Inspirational homes (3) by Carolyn Hughes

The “inspirational homes” I discussed in my previous two posts represented the sort of mediaeval houses that might have been lived in by the poorer members of society and those of the “middling sort”. We saw how the way of life afforded by the homes of the wealthier members of society included more space, a little more privacy, a degree of greater warmth and light. The peasants might have thought the homes of the yeoman farmer and the merchant offered unbridled luxury compared to their own modest houses, even if, to us, those “luxurious” houses still seem distinctly lacking in comfort.

So what of the houses of the gentry? I am not considering here the great castles and palaces of the aristocracy, for none of the characters in my novels have such high status. But my novels do have knights and their ladies, the sort of people who held manors big and small, some of which (though not all) included a manor house. Manor houses might have been relatively modest, scarcely much different from the yeoman’s farmstead, Bayleaf, that I described last month. Others might have been quite grand, almost castle-like, with high crenellated walls, towers and moats. And of course there were manor houses of all sizes in between. But what perhaps they all had in common at this period was that they were centred around a main great hall, had a number of other rooms and most likely a solar on the first floor.

These posts concern buildings that have “inspired” me in my writing about the homes in which my characters live. For the previous two posts, the houses I discussed came from either the Weald and Downland Museum in West Sussex, or English Heritage. In today’s post, the “inspirational home” again comes from English Heritage.

Stokesay Castle is a 13th century fortified manor house 7.5 miles (12 km) north-west of Ludlow in Shropshire. It is perhaps not quite the right style for a Hampshire manor house, but nonetheless I love it and its interior in particular lives in my head as I write about the homes of my lords and ladies. 

Stokesay Castle, Shropshire
By Andrew Mathewson, CC BY-SA 2.0

This wonderful building was constructed in the 1280/90s. It was extended and refurbished during the 17th century, but it is the 13th century aspects of the house that are my “inspiration”. The house is another merchant’s house, built at almost exactly the same time as John Fortin’s house in Southampton, which we saw last month. In Shropshire, the wool merchant Laurence of Ludlow, one of the richest men in England, bought the manor of Stokesay in 1281, and soon embarked upon building his grand house.

Ten years or so later he obtained a licence to crenellate – or fortify – his house. Although Edward I’s conquest of Wales in 1284 meant that there was now relative peace in the border counties, it seems that bands of thieves continued to roam the countryside and Laurence wanted to ensure that his new house was secure. However, the fortifications did not detract from Laurence’s apparent desire also to demonstrate his sophistication and wealth.

The house is surrounded by a walled moat, though it is not clear if it ever actually held water. An entrance through a gatehouse (17th century, though there was probably an earlier one) leads into the courtyard or bailey. The huge courtyard area (the grass in the photographs would not of course have been there) would have contained additional buildings, such as a kitchen, bakehouse and storerooms.

The main house has an enormous hall and an upper private solar area, and there is a tower at each end of the main building, also containing various private rooms and facilities like privies. To the south is a high crenellated tower, and to the north a tower whose roof balances that of the solar block at the other end of the main central building. On the west side of the building, however, the upper storey of this north tower juts out in a grand jetty. You can see this jettying in the first photo.

By Tony Harrison from Farnborough, UK -
Stokesay Castle Shropshire IMG_8744, CC BY-SA 2.0

By LisaPB73 - Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0

The great hall lies between the north tower and the solar block, beneath the wide span of roof that you can see in the picture above. On the east wall, overlooking the bailey, are four pointed gables, three of which have double lancet windows with a circular light at the top.

The vast space of the great hall has a magnificent cruck roof. Originally, the curving timber beams that hold up the roof – the “crucks” – reached further down the walls than they do now. Apparently they were replaced with stone in the 19th century when they began to rot. Nonetheless the roof is one of the glories of the hall.

Chris Gunns/Stokesay Castle, the great hall/CC BY-SA 2.0

By Nick Hubbard - Stokesay Castle-21
Uploaded by AlbertHerring, CC BY 2.0

The high windows on the east side of the hall are matched by others on the west wall, making the great space really very light. Today, the windows are fully glazed, but originally it is likely that glass was put only in the top windows, leaving the lower ones to be covered by shutters in cold or wet weather.

Another of the hall’s glories is the wonderful staircase, most of which is original – that is, remarkably, its treads are over 700 years old! It leads to the upper rooms in the north tower. You can get a splendid view of the hall from the top of the staircase. But it is possible that, on special occasions, minstrels played on the gallery area at the top of the stairs.

