The Local Historian Volume 50 Number 4 October 2020

By Alan Crosby

This issue of The Local Historian includes reviews of seven books on medieval and early modern themes, emphasising the broadening of the scope of local and regional history away from what was perhaps an over-prevalence of post-1750 subject matter. As I have written previously, a reluctance on the part of many local historians to engage with the medieval and early modern periods was probably the result of the linguistic and palaeographical challenges, compounded by the specialised or apparently obscure vocabulary and frameworks of research and analysis. Now, this is changing: the resources available to the non-specialist in exploring the medieval past are more numerous and more accessible, and this is bearing fruit.

While not intended for local historians in the modern sense, the process of making medieval, Tudor and Stuart documentary sources more accessible originated over two centuries ago, when the Record Commission (forerunner of the Public Record Office and The National Archives) began the herculaean task of transcribing and publishing calendars of the key series of documents of state. Taken over by the PRO, and with the later involvement of bodies such as the List & Index Society, this extraordinary and in some ways eccentric work of scholarship, altruism and intellectual enlightenment continues today, despite the incessant problems of finance and the vagaries of the twists and turns of government policy.

It focused on the records of national government and its predecessors—the great offices of state, the Crown, the administration of the royal household—and, in one of its happiest unintended side-effects, produced a vast wealth of material which could be exploited by local historians. From the passing references to the local setting and context of ‘national events’, via the evidence of the day-by-day travels of medieval kings and the verbatim correspondence of secretaries of state, to more detailed and focused reporting to the Crown or privy council on disturbing events in localities up and down the country, such material is a treasury indeed. Witness Wendy Brogden’s article in this issue: who would have anticipated that letters sent by the Venetian ambassador to his masters, the doge and senate of la Serenissima, at the beginning of the seventeenth century, would appear in an analysis of Catholic riots in the borderlands of Herefordshire?

The work of these national projects of prodigious scholarship was soon paralleled by the initiatives of county and regional learned societies, with their ambitions to publish medieval and early modern records for their own areas. Driven in part by the passion for genealogical research and family history among the leisured gentlemen (and a few pioneering and determined gentlewomen) of Victorian Britain, these transformed the opportunities for historical research in earlier period and, crucially, continue to do so. Record societies and other county publishing societies still play a central role—this year alone, The Local Historian has included reviews of nine different pre-1700 record volumes, dealing with (among other topics) monastic charters, medieval property deeds, Stoke Mandeville probate records, Norwich city chamberlains’ accounts, the building accounts of an Oxford college, and Chichester archdeaconry church surveys.

Record societies have often been labelled as an anachronism in the modern age—and it is true that some material published in hardback hard copy format might be more appropriately (and far more cheaply) made available online, as it is ready-made for database formats and searching and reordering. I think here of vehicle registration records or will indexes, for example. But there is still a tremendous need for the transcribing, translation, explanation and interpretation of medieval and early modern sources for the non-specialist, and there is a wealth of material to work on.

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By Caroline J. Adams

pp 267-275

This paper was the winner of the British Association for Local History Publications Awards 2019, in the ‘short articles’ category. It is a wide-ranging survey of the significance of country houses and country estates, and the management policies of their owners, in the shaping of the county’s landscape during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. The first section of the paper highlights the importance of the more fluid land market which resulted from the disposal and sale of former monastic estates after 1540. Examples are provided, one being Lewes Priory, which was acquired by Thomas Cromwell and on his attainder passed to the Sackville family. The paper also considers the role of the Crown in manipulating the ownership of ‘church patrimony’ and its tendency to swap and exchange lands to consolidate or improve holdings.

Caroline Adams then draws attention to the ‘Great Rebuilding’ of the later sixteenth century, and the part played by comparatively modest families which seized the opportunities to improve their fortunes and were manifestly upwardly mobile. The Goring family is used as an example. Attention then turns to the management policies of the bishops of Chichester, including their strategies for dealing with tenancies, and the rapid downsizing of diocesan estates in the later sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries. There follows a detailed case study of the house and estate at Halnaker near Chichester, which has now entirely vanished, and of Downley, where the physical remains are likewise non-existent but where archaeological research is revealing much about the former house.

The concluding section of the paper, emphasising the economic and commercial context of, and rationale for, landscape change and improvement, discusses leasing arrangements, farming practices and the use of woodland and parkland. It draws attention to the role of urban areas—and particularly Chichester—as economic centres, and to the pattern of high-status town houses being owned by the rural gentry and aristocracy. In all of this, as the final sentences note, those without a voice must have wondered where all the changes were leading, as their way of life slowly disappeared.

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By Wendy Brogden

pp 276-290

This detailed and closely-analysed paper concerns the evidence for an upsurge in lawless behaviour, civil disobedience and potentially violent unrest in the borderlands of Herefordshire, early in the reign of James I. Drawn from Wendy Brogden’s doctoral research, it exploits the rich resources of the published and unpublished State Papers, detailing reports and information sent to Secretary of State Robert Cecil and the Privy Council by local informants, and also the results of cross-examination of witnesses. The paper paints a picture of undercurrents of discontent which, according to Brogden’s reconstructions of events and the lives and circumstances of individuals, point unmistakably to a powerful element of Catholic tradition and the survival of Catholic belief and worship in this comparatively remote and entirely rural world.

Much use is made of the vivid testimony of ordinary people, including their recounting of events which alarmed the authorities, both in the county and in London. These include raids on houses, the ambushing of officials and, in the scene which opens the paper, the defying of the Church of England by holding a funeral for a local woman according to Catholic rituals and practices. In sharp and fascinating contrast, some of the wider politico-religious context is provided by quotations from letters which were sent by the Venetian ambassador to the doge and senate of the Serene Republic.

The paper highlights role of key individuals—Roman Catholic priests, their protectors and patrons, and their opponents among the local gentry and clergy—and it argues that although there were no further overt outbursts of potentially serious or violent Catholic discontent, the faith remained a significant presence in the area. There is a notably comprehensive set of notes and references which would provide valuable guidance for anybody researching a comparable or similar theme elsewhere in the country.

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By Peter Austin

pp 291-306

Over many years Peter Austin has been undertaking meticulously-detailed research and analysis of the woodland and timber industries on the extensive estates of the Cecil family of Hatfield House in Hertfordshire, using the remarkably rich resource of the estate archives between the sixteenth and early-twentieth centuries. Several papers based on his research have been published previously in The Local Historian (on pollarding [vol.43 no.2, May 2013], coppice management [vol.44 no.3, July 2014], charcoal production [vol.46 no.3, July 2016], and timber management and sales [vol.49 no.1, January 2019]). More recently he has been researching in the no less impressive archive of the other branch of the Cecil family, at Burghley House, Stamford, and the present paper is the product of that work.

Oak bark was among the most valuable of the by-products of the timber trade—far from being a waste material, it was a vital ingredient in the process of tanning leather. The paper begins with a wide-ranging explanation of the contemporary (mid-sixteenth century to early twentieth century) context, including descriptions of the techniques and procedures involved in stripping, processing and storing the bark. These focus on peeling of the bark, quantifying the yield, and the specialised work of the bark-peelers. Detailed explanations of the weighing, costing and price of bark are given, derived from the estate accounts in the two archives. The paper then considers the tanners who bought the bark, and the location of the tanneries—an analysis which covers a period up to the 1890s, demonstrating the longevity of the trade. The final section provides an overview of the ‘rise and fall of bark’, noting in particular its rapid decline in the years around 1900, attributable to the centralisation and industrialisation of leather-tanning; the use of cheaper imported bark; and, ultimately, the emergence of chemical tanning.

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By Anthea Jones

pp 307-317

Johannes Kip was born in Amsterdam sometime around 1652, came to England in the mid-1680s, and established a reputation as the most important and talented topographical engraver of his time. In this paper Anthea Jones focuses on his work in Gloucestershire—specifically, the 63 double-page prints which illustrate Sir Robert Atkyns’s Ancient and Present State of Glostershire, a history of the county which was published in 1712. She describes the background—the processes of engraving and etching—and gives an account of Kip’s life and working methods, including his relationship with patrons, before discussing his collaboration with the (more celebrated) artist Leonard Knyff. Their joint work, Britannia Illlustrata (published 1707), is particularly well-known for its oblique aerial views of country houses and their estates.

The paper then looks at Kip’s other work, leading to a detailed assessment of the characteristics and context of the illustrations in Atkyns’s 1712 volume. The rationale for the choice of subjects, the topographical evidence by which the engravings can be dated, and intriguing importance of the layout of the book in determining the list of subjects are all discussed. The final section analyses Atkyns’s own estate at Swell, near Stow-on-the-Wold, as depicted by Kip—it assesses the accuracy and reliability of the engraving against the present-day topography and layout of the estate, and suggests that his work in uniquely valuable. Further research into Kip’s topographical depictions, in other parts of the country, would surely be fruitful.

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By David Griffiths

William Evans’ opinion piece in TLH vol.5 no.2 (April 2020), entitled ‘the end of local history and the last local historian’, was thought-provoking but, having given it some thought, I found it unconvincing. His central argument is that local histories, in order to be local, must differ from place to place, and that therefore the practice of local history is threatened by ‘the homogenisation of many local communities’, resulting from such trends as mass production, the growth of large enterprises, mass communication, centralisation of governance and similar developments, operating at national and even international scales. His title echoes Francis Fukuyama’s famous book The End of History and the Last Man (Free Press, 1992), which argued that the demise of the Soviet Union had ended an epoch of fundamental difference between social systems at global level, and foresaw a future of homogenised liberal democracy. Three turbulent decades since then have surely established beyond doubt—as Fukuyama has since acknowledged—that the thesis was at the very least premature.

More importantly for present purposes, however, it was a thesis about the future, whereas local history is somewhat obviously about the past. Evans is at pains to recognise the diversity of the local past, at least since early modern times. Nothing in his argument denies the possibility that local historians and their readers will continue to find fascination and instruction in uncovering that diversity. Less obviously, but perhaps more interestingly, the homogenisation he describes, and which undoubtedly has some reality, may actually throw up new opportunities for local history of a comparative rather than a purely narrative kind. For example:

* Local evidence can be used to test the validity and the strength of the trends he identifies—asking not whether they do or don’t operate, as a binary choice, but to what degree in particular times and places. Some high streets are dominated by national retail chains, others by independent shops—why is that?

* Where there are undeniably universal trends, local history can still exemplify them with local evidence. There was a nice example in the same issue of TLH where Trevor James noted of The James Losh Diaries that Losh unwittingly described the impact on Newcastle in 1816 of the Mount Tabor eruption, giving ‘local context to how his particular region was affected’ by a truly global event.

* Assuming there has been convergence from greater past diversity, the starting points by definition must have been different and so, therefore, must the historical paths towards uniformity, even if the results by now are the same. Tracing such paths is a vast and valid field of inquiry.

* Perhaps, in any case, rather than irresistible convergence such inquiry will reveal ‘path dependence’, to borrow a concept from economics, i.e. that the path taken affects the destination. In economics, dominated for decades by abstract mathematical models that assume convergence to states of equilibrium, the idea that ‘history matters’ is now being strongly reasserted.

* How, moreover, are national or international trends mediated and channelled by local geography, topography, patterns of land ownership, institutional structures and other stubborn pre-existing facts?

* And what of the influence of accidents of personality—the endlessly fascinating interplay between biography and impersonal forces, between ‘structure’ and ‘agency’ as sociologists would have it.

Fukuyama saw himself as revisiting Hegel, who proposed that history had ended with Napoleon’s victory over Russia at the battle of Jena. Karl Marx famously ‘turned Hegel on his head’ and displaced the end of history onto the future triumph of communism. Now history seems to have done for communism and there is still plenty for historians to do—even local ones—unless of course we are all doomed, as Evans also fears, by global overheating.

DAVID GRIFFITHS is publications secretary of Huddersfield Local History Society.

William Evans, in his recent article, makes some important points about local history. He suggests a valid distinction between two aspects of the discipline—first, the study of what makes a locality unique even though it will have features in common with other parts of a wider totality; and second, those localities where distinctive features have emerged showing differences from neighbouring areas even when ‘their pasts may have had common features’. This is not however exhaustive—local history might have other important dimensions. One, for example, might be that of the lessons to be drawn from a relatively commonplace area where something memorable has happened. Thus, the Shropshire town of Much Wenlock might be more obscure without its claim to be the birthplace of the modern Olympic Games: when the local games adopted the term ‘Olympic’ the town was ‘put on the map’. Another feature might be that a development took place which exemplified what was happening on a wider canvas—for example, the agricultural revolution, the growth of Nonconformity, or the suffrage movement—and whereby a development of wider importance was shaped by what happened in that locality.

The Peterloo massacre in 1819 is a good example of the latter. Suffrage demonstrations took place across England in the post-Napoleonic era, and the March of the Blanketeers had started from St Peter’s Fields in Manchester in 1816. But it was the attack by the yeomanry, and the consequent mass casualties, which shook public opinion, made the location famous, and led to the founding of the liberal Manchester Guardian. The massacre has often been seen as a deliberate national government attempt to suppress the reform movement, but it is was a genuinely local disaster. Large working-class demonstrations were seen in Birmingham, Leeds and London, but only Manchester saw the fatal combination of a sizeable, highly disciplined and peaceable reform movement, meeting an undisciplined and viciously class-conscious volunteer cavalry deployed to aid the regular troops and ordered into action by local magistrates. Peterloo is local history, and is remembered as such in the North West, but with a national impact.

Peterloo also shows how ‘local’ can include county-wide and regional themes. It happened in Manchester but drew demonstrators from the mill towns around the city. Samuel Bamford, the weaver who wrote the best eyewitness account of the massacre, came from Middleton. The 2018 film ‘Peterloo’ was uniquely premiered by the British Film Institute in Manchester. The director, Mike Leigh, stressed that as he was born in Salford he regarded Peterloo as part of his heritage.1 Studying Peterloo involves studying characters who would probably never be known outside their region were it not for the attack.

