Category Archives: Abbey-Priory-Friary

Peterborough Cathedral (Overnight trip to Peterborough #1)

This is a slight departure for this blog, the usual premise of which is that every visit can be accomplished in a day, there and back, from where I live in Churton.  The visit to Peterborough required a stop overnight.  I have always wanted to see the Romanesque cathedral at Peterborough, which is a former Benedictine abbey.  I set out by car early on a Wednesday in November 2023 and stayed one night in Peterborough near the town centre, visiting the cathedral both on the Wednesday afternoon and again on the Thursday morning.  On my way home on Thursday afternoon I visited the lovely Normanton Church.  The routes taken and other visiting details are at the end.

Peterborough Cathedral is covered in part 1 (here) and a very brief snapshot of Normanton Church on its custom-made plinth on Rutland Water is in part 2. Needless to say, I have barely skimmed the surface of the cathedral’s history.

Introduction

South transept

Peterborough Cathedral is somewhere I have wanted to visit from the moment that I laid eyes on photos of it in a book. It has an almost split personality with its magnificent and unique 3-bay Gothic frontage, its sublime Norman-Romanesque interior, the stunning painted nave ceiling and the almost organic delicacy of the fan vaulting in the date eastern extension.

The abbey was terminated in Henry VIII’s dissolution of all the monasteries, but like Chester Cathedral was fortunate to escape some of the indignities of this process when it was converted to a cathedral. The building that visitors see today, dedicated to St Peter with St Paul and St Andrew, is the third abbey. The first abbey, Medeshamstede, was destroyed by Danish invaders.  The second abbey church, built over a century after the demolition of the first, burned down by accident although the cloisters survived.  The third abbey church was started from scratch, and is remarkable for the survival of the magnificent Romanesque vision.  All three abbeys were built on the same site, and there is some evidence for a Roman building beneath them.  The three phases are described very briefly below.   For detailed descriptions see one of the guide books available, or the cathedral website’s History page (details in Sources at the end).   If you go in person, I recommend the guided tour.

The 7th Century Abbey – Medeshamstede

Artist’s impression of Medhamstede, shown on an information poster in the cathedral

Bede’s 8th century Ecclesiastical History says that the first abbey on the site, Medehamstede, was established  in the 7th century, and it is now thought that it was founded in around 654, and was probably built of wood.  A later phase may have seen the rebuild of the wooden walls in stone, imported from a quarry to the west.  Very little is known about the building and its phases, although the artist’s impression to the right is a useful suggestion of what might have been on the site.  The first abbey was very isolated, deliberately divorced from human settlement to provide a suitable environment for contemplation and prayer.

The River Nene in Peterborough

Perched on the side of the River Nene and on the edge of the marshlands and mudflats of the Fens, it was an ideal location for peaceful contemplation and prayer.  For this and subsequent abbeys on the site the nearby marshy Fenlands provided one of the best resources for freshwater fish in England, offered a rich habitat for wildfowl and supported reed beds that provided the raw materials for thatching roofs.  The land also had the farming potential required for an expanding self-sufficient and isolationist community, providing summer pasture for livestock, and later on, when improved techniques of land drainage were mastered, the opportunity for agricultural development.  Communication links were provided by the River Nene and the nearby Roman road. 

The monastic community would have been organized along very austere lines adhering to the so-called Celtic tradition of monasticism.  The abbey became an important early religious centre, and founded a number of daughter houses in Leicestershire, Northamptonshire, Kent, Surrey, and Bermondsey (now in southeast London), which were important vanguards of the spread of Christianity.  I

The Hedda Stone

Housed today in the cathedral chancel / presbytery is the Hedda Stone shown above, a large and beautifully sculpted piece of limestone belonging to this period of the abbey’s history, showing Christ, Mary and the Apostles.  It is carved on both sides and pierced with holes that have no generally agreed purpose.  It is quite easy to miss, so do make a point of finding it, as it is delightful.

In 870 the abbey was plundered and destroyed during a Danish attack on the east coast, and the site, now abandoned, became part of the Danelaw territory.

The 10th Century Abbey – Gildenburgh

Plan of Saxon and Medieval Peterborough showing the outline of the second church. F is the site of the gate stormed by Hereward and the Danes. It is thought that E is the old marketplace, replaced by the new town in 1133-1155. The motte is thought today to have been built by Abbot Thorold. Source: Current Archaeology 89, 1983

In the 10th century, Æthelwold of Winchester had a vision of Christ in which he was instructed to rebuild the abbey of St Peter.  He was assisted in this challenge by Dunstan of Canterbury and by King Edgar and Queen Ælfthryth.  It was consecrated in the early 970s by Dunstan as a Benedictine monastery (i.e. one following the guidelines for monastic life developed in the 6th century by St Bendict of Nursia, Italy).  From fairly early on it was decided to provide it with a defensive wall, making it a fortified settlement or “burgh.”  The church was laid out along traditional lines with a nave, two transepts and a chancel at its east end.  It must have been provided with a belfry, because Æthelwold provided 10 bells for the church.  Although there were no sources of stone and wood close to the site, these were imported from Barnack and Rockingham Forest respectively. 

The prestige of the monastery rose when it acquired an important relic, the right arm of Oswald, a Saxon king and saint who was noted for his kindness to the poor and whose arm, with which he handed out so many alms, survived, perfectly preserved, after he was killed in battle.  The monastery’s position was again strengthened in 1041 when one of the monks, Æthelric, was chosen as Bishop of Durham.  The selection of the abbey as the final resting place for Ælfric Puttoc and subsequently Cynesige, both archbishops of York was an indication of how well regarded the abbey was in the 11th century.  Like many Benedictine monasteries, it became a major landowner, becoming wealthy and both economically and architecturally ambitious, accumulating books for a library, and fine objects for its ceremonies and liturgies.  It was so rich that it became known as the golden burgh, Gildenburgh.

Reconstruction of the abbey precinct at the time of Hereward’s attack. Source: Peterborough Abbey

The second abbey was still standing proud when William the Conqueror landed in England.  Its abbot, Leofric, died in the Battle of Hastings.  Abbot Brand, who followed him, was also Saxon and supported opposition to the Norman invasion. This opposition was punished with heavy taxation, and when Brand died in 1069 the abbey was put into the hands of an abbot, Thorold, loyal to William. In the event, a local Saxon rebel, Hereward, had found an ally in King Swein of Denmark, and in 1070 the Saxons and the Danes marched on Peterborough and plundered it.  Although the arm of St Oswald was saved by the prior (second in command) the rest of the treasure vanished with the rebels.  The abbey itself was badly damaged, and what survived was occupied by the abbot and sixty knights and significant portions of land that had once formed the basis of the abbey’s wealth was now allocated to many of those knights, filling the formerly rebellious countryside with loyal Normans.

When Thorold died in 1098 he was replaced by two successive abbots who had very little impact, but the third abbot to be appointed, in 1107, was Ernulf who was prior of Canterbury, a scholar with a good understanding of political manoeuvring, who had plenty of ambition for his new posting.  He began by rebuilding the damage to the cloister buildings that had been largely destroyed by Hereward. In 1114 Ernulf moved on to Rochester and was replaced by Abbot John de Séez.

In early August 1116 when a fire broke out in the bakery and took most of what remained of the abbey church with it, although Ernulf’s new claustral buildings survived beyond the abbey church.  A new church was now not only desirable but necessary.

Today’s abbey, established in the 12th Century

The Romanesque architecture

Plan of Peterborough Cathedral. Click to expand.  NB – the “sanctuary” is referred to in most of  the Peterborough Abbey literature as “presbytery” so I have stuck with the latter throughout. Source: Sweeting 1899, Project Gutenberg

Abbot John de Séez oversaw the construction of a stunning new Romanesque building, complete with a vast vaulted presbytery.  The scale of his ambition saddled the abbey with such an enormous financial and logistical commitment that it took 120 years to complete.  Masons who had worked at Durham were brought in to ensure that the most up to date civil engineering techniques were employed, and what unfolded was a mixture of magnificent vision and superb skills.  The church was laid out on the usual cross-shape, with a long nave, side transepts (containing chapels) and a shorter east end.  The south wall of the church (the righ thand side of the plan) made up the north wall of the cloisters, the administrative and domestic buildings were located, arranged around a square garden called the garth.

Entering the nave, the interior is light-filled and breathtaking. With windows on three levels, light pours in.   Cromwell’s soldiers destroyed the medieval stained glass, and the plain replacement glass allows in much more light than the stained glass would have permitted.  Of course it does help that the cathedral has installed artificial lighting, but even allowing for the changes, the layers of window and the soft, faintly reflective pallor of the Barnack limestone walls must have provided a degree of light that was remarkable in the Middle Ages.

View from just inside the west entrance to the end of the presbytery, with the pulpit in the foreground, and the modern rood (crucifix) hanging over the entrance to the Victorian choir

Because there is no surviving pulpitum (a stone division between nave and choir in monastic churches) or rood screen (again, between nave and choir), there is a very rare almost uninterrupted view from the west end entrance to the restored stained glass windows at the east end.  In spite of the 19th century marble edifice that sticks up in the middle of the presbytery, the impression of a vanishing point is dramatic and gives a real sense of the length of the building.  The walls soar upwards too, meeting a unique and fabulous painted ceiling.

On the death of Abbot John, the new Abbot Benedict, from Canterbury, persisted with the same vision.  This is interesting because at Canterbury new ideas from France, captured in the Gothic style, were being implemented, but for whatever long-lost reason, Benedict retained the Romanesque plan that Abbot John had initiated, including semi-circular apses at the east end, one of which survives within the rectangular “New Building” that surrounds it.  This apse is a rare survivor as most British churches had their apses removed for replacement by rectangular extensions such as Lady Chapels and similarly prestigious expansion projects.  Benedict extended the original design west by two bays, and if you stand at the west end and look at the arches of the aisles you can clearly see the difference.

Blind arcading in the north aisle beneath the great arches of the windows

The nave and the two transepts contain the bulk of the easily visible Romanesque architecture.  That within the east end presbytery is more difficult to view.  The long nave with its side aisles is monumental.  The massive arches of the aisles, with characteristic geometric decoration, are supported on vast octagonal piers.  They are topped with another set of arches, each of which contains twin arches separated by slender columns topped with square capitals.  The top level features rather smaller central arches, each flanked by even smaller blind arcades.  The transept ends are simpler, each with three levels of of arches, each of the same size, with unpainted roof panels in the same lozenge shapes as those in the nave.

 

The lost cloister and infirmary

Artist’s impression of the cloister on an information board in the remains of the abbey cloisters.

Today’s cathedral was once the abbey church, and is a wonderful survival, but it was only one part of the monastic establishment.  A cloister was always an integral part of the monastic establishment, with buildings along three sides of a courtyard or garden, with the church making up the fourth side.  This cloister was usually on the south side of the church, sheltering it from the worst weather and providing it with seasonal sun.  The central part of it was often a garden of some description, called the garth.  The buildings arranged along the three sides included the refectory, where the monks ate, the dormitory where they slept and the chapter house where they held daily meetings.  Some of these buildings could be very elaborate and ornate, particularly the chapter house.

If you leave through a door in the south side of the cathedral (on the right as you head from the entrance towards the end of the nave) or turn right in front of the cathedral and head down a narrow pathway, you will find yourself in what remains of the cloister.  There is some very fine stonework left behind, giving a hint at the magnificent buildings that once stood here, and many of the changes that the buildings clearly underwent.  The buildings were robbed for building materials following the Civil War.

Cloister wall, where it meets the abbey church

Beyond the cloister was the infirmary.  Many monastic establishments were furnished with an infirmary, mainly to take care of the elderly and unwell within the monastic community, but most of these are long gone, and again there is some attractive gothic arcading that indicates where the monastic ifirmary was located, to the east of the cloister.  It was built by Abbot John de Caux in around 1250.  It is worth mentioning, because it gives some idea of the scale of the monastic operation at Peterborough.

Relics

The 12th century Becket Casket (Height 29.5cm; Width 34.4cm; Depth 12.4cm). Source: V&A Museum

No important abbey was viable without relics of saints, which gave it great spiritual credibility, prestige and integrity.  Amongst the valuable relics collected were the arm of the Saxon saint Oswald of Northumbria. More prestigious by the 12th century were the bloodstained objects directly connected to the murder on 29th December 1170 of St Thomas Becket of Canterbury (the reliquary for which survives in the V&A museum).  A 12th century genuine British martyr, canonized in 1173, was a remarkable thing, and the snaffling of authenticated relics for Peterborough was a real coup.  Benedict did not witness the martyrdom, but he became an ardent collector and collator of Becket miracles. Becket had actually been to Peterborough, visiting with King Henry II in 1154.  A chapel was built to St Thomas at the abbey gate in 1174 to hold this and other relics, allowing pilgrims access to monastic relics without permitting them to disrupt the abbey church itself.

Painted walls and woodwork

Romanesque cathedrals in Europe often preserve painted decorative patterns on walls and ceilings, some emulating red mortar,  but only faint hints survive in Britain.  Fortunately, some very delicate paintwork in Peterborough survives.  As well as imitation mortar, and some lovely swirling curves, there is a truly charming section on the ceiling with tiny red flowers that may have been intended to evoke the Virgin Mary, who is often associated with red and white roses.

Within the apse, at the rear of the Presybytery, accessible from the New Building ambulatory,  there are coats of arms painted on the white walls.  Given that the eye is inevitably drawn first to the Hedda stone and the enormous marble high altar, it is easy not to notice the paintings.  I have been unable to find out anything about them either in the literature I have to hand or on the Peterborough Cathedral website, but they probably belonged to wealthy benefactors of the abbey or the later cathedral.

The chapels in the south transept were provided with wooden screens to provide access and entry, and provide privacy.  Remarkably, some of the decorative painting on these also survives.

The west front, the porch and the Lady Chapel

The Romanesque building did not escape the fashion for Gothic style embellishments.  Tracery in the window arches, for example, is Gothic, and the Romanesque interior was topped and tailed with a remarkable Early English west front and a stunning fan-vaulted rectangular ambulatory around the central semi-circular apse at the east end.

The unique 3-bay frontage was started in 1195 but progress was halted when King John, and England as a whole, were excommunicated from the Catholic church in 1209.  When the crisis was over, building resumed under Abbot Hugh, and it is thought that he made some changes the original design.  The result is three 29m high arches at the front, the central one narrower than the two flanking ones.  Inset into these are further arches.  Flanking the arche tops and and built into the triangular gables above were a total of 22 figures looking out from the front, although many have crumbled and have now replaced.  The three at the top of the gables are Saints Paul, Peter and Andrew.  The figure at the very top of the central gable is St Peter, overlooking the entrance, and marking the transition from the impure outdoor world to the heavenly space within.

Following the 13th century fashion for adding a Lady Chapel to a church, dedicated to the Virgin Mary, one was built at Peterborough 1272-1286 to the north of the presbytery, accessed from the north transept, and was still standing by the 17th century, when it was taken down during the Civil War. It was in the Gothic style and was probably elaborately decorated and furnished.

A later Gothic porch, dating to 1375, protrudes from the middle of the west front.  I was inclined to be more than a little judgmental about the porch, which looked like a very misguided vanity project, but I stand corrected.  It was found that the central arch of the west front was beginning to tip forward, and the engineering solution was to create a wedge to prop it up.  The structurally necessary wedge was designed as a Gothic style galilee porch with perpendicular windows, and although it breaks up the magnificent frontage, has done a great job of preventing its collapse.

The 15th century “New Building”

The so-called “New Building,” a sublime gothic vision, is in fact an eastward extension of the Romanesque cathedral.  The New Building was probably built between 1496 and 1508  by star architect John Wastell of Bury St Edmunds (later responsible for the fan vaulting at Westminster Abbe, under the abbey’s superior, Abbot Robert Kirkton.  This was no mere add-on, but a fabulously imagined and beautifully crafted piece of fan-vaulted delight.  The abbot who took the gamble of gluing on an extension to a perfectly conceived Romanesque delight lived up to the legacy of his predecessors.  The ceiling bosses, some of which are shown in the above photograph, were carved with both secular and religious themes showing coats of arms, symbols of the saints, and other familiar subjects.  The job of the extension was to enclose the central semi-circular apse within a rectangular extension, providing a low-level ambulatory around the inner sanctum, which rises above it, for ceremonial processions.  Ambulatories often contain additional chapels, but the cathedral’s architecture remains largely uninterrupted and therefore retains the impact of the fabulous fan-vaulting, which is one of the largest examples in England.

Ceiling boss showing the instruments of the passion

The New Building also, of course, delivered some fairly glossy feathers to the cap of the abbot who was so pleased with himself that he incorporated his name, a partial rebus, into the building itself.  Abbot Robert Kirkton was not a self-effacing man – his initials are also conspicuous in the elaborate Prior’s Gate that he built and which celebrated key royal figures in the form of their heraldry, and ornamented with Marian roses, managing to be both obsequious and self-congratulatory.

Prior’s Gate by Abbot Kirkham

The unique 13th century painted ceiling

Magnificent painted ceiling of the nave

Deserving a post in its own right, the wooden ceiling is a marvel.  Unique, it was started in around 1238 and was finsihed sometime in the 1240s.  It is made up of a series of lozenge-shaped panels, which one painted either with a small scene or with leaf and floral motifs.  The repeating pattern of the lozenges is dramatic from below.  Interpretation of the scenes has established that the individual subjects are arranged into a series of core themes, but there is much that it still unclear.  Obvioulsy religious scenes like the Creation, The Lamb of God, Saints Peter and Paul and the Anti-Christ are accompanied by historical clerics and kings, music, astronomy and the liberal arts. A scene showing a money riding backwards on a galloping goat whilst holding an owl is a representation of folly.  John Foyles  dedicates several pages to the ceiling in his book and there is a book about it by Jackie Hall and Susan Wright for those who want to delve deeper (see sources at the end).

Unpainted wooden ceilings over the apses are also arranged in lozenges, and are very fine in their own right.

Lozenge-shaped framed painting on the ceiling of the nave., showing St Paul holding a sword in his right hand and a book in his left (panel C7). The sword evokes the means of his martyrdom (beheading) and the book represents his epistles.

The Tudors before the Dissolution

The main contribution of the Tudors to the cathedral are the tombs of Katherine of Aragon, who died in 1536 and Mary Queen of Scots in 1587.

Katharine of Aragon had been married to the heir to the English throne, Arthur, elder brother of the future Henry VIII.  When Arthur died, Henry VIII married his widowed sister-in-law.  When the marriage failed to produce the necessary male heir, Henry decided to annul the marriage.  Unable to obtain papal permission to do so, he split from the papacy and established the Church of England.  Katherine was shuffled off to Kimbolton Castle, where Henry hoped that if she was out of sight of the public, she would also be out of mind.  When she died she provided, on Henry’s orders, with a tomb in Peterborough Abbey, the nearest important ecclesiastical building to Kimbolton.  Here she was identified as the widow of Henry’s  brother Arthur.  This was presumably Henry’s excuse for not granting her a place in Westminster Abbey.  Deposited under the floor up against the south side of the presbytery, where she would be close to God, she was provided with a monument above the grave.  This was destroyed in the Civil War, but the grave beneath remains in situ, marked by a stone slab and gold lettering. 

The Dissolution

The opening page of the Valor Ecclesiasticus (the survey of monastic establishments that paved the way to the Dissolution), showing Henry VIII. Source: Wikipedia

The New Building had only just been finished in the first years of the 1500s when Henry VIII fell out with the Catholic papacy.  Henry, having found a way to both dissolve a marriage that produced a daughter but no male heir to his throne, and simultaneously remove papal authority over both his personal affairs and the management of the church, also found that being the head of his own Church of England enabled him to raise substantial funds by laying claim to all the properties and goods of the monasteries, priories and friaries, by simply denying their ongoing right to exist.   The Dissolution caught up with Peterborough abbey in 1539, which had survived the first round of closures that took place in 1536.  The abbot at the time was John Chambers, and he was unusually fortunate.  He took no part in the protests in Lincoln or the Pilgrimage of Grace, and although initially pensioned off his meek resignation to the inevitable was rewarded.  Whether it was because of the creation of new dioceses at this time, or because Henry VIII’s first wife Katherine of Aragon was buried here in 1536, the abbey escaped demolition and was converted instead to a cathedral in 1541 with John Chambers as its first bishop.  Of all the 100s of abbeys, priories and friaries that were dissolved by Henry VIII, only a handful were converted to cathedrals, of which Chester Cathedral is another example.

Fifty years later Peterborough was again the royal choice of burial place for an embarrassing queen.  Executed in 1587, Mary Queen of Scots was buried on the opposite side of the presbytery from Queen Katharine.  She remained there for 25 years until her son, James I, removed her remains to Westminster Abbey

The Civil War

Peterborough, from Speed’s 1610 map, shortly before the Civil War. Source: Sweeting 1899, Project Gutenberg

During the English Civil War of 22 August 1642 – 3 September 1651, each side attempted to use the medieval castles to gain advantage.  The result was that many 13th century castles were slighted (demolished) to prevent re-use at the end of the Civil War.  Castles were fair game, but religious institutions were also targeted because they represented a different threat – the challenge to Puritan religious belief.  Henry VIII had rejected Catholic authority, but his Church of England was established for convenience, and the Church of England contained many lingering aspects of its Catholic ancestry.  Oliver Cromwell’s soldiers were given free reign to obliterate any of the artistic signs of lingering tendencies to papism to force through reform.  What they could reach they either maimed or destroyed.  What they could not reach they sometimes hit with musket fire.

One of three surviving misericords at Peterborough Cathedral

At Peterborough, as in so many places, the medieval stained glass was demolished.  Some of the stained glass windows at the east end today was formed of the fragments that people picked up and saved after the Puritans had left.  The painted ceiling over the east end apse was shot with muskets, but somehow the ceiling over the nave was missed.  The choir stalls, together with the misericords (the so-called mercy seats once in the choir stalls, all of which were carved with fascinating scenes on their undersides) were also destroyed at this time.  Only three of the misericords survive (at Chester there are 48 misericords, which gives some idea of the level of destruction at Peterborough).  The survivors are preserved in a chapel on the south side of the nave near the entrance, a sad reminder that something quite spectacular has been lost.  The high altar was also destroyed.  The cloister buildings were used as the raw materials for nearby Thorpe Hall.

The 17th and 18th centuries

This sub-heading would normally be an exercise in naming and shaming, but, amazingly, the abbey has not suffered the usual indignities of an important ecclesiastical building during this period.  There are no 17th and 18th century monuments jostling for position on the walls to undermine the sense of coherence and uniform splendour.  The soaring nave in Westminster Abbey, utterly spoiled by truly awful funerary memorials, is a good example of how badly a beautiful building can be dramatically undermined by later insensitivities. Although some of the monuments in Peterborough Cathedral were damaged during the Reformation, there seem to have been restrictions on the number permitted.

The biggest surviving monument is baroque, dedicated to wool merchant Thomas Deacon, former high sheriff of Northamptonshire and founder of a charity school for 20 boys.  He died in 1730.  His wife, who died 10 years later, is also commemorated on the monument.  I would much rather that it had not been built in the cathedral, at the entrance to the New Building, because it is such an alien presence, but it is a particularly fine example of its type.

The Victorians

Two of the most active restorers of the Victorian period were Sir George Gilbert Scott and John L. Pearson.  Unfortunately, although their ideas of restoration included the valuable rescue and repair of serious damage and decay, it also involved what they clearly thought of as improvements to the original vision of earlier architects and artists.  Enthusiasts of Chester Cathedral and Valle Crucis Abbey in Llangollen will probably have Gilbert Scott’s name ringing in their ears.

The crossing

In the late 1800s the tower was on the verge of collapse and it was Pearson who was responsible for dismantling and rebuilding it, a massive undertaking that saved the cathedral from irreparable harm.  His work altered the 14th century tower but was done to blend in with the existing architecture.  The twin sets of choir stalls, to the east of where the originals were located, the cathedra (bishop’s throne) and the pulpit are also Pearson’s work, and although clearly not medieval, are a skilled emulation of a medieval style quire.  Pearson’s, however, was the evil genius that created the temple-like marble high altar within the presbytery as well as the cosmati floor leading up to it.

Cosmati floor

Gilbert Scott was responsible for the painted ceiling over the apse, which he claimed at the time was based on the damaged example that he was replacing.  It is unmistakeably Victorian in its rendition and colouring.

Gilbert Scott’s ceiling in the apse

In this period the circular cast iron Gurney stoves were added, manufactured by The London Warming and Ventilating Company who bought the patent registered in 1856 by Goldsworth Gurney, surgeon turned engineer.  The stove looks like the filter in my wet-and-dry vacuum cleaner, with ribs standing out from a central cylinder, distributing heat in a full circle.  It was fired by anthracite, and the entire thing sat in a trough of water, helping to add humidity to the air.  Peterborough cathedral retains several of them, and they are in many other cathedrals too.  The Peterborough ones are powered by either as or oil, and they do a stunning job.

Modern additions

There has been some restoration work in the last few decades, but the emphasis has generally been on preservation rather than modernization. For example, many of the badly decaying figures on the west front were replaced by Alan Durst between 1949 and 1975.

A particularly noticeable modern addition is a hanging rood – a red crucifix with Christ in gold affixed to it, suspended from the ceiling at the east end of the nave, added in 1975. This hangs above the line that the rood screen would have taken across the nave.  Up against the south side of the presbytery some very fine gold lettering, was put in place to mark the burial place of Mary Queen of Scots, which works well.  In the New Building, someone has seen fit to place framed photographs on the walls between the fan-vaulting columns, which really doesn’t do the architecture any favours.  The entrance to the west end has automated glass doors, which add to the light, and there is of course the inevitable gift shop on your left as you enter.  Outside, Thomas Becket’s chapel is now a tea room.

Final Comments

The Romanesque is so comparatively rare in Britain, that this stunningly coherent and unfettered example is a particularly amazing treat.    When the decision was made to extend the east end in a contrasting style, the slender, delicate columns and fan-vaulting of the New Building provided contrasting but additional brilliance. Moving through the building from the Norman to gothic gives the sense of being in an ecclesiastical time machine, a transition from one perfect world to another.

There is so much more to be said about the abbey and its features, inside and out, so much that has been missed out here.  If you decide to visit, you won’t be disappointed.


Visiting

View from the choir to the east end

I am accustomed to driving to southeast London, so rather than looking at other options I took was my usual route, zipping down the A41, the M54, the M6 and the A14.  From the A14 the A605 goes straight to Peterborough and I was there, end to end with no delays, in just over three hours.  The A41 is always the joker in the pack because it is a long way from Chester to the M54, there are very few sections of dual carriageway and it can be difficult to overtake if you find yourself behind something slow.  The A5 to Shrewsbury and the M54 is sometimes quicker.

The cathedral opening times are on the website, where any special events and closures are shown.  Although I had done some top-level background reading I was lucky enough to arrive half an hour before a Highlights Tour was due to start, so I had a wander around on my own and then returned to the entrance for the tour.  I failed to get my guide’s name, which is particularly sad as I had her to myself, November being a quiet time of year, and we had a great chat.  She was splendidly knowledgable, encouraged my stream of questions and added multiple layers of detail and interpretation to my visit.

There was full-on white frost resembling snow over the days that I visited, and it was exceedingly cold, but thanks to the deployment of multiple Gurney stoves in the cathedral (fabulous heat-generating monsters like the ones in Chester Cathedral), I actually had to take off my top layer.  It is the first cathedral I’ve ever visited that actually felt cosy!

For those who are dealing with unwilling legs, Peterborough as a whole is on the flat.  The cathedral has very few steps to negotiate, automated doors provide access to the cathedral, a ramp is provided to get into the chancel from the New Building to visit the Hedda stone, and there are a great many places to sit down even beyond the nave.

I returned home via Normanton Church (see my short post with photos), for no better reason than it looked pretty and I do love a well-proportioned Georgian church, so my return journey was different, following the A606 to Melton Mowbray (I didn’t stop but it looks interesting), the A6006 and the A50 to Stoke on Trent and Nantwich, and the A534 home.  Thanks to a convoy of lorries on the A6006 it was slow going but it was a spectacularly beautiful day and the unfamiliar landscape showed to terrific advantage in the sunshine.  The A50 is dual carriageway, very unlovely but a smooth run.  The drive from Peterborough to Churton, via Normanton Church, took me just over four hours (not including the time wandering around at Normanton).

Sources

Books and papers

Pair of figures believed to be Roman, possibly late 2nd century. In the west wall of the south transept

Biddick, Kathleen. 1992. The Other Economy: Pastoral Husbandry on a Medieval Estate. University of California Press

Foyle, Jonathan. 2018. Peterborough Cathedral. A Glimpse of Heaven. Scala

Higham, Jack (Revd. Canon). 2001. Peterborough Cathedral. The Pitkin Guide.  Pitkin

Selkirk, Andrew and Selkirk, Wendy 1983. Peterborough. Current Archaeology, no.89, vol.VIII, October 1983, p.182-183

Sweeting, W.D. (Revd.) 1899 (second edition). The Cathedral Church of Peterborough. A Description of its fabric and a Brief History of the Episcopal See.  G. Bell and Sons Ltd.
https://www.gutenberg.org/files/13618/13618-h/13618-h.htm

Book about the nave’s painted ceiling (which I have not read, but is listed here for those who would like to find out more)
Jackie Hall and Susan Wright (eds.) 2015. Conservation & Discovery: Peterborough Cathedral Nave Ceiling and Related Structures. MOLA———

Websites

Peterborough Cathedral website
https://www.peterborough-cathedral.org.uk/
Visiting: https://www.peterborough-cathedral.org.uk/home/visiting.aspx
History: https://www.peterborough-cathedral.org.uk/history.aspx
The painted nave ceiling: https://peterborougharchaeology.org/peterborough-cathedral-nave-ceiling/
Abbot Benedict: https://peterboroughcathedral.wordpress.com/tag/abbot-benedict/
Katherine of Aragon: https://www.peterborough-cathedral.org.uk/home/katharine-of-aragon.aspx

National Character Area Profile: 46. The Fenlands
Natural England
https://publications.naturalengland.org.uk/file/5742315148673024

Books by Abbot Benedict of Peterborough available online
https://onlinebooks.library.upenn.edu/webbin/book/lookupname?key=Benedict%2C%20Abbot%20of%20Peterborough%2C%20%2D1193

Antarctic Heritage Trust
The Gurney Stove in Antarctica
https://nzaht.org/gurneystove/

 

Part 3: Misericords in the Chester-Wrexham area – Miracles, myths, demons, and the occasional grin

Creature wheeling two women in a barrow towards a hellmouth. All Saints’s Gresford

Apologies that it has taken a couple of weeks for part 3 to appear.  The subject is so massive and it seems impossible to do it justice in a blog post) but eventually that big, accusing Publish button just has to be clicked 🙂

Part 1 introduced misericords and described some of the themes captured in the choir of St Werburgh’s Abbey (Chester Cathedral).  Part 2 described the misericords at Gresford, Malpas and Bebington.  This 3rd and final part addresses who might have been responsible for the themes chosen, who may have paid for the misericords, why they were contained within the most sacred part of the church and how they might be understood.  Finally I have added some visiting details for the cathedral and the three churchs, plus a list of references for all three parts.

Selecting the misericords

How were the topics selected and by whom; who carved them; and who paid for them?

How themes were selected

Scene showing in both the main scene and the supporters St Werburgh’s miracles. Source: Dominic Strange, World of Misericords

Each misericord showed a different subject matter, and whether there were 48 (as at Chester) or 14 (as at Gresford) there could be great diversity in the themes selected.  The patron saint of an abbey or church might dictate the subject matter in a single misericord, like the miracle of St Werburgh at Chester, but this accounts for only one misericord of any one corpus.  Some themes are commonly found throughout misericord collections and are evidently part of a popular repertoire or corpus of themes.  As Anderson says in his survey of gothic art, “The subjects of misericords did not have to be consistent, so any good design, from whatever source it came from, could be used on them,” but particular themes and ideas were probably favoured in each different establishment, leading to a different character and ambience from one set to another.  The enthusiasm for certain themes will have changed over time, reflecting both popular and intellectual fashions, but all were chosen from similar types of source material.

Folio 49v from the Smithfield Decretal showing a fox, with mitre and crozier, preaching to a flock of birds. Source: British Library

Manuscripts were an obvious source of ideas.  Bestiaries such as the beautiful MS Bodley 764, referred to in parts 1 and 2, provided a wealth of ideas, as did travelogues. Both Old and New Testaments, missals and hagiographies (biographies of saints, often at least partly fictional) were also alternative sources.  The Golden Legend by Jacobus de Voragine in the 13th century was a particularly popular account of the lives of saints, which even today is a good read.  The marginal scenes shown on various religious illuminated manuscripts including psalters (books of psalms) and books have hours (personal books for private worship) probably supplied others, which included so-called drolleries and grotesques.  The Luttrel Psalter and the Smithfield Decretals are good examples.  Contemporary chivalric romances, popular narratives and collections of stories like the 14th century French Cy Nous Dit (which contained versions of the tales of Tristan and Isolde, Alexander carried over the edge and the exploitsof the knight Yvain – all of which are at Chester) were good sources of stories with a moral thread. Towards the end of the Middle Ages it has been demonstrated that some themes were inspired by woodcut images that were circulating in Europe following the success of the printing press in the mid-15th century.

Image and supporters copied from earlier examples. The model for the central image was first carved at Lincoln in the 1370s (top), then reproduced with much more gusto and exuberance at St Werburgh’s Chester in the 1380s (middle) and finally, with much less energy than either, at St Mary’s Nantwich in the 1390s (bottom). All sourced from Christina Grössinger, The World Upside-Down, p.47 (see Sources at end)

Carvers almost certainly brought ideas with them from other abbeys, cathedrals and churches, which they could share with their new employers.  Some topics are clearly copied from one ecclesiastical establishment to another, probably introduced by carvers who moved to new building projects as they became available.  Sixteen designs in Chester were based on those from Lincoln, and six in the the impressive parish of St Mary’s church in Nantwich, were copied from Chester.  The herons on a misericord in St Werburgh’s, for example, were very nearly clones of a misericord at Lincoln Cathedral, although the supporters are different.  An even more striking example is a crowned head with wild hair and beard, flanked by two heads in profile. This appears first in Lincoln Cathedral, then at St Werburgh’s Abbey in Chester.

Although St Werburgh’s may have been expected, by virtue of its proximity, to have provided the inspiration and basic model for the later examples at Gresford, Malpas and Bebington, none of the misericords are copies of surviving Chester examples.  There are indeed shared themes, but there are no attempts at replication.  This suggests that in each case the choices made drew on other sources for their ideas, perhaps reflecting the time gap between the Chester and later misericords, or otherwise reflecting local choices or preferences.

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Who would have been involved in the choice of themes?

Abbot with staff and book. MS. Ludwig IX 6 (83.ML.102), fol. 222v. Source: Getty Museum

It is not known exactly how the topics depicted on individual misericords were chosen, but there are a number of possibilities.  At an abbey or independent priory, the superior (abbot or prior) and the senior personnel may have dominated the decisions, but individual monks from the larger monastic community may have contributed to the selection process too.  External patrons, whose financial input would have been necessary for a project on the scale of the Chester quire are likely to have wanted to contribute to their own favoured themes.  In a parish church both the senior clergy and the bishop would probably have dominated the decision process, but external, private financial contributors such as local landowners may also have had a vested interest in the selection of themes.  Multiple sources of finance, each perhaps buying a vote in the selection process, would help to explain the diversity of the subject matters chosen both within a single choir, and the differences from one church to another.