It is imagined that the lord, Laurence, and his family and guests would have dined at a table set at the opposite end of the hall from the staircase. This table might well have been raised up from the floor on a dais. The rest of the household would sit at tables set along the side walls. The central hearth – octagonal in shape – was located in middle of the U shape of the tables, the smoke apparently curling up and out of an opening in the roof. I suppose that with the room being so very large, one might not have really noticed the unpleasantness of the smoke. Though it might also be true that the fire would have struggled to heat such an enormous, and enormously high, space!

It is thought that a timber screen might have been installed between the dining area and the staircase, sheltering the diners from the draughts coming from the great main door, which gave access out into the courtyard and the kitchens. It might also allow for the dishes being brought in from the kitchen to be given a discreet last-minute once-over to ensure they met Laurence’s undoubtedly high standards.

The north tower reached by the staircase has its original tiled floor and the remains of wall paintings. Interestingly (given that the great hall has a central hearth), there is a fireplace on a wall in both of the upper rooms. The top floor room overhangs the one beneath by means of a supported jetty on three sides (see the first photograph), although the windows themselves were added in the 17th century.

At the southern end of the hall is the two-storey solar block, which it is thought Laurence and his family used as their private living area until the south tower was built. The ground floor of the block contains what was probably a storeroom. The upper room of the block was refurbished in the 17th century, converting it into a panelled chamber, so sadly there is no sense of how it originally appeared. This room was accessed by an external staircase (the existing one is not original), and it seems that the staircase was sheltered by a “pentice”, a sloping roof attached to the wall. You can see the line of it in the photograph below, just underneath the cut-off window.

The Solar, Stokesay Castle
By Tony Grist - Photographer's own files, CC0

Beyond the solar block is the tall south tower, the most castle-like part of the house, built perhaps as a further demonstration of Laurence’s power and taste. But it was also where he moved his private quarters.

The room on the first floor has six windows giving views in almost every direction. Four of them are large enough to accommodate window seats, where – with a cushion or two, perhaps – it must have been very pleasant to sit on sunny days. But the windows were not glazed and had to rely on shutters to keep the heat in and the weather out. Fireplaces and access to a privy were provided for both this room and the one on the floor above. Plenty of mod cons!

By LisaPB73 - Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0

Sadly in some ways, English Heritage hasn’t attempted to furnish the mediaeval parts of Stokesay Castle, although there are a few pieces of furniture in the solar refurbished in the 17th century. It would be wonderful in particular to see the great hall furnished with cloth-covered tables, and benches, perhaps great tapestries on the walls, and to have a fire burning in the hearth, as they do in the houses at the Weald and Downland Museum. But I must put my disappointment aside and simply use my imagination and try to visualise what life in this wonderful building must have been like.

Clearly, Laurence of Ludlow’s fortified manor house was state-of-the-art in the 13th century. The grandeur of Stokesay Castle is undisputed, but the comforts of fireplaces and privies, the light offered by the large windows, the availability of lots of space and even a little more privacy, all of these surely contribute to its status as luxurious accommodation? But one presumes that, on his manor, while there might have been a few relatively affluent villeins whose homes were closer to the Bayleaf farmhouse we saw last month, the majority of his tenants undoubtedly lived out their lives in one of those small, dark, smoky cottages – with no luxury at all.

https://www.wealddown.co.uk/

https://www.english-heritage.org.uk

A Fine Song of Love - Katherine Langrish

The past is a different country which requires a great deal of research and imaginative effort to recreate in its multilayered richness of sights, sounds, smells, textures and tastes. Visiting the  Chiltern Open Air Museum a few years ago I found myself shouting to be heard over the almost unbearable thunder of iron-rimmed cartwheels rolling over cobbles. I’d had no idea carts were so loud – and that was one single, large, four-wheeled wagon pulled by a single horse. Imagine the din around the warehouses of London Docks in the 1880s! 

Music goes beyond natural sound, though. Music is a cultural construct full of meaning; it reflects, interprets, and to a large extent creates the manners and desires of its own time. It's natural to refer to music as we construct history. Swingtime, jazz, rock and roll, punk, reggae, hip-hop – all tell something about the decades in which they flourish. Impossible to imagine the sixties without the Beatles or the Kinks. The same must be true for the deeper past. I once thrilled to a British Museum reconstruction of a Roman trumpet call, and what about the prehistoric bone flutes that were played in caves like Lascaux?