Clearly, local history rarely commands this level of attention. In his classic work The Making of the English Working Class,2 E.P. Thompson touches on the Battle of Blean Wood in Kent in 1838, in which farm labourers fought soldiers. An officer and over a dozen rebels were killed, a higher death toll than at Peterloo, but the event has largely been forgotten because it had no national consequences. Likewise, the Pentridge uprising in Derbyshire in June 1817 is well remembered locally, as the signs on the way into the village show, but it has little national resonance because it was not a massacre and took place in a somewhat remote area on the Derbyshire-Nottinghamshire border.3

Local history flourishes because of local appeal, but to survive the discipline needs a wider appeal. At its most influential, local history strikes a chord outside the locality. This is often because the local historian can throw light on a theme with more than a local focus. In researching my study of Mary Queen of Scots in Staffordshire,4 my aim was to show how the fortunes of a woman pre-eminently an international figure, a queen in two countries, were shaped by two places in the county. During 1569, her first year of explicit captivity in Staffordshire, she was moved to Tutbury castle three times because of national political developments, with the castle playing an increasingly important role. But in the final period, when she was returned to the fortress at Tutbury for the year of 1585, and then moved to the now lost manor of Chartley, local factors played a major role which is still not fully understood. The rest of this response considers these local elements.

Two local issues continue to challenge research conducted from a national perspective. Mary was entrapped by the use of a local brewer, who smuggled her letters in and out of Chartley to the French embassy in London. It has long been known how this was done—she trusted the use of a hollowed-out bung in a beer barrel, a trick devised by the agents of Walsingham, Elizabeth I’s Secretary of State, for the purpose of intercepting and reading her correspondence. Brewing was commonplace and for those houses which could not brew their own, a local industry supplied beer by the barrel. Nearby Burton-on-Trent, then as now, was brewing pale ale using the high-quality local water supply, and no other town in England was so well placed for the purpose of the plot. Mary asked no questions of so familiar a system, but she should have done. The brewer may have been Catholic, but he was mercenary and open to offers. Three centuries later, editing the letters of Amyas Paulet, Mary’s jailer, the Jesuit priest Father John Morris noted that Paulet installed the brewer in the empty house at Burton belonging to Lord Paget, a Catholic who had fled abroad when the Throckmorton plot was discovered.5 Morris comments that a letter of 28 May 1585 ‘seems to show that the scheme of her betrayal was already sketched out’: if the plot was formulated that early, historians must revise their accounts of what happened.

The second major problem in understanding how the locality shaped events derives from the mysterious role of Gilbert Gifford of Chillington in south Staffordshire, where his family had lived from 1178 (and where they still live). His role in the Babington plot which in 1587 brought Queen Mary to the block is so complex that Alison Plowden, in her Oxford Dictionary of National Biography entry on Gilbert, skirts round it. Some historians think Gifford was the agent provocateur who sustained the plot: Antonia Fraser set out his role in her 1969 book, arguing that he met Walsingham in early December 1585 ‘and it was at this point that the details of their secret compact were arranged’.6 She does not accept the view of John Morris that the plan might have been devised before then, but there is no dispute that on 16 January 1586 Gifford took the first letters to Chartley, a remarkably quick turnround given that he had only been in England for around six weeks. He was ideal as the operator of the plot, being Catholic, a Staffordshire man and above all a Giffard, able to act plausibly as courier for Mary’s letters in part because his was the leading recusant family in Staffordshire. They had fallen out with the regime when Elizabeth 1 visited their home at Chillington in 1575 and discovered they were recusants. But while Gifford was a recusant—indeed, a deacon of the Catholic Church—the mysteries surrounding him have so far proved impenetrable.

Queen Mary trusted him as a fellow Catholic, yet he was assiduously and secretly working for Walsingham, the most proactive and uncompromising Puritan Protestant in the Elizabethan government. Why he did this cannot be easily understood and, unlike the brewer, Gifford was not simply a mercenary. He was a compelling and intriguing manipulator, credible to Mary because the Giffords were local, and linked by family ties with the Throckmortons, with a prominent role in the Catholic community of Staffordshire enhanced by the arrival of Catholic missionaries in the early 1580s. He appeared on the surface, and notably to Mary’s agent in Paris, Thomas Morgan, to be wholly reliable. There is currently no adequate explanation of why this recusant from south Staffordshire turned into a double agent, but Mary was misled into trusting him because of his impeccable record as a Catholic rebel. She assumed that the two local men, rooted in their communities and both Catholics, would serve her cause. They were instead key agents of her downfall. It was happenstance that the queen was moved to Staffordshire but once she arrived there, she fell for a sophisticated plan devised to trap her. We still do not understand how the scheme that brought her down operated, although it is 145 years since Father Morris asked whether the scheme was already in place before Gilbert Gifford had begun his journey back to England. Possible answers will have to be found in local, national and international sources.

Much remains obscure, but local factors were critically important. The story of how an international figure, and an enduring legend, met her fate depended on the local history of people and places in east and south Staffordshire. It is a mistake to make too sharp a distinction between local, national or international factors: if most of the time developments fall into one or another camps, sometimes the most challenging research involves both.

Notes and references

1 The Guardian, 16 August 2018

2 E.P. Thompson, The Making of the English Working Class (Victor Gollancz 1963, Penguin edition 2013) 880-881

3 ibid., 723-726; the insurgency of Folley Hall which followed is covered in these pages.

4 Trevor Fisher, Mary Queen of Scots in Staffordshire (Youcaxton, 2019)

5 John Morris (ed), The Letter-Books of Sir Amias Poulet, keeper of Mary Queen of Scots (Burns and Oates, 1874) 31

6 Antonia Fraser, Mary Queen of Scots (Weidenfeld and Nicholson 1969, Phoenix Press edition 2003) 599

TREVOR FISHER is a retired teacher. He has a degree in History and Politics from Warwick University, where he was taught by E.P. Thompson (his final year special subject tutor). He has published eight books, ranging from Oscar and Bosie: a fatal passion (2002), a study of Oscar Wilde and Lord Alfred Douglas, to Villa for England (2011), on Aston Villa’s England internationals. His most recent book, Mary Queen of Scots in Staffordshire (2019), focuses on the events leading to the queen’s arrest at Tixall, east of Stafford, on 11 August 1586.

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By Heather Falvey

As Reviews Editor I receive many books and booklets about houses and their inhabitants, and about villages, manors or parishes; some produced by individuals, others by local history groups; some published privately, others commercially. The writers’ enthusiasm for their subjects is obvious and, in general, they have undertaken a great deal of research using published books, local and national archives and, where applicable, oral history. The end result is often nicely produced and well-illustrated, but sometimes the style of writing does not make easy reading. Quotations from original documents provide immediacy; it is, however, very distracting (and hard on the eye) when quotations are given in italics and often in double quotation marks—normal text in single quotation marks is sufficient. Personally, I like to be given references to documentary sources in footnotes or endnotes. Here are six publications about buildings and places.

Eastgate House is a magnificent Grade I listed townhouse in the heart of historic Rochester (Kent), owned by five successive members of the Buck family, all of whom were called Peter, the first two having connections with the navy, the other three being lawyers. The lives of the five men are outlined in relation to the house; sources include not only books about Rochester but also wills, and documents resulting from Chancery suits. Eastgate House was built in about 1590 for Peter Buck (1), at that time Clerk of the Cheque at Chatham Dockyard. In 1596 he became Clerk of the Ships and was knighted on 4 July 1604 when James I visited Rochester to inspect the fleet. Peter (1) died in early 1625; although the house was left to Peter (2), his mother continued to live there her death in 1637 and her will describes some of its furniture. Peter (2) was also Clerk of the Cheque, whose duties were expanded by the Privy Council in 1628; he died in 1648. Little is known about Peter (3) except that he was a lawyer and a JP; he died in 1655, leaving various properties to his wife during her life time, but Eastgate House and other properties directly to Peter (4). Details of the house are revealed in an account of repairs carried out on the family’s Rochester properties by Peter (3)’s widow Frances, in 1657 and 1658. Peter (4) died in October 1661, just a few months after his first child, Peter (5) was born. He and his mother, Judith, remained in Eastgate House, but there were complications because Peter (4) had not left a will and Judith believed that her mother-in-law had not provided Peter (5) with his rightful inheritance. Details of the properties involved are known because a suit in Chancery was initiated in 1664 and another in 1679 on behalf of Peter (5), who was still a minor. On 20 October 1687 he and Joseph Lane (Judith’s second husband) sold all of his Rochester properties, including Eastgate House, to John Parker. The house remained a family home until the late eighteenth century, when it became a girls’ boarding school; it has also been used as the town’s museum. It is about three times its original size, but virtually all of its development was under the Bucks.

Unlike Eastgate House, South Park, a ‘princely mansion’ in Wadhurst (Sussex), had a series of unrelated (and colourful) owners and the house on the site was rebuilt several times. In 1861 the land and its farmhouse known as ‘Lomas’ was purchased by John Ladds, who soon replaced it with a substantially larger dwelling on the highest point of the estate and sometime before 1865 changed the name of the estate and new house to ‘South Park’. His daughter Martha kept diaries in 1873-1874 which give a vivid picture of life in the house and provide names of some local inhabitants and of their homes. The property was subsequently purchased by John Bruce (d.1888), a wealthy Scot, who employed the architect Adolphus Croft to design and oversee the building of a new South Park. The house took three years to build and Bruce moved in on 17 July 1885, his arrival to take possession being reported in the Kent and Sussex Courier. A later newspaper article described the house itself in great detail, including its electricity supply. The next owner was Adolphus Croft’s brother, the artist Arthur Croft; detailed descriptions of the house and its contents survive in advertisements for their sale after his death in 1902. The purchaser was Russian-born Baron Johann Knoop: two contemporary accounts of his life after his arrival at South Park offer conflicting views and the authors of this book have tried to reconcile them. His relationship with his young second wife Maya was problematic and she became friends with the author Algernon Blackwood, a frequent visitor to South Park. Knoop died in 1918 and the house remained unoccupied for nearly 10 years, until it was acquired by Beatrice Mulliner, headmistress of Sherborne High School for Girls since 1899. Although nearing 60 she organised the transformation of South Park into a girls’ boarding school, officially opened on 31 October 1930. It remained a school, albeit in different guises, until December 2001. Following another prolonged period of neglect and decay apartments have now been created in the main building. Thus, after much recent expenditure, the South Park of John Bruce is still recognisable today.

Rather than focus on one particular building, the history of a road, Old Palace Lane, is revealed in terms of its use and inhabitants. One of the oldest roads in Richmond (Surrey), it was originally an access route to Sheen Palace, and to its successor Richmond Palace, for goods shipped up the Thames and offloaded by crane; indeed, it was named ‘the road to the Crane’ until well into the eighteenth century. Using maps, documentary evidence and the surviving built environment, the establishment of buildings in the Lane is traced, beginning with several cottages in the early sixteenth century. During the seventeenth century cottages became ‘mansions’ as courtiers and officials relocated there. The locations of these buildings have been depicted on various plans. The Palace was sold very early in the Commonwealth period and in 1650 demolition commenced; however royalty returned to Richmond under the Hanoverians and the town’s fortunes increased, so gentlemen’s houses and villas were built in the Lane. A survey of 1771 provides details of houses and buildings, although a row of small workmen’s cottages and the pub, dating from about that time, are not recorded. These latter ‘brought to the Lane people from a lower social group’ but now they are regarded as desirable residences. There are sections on some of the bigger houses in the Lane; the theatre that was there from 1765 to 1884; people who lived in the Lane; and the transport infrastructure.

Very different in character and situation is New Buckenham (Norfolk), a twelfth-century planned town that has retained its medieval layout and barely exceeds its historic boundaries. Few medieval records survive but documents from 1530 to 1780 abound, such as rentals, borough court books, lawsuits relating to commons, about 220 wills and a mere 29 probate inventories. Paul Rutledge draws on these to identify inhabitants of known occupation and thus is able to discuss the economic life of the community, although, as he concedes, most women and also the very poor are excluded by this approach. Nevertheless, the resultant study is a master class in how to reconstruct the economic life of an early modern town. A map shows the location of properties in the town and the numbers allocated to those properties are then used to identify their various inhabitants over time. A series of plans shows the locations of various crafts and trades in relation to the market place and each of these occupations is discussed in detail. Inevitably, being Norfolk, the cloth trade dominated but there were also food retailers of various kinds, and even metal workers—not only smiths but also cutlers—and wood workers including coopers. The parish of New Buckenham was very small (only 360 acres) with only 95 acres of common pasture and 180 acres of arable in the town field; there was a further 190 acres in Old Buckenham parish which were dominated by New Buckenham landowners. Rutledge therefore concludes that the town’s inhabitants turned to a range of non-agricultural livelihoods and this certainly seems to be borne out by his findings. The town was originally planned as an adjunct to the castle of New Buckenham by William d’Albini, but few estate records of the Knyvetts, his successors, survive, so it is difficult to know how much the town’s economy was bound up with that of the castle.