It is sometimes suggested that misericords were the brainchildren of the craftsmen who carved them, indulging themselves with creative and sometimes (to the Victorian mind) off-colour designs without any direct input from the clergy.  Being confined to the choir in the most sacred part of the church, however, it seems unlikely that anything could have been selected and installed without the permission of a head cleric, such as the abbot in the abbey, or a parish priest (or his bishop) in a church.  It also seems implausible that an abbot or bishop would sit back and allow expenditure to be used unchecked on fantastic frivolities that would have to be accounted for to both superiors and inferiors alike.  Although carvers probably suggested certain popular themes based on their own experience, the misericords and their themes must have been sanctioned at the highest levels.

Who carved the misericords?

Stained glass portrait, thought to be Master Carpenter Hugh Herland. Source: Upchurch Matters

Remarkably little is known about the wood carvers who created these remarkable vignettes.  For prestigious projects carvers seem to have moved from building to building.  Christina Grössinger identifies a single London workshop as having been responsible not only for the Chester and Lincoln wood-carvings, but also for those that at St Katherine’s in Stepney (London) and the former Carmelite friary in Coventry.  John Harvey had formerly identified the hand of famous Master Carpenter Hugh Herland, who worked on a number of royal and prestigious college projects in the 14th century, at Lincoln and particularly Chester, but Grössinger rejects this suggestion, and a quick look at Herland’s list of responsibilities for the decades in which the Lincoln and Chester misericords were made (1370s and 1380s respectively), suggests that he was probably far too busy on prestigious works elsewhere to oversee these two projects as well.  Present in Chester between 1377 and 1411, however, was William Newell the king’s chief carpenter who was probably involved with the work on the choir, at the very least in an advisory capacity.  For a Benedictine monastery like St Werburgh’s it was important not merely to raise the status of the individual abbey, but to contribute to the prestige of the Benedictine order as a whole, particularly in a period when monastic orders were becoming much less influential in society and politics.  Whoever was responsible for overseeing the project, many carpenters will have contributed to the misericords and canopies, and both the designs and the work are certainly exquisite.

St Andrew’s, Bebington

The preference for the most prestigious carvers available in the country suggests that where prestige was important and the finance available, only the best carvers would do and could be hired from places at considerable distance from the institution concerned.  The impressive churches of Malpas, Gresford and Bebington would not have had the same scale of financial resources, nor the same ambitions for national prestige reached for by the abbot Chester abbey, but quality was still important.  Carvers were more likely to have been sourced closer to home, but even so the skills required may still have required importing specialists to oversee and ensure high quality. In his paper on the carvers of the Oxford colleges, Gee says that during the 14th century the pay for a Master Carpenter, was around 4d monthly.  For a nationally recognized and prestigious Master Carpenter of whom the above-mentioned Herland is an example, this rose to around 1s. There was therefore a wide scale of pay for different levels of skill and creativity.  work.

Who paid for them?

Canopies above the choir stalls in Chester Cathedral

Elaborate choir stalls with misericords were luxury items for a church, raising the prestige of the incumbent clergy and the establishment as a whole either nationally for an abbey or cathedral, or regionally for a collegiate or parish church.  They were, in functional terms, unnecessary but for some monasteries and churches, the investment may have been important for institutional and social reasons, reinforcing the position of the church in the wider community at a time when ecclesiastical influence was in decline.  Status and vanity projects always come with a substantial bottom line, and the funds would have been acquired from a number of different income streams and one-off sources.

A monastic establishment like St Werburgh’s might have any number of income streams. The Benedictines, the longest established monastic order of the Catholic tradition in Britain, had been endowed with enormous estates and resources.  Monasteries were amongst Britain’s greatest landowners, owning huge swathes of the rural landscape.  This level of royal and significant magnate  investment had trailed off by the early 1300s, so monastic establishments were forced to make the most of the property they already owned and attempt to secure smaller but still significant bequests and investments, and one-off donations for special projects.  Ongoing sources of funding included tithes (funds appropriated from churches that it adopted), the often impressive output of produce sold from a network of monastic farms, private bequests in wills, and contributions by living benefactors.  Appropriating churches, and securing their income, was increasingly important throughout the later medieval period.  Chantries were also an excellent source of income for urban monasteries.  These were financial foundations set up by individuals to pay for an ordained monk, or several monks, to recite multiple prayers for himself/herself after death, as well as for his or her family and ancestors;  These were invaluable income-generators for monasteries.  Pilgrim shrines could also be very lucrative for monasteries with appropriate relics, particularly if they were reputed to perform miracles.

Probable burial places of some of  the medieval abbots in the cloister at St Werburgh’s, Chester

The abbot and monks themselves, might contribute to prestigious projects.  Although the earliest Benedictine monastic orders had been based on vows of poverty, and the reforming orders of the late 11th and early 12th centuries renewed these vows and intentions, by the late 14th century the Benedictine monks had lost their ambition for poverty, and were  rarely self-effacing.  Although it was a particular thorn in the side of Henry V in the early 15th century, abbots and their monks might well be considerably wealthy in their own right.  This was in spite of St Benedict’s proscription against the ownership of private property in the Rule on which the Benedictines were supposed to base their monastic lives.  An abbot’s subordinates too might have access to personal wealth. To ensure his own personal legacy an abbot of an important urban monastery might invest in a prestigious project that, in the case of St Werburgh’s included not only the choir stalls but the elaborate and intricate canopies above.  The abbot would probably be able to secure contributions from his community of brethren as well, and would certainly attempt to secure donations from beyond the cloister.  For those both within the community and those outside it, there was the hope that by contributing their mite to the glorification of God, they might serve less time paying for their sins in purgatory.  Even where in-house monastic funding was available, the gifts of patronage might be important to  elaborate monastic improvement, and for a project as immense as the St Werburgh’s quire, significant investment would have been welcome.

In an urban environment although there might be additional opportunities for securing funds, there might be competition with other establishments.  For example, St Werburgh’s charged for burials within its cemetery, and was in competition with other ecclesiastical establishments in Chester to secure those payments.  However, there was a particular prestige to being buried in a monastic context, and more importantly the possibility of being as close as possible to the divine.  Any wealthy Chester resident who wanted to be buried within the of the abbey precinct, and particularly the abbey church itself, would have to pay a very steep price for the privilege.

Elaborate and costly wood carving on the screen at the entrance to the choir at All Saints’ Gresford.

Perhaps more intriguing are the sources of the investment for the three parish churches.  These might also include tithes, which were a type of tax due from every household to fund the parish church (in the form of produce for much of the Middle Ages), if there was any surplus remaining after the clergy had been paid and church costs defrayed.  Another form of income were chantries that were set up in parish churches as well as monasteries, particularly the more prestigious parish churches.  These too might provide an income from which a surplus could be saved for special projects.  A more promising source of sufficient funds for a  was likely to be bequests and donations made by a number of particularly wealthy benefactors and patrons, either individuals, families or organizations.  For parish, collegiate and cathedral churches crowd-funding by the congregation might have been a possibility. Although most of the congregation was excluded from the chancel, (within which the choir was located), Nicholas Orme makes it clear that wealthy and influential parishioners, as well as choristers, might be given access.  These more privileged members of the congregation would have access to any work within the chancel to which they contributed either large one-off gifts or piecemeal funding, even if they were not primary benefactors or members of founding families.  It is also possible that access to the chancel was an incentive for anyone who had the money to invest in ecclesiastical projects.  Access to the chancel, and burial within its confines, were highly desirable as this was the closest that most people would come to the divine prior to death.  If the parish priest was independently wealthy, he too much contribute to the costs, as might the bishop.

Little of the abbey church survives at Basingwerk

A different possibility is the purchase, wholesale or piecemeal, of the misericords from another building.  If an abbey or priory church went out of use, a set of choir-stalls might become available for purchase at a fraction of the price of commissioning a new set from scratch.  A parish church with wealth of its own, or with patrons who wished to make a mark, might benefit from the unexpected windfall.  The Dissolution of the Monasteries under the reign of Henry VIII from 1535 to around 1540 liberated many church furnishings for purchase by less exalted establishments.  In Lancashire, for example, choir stalls from Whalley Abbey found their way into a local parish church, whilst in Lancaster itself the misericords may have come from a nearby Premonstratensian establishment.  There has been a suggestion that the Gresford misericords might have been sourced from Basingwerk Abbey at Holywell following its 1535/1536 dissolution.  However, the impressive Monastic Wales research portal states that the choir stalls from Basingwerk actually went to St Mary’s on the Hill in Chester, presumably complete with misericords, a claim echoed in the ChesterWiki page for the church (but unsupported by any citation) as part of a general refurbishment. I have not seen the original sources and their arguments for either proposal.  If the stalls were once at St Mary’s on the Hill they are not there now.  Gresford All Saints’ seems, anyway, to have had both the ambition and the funds if it wished to comission its own choir stalls during the 15th century when the church was substantially remodelled.
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The role of misericords

A sense of meaning

All Saints’, Gresford

In spite of the genuinely fascinating and academically impressive work carried out on the subject, there are no definitive answers about how a corpus of misericords is best understood.  There is so much variety and as Gombrich observes, for some of these images “[t]here are no names in our language, or categories in our thought, to come to grips with this elusive dream-imagery in which ‘all things are mixed’. . .  It outrages both our ‘sense of order’ and our search for meaning.”  The overtly religious themes on some misericords are accompanied by far less obviously appropriate scenes including on the one hand horror, myth, fantasy and the monstrous and, on the other hand, humour, farce, ribaldry, Colish’s “red thread” of satire and, perhaps, some very early forerunners of schadenfreude and even burlesque.  Misericords are one of the few ecclesiastical contexts in which the lower echelons of society can be observed. The acrobats at Gresford have already been mentioned in Part 2, and entertainers and sports of various sorts are common.

St Werburgh’s Abbey, Chester

In spite of the difficulties it is irresistible to try to address some of the questions.  For example, why was highly irreligious imagery, some of it very funny, included in the most sacred of ecclesiastical spaces? Why were naked human private parts, women beating men, foxes lecturing geese, upright cats, writhing dragons, strange beasts, wildmen and ugly monsters shown side by side with, on the one hand, lowly peasants and jesters and, on the other hand, saints, angels, kings and heraldic symbols of the nobility?

Whilst parts 1 and 2 demonstrated how individual misericords can successfully communicate certain stories and convey specific ideas, an entire corpus of misericords is rather more interesting as a sum of the various parts, presumably containing somewhere within it the religious, ideological and cultural motivations, the very heart of why these carvings existed in the first place.

A framework for living

Alchemic approach to four humours in relation to the four elements and zodiacal signs. Book illustration in “Quinta Essentia” by Leonhart Thurneisser zum Thurn (gen. Leonhard Thurneysser). Source: Wikipedia

From today’s perspective, the world of the Middle Ages encompassed a very different set of experiences, and this has to be factored into any attempt to understand medieval imagery.  These many challenges of the Middle Ages were understood within a descriptive and explanatory framework that helped to give a sense of order.  As well as the overarching structure provided by Christianity, there was a framework for neatly organizing existence into manageable chunks.  The natural world was divided into four primary elements: air, fire, earth and water, with air opposite earth and water opposite fire.  The human body was divided into four “humours,” and the human condition was divided into four “states.”  All were characterized in terms of heat and moisture, and were influenced by both the four seasons and the 12 astrological points of the zodiac.  In Christian terms, the presence of the devil and his demons, the reality of purgatory and hell, and even the performance of saintly miracles were all aspects of a world that for most people, were a reality in which the supernatural was entwined with the everyday.  Structuring the world in this complex way formed a model for understanding it and operating within it.

There were also less structured but equally useful mechanisms for coping with a life in which more nebulous anxieties and worries did not fit neatly within the conventional framework.  The supernatural had its own role, which did not always dovetail smoothly with other explanatory models.  Superstition, the rumblings of magic and divination and the presence of evil in the dark corners of the supernatural all had a role to play.

The realities of medieval life

The central theme of this misericord is a two-bodied monster with a single head. The supporters are also monsters, their tails connecting them to the misericord.

Everyday life in the later Middle Ages, and the 14th century in particular (the century in which the Chester misericords were carved) was hard. The 14th century was not merely a matter of political change and social unrest, but incorporated the Great Famine of 1315-17 the arrival of the terrible Black Death of 1348-1350, and the recurrence of plague outbreaks in 1361-2, 1369, 1374-9 and 1390-3 during which thousands of people died and entire villages were permanently abandoned, and following which economic challenges inevitably occurred.  Other notable events included the relocation of papal power from Rome to Avignon in 1309; the Ordinances of 1311, which imposed limits on Edward II’s power;  Robert de Bruce’s defeat of Edward II at Bannockburn in 1314; a period of political and military turmoil followed by Edward II’s forced abdication and probable murder in 1327; Scottish independence in 1328; the beginning of the 100 Years War in 1337 under Edward III, which brought with it periods of purveyance and heavy taxation; the 1341 parliamentary crisis; the 1351 Statue of Labourers (Edward III’s attempt at wage-fixing); the death of Edward III in 1377;  the Papal Schism of 1378; John Wycliffe’s anti-Catholic writing (inspiring his Lollard followers) and his vernacular English editions of the Bible in the mid to late 14th century; the Peasants’ Revolt of 1381; and the removal of Richard II from the throne in 1399.  For Cheshire and northeast Wales, the appointment of Edward III’s son the Black Prince as Earl of Chester in 1333 and Prince of Wales in 1343 were also particularly relevant.  A great many more dates could be added to this brief and selective list, but this is probably sufficient to highlight the social and political turbulence of these decades.  The late 14th century misericords in British monasteries and churches, with their often threatening and subversive themes may say as much about social anxiety as spiritual fervour.

Lion fighting a dragon flanked on each side by a wildman (wodehouse), one riding a wyvern and the other killing some form of dragon-like creature. St Werburgh’s Abbey, Chester

Writing about the monsters, hybrids, wildmen and grotesques populating the margins of the Luttrell Psalter (dating to the 1320s-30s), Michelle P. Brown could also be commenting on the 14th century misericords when she says:  “They reflect the neuroses of a society in flux, one rightly concerned in the face of political corruption, international warfare, civil war, famine and demographic decline.”  Some of these anxieties and concerns are translated into analogous images on the misericords, which became vehicles for representing the extreme aspects of both familiar realities and potential realities that link life as it is lived and the “other.”  Here the familiar meets the unfamiliar in the liminal, teetering right on the edge of the unknown beyond where mermaids, dragons, wyverns, unicorns, strange humanoid beings and the unknown lurked.  These territories on the edges and margins of observable reality are places of high risk, where strange beings and actions are not only possible but plausible.

This was obviously not a simple matter of juxtaposing conventionally opposing ideas like saints-and-angels versus devils-and-demons.   In the medieval period the there was a recognition of the border spaces between the sacred and the profane, the religious and the domestic, a blameless life and a misspent one, good and evil, life and death, death and rebirth.  This in-between existence is space that is neither hell nor purgatory and might act as a reminder that between this world and that occupied by the divine, there was significant uncertainty.

Bearded man at St Andrew’s, Bebington. Source: Dominic Strange, World of Misericords

Although the unusual, the mythical and the allegorical stand out, ordinary people may also be represented.  They do not feature prominently at either St Werburgh’s or Gresford’s St Oswalds, where most of the original misericords are present, but ordinary people occur on misericords outside the Chester area.  The obviously religious themes interlock with scenes of everyday life, some allegorical, some empirical, some scurrilous. Michael Camille suggests that misericords are like the Mystery plays in that they allow “anecdotal details and the depiction of social manners” including folk stories and fables and scenes of domesticity and seasonal activities.  The inclusion of peasants engaged in hard work, such as those shown in the Labours of the Months, (the most complete example of which is at a church in Ripple, Worcestershire, shifted there from Whalley Abbey after the Dissolution) may represent a dependence on the annual cycle, but may equally capture the nature of the social order itself, with saints at the top and serfs at the bottom, all equally important at least in God’s eyes.

Woman as a tornado of anger with cowering man, flanked by two very cross characters. Chester St Werburgh’s

As Grössinger says, however, most of the everyday people shown on misericords are engaged not in the domestic realm or in serious pursuits, but in “a subversive view of everyday events that can both entertain and teach.”  These depictions include acrobats, contortionists, hunting, wrestling, feasting, brawling, bear-baiting and music making.  When ordinary people begin to behave in a challenging way, there may have been a great deal of unease about the reality of God’s creations humans being less than perfect specimens who were unable or unwilling to use free will for good.  Misericords depicting women beating men, foxes preaching to geese,  gymnasts displaying their private parts, may well represent the use of derision and humour to mediate the uncomfortable realities of everyday social discord, another aspect of the subversion of an idealized view of life.  This was perhaps just as true of medieval creative thinking as it is of today’s, and ties in with an explanatory framework in which both monsters and monstrous behaviours were part of God’s creation, and should be included in any understanding of reality as it is perceived and the liminal areas beyond our immediate vision or geographic location.

The lovers Tristan and Isolde. St Werburgh’s, Chester

Heroic, chivalric and romantic tales bear testimony to the rewards of idealized behaviour in the face of such challenges, but clearly comment too on the risks confronted by good people who encounter evil, temptation and other dangers.  These narratives offer approaches to handling danger and mechanisms for defeating fear and the fearsome.

Interestingly, the misericords do not tend to focus on the image of death itself and only rarely give death a voice, unless it is to remind the onlooker of Christ’s sacrifice for humanity.  Demons, hell and people being delivered to the hellmouth are certainly represented, but these are more a threat to the living, teetering on the edge of the abyss, than a characterization of death itself.  Depictions of skeletons, the personifications of death,  fairly unusual, even in the 15th century when the Danse Macabre (and John Lydgate’s derivative Dance of Death) and cadaver monuments, and in particular transi tombs, became popular.

Fox preaching to cockerel and geese. All Saints’, Gresford

Finally, there is always the matter of tradition.  Whilst the 14th century misericords at places like Lincoln, Chester and Nantwich may have been a response to the difficulties of the times, it is quite likely that much later misericords were seen more in the light of a connection with the historical integrity of the church, the honouring of an ecclesiastical tradition and a form of validation of more modern works, as well as a resistance to ecclesiastical change, by reference to the past.

Why were carved misericords incorporated into sacred spaces?

View of the choir from steps to the central altar, Gresford All Saints’. The carved screen divides the sacred space of the choir, the choir-stalls and the misericords from the public nave beyond.

In a church the choir is divided from the long nave, where the congregation gather, by a screen.  Perhaps the dangerous and threatening was best contained and restricted within the choir, where religious rituals were concentrated, and where the clergy and monks could contemplate and learn from the disruptive and unsettling scenes before (and under) them.  It must have been accepted at some point that the inclusion of irreverence and crudity sitting alongside religious themes had a useful role and would not, most importantly, be offensive to God.  If the themes were essentially a coping strategy consisting of fashionable morality tales and derisive warnings against bad behaviour, such forms of expression probably needed to be safely contained, segregated from those who might misinterpret them and retained for the benefit of those who could contemplate them and understand their role.  Acknowledging risk and conceptualizing it in the form of margins and misericords was a way of bringing a wit and energy to the unknown world of the “other” that sat beyond the edges of medieval life, but it was not suitable for everyday consumption.

One of the Victorian replacements at Chester St Werburgh’s showing one of Aesop’s fables, the fox and the stork.

It is worth remembering that at least in the context of monastic establishments and collegiate churches, and probably in the greater majority of the parish chancels, the choir was the domain of men alone.  It is all too likely that the more risqué of these themes were considered far too warm and witty for delicate female sensibilities and, in the majority of cases, for their inferior intellects too.  Confining such scenes to the choir would normally guarantee an exclusively male audience.

Context:  Themes that reflect the misericords in other forms

Delightfully grotesque creature, one of many clinging to the walls of All Saint’s, Gresford. Its beautifully chosen red sandstone skin against the pale yellow masonry makes it particularly ghastly!

Very briefly, where misericords are found, it is worth having a look around to see what other types of similar imagery may exist both within the church and on the exterior.  The subject of architectural gargoyles and related grotesques has already arisen on this blog in connection with Gresford All Saints’ church, where the twisted, deformed, ugly and bizarre look down on gathering congregations and passers by, marching in sequence along the string-course, spewing out water, or apparently poised to pounce from window corbels and string courses. There was no limit to medieval imagination, and the exteriors of many medieval churches display some of the most extraordinary and creative monsters anywhere in the late medieval world.

Pilgrim and bench end, St Werburgh’s Abbey, Chester

Interior imagery includes choir-stall arm rests, bench-ends and bench-end carvings and sculptural components such as corbel supports. In some big ecclesiastical establishments the ceiling bosses and vaulted arch corbels are also used to capture the mythological, the fantastic and the entertaining.  Camber bream ceilings may be accessorized with sculptural components in wood or stone where the ceiling beams meet the walls.  Baptismal fonts sometimes display elaborate imagery, and where original medieval floor tiles remain, these too often display images and symbols.  Medieval stained glass, where it survives, although better known for its display of the great and the good sometimes captures subjects from the margins.  These may or may not be contemporary with misericords, but add to the story that successive generations of clergy and congregations could read in their place of worship.

Together, all these carved forms, whether in wood or stone, formed a complex ecclesiastical world in which miracles, judgement, purgatory and the apocalypse were the stuff of fact, and in which saintly shrines channelled divine power, and where the unregulated performance of domestic solutions were probably manifestations of harmful superstition and demonic magic inspired by the devil.  The messages of risk and uncertainty, coped with by following Christ’s example and ameliorated by belief in the love of God, were carried throughout the church, inside and out.
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Final Comments

Over the three posts in this small series I have barely touched the surface of what misericords meant to churches and their clergy and why they merited their cost.  That is partly because the topic is so rich and the corpus in Britain alone so massive.  There have been many attempts to get to the root of what the misericords, in each corpus, are intended to do, what role they are designed to perform.   It is possible in each place to pick out key themes in misericords, including religious and miraculous scenes; domestic, seasonal and everyday activities; kingly and knightly pursuits and adventures, many of them referencing popular chivalric romance and courtly love; the fantastic, monstrous, mythical and legendary; and the seriously crude and scatological.  The medieval interest in the “other” is very conspicuous.

All Saints’, Gresford

Misericords did not shy away from even the most bawdy elements of human existence, challenging the binary, recognizing the complexities of Christian lives.  Rather than simple black and white contrasts of good versus evil, the misericord vignettes capture an entire kaleidoscope of social and cultural perception and commentary.  It does not matter in which order the overall message is read, but it does matter that it incorporates a deeply felt form of reality beyond the immediately observable, which may offer both opportunity and risk.  Whether amusing, tender or shocking, misericords have the ability to tell a moral tale, carrying real impact in their didactic role, encouraging introspection and self-awareness.

Arm rest. St Andrew’s, Bebington

Between life as it was lived every day, the the supernatural as it was imagined, and those strange foreign lands and invisible realities with with strange monstrous beings, there was plenty to worry medieval people.  These are sources of potential anxiety and stress that paid no respect to social standing.  Misericords represent the diversity and unending variability of living things and their experiences, both natural and supernatural along the entire continuum of human and divine life.   Although sometime based on stories captured in manuscripts, and sometimes loose copies of paintings and prints from northwest Europe, the misericords have a voice of their own.  Approaching them as embodiments of layered meaning can add depth and richness to each individual piece, but they are equally appealing for their visual splendour, and can be appreciated simply for their beauty, mischief, boldness and charm.

Visiting (as of December 2023)

The layout of the choir stalls and description of their misericords. Source: Stephen Smalley 1996 (see “Sources” at end)

On my multiple visits to Chester Cathedral in 2022 and 2023  the misericords have usually been available to view.  Although they are sometimes roped off, particularly when an event is upcoming, you can usually go between the lower choir benches to lean over and see some of the misericords, and there are usually cathedral staff around to ask if you can get a little closer.  On my visits to Gresford and Malpas, the misericords were accessible to view when the church was open to visitors and not being used for services and events.  St Andrew’s in Bebington can only be visited by appointment (see below) but again the three misericords are on unrestricted display.

None of the locations have obligatory entry fees, but Chester always has someone at its reception requesting a voluntary donation into a big perspex box (or by swiping a debit/credit card).  There is also a gift shop and very good café in the former abbey refectory, which is a wonderful space in its own right.

Swordplay. St Oswald’s, Malpas

Gresford, Malpas and Bebington do not have reception staff, but as village churches they are even more in need of voluntary donations.  Given how beautifully these churches are maintained, it is well worth giving them support.

Gresford All Saints’ and Malpas St Oswald’s are still open for services, weddings and funerals, as well as community activities, but are generally also open daily for visitors. You can park outside All Saints’ on the road.  At St Oswald’s it is better to find the car park, just five minutes away, and walk.

Bebington St Andrew’s is only open for Sunday services and other formal events, and visiting is by appointment only.  My thanks to the office for making arrangements for me to visit.  I’ll be writing up the entire church on another occasion.  There is plenty of parking on the road when the church is not in use for services, weddings etc.

I have included the What3Words location for those with the app installed (it works beautifully with the free Google satnav).  Check the individual websites for services, opening times and other details:

 

 


Sources

My thanks again to Dominic Strange and his World of Misericords website for allowing me to use so many of his images. He is an absolute star, and his website is a fabulous resource, one of the best examples of how websites can really contribute to research projects.

Each of the three posts in this short series was originally a lot longer, and some of the references below relate to those chunks that I cut out, but in case the full bibliography is of interest, I’ve left it unaltered.  I have not managed to track down all the references that I might have found of use, so there are gaps.  If you are looking into misericords and want the references that I have noted down for future reference but have not used here, just let me know and I will email them over.

Books, booklets and papers

Anderson, M.D. 1954. Misericords. Medieval Life in English Woodcarving.  Penguin

Anderson, M.D. 1971. History and Imagery in British Churches. John Murray.

Asma, Steven T. 2009. On Monsters. An Unnatural History of Our Worst Fears. Oxford University Press

Avilés, Alejandro García 2019.  The Visual Culture of Magic in the Middle Ages.  In (eds.) Sophie Page and Catherine Rider. The Routledge History of Medieval Magic. Routledge, p.402-431

Barber, Richard. 1992. Bestiary. MS Bodley 64. The Boydell Press

Baxter, Ron. 1998. Bestiaries and their Users in the Middle Ages. Sutton Publishing
https://www.researchgate.net/publication/340870845_Bestiaries_and_their_Users_in_the_Middle_Ages_Sutton_Publishing_1998_ISBN_0_7509_1853_5

Bench end “poppy head,” Gresford All Saints’

Beal, Timothy K. 2002. Religion and Monsters. Routledge

Bennett, Carol. 2015. Lincoln Cathedral Misericords and Stalls in St Hugh’s Choir.  Lincoln Cathedral.

Bildhauer, Bettina. 2003. Blood, Jews and Monsters in Medieval Culture. In Bildhauer, Bettina and Mills, Robert (eds.), The Monstrous Middle Ages.  University of Wales Press.

Bildhauer, Bettina and Mills, Robert. 2003. Introduction: Conceptualizing the Monstrous. In Bildhauer, Bettina and Mills, Robert (eds.), The Monstrous Middle Ages.  University of Wales Press

Broughton, Lynne. 1996. Interpreting Lincoln Cathedral: The Medieval Imagery. Lincoln Cathedral Publications

Brown, Michelle, P. 2006. The World of the Luttrell Psalter. The British Library

Burne, R.V.H. 1962. The Monks of Chester. The History of St Werburgh’s Abbey. SPCK.

Camille, Michael. 1992. Image on the Edge. The Margins of Medieval Art. Reaktion Books

Chunko Betsy L. 2011. Vernacular Imagery on English Misericords:  Framing Interpretation. St Andrew’s Journal of Art History and Museum Studies, 2011, vol.15, p.5-12
https://ojs.st-andrews.ac.uk/index.php/nsr/article/download/255/264/

Clifton-Taylor, Alec. 1974. English Parish Churches as Works of Art.  B.T. Batsford Ltd.

Colish, Marcia L. 1997. Medieval Foundations of the Western Intellectual Tradition 400-1400. Yale University Press

Davies, Owen. 2012. Magic. A Very Short Introduction. Oxford University Press

Dickinson, John. 2008. Misericords of North West England.  Their Nature and Significance. Centre for North-West Regional Studies, University of Lancaster.

Fry, Nick. 2009.  Chester Cathedral.  Scala

Fudgé, Thomas. 2016.  Medieval Religion and its Anxieties.  History and Mystery in the Other Middle Ages.  Palgrave Macmillan

Gee, E.A. 1953. Oxford Carpenters 1370-1530. Oxoniensia, vol 17-18, 1952-3, p.112-184

Gombrich, E.H. 1979, 1984. The Sense of Order. A Study in the Psychology of Decorative Art. Phaidon Press Ltd.

Green, Richard Lancelyn (revised by Roberts, Alan) 2018. St Andrew’s Bebington. St Andrew’s Heritage Committee

Greene, J.Patrick. 1992.  Medieval Monasteries. Leicester University Press

Grössinger, Christa. 2007.  The World Upside-Down. English Misericords.  Harvey Miller Publishers

Hardwick, Paul. 2011. English Medieval Misericords. The Margins of Meaning. The Boydell Press, Woodbridge

Hardwick, Paul. 2017. Chaucer’s Friar John and the Place of the Cat. The Chaucer Review, 52(2), p. 237-252

Harte, Jeremy 2003. Hell on Earth: Encountering Devils in the Medieval Landscape. In Bildhauer, Bettina and Mills, Robert (eds.), The Monstrous Middle Ages.  University of Wales Press

Harvey, John. 1947. Gothic England. A Survey of National Culture 1300-1550. B.T. Batsford

Hiatt, C. 1898. The Cathedral Church of Chester.  A Description of the Fabric and A Brief History of the Episcopal See.  George Bell and Sons. Available on the Internet Archive

Jones, Bethan. 1997. All Saints Church Gresford. ‘The Finest Parish Church in Wales’. The Friends of the Parish Church of All Saints Gresford.

Jones, Malcolm Haydn. 1991. The Misericords of Beverley Minster: A Corpus of Folkloric Imagery and its Cultural Milieu, with Special Reference to the Influence of Northern European Iconography on Late Medieval and Early Modern English Woodwork. Unpublished PhD thesis.
https://core.ac.uk/download/pdf/29816745.pdf

Laird, Marshall. 1996.  English Misericords. John Murray

Luxford, Julian. 2005. The Art and Architecture of English Benedictine Monasteries, 1300-1540. A Patronage History. Studies in the History of medieval Religion Volume XXV. The Boydell Press

Orme, Nicholas. 2021. Going to Church in Medieval England. Yale University Press

Page, Sophie. 2017. Medieval Magic. In: Davies, O, (ed.) The Oxford Illustrated History of Witchcraft and Magic, Oxford University Press, p.29-64

Riches, Samantha J.E. 2003. Encountering the Monstrous. Saints and Dragons in Medieval Thought. In Bildhauer, Bettina and Mills, Robert (eds.), The Monstrous Middle Ages.  University of Wales Press.

Rider, Catherine. 2012. Magic and Religion in Medieval England. Reaktion Books.

Roberts, Alan. 2018. St Andrew’s Bebington. Church and Churchyard Tours. St Andrew’s Heritage Committee

Ryands, T.M. (no date). An Illustrated History of St Oswald’s Malpas.

Smalley, S. (with additional research, Fry, S.) 1996. Chester Cathedral Quire Misericords. The Pitkin Guide. Chester Cathedral

White, Carolinne. 2008. The Rule of Benedict. Penguin.

Williams, David. 1996.  Deformed Discourse. The Function of the Monster in Medieval Thought and Literature. Liverpool University Press.

Woodcock, Alex. 2018 (2nd edition). Of Sirens and Centaurs.  Medieval Sculpture at Exeter Cathedral. Impress Books

Websites

All Saints’ Church, Gresford
https://www.allsaintschurchgresford.org.uk/about-us/our-history/

Bodleian Library
MS Bodley 964 (Bestiary)
https://digital.bodleian.ox.ac.uk/objects/e6ad6426-6ff5-4c33-a078-ca518b36ca49/

British History Online
Chester Cathedral – A History of the County of Chester: Volume 3. Originally published by Victoria County History, London 1980, pages 188-195
https://www.british-history.ac.uk/vch/ches/vol3/pp188-195

The Camelot Project, University of Rochester (New York)
The Legend of Yvain.  By Dongdong Han, 2010
https://d.lib.rochester.edu/camelot/text/han-the-legend-of-yvain

Clwyd and Powys Archaeological Trust
Church of All Saints, Gresford (although note that his has no mention at all of the misericords)
https://cpat.org.uk/Archive/churches/wrexham/16785.htm

Internet Archive
Liber monstrorum. A translation of the Old English text. By Andy Orchard, taken from Pride and Prodigies: Studies in the Monsters of the Beowulf Manuscript, University of Toronto Press; 2nd ed. edition (19 April 2003)
https://web.archive.org/web/20050118082548/http://members.shaw.ca/sylviavolk/Beowulf3.htm

The Medieval Bestiary. Animals in the Middle Ages
https://bestiary.ca/

The National and University Library Slovenia
The Elaborate Details in a Medieval Manuscript. Treasures of the National and University Library of Slovenia
https://artsandculture.google.com/story/the-elaborate-details-in-a-medieval-manuscript-national-and-university-library-of-slovenia/aAXhCkz6RxgiIw?hl=en

San Francisco State University
Ywain and Gawain. (Editors: George W. Tuma, Professor Emeritus of English, and Dinah Hazell, Independent Scholar, hosted by the English Department, San Francisco State University)
https://www.sfsu.edu/~medieval/romances/ywain_gawain_rev.html

St Oswald’s Church, Malpas
https://www.malpaschurch.co.uk/st-oswalds-malpas/

Princeton University
The Elaine C. Block Database of Misericords
https://ima.princeton.edu/digital-image-collections/collection/block/intro

World of Misericords
https://www.misericords.co.uk/ by Dominic Strange

Misericords in situ within choir stalls at St Werburgh’s Abbey (Chester Cathedral)

Part 2: Miracles, myths, demons and the occasional grin: Misericords in the Chester-Wrexham area

Gresford All Saints’

In Part 1 of this 3-part series, the subject of misericords in choir stalls was introduced, the four churches covered in this three-parter were identified, and the St Werburgh’s Abbey (Chester Cathedral) misericords were discussed.  Part 2 takes a look at the misericords in the smaller churches of Gresford All Saints’, Malpas St Oswald’s and Bebington St Andrew’s.  References for all three parts can be found at the end of Part 3.

——–
Chester, Gresford, Malpas and Bebington (continued)

Basic data about the misericords at the four churches

The misericords carved for St Werburgh’s Abbey (Chester Cathedral) were discussed in Part 1.  All Saints’ church in Gresford, St Oswald’s at Malpas and St Andrew’s in Bebington were considerably more modest in scale than St Werburgh’s Abbey, but all were impressive when measured against other parish churches in the region, and obviously had access to relatively substantial funding.  The table above was also posted in part 1 and provides some of the vital statistics of all four sets of misericords.