My children’s novel DarkAngels (HarperCollins) is set on the Welsh borders in the 1190s, and features a flawed heroic figure, Hugo of La Motte Rouge, Norman warlord and ex-crusader who believes his dead wife may – just may – not be dead after all, even though seven years have passed since he buried her. She may have been spirited away by the elf-folk and taken into the tunnels under the hill. In which case, there may be a chance he could rescue her.

There are a quite a few 12^th century legends on this mysterious subject, the idea of lost lovers re-encountered in some fairy land of the dead. Walter Map, a courtier at the court of Henry II, tells the story of a Breton knight who rescued his dead-and-buried wife when, months later, he saw her whirling in a fairy dance. And the retelling of the Orpheus myth, Sir Orfeo, probably also ultimately dates from this time, from a Breton lai subsequently translated into Middle English.

So there I was with the idea that my knight Lord Hugo would be a sort of Orpheus figure. Therefore he needed to be musical. Now the Breton lais are lengthy stories in verse; they were performed by minstrels who probably chanted them with a musical prelude and interludes. And of course the 12^th and 13th centuries were also the time of the troubadours of southern France, whose songs were primarily songs of fin’ amour – of romantic love in high society.

Garden of Pleasure, Harley 4425, 15th C.

It’s been suggested that the notion, even the emotion of romantic love was created by the troubadours, a product of the hot-house needs of often very young noblemen and noblewomen living with nothing much to do in close proximity in small castles, spending time together every day, yet with sex strictly off-limits - marriage being a formal matter of property and alliances arranged by their elders. So this new music arose, a music of youth, full of expressions of forbidden desire: subversive, exciting, dangerous and fashionable.

Many troubadours were high-born men and women, whose songs would usually be performed by a joglar or jongleur, a professional singer. Still, it seemed to me quite possible that my own Lord Hugo might on occasion be prevailed upon to sing his own songs – especially if he thought that doing so might help win back his wife from the dead land.   

So now I needed to listen to troubadour songs. Here's one anonymous 13th century song, performed by Conjunto de Camara de Porto Alegre. They don't sing it all: as you can see, below, it's quite long. I made a free translation to get myself in the mood for writing songs for Lord Hugo.

Volez vous que je vous chante             Would you like me to sing you

Un son d’amours avenant?                 A fine song of love?                          

Vilain nel fist mie,                                By no peasant it was made,               

Ainz le fist un chevalier                       But a gentle knight who lay

Sous l’ombre d’un olivier                    With his sweetheart in his arms

Entre les bras s’amie.                          In an olive tree’s shade.

Chemisete avoit de lin                         She wore a linen chemise,

Et blanc peliçon hermin                      A pelisse of white ermine –

Et bliaut de soie                                   Of silk was her dress,

Chauces ot de jaglolai                         Her stockings were of iris leaves

Et solers de flours de mai                    And slippers of mayflowers

Estroitement chauçade                        Her feet to caress.

Ceinturete avoit de feuille                    Her girdle was of leaves

Que verdist quant li tens meuille,        Which grow green when it rains,

D’or est boutonade                             Her buttons of gold so fine,

L’aumosniere estoit d’amour              Her purse was a gift of love

Li pendant furent de flours                  And it hung from flowery chains

Par amours fu donade.                       As it were a lovers’ shrine.

Et chevauchoit une mule                     And she rode on a mule,

D’argent ert la ferruere                       The saddle was of gold,

La sele ert dorade;                              All silver were its shoes;

Sus la croupe par derriers                   On the crupper behind

Avoit plante trois rosiers                     To provide her with shade

Pour faire li ombrage.                         Three rose-bushes grew.

Si s’en va aval la pree                         As she passed through the fields

Chevaliers l’ont encontree                  She met gentle knights

Beau l’on saluade:                              Who demanded courteously:

“Belle, dont estes vous nee?”             “Fair one, where were you born?”

“De France sui la louee,                     “From France am I come.

De plus haut parage.”                        And of high family.”

“Li rossignol est mon pere                  “The nightingale is my father

Qui chant sor la ramee                       Who sings from the branches

El plus haut boscage.                          Of the forest’s highest tree.

La seraine est mon mere                     The mermaid is my mother

Qui chante en la mer sale                   Who sings her sweet notes

Li plus haut rivage.”                           On the banks of the salt sea.”

“Belle, bon fussiez vous nee!               “Fair one, well were you born!          

Bien estes emparentee                         Well fathered, well mothered

Et de haut parage.                               And of high family.

Pleüst á Dieu nostre pere                    Might God only grant

Que vous ne fussiez donee                   That you should be given

A femme esposade.”                           In marriage to me!”

