Doomed Shrines: The Last Tudor Pilgrims.

                                 the 18-year-old Henry VIII, shortly after his coronation  

Apart from having six wives, Henry VIII is notorious for breaking with Rome and establishing the Church of England. In the 1530s, he instigated a huge programme of reform, investigating and dissolving the country’s monastic houses and closing sites of pilgrimage central to centuries of national worship. Yet, in the early years of his reign, the young king was a model of Catholic devotion, writing his own rebuttal of Luther’s theology and styling himself as a defender of the very faith he would shortly seek to transform. And typical of his era, it was a showy, demonstrative sort of faith, visible through the bestowing of generous gifts to religious houses and regular visits to Saints’ shrines.

For the newly-crowned King, pilgrimage was a significant and regular act of worship. In 1511, to celebrate the birth of his son, he paid a visit to the Norfolk shrine of Our Lady at Walsingham, dismounting a mile away at the Slipper chapel, where he removed his shoes and proceeded barefoot. Once there, he lit a candle, made an offering of expensive jewels and commanded the royal glazier, one Bernard Flower, to make a stained glass window for the Lady Chapel. Sadly Henry’s young son did not survive, nor did the shrine. Yet in 1511, although the heyday of pilgrimage had passed, no one could have anticipated its days were actually numbered.

 

the remains of Walsingham Priory today

Walsingham had been generously endowed by a string of previous kings and queens: it was the centre of a national cult, a favourite of the monarchy, beloved by Richard II, Henry III, Edward I, Edward II and Edward III.  Margaret of Anjou, wife of Henry VI, had dedicating jewels to the shrine in 1452 and Henry’s grandmother Margaret had toured the East Anglian shrines in 1498,bequeathing silver to Walsingham in 1503. It would all end, though, with Henry VIII. The famous statue of the Virgin Mary would be burned and the shrine destroyed, the sub-prior hanged for his resistance and the site’s wealth “confiscated,” to be absorbed into the royal coffers. The Slipper chapel, where the King had so reverently left his shoes back in 1511, became a farm building. It is ironic to think of the supplicating King's place being taken by sheep or cattle.

For all degrees of Tudor society, pilgrimage was an essential component of an active faith; an undertaking that proved devotion and offset sin. In a world where few individuals could exercise control over their destinies, men and women could ask for direct saintly intercession when confronted by disorder. Tudor society contained large numbers of disenfranchised and marginalised groups for whom life was often brutal, difficult and short; spiritual guidance could assist in decision making and influence the course of auspicious events. It could cut through barriers of class, health and wealth, uniting all in mirroring the difficult journey of life. From start to finish, it stood outside the everyday experience, apart from daily norms and as such, was imbued with an “otherness” or magic quality that transcended the temporal realm. It should be no surprise then, that the most common miracles associated with shrines around the country were health-related; the apocryphal cures of cripples and lepers, sight restored to the blind, dead children brought back to life and barren women made fertile.

       A modern interpretation of the medieval Walsingham Madonna

Nor were the Virgin and Saints confined to their shrines. In fact, they were accessible on many levels: trade guilds enacted dramas and tableaux of their lives; on Rogation Days, Whitsun and Corpus Christi, robed and crowned statues were carried through the streets accompanied by blazing candles, while at Midsummer, the consecrated host was paraded, with banners, torches and crosses. Additionally, regular rounds of holy water processed through villages and was sprinkled on fields, animals, beds and homes, bringing the saint’s blessing into the very heart of domestic life. Holy water, bells, blessings, relics, prayers and even exorcisms can appear superfluous and dramatic today; it is difficult to overstate just how much these things mattered to many early Tudor Catholics.