All Saints’, Gresford

All Saints’ Church in Gresford

All Saints’ Church in Gresford is unexpectedly big for such a small and unimposing village.  The stone church was founded in the 13th century and underwent a major revamp in the 15th century, and is still busy today. I have written about All Saints’ on two previous posts, one about the history of the church in general, and the other about the 15th century gargoyles and grotesques that inhabit its exterior.  It has been suggested that the misericords were sourced from Basingwerk Abbey at Holywell in north Wales and added to All Saints’s after the abbey was dissolved in the early 1500s, but although this remains a possibility, it is also probable that All Saints’ was sufficiently well provided for to pay for its own misericord carvings.

Choir stalls at Gresford All Saints’

Neither the All Saints’ guidebook nor the CPAT survey suggest a date for the misericords, and the church’s web page does not mention them.  Based on the presence of a preaching fox, a theme thought to represent mendicant friars who were only present from the 14th century, they must have carved after the late 14th century.  It is also very probable that they post-date those at St Werburgh’s (1390) as there was nothing else nearby to provide a model.  Although the Gresford misericords could plausibly have been associated with the major rebuild of the church in the 15th century, when two new aisles were added and many other changes were made, Dominic Strange’s misericord timeline places the misericords in the late 15th or early 16th century, over 100 years after the Chester misericords.  If correct, it demonstrates the durability of themes that were popular in earlier periods.

Sketch plan of the Gresford misericords.

The choir stalls provide a good example of a three-sided arrangement in a squared U-shape.  In total there were originally fourteen misericords, four on the north, four on the south and two lots of three on the west.  The latter flanked the entrance from the nave to the choir.  Today two are blank, either because they were never completed, or because they were removed due to inappropriate content or severe damage (I can find nothing to help determine which).  Some are quite badly damaged, but the entire group indicate great skill and include some varied topics.

The choir, Gresford All Saints’

The misericords are separated by arm rests that curl up the sides of the chairs and along the backs, each one featuring a small human figure at the front of the arm rest.  Exceptions are at the corners between the north and west rows and the west and south rows, which feature fantastic beasts.

As in St Werburgh’s, a fox is dressed as a friar but this time he is in a pulpit preaching to chickens and geese, demonstrating that this theme was of interest not merely to monastic establishments but to churches as well.  The allegedly venal of some elements of the mendicant cause may be the theme here. The earliest mendicant friars were poor and itinerant, begging for alms.  By the later middle ages they were comfortably established in friaries of their own, the recipients of patronage, gifts and wills. The apparent hypocrisy was a source of grievance for the clergy beyond the seclusion of the cloister.  The parish priest may also have felt threatened by the powerful public sermons and the more evocative style of engagement with the general public delivered by the friars.  In the parish church, as well as in the heart of the monastery, friars might be seen as a threat to the role of the conventional clergy, to be satirized, derided and, if possible, undermined.

One of the more puzzling themes that occasionally appears on misericords (but is missing from Chester, possibly due to removal in the Victorian period) is the revealing of male nether regions. At Gresford this is given a context.  The misericord shows an acrobat hanging over a pole held by two men, ostentatiously exposing his undercarriage, apparently during a performance, possibly a form of slap-stick entertainment.  Quite what these were doing on misericords is uncertain, although there is a lot of speculation on the subject.  Whilst there may have been a warning against lewdness and impurity, it is difficult to deny that at least some of these depictions were intended to include a degree of crude humour.

A badly damaged misericord shows two cats, both standing on their hind legs in front of something that is now missing but appears to show a mouse hole at the base, with a tiny mouse with pointed ears to its right.  The cats are holding hands, with one apparently leading the other.  The leading cat seems to have been holding something in its outstretched paw.  Perhaps the upright stance reflects the cat’s commanding, self-possessed and often self-satisfied view of its position within its own universe.  An alternative interpretation is that when animals are shown adopting human behaviour, it is a reminder of human failings.  Similarly standing on their hind legs are the cats in MS. Bodley 764 (folio 50r), which also shows cats on the hunt.

Cats from MS Bodley 764, folio 50r. Source: Medieval Bestiary

Wheelbarrows feature quite frequently in misericords, and one of the Gresford misericords shows two women seated side by side in a wheelbarrow being pushed towards the open jaws of a monster’s head by a creature with staring eyes and a forked tail.  The cavalcade is followed by a man.  All the participants in the scene stare out at the onlooker.  The open jaws of the monster represent the gateway to hell.  This is a much simpler version of a well-known example at St George’s Chapel, Windsor Castle, which shows two monks being wheeled towards the hellmouth by either a demon or the devil himself, leading to the suggestion that the two wimpled women on the Gresford misericord may be nuns (but bearing in mind that wimples were not exclusive to nuns).  The supporters appear to be small rodents, but it is difficult to see how they might relate to the central narrative.

A splendid winged griffin, facing left, is positioned between two delicate unicorns, one of which is missing its head. The griffin has the head and wings of an eagle, the body of a Lion and is four-legged.  Like the lion, which can exert its power for either good or evil, depending on the context.  When Alexander the Great encounters the enclave of griffins in his voyage to the end of the world, the creature is a true monster, ugly, frightening and vicious.  On the other hand it is a pair of griffins that carried Alexander over the edge of the world.  The griffin is often used to represent rival ideas and can, in different contexts, represent such opposing individuals as Satan and Christ.  The griffin also represents the combination of the opposing elemental forces of air (eagle) and earth (lion).  It is difficult to know what, in this context, the griffin is intended to convey.  The presence of unicorns, which are often associated with Christ, may either be supportive companions, opposing forces, or hapless victims, and there is nothing to help determine which. The supporters are decorative flowers.

Another misericord, also quite unlike its companions, seems to refer to the gargoyles and grotesques so strongly featured on the exterior of the building.  It may have had no specific symbolic meaning.  It is a monster’s face with vaulting emanating from its head.  The vaulting may be intended to evoke the magnificent screen that separates choir from nave at All Saints’, although the flowers at the intersections on the misericord are not present on the screen. Perhaps it is intended to bring indoors the collective message that the gargoyles and grotesques were communicating from the exterior of the church (discussed briefly in an earlier post).

Some of the All Saints’ misericords are very badly damaged, leaving the core subject matter very difficult to identify.  A particularly frustrating example is the misericord whose central subject matter is completely missing.  Flanking it there is a wonderful winged angel on the left and, on the right, a lady in an elaborate dress kneeling before a personal altar with the soft folds of her dress flowing behind her on the floor.  Perhaps this was either the Annunciation or the Coronation of the Virgin, particularly as there are no other overtly religious stories included in the All Saints’ corpus.

Another badly damaged misericord shows a woman on a four-legged animal, the head of which is missing and is therefore unidentifiable.  It is short, has particularly bandy legs and ill-defined feet, none of which suggest a horse.  Two carvings, one in front of the woman and animal, and one behind, are lost.  The one behind is almost certainly another figure in a long garment, but the one in front may or may not be.

Some of the misericords contain no narrative or obviously symbolic component.  One misericord has no central subject matter and no obvious sign of damage, with just two images as supporters, right on the edge of the underside of the seat.  These are two three-quarter partial heads, almost sketches, looking towards one another.  The meaning of this, if there was any, is lost.  If there was a central carving, there is not even a shape left to suggest a subject matter.  It is possible that it was carved at a much later date to replace one of the original misericords that might have been damaged or whose subject matter was considered inappropriate.  These lost stories are very frustrating.

All of the misericords at Gresford are shown on the World of Misericords website at https://www.misericords.co.uk/gresford.html, with short descriptions at https://www.misericords.co.uk/gresford_des.html.

St Oswald’s, Malpas

St Oswald’s Church in Malpas. Photograph by Alan Marsh. Source: Historic England

St Oswald’s Church in the village of Malpas was founded in the late 1300s.  The church underwent a similar modernization in the 15th century to that at Gresford, including a similar camber beam roof.  It has a great many features that continue to impress, particularly the spectacular tomb effigies of the 15th and early 16th centuries, but its remaining misericords are disappointingly confined to three choir stalls.

There is a set of three choir stalls with three misericords, in a single row, still displayed in the choir area in St Oswald’s.  The visitor guide to the church says that there were “at least twelve” 15th century choir stalls with misericords, with only nine surviving and six “much restored.”  Given that there are only three on display, it is something of a puzzle as to what happened to the remaining six of the nine surviving.  There are no descriptions of any of the misericords, and nor does the booklet say where the surviving misericords (other than the three still in the choir at Malpas) are located today.

The remaining row of choir stalls at St Oswald’s with the misericords hidden beneath the seats.

The choir stalls have carved armrests, although they less elaborate than those at Gresford, and have no carved bench ends.  This may suggest that carved choir stalls were never a very important component of the chancel at St Oswald’s, or that the funds required for a more ambitious project were not available.  All three remaining misericords are described here, with the disclaimer that they represent only a very small sample of the original corpus.  Two of the three are damaged.

I particularly like the mermaid.  Mermaids appear on many misericords in Britain.  Mermaids resembled Greek sirens, representing both the temptation and lust that men might find hard to resist on the one hand, and the dangers represented by the deformation of the human image in the form of a hybrid creature on the other.  They were usually shown, as at Malpas, with bared breasts, with a comb in one hand and a mirror in the other, warnings not merely of seduction but of the vice of vanity.  The Malpas mermaid looks down and seems to be moving gently to her right.  Her tail has been lightly carved to suggest fish scales. Her bare chest is distinctly flat and smooth, unlike most misericord mermaids, perhaps to avoid encouraging carnal thoughts amongst the Malpas choristers.  She holds the comb  in her left hand, which rests on her thigh (separated from her upper arm by breakage), and the mirror in the other, overlapping one of the supporters.  Both supporters are three-lobed leaves.

A winged monster has one head, shown facing outward, but two bodies that are shown in profile either side of the head.  This is probably the simplest and least worked of all three, with minimal details carved into the image, although there are shallow markings to suggest the scaled nature of the wings, and clawed feet.  The face is shown in more detail, with three protrusions from the head, which may or may not depict serpents.  It is clearly a monster with affinities like the wings, tails and claws that are shared with dragons. Dragons, wyverns and related monsters may represent paganism, power, uncontrolled violence or lust, the Devil himself and unspecified evil and sin that must be confronted and neutralized, or at the very least rationalized.  As such creatures are usually associated with remote, often hostile landscapes, they may also represent fear of the unknown.  It may also offer a shifting geographical component, so that the dragon may be feared in the remote landscape but is only confronted when it threatens human habitation and safety. The three-lobed leaf supporters are nicely done, with clearly defined edges.  A much more elaborate version of a single-headed and double-bodied monster is shown in the Luttrell Psalter (folio 195v), but is evidently part of the same family of images familiar and available to medieval illuminators, carvers and sculptors.

Single-headed two-bodied monster from the Luttrell Psalter (Add MS 42130 f.195.v). Source: Groteskology

Finally, two knights are shown engaged in an athletic, almost balletic fight with swords. Of the three this is by far the most complex, compositionally.  At first glance it is very difficult to see exactly what is going on, and whose limbs belong to whom, vividly capturing movement.  The pointed shoes, generally confined to the well-to-do, emphasize the mobility and athleticism of the figures.  Perhaps it refers to a scene from a chivalric romance, such a the Chester examples that show scenes from stories of Yvain and Tristan and Isolde. Again, the supporters are foliage.

St Andrew’s, Bebington

St Andrew’s, Bebington

As I was just about ready to hit the Publish button on this post I had a whizz through Dominic Strange’s Timeline and Gazetteer, which revealed that St Andrew’s in Bebington on the Wirral possesses misericords in three choir stalls, plus two that have survived being separated from their choir stalls, now serving as corbels.  Although the church is not open except for Sunday services, weddings etc., Karen from the church office very kindly arranged for me to visit when volunteers were working there.

Choir stalls in St Andrew’s, Bebington

It is particularly nice to have found these misericords because, as with St Oswald’s in Malpas, the misericords at St Andrew’s rarely appears in books about misericords, always overshadowed by Chester Cathedral and Gresford All Saints’.  It is clear that they should be included here not only because they are local and under-sung but because they show some themes that are not shown in the misericords at the other locations discussed in these posts.

The pelican in her piety

Dominic Strange places all five misericords in the 15th century.  The guidebook to the church, by Richard Lancelyn Green, says that there were originally twelve of them, with six surviving until 1847 when they were split up due to damp and dry rot.  Presumably the other six were discarded.  Initially, in 1871, they were split into pairs and then, in 1897, three of them were reassembled into the row that survives today in the chancel, just to the side of the main altar. Two of them have been removed from their original choir stalls and are deployed as corbels but there is no mention of the sixth 1847 survivor.

At the far left of the choir stall is the pelican in her piety plucking her breast (shown above), already described in connection with Chester in part 1, but flanked here with foliage.

Bearded man. Source: Dominic Strange, World of Misericords

The head of a man with beard and hat or other form of head covering may or may not be a portrait.  Many misericords show human faces, some characterized by particular expressions or actions, but many contain no clues about the significance.  The supporters feature pomegranates.  Pomegranates are associated with numerous ideas from antiquity onwards.  The symbolism attached to them ranges from fertility, regeneration and good luck to representing the shedding of the blood of Christ and as a symbol of the church and its congregation.  Without knowing quite what the man’s head represents it is difficult to interpret the entire message of the misericord.

The third in the row is a splendid dolphin flanked by equally splendid seahorses, presumably designed by someone who had seen neither dolphin or seahorse. The dolphin is a rather terrifying looking creature, but there seem to be no negative narratives associated with it. The bestiary in MS Bodley 764 includes the dolphin, but attaches no special meaning to it, stating that “they follow men’s voices, or gather in shoals when music is played . . . if they go in front of the ship, leaping in the waves, they appear to foretell bad weather.”  The only other misericord dolphins that I’ve seen in my online travels are at Norwich Cathedral and St Laurence’s Church in Ludlow.

The remaining two misericords, now used as corbels, show what may be a bull’s head, and a sow with a litter.  You can see them on the World of Misericords website.  The sow with a litter is a theme also featured on one of the St Werburgh misericords.  MS Bodley 764 is quite clear on the negative connotations:  “The sow that was washed and returns to her wallowing in the mire is filthier than before; and he who weeps for his admitted sins, but does not desist from them, earns a graver punishment, condemned by his own misdeeds which he could have prevented by repentance; and he descends as if into murky waters because he removes the cleanness of his life by such tears, which are tainted before the eyes of God.”  Sows represent unclean spirits and are often associated with gluttony and, more disturbingly, heresy.  And in the medieval mind, where heresy lurks, paganism may be lurking nearby.

Contributors to knowledge

Even in such small numbers, the churches at Malpas and Bebington contribute to the body of information about Medieval misericords, helping to build up a database of knowledge about the themes that were of interest to those who commissioned them for the most sacred parts of their monasteries and parish churches.  Unless an early report describing or illustrating some of the other misericords emerges, the legacy of those who commissioned, funded and carved the misericords at Malpas and Bebington are confined to just these three and five examples respectively.  Although the themes were represented elsewhere, none of the topics shown replicate any of those surviving at St Werburgh’s.

Other churches in the region with misericords

Grapevine misericord at Nantwich St Mary’s. Source: Dominic Strange, World of Misericords

The above are the only churches with misericords in the Wrexham-Chester area, but there are others in the general region.  For example, there is a set of fourteen dating to the late 14th century in St Mary’s Nantwich to the east, in the town centre.  There are 20 dating to the late 15th century in St Asaph’s Cathedral to the west in north Wales. Another set of sixteen dating to the late 15th century can be found in St Bartholemew’s in the village of Tong to the southeast (where the A41 meets the M54).  Finally, there are two fine sets of 15th century misericords (the first of sixteen in 1425 the second of twelve in 1447) in St Laurence’s church in Ludlow.

The distinctive Nantwich examples can be seen on Dominic’s World of Misericords, as can those at St Asaph’s, but the Tong ones have yet to be added to the site, and I cannot find images of more than one or two of them elsewhere.  There is a section of the Ludlow Palmers website dedicated to the St Laurence’s misericords in Ludlow, and you can see sixteen of them on World of Misericords.

Next

Part 3 wraps up the series, looking at who was involved in the creation of misericords, how they were paid for, and why they featured so frequently in the most sacred part of a church, often hidden from view but containing a mixture of messages that in each case contributed to the sense of a church’s identity.  Visitor details and references are also added at the end of part 3.

 

Miracles, myths, demons and the occasional grin: Misericords in the Chester-Wrexham area #1

Introduction

I first encountered the fabulously inventive misericords, an integral part of some church choir stalls, in Chester Cathedral, founded as St Werburgh’s Abbey.  At the abbey they were installed in the late 14th century, and in all cases, from the late 12th to the early 16th century the choir stalls were located in the holiest section of a church, where sacred liturgies and rituals were performed.

Two choir stalls from St Andrew’s Bebington. On the left the hinged seat is in the down position, hiding the misericord beneath. On the right, the seat is tipped up, leaning on the seat back, and reveals the carved misericord on the underside of the seat (my photo Creative Commons licence CC BY-NC-ND 4.0)

Misericords are hinged wooden seats set into the choir stalls.  When folded down to provide seating, the seat has a plain, flat surface, but when folded up to rest against the seat back, a small platform on the underside of the seat allows the standing chorister to rest his rear end.  The word misericord derives from the Latin misericordia (mercy or pity) and for the tired or aged monk or chorister looking for some respite for weary and arthritic legs, it probably was mercifully welcome.

The central theme of this misericord is a two-bodied monster with a single head. The supporters are also rather wonderful monsters, the one on the right also a double-bodied creature, the one on the left possibly a wyvern (my photo Creative Commons licence CC BY-NC-ND 4.0)

In some cases, these misericords were decorated with elaborate carvings.  They are flamboyant, skilfully carved and conceptually clever, covering a variety of themes, with individual scenes capturing a seemingly bottomless pit of information about medieval ideas, anxieties, beliefs and even humour.  They consist of a central scene and two “supporters.”  The central scene is the main subject matter, and the supporters may relate to it, but may simply perform the job of ornamental complements.  Although many western European countries also display misericords, the supporters are a British feature.  The earliest misericords known in Britain date to the 13th century, with the most complete examples being at Exeter and Salisbury.

The themes of misericords may be religious, mythological, fantastical, domestic, seasonal, humorous, crude and even scatological.  Unlike gargoyles, and the figures on arm rests and bench ends, which are individual sculptures, the misericords often make up quite complex scenes, and may be have a narrative component.  Particularly skilled carvers produced sophisticated forms and structures which not only engage the viewer but stand out as works of art in their own right.  Whilst some were evidently intended to amuse or surprise, others were layered with meaning, creating galleries of real character and adventure.

Canopies above the choir stalls in Chester Cathedral (my photo Creative Commons licence CC BY-NC-ND 4.0)

Misericords, just one component of the choir stalls, are usually accompanied by carved arm rests and often magnificent bench-ends, and in the wealthier establishments sit beneath elaborate canopies, as at Chester Cathedral, making up a fascinating ensemble of images, ideas and aesthetics.  Arm rests sit between each of the choir stalls, often running partially up the side of the stall too, creating the sense that each choir stall was an individual unit, and are often carved, usually into human, animal and imaginary figures.  Bench ends are panels at the ends of each row of choir stalls, and desks, in front of choir stalls, for holding books and music were also decorated.  Panels were carved with scenes and they were topped with little carved sculptural elements called finials.  Other sculptural features complemented and supported them.

The bigger, most prosperous establishments could afford more ambitious creations, in terms of both the quantity and quality of the misericords, but smaller establishments with suitably generous patrons often have some excellent and surprising examples to offer.  One of the features of British misericords that is not often seen in Europe is the addition of secondary carvings called supporters.  These are sometimes purely decorative, and sometimes contribute to the central subject matter.

The u-shaped choir at All Saints’ Gresford with choir stalls and misericords at north, south and, with a gap to allow access from the nave, the west (my sketch Creative Commons licence CC BY-NC-ND 4.0).

Rows of choir stalls with misericords, each with a row of narrow desks in front of them for holding music and manuscripts, face one another across the choir, as at Chester Cathedral.  In some cases there may be a third set of choir stalls at the west end, up against the screen that separates choir from nave to form a squared U-shaped choir, as at All Saints’ in Gresford.

Inevitably some establishments had misericords which have now been lost.  Peterborough Cathedral retains only three of what must have been an impressive collection of misericords rivalling other great ecclesiastical establishments.

Choir stalls at Chester Cathedral (my photo Creative Commons licence CC BY-NC-ND 4.0)

Part 1 introduces misericords and explains what they are.  Examples from Chester Cathedral are discussed.  Part 2 looks at the examples from Gresford All Saints’, Malpas St Oswald’s and Bebington St Andrew’s.  Part 3 looks at who chose the themes on misericords, where the ideas came from, who paid for them, and why some often profane images were housed in such sacred places.  Also in part 3, some final comments are followed by visitor details and a full list of the references used for all three parts.

All three parts are already written.  Part 2 has now been posted on the blog  and Part 3 will be posted shortly.  If you would like to see the list of references before part 3 is posted, please get in touch and I will email them.

On these posts, some of the photographs are mine, but others, particularly for Chester Cathedral where I didn’t use flash, have been taken from Dominic Strange’s remarkable World of Misericords website, with Dominic’s permission and my sincere thanks.  His copyright statement is here.  Please see the captions for the correct attributions.  I have included some images from all the churches discussed, but to see the complete medieval corpus of each, do visit Dominic’s site, which has complete images from all the churches mentioned in this post, plus a great many other monastic churches, cathedrals and churches in Britain and Europe. This is the type of ever-growing online resource that makes the most of the web as a platform for building  shared resources from which both professionals and enthusiasts can benefit and to which they can contribute.
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Chester, Gresford, Malpas and Bebington

St Werburgh’s Abbey in Chester was the first of these four medieval churches to have misericords installed along with their choir stalls.  Chester, being an abbey with massive financial resources, had 48 misericords of which 43 survive.  All Saints’ in Gresford had 14, St Oswald’s in Malpas 12, and it is unknown how many there were at St Andrew’s in Bebington.  A summary of the vital statistics is shown below.

Basic data about the misericords at the four churches

Chester

Chester Cathedral. (my photo Creative Commons licence CC BY-NC-ND 4.0)

Chester Cathedral was founded as St Werburgh’s Benedictine Abbey by Hugh Lupus in c.1092 but the choir stalls and their misericords were not installed until the 14th century, in about 1380.  The delicately crafted choir (or quire) was the exclusive domain of the monks and their daily rituals, visited only rarely perhaps by the most generous of the abbey’s patrons.  The monks were called to the choir seven times a day and once at night.  The object of the exercise was to honour and worship the glory of God.  This makes the choir the spiritual heart of a monastery.  And yet it is here that profane and irreverent images of many misericords were also resident, as fully integrated components of the monks’ devotional and liturgical lives.

The timing of the new choir stalls is particularly interesting as it follows a period of enormous national hardship, beginning with crop failure and famine, and climaxing with the Black Death.  The abbey clearly had funds at its disposal, even during such a difficult period, because the choir represents an enormous investment.  With its choir stalls, desks, benches and elaborate canopies, all carved in oak, the choir’s components were not merely functional.  Today the choir and its many flourishes are valued not only for the considerable skill demonstrated by its carvers and for its considerable aesthetic merit, but for the symbolic character of many of its representational carvings.

The layout of the choir stalls and description of their misericords. Source: Stephen Smalley 1996 (see “Sources” at end).  Click to enlarge.

Although Chester Cathedral appears at first glance to have a complete set of medieval misericords, 5 out of the 48 were, as mentioned above, replaced by Victorian restorers either to replace damaged ones or to replace those that were considered to have inappropriate themes, such as nudity or poor taste.  It is not known what happened to the missing misericords, but they were probably destroyed at the time.  Given that the Puritan soldiers of the English Civil War defaced many features of Chester Cathedral in 1645 it is astonishing that the 48 survived so long.

The St Werburgh’s Abbey examples are justifiably famous, very similar to the examples at Lincoln Cathedral, built a decade earlier, which probably provided some templates for Chester, and with which they may have shared a workforce.  Shown to the right is the layout of the misericords and the topic of each one, copied from a small and invaluable booklet that used to be sold in the cathedral shop.  It is now presumably out of print and has become very difficult to source (thanks for the loan Katie!).  Note that those misericords shown in italics are Victorian replacements.

The themes present at Chester’s St Werburgh Abbey are a phenomenal mix, so only a few can be picked out to represent some of the ideas on show.

Scene of St Werburgh’s miracles. Source: Dominic Strange, World of Misericords

Obviously religious themes and personalities are often in a minority on misericords, but where a monastery or church is named for a particular saint,  a misericord may be dedicated to that saint.  The Anglo-Saxon saint Werburgh was an 8th century nun and abbess from the Midlands.  One of the misericords focuses on St Werburgh’s miracle.  There are various versions of the story but all agree that geese were damaging the convent fields. Werburgh ordered them to be gathered up before commanding them to leave.  The convent steward, Hugh, was angry with the geese for devastating his field of corn.  One version says that whilst Werburgh was away Hugh captured and cooked one of the geese, and when she returned the remaining geese had refused to leave, forming a delegation to inform her of the event and ask for her help.  Werbugh ordered that the bones and feathers of the carcass should be gathered up, and the missing goose was reborn.  The supporter to the left shows Hugh and Werburgh rounding up the geese.  In the centre Werburgh resurrects the goose, which flies away with its companions.  On the right supporter Hugh is on his knees, repentant, and is forgiven by Werburgh.

Coronation of the Virgin. Source: Dominic Strange, World of Misericords

The infrequency of religious topics is perhaps due to a general feeling that it as unsuitable to a) hide them away and b) sit on them.  However they do occur and at Chester another obviously religious topic that requires no interpretation is the Coronation of the Virgin.  The Chester example is not the carved equivalent of a delicate Fra Angelico, being a rather chunky rendition, but it has real charm and the supporters, cittern-playing winged angels, are lovely.   The Virgin and Child is the subject of another misericord.  St George and the Dragon is another popular religious topic for misericords, an action scene that shows an uncompromising approach to demonic danger, but the one at Chester is Victorian.

The rear end of Yvain’s horse captured in the portcullis. Source: Dominic Strange, World of Misericords

Popular romance stories provide the theme for some misericords, such as the 12th century Arthurian story “The Knight of the Lion” by Chrétien de Troyes about Sir Yvain.  A snapshot from the story is captured on a really entertaining vignette.  The central scene shows a walled town with its entrance arch flanked by two slender towers.  Look closely, and you see that the rear end of a horse faces you.  As Yvain chased his opponent into the gatehouse, the portcullis was activated by a secret device as Yvain’s horse stepped on it.  The portcullis dropped, narrowly missing Yvain and chopped the horse in two.  The portcullis at the other end of the gatehouse also dropped, trapping Yvain.  All of this, and the rest of the story, would have been immediately recognizable, without showing Yvain himself, from the image of the half-horse on the outer side of the portcullis.  The horse’s arse approach to a story that had plenty of other events from which to select probably raised many smiles as well as evoking the rest of the story.  The supporters show another aspect of the tale involving two men-at-arms.

Alexander in Flight. My photo Creative Commons licence CC BY-NC-ND 4.0

Alexander the Great, very small part history and a much greater part legend and fiction, was a very popular character in the Middle Ages.  At Chester a misericord captures the notorious “flight” of Alexander.  The great leader, having reached the edge of the world, wished to explore the unknown beyond, rising both to the heights and to the depths. Perched on what looks like a piece of wood in this misericord is his throne, supported on ropes held by two griffins.  Fully equipped to take flight, he was carried over the edge of the known world to explore the unknown.

Alexander in Flight shown in the mid-15th century Talbot Shrewsbury Book, officially known as Royal MS 15 E VI (folio 20v). Source: British Library.

Having acquainted himself with the unknown world, and finding nothing left for him to conquer, Alexander returned to the known world.  Alexander’s flight to the unknown may be more favourite story than morality tale, although it can also be taken to represent the folly of all-encompassing ambition.  Alexander goes on to conquer Babylon and build himself a massive golden throne. In Babylon, he dies.  As David Williams says “Alexander is both the force that battles the monsters as he attempts to extend civilization to the ends of the earth, and he is the monster itself, demolisher of cities, reviser of history.”  The misericord’s supporters also show griffins.  Griffins are discussed further with reference to a splendid example at Gresford in Part 2.

Angry woman berating a cowering man. Source: Dominic Strange, World of Misericords

Scenes of domestic life on British misericords include some startling vignettes of women attacking men, presumably their husbands.  The marvellous example at Chester involves a woman with a dress resembling a tornado, sweeping her much smaller, cowering husband aside with a wooden implement, apparently in a garden or rural setting.  The Chester Cathedral Quire Misericords booklet describes this as “fighting couple,” which seems like something of an understatement for a scene showing a whirlwind of fury breaking loose.  Some of these many British and European woman-abusing-man misericords have been interpreted as depicting the physical, carnal and uncontrolled aspect of women.  It has also been suggested that some of them may represent male anxiety in the face of increasing female emancipation.  Perhaps, in the male-only environment of the choir, a humorous subtext was that the monastery is a much safer place for a man than a marital home.  The supporters, which appear at first glance to be floral, have angry faces at their centres, reinforcing the message of conflict and hostility.

A page from the 13th century MS Bodley 764, showing the tigress with the mirror at the top (see below). Source: Bodleian Library, Oxford

Real world animals, fish and birds shown on misericords, either local or exotic, are frequently very beautiful, but often have symbolic roles as well.  “Bestiaries” were encyclopaedia type books produced in the middle ages that not only produced information about animals (some of them mythological or imaginary)  but also put them into religious context.  An example is the fascinating bestiary now known as manuscript MS Bodley 764 available to view on the Bodleian Library website or available in print, translated by Richard Barber (see Sources at the end of Part 3).  This describes characteristics of familiar, exotic and mythological animals, many of which appear on misericords.  There is also the splendid Medieval Bestiary website, an excellent resource that lists animals (again, real, exotic and mythological) and examines medieval perspectives on each, including their symbolic value.

Herons with sinuous necks. Source: Dominic Strange, World of Misericords

The bestiary says that a familiar British bird, the heron, symbolizes “the soul of saints or the elect, who, scorning the turbulence of this world, lest they should become ensnared in the traps of the devil, raise their minds above things to the serenity of heaven where they could see God face to face.”  A Chester misericord shows two fabulous herons, their necks sinuously curved and their heads facing upwards as though feeding off the underside of the misericord.  They are flanked by supporters that are less easy to interpret, but possibly representing demonic influences: a winged dragon with claws on one side, and on the other side a man-headed dragon with beard and an elaborate hat, scaled body and hooves.

Herons and supporters. Source: Dominic Strange, World of Misericords

The knight stealing a cub and deceiving the tigress with a mirror. My photo Creative Commons licence CC BY-NC-ND 4.0

An exotic animal displayed on a misericord was the tiger, something impossible for most people to experience, much like a unicorn, but known to be the living product of distant lands.  In this particular narrative it is at the heart of a morality tale, which is described in the bestiary.  A knight lies flat on his horse’s back, holding a stolen tiger cub in his left hand.  From this apparently perilous position he reaches to the ground and drops a mirror in the path of the tigress that pursues her stolen cub.  The tigress stops when she sees the mirror, believing that her own reflection is the stolen cub.  Together, the knight and the mirror represent demonic trickery and deceit, whilst the inclusion of the tiger provides an exotic flavour to the scene.  Admittedly the tiger doesn’t look like a tiger (no stripes either on the misericord or on the blue creature in the bestiary, shown in MS Bodley 764 above) but this was a well known scene that would have been familiar to educated medieval onlookers. 

The Pelican in her Piety. Source: Dominic Strange, World of Misericords

Some animals have specifically religious associations.  The “Pelican in her Piety” is a recurring theme and is shown on one of the misericords at Chester, as well as one of the associated carvings, representing the sacrifice of Christ to redeem humanity.  The pelican, attacked by her hungry children (representing ungrateful humanity), retaliates and accidentally kills them.  Remorsefully, she pecks her own breast until she bleeds, and this revives her chicks (representing Christ’s sacrifice for humanity).

The unicorn, his head cradled in the lap of a virgin whilst killed by a knight. My photo Creative Commons licence CC BY-NC-ND 4.0

Mythological animals on the Chester misericords also often have specific ideas associated with them, which may sometimes be an odd blending of imaginary animals with Christian ideas.  For example, there is a carving of a really lovely unicorn with a curly mane, its head in the lap of a woman (above).  Even as it lies there it is attacked and killed by a man in armour with a sword.  The woman is a virgin, and the voluntary submission of the unicorn symbolizes its respect for her pure condition, like the Virgin Mary, whilst the killing of the unicorn represents Christ’s sacrifice and the martyrdom of the innocent.  The supporters show a wyvern with scaled wings, and one with bat wings, probably demonic characters representing the eternal threat of evil.   This scene is a popular one, not confined to misericords.  Below it is an illustration in a manuscript, showing exactly the same components.

The 13th century Rochester Bestiary: British Library, Royal 12f. XIII, fol.10v. Source: Wikpedia

A friar-fox preaching to a woman. Source: Dominic Strange, World of Misericords

Animals mimicking human actions normally incorporate a particular comment on the human world, often derisive or satirical.  In St Werburgh’s Abbey, the wily fox in a friar’s habit, preaching to a woman, possibly a nun, probably represented the new mendicant friars preaching to the gullible general public.  The orders of friars in Chester were Franciscans, Dominicans and Carmelites.  These were the new kids on the block in the 13th century who, unlike the established Benedictine monks, were preaching in the streets, and mingling with people where they lived and worked, diverting donations to their own establishments and raising questions about the value of monks who were hidden away.  These scenes at several churches demonstrate Benedictine contempt for the mendicants, putting a clever and often amusing spin on their activities (the friar-foxes are often shown preaching to geese and cockerels), but almost certainly demonstrate a certain amount of anxiety about how their popularity would impact the conventional, secluded monks in their cloisters.  Another, closely related interpretation is that the fox represents the anti-establishment Lollards, deeply troubling to the church in the 14th century.

Wildman and lion. Source: Dominic Strange, World of Misericords

Mythological people also have a place on misericords.  Wildmen are a popular subject, of which there are three examples at Chester, each dealing with a slightly different theme. A Wildman (or wodehouse) is distinguished from other men by being covered from head to foot with a curly or shaggy pelt.  Only the bearded upper face, hands and feet are fur-free.  Wildmen were nearer to nature than to civilization, and accordingly had powers over the natural world.  One of the examples, known from a number of sites, shows a lion (often God) fighting a dragon (often Satan) with the supporters showing Wildmen riding, and thereby controlling, dragons.  A second example, shown here, shows a Wildman (with head damaged) riding a lion, holding its chain in one hand.  The pair are flanked by two different types of dragon or monster.  Wildmen riding dragons and lions represent nature tamed, but may also suggest the taming of passions like love and lust.

Scene from the romance of Tristan and Isolde. My photo Creative Commons licence CC BY-NC-ND 4.0

Finally, some churches have scenes that are unique or found only rarely.  Chester has a misericord showing a scene from the early 13th century Arthurian romance of Tristan and Isolde (or Iseult), which it shares only with Lincoln Cathedral.  The misericord at Chester shows the lovers in front of a tree with a dog at their feet.  In or behind the tree is Isolde’s justifiably suspicious husband King Mark, spying on the lovers.  Tristan’s dog at the feet of the lovers represents loyalty and love in most versions of the tale, but in one version of the story it is revealed that blind loyalty can be dangerous, when the dog betrays the disguised Tristan by recognizing him.  One of the difficulties of deciphering a scene like this is that there may be several versions of a popular story that include the same lead characters and supporting roles, but with different narrative twists and outcomes.