Could a song be more sensual, the object of desire more dangerous? The lady in this chanson is a headily-erotic blend of wildwood flowers, songs and the fairy world; that purse which hangs from her girdle on flowery chains ‘like a lover’s shrine’ is certainly a metaphor Freud would have recognised. No wonder the young knights acknowledge her ‘high degree’ and long for her hand in marriage. It’s enough to turn their parents’ hair grey.  

Lady out riding, 16th C, by Gerard Horenbout

Troubadour songs often use images such as the coming of the green leaves in spring, and the song of the nightingale, to express the pain and delight and longing of love. Here’s Guillem de Peiteus, Count of Poitiers and Duke of Aquitaine, comparing love to a hawthorn bough:

As for our love, you must know how

Love goes – it’s like the hawthorn bough

That on the living tree stands, shaking

All night beneath the freezing rain

Till next day, when the warm sun, waking,

Spreads through green leaves and boughs again.

(Tr. W. D. Snodgrass.)

In the end I wrote this for Hugo to sing of his love:

When all the spring is bursting and blossoming,

And the hedge is white with blossom like a breaking wave,

That’s when my heart is bursting with love-longing

For the girl who pierced it, for that sweet wound she gave.

And I hear the nightingale singing in the forest –

Singing for love in the forest: “Come to me, I am alone…

Better to suffer love’s pain for a single kiss

Than live for a hundred years with a heart of stone.”

It’s Hugo’s love and pain that drives the plot of Dark Angels and I really needed the plangent, beautiful music of the 13^th century to get it right.

Inspirational homes (2) by Carolyn Hughes

“Inspirational homes” might suggest a strapline blazoned across the front of a glossy décor magazine. But the sort of inspiration I’m talking about here is where real-life ancient buildings “inspire” me in my descriptions of the homes of the characters in my novels, which are set in 14th century southern England.

Last month, I discussed two buildings, found at the Weald and Downland Open Air Museum in West Sussex, that are my inspiration for the homes of rural peasants. Today, I am going to discuss two houses of somewhat higher standing: one the home of a well-to-do farming family and the other that of a wealthy Southampton merchant.

Both of these wealthier homes have two storeys, with a main “hall” downstairs and a “solar”, a private area for the family, upstairs. Both have additional rooms and, by comparison with the cottages, are really very spacious. Yet such homes would still be draughty and cold underfoot, the hearth might still be in the middle of the floor (though chimneys were beginning to be installed in wealthier homes), and the windows might still be pretty small and were almost certainly unglazed.

The Bayleaf Farmstead, again at the Weald and Downland Museum, is a reconstruction of an early 15th century hall-house, and is typical of “Wealden” houses, common in the Weald of Kent and East Sussex, which were mostly built by prosperous yeoman farmers or well-off craftsmen and tradesmen in towns.

Keith Edkins / Bayleaf wealden house / CC BY-SA 2.0

Bayleaf comes from Chiddingstone, about 10 miles (16 km) north-west of Tunbridge Wells in Kent. The house is timber-framed with a tiled roof, and is constructed with four bays, two of which form the central hall, full height to the rafters. The outer bays are both two-storey, and the upper rooms have “jetties” to the front of the house. To one side of the central hall is what is referred to as the “parlour”, with a solar upstairs. On the other side of the hall are ground floor service rooms, with a large chamber on the first floor.

The main door of the house opens into a cross passage, which separates the central hall from the service rooms, and has a door at its other end leading to the rear of the house.

The central hall is significantly bigger than the two peasants’ cottages I described last month. It is open to the rafters, and has a rather grand double-height – but unglazed – window, with hinged and folding internal shutters, that provides good light for the dining table. Overall the effect is impressive. Nonetheless, this hall does still have a central hearth, shown as a rectangle of bricks more or less in the middle of the floor. Because, I suppose, the room is bigger than the halls in the peasant cottages, the smoke from the fire – which was burning nicely when I visited – did not seem quite so unpleasant. The smoke was rising upwards (rather than billowing), escaping perhaps through the small gabled opening in the roof ridge, although, as I have read elsewhere, it is possible that much of the smoke simply finds its way out through gaps between the roof tiles.

While this central hall is still the main living area, there are other “living rooms” (in contrast to the peasant cottages): the parlour to one side of the hall and the solar above it. The family was not obliged to spend their whole lives in this one room, grand as it is. It would certainly be the dining room, and where the family would receive guests, and where everyday domestic tasks might be carried out. But sleeping would be done elsewhere – probably upstairs – and perhaps family members could escape from each other occasionally to the parlour.