By the advent of the Henry VIII, the shrines dotted across the country, particularly those dedicated to the Virgin Mary, were particularly favoured by women at all stages of their lives. In 1443, Margaret Paston undertook a pilgrimage to Walsingham to supplicate Our Lady for a cure for her husband’s illness; during the pain of labour, Margaret of Hamilton vowed to visit Canterbury and give thanks for a safe delivery; Elizabeth of York visited Walsingham after losing two children; the barren wife of William of Lincoln travelled to Canterbury and afterwards was fruitful. At a shrine in Thetford, it was reported that the Virgin had revived a deceased child and according to Benedict of Peterborough, St Thomas of Canterbury could transmute water into milk. Even as late as 1538, five or six hundred pilgrims a day were still visiting the shrine of St Asaph in Flintshire and the shrine to Our Lady at King’s Lynn was so popular, that a double staircase had to be installed to deal with the vast numbers of visitors.

No doubt sufferers made repeat visits in the hope of easing pain; the panacea of the journey may well have brought psychological and consequently, real, physical relief. Some shrines were known for curative specialisms, usually determined by the saint to whom they were dedicated: two thirds of the visitors to that of Goderic of Finchdale near Durham and St Frideswide in Oxford were female. Promising health and wholesomeness in uncertain times, pilgrimage, with all its attendant psychological stages, lay at the heart of English devotional culture.

                               replica of a medieval pilgrim's badge depicting the tomb of
                                          Thomas A Becket at Canterbury Cathedral

Undertaking a pilgrimage had a serious social and ritual dimension for rich and poor alike. From making an initial vow, preparations would be made and friends and family informed, who might add their own requests and recount ailments and experiences. Word would spread: it was a declaration of the suspension of the daily routine, conferring special status upon the pilgrim. Motives for going were as varied as those who went, from sincere devotion and desperation for a miracle, to those who sought opportunity for escape. According to Chaucer, the desire to go on pilgrimage was a kind of wanderlust, provoked by the spring, when people all round the country longed to visit strange lands and foreign shrines after the long hard months of winter. No doubt in rural communities where travel was limited, the pilgrim, setting off on an adventure and returning with tales to tell, could experience something not unlike modern celebrity. Predictably then, while some pilgrims went in sincere quest of cures and assistance, others became addicted to the thrill of the journey and chance encounters along the road. Chaucer’s Wife of Bath is perhaps most infamous for having had five husbands and undertaking a pilgrimage to Canterbury in the hope of meeting number six.

The experience of pilgrimage encompassed preparation, separation, endurance, travel, return and the all-important souvenirs. After the momentous contact with the shrine, there were badges, medals, crosses, ribbons, wax discs, holy papers, emblems and other aide-memoires to purchase. But these talisman were not just proof of the visit, they were the physical embodiment of the divine blessing and an important acknowledgement of the disenfranchised within a predominantly male religious framework. In their size and accessibility, pilgrim badges could be worn on clothing, tucked into bags and displayed proudly in the community and home. Their protection could extend to those too infirm to travel: undoubtedly pilgrim badges from the Marian shrines would have been used as charms or talismen, against pain and suffering of all varieties and lent or bequeathed to family and friends. The souvenirs of recent and long-remembered journeys must have been present in many bed chambers to comfort the labouring, dying, unhappy and unwell.

                                                     more replica pilgrim badges

Pilgrims did not just bring home souvenirs: they left offering too. Displays of wealth were considered directly proportional to degrees of devotion, although humble offerings might realistically represent the same percentage of income, as more ostentatious gifts: while poor women might leave valuable eggs, medicinal herbs and milk, noble and aristocratic ladies could endow shrines with riches, such as the jewels and twenty pound crown of gold bequeathed by Isabel Beauchamp to Our Lady of Caversham in 1439. It must be significant too, that many of the traditional herbs offered before the virgin, including bunches of periwinkle, verbena and thyme to be blessed and kept throughout the year, also found their way into potions and balms for aiding reproduction and birth.