Written in 1938 and first published in 1939, Suffolk Scene is based on the observations of 23-year old Julian Tennyson, great grandson of Alfred, Lord Tennyson. Julian’s descriptive prose is delightful, not least because at the time of writing he had a budding literary career as poet and author. He fully expected to return home from the war, but was killed in action in Burma in March 1945. His text describes life in Suffolk in the late 1930s, noting, for example, cottages, farmhouses and even churches seeming to exist ‘without any human contact at all’, being accessible only by a ‘wholly impassable cart-track’. He relates at length where he went and what he saw; such as the colourful, and eventful, three-day horse fair at Long Melford; the old trade, or craft, of flint-knapping; and a sailing expedition that almost ended in disaster when the weather turned nasty. He recalls locals telling stories handed down (or made up for visitors such as himself): the story of King Edmund’s martyrdom as recounted by an old native of Hoxne may well differ from the ‘official’ version but here is the story of the county’s royal saint told in the Suffolk vernacular. Tennyson’s loving description of the Suffolk coast relates not only what it was like in 1938 but also how it had been changed by both man and erosion, not least as a result of flooding the previous year. He also writes of ‘four famous men’ of Suffolk, by which he means writers and artists, of whom only Gainsborough is now known outside the county. His epilogue gives his view of ‘Suffolk’s rise and fall’, including the original importance of the see of Dunwich to early Christianity in England and the destruction by the sea of the once busy port there; five great medieval churches, the treasures of which disappeared during the Reformation and depredations of William Dowsing; and the Suffolk wool and cloth trade. The original text has been republished numerous times; in this new edition it has been supplemented by a fascinating biographical introduction by Elaine Murphy, a local historian. She has also added a critique of each chapter with regard to changes over the intervening 80 years—in my opinion these critiques are unhelpful and mar the original text in two ways; first, they have been placed before Tennyson’s text thus providing Murphy’s views before one has the opportunity to read the evocative original; second, the critiques mostly outline changes to the ‘Suffolk scene’ since Tennyson wrote. Frankly, so what? His beautiful prose is his history of Suffolk in 1938—and everywhere has changed in the last 80 years.

Although he was buried in war grave in the Far East, Julian Tennyson had asked for a memorial stone to be erected in the churchyard at Iken (Suffolk), and this was done. Churchyards are everywhere: there are some 10,000 in England alone. Roger Bowdler’s small handbook provides an introduction to the variety of memorials and headstones erected by, and for, generations of past parishioners, with examples from England, Scotland and Wales. It is beautifully illustrated not only with modern photographs of surviving tombs and tombstones but also with old photos and postcards. We learn about changing attitudes to death; styles and fashions in memorials; and varieties of epitaphs, some beautiful, some endearing and some rather odd. In the post-war period numerous graveyards fell into disrepair and tombstones were levelled, but since the 1960s nature conservation and heritage protection measures have halted this destruction. This book will foster an appreciation of these meaningful places of repose. Given the large number of memorable sites and artefacts mentioned a gazetteer or index would have been helpful.

THE BUCK FAMILY & EASTGATE HOUSE by Pamela Weeds (Friends of Eastgate House 2019 ISBN 978-1-5272-3906-7) £3.50+£1.50 p&p

SOUTH PARK: Wadhurst's Princely Mansion by Arthur Dewar and Rachel Ring (Wadhurst History Society 2019 ISBN 978-0-9930708-2-2) £12+£2.10 p&p

OLD PALACE LANE: Medieval to Modern Richmond by Derek Robinson and Simon Fowler (Richmond Local History Society/Museum of Richmond 2nd edn. 2020 48pp ISBN 978-1-9123140-2-7) £7

NEW BUCKENHAM: a planned town at work 1530-1780 by Paul Rutledge (first published 2000, this edition Poppyland Publishing 2019 ISBN 978-1-90979-644-7) £9.95

SUFFOLK SCENE: A Book of Description and Adventure by Julian Tennyson with commentary by Elaine Murphy (this edition Poppyland Publishing 2019 ISBN 978-1-90979-665-2) £19.95

CHURCHYARDS by Roger Bowdler (Britain’s Heritage series Amberley 2019 ISBN 978-1-44569-111-4) £8.99

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This review article considers one of the most remarkable and ambitious historical publishing projects of recent years. For almost 35 years Margaret Bird worked on researching, transcribing, analysing and writing about the voluminous diaries of Mary Hardy (1733-1809) of Letheringsett in north Norfolk. The diaries were kept daily between 1773 and 1809, and are of exceptional historical interest—they contain over half a million words and cover just about every aspect of their author’s existence, giving an unrivalled picture of her multi-faceted life as the wife of a farmer and brewer, a businesswoman in her own right, a significant figure in local society with all its networks and intricate relationships, a mother and member of extended family circles, and a fascinating individual. The diaries, which are in the private ownership of some of her descendants, have been fully transcribed and were published by Margaret Bird in 2013. Now she has produced four very substantial volumes containing the fruits of her research and analysis, a project which matches the original diary in scale and which has provided us with an extraordinary and endlessly interesting resource in its own right.

The four volumes contain 3240 pages, 1450 black and white illustrations, 190 colour plates, 188 tables, graphs, maps and family trees, and indexes which cover no fewer than 360 pages in total. They have been designed and laid out by Margaret Bird, a herculean task in its own right and one accomplished with exceptional skill despite the very great complexity of the project. The books have been produced with materials of outstanding quality—superior paper, excellent reproduction of images, and exemplary technical standards—and are a joy to hold, read and use. This review is the work of three reviewers, and there is therefore a certain and unavoidable degree of overlap between what we have to say. We are all full of admiration for the work which Margaret Bird has undertaken and I should like to laud and commend her efforts over so many years.

1. Volume 1: A working family

This beautiful volume is a rich and endlessly stimulating analysis of Mary Hardy the diarist, and the many overlapping circles which provided the framework of her world. In her foreword Professor Penny Corfield describes the ‘utterly magnificence’ of Margaret Bird’s work, and refers to the diarist’s ‘posthumous good fortune [in] finding her ideal editor and interpreter’, and I doubt that any reader would disagree in any way with those sentiments. The book comprises a series of what Professor Corfield calls ‘sustained essays ... accompanied by well-chosen illustrations, tables, graphs, maps, family trees and extensive side-notes. There is much to savour, to learn, to debate’. It is a demonstration of the remarkable breadth and depth of Margaret Bird’s background and contextual research, revealed not only in the text itself but also in the twelve closely-packed pages of the bibliography of primary and secondary sources. Access is facilitated by the four appendices (on the diarists’ Norfolk speech and dialect; recipes; biographical details of no fewer than ninety maidservants; and an 8-page chronology of the lives of the Hardys) and by a 57-page masterpiece of an index.

The body of the text is divided into three main sections. The first, ‘Family bonds’, begins with a detailed discussion of the social, topographical, economic and cultural setting within which Mary and her family, lived, worked and had their being. This is followed by a lengthy and rewarding analysis and assessment of the diarists (Mary and her nephew, Henry Raven), their lives, social position and family context. Rarely can a family of the ‘middling sort’ have been subject to such careful, thought-provoking and wide-ranging investigation—and it is a strength of the work that it makes one speculate and ponder on comparable issues and themes concerning other families and people who lived during the ‘long eighteenth century’. One mark of a successful historical analysis is that it prompts thoughts about parallels and contrasts in the experiences of others, and this most certainly achieves that. The sub-section entitled ‘The shaping time’ gives perspectives on multi-generational family structures, the life-cycle, and attitudes towards kin and family relationships, death and mortality, the sense of belonging to an ancestral place, the significance of ‘home’ and the emotional meaning attached to particular properties, and the existence and relevance of the family diaspora and its contacts with the core. This progresses logically into a discussion of ‘marriage ventures’, covering inter alia the almost-concealed question of marital disharmony and breakdown (though most definitely not in the case of the diarist herself), and the role of women as independent entities—in the context of marriage settlements, legal frameworks, control of economic assets, and the interesting notion of women as members of ‘teams’ working with their husbands in business, estate management and household organisation. This analysis then moves on to consider courtship and the finding of partners, the rituals and ceremonies of marriage, and the role of, and attitudes towards, in-laws and the family into which one married.

The second main section is entitled ‘Moulding the young’, a fascinating discussion of questions and themes which on one level are very familiar—the succession of a dynasty, the procedures and perils of childbirth, childhood and early education, the sorrow-laden deaths of infants and children—but which are all too often prone to sweeping generalisation. Historians of the family and family life will surely find much rich material here, not only in the original diaries but also in Margaret Bird’s thoughtful and detailed analysis of their evidence. Likewise, it is exceptionally rare to encounter a thorough and evidenced-based discussion of the real-life experience of education for comparatively ordinary people in the eighteenth century, but that is what we find in the 74-page sub-section that is simply entitled ‘Pupils’. The immediacy of the primary source, its detail and contextualisation, make this an engrossing read.

The third section of this volume is ‘At home’, covering the houses in which the Hardys lived, the gardens and pleasure grounds, and the endlessly debatable and indeed fundamental question of servants and their manifold roles within the household. It provides astonishing detail about the lives, work and condition of the many dozens of servants employed by the Hardys during the three and a half decades of the diaries and for periods before and after their currency. The servant in the eighteenth century was, until this volume was published, comparatively unknown and under-researched compared with her or his nineteenth-century successors. That is no longer the case. Servants were vital cogs in household management and the domestic economy. The section of the book dealing with the gardens reveals the role of men and boys in the outdoor part of the property, and also exploits the potential of the diaries to inform about planting and garden work, wages, staffing structures, and the level of self-sufficiency in the household. This extends beyond gardens and kitchen grounds to include work undertaken on the wider estate and the management of, for example, water, woodland and rights of way. This is a self-contained case-study of the active, interventionist role of landowners in reshaping the landscape and topography at a crucial period in the history of estate management and landscape design. Here, as in so much else in this book, it prompts and stimulates, leading me to add ideas to my growing list of topics to research, examples to investigate, and themes to consider.

As will be apparent, I am full of admiration for what Margaret Bird has achieved with this unique—and uniquely ambitious—project of research, analysis and publication. The sheer range of topics covered in depth and detail means that historians of almost any type and variety, looking at almost any subject or theme, are surely bound to find much of interest. I predict that for many years to come ‘Bird on Hardy’ will be very many times quarried and quoted, and that much future writing on key aspects of English history in the Georgian period will be indebted to Margaret Bird and her heroic labours. And, by the way, the book is also extremely enjoyable!

Alan Crosby is the editor of The Local Historian, where in 2015 he published Margaret Bird’s article ‘Supplying the beer: life on the road in eighteenth-century Norfolk’, which was the winner of that year’s BALH ‘long article’ award for research and publication.

2. Volume 2: Barley, beer and the working year; and volume 4: Under sail and under arms

I first came across the diary of Mary Hardy in the extracts published in 1968 by her great-great-grandson Basil Cozens-Hardy for the Norfolk Record Society, while researching respectively the histories of Harrogate and Knaresborough and that of the public house. For the one she recounted engagingly her journey from Norfolk to Yorkshire, whence her husband’s family came, and the places she visited there, and for the other the absorbing details of the family business as maltsters, brewers and suppliers of beer to public houses were invaluable. I am therefore delighted not only that Margaret Bird has published a full, edited version of the diaries themselves, which run to half a million words, but has produced four superb companion volumes, two of which I have been asked to review.

Volume 2 deals respectively with the various elements of farming, malting and brewing, first at Coltishall and then at Letheringsett in Norfolk, north of Norwich, and the business of supplying a tied estate of over a hundred public houses run by the diarist’s husband William and then their son, also William. Volume 4 looks at the forms of transport they used, at the ways in which their limited leisure time was spent, at political life and finally at how the long, almost uninterrupted wars with France from 1792 impacted on their lives, although by their end in 1815 both the diarist and her husband were lying in Letheringsett churchyard. Each volume is based in detailed reading of the diaries and draws upon a wealth of further primary sources and secondary literature to set her life in the wider economic, social, cultural and political context of this critical period in Britain’s history. Supported by detailed sidenotes, tables, maps, diagrams, appendices, a full bibliography and an incomparable index, together they form an invaluable source for late-eighteenth and early-nineteenth century life.

It is impossible to do justice here to all that these volumes have to offer but a look at selected areas will serve to give at least some indication of their value. First from volume 2: clearly the business of malting and brewing is central and the book makes an important contribution to a now quite substantial literature on those industries. But it also has much to say on aspects of the drink industry which have received less attention. The Hardys supplied more than a hundred public houses over an area delimited by the distance to which a horse-drawn cart could deliver their beer. These were either free houses, that is independent from any control, or they were tied to the brewer, either by being owned, or leased, or held through loans. Reconstructing this process is complex, requiring careful archival work, and the results are here painstakingly presented. In so doing the commentary complements and challenges existing conclusions about the timing and extent of the tie and its connection to the brewing of porter, to show its early extent in this region where large numbers of public houses were geographically accessible and that it was not in fact linked, as in London, to the brewing of porter. Similarly in the area of licensing—as Bird rightly notes, the drink trade was the most closely regulated aspect of eighteenth-century life—the volume uses detailed archival research to show how the complex system worked, in particular giving what might seem to some a rather dry subject its human face. For example, the sometimes sociable relationship between Hardy and the magistrates who were responsible for licensing his public houses is seen in their frequently dining together. Norfolk’s justices exercised a light touch in licensing and there was no restriction or suppression of public houses as was the case in some counties from the late eighteenth century, following the 1787 royal proclamation against ‘vice, profaneness and immorality’. In addition to the system of regulation, the role of the Excise is here detailed. Although historians have been aware of the importance of the moneys raised by it to the furtherance of Britain’s power and influence in the world, the system’s complexity has largely deterred them from exploring its workings. Bird sheds important light on its administration (William Hardy senior had earlier been an excise man) and on how important it was to the Excise to have a closely regulated drink trade to facilitate the collection of revenue. Finally, the lives of the publicans are illuminated and the hazardous careers they sometimes experienced, shedding needed light thereby on this key contemporary trade and more generally on the uncertainties of eighteenth-century business life.