It is thought that initially some cooking may have taken place on the fire in the hall but, by the 16th century, the kitchen, used for brewing and baking as well as cooking meals, would have been in a separate building, for safety’s sake.

The furniture and furnishing in Bayleaf’s hall reflects the relative wealth of the occupants. The wide trestle table is laid with a cloth, the bench and stools are well made. There is a decorated cupboard, with pewter ware displayed, and a solid storage chest. Curtains hang on the walls behind the table, presumably for decoration but also to combat draughts.

On the other side of the cross passage, doors lead into the service rooms: the buttery, used mainly for storing vessels and utensils, and the pantry, used for storing food. A stairway at the back leads up to the chamber above, its original use being unknown, but perhaps used as a bedchamber for servants and/or the older children of the family.

At the other side of the hall, an opening by the high table – closed with a curtain rather than a wooden door – leads to the “parlour”. The downstairs room may have been used for sleeping, storage and work, such as spinning for the lady of the house and accounts for the master. The room upstairs, the “solar”, was probably where the family slept, that is, the master, his wife and their younger children. Older children might have slept in the parlour or perhaps in the service chamber at the other side of the house.

Interestingly, the upstairs solar is shown with its own privy. The museum says that the reconstruction of this privy is conjectural, but it is not unlikely. A small jetty at the back of the room indicates where the privy might have been. Typically, the latrine emptied onto the midden heap or into an open cesspit or a covered conduit. Sometimes such privies were installed in a room referred to as a “garderobe”, essentially a wardrobe, on the principle that the odour of urine kept pests away from valuable clothing. This doesn’t seem to be the case here. However, if the reconstruction is anything to go by, this privy was exceedingly draughty, but perhaps preferable to finding your way outdoors to the privy in the garden!

   

Oast House Archive / Jettied Toilet of Bayleaf House / CC BY-SA 2.0

Oast House Archive / Toilet of Bayleaf House / CC BY-SA 2.0

The furniture in the parlour and solar reflects the rooms’ most likely use, with beds and storage chests. The “best” bed in the solar chamber is a wonderful robust four-poster, with a ceiling (a “tester”) and curtains for privacy and to keep out draughts. The bed in the parlour is of a simpler design without the posts or hangings. The principal bed is shown with a truckle, a bed on wheels that slides underneath the larger bed, often used by the younger children.

Bayleaf is a beautiful house. I often have it in my mind when I’m thinking about the homes of the more well-to-do in my novels.

I also love the late 13th century Mediaeval Merchant’s House in French Street, Southampton, managed by English Heritage. The shape and style of this house sometimes merges with that of Bayleaf in my head when I’m thinking about the homes of my wealthier characters, although this merchant’s house is clearly more of a town house than Bayleaf.

Medieval Merchant's House, Southampton
By Geni - Photo by user:geni, CC BY-SA 4.0

The house was built in about 1290 by John Fortin, a prosperous merchant, and has survived largely intact. The main walls of the house were built of limestone but the overhanging bay at the front of the house is timber-framed. The roof is of Cornish slate.

This house does have some similarities with Bayleaf: it is spacious, has private family rooms and its furniture is well-made and relatively elaborate. But this house also acted as business premises for the owner, for it has a shop at the front and a room at the back that was probably used as an office, as well as an undercroft beneath the house for the storage of the merchant’s goods: barrels of wine! A wooden sign in the shape of a wine barrel hangs from the projecting upper chamber, alerting potential customers to the goods on offer here.

The front door beside the shop front leads into a narrow passage, with a door off it into the shop, and a door ahead leading into the private accommodation. The shop has unglazed windows but also shutters which can be let down to form a shop counter to the street. The shop itself is kitted out as a wine store, but I think that customers probably did not enter the shop, making their purchases from the counter.

Beyond the inner passage door, the passage leads on to an opening to the central hall, which, as with all the other houses, was the main living room, where the family ate and entertained, and carried out their everyday tasks. As with all the houses, the room is open to the rafters. It has relatively large windows, unglazed but protected by shutters. It has a 14th century chimney, although when the house was first built it would have had a central hearth. But wall fireplaces were becoming more common by the mid-14th century, perhaps particularly in towns. Relatively spacious as this room is, one cannot help but wonder at the inconvenience of having a fire in the middle of the floor, especially for the mistress of the house, as she swept past it with her long skirts, never mind the unpleasantness of the smoke! The arrival of chimneys must have seemed a wonderful innovation.

Medieval Merchant's House - HallBy Hchc2009 - Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0

The passage continues on to a private room, probably used by the merchant as his office, which also has a fireplace. It is thought that a door led from this room to an external latrine.