For the majority, the wealth of saints’ shrines must have been paradoxically overwhelming and comforting. The piles of attendant jewels, gold and rich fabrics were a contemporary shorthand for spiritual wealth, a reassurance of the long-standing history and authenticity of this form of worship, as well as an indication of the saints’ rates of success as healers. At Willesden, the statue of the Virgin was draped in fine silk, set with precious stones and a lace veil edged in pearls, gold and silver. The additional theatricality of blazing candles and tapers must have exaggerated the spectacle and associated these earthly offerings with metaphors of divine light and the revelation and salvation it promised. A description of the tomb of St Thomas in Canterbury Cathedral gives some idea of just how dazzling the experience must have been as the culmination of pilgrimages. The shrine’s display was pure theatre: behind an altar at the top of steps, a wooden canopy could be raised and lowered to reveal a stone plinth, through the open arch way of which was revealed the reliquary. This was a casket covered in gold plate, studded with gems given by visiting kings, past and present. Describing it in 1512, Erasmus wrote: “the last valuable portion was of gold but every part glistened, shone and sparkled with rare and very large jewels, some of them larger than a goose’s egg.” The statue of Our Lady in Lincoln Cathedral sat in a four poster chair, wearing a crown of silver and gilt decorated with pearls and precious stones, her child on her knee.

                                     the remains of St Augustine's Abbey, Canterbury,
                                                   dissolved by Henry VIII in 1538

Shrines themselves were a complex multi-sensory display of light, sound, statues, glass, wall painting, prayers, music, water, incense, procession, souvenir, and attendants. The ritual of approach, supplication and departure were a carefully controlled piece of theatre. Many pilgrims approached on hands and knees, while silver bells tinkled, incense wafted and the prior indicated the precious gifts with a white wand. The canopy was raised for the supplications and offerings then lowered again, offering tantalising but brief view of the riches that symbolised the state of blessedness all visitors hoped to attain. Their route around a shrine was often carefully controlled, with symbolic stages, to concentrate and control the experience. Once outside, pilgrims must have buzzed with euphoria. The taverns and inns of Canterbury would have resounded with the tales of successful saintly interventions, like the parishioner who spent a day and night in labour after the arm of her foetus swelled and would not be expelled despite all the midwives’ efforts; eventually the child turned and was born normally, through the intervention of St. Thomas. Stories like this engendered hope in the pilgrims; everyone believed their own miracle was possible.

That source of national hope received a major setback in the 1530s. Henry’s programme of religious reforms, designed to eradicate the abuses of the Catholic Church, initiated a set of sweeping changes that would realign national faith and possibly character, forever. Shrines were closed down even as people knelt before them in worship. Famous icons and statues of saints were burned on huge pyres whilst others were desecrated and incorporated into domestic contexts. Images of the Virgin Mary were given to children as dolls and altar slabs from parish churches were recycled as doorsteps. In 1547, Henry VIII died, still considering himself a Catholic, yet the ball of Protestant reform had been irretrievably set in motion. Recently, Anne Vail, author of a book on modern pilgrimage, has even suggested his last words were to offer his soul up to the Virgin of Walsingham. Considering that he had probably been playing the fiddle while her effigy burned, his recantation would have been a bit too late.

Naughty Tudors: The historical realities of sex outside marriage

 Mary Tudor and Charles Brandon, who displeased her brother, Henry VIII, by marrying for love in 1515.

A Tudor woman’s social status was defined by her performance as a mother and wife. Broadly, this meant being submissive and respectful towards her husband regardless of his behaviour; being industrious and resourceful in the house; moral and devout in character and bringing forth a number of healthy children, preferably male. The scandal of illegitimacy, therefore, was to be avoided at all costs. The strict Catholic line couldn’t have been clearer: fornication and adultery were against the law; intercourse within marriage was acceptable only for the procreation of children and the penalties were harsh and public. Children born out of wedlock could be baptised and even legitimised by subsequent marriage vows but the social stigma of bastardy and its legal implications could not be so easily shaken off. The ramifications of illegitimacy, especially within noble and royal families could be felt for decades or even generations later. Given that those united in dynastic marriages frequently sought love elsewhere and many middle and lower-class couples delayed marriage until a whole decade after the onset of sexual maturity, was the church was relying on an unrealistic sense of people’s self-control ?