In Volume 4 a major contribution to the literature on transport is provided by material on how the Hardys utilised roads above all to deliver their beer, but also rivers (including fascinating details of Norfolk’s keels and wherries) and the sea to bring in the essential raw materials of their business: coal, cinders, timber and hops. For a time, they had their own ship, Nelly, bringing coal from Newcastle but the perils of this form of transport were confirmed when, having previously been captured by the Dutch, it sank with the loss of its crew. Similarly, the section on leisure pursuits engages with the literature on the subject by showing, for example, the suppression of fairs and brutal pastimes within its general elaboration of the theme of control in eighteenth-century society. It also makes clear the fundamental point that this was a society in which work rather than pleasure dominated lives, having already informed us, for example, in volume 2 that the Hardys’ farm servants laboured up to 3760 hours a year, over twice the national average for the early twentieth century. But the Hardys worked equally long hours. The volume next explores the political life of the county, showing, for example, the extent to which Mary, although of course she could not vote, was nevertheless ‘part of the political nation’. Finally, it examines how the long wars against Revolutionary and Napoleonic France affected the lives of its men and women in this county with such a long, exposed coastline. Most families suffered some privation through the taxes they paid, the embargoes in place and the military and naval service of family members.

My only reservation about these volumes is a worry that the sheer amount of detail, both in the text and sometimes in the supporting diagrams—showing, for example, the number of days on which snow fell in Norfolk—or in tables like the one of all the keels and wherries above 13 tons based over three years at Coltishall, Horstead and Belaugh, might render it something of a challenge for the general reader whom Bird avowedly aims to reach. Even as a specialist in some of its subject matter, I felt at times that this was a work into which one delved rather than read at leisure. The detailed sidenotes, although invaluable to the specialist, I felt might also add to that effect. I could not help wondering whether there wasn’t a much shorter volume on Mary Hardy’s world which might have used its fascinating detail to highlight important points about the period: the sheer amount of hard work done by everyone at this time, workers and employers alike, for example, or the spread of industry in its broadest sense in this agricultural county, or the extent to which people were on the move in what is sometimes perceived as a static world. But this is perhaps to cavil. These volumes are essential reading for anyone interested in the history of Norfolk. But they are so much more than that. In their understanding and use of often difficult primary sources and their exploration of neglected topics, they should serve both as an inspiration and guide to other researchers. Above all, they are essential source books for the economic, social, cultural and political history of the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries. They are superbly produced and beautifully illustrated, a pleasure to hold and to read.

Paul Jennings is a social historian who has researched and written about the drink trade publishing, in particular, The Local: A History of the English Pub (Tempus 2007 and The History Press, 2011) and A History of Drink and the English 1500-2000 (Routledge, 2016).

3. Volume 3: Spiritual and social forces

This volume (3 of 4) is part of the companion to the full Mary Hardy diaries edited by Margaret Bird which comprises a deep historical analysis of the original manuscript material. As such, the companion is part of a broader 32 year project; a prodigious undertaking by the author which has culminated in a hugely impressive addition to the growing list of diaries which provide historians with an insight into life as it was actually lived, from the bottom up. Moreover, the source is the work of a married female diarist from the ‘middling sort’ in Norfolk, maintained continuously for 36 years (1773-1809) and comprising half a million words recorded over a time of much local, national and global change, including the American War of Independence, the French Revolution and the Napoleonic Wars. The study represents an extremely significant contribution to many areas of historical scholarship in local, social and religious history and this volume brings the original manuscripts to life in a powerful way for both the specialist and general reader.

The volume is structured in two parts, each of four chapters. The first part considers religious themes and the second the broader social issues raised by the diaries. In addition to frequent references to the original diary entries, the analysis draws on a wide-ranging collection of other manuscripts, printed primary and secondary sources to deliver a rich and comprehensive assessment, from a local perspective, of many issues which feature in the relevant historiography relating to the period. The volume is almost 800 pages long, including a comprehensive glossary, index and bibliography. It is packed with photographs, tables, graphs and charts and has extensive captions and footnotes to supplement the text. Overall it is presented in an extremely scholarly and professional manner. However, the length and presentation of the text does mean that, despite it being fluently written, it requires a significant investment of time by the reader to absorb the full value of the research. In particular, some effort is required to become familiar with the local family and geographic contexts, which are essential to fully appreciate the arguments, although this task is considerably aided by the provision of family trees, maps and personal vignettes of various clergy and lawyers.

Part 1 on religious issues, entitled ‘Flames of Fire’, comprises four chapters focused on the parish clergy, Sunday schools (a new development of the times), Nonconformist preachers and the perspective of congregations and parishioners. A clear picture emerges of north Norfolk as a place that does things differently, where Nonconformity found a natural home and the Established Church was seriously challenged. Religion was central to Mary Hardy’s life, as it was with other members of her family and social circle. The diaries vividly illustrate the fluidity and mobility of all aspects of life, but particularly in terms of faith and religion. Mary’s own spiritual journey progressed from the mainstream Church of England (‘our church’) via Anglican Evangelicalism and Calvinistic Methodism through to the Wesleyan brand of Methodism in which she ended her days. Rather than the unwavering denominational allegiance of many—such as her husband William who remained a committed Anglican—Mary followed her heart and was prepared to sample different denominations and preachers according to their personal spiritual appeal. Moreover, she travelled great distances to do so, by cart or on foot, often attending different churches and meeting houses in neighbouring villages two or even three times on a Sunday, as well as going to midweek meetings. What is also apparent is that the Hardys did not worship as a family unit. Mary, her husband and her two surviving adult children (after the death of her eldest son at the age of 20) were all free to exercise their own choices in their personal search for salvation and much evidence is produced to show the variety of religious experience which each encountered. Mary, her daughter and her youngest son would, to varying degrees, find a particular preacher they liked and follow him to different venues. For them, it was the sermon rather than priestly sacramentalism which was at the heart of religious worship and the key to the salvation of their souls.

Pluralism abounds in every respect through the diaries. Rectors and vicars held various livings; curates served multiple parishes; preachers visited different meeting houses and parishioners and congregations flowed between them all, distributing their presence as they saw fit and as the Holy Spirit moved them. This was a religious world of itinerancy and mobility, of fierce competition between denominations and earnest searching for Christian truth. But such pluralism did not necessary imply a lack of conscientious pastoral care. The author presents plentiful evidence from the diaries of earnest, diligent and sincere priests and ministers as well as some who were perhaps less committed to their Holy calling, and some with whom Mary definitely did not see eye to eye; for example, her abrupt withdrawal from her local Sunday school responsibilities following an announcement by the local minister about future funding to which she took exception. Gender considerations are also implicit in the background within the diaries and these are developed further for the reader. For example, the leadership role of women in early Sunday schools; their encouragement within the Countess of Huntingdon Connexion and their initial role as society and class leaders within Wesleyan Methodism before they were effectively marginalised through the central control of Conference. The overriding impression, in Mary’s case and that of her female family members and acquaintances, is of independence and autonomy in matters of personal salvation; the central tenet of individualism which ran through Evangelicalism at this time survived the patriarchy of the period.

In part two, ‘Town and Village’, the author firmly locates Mary Hardy’s religious experience in the context of the society in which she lived, necessarily emphasising their connection. Separate chapters consider the relevant social backdrop, the role of magistrates in enforcing the ‘peace’, the importance of the market town and the nature of prominent local trades and professions. The Hardys lived in a part of the country and within a social structure in which landholding (rather than birth, rank or title) certainly conveyed and signified status, but other skills, attributes, attitudes and abilities were also recognised with respect and conferred a certain social standing. Members of the Hardy family owned and ran their own brewing business, employed workers, retained domestic servants, paid rates, sat in judgement as jurors, served as parish officers and recognised their obligations towards ‘the poor’. This was not a world of closed parishes dominated by a single estate and a powerful landowner, aligned with resident clergyman. It was an open, entrepreneurial, commercial and outward looking society.

Given its breadth and comprehensive index, the volume has significant value as a source contributing to numerous historiographical debates, such as the effectiveness of the Hanoverian clergy, the harshness of contemporary justice and the nature of commercial practices. However, the central argument is that rural life in a small village in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries was not necessarily the one of received wisdom—simple, confined, restricted and narrow—at least for the ‘middling sort’ like the diarist. The life led by Mary Hardy, her family and acquaintances in this part of north and east Norfolk was busy, rewarding, fluid and mobile. People had broad horizons with connections and interests all over the world: events in the far-flung corners of Empire affected them, both personally and commercially, and they read avidly about them in newspapers and discussed them in shops and public houses. The people had resilience and independence of spirit as a result of their heritage and a life lived in open parishes, free from the oversight of resident landed squire and Anglican parson. Social conventions were replaced by local customs, such as that relating to primogeniture, and social mobility was a reality—the diarist’s son William Hardy junior elevated himself to the style of the minor gentry by expanding the family business and becoming lord of the manor with a family coat of arms, the largest landowner in the village and a conscientious justice of the peace. Independence of thought and individualism were also reflected in spiritual matters as many in Mary’s circle eschewed the broad Established Church in favour of ‘Heart Religion’ in the form of Evangelicalism as expressed by various Anglicans and Nonconformists; spiritual and social mobility was aided physically by the close proximity of parishes and meeting houses, by an accessible network of paths, roads and bridges and by coastal ports. Underpinning this argument is a rich tapestry of evidence from a life fully lived and meticulously recorded and analysed. For the historian and general reader prepared to invest the time to become familiar with the specifics of people and place, this companion is a contribution which elevates our understanding of the period to a new level. Considering how far this assessment is capable of broader application is now a challenge for other historians.

Alistair Beecher is a departmental lecturer in the Department for Continuing Education, at the University of Oxford. His research interests are in local history, modern religious and social history and the secularisation of society.

MARY HARDY AND HER WORLD 1773-1809 comprises four volumes, each by Margaret Bird and published by Burnham Press in 2020 at £37.50 each: see : see burnham-press.co.uk for more details

vol.1 A working family (xxii+796pp ISBN 978-1-9162067-1-7)

vol.2 Barley, beer and the working year (xxii+874pp ISBN 978-1-9162067-2-4)

vol.3 Spiritual and social forces (818 pp ISBN 978-1-9162067-3-1)

vol.4 Under sail and under arms (xxii+778pp ISBN 978-1-9162067- 4-8)

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THE HISTORY OF TEWKESBURY’S WAR HOSPITALS 1914-18: ‘alien duties for the privileged’ by John Dixon (Tewkesbury Historical Society 2019 164pp ISSN 1742-60300) £18 https://tewkesburyhistory.org/How-To-Buy

This book, illustrated throughout with colour and black and white photographs, is the story of how the Gloucestershire town of Tewkesbury and its inhabitants were involved in Voluntary Aid hospital services during the Great War. It is a follow up to a 2015 publication, A Noble Band of Heroes, the product of a Lottery-supported centenary project. A volunteer for that project, Linda Kean-Price, undertook the research on the participants in Tewkesbury’s war hospitals incorporated in this book. The book is divided into two parts: first, the history of Tewkesbury VAD (Voluntary Aid Detachment) and, second, biographies of Tewkesbury’s medical volunteers. The foreword explains that the phrase ‘alien duties for the privileged’ came from The Chronicle of 21 November 1914, in which ‘Sabrina’ stated that ‘It is striking what a change of manner and a bringing to the fore of a common sense, practical spirit the emergencies of the present time have effected. Ladies turned to and scrubbed floors and carried out all manner of duties to which many must have almost become alien through the privileges of their social position. Some who before would have considered it infra dig to carry even a parcel in the street may now be seen tripping along muscling big jugs of milk. All seem animated with the desire to do everything they can for the common good of the soldiers entrusted to their charge’.

Chapters 1 to 4 discuss the prelude to Voluntary Aid hospital services in Tewkesbury, which were established in the town’s Watson Hall in November 1914. It would have been useful to refer to the article in the Gloucestershire Chronicle of 21 November 1914 detailing the annual report of the Gloucestershire Red Cross, which spells out the progress made in all areas of medical support for the armed forces. Tewkesbury’s Voluntary Aid contribution for the period from 1914 to 1919 was about 3.3 per cent of the county total of patients treated, but photographs reproduced in the book are testimony to the town’s efforts in the early part of the war. The text touches on the significant role of the Devereux family in the VA effort in the town. Mrs Ethel Mary Devereux (née Phillips 1870-1931), the hospital commandant, was a doctor’s daughter married to Dr William Charles Devereux (1866-1935). He was the son of a doctor and was the medical officer for the VA hospital.

A major element of the book concerns the new VA hospital at Mitton Farm, which replaced the Watson Hall in 1915. The farm had been offered by its owners, the Earl and Countess of Coventry of Croome Court, Worcestershire, in September 1914, when William Devereux had agreed to be the medical officer in charge. When it opened Mitton was designated a convalescent hospital and this probably accounted for the relatively low number of patients (1223) and the low death rate (no patients died until the influenza epidemic of 1918). The hospital closed on 2 January 1919—in June 1918 Ethel Devereux had been awarded the MBE for her service. In total 119 volunteers have been identified as serving and these are listed on pages 61-64, including 28 men, mostly orderlies.

Along with the magnificent collection of photographs, the detail of the people involved is the strength of the book, shining light on how a small community contributed to a huge national effort of medical care. An attempt is made in the first part of the book to identify some of the patients who benefited, but this is limited to only two soldiers. However, in her Foreword one of the current owners of Mitton Farm recounts an experience nearly 50 years ago, before they moved into the near derelict building: ‘an elderly man, visibly upset [was] standing outside the gate … he said that he had come back to where he had been nursed after being wounded … “they took us from the blood and filth of the trenches and sent us to Mitton and it was like going to heaven”’.

John Banham undertook a part time PhD on North East business and banking history 1755-1840 (University of Sunderland 1997). He has been Secretary of Durham County Local History Society for nearly 20 years, has written articles for the Society’s journal, and helped to produce a number of its other publication. Since 2014 he has researched Spennymoor’s participants in the Great War with special reference to those involved in medical services. This resulted in a Heritage Lottery supported film being made in 2018 on the theme of the contribution to medical services of individuals from Spennymoor.