The furniture in the hall consists of a long trestle table, a grand, painted throne-like chair for the master of the house, and a bench for his family. There is an elaborately carved and, surprisingly perhaps, brightly painted, cupboard, together with a couple of storage chests, hangings on the walls and an array of jugs and utensils on display. In the “office” is another table with stools, and yet another decorated cupboard and a chest.

Medieval Merchant's House - "Office"By Hchc2009 - Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0

Rising from the central hall, a substantial staircase takes you upstairs to the solar, where there are two chambers, located either side of the open hall and connected by a gallery that overlooks the hall below. The room at the back of the house is probably the bedchamber for the family, the one at the front for guests and perhaps also used as a day room by the women of the family, where the light from the relatively large window would be good for spinning or sewing.

The back bedchamber is furnished as a place for the whole family to sleep. The beds have testers and curtains, like the principal bed in Bayleaf, there is a very sturdy rocking cradle, a stool and elaborately carved and painted storage chests. There might have been a door leading to the external latrine tower.

Medieval Merchant's House - BedchamberBy Hchc2009 - Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0

So Bayleaf and the merchant’s house in Southampton represent the homes of comparatively wealthy mediaeval people. They afforded a little more privacy for their occupants than the peasant cottages, although children still slept with their parents, or perhaps with servants, so privacy remained limited. These two houses are also much lighter than the peasant cottages, with their larger windows, but the windows were still unglazed and therefore draughty until the shutters were closed, plunging the rooms into gloom. Heating in the merchant’s house, with two fireplaces downstairs, would no doubt have seemed a great improvement over the smoky central hearth of Bayleaf. But there was no heating in any of the upstairs rooms and I assume that all the downstairs rooms would have had floors of beaten earth so I am sure these houses must have been pretty chilly for all their relative sophistication. 

Nonetheless, they surely represented luxury compared to the peasant cottages we saw last month. Next month, I will look at one house that represents the homes of the gentry – a manor house, if a fairly grand one. True luxury, perhaps?

WICKHAM: NOT JUST “A PRETTY TOWNLET”

In recent History Girls posts, I have written several times about the history of the Meon Valley. The motivation for my posts is simply that this area of Hampshire, as well as being where I live, is the setting for my historical novels, the “Meonbridge Chronicles”. Not that all my posts have been directly relevant to my novel-writing research, but it’s just fascinating to explore the past of a place you love, and turn up interesting little snippets of information about it that you didn’t already know. So, I’ve decided to continue with my theme, and this time I’ve discovered at least one snippet that I found really quite surprising…

Last month I wrote about Titchfield, the settlement near the sea end of the valley of the River Meon and, today, I’m moving a few miles upstream to the next place of any size along the river, Wickham (oð wic hæma mearce in the 9th century; Wicheham in the 11th; Wykham in the 13th; Wickham in the 14th). 

Wickham square Photo © Author

Wickham is an attractive little town (or large village – I’m never quite sure which it is, with a population now of about 4000), popular with visitors. In the 16th century, the writer John Leland described it as a “pretty townlet”, so it was agreeable even then. Wickham is no longer a market town (apart from the occasional farmers’ market) but it became one in the 13th century, and remained so for many centuries thereafter, and a busy, prosperous place it was, as it still is. Wickham also has a very famous son – a 14th century son –and both the town’s history and that of its son are certainly worth an airing.

In Neolithic times, the only sign of any habitation in the place that would one day be “Wickham” was probably a fording place that enabled travellers to cross the River Meon. Neolithic artefacts found in the village bear witness to these possible early visitors. There is evidence too of Iron Age and Roman sites in and around the village, including iron and bronze making as well as pottery kilns. Wickham is sited on the route between the two important settlements of Winchester and Chichester, probably making it of strategic value to the Romans. It is possible that Wickham became an important Roman settlement, with an industrial base.

The first mention of Wickham in history is in a document dated 826 AD, when the village is mentioned in a royal charter. The original village lay on the east side of the River Meon, where the church still stands and the medieval manor house was once located.

After the Norman Conquest, the king, William I, granted the manor of Wickham to Hugo de Port, one of many lordships he granted to the de Port family. The village appeared in the Doomsday Book of 1086 as part of the Titchfield Hundred, and the present church of St Nicholas dates from 1126 and was run by the Canons of Titchfield.

