intense, more sensitive, more arduous and more irritable than our own.

33

The divided realm

Signs and portents of civil unrest, according to the native chroniclers, darkened the air of the mid-fifteenth century. A rain of blood fell in different regions, and the holy waters of healing wells overflowed. A huge cock was observed in the waters off Weymouth, ‘coming out of the sea, having a great crest upon his head and a great red beard and legs half a yard [45 centimetres] long’. Many people heard a strange voice rising in the air, between Leicester and Banbury, calling out ‘Bows! Bows!’ A woman in the county of Huntingdon ‘felt the embryo in her womb weeping as it were, and uttering a kind of sobbing noise’ as if it dreaded being born into a time of calamity.

The houses of York and Lancaster were in fact two sides of the same ruling family. The house of Lancaster was descended from the fourth son of Edward III, John of Gaunt, duke of Lancaster; the house of York was descended from the fifth son of the same king, Edmund, duke of York, whose youngest son had married the great-granddaughter of the third son. They are sometimes described as the third and fourth sons respectively, but this omits one male child who lived for six months. Their closeness, however, bred only enmity and ferocity. Blue blood was often bad blood. It was like a fight breaking out among a small assembly; slowly it spreads, bringing in more and more people. But there is still a vast
crowd standing outside the arena of combat, watching silently and incuriously or going about their familiar business.