Sow and piglets. Source: Dominic Strange, World of Misericords

The misericords at Chester help to demonstrate the variety of themes and ideas that were in play in the Middle Ages, and successfully demonstrate the imagination, creativity and skill that went into the misericords in a prestigious religious institution.  They do not capture the complete range of  typical subject matters that might be found on misericords throughout Britain.  Five of them are, of course, missing, either because of damage or, perhaps more likely, because the Victorian restorers considered them to be inappropriate.  Even so, the massive variety of misericord subjects chosen across the many ecclesiastical institutions in Britain point to different interests and ideas in the many places in which they appear.

All of the Chester misericords are shown on the World of Misericords website at https://www.misericords.co.uk/chester.html, with short descriptions at https://www.misericords.co.uk/chester_des.html

Next

Emulating their more prestigious cousins much smaller churches could also follow ecclesiastical fashion and demonstrate, on a more modest scale, their ability to produce fine misericords and other sculptural elements of their own.  In Part 2 the twelve of fourteen misericords at Gresford, and the remaining examples at Malpas (three of twelve) and Bebington (five of twelve) are discussed.

 

A roof boss in Chester Cathedral: the murder of Thomas Becket

The Thomas Becket ceiling boss in the Lady Chapel, Chester Cathedral. Photograph by Andie Byrnes

  • Introduction
  • Who was Thomas Becket?
  • The Becket Boss in the Lady Chapel of St Werburgh’s Abbey
  • Final Comments
  • Sources

Introduction

Chester Cathedral plan (annotated). Source: Wikipedia

In the 13th century, Abbot Simon de Whitchurch (1265-1291) began the construction of Lady Chapel in St Werburgh’s Abbey (which is today Chester Cathedral, and about which I have posted here, with visiting information including accessibility).  It was dedicated to the Virgin Mary. In the ceiling, where the vaulting ribs meet, three round ceiling bosses high above the floor show religious themes.  One shows the Holy Trinity and the second shows the Virgin Mary and the baby Jesus.  The third, shown above, shows shows the murder of Thomas Becket, Archbishop of Canterbury, by four knights loyal to Henry II on 29th December 1170 in Christ Church Cathedral in Canterbury.  It is one of only two Becket ceiling bosses known to survive in Britain; the other is at Exeter Cathedral (shown below left).

Exeter Cathedral’s Thomas Becket ceiling boss. Source: Feasts, Fasts, Saints and the Medieval Church blog

What these two busy little scenes in Chester and Exeter depict was a brutal and savage act of great violence.  The murder of Becket was a violation one of England’s holiest precincts, a modern martyrdom, and an affront not only to the ecclesiastical hierarchy in England but to the papacy itself.  All eyes turned towards Henry II.  This was not the sort of attention that Henry wanted, and he spent the rest of his reign attempting to distance himself from the event.

The news of the murder spread swiftly and was deeply shocking to 12th century English and European society.  The terrible events were captured by eye witness accounts, not least that of the clerk Edward Grim who attempted to intervene and protect Becket. Almost immediately miracles were attributed to Becket, and only three years later he was canonized by the pope, becoming St Thomas.  His story was told in biographies of the saint, and his scenes of his life, martyrdom and miracles were rendered in wood, stone and paint, whilst relics were assiduously collected and displayed. In a world where martyrs and their deeds were factual events but remote, the real-time martyrdom of the head of the English church by representatives of the king was religious persecution in action, fresh and alarming in a way that past events might not be.  It was unthinkable.

Document dating to around 1180, around a decade after the event, showing the murder of Becket, from an eye-witness account by John of Salisbury (Cotton MS Claudius BII f.341r). Source: British Library.

From the moment of his murder, people were attracted to Christ Church cathedral to commemorate Becket.  His canonization made Christ Church Cathedral a formal and very desirable pilgrim destination.  The shrine itself, completed 50 years after Becket’s death, became one of Europe’s top pilgrim sites.

The saint was still attracting pilgrims in the 16th century when Henry VIII, identifying the cult of Becket as a challenge to his absolute control over religious as well as secular matters, ordered that every image of the martyr should be destroyed.  The systematic annihilation of Becket shrines and images contributed to the demise of Becket’s legacy, which was reinforced by further systematic defacements of Catholic artistic and architectural themes during the Reformation, including various monuments in Chester Cathedral, including the St Werburgh shrine.

Who was Thomas Becket?

Becket’s early career

Map of Medieval Cheapside, Medieval London in the 1560s. Source: Medieval London, Fordham University

Thomas Becket was the son of a Norman merchant who moved from Normandy (northwest France) to take up opportunities in London following the invasion of William I in 1066.  Gilbert and his wife Matilda lived in commercial area of London called Cheapside.  Gilbert rose to the position of sheriff, climbing several rungs on the social and political ladder.  It is thought that Thomas Becket was born around 1118-1120.

Becket was was born into the period of civil war between King Stephen and the Empress Matilda (mother of Henry II).  He received a good formal education, first at Merton Priory (now in southwest London), and later at a school in London.  In his late teenage years he went to Paris to study, in a Parisian heyday of scholarship and artistic endeavour.  His studies included some of the most popular scholastic topics, including grammar, rhetoric and canon (church) law, which were essential tools for anyone wanting to make their mark on the world, but did not include any formal religious education.  He returned to England in the early 1140s under the reign of Henry II, who was crowned as monarch on the death of Stephen in December 1154.

Seals of Archbishop Theobald and of Christ Church, Canterbury. Source: “Theobald. Archbishop of Canterbury” by Avrom Saltman via the Internet Archive

In the mid 1140s Becket was recommended to the Archbishop of Canterbury Theobold of Bec (c.1090-1116) and obtained a role as a clerk in the cathedral, a mainly administrative position which, however, offered opportunities for advancement. A cathedral is both the principal church of the diocese and the seat of the bishop and, as at Christ Church, often included a monastic establishment.  Becket’s Paris education was probably attractive to Theobold, who had a number of similarly educated young men in his employ.  Like most incumbents of the Canterbury archbishopric, Theobold was both a cleric and a diplomat, closely involved in crown matters, but had twice been exiled by King Stephen due to his intervention in political matters.  He sent Becket to Auxerre in France and Bologna in Italy to study law.  Law, divided into Church (canon) law and state law, was rapidly becoming an important topic in Medieval England.

Becket’s rise to power

The 12th-century Topographica Hiberniae (Topology of Ireland) by Gerald of Wales shows a rare contemporary image of the king. Source: Wikipedia

In 1154 Becket was promoted to the role of Archdeacon of Canterbury. As well as the financial rewards that enabled him to satisfy his love of luxury, his new position was sufficiently prestigious for Theobold to recommend Becket to the 21-year old Henry II as the new royal chancellor.  Henry’s coronation at Westminster Abbey, following the death of Stephen, had taken place in the same year.  Their professional relationship evolved into a friendship over a period of eight years as Becket flourished in a position of enormous responsibility.  It was a mark of Becket’s success in this role that on the death of Theobold in 1161 Henry moved to appoint him Archbishop of Canterbury, to hold both positions simultaneously.  Becket had no religious ambitions, had received no clerical training and consequently had never been ordained into the priesthood.  In spite of these drawbacks, Becket was elected to the role by the monks of Canterbury and the bishops of southern England.  Ordination was rushed through, and Becket was consecrated as Archbishop on 3rd June 1162.  His appointment was confirmed by Pope, who sent him a pallium, a vestment that symbolized his new office and status.

Needless to say, the appointment was not universally celebrated.  Quite apart from the fact that Becket had made enemies on his rise to power, decisions such as the appointment of an archbishop was one of the areas of conflict between Crown and Church.  The Church thought that it should have complete autonomy over its own affairs, answerable only to the papacy and  to God; but the Crown, conscious of the power and wealth wielded by the ecclesiastical institutions, wanted to exercise its own authority over the activities of the most important institutions, including Canterbury.  The right to appoint the most senior ecclesiastical personnel, was only one bone of contention.  The right of the Church to operate under its own canon law was another.

King Henry II and Thomas Becket arguing. Peter of Langtoft’s Chronicle, Royal 20 A II, f.7v. Source: British Library

There was no reason to think that Thomas Becket would not continue to remain completely committed and loyal to the Crown.  It was therefore a very unpleasant surprise to Henry II when Becket began to take his new role seriously, resigning his position as chancellor to focus on promoting the rights of the Church and representing the authority of the papacy.  From this point forward, Becket and Henry had opposing interests.  Becket’s training in law put him in an excellent position for arguing that the Church, rather than the Crown, should be in charge of ecclesiastical justice, in which Church clerics who committed even violent crime would be judged not by secular courts but by the far more lenient ecclesiastical courts.  There were many other disputes between the two, when Becket took a stand not only where ecclesiastical interests were involved, but in matters of state as well.  Henry attempted to resolve the situation by imposing a set of “customs,” or rules adhered to in the era of Henry I, Henry II’s grandfather, assembled in the Constitutions of Clarendon to which he commanded that Becket and all the bishops defer.  Although Becket at first refused to ratify the document, he and the bishops eventually submitted to pressure and signed.  However, Henry was seriously annoyed and began to investigate Becket, finding grounds for ordering him to court to address a number of charges.  When Becket refused first to accept the charges against him and then to reject the resulting sentence, he made the decision to flee to France.

The Abbey Church of the monastery of Pontigny. Photo by Mediocrity. Source: Wikipedia

Becket lived in exile at the Cistercian monastery of Pontigny in France from November 1164 until 1170.  In exile he attempted to drum up support, but alienated Henry still further by excommunicating a number of his advisers. Pope Alexander sent papal legates to try to resolve the dispute instructing Becket to refrain from taking any more actions against the king and his court, but in April 1169 Becket excommunicated another ten royal officials.  In 1170 Henry’s son Henry was crowned as the Young King, in a secondary role to Henry II order to settle any potential succession disputes.  The coronation was presided over by the Archbishop of York, Roger de Pont L’Évêque.  It was the right of the Archbishop of Canterbury to preside over coronations, and Becket responded to this insult by laying an interdict on England, with the pope’s permission.  This forced Henry back to the negotiating table, and he came to terms with Becket on 22nd July 1170.  Becket returned to England in the December of that year. One might have thought that Becket would count his blessings, but before he arrived he could not resist excommunicating the three individuals most closely associated with the coronation of the Young King, one of whom was the Archbishop of York.  The three appealed to the king, who was in his Normandy territory, and it was at this point that Henry, in a rage, expressed his frustrations about Becket’s latest act of rebellion.  What Henry II actually said is not recorded, but it spurred four of his knights to set off for Canterbury from Normandy.
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Murder in the cathedral

One of the earliest known representations of the murder of Becket (c.1175–1225). British Library Harley MS 5102, f.32. Source: Wikipedia

The knights rode from London to Canterbury.  They left their armour and weapons outside the cathedral precinct, intending to arrest Becket and return him to London for trial.  Becket was having none of it.  Eye-witness accounts state unambiguously that Becket’s behaviour was that of a very angry man under serious threat, confronting the knights on the steps of the cathedral.  Goaded by Becket’s verbal retaliation and refusal to back down, they retreated to put on their armour and retrieve their weapons, returning to slaughter the unarmed archbishop in rage.  Blows of the sword to his head killed him relatively swiftly, producing an alarming amount of gore that spilled onto the floor around him.  One of the swords struck him so powerfully that the sheer momentum carried it to the ground, snapping the end off the blade.  Edward Grim, who attempted to intervene, was badly injured.

His murderers were Reginald FitzUrse, William de Tracy, Richard Brito (or le Breton) and Hugh de Morville.  FitzUrse, whose name means “son of bear,” is often marked out on images of the murder with the image of a bear’s head on his shield.  He is shown on both the Chester and Exeter bosses.   Having committed the crime, the knights headed for Yorkshire where they remained for a year.  Curiously, Henry made no move against them, but in 1171 Pope Alexander III excommunicated them, and 1172 they headed for Rome to seek absolution from the pope.  It is thought that they were probably sent on crusade, and either died on their way, or in battle, although there are a number of unsubstantiated traditions about their ultimate fates.

The Christ Church was closed for nearly a year so that Pope Alexander III could be consulted on how to proceed so that the cathedral could be re-consecrated and returned to normal use, rejuvenated as a destination for pilgrims.

Miracles and legacy

Detail of the Canterbury Christ Church Cathedral miracle window, which shows some of Becket’s miracles. Source: Reverend Mark R Collins blog

Until his death, Becket had been a political creature, and a representative of ecclesiastical interests.  He did not position himself as a man of the people, but as a newly inspired champion of the rights of the Church.  This did not prevent the place of his death becoming a destination for pilgrims of all social scales, even before he was officially canonized.  Curiously, Becket was not merely an emblem of devotion to the Church and a promoter of its rights in the face of opposition from the Crown, but a saint who produced miracles for the everyday person, becoming an unlikely saint to act on behalf of the general populace.

A reconstruction of the Thomas Becket shrine in Canterbury Cathedral. Source: Smithsonian Magazine

The first miracles reported following the death of Becket took place at his tomb.  Hundreds of others soon followed, 703 being reported within the first 10 years, many recorded by Benedict of Peterborough.  Within twenty years of the murder, no less than twenty biographies had been written about the saint including contemporary accounts including, for example, those by John of Salisbury, Edward Grim and Benedict of Peterborough, the latter listing many of his miracles.  Images of him in various media appeared all over Europe, and his relics spread just as far.  As the Oxford History of Saints comments laconically, “His faults were forgotten and he was hailed as a martyr for the cause of Christ and the liberty of the Church.”  In short, Becket and the miracles associated with him went viral.

Thomas Becket pilgrim badge. Source: Museum of London

Fifty years after his death, a new shrine was opened with great ceremony, and St Thomas was moved into a new tomb within the shrine.  It was a spectacle of gold and precious gems, and was surrounded by stained glass windows telling the story of his life and miraculous works. At the height of its popularity, it attracted over 100,000 pilgrims a year. In the Jubilee year of 1420 the shrine earned £360 for Canterbury Cathedral, which equates today to around £231,483, which could have purchased 83 horses or 620 cows (data from the National Archive’s Currency Convertor) or could have been used to build a new section of cathedral.  Images and symbols of St Thomas were moulded into ampullae and badges for the hundreds of pilgrims who visited his Canterbury shrine.  The shrine no longer survives; it was destroyed in 1538  under the orders of Henry VIII.
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The Becket boss at St Werburgh’s Abbey

The Lady Chapel

The Lady Chapel, Chester Cathedral

St Werburgh’s Abbey featured many architectural-sculptural elements which embellish the core structure of the building, providing focal points, colour and a hint of glamour.   The Lady Chapel was built under Abbot Simon de Whitchurch (1265-1291).  In Burne’s words, “He was evidently an outstanding character and under him the abbey flourished exceedingly.”  It was a period of great prosperity for the abbey, with an income derived from, amongst other things, church pensions (a sort of tax), appropriated church tithes, gifts of houses and lands, and possibly pilgrimage to the reliquary-shrine of St Werburgh, although the new shrine  to the saint was not built until the 14th century, and it is unclear how important it was as a pilgrim destination before then.

Although the earliest known Lady Chapel predates the Norman invasion, the Lady Chapel became particularly important in the 13th century when the Virgin Mary was undergoing a resurgence of devotion.  The elegant, vaulted Lady Chapel St Werburgh’s was built in the 13th century.  Like most Lady Chapels it was built to the east of the High Altar, projecting from the main building.  Here clerics performed daily services to the Virgin Mary. It is easy to forget that most architectural elements would have been brightly painted, but the Lady Chapel in Chester Cathedral, restored to a typical colour scheme of green, blue, red and gold in the 1960s, provides an excellent example of how these components would have looked.  The lancet windows at the end of the chapel date to 1869, when Gilbert Scott removed the later Perpendicular window to be more faithful to the 13th century vision.

The Holy Trinity, with God holding the arms of the crucifix in his hands

Some Lady Chapels are large and ornate, but in some cases they form smaller, more private and tranquil spaces than other chapels within a monastery or cathedral.  The Chester example is delectable, its small footprint and relative height giving a sense of both intimacy and space.  The reconstructed shrine of St Werburgh, a victim of the Reformation’s hostility to reliquaries and idolatry, is located at its east end, but according to Jessica Hodge was probably originally at the east end of the quire.

The ceiling bosses form a row across the centre of the chapel, from east to west.  The east end was symbolically the most sacred, and it is at the east end of the chapel that the ceiling boss showing the Holy Trinity is located.  In the centre is, the Virgin Mary is depicted, and at the west end is the Becket boss.  The chapel was created during a period of great religious significance during the reign of Henry III, who had been crowned for the second time in 1220, the same year in which Becket’s remains were moved to a custom-built shrine on July 7th 1220, reinvigorating the already vibrant cult. The spectacular event was used by both the Archbishop of Canterbury, Stephen Langton, and the king to help to heal the ongoing rift between the Church and the king.  In 1225 Henry ratified the Magna Carta, granting the freedom of the Church.  This was a momentous decade in the Church’s history and religious houses throughout Medieval England rode the crest of this remarkable period during the rest of the century with new architectural projects, rebuilding, expanding and celebrating.  By 1260-1280 when the Chester Lady Chapel was built, it was the centenary of Becket’s death.  It is possible that the Becket boss was installed to commemorate this event following an ecclesiastically bright start to the century.

The St Thomas ceiling boss

Ceiling bosses are both architectural and sculptural elements, usually circular or sub-circular, positioned in the ceiling where the vaulting ribs that form arches meets, either to hide the join, or acting as keystones to add structural integrity to the complex set of tensions and stresses. There can be much more to them than first glance suggests, and behind the decorated end, an undecorated portion of the boss may be inserted into the join.  Examples on the floor of the cloisters provide a good idea of this, showing the decorated section that would face down, and the plain stump that would be inserted into the join.

Three relatively large stone vaulting bosses were provided at the point where seven or eight stone ribs of the slender vaulting meets, each carved and painted with a different aspect of Christian iconography.  Smaller bosses were also added to at vault joins, where three or four ribs meet, sculpted into beautiful foliage, and gilded.  Corbels, where the vaulting ribs begin, are also decorated with foliage.  These carved stone features would all have been carved and painted prior to installation.  The white painted ceiling and walls between the brightly coloured features are the perfect foil for them, providing them with reflected light and emphasizing the  rich colours.

The Becket scene offers a sanitized version of the traumatic event on 29th December 1170, recycling a scene that bears only a passing resemblance to the terrible violence of reality, one version of a standardized formula for representing this event, an overstuffed and static little scene that looks rather like a posed portrait, with all of the protagonists shown full face, as though looking towards a camera. The composition is curious.  Three knights dominate the scene.  Sir Reginald FitzUrse is identifiable, as he is in the Exeter ceiling boss of this scene, by the bear’s head on his shield.  One knight at the front strikes at Becket’s head.  At the back of the group is clerk Edward Grim holding a cross and appears to preside over the scene.  Becket is squashed into the lower right hand section of the scene, kneeling behind an altar, his hands held, palms outwards, in front of him.  Behind him, even more squashed and barely visible, is the fourth knight, striking at Becket’s head, his sword converging with the sword of the knight in the foreground.  In spite of all four swords, the most dynamic element of the scene is the way in which Becket’s hands are raised in front of him, either in prayer, supplication or in a gesture of surrender.

Exeter Cathedral ceiling boss. Source: Feasts, Fasts, Saints and the Medieval Church blog

By contrast, the Exeter ceiling boss, which Burne says is about a century later, makes rather more compositional sense, placing Becket at the centre of the scene, looking out at the viewer with his hands raised, whilst the knights crowd in on him, intent on their deadly purpose while Grim does his best to ward them off.  It has far more dramatic impact, and is easier to understand as a narrative.  Both bosses share the same formulaic approach to the event.

When the chapel was built between c.1260 and 1280, over a century had passed since the martyrdom of Becket, and the detail of the real event had become less important than its symbolism and the theological narrative built around it.  Becket shown praying in front of an altar conveyed the sense of Becket’s purity and holiness far more efficiently than the actual scene of anger, shouting and resistance that preceded the murder. Similarly, the Grim was not a cross-bearer clerk.  However, there is an obvious dramatic advantage to showing him holding the cross as he confronted the knights in support of Becket.  It remains a peculiarity of the scene that the knights and Grim are the central characters, whilst Becket is squeezed to the side.

Who was the intended audience?

Lady Chapel, Chester Cathedral

In the 13th century the eastern end of the abbey church was the exclusive domain of the abbey monks, and it is unlikely that the Lady Chapel was seen by anyone else.  By the 14th century, the pilgrim status of Chester, with the miraculous holy rood in St John’s, and nearby pilgrim destinations at Holywell and St Asaph, lead to a reinvigorated interest in the Anglo-Saxon St Werburgh.  A new shrine to St Werburgh was built in the 1300s and according to Jessica Hodge, was situated at the east end of the quire, presumably accessed via the nave and the north aisle.  Pilgrims to the shrine would therefore have been granted access to the usually private east end, and they may have been shown the neighbouring Lady Chapel and the Becket boss as part of their pilgrimage.  Some of them may have included a visit to the Nunnery of St Mary in their travels, which possessed a relic in the form of the girdle of Thomas Becket.

Lady Chapel corbel

When they were new, the monks would have been well aware of the subject matter of the ceiling bosses.  As time went by they may have been repainted and repaired, but there will have been periods when they receded into the background.  Even today, people don’t always look up, and even when they do, they are not always sure what they are looking at.  Even if access had been generally available, the ceiling bosses are so high up that it is difficult to see the detail without either a telephoto lens or a ladder.  When I was last there, I pointed the Becket boss out to a lady who asked what I was photographing, and the only way that she could make it out, even with her distance glasses on, was to see the enlarged image on the screen of my digital camera.  Similarly, I only really got to grips with the subject matter on the other two bosses by photographing them and bringing them up on my computer screen later.

If one factors in the available lighting in the Middle Ages, which was confined to any light that passed through the stained glass windows, supplemented by candles, it is unlikely that these bosses were generally very visible from the ground.  Compare them with those in the enclosed walkway (cloister), which are much closer to the ground and therefore much easier to appreciate.

Why were images of Becket purged during the 16th century?

The Becket boss prior to restoration. Source: Godfrey W. Matthews, The Becket Boss in the Lady Chapel, Chester Cathedral

Chester became a cathedral after the Benedictine monastery of St Werburgh was dissolved by Henry VIII.    In spite of this lucky escape, it is possible that the ceiling boss was deliberately defaced at this time. Godfrey W Matthews, writing in 1934, described it as follows:  “It is very badly worn, which is curious, as the two bosses to the east of it are in a good state of reservation.  It is possible that some attempt had been made to deface it, for the figures suggest chipping.” Henry VIII imposed a policy of extreme prejudice against Becket, ordering all images of him to be destroyed.  The tomb and pilgrim shrine in Canterbury were removed in 1538 and Becket’s mortal remains disposed of.  Images throughout the country were removed.

Chester Cathedral also came under fairly savage review during the Reformation, when various architectural features and monuments were maimed or destroyed to remove overtly Catholic themes.   Most of the survivors are in high places that were difficult to reach.

Are ceiling bosses works of art, or mere architectural flourishes?

Stonemason, artist and researcher Alex Woodcock, whose PhD focuses on Exeter stone sculptures, highlights how the bright colours and dark shadows at Exeter were contrasted to give reveal a sense of depth and to emphasise the three dimensional character of the bosses and corbels.  This can be seen at Chester as well, where the depth of the three dimensional aspect of the sculpted forms provides a sense of theatre and allows simple shapes to be very skilfully highlighted.  Woodcock points out that architectural sculpture “is often assumed to be secondary to free-standing sculpture, possibly because of its very architectural function” and that because the boss would have been there anyway, the images are seen less as art than mere decoration.  As he points out, however, “in terms of the hours needed to complete the carving using hand tools, their production would appear almost prohibitive in terms of expense today.”  Not all ceiling bosses and corbels are good art, but many of them are tremendous and well worth the time taken to appreciate them as stand-alone works.

Final Comments

The Lady Chapel in the 1870s. Source: Blomfield 1879

Most of us learned a version of the “turbulent priest” story at school.  This was a man who stirred up hornets’ nests in his role as Archbishop of Canterbury, both within the royal court and within the cathedral.  He divided opinion in his own lifetime, finding friends and making enemies.  His immediate legacy was to generate a healthy income for Canterbury Cathedral, as pilgrims flocked to share in the wonders of the miracle-worker.  Politically, he became an ongoing reminder of the conflict between royalty and the Church, a symbol not merely of spiritual martyrdom, but carried with him a morality tale about the dangers of the crown having absolute power over both the church and the people.

On a vaulting boss in Chester Cathedral, accompanied by the Virgin Mary and the Holy Trinity, Becket and his murderers look down on the visitor.  Representing a scene of appalling violence, Becket, Grim and the errant knights are a reminder that throughout the early Middle Ages, the Church and the King were equally powerful, and serious conflicts ran the risk of monstrous outcomes.

After nearly 400 years of popularity, Becket and his legacy were terminally undermined by Henry VIII and the Reformation, destroying his images in cathedral, church, monastery and private residence.  Queen Mary briefly restored both Catholicism and Becket’s status, but Elizabeth I followed her father’s lead.  Although Becket is remembered today, the split from the papacy and the tidal wave of the Reformation swept away his significance and his popularity in Britain.  Having said that, the lady I was chatting to in the Lady Chapel in Chester Cathedral told me that in the congregation of her Liverpool Anglo-Catholic church they follow the missal, and continue to commemorate the date of Becket’s murder.  Although he survives mainly as a historical figure, Thomas Becket has not vanished from view.

Sources:

Books and papers

Bartlett, R. 2013. Why Can the Dead Do Such Great Things? Saints and Worshippers from the Martyrs to the Reformation.  Princeton University Press

de Beer, Lloyd, and Speakman, Naomi 2021. Thomas Becket,  Murder and the Making of a Saint.  The Trustees of the British Museum

Blomfield, Reverend Canon 1859. On the Lady Chapel in Chester Cathedral. Courant Office. Digitized by Project Gutenberg
https://www.gutenberg.org/files/61922/61922-h/61922-h.htm

Burne, R.V.H. 1962. The Monks of Chester. The History of St Werburgh’s Abbey. SPCK.

Crouch, D. 2017. Medieval Britain, c.1000-1500. Cambridge University Press

Farmer, D. 2011 (5th edition). The Oxford Dictionary of Saints. Oxford University Press

Guy, J. 2013. Thomas Becket. Warrior, Priest, Rebel, Victim.  A 900-Year-Old Story Retold.  Penguin

de Hamel, C. 2020.  The Book in the Cathedral. The Last Relic of Thomas Becket. Allen Lane

Hamilton, B. 2003.  Religion in the Medieval West.  Arnold.

Hamilton, S. 2021. Responding to Violence: Liturgy, Authority and Sacred Places c.900-c.1150.  Transactions of the Royal Historical Society 2021, 31 (202), p.23-47.

Hodge, Jessica 2017.  Chester Cathedral. Scala Arts and Heritage

Jenkins, J. 2023. Who Put the ‘a’ in ‘Thomas a Becket? The History of a Name from the Angevins to the Victorians, Open Library of Humanities 9(1) https://olh.openlibhums.org/article/id/9353/

Luxford, Julian 2005. The Art and Architecture of English Benedictine Monasteries, 1300-1540.  A Patronage History. The Boydell Press p.21-27

Matthews, G.W. The Becket Boss in the Lady Chapel, Chester.  Historic Society of Lancaster and Cheshire 86, 1934, p.41-46

Orme, N. 2017. The History of England’s Cathedrals. Impress

Schmoelz, M. 2017. Pilgrimage in medieval East Anglia.  A regional survey of the shrines and pilgrimages of Norfolk, Suffolk, volume 1.  Unpublished PhD thesis, University of East Anglia, June 2017

Webster, P. 2016. Introduction. The Cult of St Thomas Becket: An Historiographical Pilgrimage.  In Gelin, M and Webster P. (eds.) The Cult of St Thomas Becket in the Plantagenet World, c.1170-1220.  Boydell and Brewer.

Williams, Godfrey W. 1934.  The Becket Boss in the Lady Chapel, Chester.  Historic Society of Lancaster and Cheshire 86, 1934, p.41-46

Woodcock, A. 2018 (2nd edition). Of Sirens and Centaurs.  Medieval Sculpture at Exeter Cathedral. Impress Books

Websites

British Museum
A Timeline of Thomas Becket’s Life and Legacy
https://www.britishmuseum.org/exhibitions/thomas-becket-murder-and-making-saint/timeline-thomas-beckets-life-and-legacy
Who Killed Thomas Becket? (by curators Lloyd de Beer and Naomi Speakman)
https://www.britishmuseum.org/blog/who-killed-thomas-becket

Museum of London
Thomas Becket: a life and death in badges. By Kirstin Barnard.  13th February 2020
https://www.museumoflondon.org.uk/discover/thomas-becket-life-and-death-badges#/

Smithsonian Magazine
Researchers Digitally Reconstruct Thomas Becket’s Razed Canterbury Cathedral Shrine. By Meilan Solly.  9th July 2020.
https://www.smithsonianmag.com/smart-news/researchers-digitally-reconstruct-thomas-beckets-lost-canterbury-cathedral-shrine-180975280/

St Werburgh, Queen Æthelflæd, pilgrim badges and the shrine in Chester Cathedral

St Werburgh pilgrim badge, possibly 14th century, cast in lead alloy, purchased by the British Museum from a London dealer in curiosities, medals and coins. British Museum 1836,0610.73

Had you been a pilgrim in the middle ages, undertaking a journey to Chester to visit the miracle-performing shrine of St Werburgh, you might have been tempted to buy yourself a pilgrim’s badge to commemorate a job well done and to communicate your achievement to others. Most importantly, however, you would have had the opportunity to touch that badge to the saint’s shrine in order to absorb some of the saint’s divine power into the badge itself.  That’s what you are looking at on the left – a pilgrim’s badge associated with the Abbey of St Werburgh, which would have been sold to pilgrims either as they arrived, or as they left via the gift shop.  Badges like this were associated with many of the major shrines and could be added to an existing personal collection, representing the piety implied by many pilgrimages.

When I first came to live in the Chester area, just a couple of years ago, I knew the name St Werburgh and recognized that it was Anglo-Saxon, but it was a surprise to realize that she was a female saint, and that there was a pilgrim shrine dedicated to her in the former abbey (now the cathedral).  Nor did I know that the pilgrims who came to visit the abbey might purchase a badge as a token of their visit, a pious badge of honour, sometimes the signal of  the many discomforts or difficulties that had been overcome to enable a pilgrimage to be successfully completed.

Chester Cathedral, formerly St Werburgh’s Benedictine Abbey, from the east. Photograph by Stephen Hamilton.

What I particularly like about pilgrim badges is that there are so many threads to the story. An anonymous pilgrim once owned the above token of his or her journey to the shrine, now in the British Museum (albeit not on display). The British Museum purchased it in 1836 from a dealer in medals and coins called Harry Cureton.  The story of this particular badge between the time of its manufacture to its purchase by a dealer before being accessioned into the British Museum’s collections is lost, but its story is embedded in other, much older histories, including the actions of the Anglo-Saxon queen who moved that saint from Staffordshire to Chester in the 10th century, and the subsequent centuries of pilgrim visits to the abbey to experience St Werburgh for themselves.

So who was the  Anglo-Saxon saint, where was she from, why did she become central to Benedictine worship in Chester after her death, what is the geese-in-a-basket pilgrim badge all about, and what role did the shrine of St Werburgh play in the economic life of Chester’s abbey?

  • St Werburgh and her family
  • St Werburgh’s posthumous arrival in Chester
  • St Werburgh in the Benedictine monastery of 1093
  • The miracles of St Werburgh at the monastery
  • The 14th century shrine
  • Pilgrims to the shrine in the later Middle Ages – a nice little earner
  • How pilgrim badges were made, sold, worn and used
  • The Dissolution and subsequent events
  • The shrine in the 19th century
  • From Harry Cureton to the British Museum
  • Final Comments
  • Videos
  • Sources

St Werburgh and her family

Werburgh was born a Mercian princess in around AD650.  Her father was Wulfhere, king of Mercia and her mother Ermengild, who became a nun on the death of Wulfhere, first at Minster-in-Sheppey and then at Ely, where she succeeded her mother Seaxburgh as abbess.  Werburgh was educated at home by Chad, who became Bishop of Lichfield.  Although St Werburgh is depicted in a couple of the stained glass windows in the cathedral, these are modern, romanticized visualizations.  There are no contemporary depictions, and apart from having an idea of what she may have worn, her appearance is unknown.  Medieval accounts of her life probably incorporate older material, and almost certainly include quite a bit of myth and conjecture. 

Saint Æthelreda of Ely from the 10th century Benedictional of St. Æthelwold, illuminated manuscript in the British Library. Source: Wikipedia

On the death of her father, Werburgh went as a nun to the convent of Ely founded by her great aunt Æthereda (also known as Æthelthryth), who became its abbess.  St Æthelreda was the daughter of Anna, king of East Anglia, sister of Seaxburgh and the virgin wife of Egfrith, the king of Northumbria.  Werburgh’s father was succeeded by his brother Æthelred, Werburgh’s uncle, who eventually asked Werburgh to take charge of and organize nunneries in the Midlands, including Weedon in Northamptonshire, Hanbury in Staffordshire and Threckingham in Lincolnshire (or alternatively Trentham in Staffordshire).  She was so pure and good that she could hang her veil on a sunbeam.  She died at Threckingham / Trentham in around 700, and was buried at Hanbury, at her own request.  Unfortunately, the nuns at Threckingham were unwilling to release the remains, and a delegation was sent from Hanbury to retrieve her.

Saints were not canonized by the papacy until the 12th century, but had to be verified by bishops.  The miracle that caused Werburgh to be recognized as a saint was an unusual one.  Although there are a number of versions of the story, the differences are minor.  One version says that St Werburgh had enjoyed watching a visiting flock of geese in a neighbouring meadow of the convent in which she was staying.  One of them was particularly large and had a black ring of feathers around his neck.  She became fond of him and called him Grayking.  The convent steward, Hugh, had also noticed Grayking but his interest had little to do with aesthetically pleasing plumage.  Angry with the geese for devastating his field of corn, Hugh soon had Grayking in the pot.  One version says that Werburgh was away when this happened, and when she returned the remaining geese formed a delegation to inform her of the event and ask for her help.  Werbugh acted immediately, ordering that the bones and feathers of the carcass should be gathered up. When she commanded the bones of the dead goose to rise again, they assembled themselves and Grayking was reborn.

Late 14th century misericord in Chester Cathedral showing St Werburgh performing miracles. Photo by Stephen Hamilton. Source: Wikipedia

Dr Thomas Pickles (Senior Lecturer, Medieval History) recounts a slightly different version of the story in the video at the end of the post.  He goes on to discuss why other similar stories in across Europe may have developed in response to sacrifices at the time of harvests, which may have became Christianized via labourers who worked the land belonging to religious organizations, giving the St Werburgh miracle story wider relevance.

Nine years after her burial, St Werburgh’s nephew Coelred, now King of Mercia, decided to move the saint to a less modest tomb in Hanbury. When she was removed from her coffin she was found to be “in whole and perfect form,” a certain mark of sainthood.