The reality of sexual relations and the family unit was far more complex. The majority of young people could not afford to marry until their late twenties, yet often lived and worked together in close proximity. Are we to understand then, that temptation never got the better of them ? At the risk of sounding overly romantic, are we to believe that they never fell hopelessly in love ? Are we really suggesting that human nature has changed so unrecognisably in the intervening centuries ? No; of course young unmarried people in Tudor times had sex, with or without the blessing of church or society, yet it was often the women who were left to deal with the consequential pregnancies. Servants shared rooms with masters, young people disappeared off into the bushes at fairs and adultery was overheard through key holes and windows. Even the most rudimentary forms of contraception were beyond the reach of the majority. “Quondams” appeared in the sixteenth century but would not have been widely available: the rhythm method and coitus interruptus were also notoriously unreliable; folklore offered various unhelpful mixtures of herbs and methods of stopping up the womb using hot wax ! Whilst Katherine Howard famously knew how to “meddle” with a man without getting with child, Tudor records are full of accusations and orders concerning the paternity and maintenance of bastards. In the absence of evidence and flight of those accused, the majority of illegitimate children ended up being cared for by the parish until the age of seven, which was not popular with the tithe payers. It was in a community’s financial interests to closely police their young people.

Inevitably, informal betrothals and alliances arose; temporary relationships were entered into in good faith and broken when the couple moved on or found alternative partners. A verbal promise of marriage or “hand-fasting,” could be enough to licence physical relations, as proved the downfall of Katherine Howard, Henry VIII’s fifth queen. Less than two years after her marriage, it was discovered that she had enjoyed two lovers in her youth, which she had omitted to mention to her new husband. With one Francis Dereham, she had exchanged promises, gifts and spent many nights together in a shared dormitory as husband and wife. Witnesses famously recalled how they had "hung together" by the belly "like two sparrows." Katherine might still have kept her head at this point but unfortunately for her, these enquiries led to the uncovering of her later adulterous affair and she went to the block in February 1542. Hand-fasting could even override later marriages in church, even if consummation had not taken place, as Henry tried to prove in the case of Anne Boleyn’s precontract to Henry Percy and successfully established to extract himself from an unwanted union with Anne of Cleves. Earlier, Anne Boleyn had conceived Elizabeth in December 1532, before her secret marriage to Henry took place in the new year. Promises could be made any time or any place: bedrooms, kitchens and fields witnessed secret agreements: it wasn’t until 1563 that the Council of Trent declared a marriage was void if not celebrated in front of a priest, although English law did not catch up until the eighteenth century.

 Legal marriages could take place anywhere, so long as the vows were properly made, enabling Catherine Grey and Edward Seymour to wed in secret in his bedroom in 1560 and immediately go on to consummate what became a doomed match. Edward’s sister, their only witness died soon after, Edward went overseas and Catherine found herself trying to conceal her pregnancy under Elizabeth’s watchful eye, unable to prove her marriage was legal. She had already been married once at the age of thirteen, which had been dissolved when it became politically expedient although this did not help her when the angry Queen committed her to the tower. Sometimes, agreements were consummated only for one of the parties to change their mind: in Rye in November 1571, the unmarried Joane Wilkinson found herself pregnant by Peter Greenaway of Hythe, who: “hath not only contracted himself in matrimony with the same Joane but also verie ungodlie hath mysused her bodie and therby gotten hir with child. Upon which complaynt the said Peter… denyed the same.” Pleading her case before the town council, she was aware that her fate lay in the testimony of others and “alleaged that there were divers credible witnesses residant within the town of Rye or near thereabouts that can depose of the same contract.” Justice for Joane would only rest on her ability to summon these witnesses and their willingness to testify and be believed.

Cohabitation was particularly frowned upon. Just how many of couples “living in sin” had been through some sort of hand-fasting or pledge is unclear: again, secrecy appears to lie at the root of the problem, although court records are full of the judgements made by neighbours, based on what they had seen. One Surrey ruling of 1569 decided that to establish paternity, it was “sufficient proof” that the mother and the accused had been discovered together in “suspicious” circumstances by a credible witness. At Midsummer 1589, William Pennocke, a maltman of Elstree in Hertfordshire, was charged with “living incontinently” with Mary Brooke, alias Thayer of Great Baddow, as a result of which she was pregnant. John Saunder, a clothier of Coggeshall, had been previously called to answer a case of adultery when he was resummoned for refusing to honour an order for maintenance of a child born to a Mary Webbe, of which he was also the reputed father. The Canterbury sessions heard in 1601 that one Mary Lawnder of Sittingbourne had lived an “incontinent” life, having born five or six illegitimate children, for which she was committed to a house of correction in Canterbury. 