THE BRIDGNORTH INFIRMARY: philanthropy, prejudices and patients 1832-1948 by Gillian Waugh Pead (Logaston Press 2018 xiv+168 pp ISBN978-1-910839-27-0) £12.95

Histories of institutions such as schools and businesses can easily fall into the trap of being introspective and imparting a great deal of information which is of little interest except to those with a specialised focus on the body concerned. It is therefore pleasing to see that Mrs. Pead, a former nurse who served at Bridgnorth Hospital, has avoided these pitfalls and produced a study which is readable and well-referenced, and which sets the subject within the context of wider local and national developments. It is significant that, prior to embarking upon the book, she wisely enrolled on a ‘Research in Local History’ course at Birmingham University. If more aspiring historians were to follow this course of action it is likely that the overall standard of local studies would be much improved.

One theme which emerges strongly from the book is the extent to which, on a number of occasions, the medical profession were prepared to fight in defence of their own vested interests and against those of the general public. This is seen in the account of the efforts to found an Infirmary, which coincided with the town’s first brush with cholera in 1832. The proposal was the brainchild of James Milman Coley, a well-qualified and visionary medical practitioner. The scheme, which was supported by a large body of public opinion in Bridgnorth, met with determined opposition, particularly from the Dispensary doctors who saw a threat to their livelihoods, as well as from the Shropshire Infirmary in Shrewsbury. Unlike the Dispensary, the Infirmary, which opened in purpose-built premises in 1836, provided in-patient as well as out-patient care for the labouring classes, though for a very limited range of complaints which excluded infectious diseases and maternity cases. The rift with the Dispensary lasted until 1871.

Even greater animosity occurred shortly after the opening of the Infirmary when Coley, who had been appointed Surgeon for Life, fell out with his erstwhile partner, James Henry Martin, initially over the validity of the latter’s Scottish qualifications. This quarrel spread to the Infirmary Committee and trustees, and spilled over into the press. The controversy also became linked with the political divisions in the town between the Whigs (to whom Coley gradually became attached) and the Tories, who included Martin and a large number of the Committee. Coley was dismissed in 1839, despite being ‘Surgeon for Life’, but continued to practice surgery, on occasions breaking into the Infirmary. Eventually in 1841 he bowed to the inevitable, and the Trustees expunged the unsavoury episode from their memory, and also from the minutes. Similar exhibitions of self-interested conduct were to arise in 1911, when the Bridgnorth doctors, like many of their colleagues in the British Medical Association, refused to co-operate with Lloyd George’s National Insurance ‘panel’ scheme.

The history of the Infirmary after 1841 is one of gradual progress and a growth of professionalism. The first matrons, who were working class and sometimes unlettered, had to cope single-handedly with such tasks as cleaning and lighting fires in addition to their nursing duties. Gradually the status of the nursing profession improved, with the matron being given six months’ leave in 1871 to undertake training in London. In 1885 a fully qualified matron was appointed for the first time. The status and development of the nursing profession during the latter part of the nineteenth century is a particularly interesting theme which is explored in the book.

By the 1890s it had become clear that the Infirmary buildings were no longer fit for purpose, and a campaign was launched to raise the necessary funds for a replacement. Aided at the last minute by a bequest of £7000, a new building was erected on the site in Northgate still occupied by Bridgnorth Hospital. In 1915 the Infirmary became an Auxiliary Hospital receiving wounded soldiers who were brought by ambulance from Buildwas station. After the war there were a number of new ventures, such as the opening of a maternity wing in 1934, but it became increasingly clear that the financial position of the Infirmary was parlous, and in April 1948 it became part of the National Health Service.

Mrs. Pead’s book will be of interest to many of the Bridgnorthians who have passed through the doors of the Infirmary’s successor, and much of what is discussed will shock and surprise. The book has been produced with the high standards which we have come to associate with Logaston Press, and at such a reasonable price it should be assured a wide readership in Bridgnorth and the county at large.

Martin Speight studied early nineteenth century politics in Colchester for his London Ph.D. (1969) He was a founder member of the Ludlow Historical Research Group, and is currently Chairman of the Shropshire Archaeological and Historical Society.

BEYOND COMPARE: a history of The Walton Centre by Chris Jones (privately published 2019 258pp no ISBN) £9.99 from waltonhistory2020@gmail.com or as a Kindle book from Amazon

The Walton Centre is the only hospital in the United Kingdom dedicated to the management of neurological diseases. It is situated in north Liverpool, adjacent to Aintree University Hospital, but has entirely separate hospital trust status, and independent finances. It serves a huge tract of the north-west UK, including Merseyside, Lancashire, Cumbria, the Isle of Man and North Wales. Chris Jones, the author, has a background in academic nursing and medical history. He describes the book as an ‘uncommissioned unofficial history’, but this belittles a highly researched work. His primary sources include rich oral histories which are liberally quoted. Overall it is a fascinating story of a relatively recently-established specialist medical institution.

Before looking in detail at the book, it is worth taking some time to explain the terminology and details of neurological disease and its management, particularly for non-medical historians, as well as the general reader. Neurological medicine deals with diseases of the brain, spinal cord and peripheral nerves. The clinicians involved are broadly divided into neurologists and neurosurgeons. Neurologists are specialist physicians who deal with diseases such as epilepsy, Parkinson’s Disease, multiple sclerosis, motor neurone disease, neuropathies (peripheral nerve disorders), and stroke disease. Neurosurgeons manage diseases treatable, or potentially treatable, by operative techniques—particularly brain tumours, spinal cord compression, and head injuries (especially if involving intracranial bleeds). Associate important specialties are neuro-intensive care, and neuro-rehabilitation. A wide variety of other health care workers are also involved—nurses, physiotherapists, occupational therapists, laboratory scientists, neuropsychologists and neurophysiologists.

The book has nine chapters followed by a reference list and index. After the introductory chapter (more of this later), the next five chapters chart the story of the hospital from its beginnings to the present day. The final two chapters deal with the specialist areas of ‘The Treatment of Children’ and ‘The Study and Treatment of Pain’ respectively. Returning to the first chapter, this is enigmatically titled ‘A Walk in The Walton Centre’. It takes us around the present hospital where the wards are not numbered, but are named after eminent neurologists, neurosurgeons and neurophysiologists, many with close Liverpool connections. Examples are Caton Ward, which refers to Richard Caton (1842–1926), a pioneering electrophysiologist who was a Professor of Physiology and late Dean of Medicine at the University of Liverpool. Sherrington Ward is named after Charles Sherrington (1857–1952), a Nobel Prize-winning neuroscientist and Liverpool professor. The ‘Sid Watkins’ Centre is a separate neurorehabilitation centre close to the main hospital, the name dedicated to a pioneering Liverpool neurosurgeon. One ward is named after a doctor with no specialist neurology expertise. This is Chavasse Ward, after Dr Noel Chavasse, a Liverpool-born army doctor who uniquely received a Victoria Cross and bar during the First World War (the second posthumously).

The story of The Walton Centre begins with Walton Hospital (from which its present name derives), where the unit was first situated. It was a Victorian Workhouse and Institution, later becoming a busy general hospital. Neurosurgery first arrived at Walton in January 1947, as part of a Merseyside ‘post-war carve-up’ of medical specialties—the patients and staff came from Winwick Hospital in Warrington. By 1950 the unit was a fully functioning and funded regional neurosurgery centre, though still very much part of the general hospital, a link which remained for the next four decades.

Specialist neurology was integrated over the next few years, still very much as part of the main ‘workhouse’ hospital, including on two Nightingale wards named N1 and N2 (widely known in the hospital as Nelly One and Nelly Two). There were problems of staffing, accommodation and infrastructure, and it became increasingly clear that a dedicated building was needed. After many delays, this was finally realised in 1972, when the new state-of-the-art building was handed over, with the rather awkward title of the Mersey Regional Department of Medical and Surgical Neurology (MRDMSN). There were 62 surgical, 32 medical and 11 paediatric beds—very much the embryo of the future Walton Centre. Over the next two decades there was considerable expansion, with the appointment of a younger breed of clinical consultants. The centre also became a research and training base (the latter for both doctors and nurses), and sub-specialty work expanded—in particular epilepsy, pain management, intensive care and neuroradiology. The centre gained a national and even international reputation.

Into the 1990s, general services at Walton Hospital were increasingly being moved to the Fazakerley Hospital site, leaving the MRDMSN increasingly isolated. In addition, the former ‘new build’ was deteriorating, with even a cockroach problem. In 1992, independent trust status was granted and the name changed to the more manageable Walton Centre for Neurology and Neurosurgery (WCNN). A move to a new purpose-built centre on the Fazakerley site was eventually agreed, and in July 1998 the Liverpool Echo reported that a ‘New Era Dawns for Mersey Hospital’—the Walton Centre was opened by Princess Anne.

The retention of the name was not without controversy and difficulties. One retired neurologist thought that the name sounded like a ‘bloody homeless hostel’, and for some years after the move, many patients went by mistake to the old Walton Hospital site for their appointments. Nevertheless, the new unit thrived, and benefitted financially from an increasing ‘hub and spoke’ system of care, where consultants provided some of their services at outlying hospitals (the book states that between 2007 and 2011 there was a 21 per cent increase in staff, and 42 per cent increase in funding). In 2009 Foundation Trust status was granted (with yet another change in official name) though it remains known locally as the Walton Centre or the WCNN. More recent times have brought the challenges of austerity and NHS reorganisation, but the unit is still a much-loved and respected part of the Liverpool medical scene, and a highly important national specialty institution.

Chris Jones’ book is essentially a micro-study, but there are important macro implications. An example is the repetitive NHS habit of making small mistakes with major implications. Prior to the move to the Fazakerley site, a link corridor was planned with the main hospital, but was rejected on cost grounds. This means that to this day, a patient with a serious head injury may arrive at the Accident & Emergency Department of Aintree Hospital, and if neurosurgical intervention is needed an ambulance has to be ordered to take the patient 200 yards to the Walton Centre. The friction between overloaded and underfunded general NHS services and relatively well-off and sedate specialty work is also beautifully exemplified by a quote from a former nursing officer, new to the Walton Centre: ‘I’d come from a unit where there were poor old biddies who had broken their hips, and they deserved just as good care as neuro patients’. Finally, the book discusses the future of such super-specialised ‘ivory tower’ institutions as the Walton Centre. Should much or all of its work be devolved to community and general hospitals? One retired consultant said ‘I’m not sure the centre will exist in 10 years’ time’. Another retired consultant and professor also wryly observed, ‘you can never preclude the madness of political reorganisation in the NHS, can you?’. No you can’t!

Geoff Gill is emeritus Professor of International Medicine at the University of Liverpool and the Liverpool School of Tropical Medicine, as well as a late-trained medical historian, with interests in the cholera epidemics of Victorian England, and the medical challenges of Far East prisoners of war (POWs). He also worked as a consultant physician at Walton Hospital and University Hospital Aintree, both closely linked to The Walton Centre.

THE PRINCESS CHRISTIAN FARM COLONY AND HOSPITAL, 1895-1995 by Chris Rowley (author 2018 202pp ISBN 978-0-9539340-4-1) £20

The Home Counties are notable for their numerous asylums. Not only did county justices, asylum boards and county councils build their own, as legislation and need dictated, but the south-eastern shires also hosted institutions administered from London—counties such as Kent had cleaner air and cheaper land than the city. Every one of these evocative and complex hospitals deserves a proper book: Chris Rowley has delivered that for the Princess Christian.

In many ways it was typical among such institutions. They were built between the mid-nineteenth and early twentieth centuries; were subject to wartime requisition; after which they were absorbed into the National Health Service (1948); and then controversially closed in the mid-1990s under ‘Care in the Community’ policy. But the Princess Christian was different in that it originally had royal backing and charitable status, and was relatively small. Moreover it was progressive in making provision for people with learning difficulties and disabilities at a time when many were still in generic asylums; for embracing the ideals of colony living which often took until the 1930s to be realised in practice; and for its wholehearted engagement with farming (as usual, for focus, exercise and accomplishment, for institutional self-sufficiency, and in lieu of any meaningful treatment). In local parlance, and to quote Rowley’s sub-title, it was to accommodate those who were ‘just a bit barmy’, compared with the fully ‘barmy’ residing at the nearby county asylum at Barming (although the term itself is actually earlier). Legislation, and eventually institutions and care, gradually recognised the age-old distinction between lunatics and idiots, the legal terms for those either with temporary mental health issues or those having had them long-term from birth or soon after. Language is important in mental health, not just clinically but historically. Although Rowley has a preoccupation with such terminology, the distinction is important. The categorisation is part of mental health history, and appropriate modern language is a mark of respect to service-users.

In 1896 Queen Victoria’s daughter Princess Christian presided over the new National Association for Promoting the Welfare of the Feeble Minded (a term which became a category under the Mental Deficiency Act 1913, or which the Association lobbied). One of their aims was to provide homes for those with learning difficulties and disabilities, and this led to the establishment of the farm colony outside Hildenborough in Kent, another step away from the Victorian asylum into an age where care was more compassionate and understanding. The book provides the sense that the colony, and what it was trying to do, were cherished by the local community, staff and patients, rather than being feared and shunned like the grim local asylum brimming with mystery, cruelty and danger. There was a sense of pride in the place. This comes across in Rowley’s account. But the hospital was not for the locals, since it accepted mostly fee-paying patients from far and wide. It played its part in the long-term incarceration of unmarried mothers, and had its share of tragedy, such as the 1930 drowning of a young patient pursued by the police.

The expected periods are covered: the beginnings, thanks to Princess Christian, the Association and the Langdon-Downs; then both the pre and post-war periods; the closure and the legacy. Analysis of diagnoses and treatments required one form of historical expertise, while a different expertise is brought to bear on other areas, especially farming, staffing, local views and the closure. Rather than be criticised for the minimal use of original and authentic records, Rowley is to be commended for drawing content from all other sources available in the absence of such archives. Where oral history and recall form the basis of the content, that remains solidly delivered and contextual rather than being a patchwork of anecdote.