St Werburgh’s posthumous arrival in Chester

A 13th century imaginative representation of Æthelflæd. Source: Medieval Manuscripts blog

St Werburgh never visited Chester during her lifetime, and her arrival in the Anglo-Saxon burh (fortified settlement) in around 907, over 200 years after her death, requires another thread of history that starts, for the practical purposes of this post, with Alfred the Great, King of Wessex (848 – 899AD).  Alfred’s daughter was the princess Æthelflæd who, at the age of around 15, was married for political reasons to Æthelred, king of Mercia. Æthelflæd grew up in a time of disruption and war, during the Viking incursions, and the associated competition for territory.  She was also familiar with the arts of diplomacy and negotiation.  She was well suited for the role of queen of Mercia.  Although subordinate to her husband, with duties and responsibilities, she also had rights, privileges and a position of respect that she clearly built on, being recognized as partner to her husband in many of their joint enterprises, including the establishment of new burghs at Worcester and Gloucester, whilst improving existing towns such as Hereford and Winchcombe. 

Æthelflæd’s father, Alfred the Great, died on 26th October 899, and was succeeded as King of Wessex by his eldest son, Edward the Elder, brother of Æthelflæd.  Edward was forced to fight off a counter claim from his cousin Æthelwold.  He was triumphant but was forced to address the situation again in 902 when Æthelwold unsuccessfully mounted another campaign against Edward. In the same year Æthelflæd’s mother died, probably in St Mary’s Abbey in Winchester, which she had founded, and a threat was made to the northwestern territory of Mercia at Chester.  It was only now, when the vulnerability of the old town threatened the security of the kingdom of Mercia that it drew attention from Æthelred and his Æthelflæd.   In the last decade of his life Æthelred suffered a recurring illness, and he had succumbed to a bout of this affliction when Chester came under threat. Æthelflæd assumed authority during the crisis.

Kingdoms in England in AD878, by Hel-hama. Source: Wikipedia

In the 890s Chester was described in the Anglo-Saxon Charters as “a deserted city in Wirral.”  It still had much of its Roman walls, but the interior was in ruins.  Mercia had been a much larger and more powerful kingdom in its past, but the Viking (Scandinavian) invasions had taken control of the eastern reaches of the former kingdom.  In the south, Wessex was the most powerful kingdom, whilst in the northeast the king of Northumbria still held land on the east half of the island, extending well into present-day Scotland.  The Dane-controlled land ran down much of the east coast south of Northumbria, and there was a significant Scandinavian presence in Ireland.

It was from Ireland that the threat to Chester emerged.  In 902 the Irish kings formed an alliance to rid themselves of the Vikings, capturing Norse Dublin and forcing many to leave as groups of refugees in need of new lands to colonize.  One of these refugees was Ingimund, who lead one of these ousted groups onto Anglesey.  Forcibly ejected by the Welsh, they followed the Dee inland towards Chester.  According to one source, they requested a meeting with the Mercian royalty.  With Æthelred still sick, Æthelflæd met with Ingimund who proposed a peaceful solution to the dilemma.  Æthelflæd was pragmatically willing to negotiate a home for them on the north of the Wirral peninsula, perhaps believing that they might provide a protective buffer against other Viking interests seeking to find new territory to colonize.  Here they could have lived in peace by farming and trading via the sea routes, but they had been settled for only a few years when Ingimund broke faith with Æthelflæd and began to amass troops.  Hearing of the threat, Æthelflæd assembled forces of her ow within the Chester walls.  The town was besieged but the Mercians emerged triumphant.

Æthelflaed’s name (spelled Æþelflæd), in the B-text of the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle: Cotton MS Tiberius A VI, f. 30r. Source: Medieval Manuscripts Blog

In 907 the Anglo-Saxon Charter says that Chester was “restored,” the work usually credited to Æthelflæd.  With Æthelred temporarily restored to health, they couple established Chester as a new burgh within the 5m (16ft) tall walls encompassing an area of 26 hectares (65 acres).  It was far bigger than their previous burhs, and represented a significant investment in the border town.  At the same time, Æthelflæd took the decision to move the relics of St Werburgh from Hanbury to Chester.  The timing was probably driven by the threat to the relics of St Werburgh at Hanbury by advancing Danish forces. This echoes Æthelflæd’s decision to move the relics of St Oswald from lands under Danish occupation, which took place under similar circumstances.  The decision to move St Werburgh to Chester may have been motivated by the need to give Chester an authentic, stabilizing Christian focus with links back to a noble Mercian past.  The creation of a prominent settlement in a vulnerable borderline position needed to attract people with the same features familiar from other towns.

According to St Weburgh monk Henry Bradshaw, writing in c.1513, but probably referencing much earlier sources, when the saint was removed to Chester, her body was found to be ‘resolued unto powder’, which was seen not in terms of decay or corruption of the remains, but as a divine miracle performed to protect the saint’s holy remains:

Lest the cruell gentils / and wiked myscreantes
With pollute handes full of corrupcion
Shulde touche her body / by indignation

Excerpt from Henry Bradshaw’s “The Life of St Wereburge of Chester,” originally 1513, re-edited and published 1887

Although there is no incontrovertible data to support the presence of a church on the site of St Werburgh’s Abbey, there is a tradition that a wooden church dedicated to Saints Peter and Paul had been founded there by Æthelflæd’s father Wulfhere, King of Mercia, which would have housed her remains.  This church would have been rededicated to St Werburgh when the saint became resident.  Archaeological excavations produced pre-Norman building materials, but it is not possible to assign an early 10th century date to them.  Wherever the church was located, the patronage of the queen ensured the initial success, and it received additional grants throughout the 10th century, including one from King Edgar in 958.  In the 1086 Domesday survey records the monastery and its possessions, indicating that the Anglo-Saxon St Werburgh’s was upgraded from church to monastery sometime before that date.

In 911 Æthelred died of unknown causes probably related to his recurring illness.  He was buried in Gloucester.  Many previous royal widows of the period had retired to a convent to live out the rest of their lives.  There was plenty of precedent in Æthelflæd’s own family for monastic service.  One great aunt was the founder of Ely Abbey, another was the founder of Minster-in Sheppey abbey, and Æthelflæd’s own mother had retired on the death of Wulfhere to a nunnery, eventually becoming abbess of Ely.  Æthelflæd, however, took the reigns of the Mercian government into her own hands, ruling as myrcna hlæfdige, Lady of the Mercians.  The church-monastery of St Werburgh continued to house the saint’s remains, and seems to have survived the military action that took place in and around Chester following the Conquest.

St Werburgh in the Benedictine monastery of 1093

Coat of arms of Hugh d’Avranche. Source: Wikipedia

In 1093, only 27 years after the Norman Conquest, the abbey was refounded as an Anglo-Norman Benedictine abbey by the notorious knight and magnate Hugh d’Avranches, also known as Hugh Lupus.  Hugh and been granted Chester as Earl by William I, and was one of the most powerful men in England.  His appointment followed William I’s vengeful retaliation against Chester for two rebellions, which had left the city in disarray.  Hugh’s task was to ensure that the city remained docile after William departed, serving the crown as the northenmost marcher town, a buffer zone between Wales and England, and an increasingly important commercial port.

There were many possible reasons for landowners to found monastic establishments, including convention (it was often seen as the duty of the nobility to promote religious houses), political maneovering, simple piety, and fear of the ever-approaching perils of the afterlife.  Hugh’s decision to refound the abbey was probably  two-fold.  Whilst making a conspicuous contribution to a deeply resentful city for which he was now responsible, and in which he needed to maintain the peace, he was also looking after his own spiritual interests.  He managed to secure one of the most high status bishops in the country, Anselm to come and supervise the project, and Anselm left his clerk Richard to become the first abbot.  Hugh endowed his shiny new monastery with rich and prosperous lands to ensure its self-sufficiency.  These were not merely charitable acts.  Hugh Lupus, for example, was heading perilously towards the end of a far from virtuous life.  John Hicklin, writing in 1852, gives an evocative summary of the situation

Hugh Lupus, following the example of most of his predecessors, lived a life of the wildest luxury and rapine.  At length, falling sick from the consequence of his excesses, and age and disease coming on, the old hardened soldier was struck with remorse; and—an expiation common enough in those days—the great Hugh Lupus took the cowl, retired in the last state of disease into the monastery, and in three days was no more.

By founding a monastery and committing himself to a brief period as a monk at the last possible moment, Hugh attempted to provide himself with some after-life insurance.  The logic of this is somewhat difficult to compute today.

The curvilinear Romanesque remains of the abbey financed by Hugh Lupus, seen through a later gothic arch.

Monks were considered to be closer to Heaven than any other human on earth, and their prayers were thought to be heard with undiluted clarity by God.  The idea of pleasing God by founding a monastery, and then reaching closer to Heaven by being buried within the monastic cloister seems suspiciously like inducement today, and one would have thought that God would have been wise to such manoeuvring.  Given the sheer number of wealthy men and women founding abbeys and priories, however, this aspect of the matter does not appear to have occurred to them.  Matters had became much more contractual during the 11th, when the idea of purgatory was taught in the church.  This intermediate area between heaven and hell allowed redeemable sinners to suffer a hell-like experience to work off their crimes against Christianity before eventually entering Heaven.   From this time onward, substantial efforts were made to negotiate for reduced time spent in purgatory, including the buying of “indulgences,” and gifts from the lower echelons to monasteries.

After the original endowment, the abbey continued to receive many properties over the centuries from wealthy local landowners, and smaller gifts in the wills of those who were not quite as well positioned, all attempting to win the good will of the monks, and through them, the divine.  Those with less purchasing power would not anticipate having the same negotiating power, but every contribution might help.  In the process of all this human fear and negotiations to minimize the inevitable punishments after death, monasteries became substantially wealthy, some of the richest landowners in the kingdom.  Land was not, however, their only form of income.  Not all monasteries were lucky enough to secure the bones, blood or hair of a saint that might attract pilgrims, but the abbey of St Werburgh still retained the bones of St Werburgh after its rebuild in 1093.

The miracles of St Werburgh at the abbey in Chester

Neither Goscelin de St-Bertin writing in the late 11th century, nor William of Malmesbury, writing in the 12th century were able to provide many details about the earlier miracles that St Werburgh was supposed to have performed at Chester, but William of Malmesbury has the following to say:  “The merits of this virgin are proclaimed at Chester and her miracles extolled.  Although she is promptly favourable to the petitions of all, she is especially quick to give heed to the prayers of women and children.”  Her girdle, held by the abbey, was apparently particularly popular with pregnant women.

Basingwerk Abbey today

In 1500 a monk at St Werburgh’s Abbey wrote a life of St Werburgh in which he credits her with a miracle on behalf of Richard, Earl of Chester in around 1120.  Richard made a pilgrimage to St Winifrede’s Well at Holywell in around 1120 but attacked by hostile Welsh men, he was forced to shelter at nearby Basingwerk Abbey.  Before William, Constable of Chester, set forth to search for the earl, he prayed to St Werburgh, who parted the river Dee because no boat was available, permitting William and his men to walk across the river bed and rescue the earl.  In another story, St Werburgh intervened during an unexpected Welsh attack on Chester.  She blinded the attackers, forcing them to retreat.  This military aspect to the saint is underlined by the tradition of taking the shrine on procession around the city when it was considered to be under threat, setting her down briefly on parts of the city walls.

In the 15th century the Welsh poets Maredudd ap Rhys and Guto’r Glyn called there, the one to pray to ease the pains in his legs, which was apparently a successful visit, and the other to pray for the alleviation of the ills of a friend.

The 14th century shrine

The reconstructed shrine of St Werburgh at the west end of the Lady Chapel in St Werburgh’s Cathedral, Chester.  It was reassembled in the 19th Century from broken -up parts, and it is impossible to say how closely it resembles the original 14th century shrine.  The warm lighting is as it would have been seen by candle-light.

Nearly 250 years after Hugh’s foundation, in around 1340 (just before the Black Death) a new red sandstone shrine was built for the saint, an elaborate gothic affair around 7ft (2.1m) tall, built to look like a chapel.  The new shrine, on two levels, contained whatever remained of the relics in the upper layer, whilst the lower half was provided with niches into which pilgrims could fold themselves to get even closer to the spirituality of the saint.  The top was decorated with statuettes for former Anglo-Saxon monarchs, most of whom are missing their heads today.  Little carved animals formed a line around the middle, images of the natural world that were as much part of God’s creation as people.  Today, the only one of these natural world carvings left is a tiny dog, scratching his ear with a hind leg.  The shrine was also, in all likelihood, bedecked with elaborate precious stones, its architectural details finished in gold.

Although today it is located in the 13th century Lady Chapel, it was originally located in the easternmost bay of the presbytery, behind the high altar.  The relics of the saint were encased very safely within the very top of the shrine, but the spiritual power of the bones themselves emanated from the relics, permeating the stone, so that touching the shrine was equivalent to touching the saint’s essence.  This was a powerful concept, and a vibrant presence in the monastery.   This substantial monument was a permanent fixture.  There would be no carrying the shrine through the town in times of threat or stress.

St Werburgh’s shrine showing the niches, the dog scratching it’s ear and gilded statuettes, some without their heads, of Anglo-Saxon kings. Click to enlarge

Pilgrims to the shrine in the later Middle Ages – a nice little earner

Mid 14th century coins. Source: Medieval Britain

Monks needed to make a living.  Monastic communities became more expensive as the centuries rolled forward, as the trappings of seclusion and self-denial fell away towards the 16th century.  Guests, who were not expected to pay for their upkeep, were always a drain on popular monastic establishments, and alms to the poor still had to be paid.  Expenses too accrued from the management of extensive estates, including wages for bailiffs and labourers, repairs to buildings and boundaries, and the costs involved in agricultural production.  Churches appropriated by the monastery for their incomes still involved costs, including the provision of an incumbent priest.  St Werburgh’s was often involved in legal disputes with Chester citizens, and this too was costly.  After the stricter earlier middle ages, standards began to slip in Benedictine monasteries.  Abbots rolled out ambitious extension plans for the monastic church, and required larger and more luxurious  quarters, which included spaces where VIP guests could be lavishly entertained, costly vanity projects that formed part of their legacy.  Provisions became more luxurious and more expensive.  The upkeep of a vast monastic architectural complex could be eye-watering, even without the occasional devastating fire or flood.  Balancing the books was a constant headache for monastic establishments.

Cripples collecting healing oil at the shrine of St William of York, York Minster, North Choir Transept. Early 15th century. Source: The Becket Story (© Dean & Chapter York).

By the later middle ages, when imaginative ways of generating income were increasingly critical to monastic wellbeing, pilgrims were a great way of generating income.  Pilgrimages were usually journeys of meaning, sometimes deeply spiritual and personal, characterized by any number of aspirations including cures for illnesses and defects, expressions of penitence, a wish to feel the presence of something holy, and the urge to give thanks for a prayer answered;  but pilgrimages could also be timed to enjoy feasts, fairs and markets, and as such were not merely pious and spiritual, but could be a sociable and enjoyable liberation from the mundane.  When pilgrims visited shrines, tombs and reliquaries to satisfy personal needs, the monastery expected pilgrims to show their gratitude to the saint and to Heaven by gifting a contribution to the monastic coffers in the form of “altarage.”  This was usually money, but sometimes it took the form of valuable gifts.  

Clusters of shrines were good news for everyone.  Pilgrims to a particular shrine would frequently do the rounds of all the other major religious sites and shrines in the immediate area, as well as those further afield in the region, soaking up all the divinity available.  In Chester itself, St Werburgh’s shrine was in competition with the miracle-performing Holy Rood (a sculpture of Christ on the cross) in St John’s the Baptist’s Church (next to the amphitheatre), which was reputed to  include a piece of the true cross, reputed to have been found by Helen, the mother of the Emperor Constantine.  It was installed in around 1250.  Although St Werburgh became a secondary attraction after this date, the rood at St John’s was far better known and carried more weight because the power of the crucifix of Christ himself was rather more compelling to pilgrims than an Anglo-Saxon saint.  It was to the Holy Rood of St John’s that Edward I took the nobility of Gwynedd men to swear fealty before himself and God. 

The glorious 15th century vaulting above the clear water of the inner reservoir of St Winifrede’s Well, Holywell.

Some shrines were more revered than others and had great pulling power, which could generate satisfying levels of income.  The ownership of St Winifrede’s Well in Holywell (northeast Wales), for example, alternated between St Werburgh’s Abbey and Basingwerk Abbey just down the hill from the well, depending on whether the English or Welsh were in control of the area, and this represented a useful form of income for whichever abbey was in command of its resources.  It is also probable that many of the pilgrims visiting Chester were en route to the Cathedral of St Asaph (Llanelwy), which contained the 6th century relics of the eponymous saint, renowned for his healing miracles, and St Winifrede’s sacred Well, enclosed by some superb gothic architecture.  These were located 28 (45km) and 14 miles (22km) away from Chester respectively, and 16 miles (26km) from each other.  The east-west pilgrim route between Holywell and St Asaph was well known by the later medieval period, making use of the Deva-Varis-Canovium-Segontium (Chester to Caernarfon) Roman road, which was crossed by Offa’s Dyke and took in the beautifully carved late 10th century Maen Achyfan cross, which still stands today.  At St Winefrede’s Well, the nearby Cistercian monks of Basingwerk Abbey provided all the facilities that the pilgrims might need to make the most of the experience.  The 7th century saint’s remains had actually been removed to Shrewsbury Abbey in 1138, but Holywell was the site of the miracle in which she died by beheading and was brought back to life, and was imbued with miraculous potency.  

A selection of Medieval and post-Medieval pilgrim badges. Source: British Museum

Because pilgrims travelled to specific shrines, it is easy to think of pilgrimages exclusively in terms of destinations, but the act of making a pilgrimage was as much about the journey as the destination, and pilgrim routes could be both sociable experiences shared with like-minded individuals, and essential to the spiritual character of the undertaking.  As pilgrim routes became fixed in the religious round, they became special places in the landscape, with identities of their own, and features that singled them out as part of the greater network of pilgrim experience.

Although St Werburgh’s Abbey  would undoubtedly have preferred to be the most important of the local shrines, and would have done its best to attract pilgrims, it certainly benefited from the proximity of more fashionable and perhaps more relatable pilgrim destinations nearby, and the network of routes that connected them.  The 14th century shrine was almost certainly built to jump on the bandwagon of pilgrim visits to Chester, and to provide a more impressive and inclusive experience for pilgrims, without losing the connection with the Anglo-Saxon past. 

St Thomas Becket pilgrim badge. Source: Museum of London

There are no records surviving from St Werburgh’s to indicate what sort of income the monastery derived from pilgrims, but nearby  St John the Baptist’s Holy Rood was the second most important source of three primary sources of income for the church, amounting to in excess of £50.00 per annum in the 14th century (the National Archives Currency Convertor equates this, for 1350, to £29,361 in modern money or, for example, 72 horses or 135 cows.  This is half the value of the nationally important Ethelreda’s shrine at Ely, which in 1408/9 earned £19 9s 10d, and is a drop in the ocean to what St Thomas Becket’s shrines could attract from both British and western European pilgrims:  £120 in 1411 and a staggering £360 in the Jubilee year of 1420, which equates to day to around £231,483, which could have purchased 83 horses or 620 cows. St Winifrede’s Well earned an annual revenue by the time of the Reformation of £157 15s 2d, which probably included the sale of indulgences.

Altarage was also payable on saints feast days by anyone attending the celebration.  For St Werburgh, this day was 3rd February.  Again, we have no records for St Werburgh, but at Selby Abbey in Yorkshire, which held a shrine of St Germain, the festival of the Burial of St German on the 1st October in 1446-1447 earned the abbey 16s.8d., and the offerings for the festival of the Death of the saint on 31st July earned 6s.  The money-box (stipite) of St Germain accumulated £9. 14s 10d for the year.  Again, these were useful contributions to an abbey’s financial resources, amounting to £6790 in modern money, which would purchase 14 horses or 27 cows.

St Werburgh’s would have been a long way down the pilgrimage and altarage income scale, but the earnings would still have been valuable.

How pilgrim badges were made, sold, worn and used

St Werburgh’s pilgrim badges being made in stone moulds. Photograph by Colin Torode of Lionheart Replicas, with my thanks to Colin for sending it to me.

Before badges were available, pilgrims might collect earth from around a shrine, or chip of small pieces off the shrine itself.  Small vessels could be used to carry holy water or oils.  Low-cost badges were a far more satisfying and permanent memento of a pilgrimage successfully undertaken, and first appear during the 12th century.  Decorated metal ampullae too, were manufactured to hold liquids, but in smaller numbers.  Wealthier pilgrims might order a custom-made item, which might be made of a more expensive material, but the less expensive materials are by far the most frequently represented in museum and personal collections.  By the 15th century they might cost as little as a penny for twelve.  One of the appealing aspects of the pilgrim badges is that the majority that survive today were clearly made for those who did not have much surplus cash to spend on souvenirs.

A selection of pilgrim badges. Source: The Digital Pilgrim website.

The badges were cast in moulds, which would have required careful crafting.  The mould was usually made of stone, preferably limestone.  A liquid alloy was poured into it to set, usually comingling lead with either pewter or tin.  Lead was locally available, and the other ores were inexpensive and could be imported.  Once solidified, the object was removed from its mould, trimmed, polished and was then ready to sell.  The photograph above  shows one of Colin Torode’s stone moulds, in use for making St Werburgh pilgrim badges for Lionheart Historical Pewter Replicas, which sells many replica pilgrim badges (I have their lovely St Werburgh geese-in-the-basket).  See the brief video by the Digital Pilgrims Project at the end of the post to see how some of these objects were made.

The pilgrim badges were sold at the abbey gates, or in stalls in town markets.  If purchased before a visit to the shrine, the pilgrim badge could be touched to the shrine, so that it would permeate the badge itself with its spiritual energy.  It could then be dipped into a liquid to be swallowed as a health cure or rubbed onto a wound as a salve.  Given its portability, it could also be carried back to someone who was unfit to make the pilgrimage so that they could benefit from the power of the shrine.

The pilgrim badges were usually worn with great pride, sewn on to items of outer clothing like hats or coats, or on bags.  Over time, as they became familiar and were transferred from old to new clothing, they probably became apotropaic lucky talismans, as well as items of religious meaning.  Sometimes they were pinned to walls of homes.

The Dissolution and subsequent events

The opening page of the Valor Ecclesiasticus, the beginning of the Dissolution of the monasteries, showing Henry VIII presiding over the nation’s extaordinary religious shake-up. Source: Wikipedia

Although Henry VIII ordered the dissolution of the abbey in 1536, its conversion into a cathedral saved it from wholescale destruction.  Although it retained most of its key components, some features fell victim to reformers.  Henry VIII’s withdrawal from the Catholic church was only realistically viable because of a movement in Europe that challenged what it saw as the papal hierarchy’s abuse of the core ideals of Christianity.  In 1517, nearly 20 years before the Dissolution, Martin Luther at the University of Wittenberg in Germany, disgusted by the financial corruption of the papacy and the clergy, began to  promote the emergence of a more honest, less moderated religion in which men and women could worship in their homes as well as in their churches and build a more direct relationship with Christ and God.  The existence of Purgatory was rejected, the appeal to saints for their intercession was deemed idolatrous, religious images that had been the focal points of worship were condemned, and the role of the clergy as a bridge between people and God was challenged.

In England the reform movement was politically and socially necessary both  to usher in Henry’s new era and to avoid the new religious house being labelled heretical.  Using Martin Luther’s reforming as a launch pad, an older, purer version of religion was sought.  As part of the process, effigies and saints were to be removed with extreme prejudice.  Targets of this reforming zeal included emblems of the later Anglo-Saxon period as well as those of the medieval period.  The 14th century shrine of St Werburgh really did not stand a chance.  The shrine was dismantled and parts were used to build a tomb for the first bishop.  Later, in 1635, elements were incorporated into an episcopal throne.

St Werburgh’s shrine in the 19th century

Sir Arthur William Blomfield at his drawing board. Source: Falklandsbiographies.org

When some pieces of the shrine were rediscovered in the 19th century, Sir Arthur Blomfield attempted a reconstruction, which is what stands in the Lady Chapel today.  The small statues of the Saxon kings do survive, but their heads are missing;  of the little figures that adorned it, only a dog scratching its ear with a hind leg now survives.  It was reassembled in the Lady Chapel.

Although St Werburgh no longer attracts pilgrims, the well of St Winefrede at Holywell, near Basingwerk Abbey on the north Wales coast, still does.  Although more usual in Catholic parts of Europe than in Anglican Britain, pilgrimage continues to offer the option of a spiritual journey today, and pilgrim badges continue to be collected by those who make the journey.  The gift shop at St Winifrede’s well contains a wide and colourful selection of religious memorabilia. See the Encountering a Pilgrim’s Medal video at the end of the post for comments on a modern pilgrim badge.

From Harry Cureton to the British Museum

There’s one last thread to the story.  According to the British Museum’s records, in 1836 it purchased the badge at the top of this post from one Henry (Harry) Osborne Cureton who conducted his trade in London variously as a curiosity dealer, a medallist and coin dealer.   In the February 1851 edition of the Athenaeum an advert was placed, announcing that Cureton’s entire stock was being sold off due to his retirement. The British Museum’s web page about Harry Cureton suggests that that after this he may have been employ in some capacity at the Museum.  If the British Museum was one of the buyers of the collection advertised in the Athenaeum, Cureton may have been hired to catalogue the objects, of which the St Werburgh pilgrim badge may have been one.

Athenaeum no.1215, February 8th 1851 advert by Messrs S. Leigh Sotheby and John Wilkinson for the sale at auction of Harry Osborn Cureton’s stock of coins, medals and antiquities. Source:  Google Books

The badge is not on display at the British Museum, which is a shame but not terribly surprising.  As the British Museum’s Fact Sheet explains, it’s collection totals at least 8 million objects, of which roughly roughly 80,000 (1%) are on public display at any one time, the rest remaining in storage.

Just as one expects pilgrims to travel, one expects pilgrim badges to travel.  Margery Kempe, early 14th century wife, mother of fourteen children, visionary and pilgrim, managed to fit in pilgrimages to the Holy Land via Italy, to Santiago de Compostela in Spain, and to Danzig in Prussia.  We have no idea where the owner of the St Werburgh badge might have worn it on his or her travels, but it is not at all surprising to find that it ended its travels in London.

Final Comments

1916 window in St Werburgh’s in the refectory, showing an imaginative, romantic view of the saint. Photograph by Wolfgang Sauber. Source: Wikipedia

This post started with an image of geese in a basket, an emblem of St Werburgh that was cast and sold to pilgrims as a totem of their enterprising pilgrimage to the shrine of a Mercian princess, St Werburgh, within the abbey at Chester. By exploring the connection between a 7th century saint who was buried in Staffordshire and a 10th century Mercian queen who translated (transferred) the remains of the saint to Chester, we encounter the Viking colonisation of Britain.  The new shrine containing the saint’s relics in Chester was a powerful new emblem of Christian faith, using affinity to the earlier Anglo-Saxon past to provide meaning and reassurance in the very turbulent present.

In 1093, when Hugh Lupus, first Earl of Chester decided to put his stamp on Chester and, at the same time, pave his way to a comfortable afterlife by founding an impressive Benedictine monastery, the saint was provided with a new home, echoing Æthelflæd’s own intentions.  St Werburgh’s original Anglo-Saxon shrine was built to evoke both the past and the present, using history to provide a sense of continuity and stability as Chester entered a new era.  Some of this sense of the present being reinforced by the past was carried forward into the 14th century shrine as well.  St Werburgh went on to generate income for the monastery throughout the middle ages.    

Pilgrims on the road to Canterbury. John Lydgate’s Prologue of the Siege of Thebes c. 1457–1460: Royal MS 18 D II, f. 148r.Few pilgrimages would have been so comfortably and elegantly undertaken.  Source:  British Library

A pilgrim badge, even if it was mass-produced and relatively inexpensive, was an attractive symbol, and one to wear with pride, but was not merely an inanimate souvenir.  By touching it to the shrine, it became a conduit of spirituality, transmitting the essence, goodness and potentially curative powers of the saint within.  In an era in which Christ was universally accepted as being embedded in the Eucharist via transubstantiation, a Church-given reality, the idea of objects like pilgrim badges as agents of transformation was not a theoretical matter but another everyday Christian reality.  Intrinsically the badge had an active, multi-functional role as a medium of the shrine’s essence, and as a symbol of hope, piety, charity, perseverance and / or status. The medieval period offered pilgrims a fluid, multi-layered religious existence in which, if they were deserving, the secular and spiritual could mingle in certain places under certain conditions.  In a sense, whilst the shrine cannot be divided and shared, the pilgrim badge, the emblem of the shrine and sometimes the vessel holding the essence of the shrine, is a way of dividing the shrine infinitely amongst those who invested it with their beliefs and hopes.

Detail of St Werburgh’s shrine

The static 14th century shrine and the multiple, travelling pilgrim badges were firmly linked.  The shrine, unmoving, connected to a long-lost Anglo-Saxon past, was rooted to its particular spot. The pilgrim badges, by contrast, were all about the here and now, both for the craftsmen who made them and for the visiting pilgrims who purchased them.  The shrine would have existed without the pilgrim badges, but the badges were dependent on both the shrine and the pilgrims.  Whilst the memory was alive, the badge containing the memory remained a connected to the shrine via the pilgrim.  The shrine, acting as the anchor for such experiences, stayed firmly put, but its tendrils extended into the secular world via the tales told by the pilgrims who had visited, encouraging others to replicate the experience. 

At some point, the pilgrim badge was parted from the pilgrim.  Perhaps the pilgrim died and it was inherited by one of his or her children.  Later in its history it encountered another point of departure and re-entered into the world of commercial transactions.  Eventually, it found its way into the ownership of a dealer in portable objects, like medals and coins, and in the 1860s was accessioned into the collection of the British Museum, where it is now buried in storage.  Perhaps one day it will emerge to perform a role as a piece of valued heritage, but for the time being, it is divorced from any of the realities that it once served. 

St Werburgh’s replica pilgrim badge made by Lionheart Historical Pewter Replicas (photograph from their website)

Quite apart from looking great on my favourite black coat, my own replica St Werburgh’s badge (shown right) can be seen as an aspect of the St Werburgh shrine’s new identity.  Today the shrine finds itself as part of the discussion about modern contexts, including conservation, tourism, academic research and local history, where current perspectives reinvent churches, cathedrals and shrines in many different, novel ways, and contribute to ongoing narratives.  My newly purchased badge has become part of that ongoing story.  It’s a nice thought.  The reassembled shrine in the Lady Chapel does not contain St Werburgh’s relics, but the saint remains irrefutably embedded into the fabric of the cathedral and is central to its identity.

—–_______—


Videos:

Why did St Werburgh of Chester Resurrect a Goose?

By Dr Thomas Pickles, University of Chester

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Video: Metal Casting – Pilgrim Badge

By the Digital Pilgrims Project


Video
modern pilgrim token from Pilgrim Flask page

Piers Baker-Bates of the Open University talks about the value of his own pilgrimage memento

Click to play. Source: Open University

Staffordshire Moments: St Werburgh’s story

A tongue-in-cheek but remarkably effective version of St Werburgh’s story.

 


Sources:

Books and papers

Blair, J. 2005. The Church in Anglo-Saxon Society. Oxford University Press

Bond, J. 2010.  Monastic Landscapes. The History Press

Bradshaw, H. 1513 (edited and republished by Horstmann, C. 1887).  The Life of St Werberge of Chester. The Early English Text Society
https://ia800208.us.archive.org/23/items/lifeofsaintwerbu00braduoft/lifeofsaintwerbu00braduoft.pdf

Burne, R.V.H. 1962.  The Monks of Chester. The History of St Werburgh’s Abbey. SPCK

Clarke, C.  2011.  Remembering Anglo-Saxon Mercia in late medieval and early modern Chester. In Clarke, C. (ed.) Mapping Medieval Chester: place and identity in an English borderland city c.1200-1500, p.201-218

Varnam, L. 2013. Sanctity and the City. Sacred Space in Henry Bradshaw,’s Life of St Werburge. In Clarke, C. (ed.) Mapping Medieval Chester: place and identity in an English borderland city c.1200-1500, p.114-130

Claassen, C. 2011.  Waning pilgrimage paths and modern roadscapes: moving through  landscape in northern Guerrero, Mexico. World Archaeology, vol.43, iss.3, p.493-504

Clarkson, T. 2018. Æthelflæd. The Lady of the Mercians. John Donald

Hahn, H.P. and Weiss, H. 2013. Introduction:  Biographies, travels and itineraries of things.  In Hahn, H.P and Weiss, H. (eds.) Mobility, Meaning and Transformations of Things.  Shifting contexts of material culture through time and space. Oxbow Books

Hicklin, J. 1852.  A History of Chester Cathedral with biographical notices of the Bishops and Deans. George Prichard

Jones, D. 1957. The Church in Chester 1300-1540. Chetham Society

Garland, L.M. 2005. Aspects of Welsh Saints’ Cults and Pilgrimage c.1066-1530.  Unpublished PhD, Kings College London

Gilchrist, R. 2013. The materiality of medieval heirlooms:  From biographical to sacred objects.  In Hahn, H.P and Weiss, H. (eds.) Mobility, Meaning and Transformations of Things.  Shifting contexts of material culture through time and space. Oxbow Books

Goscelin de St-Bertin 1974 (N. J. Munday, translator). The Life of St. Werburg by Goscelin.  Friends of Chester Cathedral

Kempe, M. (translated with introduction by Windeatt, B. 1985) The Book of Margery Kempe.  Penguin Classics

Locker, M.D. 2015.  Landscapes of Pilgrimage in Medieval Britain.  Archaeopress

Lynch, J.H. 1992. The Medieval Church. A Brief History. Longman.

Mason, D. 2007.  Chester AD400-1066. From Roman Fortress to English Town. Tempus

Moreland, J. 2010.  Archaeology, Theory and the Middle Ages.  Understanding the Early Medieval Past.  Duckworth.