Provision for illegitimate children, especially those born to the poor, homeless or servants, could be a drain on the parish, into whose care they were frequently entrusted. In Easter 1575, the general sessions at Chelmsford passed an ordinance for the relief of the poor and vagabonds:

“If any woman has a bastard child and any person can be proved or vehemently suspected by reasonable presumptions to be guilty of begetting the child or of incontinency, the justices shall take order with the man and woman for keeping the said child; and they shall take order with the mother to keep and nourish the child without charging the inhabitants and if they forsake the child and refuse to keep and same, they shall find her out and take order with her and if the man suspected to be guilty of begetting the child shall be conveyed away or concealed by his parents or other persons counselled by them to depart the country or his place of abode so he cannot be forthcoming to answer the charges against him, then the justices shall charge the parents and counsellors with the keeping of the said child until the party appear; and the justices shall take order by bond with the begetter of the child, and if he refuse to enter into bond, then they shall commit him to gaol.”

The assize courts took a dim view of those fathers who had failed to maintain their offspring, employing fines and imprisonment to ensure payment. Mariner John Brooke of Burnham had failed to support his daughter by Agnes Nicoll in April 1579 and was ordered by the local court to pay 8d a week to the parish for the keep of the child. At Easter 1591, Robert Barnard of Little Totham was also remanded in custody at Colchester gaol until he was able to support the child he had fathered with single woman Mary Turner of Southminster. In October 1586, John Poole was imprisoned for refusing to pay 8d a week for the upkeep of a child born to Mary Warde, currently maintained by the church wardens of West Hanningfield. Social class was no barrier to reprimand: Robert Noble of Thundersley was summoned in January 1591 for failing to maintain an order, meaning provision, for a child fathered by him on Margaret Nevell, who had been his servant and in March 1603, Elizabeth Bright, the servant of Nicholas Clarke, a painter of Beuchamp Roding bore his child. Marriage was no bar to desertion either: John Curtes of Shopland, husbandman, was to be apprehended in midsummer 1592, for having deserted his pregnant wife, who had passed her child on to the parish for care.  Sometimes costs were split between the parents. Edmund Cheveley of Stock was to contribute 6d weekly and Susan Dates 4d weekly for the maintenance of their child in 1579 but sometimes both parents absconded, like Alice Romboll and Arthur Machin, named and shamed by the constable of Writtle in 1576. In 1602, it was Anne Seayne of Billericay who had “unnaturally” absconded and left her child in the care of the parish and in 1591, Bridget Hammond at the Chelmsford Assize who had left with the consent of the father of her child.

Severe, public punishments for fornication and adultery were intended as deterrents and many many villagers actively denounced each other for transgression. Cases from the Essex assize courts suggest communities were jealously protective of their codes of moral conduct, reluctant to see their neighbours get away with unlawful behaviour. An intolerance of rule-breaking and the financial implication for the parish seem to recur in many statements and letters of complaint: the “whistle-blowing” culture cannot have helped neighbourly feeling, as seen in the swathe of orders made to keep the peace and the high number of physical and verbal clashes that required legal mediation. Denunciations could be supported by oaths of in excess of ten people, travelling to the local court to give witness, who would then provied an audience for the implementation of whippings and other shaming penalties. These were often carried out in market places or outside churches, at the busiest times of day. Yet society could not override biology. In spite of the social stigma and range of deterrents, the Tudors continued to have sex outside marriage and produce illegitimate children. It wasn’t the norm; the average per parish was around 10-12 from 1538 when records began, until the end of the dynasty in March 1603 and the lives of those involved could be very difficult as a result. It must have been very difficult for young people: the social and economic circumstances of their lives was often in direct competition with the rulings of their culture and church. Another four centuries before the stigma would finally be shaken off.