There is little to fault, although there could be just a little more historical and local context, a fuller accounting for original records (what should have survived and where it should be), a more introductory introduction, and certainly a bibliography. But the notes are informative and full enough. Self-published, it is a lengthy softback on quality glossy paper, enhanced by a variety of colour illustrations and photographs. It would have been twice the size if records were available, but Rowley has found plenty of material. Writing in a clear and often enquiring manner, it is obvious he has tried to exploit all sources at his disposal. His use of journalistic enquiry and modern collecting has allowed anecdote and personal accounts to make the work blossom in portraying a century of respectful interplay between patients, staff and the local community.

Gary Moyle is an archivist at Hertfordshire Archives and Local Studies who catalogued the records of Hill End and Cell Barnes hospitals, and has written on the county’s private madhouses.

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Recent we have received a wealth of publications which focus on medieval themes and sources. Local historians are generally hesitant about pre-sixteenth century research, fearing (perhaps with reason) a combination of unfamiliar and challenging palaeography, sources unlike those familiar from the 1530s onwards and often with highly-specialised and seemingly arcane terminology, and a quite different background of political, social, economic and cultural circumstances. Medieval local history is indeed more demanding of the practitioner, and it cannot be tackled without some specific knowledge or training. However, help is often at hand in the editions of important documents published by record societies, and the syntheses of medieval local, regional and national history published by experts in the field. We should perhaps be more courageous—and we should certainly investigate upon the often fascinating work of historians who bring to life the realities of the medieval world.

In this collection I bring together reviews of nine recently-published books on medieval subjects. In the first case there are two reviews of the same book, which is of course not usual. It was a great pleasure to be offered a review by Csilla Virág, a doctoral student from Eötvös Loránd University in Budapest—Csilla specialises in early modern English history and literature, a powerful demonstration that local history does not have to be parochial or introverted. Happily, she and our other reviewer, Andrew Foster, are of like mind in their assessment. I should also like to draw your attention to Heather Falvey’s review of the festschrift volume which marked the 80th birthday of Professor Caroline Barron. We are very fortunate to have Caroline as our President, and send our belated best wishes to her.

FIVE PARISHES IN LATE MEDIEVAL AND TUDOR LONDON: Communities and reforms Gary G. Gibbs (Routledge 2019 x+202pp ISBN 978-0-367-13402-0) £120

This is a clever book. In a relatively new Routledge series on ‘microhistories’, Gary Gibbs offers a wonderful example of what can be achieved with this approach. He has taken five London parishes to provide vivid, detailed snapshots of different communities pre- and post-Reformation. Starting with All Hallows London Wall, he discusses fundraising and collaboration between 1455 and 1536 to evoke a pre-Reformation parish world. With Saint Michael Cornhill he adopts a longer view (circa.1450 to 1610) to reveal ‘foundational transformations’. The theme for Saint Stephen Coleman Street is ‘living on the margins’ while for Saint Botolph Aldgate there is closer attention to the accounts and what they reveal for the critical period 1547 to 1554, with Edwardian reforms and then the restoration of Catholicism under Mary. Finally, the analysis of Saint Peter Westcheap explores how a wealthy parish transformed itself from a strong Catholic culture to an equally strong Protestant culture by the seventeenth century, without destabilising the parish elites. It all comes with a crisp and clear introduction and conclusion, and is backed by excellent and appropriate technical apparatus throughout.

The approach is well grounded in close analysis of churchwardens’ accounts, with frequent insights into their strengths and weaknesses for different parishes, but Gibbs has used the full panoply of parish records available and ventured into allied local government records, ecclesiastical and secular court material, guilds and fraternities. This study is not narrowly about the parishes, but really about the communities and their varying, closely intermeshed cultures, all carefully embedded in an investigation of socio-economic conditions. The five parishes include rich and poor, mixed, those central in geographical location and the more peripheral. While common themes are obviously elucidated—notably concerning the varying ways in which communities adapted to the pressures of the Reformation—what emerges is a rich diversity of experience and many subtle nuances. Here the emphasis is not on theological change or the power of external institutions, such as the Crown or the new Church of England, but on how local elites managed change in many forms in their communities. It is a book about successful adaptations and transformations.

What emerges so cleverly from this approach is the importance of saints and the notion of purgatory in the lives of pre-Reformation London, and the ways in which men and women supported the work of their parishes. Traditions relating to gifts raised by different groups, fundraising events, and funeral bequests are shown to have morphed into new forms, accomplishing very similar purposes by the end of the sixteenth century, although possibly with greater emphasis on civic needs and care for the sick, elderly and poor. The parish is seen as transforming from a centre for devotion to one dedicated to hearing the word and a much larger range of ‘secular’ or civic responsibilities. External authorities, including bishops and archdeacons, impinge more by the end of the century, but the book shows how local communities managed to evade close control from outside, as well as comply with government edicts.

The heroes of this story are the men of the local elites who controlled their parishes, although we hear about some of the significant women who surface in the records, possibly with greater freedom in the pre-Reformation period. Gibbs is always sensitive to what churchwardens’ accounts can reveal about community action—and indeed the development of the accounting process—and about what we lack. We rarely find details of individuals or key dates; it is impossible to say, from these sources, ‘when did the Reformation occur in this parish?’. He rightly concludes that over the period we witness a change in the records from noting objects of devotion and ornaments, to accounts of ‘rents, profits and commodities’.

This book is full of ‘treasure trove’, yet while we are offered sparkling gems it is also a tantalising work covering only five out of almost 100 parishes in London in the early modern period. The introduction offers a brief outline of London, and there are useful sketch plans of the parishes, but more maps might have helped to provide greater context, together with more details for parishes with excellent source material. Is there anything we could learn from the criss-crossing jurisdictions into which these parishes fell, especially as at Saint Botolph’s the lord mayor was drawn into disputes? What happened in those parishes that fell within peculiar jurisdictions? What is said about control of advowsons whets the appetite for more research on this and other forms of patronage. We hear about perambulations of boundaries, but how was this actually done in an urban landscape?

There is much about the laity here, but is there more to learn about how churchwardens were elected and how key families might have dominated their ranks? Even in the sixteenth century this was a post that many of the upper echelons of society could avoid, yet it was still a key denominator of social status. And what of the clergy? We learn about the curates at St Botolph’s, but relatively little of the clergy elsewhere. To what extent did they fit our expectations of early modern urban clergy—poorly paid, often pluralist, less well educated? The churches themselves are rightly described as ‘theatres of memory’ in the story of the replacement of shrines with funeral monuments and memorials, and the loyalty they commanded from their congregations, but we still have much to learn about the rebuilding and ‘beautification’ of London churches by the end of the sixteenth century.

It is perhaps typical of microhistories that we are given little wider context: the emphasis throughout is on parish communities and the context they provide. Gibbs has rescued these elements of his parishes to good effect and it is hard to blame him for not having time and space to do more. It is a tribute that the book raises such an array of questions and suggests so many fruitful avenues for further research. His snapshots are sparkling and thought-provoking, but for a different approach to the problems raised (admittedly for a later period) readers might usefully consult the work of another expert, Valerie Hitchman, whose Omnia bene or Ruinosa. The condition of the Parish Churches in and around London and Westminster, c.1603-1677 (2009) is an excellent example of what can be done with a broader brush and the aid of statistics. The two approaches are both necessary and complementary.

Andrew Foster is honorary senior research fellow at the University of Kent and co-editor with Valerie Hitchman of Views from the Parish: Churchwardens’ Accounts c.1500-c.1800 (2015).

In his monograph, Gary G. Gibbs endeavours on a microhistorical analysis that can be embedded into the large-scale history of the Reformation and local history of London. When taking the churchwarden accounts of five London parishes under examination, he is as much inspired by the statistical approaches of parish studies, as by the wish to keep his focus on unique, local characteristics and the contextualisation of these characteristics in their broader context, be that the discourses of secondary literature or the comparison with records of other parishes. The well-chosen source material and the microhistorical approach help him reconstruct parochial relationships, the connection between parish culture, institutions, and central government. Through five case studies, he manages to outline the very individual experiences of the different parishes. These case studies give a refreshing point of view on the experience of the Reformation in Tudor England, and how it can be grasped in less traditional sources.

The chapters follow one another in more or less chronological order (with some natural overlapping), thus the first chapter, that of Allhallows London Wall, mainly predates the Reformation. Focusing on the social dynamics and negotiations of fundraising, this parish gives a fine example of the structure its institutions brought to local society. Gibbs aptly uses the churchwarden accounts and the projects found in them, to show how the parish church and its projects, requiring wide-scale fundraising from the community, formed local hierarchies. Allhallows London Wall also poses a unique situation with the presence of an ‘outsider’ element, the anchorite, and their role in the local dynamics.

In the case of Saint Michael Cornhill, Gibbs, as he naturally considers the thoughts of the people on Reformation unreconstructable, turns instead to their experiences which, as he proves, seem to be graspable in the accounts and other parish documents. He carefully outlines how the cults of saints, the monuments and mortuary endowments, or the fabric and furniture of the church constructed the local community and served as anchors of collective memory. It is easy to see how fundamental the changes brought by the Reformation were; the challenge is to find out how the local communities adapted to this change.

As Saint Stephen Coleman Street is often considered the most radical puritan parish in London, the careful analysis of the churchwarden accounts provides a fine opportunity to revisit this supposition. The records show how the parishioners of status shaped the settings for the meaner sort’s liturgical experiences, and how they had to find new ways for this after the Reformation replaced the visible aspects of religion with texts and words. The accounts show how by acquiring the advowson, the parish and its leading social group could gain larger than usual independence and firmer local control, which could easily have suggested for some scholars the presence of puritan zeal, but which could also imply a strong interest in keeping power and money in local hands, to see the parish prosper, regardless of religious convictions.

The conflict traceable in Saint Botolph Aldgate’s documents offers the possibility of a detailed microhistorical case study. The short time span, and the conflict involving a small number of individuals, and yet the whole of the parish, all enable the detailed exploration of a case once again defying the simplifying portrayals of secondary literature. For what we see in the conflict between the Owens, a significant parish family, and William Green, the chantry priest and farmer of the benefice turns out to be not the simplified ‘reformers’ versus ‘conservatives’ conflict, but rather a local power-negotiation, during which each party aimed to accommodate higher powers, such as the monarch, instead of carrying through their personal religious convictions.

In the final case, that of Saint Peter Westcheap, we see a very dominant group emerging from the sources, the goldsmiths of the parish. We also see how the parish figures in a larger context, thanks to its central location and regular role in civic rituals and festivities. Gibbs aptly shows how the prominent group of the parish, the goldsmiths, formed the material world of faith and thus the religious experience of the parish before the Reformation, and we see small glimpses of the same from the post-Reformation era, with the local book-translating business of a prominent wife, but this might be the one chapter where we are left with a sense of unfulfilled potential—unfulfilled by the sources, unfortunately.

All in all, the book neatly outlines the role of parish institutions and local personalities in processing the nationwide changes, despite the challenges presented by the sources. We see very individual cases, which share one thing: their individuality shows how very complicated the process of the Reformation was, how many factors came into play through the individuals and power struggles affected by the changes, and how we can only grasp this process in small bits and unique pieces.

As such, the book nicely fits in Routledge’s Microhistories series, never losing sight of the larger contexts of its individual cases. It has a decent index, and rather useful figures and tables, guiding the reader in the parishes themselves and the source material—although an additional map of the London parishes would have been welcomed.

Csilla Virág is a PhD student from Eötvös Loránd University in Budapest, interested in the early modern social and cultural history of England.

CORNWALL, CONNECTIVITY AND IDENTITY IN THE FOURTEENTH CENTURY by S.J. Drake (Boydell 2019 490pp ISBN 9781783274697) £60

Sam Drake has produced a masterful and compelling work on Cornwall in the high medieval period, the first ‘overarching study’ in 60 years. In 2017 he organised a highly successful ‘Medieval Cornwall’ conference with BALH in Truro, which attracted nearly 90 people. This study is based on his doctoral thesis, its historical range and depth being wider than the title suggests with frequent forays into the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, and trade and religion being covered alongside political history. Born and brought up in Cornwall and a proud Cornishman with a liking for King Arthur and the ‘salt-water lords’, Drake is well-placed to engage in the ‘latest debates about centralisation, devolution, and collective identity’: how Cornwall ‘cohered with the rest of the kingdom while remaining a quite remarkable place’ is the thesis that underpins the book. Useful comparisons are made with other ‘Celtic’ regions and England, and there is much use of Cornwall’s middle-Cornish medieval plays and the writings of John Trevisa, the Cornish-born translator.

The book is arranged in three parts with two useful maps. The first deals with Cornwall’s gentlemen, government and identity; the second with lordship, often ducal and distant; and the third with Cornwall and the wider realm. In addition there are detailed appendices focusing on Cornwall’s office-holders, royal men-at-arms and mounted archers and Cornish ports sending ships to royal fleets.

Cornwall was notable for its proliferation of small boroughs and lack of dominant gentry families until the fifteenth century. In 1300 only 28 Cornishmen had incomes of £40 or more and by 1450 there were still only six knightly families. Many gentry families spanned the Tamar or were not exclusively Cornwall-based—for example, the Dinhams of Hartland in Devon or the Wylingtons of Gloucestershire. This left a power vacuum which the Crown and Duchy of Cornwall filled. Offices included the sheriff, steward or sheriff-steward often held by outsiders and, further down, escheators (collectors of feudal prerogatives), coroners and haveners. Launceston, Restormel, Tintagel and Trematon castles each had a constable. The Duchy also held all but one of the nine hundreds, sharing Penwith with the upcoming Arundells. Here Cornish men served as bailiffs and under bailiffs. Drake concludes that, unlike the Marcher lordships and principality of Wales, Cornwall was a land where royal writs were served and acted on, and the king was the judge of last resort.