Schmoelz, M. 2017. Pilgrimage in medieval East Anglia. A regional survey of the shrines and pilgrimages of Norfolk and Suffolk. Unpublished PhD, University of East Anglia

Tillotson, J.H. 1988.  Monastery and Society in the Late Middle Ages.  Selected Account Rolls from Selby Abbey, Yorkshire 1398-1537. The Boydell Press

Turner Camp, C. 2011. Inventing the Past in Henry Bradshaw’s ‘Life of St Werburge’, Exemplaria, vol.23, iss.3, p244-267

Webb, D. 2000.  Pilgrimage in Medieval England. Hambledon and London

Whitehead, A. 2020.  Mercia. The Rise and Fall of a Kingdom. Amberley

Websites

The Becket Story
Medieval pilgrimage
https://thebecketstory.org.uk/

British Library – Medieval Manuscripts Blog
Pilgrimages: Medieval Summer Holidays?  By Chantry Westwell 29th July 2018
https://blogs.bl.uk/digitisedmanuscripts/2018/07/pilgrimages-medieval-summer-holidays.html

British Museum
St Werburgh Pilgrim Badge 1836,061.73
https://www.britishmuseum.org/collection/object/H_1836-0610-73
Fact Sheet: British Museum Collection
https://www.britishmuseum.org/sites/default/files/2019-10/fact_sheet_bm_collection.pdf
Harry Osborn Cureton
https://www.britishmuseum.org/collection/term/BIOG67986

The Electronic Sawyer
Online Catalogue of Anglo-Saxon Charters
https://esawyer.lib.cam.ac.uk/about/index.html

Kemble – The Anglo-Saxon Charters Website
Chester
http://dk.robinson.cam.ac.uk/node/25

Mapping Medieval Chester
Henry Bradshaw, Life of St Werburge by Catherine Clarke 2008
https://www.medievalchester.ac.uk/texts/introbradshaw.html

Medieval London
Pilgrim Badge
https://medievallondon.ace.fordham.edu/collections/show/28

Museum of London
Medieval pilgrim souvenirs
https://collections.museumoflondon.org.uk/online/group/19998.html

Paul Mellon Centre
The Digital Pilgrim Project
https://www.paul-mellon-centre.ac.uk/whats-on/forthcoming/digital-pilgrim-project
and sketchfab.com/britishmuseum/collections/digital-pilgrim

The Pilgrims Guide
Thomas Becket Badges: Developments and Interpretations of His Cult since the Twelfth Century
thepilgrimsguide.com/projects/thomas-becket-badges-developments-and-interpretations-of-his-cult-since-the-twelfth-century/

University of London. Department of History of Art
The Digital Pilgrim Project
https://www.hoart.cam.ac.uk/research/past-projects/the-digital-pilgrim-project

 

The Dominican Friary at Rhuddlan

Introduction

Rhuddlan Friary by Samuel and Nathaniel Buck 1742.  Click to see the larger image. Source: Coflein

Prior to visiting Edward I’s 1277 Rhuddlan Castle (upcoming) I was having a look on the Ordnance Survey map of Rhuddlan, and saw that a little way downriver from Edward I’s castle, and beyond the earlier motte-and-bailey castle of Twthill, there is a site marked as “remains of a friary.”  I was unaware of anything there, so I had a look through my books and on the Coflein website.  Sure enough, there was a substantial Dominican friary there, established in 1258 by Llywelyn ap Grufudd (Llywelyn the Last), 19 years prior to Edward I’s castleIt went the way of the greater percentage of monastic establishments, and was dissolved by Henry VIII in 1538.  In some texts it is referred to as a priory, but the friaries were originally quite different from abbeys and priories.

The site of the Rhuddlan Dominican Friary today. The farm in the foreground lies over the site, and some of the buildings incorporate elements from the Medieval building. Source: Coflein

Today there is almost no sign that it ever existed.  This is by no means an isolated case of a monastic or mendicant building being erased from the landscape.  Of around 270 friaries of the different orders, only 15 in England and Wales have survived well enough to determine their layout and appearance.  Some are known only from their archaeological remains and others have yet to be investigated archaeologically and therefore appear, for all intents and purposes, to have vanished.  In the case of Rhuddlan Friary, there are details of its past that can be recovered even without any ruins to examine, although it has been a jigsaw assembled by many people and published in different places.  The earliest useful account, by Harry Longueville Jones in 1847, worked hard to pull together the various tenuous threads, as its author describes:  “The unsatisfactory complaint, of fewness of materials for the history of Religious Houses in Wales, applies with peculiar force to that of the Priory of Rhuddlan; and the utmost that can, at present, be attempted, towards an account of it must consist in the stringing together of various brief uncorrected relics, scattered up and down in various books and a few manuscripts.”  It still feels a bit like that, but it is work like that of Jones that paved the way for people like me.

Over the site where it once stood there is now a working farm and caravan park, formerly Plas Newydd and currently called Abbey Farm.  It does, however, incorporate some stonework from the former friary, and parts of it are therefore of considerable interest.  The farm is private property and not open to visits from the general public, although a public footpath skirts it.  Fortunately, there are various accounts and photographs available of the surviving masonry and tomb slabs.  In addition, much of the friary church was still standing in the middle of the 18th century, when a drawing of it was made by Buck (above) showing a simple but substantial layout with gothic styling, with Rhuddlan Castle in the background, and this has allowed assessment of what was there at the time of the dissolution.  It has also been mentioned in a number of Medieval documents.

Rhuddlan. The map on the left shows the location of Rhuddlan (source: Google Maps). The map on the right shows the location of Rhuddlan Priory in relation to the 11th century Twthill motte-and-bailey castle and Edward I’s 1277 stone castle (source: Ordnance Survey Explorer 264 – Vale of Clwyd)———–

The Dominicans

Saint Dominic (c.1170–1221), portrayed in the Perugia Altarpiece by Fra Angelico. Galleria Nazionale dell’Umbria, Perugia. Source: Wikipedia

The Order of Preachers (Ordinis Praedicatorum), better known as the Dominicans, Black Friars or Preaching Friars were founded in Toulouse, France, in the early 13th century by Spanish priest Dominic of Caleruega.  Attwater describes a Dominican friar as “one who combines elements of the earlier monasticism – its dedicatory vows, its communal life, its daily round of praise of God in church – with the manifold works of the pastoral ministry.”  In a pre-plague era where overpopulation was a serious problem, and the poor and uneducated were clustered into many  towns, the role of the mendicant orders was conspicuous and often impressive.

The order of St Dominic (c.1170-1221) was officially recognised by the papacy in 1216.  Like the other monastic and mendicant orders they had strict rules, but unlike the majority of other British monastic establishments, they based themselves not on the rules of St Benedict but on the Rule of St Augustine.  They were therefore much closer in their practises and values to the Austins, Franciscans and Carmelites, also mendicants, than any of the orders based on the Rule of St Benedict that dotted the British rural landscape.  The three main focal points of the Dominicans were:

  1. Scholarship and intellectual integrity were seen as essential to salvation for heretics and the poor, whose ignorance led them astray.  Dominicans recruited amongst graduates and clerics. Robust theological training was given to all new Dominican friars, and education was essential to their ethos
  2. A vow of corporate as well as personal poverty was also integral, meaning that, at least in the first century of their activities, they could not engage in commercial activities and were dependent on charity for their survival, and would accept land and houses with which to establish themselves, or money with which to purchase them (unlike the Franciscans who rejected the ownership of property)
  3. A mission to both preach to and lend aid to the poor, weeding out heresy was fundamental to their ideas, following the example of the apostles to evangelize, leading the misguided and disadvantaged to salvation

St Dominic’s house, Maison Seilha,n at Place du Parlement Chapelle, Toulouse, France. Source: Wikipedia

The Dominicans organized themselves with a system of centralized government, an elected body that resembled the General Chapter of the Cistercian order (an annual conference to administer and rule the order).  The Dominican friaries were divided into provinces, each of which was headed by an elected provincial prior.  These answered to a master-general who was himself elected.  Each friary had a prior at its head who was elected by the chapter, and not only attended the annual chapter but was also accompanied by another member of the same priory whose role was, somewhat disconcertingly, to report on the prior’s performance.  This type of performance review and downward as well as upward accountability is very modern in concept.  It was this organization and accountability that turned the Dominicans from wandering clerics into a force to be reckoned with, which became important as the different mendicant orders found themselves increasingly in competition for donations, both with each other and the older institutions.

The Dominicans arrived in England in around 1221, and were known as the Black Friars or Friars Preacher.  They spread first to Ireland and then, in 1230, to Scotland. There were five Dominican houses in Wales, two of which, Bangor and Rhuddlan, were in north Wales.  By 1260 the Dominicans had persuaded both wealthy and poor that there was much to recommend them.  They had around thirty six houses in England, nine in Scotland and the five in Wales, and by the end of the 13th century there were around 60 in total.

The earliest preaching took place in public places like market squares where a sizeable audience could be gathered.  As they became established and increasingly popular, and were able to use donations to found churches to which audiences could be attracted, they began to preach on their own premises.  They tailored their preaching to their audience, and presented themselves as men of the people, sharing their poverty, quite distinct from both the upper echelons of society and the more established Benedictine monasteries.  At the same time they also appealed to the new commercial classes in the urban centres that they favoured.

Dominicans believed that ignorance was at the heart of heresy and defection from God, and that education would provide the ignorant and the poor with the tools to achieve salvation.  Throughout Europe the teaching of theology and logic continued to be of importance to the Dominicans, and each Dominican priory was responsible for setting up its own school to teach the basics, while they also set up regional schools for the further education of those friars who were academically promising. Leading Dominicans increasingly contributed to the development of Medieval universities.  Their mission to educate the laity was given an extra relevance by the decision of the Fourth Lateran Council of 1215, which required that every person should make confession to a priest at least once a year.  This required the general public to understand exactly what was required for a blameless life, and what steps were required in order to make a valid confession.

The extensive ruins of the massive Fountains Cistercian Abbey in Yorkshire. Source: Wikipedia, photograph by Mike Peel

Whereas Benedictine monks renounced all personal possessions and properties, the monastic houses in which they lived and worshipped could be very wealthy indeed, and were often fairly massive and elaborate structures.  Fountains Abbey (Benedictine, Yorkshire), Glastonbury (Benedictine, Somerset) and Lewes Priory (Cluniac, Sussex) are good examples.  The mendicants, by contrast, were permitted only to acquire enough resources to survive, via begging for alms or through charitable donations and bequests.  Even so, the friars of different orders were so popular, amongst the wealthy as well as the poor, that churches grew from simple places of worship to much grander affairs.  As J. Patrick Greene puts it “the more successfully the friars gave enabled the wealthy to gain spiritual grace through the vicarious experience of poverty, the less it became a reality for the friars themselves.”  This can be seen at the Franciscan friary in Oxford and the Dominican friary in Chester. Hinnebusch expands on this, and suggests that in the 13th century the Dominicans were also able to generate income of their own:  “Most houses had gardens, orchards, groves, and sometimes vineyards and fish ponds. Undoubtedly some houses were able to sell part of the produce from these sources and thus supplement the alms of the people.”  At least in the early years of their mission, their properties were not rented out, certainly as this was in direct violation of Dominican rules, which were strictly enforced.  There is more on this in connection with Rhuddlan Friary, below.  In the later Medieval period, however, matters changed as Hinnebusch explains:

Pope Gregory X. Source: Wikipedia

In 1261, a papal bull allowed the Order to accept revenues for the purchase of ecclesiastical ornaments, vestments, and books. In 1266 friars were allowed to accept inheritances which would have come to them if they had remained in the world. These could be held or converted into money for the maintenance of the community. In 1274 after the attack on the mendicant orders at the Council of Lyons, Gregory X declared that the friars could “accept properties with a safe conscience.” The bull Supra Cathedram of Boniface VIII, 1299, in obliging the friars to give a fourth of all legacies, bequests, funeral charges, and other donations to the parish church struck a death blow to mendicant poverty. Under these conditions the quest and voluntary gifts were no longer sufficient, and the Order was obliged to seek for fixed sources of income.

Inevitably the mendicants stepped on the toes of the secular clergy, those bishops and parish priests whose congregations and incomes were under threat by the arrival of the mendicants, particularly as the mendicant churches grew and incorporated larger congregations.  Papal intervention was sought on several occasions, but the tensions continued.

——–

The Dominican Friary at Rhuddlan

The foundation of the friary

The Dominican Friary at Rhuddlan was established by Llywelyn ap Gruffud (Llywelyn the Last) in 1258, 19 years before work began on Edward I’s castle nearby.  He is also thought to have founded the priory at Bangor in the mid-13th century.  It was a tradition amongst the Welsh princes to found monasteries.  Although Cistercian monasteries were particularly prestigious amongst the princes, with one in each of the main cantrefs, Llywelyn was not a lavish spender on elaborate monastic projects, although he occasionally made financial gifts to those houses established by his ancestors.  He became a benefactor of the very small Cistercian monastery at Cymer near Dolgellau that had been established by Gruffudd ap Cynan of Gwynedd in 1198, as well as of Beddgelert Augustinian Priory near Bangor, thought to have been established by one or more of the lords of Gwynedd in 1200.  He made a loan to an abbot of Valle Crucis Cistercian Abbey near Llangollen, which had been founded by Madog ap Gruffydd Maelor, ruler of Powys (north), in 1201.  Perhaps when it came to founding his own houses, he preferred the ideologies and practices of the Dominicans; it is also possible that they represented a rather less eye-watering investment.  It should be noted that Samuel Lewis, in his 1849 Topographical History of Wales, believed that it had been established in 1197 by Ranulf III of Chester, but he gives no explanation for his thinking.  

Rhuddlan Friary was established on the River Clwyd, 4.8km (3 miles) to the sea on the cost of North Wales, set above the floodplain, with a short cliff separating it from the valley below.  A town had been here since the Anglo-Saxon period, taking advantage of the best pace to ford the river.  William the Conqueror is thought to have ordered the building of the Twthill motte-and-bailey castle which was built in the 11th century and was probably still maintained for defensive purposes when the Dominicans set up their friary.

Inscribed tomb slab. Source: Coflein

There were only two Dominican houses in north Wales, the other being in Bangor, established in 1251, seven years earlier than Rhuddlan, again probably by Llywelyn ap Gruffud.  Wales was not strong on mendicant orders in general, primarily because they favoured urban areas, and Wales in the 13th century lacked the busy towns that were growing up in England.  There was only one Franciscan house in north Wales, on Anglesey, and a single Carmelite house, at Denbigh.  Given that there were so few mendicant orders represented in north Wales it would be interesting to understand why Rhuddlan, of all the possible towns in Wales, was selected as an attractive site for the Dominicans.  Although it may have had something to do with Llywelyn himself, it is also possible that the founding friar may have had input, and may have had a connection to Rhuddlan.

Whether parish church, abbey, priory or friary, all religious establishments came under the wing of a regional ecclesiastical body, a diocese, headed by a bishop.  By 1291 Rhuddlan Friary came under the diocese of St Asaph (in English), Llanelwy (in Welsh), together with other ecclesiastical deaneries (groups of parishes) like Aberconwy Cistercian Abbey, Strata Marcella Cistercian Abbey near Conwy, Valle Crucis Cistercian Abbey near Llangollen and Basingwerk Cistercian Abbey near Holywell.  Rhuddlan Friary, Valle Crucis Abbey and Aberconwy Abbey all provided St Asaph with bishops.  Rhuddlan’s Prior Anian II (or Einion II) became the bishop of St Asaph in 1268.

It is not known where the friars came from.  Dominican scholarship was an important component of their ethos, and the Rhuddlan friars would have received training when they joined the order, although Latin would have formed a common language, and a common bond.  Rhuddlan had passed between the English and Welsh through its history, but because friars mingled with communities, it is probable that at least some of the friars must have been Welsh speakers.  Attwater points to the dozen Dominican bishops that he knows of with English names, but says that the impression they give is misleading, and that Welsh friars predominantly had Welsh names.  Potential sources for friars to populate a new friary could have included the other Welsh friaries, but also reasonably nearby was Chester, where a Dominican friary had been established in 1236 and was doing very well.

The friary architecture

Although there is almost nothing left of the Dominican friary at Rhuddlan, it will have been built on the lines of other Dominican communal establishments.  Like the more numerous Benedictine monasteries and priories, a Dominican friary consisted of a church, which made up one side of a complex of buildings that were arranged in  square or rectangle around a garden, the garth.  The church would usually be on the north, and the domestic and administrative buildings were incorporated into the other buildings over one or two storeys.  The image below shows the layout of the mainly 14th century Dominican friary at Norwich, as an example, in this case fairly elaborate but, like most Dominican friaries, the church had no side transepts which makes them look significantly different from Benedictine-style abbeys and priories.

Ground plan of Norwich Friary. Source: Giraud, E.J. and Linde, .J.C. 2021 – via Google Books

The drawing by Buck shown at the top of the page and shown again below has been invaluable to architectural experts who have been able to clarify the main features.  The following is taken from Clapham, published in 1927, who has done an excellent job of deconstructing the image and reconstructing the friary, and concludes that the friary was built on a “much more ambitious scale than was usual among lesser friaries.”

Rhuddlan Friary by Buck. Source: Coflein

The whole length of the building shown was no doubt occupied by the dorter [dormitory] on the first floor and at its north end is some indication of the junction with the church, though even then this building had been entirely destroyed. Projecting eastwards from the range is a gabled structure, with three lancet-windows in the east end and three in the south return wall; this was undoubtedly the chapter-house with a room above it. Further south, in the main range, is the archway of a passage from the cloister, and still further south a chimney-stack, probably that of the fireplace in the warming-house.
At the south end of the range is a large doorway, at the dorter-level, evidently that leading to the rere-dorter [latrines], the ruins of which, with its connecting bridge, are also shown. Of the southern range of the cloister court, the eastern part of the inner or north wall is still standing and contains four small square-headed windows of red Chester stone, set high in the wall, above a string-course which probably marked the level of the cloister-roof. The rest of the range seems to have been rebuilt, but the south side of it is shown in
steep perspective in Buck’s view. The only other ancient portion of the existing buildings is the northern portion of the outer wall of an outbuilding on the west of the yard.
It appears to have projected westward from the original western range, as there is a return angle at the south end. It contains two pointed windows, probably of the fourteenth century, and blocked with ashlar. The rest of this range contains other pointed windows, but they appear not to be original and the walls themselves to be of post-suppression date.

Inscribed stones in vicarage wall at the Friary near Rhuddlan Church, taken by Leonard Monroe. Source: Coflein

At Abbey Farm today, the farmyard is thought to occupy the site of the cloister garth and part of the south cloister range, with the farmhouse occupying the site of the church, and the southern range perhaps incorporated into another farm building where blocked windows probably date to the 14th century.  Modern buildings have obscured what was probably the cloister, c.26-28m square.  Medieval building materials have been identified and in one of the farm buildings at the east of the farm complex, with some sepulchral slab fragments  incorporated into the walls, as well as a niche with a heavily eroded 14th century effigy still visible in it, shown below.  Clapham picks out details that were incorporated into the farm buildings that sit over the site, including bits of architectural and sepulchral masonry (tomb slabs).  Some of the tomb slabs are shown on this page, thanks to a digitization programme by Coflein, but with no attempt to put them in any particular order.  See captions for credits and links.

Built into the garden-wall, to the north of the yard, are portions of a moulded and cusped arch of early fourteenth-century date and probably part of a tomb recess. Of the various funeral monuments built into the walls of the buildings round the yard . . . .

Engraving incorporated into a wall.  Photograph taken by Leonard Monroe. Source: Coflein

On the east side of the yard: (a) effigy in high relief of a civilian in hood with flap, belt with skirt of gown tucked into it and holding in both hands a baton, or possibly a mace, probably fourteenth-century; (b) part of a coffin-lid with inscription.

On south side of yard: (a) incised slab with figure of an archbishop1 in mass-vestments with cross-staff and marginal inscription to William Freney, archbishop of Rages, c. 1290.
This slab has now been removed to the parish church; (b) slab with raguly cross in relief, head in a quatrefoil, sword at side and inscription to Robert, son of Robert de Bridelton, early fourteenth-century.

On west side of yard: coffin-lid with elaborately enriched cross on stem inscribed ‘Hie jacet [here lies] Snaisii,’ the rest of the inscription destroyed, thirteenth-century. The inventory of goods taken at the suppression mentions the quire with a table of alabaster on the altar and new stalls, two bells in the steeple and the kitchen.

There are references to the friary church having a particularly magnificent rood screen, which attracted pilgrims, about which more below.  In 1849, Samuel Lewis writes that “near it [the friary] is a fine spring, from which the priory derived water, conveyed to it by leaden pipes, that were taken up not many years ago: from this spring the town of Rhuddlan is now supplied during seasons of drought”

Unlike the better known Cistercian monasteries of north Wales, which were built in areas where the monks could worship in isolation, as separate from the world beyond the cloister as possible, the Dominicans always intended to be part of the local community and their friaries were built either on the edge of towns, like Rhuddlan, or within them, like Chester’s Dominican friary.  The friars’ lives were a balance between the communal living and worship that too place within their monastic premises and the preaching that they carried out in neighbouring communities.  They built their friaries in or near towns and the friars would have been familiar figures around the town of Rhuddlan where they would have mingling with townspeople and recruiting support in their missionary roles.

How the friary sustained itself

Inscribed stones in vicarage wall at the Friary near Rhuddlan Church, taken by Leonard Monroe. Source: Coflein

The friary appears to have been well provided for throughout the 13th century, and must have had significant status locally.  By 1283 there were 23 friars at Rhuddlan, a very healthy number.  In Cardiff and Haverfordwest, both Dominican friaries, numbers are recorded in 1285 as 30 and 39 respectively, but Rhuddlan was rather more remote.  In 1268 Rhuddlan Friary’s prior “Anian (Einion) of Nanneu” became Bishop of St Asaph, a significant honour.  It is unlikely that such an appointment would have been made from a minor establishment, a suggestion supported by other appointments to the position from the big Cistercian abbeys of Aberconwy and Valle Crucis in north Wales.  Records of payments to the monastery also give a sense of its importance, including a payment in 1281/1282 at the time of the birth of the princess Elizabeth at Rhuddlan, Edward and Eleanor’s 5th child, of 7s 8d to the friars of Rhuddlan and 1s 1d for the brethren of the hospital of Rhuddlan (about which more below); a bequest in the will of Bishop Gervase de Castro in 1370 of 60 shillings and another bequest, this time of 20 shillings, from Llewelyn ap Madoc, bishop of St Asaph, in 1373. 

The friary also appears to have been taking steps, beyond accepting alms and bequests, to care of itself.  Hinnebusch comments “At Rhuddlan in 1534, the prior leased several gardens and an apple orchard ; two years later a second apple orchard was leased. When the house was sup pressed, the sale of the effects of the priory included kine and pigs.”  Kine were a type of cattle.

Map showing Rhuddlan on the Welsh pilgrim routes, which link north and south Wales. See the following link for the full UK map. Source: The British Pilgrimage Trust

The excellently researched academic Monastic Wales Project website states that “Pilgrims flocked to visit the rood at Rhuddlan,” but does not expand on the comment.  The rood is the screen that divides the nave (where the public worship) from the chancel (the sanctuary at the eastern end of the church that was confined to the friars).  It is usually ornate, and made of open tracery in wood or stone (more likely wood at a Dominican friary like Rhuddlan, as it was much less expensive).  It was usually topped with a beam that held the rood (a depiction of the crucifixion), often accompanied by other key figures from the Christian story.  At Bangor, part of the rood survives, and symbols of the evangelists, the ox, eagle, lion and man, accompanied Christ.  Some rood screens attracted pilgrims either because of their particular design or because of associated miracles, In her PhD thesis, Lisa Garland says that many depictions of Christ became objects of pilgrimage, particularly in the 15th century, many gilded.  In north Wales, both Rhuddlan and Bangor had rood screens that attracted pilgrims, were celebrated in Welsh bardic poetry, and and were located on Welsh pilgrim routes, as shown on the map above right.  Pilgrims might be depended upon for offerings to a religious institution, helping to support them.  The rood at Rhuddlan was celebrated by the poet Gruffudd ab Ieuan ap Llywelyn Fychan, which would probably have been good PR for the friary.

The Impact of Rhuddlan Castle

Edward I saw himself as a devout Christian.  He had been on crusade, and he had made a vow to build a Cistercian monastery, which he founded in east Cheshire at Vale Royal in c.1270.  Edward I’s military activities often dragged monastic establishments in Wales into the conflict.  Being devout, or at least concerned about his status in the eyes of God, Edward compensated a number of monastic establishments in north Wales, both big and small, with significant sums of money and other gifts.  These included Basingwerk (near Flint Castle), Valle Crucis (near Llangollen), Aberconwy (near Conwy), and Cymer (near Dolgellau).

Inscribed tomb slab incorporated into the wall above a doorway. Source: Coflein

There is no surviving record of Rhuddlan Friary suffering damage to building or losing resources such as grain or livestock, but Llywelyn surrendered at Rhuddlan Castle in November 1277 and it seems improbable that the friary escaped entirely unscathed during the conflict.  The friars of Rhuddlan are credited with having organized the care of the wounded at that time, so were clearly in the thick of it.  Whether from guilt about harm inflicted or from appreciation of the Dominicans, Edward continued to finance the friary after Llywelyn’s death in 1282.  This is not particularly surprising, as both Edward’s father Henry III and Edward I himself were supporters of the mendicants in England, providing them with the much-valued stamp of royal approval.  In addition, Edward had a policy of compensating religious houses for damage inflicted during his conflicts with Llywelyn in Wales. By way of thanks for royal support, Rhuddlan Friary supplied Queen Eleanor with honey from its own hives. Queen Eleanor died in 1291, Rhuddlan Friary was a beneficiary from her will, which included a grant of 100 shillings each to the Dominican houses of Wales and England.  Rhuddlan Friary was also allocated 2 and 1/2 acres of land.

The community of Rhuddlan friary

The Danse Macabre or Dance of Death (1493) by Michael Wolgemut, from the Nuremberg Chronicle of Hartmann Schedel. Source: Wikipedia

Very little is known about the individuals who lived within the community of Rhuddlan Friary or any of the activities that were carried out, including their preaching.  Rhuddlan is considered to be a probable source of a version of the danse macabre (dance of death, also known as the dance of Paul’s). Several of the mendicant orders used the danse in their sermons, and the Dominicans were particularly enthusiastic about its terrifying imagery, often featuring death as a cadaver coming to claim the living, which was a warning of perils to come, and a reminder of the need to prepare one’s soul for the inevitable.  Here’s a flavour from a paper by Gray and Hale, translated from the Welsh, by poet Dafydd Ddu Hiraddug:

The corpse that was full of excess in a dirty closed place
As food for insects without worthy blessing …
The beautiful eyes now rounded holes
Full of maggots, in truth;
The comely mouth, which was so playful,
And was haughty, sad its form
A sardonic black hole, unlikely to be loved,
Black sorrowful nape, pathetic loneliness:
And the white teeth like old pegs
Dirty grey putrid bones
The long arms and the beautiful legs
Are sticks with gristle: offensive and putrid!

Enough to put the fear of God into anyone.

Only one of the community members is known for certain, and that is because he achieved prominence outside the friary’s walls as Bishop of St Asaph.  I have included his biographical details below because it is some indication of the level of seniority that the friary could attract.

Effigy of Anian in St Asaph Cathedral. Source: Wikipedia

Anian, the Rhuddlan prior who  became Bishop of St Asaph in 1268, was often a chosen intermediary between Llywelyn ap Gruffudd and both Henry III and Edward I, but he became alienated from Llywelyn as the relationship between the prince and Edward I deteriorated.  Towards the end of 1273 Anian he wrote to Pope Gregory X to make charges against the prince.  This put him in confict with the Cistercian order in Wales, whose abbots in turn wrote to the pope, on 7 March 1274 in defence of Llywelyn. His loyalties remained with the king and he continued to represent Edward’s interests against Llywelyn.  When Edward was defeated in 1277, Anian’s diocese, St Asaph passed to the control of the English Crown.  In 1281 Anian was given support from Edward in his bid to the papacy to move bishopric from St Asaph to the new royal castle and its accompanying town at Rhuddlan, a far higher status location, but this came to nothing.   During the resumption of hostilities between Wales and England in 1282, the cathedral of St Asaph was burned, infuriating Anian, who refused to lend the king further support and excommunicated the soldiers who attacked the cathedral.  The king seized his goods and denied him the diocese.  The rift was repaired in 1284 with the intercession of the Archbishop of Canterbury, Pecham.  Anian was granted the advowson (vacant ecclesiastical appointment) of Rhuddlan in return for a good will gesture of 500 marks.  Throughout this period he fell out with many other secular and religious dignitaries.  He died on 5th February 1293.

In 1284 some indication of the status of the friary is provided by the appointment of the prior of Rhuddlan by Archbishop Pecham to the commission of inquiry tasked with assessing the need for rebuilding and repair of churches damaged during the Edwardian wars in Wales.  This was not Anian, who was by now the bishop of St Asaph, but I have not yet tracked down his name.

St Mary’s Church on the River Clwyd, Rhuddlan, which now houses the tomb of William de Freney.  Edward I’s Rhuddlan Castle is shown in the bacground.  Source: photograph by Mike Searle on Geograph.

There would have been  cemetery at Rhuddlan Friary, where the inmates would have been buried.  There are various pieces of tombstone incorporated into stone walls at Rhuddlan, re-used as building materials.  Only one of the burials has been identified for sure, dating to c.1290: when William de Freney, archbishop of Edessa (Upper Mesopotamia), was buried at Rhuddlan.  His tomb was saved because it was removed to St Mary’s Church in the town, where it remains.  If this was done at the dissolution it is something of a puzzle why none of the other tombs were moved at the same time.  William de Freney was a Dominican monk, but although he was buried at Rhuddlan, his career unfolded far from north Wales, and although it is possible that he ended his days at the friary it is by no means certain.  He was a diplomat and skilled orator and linguist.  It is possible that when Edward went on crusade in 1270, de Freney went with him, but his movements are unclear until his death at Rhuddlan.  Edward I spent a lot of time in the 1270s and 1280s in Rhuddlan, and the presence of de Freney at Rhuddlan was almost certainly connected with Edward’s own movements.  The tomb slab is inscribed with a legend in Norman French:PRIEZ PVR LALME FRERE WILLIAM DE FRENEY ERCHEVESHE DE RAGES (Pray for the soul of Brother William de Freney Archbishop of Rages).  The name Rages appears to have been identified with Edessa.

The friary and the town

There are no records about interactions between the friary and the town, although they must have been frequent and various.  The friars must have been impacted just as much as the townspeople by the famine and then the plague, both of which swept through England and Wales in the first half of the 14th century.

Rhuddlan Castle. Source: Mike Searle, Geograph

Where Edward built castles in Wales, he changed the entire character of each of those areas. Oddly, the friary was not included in the new borough established by Edward in 1278, which went against usual practice.  I have read nothing to explain this.  Perhaps the exclusion was at the request of the friary itself, to maintain its independence, or for other reasons of its own.  The town that the friars attended before the arrival of Edward I in 1277 was a very different place from the one that Edward built for English immigrants, a Gascon-inspired planned town called a bastide, and the friary presumably extended its reach to the English newcomers, although it is very probable that the majority of the Dominican friars were in fact Welsh.  This could of course have changed over the decades as the town changed and new members were accepted in to the friary.

When Edward’s engineers and labourers had finished straightening out and deepening 2 miles of the River Clwyd to enable seagoing ships to reach the castle, the friars may have benefitted.  As soldiers and sailors arrived by ship, the friars would certainly have had new audiences for their preaching might, which might very well have been welcome as they contemplated war with Llywelyn, the privations of the terrain and the weather and their own mortality.

Unsurprisingly, given the order’s pastoral mission, during the Black Death of the 14th century, the order was very nearly wiped out as the friars throughout Europe mixed with their communities, attempting to bring support, and placing themselves at the highest possible risk.  Figures are highly elusive for Wales, but one estimate suggests that by the end of the 14th century the population of Wales had been reduced from a total of around 300,000 to under 200,000, a reduction of some 100,000 people. Although an earlier famine had some part to play in that figure, successive resurgences of the plague were the main cause.  Most of these would have been in the minority of lowland urban centres like Rhuddlan, rather than in the upland areas where the population was more dispersed, but its impact was still ferocious.

It is not known exactly how the Black Death impacted Rhuddlan, but enough of the population survived to enable both town and friary to survive. Under 100 years later, the senior occupants of the burgess and their land are recorded in a document dated 1428.  Most of the survivors noted are English names, probably those descended from Edward I’s settlers.  As well as recording that a community of burgesses had formed a landholding corporation, and that St Mary’s itself had land holdings.  No mention is made of the friary, but this was excluded from Edward’s new borough.

A public footpath connects the friary to the still-surviving motte of the 1073 Twthill motte-and-bailey castle, and Edward I’s 1277 stone castle beyond.   This part of the valley must have been quite a sight in the 13th and 14th centuries, with the canalized river running at the foot of friary and the cliff below both castles, new and old, with ships moored against the river.

The dissolution

The opening page of the Valor Ecclesiasticus, showing Henry VIII presiding over the valuation of the religious houses prior to their dissolution. Source: Wikipedia

The friary was dissolved in 1538, when six friars signed the Act of Surrender.  The surviving details of the abbey, as meagre as they are, have been discussed above.  The process of dividing the assets for sequestration and sale was overseen by Richard Ingworth, Bishop of Dover, who was ironically Dominican.  He recorded that he sold “cows and pigs for 22./-; paid for servants, and carried off a little chalice.”  The chalice would have contributed to the treasure trove being amalgamated from the dissolution by Henry VIII.  The premises additional to the church and cemetery are recorded at that time as a hall with three chambers, two other chambers, a kitchen and a stable.
——–

A monastic hospital?

Rhuddlan Castle in 1749 by John Boydell. Source: National Library of Wales via Wikipedia

There is considerable confusion about the presence of a hospital during the 13th century, when the friary was founded.  There are two references to it in documentation associated with Edward I, but it is by no means certain that it belonged to the Dominican friary.

In 1848 Harry Longueville Jones, in the second part of his piece on Rhuddlan Priory, gives a description of the hospital’s location, although he still gives no further idea of why he thought that a hospital was located here:  “The Hospital stood about a quarter of a mile to the NE of the priory on the southern side of the road leading to Diserth;  an old building, although perhaps not original, was standing here until within a few years.  It is now replaced by an ordinary cottage, in which all features of antiquity are disappeared.  Leaden pipes and conduits, leading from the hospital to the priory, have been dug up in the fields near that latter building” (p.48),  He goes on to suggest that it was “not improbable” that it could have been a “Lazarhouse” (a hospice for lepers), but this seems simply to be speculation.

Effigy in a wall at Abbey Farm. Source: Jones 1847

One of Edward I’s edicts states that the burial ground at the church of Rhuddlan had become inadequate, and that another site near the hospital should therefore be made available, suggesting at the very least that a hospital was in the vicinity.  One possibility is that references to a hospital refer not to a permanent facility, but to the work that the Dominicans are recorded as having carried out during the 1277 war, tending the wounded on a temporary basis.  The friars must have been involved again in Dafydd’s rebellion of 1282, and there is reference to money being granted to a hospital in the same listing where a much larger sum was also granted to the priory.  The friars were probably spared the violence in the national uprising led by Madog ap Llywelyn (in the north) and Morgan ap Marededd (in the south) in 1294-5 when English troops were garrisoned at Rhuddlan, but the castle was not one of those that was attacked by the rebels.

One idea, repeated by Harry Longueville Jones in July 1847, is that there might have been a Templar hospital at the site, perhaps adopted by the Dominicans after the closure of the Templar order.  A piece of data discussed in this context is the presence of a farmhouse near the friary that was called Spittal or Ysbythy, although the word Ysbyty (hospital) can simply identify land that belonged to the Knights Hospitallers or Templars, and does not always indicate the presence of an actual hospital. 

Excavations carried out to the east of the castle in 1978 as well as beyond Edward’s borough defences found no traces of a hospital, and so far remains have not showed up on aerial photographs.   It was presumably completely robbed out for building materials. 


Final Comments

It is easy to see why the mendicants, who combined secluded worship and pious austerity with community involvement the religious education and salvation of the poor would be attractive to the wealthy, their offering far more visible and easier to relate to than the older, more remote orders.

The remnant of a lovely tomb slab at the Abbey Farm (also shown above in black and white). Source: Geograph, by Mike Searle

The stories of Rhuddlan and former Rhuddlan friar Anian, who became Bishop of St Asaph, show how religion and politics are inevitably intertwined.  The Dominicans had no way of Knowing, when they established their new friary in Rhuddlan, that Edward I would follow a decade later, and the new royal castle and town would have changed the entire profile of the area, introducing not only a garrison but English settlers, and drawing a target on the town for the wars of 1277 and 1282, although it appears to have escaped attack in the uprising of 1294.  This would have raised the importance of the Dominican friars as a source of Christian values and salvation within a war zone, but in times of peace, a perhaps even more important role was attempting to help cement the different elements of the royal town and the local Welsh interests.