Wickham’s record in the Domesday Book says:

“4 brothers held it from King Edward as 2 manors. Then and now it answered for 12 hides. Hugh acquired it as 1 manor. Land for 7 ploughs. In lordship 2 ploughs; 15 villagers and 6 smallholders with 7 ploughs. 5 slaves; 2 mills at 20s; meadow, 8 acres; woodland at 5 pigs. Value before 1066 £10; later £4; now £7”

Its total population at that time was probably around 120.

In the 13th century, Wickham was held, under the de Port overlordship, by a family called Scure. The manor passed down through the Scures until 1381, when Sybil Scure, who was married to John Uvedale, inherited it and brought Wickham into a family with whom it remained for the next 350 years. The manor house of the Uvedales stood to the south of the churchyard. Excavations in the 1960s showed that manorial buildings had been erected on the site in the late 11th century, when a large, aisled, timber-framed hall was built. It was replaced with a smaller, stone-built, hall in the 13th century, with a moat and some fish-ponds. The lords of Wickham seem to have been both important and wealthy, for excavations also revealed the high quality of some of the pottery they had imported from Normandy and Spain.

However, there is more to tell of the 13th century lord, Roger de Scures. For, on August 13th 1269, King Henry III granted a charter to Roger, allowing him – “for ever”, the charter says – to hold a market in Wickham every Thursday and an annual fair on the anniversary of the Translation Of St. Nicholas.

“Know ye that we have granted and by this our charter have confirmed to Roger de Scures that he and his heirs may have free warren in all the demesne lands of his manor of Wykham in the county of Southampton for ever. So that those lands be not within the boundaries of our forest. On condition that no one shall enter those lands to hunt in them or take away anything that may belong to the warren without the leave and will of the said Roger or his heirs upon forfeiture of ten pound. We have also granted to the same Roger that he and his heirs shall have for ever a market at his manor aforesaid every week on Thursday and that they may have there a fair ever year for three days, that is to say on the vigil, day and morrow of the Translation of St Nicholas unless that market and fair may be to the damage of the neighbouring market and fairs.” 

Saint Nicholas depicted in a 14th-century English book of hours

The “Translation” refers to the movement (or rescue), in 1087, of Saint Nicholas’s relics from Myra (in present-day Turkey) to Bari, in Italy, to save them from potential destruction in the religious conflict that was ravaging the region. The relics still remain in the Basilica of Saint Nicholas in Bari.

The event is celebrated as a religious holiday in some Eastern Orthodox churches, but it seemed to me a curious anniversary for a little town in southern England to honour with a fair. The rationale for it is, I suppose, simply that Saint Nicholas was the saint to whom Wickham’s church was dedicated.

The holiday was originally celebrated on May 9th, the date in 1087 when the relics were brought to Bari, but it was moved to May 20th (something, I think, to do with the switch from the Julian calendar to the Gregorian) and thus it has remained. The Wickham Fair – a three-day event in the Middle Ages –attracted buyers and sellers from a wide area, dealing in goods of all kinds.

But what might seem extraordinary is that Wickham still holds a one-day fair on May 20th every year, 750 years after it was instituted.

In earlier centuries, the fair apparently traded in livestock of many kinds, including pigs, sheep, cattle and horses. But eventually it became essentially a horse-trading fair, which is what it is now, and is thought to be one of only two such events in the whole country. Thousands of members of the traveller community come from all over the country to show and sell ponies and horses, and to race them, with and without buggies, up and down the Winchester to Fareham road. A funfair fills Wickham’s great square for the rest of the day on the 20th.

The Square, Wickham Photo © Author

Wickham’s square is said to be one of the largest in Britain and it is from the time of the royal charter of 1269 that the layout of the village, with this broad market place, probably began to emerge. A road sign on the approach to Wickham from Fareham declares the village to have a “13th century market square”, which I have always thought just a little misleading. For, while it is undoubtedly true that The Square had its beginnings in the 13th century, and would once have been surrounded by contemporary buildings, sadly, few medieval buildings are still standing there.

Nonetheless, it is an impressive square, with a fine collection of 16th, 17th and 18th century houses surrounding the broad marketplace, a few of them quite grand, probably built by the increasingly prosperous merchants and skilled craftsmen. But there are certainly houses with 15th century origins in Bridge Street, a narrow road, apparently known as Grub Street in the Middle Ages, that crosses the River Meon at the east end of the square.

The Old Barracks, Bridge Street, Wickham Photo © Author

These cottages on Bridge Street are known as “The Old Barracks” and represent one of the best examples of a Wealden hall house in the area. They are timber framed with plaster infill and with later brickwork cladding. Timbers have been dated by dendrochronology to c1495. There is apparently a reference in the Parish Register to three cottages in Bridge Street called “The Barracks” in 1556 (the reign of Mary Tudor), which probably refers to this building.