It can also be seen as a ‘county of committees’, a term coined by Drake’s PhD supervisor Nigel Saul. The shire court met every fourth Monday and the court roll of 1333 ‘reads like a Cornish Gentry “Who’s Who”’. Office-holding was a matter of duty: John Killigrew turned out to meet the Duke of Cornwall, on a rare visit in 1354, at the Tamar with a new grey cape. Racial markers like dress and social caste, as found in Wales and Gaelic Ireland, do not feature in Cornwall. Wrestling and hurling were, at this time, trans-Tamar sports and multi-lingualism was the norm in the fourteenth century with ‘Cornishness and Englishness’ interwoven. Even the famous Cornish rebellions of 1497 and 1549 can be seen as ‘Loyal Rebellions’ with petitions from loyal subjects to the Crown, while ‘Cornwall existed in the hearts and minds of its residents’.

This book should be a must buy for all interested in medieval regional history and Cornwall. My only quibble is that neither James Whetter’s, Cornwall in the 13th Century: a study in social and economic history (1998) nor my Cornwall and the Coast – Mousehole and Newlyn (VCH, 2009) appear in the bibliography presumably because neither was cited directly, though other lesser works by both of us are included.

Joanna Mattingly has been studying medieval Cornish churches for almost 35 years. Her interests include medieval guilds, church and guild houses and the history of the tea cosy.

THE CARTULARY AND CHARTERS OF THE PRIORY OF SAINTS PETER AND PAUL, IPSWICH, Part II: The Charters edited by David Allen (Boydell: Suffolk Charters XXI 2020 211pp ISBN 978-1-78327-494-9) £60

This volume completes a two-part account of, respectively, the cartulary and charters of this Augustinian priory. Both volumes need to be read together: they are mutually inclusive. For example, Part I includes a list of abbreviations and a bibliography; an introduction explaining the Augustinian Order, the priory and its life, community and possessions; and, crucially, the editorial method adopted. The contents of Part II include notes on references; a corrigenda to Part I; an index of persons and places, and an index of subjects relative to Parts I & II.

It is helpful for researchers and local historians to know that the cartulary in Part I and its contents are printed in the order in which they were rebound in 1972 and that the 36 original charters have been substituted for their cartulary copies. None of the charters which made up its original content is later than the 1260s and these have been transcribed in extenso, with material added later appearing in calendar form. The charters in Part II begin with two writs of Henry I and Stephen in favour of the ‘canons of Ipswich’ with the remainder devoted to private charters which are not duplicated in the cartulary. These are arranged in two parts: firstly, grants in favour of the canons as charters relating to the Priory’s land holdings in Ipswich and neighbouring parishes, and grants made by the priory relating to outlying holdings; and secondly, documents issued by the Priory divided into grants, leases, and exchanges and other agreements. Both parts are presented in alphabetical order by place name. Appendix 1 in Part II lists all the original charters including those which have been substituted for their cartulary copies in Part 1. Entries in the cartulary were unnumbered and a sequential numbering system has been added throughout Parts I & II to facilitate cross-referencing with document number orders.

Charters were one of the most important types of document created in the Middle Ages, granting property rights from one individual, group or religious order to another, either in perpetuity or for a fixed term, and also include the granting of privileges or honours. There is a formulaic style present in most of the charters such as the introduction in which the parties are named and greeted, followed by the body of the text conveying the purpose of the charter, and a concluding part naming the witnesses and the date or the application of a seal. It is very important for researchers to understand local practice at the time the charter was written in order to accurately interpret the evidence, because local circumstances, though frequently referred to, are rarely explained in any detail—it was assumed that those concerned would be aware of the background circumstances. This is one of the great strengths of the transcriptions, translations and explanations of the charters by the editor, David Allen, a former archivist at the Suffolk Record office, who has done an excellent job in providing information necessary to allow historical conclusions to be drawn.

The texts throughout are an invaluable source for students of palaeography, Latin and local history. Understanding the difference between cartularies and charters, the function they performed and interpretation of the evidence they provide allows a proper appreciation of their purpose.

Michael Haslam is a historian interested in church and monastic history during the Middle Ages. He is a committee member of the Lancaster Archaeological and Historical Society and coordinator of their research group.

MEDIEVAL LONDONERS: Essays to mark the eightieth birthday of Caroline Barron edited Elizabeth A. New and Christian Steer (University of London Press/Institute of Historical Research 2019 xxiii+331pp ISBN 978-1-912702-14-5) £40 also Open Access free download www.sas.ac.uk/publications/medieval-londoners

Members of BALH will know Professor Caroline Barron through her role as president of the Association but she is known far more widely as the leading historian of medieval London and has been actively writing on the history of London, and the history of women, since 1968. The focus of studies of urban communities in general, and London in particular, has changed over time. Originally historians concentrated on the power-politics of small, dominant groups; then citizens and burgesses were investigated; next those who lived and worked there but were not officially citizens; and more recently women and children, clergy and the religious, and from overseas both long-term residents and visitors. Some of these comprise the ‘small people’ considered by Professor Barron in her BALH Lecture and subsequent article in The Local Historian entitled ‘Searching for the “small people” of medieval London’ [TLH vol.38 no.2 (May 2008) 83-94]. Rather than summarise each of the fourteen chapters in this festschrift to mark her 80th birthday, I have chosen a handful to highlight various aspects of life in late medieval London.

Vanessa Harding takes a general look at marriage and the family, concentrating on that section of society which became known as ‘the middling sort’: citizens and their families. This group left traces in a variety of records as testators, parishioners, litigants and local officials, and so its social and demographic profiles can be recovered to some degree. Although the chapter focuses on the period around 1500, Harding also looks forward to later seventeenth century concerns about marriage and family life and concludes that some of the issues identified in that early modern ‘crisis’ were features of later medieval life. For example, marital irregularities—concerns over the legality of marriages—and sexual misconduct can be traced in church court records and also in wardmote inquests. Harding also identifies various sources for deaths and burials in the period before parish registration, such as churchwardens’ and other parish accounts that recorded burial fees. Although London’s population increased dramatically during the sixteenth century, this was due to in-migration rather than decreasing mortality, something vividly revealed in later medieval wills where testators indicated that children predeceased them.

Charlotte Berry delves deeper into the records of the London consistory court to consider what the case of Agnes Cockerel, who was expelled from her home in the parish of St Sepulchre without Newgate, reveals about reputation and mobility in medieval London. It becomes clear that rumour about a person’s conduct might spread both widely and quickly. Indeed, church court records often reveal not only what witnesses knew about particular individuals, but also information about witnesses themselves, since in the course of giving evidence they gave histories of their own previous residences and even place of birth. The ‘little people’ are clearly revealed here since Alice’s current and former neighbours were questioned, rather than the better sort of those neighbourhoods.

Martha Carlin considers a very different aspect of reputation: the discovery of forged documents. In 1479 a dispute over title to the Hartshorn, a piece of property in Southwark, was dragging on. The protagonists were William Waynflete, bishop of Winchester, and the abbot of Lesnes, a small house of Augustinian canons near Erith (Kent). In June 1479 ‘Thomas D.’, who described himself as Waynflete’s ‘servant’, put together a book of evidence which outlines the history of the dispute and includes transcripts of dozens of relevant documents concerning the ownership and tenancy of the property, plus an analysis of the bishop’s case and that of the abbot. Carlin’s discussion of his manuscript reveals the research that he undertook when compiling his evidence, to the extent that he looked for historical evidence to discredit the abbot’s claim, visiting the Guildhall to look up dates when particular wardens, mayors and sheriffs served. But even more astonishing is his use of ‘diplomatic evidence’ to challenge the authenticity of two particular documents relied on by the abbot, pointing out that the lettering appeared ‘black and fresh and not old’. Furthermore palaeographic evidence in those particular documents indicated that the ‘hand and writing’ seemed ‘manifestly suspect’. Carlin identifies him as Thomas Danvers, a member of a family closely associated with William Waynflete. His forensic examination of the documents successfully demolished the abbot’s claim, since some of it was based on forged documents.

Jeremy Bolton also discusses the written word: the work of the scrivener, William Styfford. The many scriveners in medieval London were members of the Scriveners’ Company. What set William and a few of his fellows apart was that they were also ‘notaries imperial’: men trained in Roman law. Such men, although rare in medieval London, played a crucial role in international trade and banking. In their protocolla (books and rolls) European notaries registered original property deeds, marriage dowries and commercial contracts, and made copies of the originals from the registers, properly certified with the notary’s sign manual, which were kept by the parties involved and used as legal evidence. In contrast, the common law courts of England would have nothing to do with copies: original documents with a clear impression of seal matrices attached were the only evidence acknowledged by them. So what was Styfford doing during his period of activity? He was regularly employed by Venetian merchants from the 1440s to early 1460s. There is no surviving body of his work (no Styfford protocolla) but evidence of it can be found in mainly Italian sources, such as the archive of the Borromei bank and documents transcribed in the nineteenth century, some of which were summarised in the Calendar of State Papers Venetian, 1202-1509. Bolton provides a transcript of a contract, written in Milan in March 1443, and copied by Styfford in London in August 1443. A second document is a ‘protest’: the verification of the settlement of bills of exchange between two parties. The activities of men such as Styfford provided the essential authentication for documents crucial to Italian banking in medieval England.

Mathew Payne considers yet another aspect of the written word in late medieval London: the book trade. Although William Caxton introduced the printing press into England in 1475 or 1476, very few had actually been set up by the 1490s and so by far the majority of printed books in circulation were imported from the Continent. Payne traces payments for books by five booksellers and one ‘printer of books’ (Hans de Coblencz, a German residing in Paris but also present in London from time to time between 1502 and 1508). His sources are two ledgers from the Bardi bank’s London operation, now held in Florence. These ledgers—the relevant double entries are translated in an appendix—provide evidence for the book trade at the end of the fifteenth century, indicating how the circulation of books operated and reliance on the sophisticated Italian banking system for their importation and sale. Other entries in the ledgers reveal the sheer variety of merchants at work in London at the time. Indeed Payne cautions that the number of booksellers identified in the ledger might be misleadingly low. Native London merchants involved in the book trade may have been described by their broader designation, such as draper, grocer; indeed Caxton was a mercer.

Some of the other chapters consider London institutions: for example, the role of aliens in crafts and guilds; and the London Bridge charity, c.1176-1275. Others study particular individuals because they left very detailed testaments and/or wills, such as Nicholas Alwyn, mayor of London and native of Spalding; John Reynewell, mayor in 1426-7, whose burial in St Botolph Billingsgate has been excavated; and Joan Fitzlewis, whose original will survives as a land revenue deed and is a source for the history of the abbey of Franciscan nuns without Aldgate.

The contributors to Medieval Londoners demonstrate various facets of London life and also the variety of documents available from the medieval period. Some of those document types are unique to London, arising from its particular institutions, but others are relatively common elsewhere. This wide-ranging collection of essays presented to Professor Barron provides insights into the lives not only of diverse sections but also of particular members of London’s medieval population. And while it is pleasing to have a hard copy, it is commendable indeed that the University of London Press will supply the book free in pdf.

Heather Falvey is the Reviews Editor for The Local Historian. She is currently managing a project to transcribe and translate the Milles Register of the Prerogative Court of Canterbury (TNA, PROB 11/8).

INTERPRETING MEDIEVAL EFFIGIES The evidence from Yorkshire to 1400 by Brian and Moira Gittos (Oxbow 2019 256pp ISBN 978-1-78925-128-9) £40

This authoritative volume on the interpretation of effigies uses Yorkshire as a case study, although the techniques and methodology used can be applied to other counties. Brian and Moira Gittos have taken the subject far beyond William I’Anson's standard work on Yorkshire effigies (published in Yorkshire Archaeological Journal vols.28 and 29 [1926 and 1927]), as well as building on more recent scholarship. They have visited most of the effigies, often more than once, and approached each with an open mind, expecting to find previously overlooked or underestimated details. This study contains more than 300 photographs, mostly taken by the authors. They have produced high-resolution images, created with intelligent choice of lighting and angles and often taken close-up to bring out the quality of the workmanship. I’Anson argued that the slow process of sketching enhanced his attention to detail; the present authors seem to have learned from this, for their photographs are the result of lengthy observations and discussions. They also share I’Anson's readiness to admit that initial thoughts need to be reviewed in the light of further investigations.

As enthusiasts for their subject over many years, they have read extensively, and where there are gaps in the literature they have sought to fill them. Combining the large sample of 231 figures with their knowledge of effigies elsewhere, they undertake detailed discussions of relatively neglected matters such as sword belts and face cloths. For the sake of thoroughness they have traced lost effigies and have taken into account the effects of iconoclasm, building changes and appropriation.

Shared characteristics make it possible to classify some of the effigies into six groups, each the work of a single craftsman. The unknown sculptor responsible for the group labelled Series A/B is shown to have been an observant and talented craftsman, with a manifest love of symbolism, a passion for detail and a desire to capture in stone the varying qualities of different materials. His trademark realism is seen in the way he made fabric appear to hang and his understanding of the shapes created by folds. In the section on Series D, we are offered a masterclass in observation, thoroughness and scholarship. Even within a closely related group such as this there are differences, thought to be due to the personal choice of the carver or the patron, or both. One of the Series D effigies lies outside Yorkshire, a reminder of the importance of not slavishly confining research within strictly defined limits.