At the moment, there are many more questions than answers about the Rhuddlan Friary, but answers may lie under the surface.  Further excavations around Rhuddlan may clarify the remains of the friary, help to date of some of the fortifications, and clarify what other buildings may have existed during the Medieval period.

The surrounding former abbey precinct that once extended across the surrounding fields has suffered the same indignity as Valle Crucis Abby in Llangollen, being used a caravan and chalet park.  The friars would probably have been turning in their graves, had their graves survived.

Rhuddlan Abbey Farm. Over the lintel of the blue door on the far left the above tomb slab has been incorporated into the stonework of the wall.  Source: Geograph, by Mike Searle

There are no visitor details on this post, because the remains of the friary are on private land, and are not open to the general public, so I was unable to visit.  There is a footpath that runs around the outside of the farm. 

I have not yet visited Rhuddlan for well over a decade, and am looking forward to a visit to the castles.  The friary is a real insight into how much one can learn from published and online resources without visiting the site.  A big hats-off to those early illustrators and writers who have captured so much that later writers have used to recreate past buildings and landscapes.  I wrote this entire piece without leaving my house, and that’s a massive reflection on how much work others have done.


Sources

The sources that I have used are listed below.  For a full bibliography for Rhuddlan Friary, see the Monastic Wales Project website at
https://www.monasticwales.org/browsedb.php?func=showsite&siteID=61

Books and papers

Attwater, D. 1949.  The Black Friars in Wales.  Blackfriars, Vol. 30, No. 354 (September 1949), p.421-424 https://www.jstor.org/stable/43812856

Burton, J. 1994. Monastic and Religious Orders in Britain, 1000-1300. Cambridge Medieval Textbooks. Cambridge University Press

Clapham, A. W. 1927.  The architectural remains of the mendicant orders in Wales. Archaeological Journal, 84 (1927), p.96-7
https://archaeologydataservice.ac.uk/archives/view/archjournal/contents.cfm?vol=84&CFID=3f7f06e0-94cc-44a1-8b8d-c7796029e9c7&CFTOKEN=0

Clwyd Powys Archaeological Trust 2014.  Rhuddlan.  Historic Settlement Survey – Denbighshire – 2014. CPAT
https://cpat.org.uk/ycom/denbigh/rhuddlan.pdf

Cule, J. 1977. Early hospital development in Wales.  National Library of Wales journal. 1977, Winter Volume XX/2.
“Extracted onto the pages of GENUKI with the kind permission of the National Library of Wales. This is a complete extract of this article (Gareth Hicks May 2003):”
https://www.genuki.org.uk/big/wal/Archives/NLWjournals/EarlyHospitals.

Davies, J. 2007 (3rd edition).  A History of Wales.  Penguin.

Garland, L.M.2005.  Aspects of Welsh Saints’ Cults and Pilgrimage c.1066-1530.  Unpublished PhD Thesis, Kings College London
https://kclpure.kcl.ac.uk/portal/files/2935809/420753.pdf

Giraud, E.J.  and Linde, J.C. 2021.  A Companion to the English Dominican Province: From Its Beginnings to the Reformation.  Brill
Sample:  https://books.google.co.uk/books?id=8BkgEAAAQBAJ&printsec=frontcover&source=gbs_atb#v=onepage&q&f=false

Gray, M. and Hale, D. 2021. Dancing and Dicing with Death: literary evidence for some lost wall paintings in Wales. Ancient Monuments Society Transactions Volume 65 (2021), p.7-19

Greene, J.P. 1992. Medieval Monasteries. Leicester University Press

Gumbley, W. 1915. The Dominican Priory of Rhuddlan. Flintshire Historical Publications 5 (1915), p.34-35
https://journals.library.wales/view/1256711/1257147/46#?xywh=-936%2C-227%2C4106%2C4136

Gumbley, W. 1915. The Dominican Bishops of St Asaph. Flintshire Historical Publications 5 (1915), p.31-33
https://journals.library.wales/view/1256711/1257147/46#?xywh=-936%2C-227%2C4106%2C4136

Gumbley, W. 1915. The Dominican Friary of Rhuddlan. Flintshire Historical Publications 5 (1915), p.43-44
https://journals.library.wales/view/1256711/1257147/46#?xywh=-936%2C-227%2C4106%2C4136

Hayman, R. 2018. Rood Screens. Shire Library

Hinnebusch, W.A. 1944.  The Domestic Economy of the Early English Dominicans.  The Catholic Historical Review , Oct., 1944, Vol. 30, No. 3 (Oct., 1944), p. 247-270

Jackson, P. 2005. Freney, William (fl. 1263–1286). Oxford Dictionary of National Biography (Online [2014] ed.). Oxford University Press.
https://www.oxforddnb.com/view/10.1093/ref:odnb/9780198614128.001.0001/odnb-9780198614128-e-92436;jsessionid=11E5391F2DD975CD06FDDFAA92E58B14

Jones, H.L. 1847.  Priory of Dominican Friars, Rhuddlan, Flintshire. Archaeologia Cambrensis, July 1847, p.250-259
https://journals.library.wales/browse/2919943

Jones, H.L. 1848.  Rhuddlan Priory, No.II.  Archaeologia Cambrensis, January 1848, p.46-49
https://journals.library.wales/browse/2919943

Lewis, B.J. Gray, M., Jones, D.C. and Morgan, D.D. 2022.  A History of Christianity in Wales.  University of Wales Press

Lloyd, J.E. 1959.  Anian II (died 1293), bishop of St Asaph.  Dictionary of Welsh Biography.

Morris, M. 2008.  A Great and Terrible King.  Edward I and the Forging of Britain.  Penguin.

Platt, C. 1995 (2nd edition).  The Medieval Abbeys and Priories of Medieval England.  Chancellor Press

Taylor, A. 2004.  Rhuddlan Castle (abridged from a text by Arnold Taylor). Cadw

Walker, D. 1990.  Medieval Wales.  Cambridge University Press

Websites

Abbey Farm Caravan and Camping Park
History
https://abbeyfarmrhuddlan.co.uk/portfolio-item/history/#top

Based In Churton
Valle Crucis abbey (ongoing series of posts about the abbey). By Andie Byrnes
https://basedinchurton.co.uk/category/valley-crucis-abbey/

British History Online
A Topographical Dictionary of Wales. Originally published by S Lewis, London, 1849.
https://www.british-history.ac.uk/topographical-dict/wales/pp345-356

Cadw
Rhuddlan Castle
https://cadw.gov.wales/visit/places-to-visit/rhuddlan-castle
Rhuddlan, Norman Borough
https://coflein.gov.uk/en/site/303586

Coflein
Rhuddlan Friary (Dominican); Abbey Farm
https://coflein.gov.uk/en/site/157155/

Monastic Wales
Rhuddlan Friary
https://www.monasticwales.org/site/61

 

Heritage Festival Tour: Chester Cathedral’s Medieval Architecture by Nick Fry

The Grade 1 listed Chester Cathedral. .

As part of Chester Heritage Festival, this tour of Chester Cathedral lead by tour guide and cathedral expert Nick Fry took us through the architecture of what was the Benedictine abbey (then known as St Werburgh’s) from 1092, when it was founded by Earl of Chester Hugh d’Avranches (known as Hugh Lupus), until 1539, when it was closed by Henry VIII.  The abbey was saved from most of the indignities inflicted on other suppressed abbeys by its conversion to a cathedral in 1541, when the wide-ranging architectural changes being implemented by the abbey’s Benedictine inhabitants were brought to a close.  This tour was the story of the abbey, rather than the later cathedral that underwent its own changes and was particularly fiddled around with in the Victorian period.

Viewed through a later gothic arch, the Romanesque arches just beneath the former roof level, with re-used Roman columns, look very attractive but archaic

Nick talked us through how, between 1092 and 1539, the abbey underwent a number of architectural innovations, from its Romanesque origins, through the innovations of gothic design, to its final days as a monastery. Key Romanesque features are rounded arches, and columns that instead of being incorporated into the arches stand slightly apart from them.  The gothic was innovated in France, specifically notable at Saint Denis in Paris, but spread rapidly to Britain, and its influence is visible in the the increasingly formal, elaborate and technologically more efficient pointed arches, rib vaulting and decorative window tracery.  

The talk was wrapped up with master mason Tom in the abbey garth, the central square garden around which the abbey cloisters were arranged.  Tom was an excellent speaker and talked us through the tools of the trade and the key characteristics of the raw materials used for different parts of the building, demonstrating the use the tools, and his skills, on a piece of ornamental sandstone on which he was working.  Both the tour by Nick Fry and the masonry demonstration by Tom Livingstone were excellent.  

The Romanesque is distinguished by its curves and its monumental solidity.  There are only pieces of it remaining from the former abbey, before the monks started to modernise, but enough to give an idea of the different architectural paradigm of the period.  The north transept is remarkable not merely for its Romanesque arches and windows, but the re-use of Roman columns in their manufacture.  This portion of the cathedral looks the most instinctively old, and gives the best idea of what the rest of the abbey must have looked like, with a footprint not that much different from the cathedral’s.  The small windows were typical of the Romanesque, as bigger windows would have undermined the strength of the walls that was required to support the big arches. Another section that preserves the Romanesque is the cellar (above ground; undercrofts were under ground) that is now used as the ticket office and reception, with great, stumpy pillars with scalloped decoration supporting vast ribs over which many layers of material provided the vaulted ceiling.  Other Romanesque features have been incorporated into the later gothic architecture, primarily doorway arches, in some cases seamlessly, in other cases rather peculiarly.  See Buildwas Abbey in Shropshire for an idea of what St Werburgh’s Abbey may have looked like in its Romanesque phase.  There is also an excellent 3D artist’s reconstruction of a typical Romanesque Church, which is very reminiscent of the north transept at Chester Cathedral, on the Historiographies On the Evolution of Art website.  

Romanesque arches in Chester Cathedral

Looking in particular at the rounded arches of the north transept one can understand why the Romanesque must have seemed suddenly old fashioned and under specified when the senior members of the monastery saw the new gothic features, enabling slender, seamless columns, soaring arches and vast windows with complex tracery.  The photograph to the right shows one of the earliest experiments with the gothic arch, a slight point at the top of the streamlined arch over a more ornate decorative arch below.

One of the earliest gothic arches in the abbey with a curving profile but a pointed tip, sitting over an elaborate decorative feature. The slender columns, however, stand proud of the stonework, a very Romanesque trait.

Nick emphasised that because abbeys were designed as homes not primarily for monks but for God, they had to be the biggest and best that the available money could buy.  The possibilities of the gothic, allowing the light of God to enter the cathedral, and elaborate decorative features to be added, were all in the interest of this celebration of the divine. This is quite different from the Romanesque conceptualization where the darkness of the church, forced by the small windows that could be no bigger due to the strong walls required by the arches, added to the mystery and unknowable nature of the divine.  I suspect that the new gothic designs were probably also in the interests of the incumbent abbots and the abbey, as a place of prestige, pilgrimage and conspicuous display.  The redesign started at the east end and worked towards the west.

The advantages of the gothic were not merely dictated by fashion, devotion and prestige, but were technologically superior as well, meaning that they offered significant improvements over the Romanesque for the master masons who both designed and built ecclesiastical buildings, vaulted spaces using multiple supporting ribs requiring less raw materials to make the magnificent ceilings of, for example, the slype, the vestibule, the chapter house and the Lady Chapel.

The Early English gothic Lady Chapel, painted during the 1960s in the colours that would have adorned it when it was built c.1270

There are three main periods of British gothic architecture – Early English (roughly 1190-1260), Decorated (c.1260 – 1360, itself sometime subdivided into the Geometrical and the Curvilinear) and Perpendicular (c.1350 – 1500s).  Nick made it clear that although they are traditionally assigned to certain date spans, there are really no clear divisions between them. Although the Early English is broadly earlier than the Decorated, which was itself followed by the Perpendicular, there were overlaps, with older styles sometimes maintained in the face of new fashions and innovations.  There are examples of all of these in the cathedral, although the perpendicular is confined to one window; the fashion-conscious plans for St Werburgh’s Abbey were cut off in their prime by Henry VIII.

The Early English is exemplified by the Lady Chapel, where a daily mass was held in honour of the Virgin Mary at a period when her cult was particularly popular.

The Decorated is most evident in the quire stalls, each one unique, made of thousands of pieces of beautifully carved oak, which took twenty master craftsmen a mere two years to complete in situ. The craftsmen were probably also responsible for the quire stalls in Lincoln Cathedral, to which they are very similar.  There are also windows in the south transept chapels and the south wall of the nave that feature elaborate tracery from this phase.  The glass is all modern, the Medieval stained glass having been destroyed, but the finely worked tracery reflects the taste for increasing decorative complexity.

The Perpendicular is confined to the big stained glass window at the west end of the cathedral, with mullions (upright stone dividers) that extend all the way from the base of the window to its top, the emphasis on long, tall shapes that soar heavenwards.

A window in the Decorated style at right (south wall) and Perpendicular style (west end, over main entrance)

The abbey was designed and built by master masons, who had at their disposal a repertoire of ideas and visualizations that they could build into stone.  There are portraits of two of them high in the quire, one of them bearded with his plans folded in his lap.  Abbeys on this scale take decades to build, and as fashions change are almost always under reconstruction, with older sections being replaced and new sections added.  Matters were complicated during the gothic period of the abbey by Edward I, who had his own priorities.  Although Edward was conscious of the role of abbeys in Medieval society, compensating Welsh abbeys for the damage inflicted during the conquest of Wales, this respect did not prevent him raiding the master masons of Chester Cathedral for his castle building projects in the late 13th century.  Similarities between the abbey architecture and that of Caernarfon castle considered to be indicative of the presence of the same master masons at both.  This discontinuity of design and build shows in a number of  flaws and oddities in the cathedral today, which give the building real personality.

The arches on the right (south) were built in around 1360, 130 years earlier than those on the left (north).

One of the remarkable features of the cathedral today is to be found in the abbey nave, where the two parallel lines of arches flanking the main body of the nave, which at first glance appear to mirror one another, were in fact built 130 years apart.  The interruption between them was thanks to the Black Death of the mid 14th century, which plunged the nation into both humanitarian and economic crisis.  Only 130 years after the first set was built on the south side could the project be completed on the north side, which says something about the attitude of the abbot.  The abbot and master mason between them, as Nick pointed out, could have decided to implement an entirely new design in order to put their own personality on the nave, but they decided to emulate the original design, with only some of the decorative flourishes on the capitals showing major differences.   The earlier decorative details on the south side are simpler and more subtle, those on the north side more elaborate.

We finished the tour in the garth (the garden at the heart of the abbey complex), where mast mason Tom Livingstone gave us an excellent lecture on how the Medieval masons designed the stonework in the abbey, and how this work was then implemented.  The range of tools, including chisels and mallets, was remarkably small given how sophisticated the carving needs to be.  Tom said that the essential skill in a mason’s armoury was being able to chisel perfectly straight lines.  The question of whether a circle is a curve or a million straight lines is not one a mason needs to worry about – the answer is always a million straight lines.  Tom showed us how different methods of quarrying created different marks on the stone, and why different grain types were more suitable for certain architectural roles.  Tom’s own kit contains chisels reinforced by tungsten carbide and nylon as well as pear wood mallets, because without a blacksmith to hand, the original tools, blunting constantly, would require frequent repairs that would be very inconvenient.  I would really like to see more of the team’s work in action.  You can follow Tom and the members of the team on Twitter at https://twitter.com/chesterworks

If you get the chance to go on one of Nick Fry’s guided tours, I recommend him.  There is nothing dry about his talks, which are both informative and humorous and stuffed full of fascinating details about architectural quirks and unusual features.

Thanks too to Green Badge Guide Katie Crowther, who let me know that this tour was being organized.

My previous post about Chester Cathedral, under Katie’s guidance in March 2022, takes in the Anglo-Saxon origins, the Benedictine abbey years and the cathedral years.

 

Valle Crucis Abbey #5 – The monastic community

This follows on directly from Part 4, which looked at what is known about the patrons, abbots and priors at the Cistercian Valle Crucis Abbey near Llangollen.  Parts 4, 5 and 6 were originally written as a single piece, but grew to excessive proportions and had to be split into three (the third part, looking at how life was lived on a daily basis, will be Part 6).  At the same time, this post looks a little different from its predecessors.  When I was writing this Valle Crucis remained closed.  As I have been unable to take any new photographs to accompany this post,  I have mainly used artists’ reconstructions, showing visual interpretations of various monastic sites, all similar to Valle Crucis in terms of basic operations.

Introduction

Modern view of Valle Crucis by J.Banbury. Source: Medieval Heritage website

Because patrons and abbots were important people, not merely locally but sometimes with wide-ranging national and international duties, historical records often mention them.  For Valle Crucis details can be pieced together to create a narrative, admittedly fragmentary, about those individuals and their roles both within the abbey and beyond its walls.  This was attempted in part 4.  For the wider monastic community, however, matters are rather more difficult to piece together.  It is probably a measure of the success of a monastery that a community was sufficiently stable not to draw attention to itself.  When nothing happened, there was nothing to report.  When trouble occurred, records might be preserved.  For example, under Abbot Robert of Lancaster there were clearly ructions within the Valle Crucis community, because a papal letter to the abbey stressed that the monks must obey the abbot.  It can also be inferred that under the disastrous Abbot Robert Salusbury there was profound discontent, as over half of the remaining community abandoned Valle Crucis in favour of other monasteries.  A good illustration of a Cistercian community that came to light rather too often for the Order’s comfort was Hailes Abbey near Cheltenham, where many misdemeanours were recorded.

In spite of the limitations of surviving records from Valle Crucis, the rules governing life in Cistercian abbeys, which were enforced throughout the Cistercian network, indicate how life should have been lived. During an annual meeting at Cîteaux (the General Chapter), which most of the Cistercian abbots attended, some existing rules were reinforced, others were changed as the world in which the Cistercian Order existed changed, and the outcomes were recorded.  These documents, combined with the telling architectural changes to the abbey itself, help to capture some of the details about how life would have been lived at Valle Crucis by the greater part of the community.

Valle Crucis in 1800. Source: Wikipedia

Although the founder, patrons, and the abbot and prior were ultimately the drivers of financial security and good management, it was the role of the monastic community as a whole that enabled monastic orders to flourish and proliferate.  The spread of monastic houses throughout Britain provided an ecclesiastical footprint that was itself a measure of the importance of prayer to the secular community.  The prayers of monks were the key to secular salvation.  In a sin-obsessed world, one way of mitigating the unenviable outcomes of personal sin in the afterlife was to invest in prayer.   Richard Southern sums up the situation beautifully:

Founders and benefactors saw in the ‘cowled champions’ of the monasteries the spiritual equivalent of secular soldiers.  The monks fought battles quite as real, and more important, than the battles of the natural world; they fought to cleanse the land from supernatural enemies.  To say that they prayed for the well-being of the king and kingdom is to put the matter altogether too feebly.  They fought as a disciplined elite, and the safety of the kingdom depended on their efforts. (R.W. Southern, Western Society and the Church in the Middle Ages, 1970)

This provides the essence of monastic value to the living.  Even though the Valle Crucis monks were isolated within their cloisters, and only certain of its community interacted with the outside world for practical reasons, their prayers were an essential part of the profit and loss equations of spiritual life.  Cistercian houses, once founded, might benefit from donations, gifts and sources of regular income from those who wished to purchase a better quality life after death, but essentially they were committed to maintaining themselves by economic endeavour, and this meant that the monastery was part of an economic network of production, markets and re-investment of revenue that defined much of life in the Middle ages.

Choir monks

Cloister and lavatorium of Tintern Abbey in south Wales. Reconstruction by Terry Ball. Source: Medieval History website

The main body of the monastic establishment was made up of choir monks, who were supervised by the abbot and the prior.  St Benedict’s Rule required an initial twelve monks for the founding of a new abbey, equating to the number of Christ’s apostles, and these monks and the abbot were provided from Strata Marcella. All the monks in Valle Crucis appear to have been of Welsh origin at this time, and probably were for most of its duration.

The main body of the monastic establishment was made up of choir monks, who were supervised by the abbot and the prior.  St Benedict’s Rule required an initial twelve monks for the founding of a new abbey, equating to the number of Christ’s apostles, and these monks and the abbot were provided from Strata Marcella. All the monks in Valle Crucis appear to have been of Welsh origin at this time, and probably were for most of its duration.

Cymer Abbey. Source: Cadw signage at Cymer

Politically and culturally, if not linguistically, it would have been difficult to incorporate English monks into a Welsh community.  In so far as language was concerned, Latin, required for membership of the Cistercian Order, could have been used as a lingua franca, but politically and culturally matters might have been rather more difficult.  Before the conquest of Edward I, the Welsh monasteries had a strong sense of Welsh identity and at different times Valle Crucis contributed to contemporary Welsh histories and hosted Welsh poets. Politically, even though the Cistercians as an Order had provided Edward I with financial support, and even though Welsh monastic patrons changed sides from time to time, at least in the 13th century the Welsh Cistercian monasteries of mid and North Wales were solidly behind Llywelyn ap Gruffudd  of Gwynedd (c.1223 – 1282).  In a letter to the pope in 1275, the Cistercian abbeys Aberconwy, Whitland, Strata Florida, Cwmhir, Strata Marcella, Cymer and Valle Crucis all supported Llywelyn against charges made by the Bishop of St Asaph.  This emphasis on Welsh personnel may, from time to time, have resulted in recruitment difficulties, particularly after the succession of plagues that followed the arrival of the Black Death in the mid 14th Century.  Even following Edward I’s conquest of Wales, the close association of Valle Crucis with Welsh poets in the 14th and 15th centuries argues that a Welsh outlook was never fully diluted at Valle Crucis.

14th century psalter (book of psalms) of Sir Geoffrey Luttrel.  Sou8rce: British Library, Catalogue of Illuminated Manuscripts, MS Additional 42130, via Wikipedia

The Cistercians did not accept children as novices into their community, a practice that had once been common in the Benedictine order where children were accepted as “oblates” (offerings) by their parents at least until the practice was abolished by the 4th Lateran Council of 1215 of Pope Innocent III in Rome.  The term can be confusing today because it survives in the Benedictine order, but now refers to laity who, outside a monastic house, are affiliated to it and supportive of it.  St Benedictine himself had supported the practice of accepting child oblates, but the Cistercians believed that choice was an essential factor in the moral standing and ongoing stability of the Order.  New entrants had to be at least 15 years of age, with a year’s novitiate before making their vows at the age of 16.  After the Black Death of the 14th century, when many brethren had been lost and new recruits were harder to find, the minimum age was dropped to 14 years by the General Chapter of 1349, and the year’s novitiate could be shortened providing that the novice could recite the psalms by heart.

Although in theory the monks all had equal status, reflected in shared dormitories and communal refectories, and all were subject to the same rules and disciplinary action, there were inevitably complex layers of experience and interaction within the abbey walls, based on  age, seniority, skills, experiences, roles and personality.  Although some of a monastery’s monks may have entered as novices, others much later in life either in response to a calling, or as a form of retirement.  Senior monks might act as guides to novices and younger brethren, whilst patrolling the cloister to maintain silence, and minimize social contact.

Manual work beyond the cloister might include working with crops in the fields, or with livestock, employment in crafts, gardening, and general DIY, essential to the maintenance of abbey and abbey precinct buildings and fittings.  This work took place once or twice a day depending on the time of year, and was envisaged by St Benedict not merely as a good discipline, but an aspect of daily living that would prevent boredom.  During the harvest it was all hands on deck, and many of the monks were excused at least some of the offices in order to participate.

Cistercian monks gathered daily in the chapter house, as an artist’s reconstruction shows here at Shap Abbey. Source: English Heritage

Life within the cloister was by no means a uniform, undifferentiated existence, and it was by no means unknown for disagreements and conflicts, which the senior monks, the prior and the abbot were required to resolve.  Daily meetings in the chapter house were part of the system of maintaining harmony and discipline within the monastery, at which time disciplinary issues were discussed and punishments for any infringements were handed out.

There are very few details about the monks at Valle Crucis.  What few references to them suggest that at various times, if not always, the community of monks was Welsh.  During the tenure of Abbot Robert Lancaster in the early 15th century papal correspondence to the monastery reminded the monks of their vows of obedience to the abbot, implying that there were difficulties within the Valle Crucis community, perhaps because the abbot was dividing his attentions between the abbacy and the bishopric of St Asaph, which he held simultaneously.

Although Cistercians were only supposed to leave the monastery on important business, and only abbots ever travelled very far afield, very few monks ventured far afield.  They were not permitted to go on pilgrimage or seek cures at holy shrines, but there is one record of a monk from Valle Crucis called Richard Bromley arriving in Rome in 1504, towards the end of the abbey’s life, as a pilgrim.

Obedientiaries

Although no two abbeys were exactly alike, and a lot depended upon the financial resources available to the community, as well as the individual talents of the abbot and the brethren, there is a commonality of community organization between them, including the allocation of roles, obediences, to individual monks, called obedientiaries.  This was a Benedictine tradition, not unique to the Cistercians, but which was formalized within the Cistercian’s own rules.

Benedictine monks in the cellar at Dunfermline. Source: Historic Environment Scotland

Obedientiaries were monks within the abbey who were allocated particular roles in order to assist with the smooth running of the community.  Although some tasks were rotated amongst the brethren, it made sense for the abbot to ensure that some continuity was adhered to for important tasks, particularly in positions where contact with the outside world might be required, and particularly high standards of self-discipline might be depended upon.  The use of obedientiaries was not a Cistercian invention, and although there were differences from order to order, many of the same functions inevitably overlapped, and they changed over time as the demands of individual abbeys changed.  Some of the key positions are as follows:

  • Cellarer  A key official who was responsible for the community’s centralized stores, both food and drink.  Of all the obedientiaries, this individual is likely to have had regular contact with the lay brethren and, when they were no longer employed, the outside world.  the cellarer was also responsible for interacting with the abbey granges, the farms that supplied the monastery with its food for consumption and its surplus.  It is notable that in 1212, when the Cisterican Order asked for senior staff to be exempt from outside obligations to the Pope Innocent III’s crusades and missionary activities, the cellarer was singled out amongst the senior staff, together with priors and sub-priors, that the Cistercians wished to retain
  • Precentor.  In charge of church services, the hymns, chants, prayers and antiphons (the latter song alternating between two parts of the choir). He might be supported by an assistant, the succentor
  • Sacrist, responsible for the church, its maintenance, as well as the care of the vessels and implements used in the liturgies and the vestments that were kept in the sacristy.  He was also responsible for time-keeping, using a bell or tabula (the latter a wooden board) to mark the offices and draw the monks to the abbey church.  As mechanical clocks were not invented until the late 13th century, and were even then very expensive, monastic time-keeping relied mainly on the sun, stars, and occasionally water clocks.
  • Guestmaster, responsible for welcoming and taking care of any guests, from dignitaries to pilgrims.  Hospitality was an important part of the Benedictine vision, and separate quarters were usually provided within the abbey precinct but beyond the cloister until the 14th century, when VIPs might be accommodated within special apartments within the east range of the cloister.
  • Infirmerer.  Where an infirmary was one of the monastic buildings, the infirmerer was in charge, overseeing the care of unwell and ailing monks.  Although they were standard components of Cistercian abbey complexes, there is some question about whether Valle Crucis included one or not.
  • Novicemaster.  The brother who oversaw the induction, ongoing care and overall wellbeing of the novices who entered the abbey, prior to taking their vows.
  • Refectorer. The brother in charge of the refectory, or dining hall, responsible for laying and clearing the tables, usually assisted by other brethren.
  • Kitchener. The brother who oversaw the kitchen, working closely with the refectorer and the cellarer to ensure that the monastery was fed according either to Cistercian guidelines or the abbot’s preferences.  Meals prepared for the abbot’s table, guests, the choir and lay brethren and for the infirm might be rather different for one another. There was also a safety element, as all meals were cooked over a fire, and it is thought distinctly possible that the mid 13th century fire at Valle Crucis originated in the monastic kitchen in the south range
  • Porter, who managed the gatehouse, responsible for permitting or barring entry to the monastic precinct.  The porter would also have been the first point of interaction with the monastic precinct for visitors, before they were handed over to the guest-master.  In the Benedictine Order there was also an almoner, who was responsible for allocating alms to the poor, but in Cistercian establishments, the porter doubled up as almoner. Quite how many visitors of this type would have been in the neighbourhood of Valle Crucis is yet to be determined.

Peter Dunn reconstruction of a kitchen in full swing at Rievaulx. Source: English Heritage

There is an assumption in the above that sufficient monks would have been required to complete all the daily tasks, and also that there were sufficient brethren available to fulfil these and other roles when required.  In the case of Valle Crucis, which may never have exceeded 12 choir monks,  life would have been less complex even when working together with the lay brethren; after the 14th century, when the lay brethren had vanished and the abbey leased out rather than working its lands, life was probably even less complicated.

Although the abbey was essentially silent whenever possible, the interaction required between these different roles would have sat outside that guideline, meaning that realistically, different levels of negotiation, conversation and silence would have been the daily norm, with strict silence only practised at certain times in specific places.

A chunk of the abbey’s budget was traditionally divided between each the obedientiaries to cover the costs of their activities, each given what was deemed to be an appropriate amount to manage their monastic duties.  It is not known  if all of these roles would have been fulfilled at Valle Crucis.  Although it is assumed that there was probably a gatehouse, nothing of it survives.  Similarly, if there was an infirmary at the abbey, no trace of it has been found.

Stairs built into the relocated pulpitum, perhaps once leading to an organ loft. Source: RCHAMW

The governing body of the Cistercians resisted musical instruments until 1486, when the General Chapter at Cîteaux decided that the organ was an acceptable adjunct to an abbey church.  It is thought that there was an organ loft late in the abbey’s history in the vicinity of the pulpitum, so an organist would evidently have been a member of the community, answerable to the precentor.

Even without a full-sized organ, beautiful musical accompaniment could be achieved by a portable “portative” organ, which is one of a number of instruments that could be used when an abbey could not afford an organ.  A portative organ can be seen in use by virtuosa Catalina Vicens in the YouTube video at the end of this post, producing the most unexpectedly rich, and enchanting sound, truly fabulous, slightly raw.  I’ve never heard anything quite like it.

Some monks were also given particular roles of responsibility within the monastery, known as obediences, each representing an aspect of monastic life, discussed below.

What is interesting is the degree to which the monastic organization formalizes functions, with both internal and external interactions formalized just as job descriptions are today.  Knowing what someone should be doing and how they should be doing it would have helped the abbot to monitor both the performance of the monastery as a whole and the effectiveness of the individual monks that contributed to its smooth running.   By ensuring that those with particular skillsets were put into suitable roles, the abbot could allocate his resources efficiently.  The founding monks were presumably chosen from the mother abbey with a view to fulfilling at least some of these roles from day one.  Young novice monks would have learned from their elders, and those who entered the community later in life might have brought other relevant experience and skills with them.  Balancing the books must have been a constant headache for the abbot, his prior and the cellarer.

Ordained priest-monks

Artist’s impression of one of the chapel pairs at Valle Crucis, based on the existing architecture, in the north and south transepts. By C. Jones-Jenkins

The two pairs of chapels in the Valle Crucis transepts were completed in the late 13th century, and were for the performance of mass by ordained priests.  The trend in abbey life for monks began to be ordained as priests met the specific need of conducting masses for the dead.  Although this was originally strictly forbidden by the early Cistercians, it became one of the important income streams of abbeys.  Donation of funds were made by those wishing to have masses said for themselves and their families in perpetuity.  Masses could only be conducted by those who had been trained and received the sacrament of Holy Orders, ordained by a bishop.  As masses were usually held daily, separate chapels became increasingly important within the abbey church to prevent interruption of other monastic activities, and were at first usually located in the transepts.  Valle Crucis only ever had four, but other monasteries might extend their abbey churches to add more.

Lay brothers (conversi)

Hailes Abbey showing the nave of the abbey church with conversi (lay brethren) divided from the more rarefied area occupied by choir monks.  By Peter Urmston. Source: English Heritage

The Cistercians were faced with a dilemma when the order was established.  Although the reforming order wanted to engage in both work and prayer (ora et labora) in good balance they also knew how much physical work was required to work the lands required to support a monastic house.   An early Cistercian document (Exordium Parvum XV, translated in Waddell’s Narrative and Legislative Texts, p. 435) expresses this dilemma very clearly:

Having spurned this world’s riches, behold! The new soldiers of Christ, poor with the poor Christ, began discussing by what planning, by what device, by what management they would be able to support themselves in this life, as well as their guests who came, both rich and poor, whom the Rule commands to welcome as Christ. It was then that they enacted a definition to receive, with their bishop’s permission, bearded lay-brothers, and to treat them as themselves in life and death – except that they might not become monks – and also hired hands; for without the assistance of these they did not understand how they could fully observe the precepts of the Rule day and night.

The lay brethren, conversi, were given a year, as novices, to make up their minds before they took the vows that bound them to the abbey and its estates.  The coversi were were not literate and were therefore not qualified to enter the abbey as fully fledged choir monks, but were an essential part of the Cistercian vision of economic self-sufficiency, and lived in a dormitory opposite that of the choir monks on the first floor of the west range.  They were not tonsured (the top of the head shaved), and were usually bearded.  They usually outnumbered the choir monks, particularly in abbeys with large land-holdings.  This model, based on the traditional manorial management of land, allowed the choir monks to remain within the monastic precinct, whilst the lay members of the community farmed and otherwise worked the monastic estates, and undertook general repairs of the monastery itself as well as related buildings and granges.  Of great importance, some of them were also the interface between the cloister and the outside world for matters concerning grange management, the replenishment of the monastery’s stores and the sale of any surplus at market.  Both choir and lay brethren were considered to be integral to Cistercian monasticism.

Artist’s impression of conversi in their refectory, showing lack of tonsure and beards. Source: Cistercians in Yorkshire

The conversi were apparently attracted by a number of features that were preferable to the alternative of working for a secular manor.  For one thing, they were members of a community that not only valued them, fed them and clothed them, but looked to their spiritual well-being.  For hard-working farming labourers who had little time to worry about such matters, this may have been a real draw.  In addition, in the face of poverty, the monastery provided security and stability.  Although their commitment to the abbey was directed towards sustaining it physically and economically rather than spiritually, the commitment of the lay brethren to the monastery’s lands was fundamental to the spiritual well-being of the monastery.

The use of conversi as farmers and herdsmen had gone into decline by the end of the 13th century.  There is some debate as to why this should have occurred.  The usual view is that the Black Death of 1349 largely wiped out the lay brethren, and this may well have been the case, but there is also an argument that lay brethren were becoming increasingly dissatisfied with their lot, and that some of the abbeys were already moving towards leasing out their lands  by the mid 14th century, meaning that it was possible that the role of the conversi was already being undermined before the arrival of the plague.