Bridge/Grub Street is thought to have been part of the early settlement, referred to already, centred around the church and the (long since disappeared) manor on the east bank of the River Meon. After the development of the new square and its associated buildings in the 13th century on the drier, west bank of the river, Bridge Street was the connecting route between the old settlement and the new, via what was at first a ford, then a wooden bridge, and finally, in 1792, a stone bridge.

In 1334 Wickham was worth 6 pounds, 8 shillings and 6 pence in taxes paid to the Crown, which was more than Fareham, which today is vastly larger, so 14th century Wickham must have been a prosperous place. By 1700 it probably had a population of around 500, and two hundred years later the population had more than doubled. Now there are more like 4000 inhabitants, though that presumably doesn’t include the many residents of neighbouring villages who regard Wickham as their local centre. And it certainly doesn’t include the thousands who flock there, not only on fair day, but on every other day of the year, especially in summer, to admire the broad square and lovely old buildings, and to do some trading of their own in the antique shops, and enjoy a meal in one of the many restaurants and cafés.

But what of Wickham’s most famous son?

William was born in 1320, his father a modest freeman, John Longe, who moved to Wickham with his young family. Somehow the lord of the manor, then John de Scures, recognised that young William was bright and sent him to a school in Winchester.

And John was right. This bright but poor boy became clerk of the king’s works, Bishop of Winchester and Lord Chancellor of England. He called himself William of Wykeham, in honour of the place that nurtured him.

Winchester Cathedral 

WyrdLight.com [CC BY 3.0 via Wikimedia Commons]

On leaving school it seems that William became secretary to the constable of Winchester Castle, before passing into royal service in 1347. In 1349, he was appointed rector of a living in Norfolk, despite apparently not having taking holy orders, but then a few years later took on a series of jobs as clerks of works. He rose rapidly in service to the king, Edward III, and by 1359 was responsible for the castles of Windsor, Leeds, Dover and Hadleigh, as well as many royal manors.

But only two years later he was a royal secretary, concerned with the king’s finances, and by 1363 was a royal councillor. It is hard to understand how one man could undertake so many rôles, but in these few heady years, he seems to have taken part in the negotiations between England and France during the Hundred Years War, he was a canon at Lincoln Cathedral, and a Justice in Eyre in the Midlands, and also Lord Privy Seal. By 1366, William was elected as Bishop of Winchester, but also held other livings with an annual income exceeding £800. The following year, when he was consecrated as bishop at St Paul’s in London, he was also appointed Chancellor of England. However, he found it hard to raise the money for the king to resume his conflict with France, when it resumed in 1369 and, finally, he lost the king’s favour and resigned his role as Chancellor in 1371.

However, all was not lost. As Edward III’s health and energy declined, William maintained good relationships in high places and received more important appointments but, in the topsy-turvy world of medieval politics and jockeying for position, he fell out of favour again and in 1376 was banished from court, his church incomes seized. But his banishment didn’t last, and in 1377, he was pardoned by the new king, Richard II, shortly after his grandfather, Edward, died. (The king’s own father, Edward, the Black Prince, had died in June 1376.) Under Richard, William resumed his position as a royal councillor, and served as Chancellor again from 1389 to 1391.

In the meantime, William was making educational foundations. It seems that he was genuinely kind-hearted and generous, excusing poor tenants on his manors their customary payments, paying off debts of others, and giving food daily to many poor people. He also supported poor scholars at Oxford University for many years before he founded New College in 1379. His grammar school, Winchester College, in Winchester, obtained its royal licence in 1382, though it was several years before either institution was open for business. At both, however, William required daily prayers to be said for the king and queen, for himself and his parents, and all of his former patrons, including Sir John Scures.

William was concentrating on his foundations by the time Henry IV deposed Richard II in 1399, but he welcomed the new king in Winchester in 1400. He died at Bishop’s Waltham (a few miles north of Wickham) in 1404 and was buried in his chantry chapel to the south side of the nave in Winchester Cathedral. At the time of his death, he was one of the richest men in England and, although he did leave legacies to his descendants, much of his wealth went into the schools and colleges.

William’s motto was “Manners makyth man”, adopted also by his foundations. Jean Froissart, in his Chronicles, said of him: “Everything was done through him, and without him nothing was done.” Quite an accolade for a poor boy from a little Hampshire village!

William of Wykeham (Photo: New College, University of Oxford)