Judging by the lay subsidy of 1334, Yorkshire's economic resources were hardly sufficient for the production of such luxurious items as stone monuments. Nevertheless, the authors have mustered a list of counter-indications that underscore the potential of the greater landowners to be significant patrons. The peak years of effigy production came in the early fourteenth century and during this period there were almost seventeen years when elements of royal administration were based in York. Consequently, northern sculptors could observe the fashions and predilections of the nation’s elite. Among their patrons were the county’s wealthiest families, such as the Nevilles and the Scropes, and a host of gentry families from the next stratum of society. In several cases, the authors dismantle some of the identifications made by earlier writers as being inconsistent with the effigial and genealogical evidence taken together. They note that in many cases an effigy was commissioned when the male line ended. On such an occasion, relatives hoped to elicit prayers for the souls of the family as well as for the deceased.

The process of creating a monument entailed discussions and decisions involving both patron and craftsman. Patrons were likely to be particularly concerned about symbolism. For instance, they might wish a cross to be part of their monument. This symbolised protection for the soul, like the knights’ shields we find being bitten by dragons, where the shield affords protection against evil. A patron might want the figure to hold a book, as a visual reminder to passers-by to read prayers for the departed. Occasionally we see a soul being raised to heaven in a sheet. Symbolism can be difficult to explain at times, as in the case of a heart being held by the effigy, an idea which is not clearly understood. When dealing with attendant figures, birds, animals and mythological creatures it is sometimes necessary to resort to supposition, but the evidence amassed points towards specifically requested symbolism that reflects a patron’s hopes or view of themselves, rather than artistic licence by the sculptors. While effigies have sometimes been dismissed as stereotypical, years of research have convinced these authors that most sculptors strove for realistic portrayals that would be acceptable to their patrons.

This book is eminently readable, combining clarity with lightness: angels dart and swoop, dragons are the stuff of nightmare. The observational skills and contextual awareness of the authors, their breadth of scholarship and indomitable persistence are apparent throughout, especially when dealing with the monument that epitomises their approach. This is the tomb of William de La Mare at Welwick near Patrington. The originality and vision of the sculptor, the complexity of his designs, iconography and execution are breathtaking, and the eighteen pages devoted to this monument form an admirable conclusion to the book. The bibliography is exhaustive and the index is thorough and well-ordered. Extensive appendices are available online, including a 209-page catalogue of the effigies, each with a colour photograph. Some might see medieval effigies as merely the vanity of a privileged class set in stone; a means of preserving their status beyond the grave. In this book, however, the low-born carvers of the monumental workshops step forward to take their rightful place. While the effigies perpetuate the memories of the dead, this study is a worthy monument to the craftsmen who created them.

Geoff Braddy is Chairman of the Cleveland and Teesside Local History Society. He has written several contributions on medieval topics in the journal Cleveland History.

BUSINESS AND COMMUNITY IN MEDIEVAL ENGLAND: The Cambridge Hundred Rolls source volume by Catherine Casson, Mark Casson, John S. Lee and Katie Phillips (Bristol University Press 2020 x+386pp ISBN 978-1-5292-0973-0 hbk -0975-4 ePub -0974-7 ePdf) £80 hbk; COMPASSIONATE CAPITALISM: Business and Community in Medieval England by Catherine Casson, Mark Casson, John S. Lee and Katie Phillips (Bristol University Press 2020 xvii+382pp ISBN 978-1-5292-0925-9 hbk 0927-3 ePub 0926-6 ePdf) £30 hbk

These two new publications from Bristol University Press are intended as companion volumes: the first is a scholarly edition of the Cambridge Rolls; the second explores the importance of urban business activity in late medieval Cambridge. Although they complement each other, they also stand alone and are likely be of relevance to historians with quite different interests and backgrounds. Both have been written collaboratively by four authors whose separate interests focus on English towns, the Cambridge region, religious institutions and their royal patrons, and the use of statistical methods in economic history. They have combined their knowledge and experience.

The first, Business and Community in Medieval England, offers a transcription and translation of the Hundred Rolls for Cambridge for 1279. A printed edition of the rolls was published by the Record Commission in 1818 giving the medieval Latin of the original source, but a missing middle roll has only recently been discovered. This new volume not only provides a full version of the rolls, but is also the first translation of them into English, making this valuable source widely available to local historians previously daunted by medieval Latin. Indeed the work not only contains a translation of the rolls in their entirety, but also includes a number of useful appendices incorporating material from a range of contemporary sources, including references to people and places in Cambridge from the Fine Rolls and Pipe Rolls. As the authors outline in their introduction, the Record Commission’s edition of the rolls was used extensively as the basis of a number of the studies of Cambridge, including by Frederic Maitland in Township and Borough and in subsequent work by members of the Cambridge Antiquarian Society, which have formed much of our understanding of the town during this period. The discovery of the missing roll requires a re-evaluation of this work since medieval Cambridge was larger than previously thought, extended further east and contained more professional people, particularly those associated with the various religious and charitable institutions within the town.

The volume includes material which is likely to be of use and value to a variety of readers. Undoubtedly, local historians working on Cambridge will find it invaluable, particularly since there is much topographical detail, including references to streets and parishes as well as to the existence of features which have long since disappeared, such as Trumpington Gate and the King’s Ditch. There are also frequent references to surrounding settlements: as a resident of Trumpington I was fascinated to find mention of an ‘anchorite of Trumpington’ who received rent of 4s 6d from a shop in Cambridge marketplace. Social and economic historians of the period will also find interesting material, such as the frequent references in the rolls to aspects of trade and industry within the town, whilst onomasticians will find valuable evidence in the wealth of personal and place names included in the volume. More specifically, it includes much detail about the significant number of religious institutions holding land in Cambridge, including both those within the town itself and those from outside, and about the important contribution made to the town’s economy by members of a flourishing Jewish community.

Compassionate Capitalism is intended as a companion monograph to Business and Community. A comprehensive introduction outlines the purpose of the book and sets out the key research questions while also establishing the historical context. Chapters 1 to 5 use the material from the Cambridge Hundred Rolls to explore the role played by urban business activity in the town, particularly in the property market, during the ‘Commercial Revolution’: the period between 1100 and 1350 seen by historians as a key point in the development of capitalism. The work explores various aspects of this including the role played by the family as a business unit and the extent to which participation in the urban property market related to other commercial or professional activities. This exploration incorporates a statistical analysis of the success of leading Cambridge families using measurements of wealth and reputation. This is an highly innovative approach to the use of primary source evidence which produces interesting, although perhaps unsurprising, results, particularly regarding the importance of family in the urban economy and concerning the relative success of ‘old wealth’ and ‘new wealth’.

While the book is primarily concerned with Cambridge, chapter 6 considers the wider regional and national context. Chapter 7 looks beyond the thirteenth century to consider the economy and society of Cambridge from 1279 through to the great depression of the mid-fifteenth century. During this period, the borough corporation expanded its role as a landowner, while the expansion of the various colleges ensured that by the late fifteenth century the centre of the town had largely been taken over by the university. The book ends with a short but succinct conclusion which draws the main themes together and answers the questions raised in the Introduction.

As with Business and Community, this work will appeal to various users. In providing an insight into the previously underexplored subject of the urban property market, it makes an important contribution to our understanding of the urban economy and will be of interest to economic and social historians of this period. Such historians are also likely to be intrigued by the use of econometric and statistical techniques and modern databases and the contribution that these can make to the study of such topics. In addition, the book will be essential reading for those interested in the local history of Cambridge, especially as it provides much new material—for example, the rolls provide detailed information about many leading Cambridge families of the late thirteenth century. Local historians should not be daunted by the fact that the book is, essentially, an economic history: not only is it is written in an easily readable style, but also many of the terms and concepts specific to the period are given clear but concise explanations.

In conclusion, these two excellent works not only give an invaluable insight into our understanding of an important aspect of the early development of capitalism, but also shine a new light on late medieval Cambridge. As such, they will be of interest to both academic and amateur historians and are fully recommended to both.

Joanne Sear teaches at the Institute of Continuing Education, Cambridge and is editor of the Proceedings of the Suffolk Institute of Archaeology and History. Her own research focusses on medieval consumption and trade with a particular interest in the role that small towns played in marketing networks. She is currently co-authoring a volume for the Suffolk Records Society on the manorial records of Newmarket.

DEPOSITIONS IN THE CONSISTORY COURT OF THE BISHOP OF BATH AND WELLS: I. Office Depositions 1601 to 1605 edited by William Husband (List & Index Society vol.S058 2019 xxxix+303pp ISBN 978-1-906875-54-1); DEPOSITIONS IN THE CONSISTORY COURT OF THE BISHOP OF BATH AND WELLS: II. Instance Depositions 1604 to 1606 edited by William Husband (vol.S059 2019 iv+272pp 978-1-906875-55-8) price for vols.I & II £103.50

Church courts were an important cog in the legal machinery for discipline, arbitration and probate in England from the medieval period until the mid-nineteenth century, when they ceased to deal with external matters. In theory, their area of jurisdiction lay in ecclesiastical matters of the diocese, and particularly in prosecuting sin to maintain the spiritual and moral harmony of society. In practice, the church courts and secular courts had overlapping roles. In their administration, church court scribes recorded a wealth of information that documents how the courts functioned and their day-to-day business. A huge quantity of these records survives today across the country. These two volumes of consistory court depositions from the diocese of Bath and Wells (largely coterminous with the county of Somerset) contain witness statements from this court between the years 1601 and 1606. Volume I contains evidence taken from witnesses produced to testify in office cases, which arose as direct prosecutions of miscreant parishioners by the bishop or one of his officers. Examples of miscreant behaviour included sexual offences (such as adultery or fornication), disorder (including brawling, blasphemy, and defamation of clergymen), and clerical offences (particularly neglect of duty and misconduct). The depositions published in Volume II relate to instance cases or inter-party disputes raised by one or more parishioners against another and arbitrated by the court. Suits of this nature included defamation, matrimonial, testamentary, church seating and tithe disputes. In each of these cases, witnesses were summoned to Wells to testify their knowledge and the court clerk transcribed an account of their testimony.

Over the last forty years, early modern ecclesiastical court depositions have enjoyed more attention from historians and, for my own part, I have used them extensively in my academic research. Nonetheless, in their manuscript form they are often overlooked as an important source of local social history. The early modern secretary hand of the court’s clerks as well as the combination of English and Latin used puts off academics, students and local historians alike. Depositions of the diocese of Bath and Wells survive in great abundance but have hitherto remained unpublished. Volumes like these open up these records to a wider audience and will be very much welcomed by those with an interest in the social, economic and religious lives of early modern English people.

The introduction to the volumes provides an excellent and very accessible starting point for historians new to this material. William Husband, the editor, does an admirable job of setting out court procedure, the nature of the cases that came before the court, and the structure and contents of the material itself. The maps included in the introduction are a useful resource to be used in conjunction with the depositions. They give a sense of the geographical spread of the deposition-generating cases that feature in the two volumes, as well as situating the act of deposing in a local spatial context; the focused map of Wells includes the sites of the consistory court, the houses of the bishop’s surrogates (where depositions were usually taken) as well as several of the city’s inns.

The depositions themselves are full of interesting snapshots into the lives of the people of early modern Somerset. The content chosen here for publication is wholly representative. In this short review, I highlight some of the key aspects of these depositions that will appeal to historians. Firstly, there is much to be gained from reflecting on the biographical preambles to each deposition. When questioned by the court, witnesses were asked to state their name, parish and length of residence there, marital status (for women) and occupation (for men), their approximate age and length of acquaintance with one or both of the litigant parties. The diversity of witnesses called to testify indicates the importance of this collection in representing the experiences of a broad cross-section of early modern society. Men were overwhelmingly a more usual choice of witness and were drawn from a wide range of occupations and social positions. Gentlemen, yeomen, clothiers, husbandmen, clergymen, craftsmen and even a small number of labourers testified in the disputes. Women also gave evidence; married women more frequently appeared before the court as deponents, but single women’s testimonies were also recorded. Readers will notice that while several witnesses were born and had lived in the same parish for their whole lives, these records are not simply parochial; many witnesses had migrated across the county and even beyond its boundaries. These neighbourhood disputes and seemingly local witnesses were frequently connected to other people and places.

The content of the depositions themselves will be of immense interest to local historians as they offer insights into customs, knowledge, language and practices that were grounded in the parish or region. Local knowledge of land, its value and how it had been used over the years is glimpsed in tithe dispute depositions. Witnesses recalled the knowledge and practices of their ancestors to uphold customs that dated far back into the past. A case against those breaking the Sabbath by drinking in an alehouse rather than attending church in the town of Frome reveals much about the constables’ Sunday patrol of the town for misbehaviour at service time. Local language and dialect can be detected across these cases. Husband has taken great pains in the footnotes to elucidate the meaning of unfamiliar terms: the word ‘pomstries’, for instance, appears in the fascinating deposition of Charity Cooke of Stratton on the Fosse, a word that Husband notes was used to denote quack remedies, the word ‘pomster’ meaning a quack doctor in the South West.

Given the effort it must have taken to transcribe and publish these cases, my criticisms are few and minor. This is an impressive and meticulous piece of work; each case is treated with care and diligence to peel back the layers of meaning that time has concealed. It would have been useful if the calendar of depositions included not only the manuscript page numbers but also pagination from within the published books as well as a column to indicate the type of case. This would make it a most useful finding aid for those interested in locating particular types of disputes within the volumes, although the index goes some way to compensate for this omission.

While many depositions seem repetitive, recording similar information in relation to the case, careful reading reveals subtle differences that shed light on the sheer complexity of church court litigation and Somerset life. These volumes are a real treasure trove of information on early seventeenth-century local, regional and social history. In commissioning them, Somerset Heritage Centre and the List and Index Society have provided a real public service and William Husband has done an excellent job of editing.

Charmian Mansell is a British Academy postdoctoral fellow at the University of Cambridge. She is a social and economic historian and has worked extensively with sixteenth and seventeenth-century church court depositions to study gender and work, and more recently, everyday travel in early modern England

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