Corrodians 

Corrodians seem like something of an anomaly in terms of the general running of a Cistercian establishment.  In return for a financial contribution or property, including land, a man might  buy a corrody, a type of pension, and retire within the monastic community.  They were common within the Benedictine order, a convention adopted by the Cistercians.  In return for corrodies, the corrodian would receive specified amounts of food, drink and clothing. It was not a glamorous way to see out life, but it offered safety, stability, some degree of company, the care of the monks during illness, and, immediately to hand, the provision of the last rites.  Proximity to all that monastic activity was also, as death approached, a step closer to salvation, as was burial within the monastic precinct. 

An example from 1530 is one John Howe who, in return for £20.00 (in modern terms £8,825.54 /4 horses /16 cows, according to the National Archives Currency Convertor) was entitled to a bed chamber, candles, food and drink twice daily, and items of clothing which were laundered at the monastery.  Given the date, only six years before Henry VIII suppressed the monasteries in 1536, if John Howe was still alive at the time, he must have felt seriously aggrieved and may not have had the funds to find himself a new care home, unless he was able to persuade the authorities to compensate him.  Even then, it is unclear where he could have gone.

Final Comments on Parts 4 and 5

Monks in procession through Rievaulx Abbey in the 14th century (artist’s impression). Source: English Heritage

The religious life in an early Cistercian abbey was a combination of church services (liturgical offices and masses for the souls of the dead), scholarly activity and some manual labour.  Monks were generally not allowed to leave the monastic precinct, and unless they left to form a new monastery, might spend their entire lives in the company of their brethren.  It was important, therefore, that life in a Cistercian abbey was highly regulated, because rules and routines held the community together and allowed for transgressions and disputes to be resolved, usually by a mixture of encouragement, punishment and an awful lot of prayer.  In spite of attempts to maintain the standards of the Cistercian Order, there was a slow erosion of standards.

Although Valle Crucis was designed as a closed unit, like other Cistercian monasteries, there were limits to the extent to which this could be achieved.  Abbots and their seconds-in-command, priors, had rather more freedom because they were required to venture into the outside world on abbey business.  At least two abbots at Valle Crucis combined the job with the bishopric of St Asaph, a strange division between the cloistered life of the monastery and the more public life of the diocese.  This must have had an impact on the community as a whole, which must have been more dependent on the prior than was usual.  In so far as the rest of the community was concerned, individual monks might be thoroughly cloistered within the abbey, but others would have to interact with the outside world in order to maintain the abbey’s economic self-sufficiency. 

The combination of being withdrawn from the world, but simultaneously enmeshed in its political, economic and social complexities required dedicated interfaces between the monastery and the world beyond, not always a comfortable idea for monastic houses.  This apparent conflict between a mandate for seclusion and necessary connections with the world beyond the cloister was a defining feature of Cistercian abbeys.  Initially resolved by the incorporation of conversi into the monastic community, difficulties were presented when the conversi were no longer available.
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Next 

Part 6 will take a look at everyday activities at the monastery, to give an idea of how the monks lived their lives from day to day and year to year.

All parts of this Valle Crucis series of posts are available, as they are written by clicking on the following link: https://basedinchurton.co.uk/category/valley-crucis-abbey/.

Sources for all parts

The bibliography for all of the Valle Crucis posts are in Part 1.
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Valle Crucis Abbey #4 – Patrons, abbots and priors

Cadw sign at the site showing a cutaway of how the interior of the Valle Crucis abbey church may have appeared

Part 1 of this series about Valle Crucis Abbey near Llangollen introduced the background to 12th Century monasticism in Britain, via St Pachomius and St Benedict, and talked about the Cistercians, the spread of the Cistercian order in Wales and why Valle Crucis was located where it was.  Part 2 looked at how the buildings at Valle Crucis were used and how the monastic community functioned.  Part 3 looked the architectural development of the abbey, an architectural jigsaw of a story from foundation in 1201 to dissolution in 1536.

Part 4 and upcoming part 5 look at how the patrons, abbots, priors and monks of the Cistercian Order contributed to life at Valle Crucis.  In Part 4, the top levels of the abbatial hierarchy are introduced, and in Part 5 the main body of the monastic community is described, all helping to build a view of what sort of people were to be found at the abbey, and what life was like within the cloister.

It is the way of the literate world that more is known about those at the top of the hierarchy than those of the main body of the community, because it is the patrons and abbots whose names were on formal documentation, and who were accountable to the mother abbey at Strata Marcella, to the General Chapter at Cîteaux, to the pope, and ultimately to God. More mundanely, the abbots were also subject to the vagaries of political activity and war, and as leaders of the abbey were named as its representatives.  Even so, there are considerable gaps in the list of abbots at Valle Crucis, many of whom are simply unrecorded and others are known only by their names, and even then not always with certainty, and sometimes only partially.
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Normans, Cistercians and Welsh princes

The remains of Strata Florida in midwest Wales. Photograph by Jeremy Bolwell. Source: Wikimedia

Although Wales had its own monastic tradition both before and after the Norman invasion in 1066, by 1150 Norman lords had established houses attached to a number of monastic orders in Wales, connected with French orders.   The Normans also set about normalizing the priesthood, bringing it under the archdiocese of Canterbury, and a number of new dioceses were established, each under a new, Norman-sponsored bishop.  Welsh Cistercian monasteries were spawned by  the Anglo-Norman abbeys in Tintern and Whitland in the south.  Whilst Tintern remained embedded in the Norman-Marcher tradition, Whitland’s fortunes became bound up with the Welsh princes in the 12th century when the Lord Rhys ap Gruffudd restored the fortunes of Deheubarth by claiming it from the Anglo-Norman Robert fitz Stephen.  Lord Rhys assumed patronage of both Whitland (founded with monks from Clairvaux) and Strata Florida in mid-west Wales (founded with monks from Whitland), the latter initially founded by fitz Stephen.  The new Welsh monasteries spawned by Whitland spreading from south to north, were all founded with this sense of being true to the Cistercian order, the spirts of St Benedict, the Virgin Mary and Christ, but were, at the same time, Pura Wallia, pure Welsh.

The regulations and charters of the Cistercians formalized the original intentions of St. Robert of Molesme Benedictine Abbey, who founded the Cistercian order in 1098.  Robert was was conscious that the  labora component of the Benedictine motto “ora et labora” (prayer and work) had been largely abandoned.  In the Cluniac order in particular there was too much comfort, a lot of elaborate and time-consuming ora and very little labora.  Cistercian abbeys were intended to be self-sufficient, combining work, prayer and solitude, distant from the distractions of urban areas.  This was Robert’s vision for the New Abbey at Cîteaux.  Robert was recalled somewhat forcibly to Molesme to resume his role, but was succeeded as abbot at the New Monastery by Alberic (1099-1109), who built on Robert’s initial work and successfully obtained papal privilege for the new abbey and its community in 1100.  Alberic was in turn succeeded by Stephen Harding in 1109, an English monk and theologian who consolidated his predecessors’ work over the next 25 years.

The New Monastery at Citeaux as it is today. Source: European Charter of the Cistercian Abbeys and Sites

Abbot Stephen Harding is usually credited with much of the underlying structure that ensured the success of the Cistercian order.  He appears to have understood that new abbeys, each one its own world isolated from its predecessors and peers, meant that standards would be difficult to maintain.  One of his priorities was to standardize life throughout the Cistercian network of abbeys, to ensure conformity to both the Benedictine Rule and Cistercian values, and it is generally thought that he produced the official constitution for the Order, the Carta Caritatis (Charter of Care), ratified by the Pope in 1119.  Amongst other regulations were a number that dealt with governance and accountability.  The governance was to ensure that all abbeys had the resources to conform to the Cistercian vision.  The accountability was the means by which abbeys were monitored, disciplined and assisted.  

Aerial view of Valle Crucis. Source: Coflein

Records of life at Valle Crucis are sketchy.  To complicate matters, as the centuries passed and the Cistercian order relaxed some of the more severe of its dictums, daily life changed accordingly.  This means that there is no single Valle Crucis way of life because as ideological decay set in, so did the way in which lives were lived.  This phenomenon of gradual departure from early Cistercian values is by no means unique to Valle Crucis, and was remarkably consistent across the Cistercian abbeys and across the centuries.  Some of this is visible at Valle Crucis, and the records that do survive give some insights into a few of the peaks and troughs at Valle Crucis.  Between what is known about Valle Crucis and what is known about Cistercian abbeys in general, we can make a fair stab at getting to know some of the people and their roles.
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Patronage of the abbey

The founder and first patron of Valle Crucis

Cistercians might seek relatively remote locations, but they never made any decisions about founding new abbeys without the input of the Cistercian order, local senior clergy and influential secular local dignitaries.  The most important of these secular authorities was the patron who put up the money for the building of the core monastic buildings, including the church, and provided the abbey with lands to secure its income.  Welsh monasteries were not merely religious but had a political and territorial role.

Valle Crucis Abbey in its valley setting today. Source: Archwilio

Prince Madog ap Gruffudd Maelor of Powys Madog (north Powys, northeast Wales) was the last of the major landholders in Wales to invest in a Cistercian establishment, and was convinced by four of the nearest abbots that he should found a monastery in his territory, extending the reach of the Cistercians in Wales.  Investing in Valle Crucis was not a light-hearted undertaking.  As well as land on which to establish the monastic precinct (the monastery buildings, the abbey church, the gatehouse, storage facilities and possibly farm buildings), the abbey had to be allocated lands to ensure that it could at least achieve self-sufficiency and, ideally, to make a profit to fund future activities.  Although monks took a vow of poverty, some abbeys and priories became very wealthy in their own right.  In the case of Valle Crucis, endowment  first meant relocating the village that already occupied the land chosen for the abbey, and providing it with land and other properties, such as mills and fishing rights.  The lands subsequently allocated to the abbey, both highland and lowland, suitable for livestock grazing and agricultural development respectively, had previously fed into Madog’s own coffers.

Depiction of purgatory in the 15th Century Les Très Riches Heures du duc de Berry. Source: Wikimedia

In return, what did Madog acquire to compensate himself for the ill-will of villagers and farmers, the loss of a useful revenue stream?  The position, prestige and identify of the Welsh princes in the 12th Century was dependent not merely upon political power, but also on spiritual security, which could be secured by investment in monastic establishments and the prayers that would be dedicated to them by the monks.  Richard Southern’s epic narrative about the Middle Ages emphasises the importance of monasteries to patrons (p.225):

The battle for the safety of the land was closely associated with the battle for the safety of the souls of their benefactors.  It was this double objective that induced great men to alienate large portions of their property for monastic uses.  They and their followers and families . . . believed that their temporal and eternal welfare equally depended on the warfare of the monks.

At the same time, his personal prestige would grow along with the monastery.  He had achieved a new status, a validation of his authority and a connection into the wider European world of erudition, culture and divine integrity represented by the spread of the Cistercians and their influence.  With a Cistercian abbey in his heartland, no-one could accuse any ruler of presiding over an uncivilized land.  The spread of the Cistercians in Wales was often connected with reinforcing power, prestige and identity, whilst still maintaining a Welsh personality all wrapped up in a nicely Christian package.  A neat trick.

By investing in a monastic establishment, Madog also stayed on the good side of the Church.  More importantly, what he obtained for himself and his family was the most important direct commodity that the abbey had to offer – its prayers.  As the horrors of purgatory loomed ever closer, patrons hoped that the strength and integrity of monastic prayer would offer powerful intercession.  The prayers of monks who were so close to the divine might work wonders on behalf of the deceased and his family.  Although the Cistercians initially banned burial of secular people within monastic premises, no matter how important, this rule was not observed at many Cistercian monasteries, and certainly at Valle Crucis part of the arrangement seems to have included the burial of Madog and members of his family within the monastic precinct, yet another step nearer to God.

Patrons descended from Madog ap Gruffudd Maelor

When Madog ap Gruffudd Maelor, prince of Powys Fadog (north Powys) died in 1236, his son Gruffudd Maelor ap Madog (c.1220-1269/70), appears to have taken over most of the responsibilities of Madog’s role, although the domains were split between all five of Madog’s sons.  It was Gruffudd who in the year of his father’s death re-confirmed the founding charter, meaning that Valle Crucis retained the properties and assets that had been bestowed upon it by Madog.  He had two sons, Gruffydd Ial ap Madog and Madog ap Gruffydd Maelor.  The family had complicated allegiances, swapping sides between the Welsh and the English, but retained their lands until Edward I took Powys Fadog in 1277.  Gruffudd’s sons were both buried at Valle Crucis, and had presumably taken over the patronage as their father had done before them.

Patronage under English rule

Map showing Bromfield and Iâl (Yale). Source: Rogers 1992, p.444

Valle Crucis, located in a part of Powys known as Bromfield and Iâl, found itself in the middle of several political tugs of war and it is difficult to know what sort of patronage followed between the death of Gruffyd and the suppression of Valle Crucis in 1536.  The answer lies somewhere in the history of Bromfield and Iâl, which had become something of a diplomatic bargaining chip. It seems worth recounting some of that history in order to highlight how political complexities could impact both Valle Crucis and other monastic establishments in Wales.  

Following Edward I’s conquest of Wales Edward I’s reparations to Valle Crucis were generous, but these were intended for replacement of stock, repairs to property, and general compensation for the injury to the dignity of the monastery, but Edward did not replace the Powys princes as patron.  Madog ap Gruffyd, the great-grandson of founder Madog ap Gruffudd Maelor, was buried in the abbey in 1306, as was his cousin Gweirca, implying that they continued to support the abbey even after Edward I.  However, on the death of Madog ap Gruffyd everything changed.

Much of the following has been based on information from the 1992 doctoral thesis The Welsh Marcher Lordship of Bromfield and Yale 1282-1485 by Michael Rogers (any errors are, of course, my own).  Rogers quotes a charter of Edward I from 7th October 1282 at Rhuddlan:

Notification that the king, for the greater tranquillity and common benefit of him and his heirs and of all his realm of England, has granted by this charter to John de Warenne, earl of Surrey, the castle of Dinas Bran, which was in the king’s hands at the commencement of the present war in Wales, and all the lands of Bromfield, which Gruffudd and Llywelyn, sons of Madog Fychan, held at the beginning of the said war . . . saving to the king the castle and land of Hope . . . ; and the king also grants to the earl the land of Yale, which belonged to Gruffudd Fychan, son of Gruffudd de Bromfield, the king’s enemy; doing therefor the service of four knights’ fees for all service custom and demand . . .

Seal of John de Warenne, 6th Earl of Surrey. Source: Wikipedia

Two years later in 1284, John de Warenne granted Bromfield and Iâl to his son William, who died young in 1286.  The crown once again took possession whilst John tried to claim his rights to the lands, but in the following year Bromfield and Iâl were restored to John, in spite of possible claims of William’s baby son, also John, born in 1286.  When John de Warenne died on 27th September 1304, his grandson and heir, William’s son John was still a minor and became a ward of the king, with Bromfield and Iâl remaining in crown hands until 1306.

The history of Bromfield and Iâl was tied closely to the history of the village of Holt, which was also given to John Warren on Madog’s death, and which also passed to William.  John began the castle, which William subsequently continued to build.  Holt and its castle passed by marriage into the hands of the Earl of Arundel, who fell foul of Richard II and was executed.  After reverting to the crown and again being granted to the Earls of Arundel, Holt and its castle were granted by Richard III to Sir William Stanley, together with Chirk Castle the lordship of Bromfield and Iâl (now known as Yale) in 1484. It is this family that appear to have taken on the patronage of Valle Crucis.  Unfortunately Stanley was himself executed for treason in 1495.  Holt Castle next passed to William Brereton, who was apparently also a patron of Valle Crucis, before being executed in 1536 under Henry VIII for most foolishly tinkering with Ann Boleyn.  Bromfield and Iâl was then transferred to the crown under Henry VII and subsequently Henry VIII.

Sir William Stanley. Source: Wikipedia

In 1536 the Act of Union withdrew the special status of the Marcher lordships, and Bromfield and Iâl were incorporated into the new county of Denbighshire, together with Chirkland, Denbigh and Dyffryn Clwyd. 1536 was a momentous year for Bromfield and Iâl, and marked the dissolution of Valle Crucis.

After the death of Madog, with Bromfield and Iâl passing to John de Warenne, Valle Crucis had now of passed from the Welsh line to the English.  In spite of its location in the territory of Bromfield and Iâl, it is by no means clear whether Valle Crucis received any real material support from de Warenne or subsequent owners of the land.  On the other hand, it seems as though the descendants of the former Welsh ruler of Powys Madog still took an active interest in the abbey, and that local landowning patrons may have been involved with the abbey’s writing of Welsh history and its connection with Welsh poets, whom local gentry also supported.  The Trefor family, from whom two of the 15th century abbots as well as bishops of St Asaph were derived, is one example.

It was not until the arrival of Sir William Stanley in the picture that clear support for the abbey is once again demonstrated.  Whilst it is possible that the Stanley family may have continued to support the abbey on a private basis after Sir William’s death, it is more likely that reversion to the ownership of the crown changed the abbey’s circumstances yet again.  Eventually Bromfield and Iâl passed to Henry Fitzroy, duke of Richmond and Somerset, who became the patron of Valle Crucis and who was involved in untangling the problems that ensued, not long before the dissolution, under Abbot Robert Salusbury.

I suspect that there is a lot more to be said on the above, and hope to dig out some more details as I continue to look into Valle Crucis.

Abbots of Valle Crucis

One of the ways in which Cistercian standards were maintained was in the strict hierarchy of the abbey.  The senior position was abbot, who was supported by a prior and, at larger establishments a sub-prior.  Beneath them were the choir monks who made up the primary community of the monastery.  Although monks were in theory equal in status, many of them had particular responsibilities, and the requirement for self-sufficiency meant that these roles were very clearly delineated and were of importance to the smooth running of the abbey.  The monks assigned certain roles were called obedientiaries.  The monks will be discussed in part 5.

The role of the abbot

The remains of Strata Marcella, the abbey from which Valle Crucis was founded. Source: Coflein

The most important person in the abbey was the abbot (from the Greek abbas, father).  He would normally be assisted by a prior, the second in command.  The abbot was responsible for maintaining order according to the Cistercian regulations.  He was accountable to both the mother abbey, Strata Marcella in mid Wales, as well as the founding abbey, Cîteaux, for the abbey’s performance and adherence to Cistercian standards, as well as for internal morale and discipline.  An abbot could have been a prior or an experienced monk before being elevated to the most senior position within a new abbey.  He could be promoted internally from within his own abbey or another Cistercian abbey on the retirement, death or elevation of a predecessor. Alternatively, when a new abbey was established the mother house provided the abbot and monks, and the new abbot was responsible for managing not only the monks but also for overseeing the building of the monastery and its church, a process that could take 40 years or more.

Most importantly, the abbot was responsible for ensuring that salvation was ensured for all of of the monks under his authority.  Salvation could only be achieved by undivided focus on God, achieved by adhering to the Order’s rules, including obedience, commitment and remarkable self-discipline.  Individual breaches of internal order would be profoundly disruptive to the community as a whole and, depending on the nature of the transgression, could place the individual’s soul in jeopardy.  Even the most dedicated and devout might find frustrations and difficulties associated with such a life.  Maintaining strict discipline, albeit with compassion, empathy and care, was of fundamental importance for a community that lived together, usually for life, and the abbot was responsible for the wellbeing of both individual monks and the community as a whole, the father of his community.

Salvation.  God seated in glory with angels to either side, proclaims salvation; the archangel Michael fights the 7-headed dragon as devils are hurled by other angels from the sky.  From the Cistercian Abbey of Citeaux. Source: Wikipedia

The abbot was also responsible for the welfare of the monastery’s finances and its economic  self-sufficiency.  Each abbey received land and associated assets to ensure that it was self sufficient, but these resources did not manage themselves and, with assistance from key obedientiaries, the abbot was responsible for ensuring that the abbey achieved ongoing financial security.  Obedientiaries, monks with specific roles within the community, were each allocated a budget to finance their particular area of responsibility, and the abbot would have been responsible for overseeing how to allocate funds, and how these individual budgets, once allocated, were employed.  The running of a monastic establishment was equivalent to running a business, and the abbot was its managing director.

Each year, abbots were obliged to proceed to the heart of the Cistercian order, the New Monastery at Cîteaux, to attend a meeting called the General Chapter, which discussed matters of policy, changes to the rules and statutes, and disciplinary matters and ensured that standards were maintained. Sometimes abbots at lesser abbeys such as Cymer near Dolgellau, or abbeys going through economically rough patches, were forced to borrow the funds required for this long trip, which might place a heavy burden on the economic resources of the monastery.    

Abbots of Valle Crucis

The abbey took its tone from the abbot, and there were both successes and failures recorded at Valle Crucis.  Nothing much could be done about the war waged by Edward I on the abbey’s properties, and although reparations were made by Edward twice in the late 13th Century, the financial constraints and perhaps even some privation within the community may have been felt.  It would have been the job of the abbot at that time of these and other difficulties to mitigate the impacts of the worries and any challenges that the abbey experienced.

There are no likenesses of any of the abbots of Valle Crucis, with the possible exception of a stone effigy that may have been Abbot Hywel, shown below and discussed further in part 5.  The Cistercians did not believe in adorning their monasteries with art works, and even though later Cistercian abbots might have indulged themselves with portraits, during the dissolution of the monasteries, Henry VIII commanded that all the assets of the monasteries be sold or destroyed.  Only a few Cistercian portraits therefore survive, and none of them were from Valle Crucis.

Sculpted face at the far end of the slype. Source: Wikimedia

Valle Crucis, founded in 1201 with monks and an abbot, Abbot Philip, from Strata Marcella, received an annual visitation from the abbot of Strata Marcella, or his proxy, throughout its life to ensure that it was conforming to the rules and values of the Cistercians.  Nothing is known of Abbot Philip, except that his appointment as abbot of an important new house marks him out as a highly responsible and suitably motivated individual, in all ways suitable for the daunting task of bringing up a monastery and its economic infrastructure from scratch.  Certainly the architectural development of the abbey argues that Abbot Philip was very capable in at least that respect, but a statute issued early in his tenure refers to him rarely celebrating Mass or receiving the Holy Eucharist.  He was apparently not alone, as the Abbots of Aberconwy and Carleon were also found guilty of the same lax behaviour.   

There is mention of an an Abbot Tenhaer in 1227 and again in 1234.  Nothing about him is known, but three dates tie in roughly with his tenure.  In the mid 1225 and 1227 Valle Crucis was recorded as being in dispute with neighbouring monasteries Strata Marcella and Cwmhir respectively, probably in connection with grazing rights.  In 1234 the General Chapter recorded that the incumbent abbot had allowed women to enter the monastic precinct.  The name of the abbot is not given, so the guilty party could have been either Tenhaer or his immediate successor whose name is not recorded.

Between approximately 1274 and 1284 an Abbot Madog or Madoc is known, his name recorded in two notable documents.  The first was a letter to the Pope in 1275, in which seven of the Welsh Cistercian abbots defended the reputation of Llywelyn against charges made by Anian, Bishop of St Asaph. The other six abbeys were Aberconwy, Whitland, Strata Florida, Cwmhir, Strata Marcella and Cymer.  Valle Crucis is recorded in the same year as having only 5 monks.  The second document is a document dating to December 1282, which notes a loan from Prince Llywelyn ap Gruffud of £40.00 to “expedite and sustain Abbot Madog” on abbey business.  That was a substantial sum – the National Archives Currency Convertor estimates that today this would equate to £27,762.78 (or 47 horses, 88 cows or 173 stones of sheep wool) It may well have had something to do with Edward’s two major assaults on Wales in 1277 and 1282–83 respectively.  Edward’s generous compensations to Valle Crucis and other northern abbeys indicate the level of damage inflicted on the monastic establishments, allocated to Valle Crucis in 1283 and 1284 (£26 13s  4d and 160 respectively – the latter the highest sum paid to a Welsh Cistercian monastery).

Fragment of a gravestone, possibly from Valle Crucis and perhaps showing Abbot Hywel. Photograph by Professor Howard Williams. Source: ArchaeoDeath blog

An Abbot Hywel is mentioned in February 1294 and July 1295. The dates tie in with a record showing that Edward I placed the estates of Roger of Mold in the care of the abbey in 1294 (whilst Roger was on Crown work in Gascony), and then visited in person in in 1295, making oblations (religious gifts) of “two cloths.”  It is possible that he is the same Hywel Abbas shown in the fragment of a gravestone effigy showing a tonsured monk, first recorded in 1895 and now in Wynnstay Hall near Ruabon, which was on loan for a period to Llangollen Museum. A photograph of the effigy is shown left.  Professor Howard Williams and colleagues have researched the fragment, the style of which is consistent with the late 13th century, and believe that it probably came from Valle Crucis.  Whilst it may have been one of the choir monks, the investment in the carving of the slab argues that it was someone of more importance.  

Abbot Hywel was succeeded by a number of abbots about whom, again, almost nothing is known, but in 1330 Abbot Adam was appointed and is apparently mentioned on several occasions until perhaps January 1344.  It is thought that the inscription that remains clearly visible on the rebuilt gable on the west façade of the abbey church belongs to this abbot, claiming credit for the restoration work.  His inscription was not consonant with Cistercian ideas of modesty and humility, but this type of autograph was by no means unknown in the Cistercian Order.

St Asaph Cathedral, which dates back to the 13th Century. Source: Wikipedia

Again there are some names or partial names recorded, but this was the period of the Black Death that arrived in 1349, when keeping up to date records was probably the last thing on most people’s minds, and it is not until Abbot Robert Lancaster that more details are again available.  Abbot Robert was installed as abbot of Valle Crucis in about 1409, the year in which the papacy was reunited under pope Alexander V after the Great Schism of 1378.  Shortly afterwards he was elevated to the bishopric of St Asaph.  He held the positions of Abbot and Bishop simultaneously, until September 1419.  His is an interesting case, although not unique.  In that same year, 1419, a petition to the pope records that he had undertaken repairs to the monastery following a fire possibly inflicted during the Owain Glyndŵr rebellion.  Another extension to his twin role was granted In June 1424 for another fifteen years.  The conflicting demands of St Asaph and Valle Crucis may have tested his leadership skills because there is papal correspondence to the monastery, reminding the monks of their vows of obedience to the abbot, implying that there had been at least one serious breach of discipline or a challenge to his authority.  Abbot Robert may have retained the abbacy of Valle Crucis up to the time of his death in March 1433.  It is somewhat ironic that 6 generations on from Madog ap Gruffudd Maelor, the founder of Valle Crucis, the damage inflicted on the abbey during the Welsh rebellion between 1400 and 1410, was lead by Madog’s own descendent Owain Glyndŵr.  This time, there was no compensation, and it is not known how Valle Crucis, under Abbot Robert, was able to fund its own recovery.

The English Richard or John Mason held the position of abbot, for a period period lasting between February 1438 and July 1448, which may have been a period of neglect, although the evidence for this has not been clearly stated.  Abbot Mason was English, which may have caused difficulties within a Welsh context.  Although 18 years after the end of Owain Glyndŵr’s rebellion, nearly a generation on, there must have been residual resentment and a sense of loss amongst the Welsh gentry of Powys Fadog, if not amongst those monks of the Valle Crucis community who retained a sense of Welsh identity.

Sculpted head at the far end of the slype. Photograph by Llywelyn2000 Source: Wikimedia

There is a gap of some seven years in the records, but the three abbots that followed, Sîon ap Rhisiart (John ap Richard, 1455-1461), Dafydd ab Leuan ab Iorwerth (1480-1503) and Sîon Llwyd (John Lloyd) seem to have engineered a turnaround in the fortunes of the abbey, which now came under the patronage of the Stanley family who have been discussed above.  Under these abbots, Valle Crucis became a centre for literature and poetry.  At the same time, it seems to have become a rather more gregarious establishment than in previous centuries, entertaining high profile guests in fairly lavish style, praised in verse by Welsh poets Guto’r Glyn, Gutun  Owain and Tudur Aled.

Abbot Sîon ap Rhisiart (John ap Richard) was abbot between c.1455 and 1461.  David Williams refers to him as an “abbot-restorer,” who was from an important local family, the Trefors.  He is best known for the enthusiasm with which his hospitality was received by the poet Gutun Owain who described Valle Crucis as “a palace of diadem.”

Abbot Dafydd ab Leuan ab Iorwerth seems to have become abbot in February 1484.  He may have come from the Aberconwy monastery, and was again a member of the important local Trefor family.  He too was being praised by the Welsh poet Gutun Owain for his hospitality, commenting, with hindsight somewhat ambivalently “how good is the lord who loves to store his wealth and spend it on Egwestl’s noble church.”  Owain also praised Dafydd’s architectural achievements, including a fretted ceiling in the abbot’s house.  The village of Egwestl was the one that Valle Crucis had supplanted, and the abbey was still known locally by the village name.  Abbot Dafydd became deputy reformator of the Cistercian Order in England and Wales in 1485, a position of considerable importance.  Between 1500 and 1503 he was raised to the position of Bishop of St Asaph in Wales which, like Abbot Robert Lancaster earlier in the same century, he held concurrently (in commendam) with the the abbacy of Valle Crucis.  He died in about 1503.

Abbot Sîon Llwyd (John Lloyd) became abbot in about 1503 and stayed in the position until about 1527.  He became one the overseers of the compilation of the Welsh pedigree of Henry VII, a royal appointment, and in 1518 he was described as “king’s chaplain and doctor of both laws.”  Like his two predecessors, he was praised in verse for his hospitality by a well known poet, this time Tudur Aled.  Although he was buried at Valle Crucis, his tombstone was moved after the suppression and placed outside the church of Llanarmon yn Iâl.

Henry Fitzroy, duke of Richmond and Somerset, and patron of Valle Crucis during the abbacy of Robert Salusbury and during the dissolution of the abbey. Source: Wikipedia

Unfortunately but interestingly, this relatively brief period of glory was followed by disgrace.  The richness of the abbey in its late years, and its comfortable lifestyle, seems to have attracted quite the wrong sort of abbot, of which more in the next post.  The member of a local family was appointed to the post of abbot, although it is far from clear how he was able to obtain the position.  The family was prominent and well respected, but Abbot Robert Salusbury, who held the position from 1528-35 has been implicated in a number of crimes and felonies and appears to have had no training as a monk.  As Evans puts it (Valle Crucis Abbey, Cadw 2008):  “He was a totally unsuitable candidate, who appears to have been imposed upon the abbey;  he was probably under age, never served a proper novitiate as a monk, and does not seem to have been properly professed or elected.” Five monks left, leaving just two behind, forcing Robert Salusbury to acquire seven more from other monasteries, who he paid to serve.  In February 1534, with matters clearly out of control at the abbey, Henry Fitzroy, duke of Richmond and Somerset, Lord of Bromfield and Iâl, and patron of Valle Crucis, sent a visitation (inspection) to Valle Crucis, headed by Abbot Lliesion of Neath (reformator of the Cisternian order in Wales), and accompanied by the abbots of Aberconwy, Cwmhir and Cymer.  Things were soon set in motion for change.  In June 1534, the abbey was put under the care of the Abbot of Neath. in 1534, assisted by the prior Robert Bromley.  Salusbury was sent to Oxford for re-education, with a generous allowance, but the order’s good intentions were wasted.  Salusbury was eventually imprisoned in the Tower of London for leading a band of highwaymen in Oxford.

Abbot John Herne/Heron/Durham had the unenviable task of succeeding Robert Salusbury.  He had been a monk of the Abbey of St Mary Graces, Smithfield, London. It must have been something of a culture shock transferring from one of the Cistercian order’s few urban locations to the rural splendours of Valle Crucis, especially as he found the finances in such a poor state that he was forced to borrow £200 to meet the expenses of his own installation.  He was abbot of Valle Crucis from June 1535 until August 1536.  He was abbot when the Valor Ecclesiasticus, Henry VIII’s valuation of all the abbeys in the  realm, was carried out.  All monastic establishments valued at less than £200.00 were listed for immediate suppression and and the abbey was closed accordingly in 1536.  Henry Fitzroy, patron of Valle Crucis, died in the same year, at the age of 17.  After the suppression of the abbey, it is recorded in March 1537 that Abbot John was granted a pension.
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Priors and sub-priors

The opening page of the Valor Ecclesiasticus, showing Henry VIII. Source: Wikipedia

The prior was secondary only to the abbot, was usually promoted from within the abbey’s own ranks and could rise to abbot of the same or another establishment, particularly a new, daughter establishment.  

The only prior to receive  attention in records associated with Valle Crucis is Prior Robert Bromley, who had been at Valle Crucis since about 1504 was passed over in favour of Robert Salusbury in 1528, a clearly very bad decision.  Williams says that he was given several privileges, perhaps as compensation for being passed up for the abbacy in 1528:  “He was now absolved from ecclesiastic censure due (if any) for not wearing the habit; he was permitted (because of infirmity) to wear linen next to his skin, long leggings of a decent colour (the monks were normally hare legged beneath their habit, and a ‘head warmer’ under his hood; he was allowed to talk quietly in the dorter [dormitory] . . . . and to eat and drink in his own (prior’s) chamber” (The Welsh Cistercians, p.68).  Such concessions were usually allowed only to the abbot.  When Salusbury was ousted by the Abbot of Neath in 1534, it was put in Bromley’s care temporarily, but he had no desire to become abbot of such a neglected establishment.  He too was a victim of the Valor Ecclesiasticus, and was respectably pensioned off.
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Final comments on part 4

Valle Crucis from the south

As I was trying to untangle the stories of Powys Fadog and Bromfield and Iâl with a view to determining how they impacted patronage of the monastery, and to see what sort of political world surrounded and incorporated the abbey, it became increasingly clear why there were peaks and troughs in its career.  Whilst there were  periods of investment in architecture and scholarly output, it was also clear, and perfectly understandable, that the abbey had been through periods of downturn and neglect.  

The Black Death of 1349 raised questions in secular minds about the value of the clergy and of monastic prayer, whilst the Hundred Years War between 1337 and 1453 and the Great Schism of 1378-1409 inevitably challenged more than the idea of a unified Cistercian identity, placing Britain and France (the homeland of the Cistercians), in opposing camps.  For the entire period of the Great Schism, the annual General Chapter at Cîteaux was cancelled, with a papal bull from Urban VI releasing the Cistercians outside France from their obedience to the abbot of Cîteaux.  The General Chapter resumed in 1411, but the tone of Europe, the perception of the Church and the character of the Cistercian order had changed. It was during the late 14th and 15th centuries that the abbots of Valle Crucis became more worldly, less committed to the original ideals of either St Benedict or the earliest Cistercians.

The penultimate abbot, Robert Salusbury, was clearly a very poor decision, but demonstrates how both the abbey’s current patron, Henry Fitzroy, and the Cistercian order mobilized together to resolve the undoubtedly embarrassing problem.  They might not have bothered had they known how soon their world was to come tumbling down.

Next

Part 5 is coming shortly, and will talk about the monastic community below the level of abbot and prior, and how the monks and their colleagues lived their lives.  All parts are available, as they are written by clicking on the following link: https://basedinchurton.co.uk/category/valley-crucis-abbey/
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Sources for part 4:

Tying in various bits of data would have been a lot more difficult without the excellent Monastic Wales website, a brilliant resource for all monastic establishments in Wales, which lists a number of abbot names mentioned in documents, highlighting gaps in the sequence and allowing a clear impression of what is and is not known about both the abbey and its abbots.  I used this as my starting point for reading about the personnel at Valle Crucis.  As usual, The Welsh Cistercians by David Williams (2001) and the booklet Valle Crucis Abbey by D.H. Evans (2008) have been invaluable.  

All sources for the series are listed in part 1.